That Thief In Your Head

[Izvilvin]

((Closed to Duffy!))

Izvilvin took in the familiar air of Radasanth. Dusty and mixed with the scents of sweat and flora, the city's roads had a distinct odor.

The sun lit the yellow bricks and pebbled rooves, creating a bright horizon for Izvilvin to peer across. A breeze crept over the side of the building he knelt upon, throwing his ivory hair back from his ebony face. His angular features jutted forth like rocks in a cliffside.

This was the first time he'd taken a job from a mercenary board in years. Back when there was time to kill between missions from Step, Izvilvin filled the gaps with these sorts of jobs, earning a side income and keeping his senses sharp with various challenges. In his mind, offsetting his assassinations with public service not only kept him sane, but kept him from hating himself.

He peered along the roads to his right, then nimbly danced along the rooftop to look at the bazaar. His eyes scanned the many faces, though the description he had to go on wasn't detailed. The thief had black hair and bandages about his wrists - things that could be easily hidden if he didn't want to be detected. Izvilvin's keen eyes had to examine each and every face down there.

A mere 500 gold for the thief's capture was the reward, but it wasn't about the money. For ten years the burden of those many deaths had grown heavier and heavier, filling him with shame and despair. He'd begun to think of himself as some kind of weapon-for-hire who didn't have the guts to rise up against his controllers; this wasn't necessarily true, for it took Izvilvin years just to think of a way to resist the entity that was Step.

But if only he'd found a way to escape their clutches sooner. Much of the blood on his hands would have never been spilled.

He shut his eyes and exhaled a deep breath. It was too easy to fall into this line of thinking. This job was just one way to ease his burden. How else was he supposed to try and offset so many deaths?

[Duffy]

Radasanth sang to Duffy, and like any suave man about town the raucous activity and the quagmire of endless opportunity was a honey trap he could not resist. Whilst his fingers, so to speak, where stuck in many different pies (some only barely categorised as pies) the bazaar of Corone's finest city was the greatest lure of all. With other peoples coin to spend and a penchant for extravagance to drown his sorrow and sin, it was perhaps the best and worst place for him to be.

Today, despite his infamy and fame - which depended on the circles you moved in, he made no attempt to hide his identity or fade into the crowd. His bandanna and white wrappings were radiant and golden under the hedonistic heat of the sun and his Katarhna and blades were prominently on display; a message written clear as day that he was a man not to be messed with. Of course, what Duffy lacked in actual skill, he made up for in playing the role of the bazaar thug with delicately wrought dedication.

"I'll give you three gold, and not a coin more!" He haggled with a heavy gullet merchant who was sat on a large pile of satin cushions behind a low-slung table. It was covered in bright fabrics and exotic spices from lands too distant to have reached his narrow-minded ears. "It ain't worth a penny more, and you're practically robbing me blind at that!" He flashed his teeth and winked, and juggled the coin high into the air with a toss of his right hand.

The merchant's eyes trailed the gold gingerly and he nodded with sweaty eagerness as Duffy caught the coin and handed them over. It had served as a suitable distraction, and the thief's pockets where lined with a small statue of a dragon and two peppermint treats he had heard were called Kendal Cakes. He had half stolen them for the thrill, and for the forthcoming birthday of young Pete; the troupe's estranged orphan bandit. He nodded with an appreciative grin as the merchant's spindly assistant folded the long red fold of silk and handed it across the table.

Duffy walked on with the ebb and flow of the bazaar patrons and continued his kleptomania streak in the scorching heat. As he went, he whistled a little ditty to no-one in particular with an innocent smile on his face.

[Izvilvin]

The target of Izvilvin's mission walked with an almost tangible aura of arrogance about him. His swagger carried him westward through the bazaar as he weaved about the people, deft hands flashing almost invisibly from purse to purse, as if Duffy Bracken commanded speed simply supernatural to those around him.

Izvilvin's eyes, not so far away, watched closely.

The warrior bounded to the edge of the roof and, with the effort most men exerted for a gentle hop, leaped six feet over to the next one. His cloth shoes pushed the pebbles of the roof against each other, and Izvilvin slid over to the edge to follow Duffy's trail.

