Libis
06-25-09, 07:26 PM
Tired women, it appears, are also irritable
Libis had somewhat assumed that the battle-wearied women that the Citadel spewed forth from its exits would be more susceptible to his charms than normal. However, after his fourth rejection in half an hour, he was beginning to have his doubts. It seemed that the discomfort and fatigue that exertion caused lessened his effect, though by no means the women's appeal to him. A difficult situation.
Having visited the Citadel once since his arrival in the city, he was aware of the basic mechanics of the system. The man he had fought had been a lithe and supple specimen and part of the appeal of performing outside this hall of warriors had been the lure of a possible second sighting. Libis' street-performance was in the form of bladedancing. Using the skills he had picked up while prowling his home town in search of each night's partner, he had refined a dance that used the shining blades of his daggers and the shimmering of his shirt to create patterns in his midst.
His shirt...now there was a tale in itself. Suffice to say that his endeavours to snare each female he encountered had come to a sticky end - in more ways than one. He had approached and seduced a woman in the inn where he was staying. She was not pleased when he rebuked her attempts to extend the relationship and had cursed him, screaming the words that had emblazoned themselves on his mind.
'Damned to seek a night such as this...'
Since then, a gnawing feeling in his gut had haunted him and drove him towards each night, propelling him in the direction of any available female, at least usually female. He now sought her again, seeking a sweet release from his primeval desires. Though she had blessed him also, enhancing his seductive power and ego and gifting him the magnificent flowing shirt that fit his chest so well.
Thus, he came to be scanning the face of every woman, searching for the flaming hair, even as the curse made him attempt to seduce each one in turn.
A brassy flare caught his eye, vanishing into the crowd. His forehead sweating despite the greying skies. He bounded up the marble coated steps of the battle-temple and skidded to stop between two titanic stone pillars marking the entrance arch to the amphitheatre beyond. His quarry had disappeared, but as he looked, Libis strayed too close to the arena doors. A monk ushered him quickly through a door, ignoring the crowd of potential fighters and their disgruntled mutterings.
Stumbling from the dark corridor before the door into the dazzling sunlight beyond, Libis blinked and stumbled to one knee. He rested his palms on the smooth dusty track for a moment while he regained his vision. He slowly became aware of the hubbub surrounding him and he rose slowly to his feet, stepping backwards to avoid being hit with a passing cart.
The hunter's face turned almost as pale as his hair as he realised where he was. A market. The dusty track extended as far as he could see in either direction though he could make out the misty outlines of mountains in the distance. On either sides stood tall walls, broken with door ways and creaking signs. There seemed to be no limit to the height of the buildings either, though there were no windows at ground level, it seemed that as the stalls were in the street there was no need for the shops to be displayed as well. The stall owners and workers seemed to accept his sudden intrusion into there world and already were hailing him and hawking their wares. He brushed off a man who appeared with a grin-full of yellowing teeth and a rusty sword, who looked only mildly disappointed that the only buyer in the market had refused his sale.
How am I supposed to track my opponent in this mess, let alone the fiery-haired Blood Angel? Libis' muttering drew more glances than his arrival had, a fact that was disconcerting to say the least. He quickly saw that by standing still he was standing out from the crowd like an Orc in an Elvish council. He moved to the nearest stall and pretended to browse, though ignoring the keeper's sales patter. All the while, though, he kept his bow strung and at his side, ready to swing up and nock if his hunter's eyes caught any suspicious movement.
Libis had somewhat assumed that the battle-wearied women that the Citadel spewed forth from its exits would be more susceptible to his charms than normal. However, after his fourth rejection in half an hour, he was beginning to have his doubts. It seemed that the discomfort and fatigue that exertion caused lessened his effect, though by no means the women's appeal to him. A difficult situation.
Having visited the Citadel once since his arrival in the city, he was aware of the basic mechanics of the system. The man he had fought had been a lithe and supple specimen and part of the appeal of performing outside this hall of warriors had been the lure of a possible second sighting. Libis' street-performance was in the form of bladedancing. Using the skills he had picked up while prowling his home town in search of each night's partner, he had refined a dance that used the shining blades of his daggers and the shimmering of his shirt to create patterns in his midst.
His shirt...now there was a tale in itself. Suffice to say that his endeavours to snare each female he encountered had come to a sticky end - in more ways than one. He had approached and seduced a woman in the inn where he was staying. She was not pleased when he rebuked her attempts to extend the relationship and had cursed him, screaming the words that had emblazoned themselves on his mind.
'Damned to seek a night such as this...'
Since then, a gnawing feeling in his gut had haunted him and drove him towards each night, propelling him in the direction of any available female, at least usually female. He now sought her again, seeking a sweet release from his primeval desires. Though she had blessed him also, enhancing his seductive power and ego and gifting him the magnificent flowing shirt that fit his chest so well.
Thus, he came to be scanning the face of every woman, searching for the flaming hair, even as the curse made him attempt to seduce each one in turn.
A brassy flare caught his eye, vanishing into the crowd. His forehead sweating despite the greying skies. He bounded up the marble coated steps of the battle-temple and skidded to stop between two titanic stone pillars marking the entrance arch to the amphitheatre beyond. His quarry had disappeared, but as he looked, Libis strayed too close to the arena doors. A monk ushered him quickly through a door, ignoring the crowd of potential fighters and their disgruntled mutterings.
Stumbling from the dark corridor before the door into the dazzling sunlight beyond, Libis blinked and stumbled to one knee. He rested his palms on the smooth dusty track for a moment while he regained his vision. He slowly became aware of the hubbub surrounding him and he rose slowly to his feet, stepping backwards to avoid being hit with a passing cart.
The hunter's face turned almost as pale as his hair as he realised where he was. A market. The dusty track extended as far as he could see in either direction though he could make out the misty outlines of mountains in the distance. On either sides stood tall walls, broken with door ways and creaking signs. There seemed to be no limit to the height of the buildings either, though there were no windows at ground level, it seemed that as the stalls were in the street there was no need for the shops to be displayed as well. The stall owners and workers seemed to accept his sudden intrusion into there world and already were hailing him and hawking their wares. He brushed off a man who appeared with a grin-full of yellowing teeth and a rusty sword, who looked only mildly disappointed that the only buyer in the market had refused his sale.
How am I supposed to track my opponent in this mess, let alone the fiery-haired Blood Angel? Libis' muttering drew more glances than his arrival had, a fact that was disconcerting to say the least. He quickly saw that by standing still he was standing out from the crowd like an Orc in an Elvish council. He moved to the nearest stall and pretended to browse, though ignoring the keeper's sales patter. All the while, though, he kept his bow strung and at his side, ready to swing up and nock if his hunter's eyes caught any suspicious movement.