Amidst the droning hum of the crowd and the rising heat, the warrior ran to the edge of this roof, peered down to the alley below, and jumped to a stack of dusty wooden boxes. He slid down from here and checked his gear - he'd only brought Icicle and Mjolnir, his armor, and his enchanted wind blades. Traveling light was the way to go when hunting a thief.

Stepping with intention into the road, Izvilvin appeared in Duffy's path, only a few feet in front of the thief. The look of smug pleasantness on the target irritated him, but not more than the sound of clinking coins in Duffy's pocket. Coins that didn't belong to him.

"You come with me now," he commanded.

[Duffy]

Duffy paused mid-stride. On the stage, it might have been a symbol of a comic realisation or memory loss, but out in the streets it was a pause of surprise and shock. He half wanted to carry on and strut his walk past the stranger out of sheer indifference, but the sight of an Aleran elf so far from the machinations of his homeland caused him to double-check.

"I'm...I'm - what the - I beg your pardon?" He mumbled, before cock-shuring himself into overconfidence. "I will go or come or arrive in no place with you, who are you?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see if there any other cloaked thugs encroaching on his personal space, and as he snapped back to the drow he felt pleasantly protected by the bustling market crowd, an eager shield of woollen cloaks, drab faces and minuscule pockets to pilfer as he ran.

[Izvilvin]

It was enough to cause a few of the nearby citizens to give them a glance. Izvilvin alone was a spectacle to behold, with various handles for knives and swords jutting out from his body. With tight enchanted armor about his torso and matching black pants, shoes and a shirt, he was a deadly shadow with snowy white hair.

He paid Radasanthian citizens no mind for the time being, though. Duffy was not only right before him, but making no immediate effort to flee. The warrior stepped even closer, looking no less imposing despite the fact that the human was taller.

"I know what you do," he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You took thirty gold from ten people since I started watching you."

It was a struggle for the drow to communicate even such a basic observation in the common tongue, but he didn't need to say any more. "Come with me to a military outpost. They will put you in jail for a short time, and then you can go to another place. This city knows you."

[Duffy]

Duffy listened intently as the drow unveiled a string of accusations and an ultimatum. Naturally, the thief come rogue come actor come vagabond did not like one bit of the drow's tone. It was, however, in Duffy's vain little world, nice to be noticed for a change.

"What pray tell, would you do if I refused?" He measured up the weaponry which was not exactly tactfully concealed and tried to get a sense of his would be jailer. Whilst he was a dab hand at street fighting, and had bested opponent's beyond his years with guile, wit, and a handful of vomit, he did not fancy his chances in the open streets of Radasanth.

"Also, for the record," he slowly reached into his bandoleer pocket and pulled out the coin he had pilfered on his rounds between stalls, "it's thirty two pieces of gold." He smiled weakly, hoping to goad the elf into an opening move to measure his mettle and give him some time to prepare an onslaught of an altogether different kind - of words and weald.

[Izvilvin]

The warrior had been in positions like this several times throughout his long life. Standing in the center of a busy city bazaar, seconds away from drawing his blades and spilling blood. The humans of Radasanth would scream, some would stare and gawk; others would run, and still some would stand transfixed. As common as strife was in a city as diverse and accessible as Radasanth, watching two men try to kill one another never lost its novelty to these people.

He didn't want to kill Duffy, however, or even injure him. As adamant as he was to bring the thief in, he understood what it was like to have to resort to theft in order to live. Today Duffy was strolling around the bazaar, stealing for a lark - chances are, things hadn't begun that way.

But Duffy posed a question. And Duffy corrected Izvilvin.

Izvilvin had done enough talking.

His hands moved with unnatural speed, drawing Mjolnir and Icicle into his right and left hands - Mjolnir roared to life and crackled loudly, its white-hot sparking blade seeming even brighter than the sun. Icicle was a more docile weapon, vivid blue in color and trailing an endless supply of cool mist.

The weapons flourished about each other as if moving of their own accord, for surely a mere mortal couldn't spin them around as quickly as Izvilvin did. Between the drow and his target, the two blades danced in circles both wide and narrow, and as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Izvilvin held both blades in a relaxed stance, so that they drooped down to rest against the ground. If Duffy had been paying attention, he would have noticed that Izvilvin had switched hands at some point during his display.

"Last chance."

The display had caused more unease around them, but Izvilvin felt it a necessary thing. Duffy would be hesitant to fight him, he imagined, and fighting amongst the Radasanthian citizens was not something the warrior wanted to do. There was no sense endangering anyone.

[Duffy]

Eager eyes and curious noses turned to watch the boiling water that was the thief and the swordsman's meeting. Cocked heads and assured glances scrabbled to see what all the commotion was about, and half turned away on seeing men with swords and sharper egos fighting over lost causes. It wasn't a new scene in any city on Althanas.

"Impressive," Duffy chimed as the elf's blades spiralled and pirouetted about, but he said it only to be polite. He was more concerned with the elemental power which so obviously coursed through them - blades he knew, but enchanted metal? That was anyone's guess.

He was damned if he was going to prison without a fight, though, even if he could walk right out again.

"I tell you what, if I give you the coin and the names of the people I took them from, shall we call it quits? I ain't hankering for a fight or a wild goose chase about the city tops, but I reckon I got some speed on ya."

The smell of rodden pie and soup and spices wafted over the crowd that watched patiently, baying as they did for blood with silent thoughts and tangible excitement. Duffy's muscled tensed and bridled with the same excitement, for whilst he was clearly in grave danger at the hunter's talon, he did not enjoy life unless somebody was after him.

"Fair's fair, ain't it?"

[Izvilvin]

Though Duffy's request might have seemed reasonable to Duffy and to anyone else who might have been listening, it simply wasn't what Izvilvin had been paid to do. He didn't care much for the money, and wasn't all too concerned about disappointing the person who'd posted the bounty, but it was the principle. The man before him had been stealing from people and needed to be punished for it. If the warrior let him walk free so easily, there would be no deterrent for future behavior.

It was a lofty goal for a mercenary to try and change a lifelong thief and turn him into a contributing member of society, but Izvilvin didn't realize the futility of it.

Perhaps as a sign of good faith, the drow sheathed his enchanted weapons. A sudden quiet came over the bazaar as Mjolnir's lightning suddenly disappeared. A few nearby people noticibly calmed, exhaling deep breaths.

"I don't decide what is fair. It was not fair for you to steal from people who work hard for their money."

He lunged forward without warning, shifting all of his weight in an instant. A single black, calloused hand lunged out in an effort to grab Duffy by the scruff of his shirt. Another shift of his weight would bring Duffy over his hip and flat onto his back on the ground - if Izvilvin had been quick enough.

Duffy did have speed on him, likely. Izvilvin was fast even for an elf, but the thief looked as if he'd been constructed solely to outrun a pursuer. Izvilvin was, however, tenacious and fierce, and could freerun with the best. He was ready for the challenge.

[Duffy]

"I didn't think that'd wo-" his words were plucked from his mouth as the drow's hand scrabbled for his collar, and his instincts kicked in to replace words with fleeting mementos and a kick of dust where he had once been.

As he pierced the ring of the crowd with a flurry of shoving and pushing, the coins in his pockets jingled and jangled, like a morris dancer's bells. It was clear to him, and anyone who might catch the chase as he made his way past several silk stands and tore at speed to his right, into an alleyway, that he was the thief and his pursuer the officer of the kingdoms spurious and half-arsed laws.

He leapt over a crate and padded without looking back to the end of the alleyway. Naturally, it was a tall faced dead-end, with nothing more than drainpipes and rotting cabbages to keep him and his company entertained. He span on a heel and backed up against the dead-end wall like a cornered rat. He listened with one ear to his right, to try and discern what was on the other side and smiled as a plan formed in his usually hollow skull.

He heard the drow approach and gritted his teeth in apprehension. He drew Wainwright's Riposte and one of the short swords he had acquired from the bazaar not a month ago from their respective sheaths and made a half-weary, half prepared stance as if he were making a last stand. He waited for the pieces to slot together, breathe heavy and nerves calamitous in the shaking limbs he called his own.

[Izvilvin]

The thrust for Duffy's shirt had Izvilvin overbalanced, but he used the momentum to break in a run right after the thief. His shoes, tiny spines built into their soles, gripped the dusty ground and helped him propel forward.

Those standing nearby turned to watch Duffy flee. Izvilvin darted around them and leapt over a small child he'd only noticed only at the last second, the force of his passing mussing the kid's hair. The thief gained a bit of ground, darting for an alleyway in the distance, but Izvilvin accelerated and ducked into the silk stands Duffy had bypassed, vaulting over the counter of one and grabbing the awning post of another to pull himself onward.

The silk vendor came into sight ahead, suddenly moving right into Izvilvin's path from behind a stack of multicolored dresses. He was looking to see where Duffy had gone, and Izvilvin was going too fast to redirect himself. He slammed into the man and a storm of gold coins rained from the merchant's pockets. They glimmered in the sunlight and summoned a chorus of surprised gasps from all about.

The drow spun with the impact, muttering a curse under his breath.

His feet hammered against the ground as Izvilvin turned into the alley, using every muscle in his powerful legs to keep from slamming right into the far wall. He could see Duffy in the distance as the thief reached the dead end.

The elf didn't slow as he reached the cumbersome crate, planting both hands on its surface and extending his body into a flip right over it, landing in a run without losing any speed.

Duffy had prepared himself for a fight. Izvilvin didn't have the presence of mind to consider that the thief might have been baiting him. Instead, the warrior drew his enchanted daggers.

He slowed as he approached, however, until he was merely walking toward the thief. "I don't have an interest in hurting you," he pleaded. "You are defeated; just come with me."

[Duffy]

Duffy swallowed long and hard as the drow approached along the darker length of the alleyway and the distant hubbub of the crowd died away. The chattering was replaced instead with a heavy thud in his chest and the harmony of the busy roadway on the opposite side of the dividing wall.

"You have no interest in 'urting me ya say," he gave his attempt at a noble and upper-lip impression a rest, and spoke with a natural buoyancy and Scara Brae twang that was more befitting of the character the drow had cast him as. He felt at home, he felt natural in danger - sure, he might lose an eye, or a few months to the manacles that would struggle to keep him chained, but life was boring if you did not throw caution to the wind.

"So what's with the spectacular stabbers you got there?" He prodded a finger at the flickering and dancing blades. He admired the potency of the no doubt expensive and powerful enchantments that had been cast on their sharpened tips, but did not wish to experience the effects of their shocking price tag. "One might almost be persuaded to be believin' you're lyin'," he frowned for a moment, before deciding that his course of action was about the only one to take.

He stepped forward in a quick run and roared, as if he were charging headlong into certain death. In a split second, he turned on a heel to face the dead-end wall and ran back towards it full pelt. As he leapt into the brick he called on The Aria and summoned the distant memories of Arden Janelle, the silent swordsman, and plucked his talent from the ether and the Union of Ages.

With a flash of jazz and a hint of Underwood Folk strings plucking together in unison, Duffy vanished into nothingness in a spiralling web of blue lights which illuminated the alleyway as clear as day as he dissipated.

Two seconds later, the thief re-appeared in the middle of the street on the far side. A heavy landing caused him to stumble and roll forwards and a horse and cart veered sharp right in a screeching veer. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes and prayed, half expecting to be crushed beneath the weight.

"Are you okay?" the driver asked, more surprised and scared than Duffy was. He opened his eyes, looked at the cart which was only inches away from his nose and sighed with relief.

"Sure," he said briefly to the man before running across the street to the far side and stomping his feet. Two spikes appeared with a satisfying ring, and he unhooked the climbing claws from his belt and strapped them onto his hands. With nimble, ape like movements he bounded up a drain pipe onto the rooftops of Radasanth and turned to look back at the wall he had blinked through.

In his own arrogance and cock headedness, Duffy did not remotely believe that his pursuer could catch up with him now. He thought silently for a moment as the wind fluttered his half-cloak and bandages in a gentle cooling breeze. The sun cast his shadow like a caped crusader onto the mud below. He turned and rattled across the tiles at a snail's pace, thinking himself free and victorious.

[Izvilvin]

The Scara Braen dialect caught the drow by surprise. It was the kind of speech he knew very well, as the nearby island had been his first stop after fleeing Alerar. His first friend and ally, Khalxaen, had had a similar way of speaking. Throughout his life Izvilvin had killed many men in order to save others, but Khalxaen was the first he'd protected in such a way.

Izvilvin couldn't have explained to Duffy his reasons for drawing the blades, but the simple fact was that the warrior had been through much. He'd been in too many battles, been betrayed too many times, been attacked too frequently in the darkness; he couldn't not draw them in an effort to keep himself protected.

Before he could respond, Duffy rushed forward in a full-out run toward him. Izvilvin bent low and readied his daggers, but the thief suddenly pivoted, throwing him off. The thief leapt for the wall as if to climb it like a spider, but a magical portal of swirling blue light caught him instead. Izvilvin shielded his eyes for just a moment until the blinding flash disappeared. When he looked forward again, Duffy was gone.

Magic. Izvilvin hated most kinds of magic for this exact reason - it broke the playing field.

He thought quickly. The warrior had little experience with magic and even less with transportation spells, but had to assume Duffy didn't go far. Surely powerful teleports or dimension-leaping spells took longer to activate?

Springing into action, the drow sheathed his weapons and sprinted for the side wall, against which dangled a rusted drainpipe. Izvilvin ran up the wall as far as he could before reaching out and clasping the old pipe, grunting as he attempted to use it to create leverage. It, too, strained and creaked as the screws attaching it to the brick wall began to pop out of place. He climbed up as quickly as he could, hand over hand.

With a mighty effort, Izvilvin reached the top of the alley's dead end. He abandoned the pipe and kicked off of the wall, clutching the edge of the cement barrier. With a groan, he flipped a leg over it and swung the rest of his body straight over, suddenly free-falling to the paved sidwalk below.

He clattered against it like a suit of armor toppling to the ground, doing his best to protect his head and limbs. The driver of the cart, only now beginning to reclaim his seat at the wagon's head, let out a yelp of surprise.

"What in the world!?" he demanded as Izvilvin, groaning, got to his feet. "What's in blazes is going on?!"

"Where did he go!?" the warrior demanded, his eyes darting about, scanning the road, the doors and windows to every nearby building. When he looked at the driver, he was pointing off toward a nearby roof. Izvilvin looked just in time to see Duffy's cloak dancing in the wind.

Izvilvin sprung up onto the driver's cart in a fluid jump, using his left hand to slap the rear of one of the horses. It immediately neighed and lunged, pulling the cart forward.

"Go! Alongside that building!"

The man was about to protest, but the look in Izvilvin's eyes gave him absolutely no room to argue. He might as well have been frothing at the mouth. Gulping audibly, the human steered the cart toward the building Duffy had scaled.

The cart's heavy load climbed the sidewalk awkwardly and at a speed it was not designed to go. Izvilvin was standing by the man's side, trying to maintain his balance. "Faster!" he cried. Bystanders were diving into the road and into the display stands, crying out and doing anything possible to avoid the horses' furious run.

Izvilvin spotted a flagpole against the side of the building, and with a mighty leap, grabbed onto it with both hands as the wagon continued on. Using the momentum of the wagon's speed, he flipped up so that his feet were planted squarely on it. With only a second before he lost his balance, Izvilvin jumped onto the roof.

He crashed onto the tiles, rolling twice before halting in a kneel. Duffy was on the same roof, close to the far edge. Filthy and with his hair hanging before his face, Izvilvin didn't hesitate before charging toward him.

Below, the crash of the wagon could be heard.

[Duffy]

Duffy was just about to jump clear of the rooftop onto the adjacent building, which was a good few feet lower and a wide flat surface, when the clash and clamour of a rough landing turned him on a nimble heel. His heart raced with heavy beats and he settled his furrowed gaze onto the drow. Drat, he thought to himself. His display of magic via the union he shared with the other members of the Tantalum was as much a warning as it was a nimble trick to avert eyes; this man was truly a zealot to pursue him so vigilantly, or perhaps he was just oblivious.

"I guess I now have no choice but to clash blades with ye!" He roared over the rooftop, the wind, brisk and cleansing, whistled across the rooftops of the city and flurried his cloak like ragged wings and pushed the folds of his bandanna across his face. He had no desire to be tested, and less desire still to die under the weight of agony those magical, flickering and lightning-bound blades would likely bring. He thought quick on his toes and crossed his blades in front of him. He dropped his weight onto his right knee and bent backwards.

"Not here, though, it would be a mighty fine pitty if that pretty face o' yours ended up flat on the ground with a crowd watchin'," he winked, and leapt. He crossed the gap and landed on the lower rooftop out of sight of the drow, his backflip almost perfect and his hands stretched out like wings to either side with a tuck to his knees and a silent flop.

He walked slowly across the flat surface to the far side, where the building adjacent loomed overhead with no clear climbing holes or equipment, and turned to flare up at the roof he had just leapt from. The one thing Duffy Bracken had left when he was out sped, outfought and outwitted (which was not that hard to achieve) was his business dealings and ingenuity.

The drow had made Duffy an offer he had no choice but to consider, but the bard would give the drow an offer he could not refuse.

[Izvilvin]

If Duffy chose to face Izvilvin in combat, it would surely be the last decision he'd make.

The warrior believed wholeheartedly in his ability to overcome the human, having faced adversaries of varying size and skill in every part of the known world. He was a fine-tuned instrument, tried again and again over decades, a sword tempered and folded a thousand times, a unit of indominable skill in terms of battle. Where Izvilvin sometimes failed in his mind and his heart, he succeeded endlessly with his blades.

No thief atop a roof had a chance against him. It was something the drow simply knew.

And yet he refused to let that power and ability corrupt him. Izvilvin, despite a life of hardships and struggle, never let his talents turn him into a hateful person. He'd never used his weapons or his strength to bully someone who did not deserve it. It was so easy for him to forget that despite his past, and despite the things he had done, Izvilvin was a genuinely good person.

But here he was, pursuing Duffy as if catching the thief was the most important thing in the world. Izvilvin needed these deeds, things like capturing a thief, to convince himself that he was offsetting those terrible mistakes from the past. It would heal his self worth for a day or two.

He ran flat-out for the human, not even hearing those spoken words. Izvilvin rarely had anything to say to his peers, let alone to someone he was in a struggle with. If it wasn't a surrender, he would not hear it.

His feet pounded the roof as he approached the ledge where Duffy made his leap. Without regard to what lay beyond, Izvilvin stepped on the edge and jumped, his clothes billowing in the wind as he dropped. He landed on his feet and dropped into a roll, tucking tightly and absorbing the impact of the fall with his body. He was up in a flash, Mjolnir sliding from its sheath with a foreboding snarl.

Whatever Duffy's offer was, it would have to wait.

Izvilvin slashed the sword forward with both hands, with all his might and with particular intention. Though they were several meters apart, the strike had a purpose. A dragon's roar escaped Mjolnir as he pointed it at the thief, a searing bolt of lightning shooting forth from its tip. Bright enough to force Izvilvin to recoil and shut his eyes, the fearsome, whirling bolt tore through the air with abandon, seeking to crash into Duffy and throw him to the wall he stood against. The bolt wouldn't kill the thief, but it would surely slow his quick feet.

Then, perhaps, they could talk.

[Duffy]

Talk was cheap, and so was the drow's attack. The bolt struck Duffy square in the chest and crackled over his body in a maelstrom of bridling, agonising power. He shot backwards and upwards, spiralling out of control with arms flung wide and hair and bandanna running amok from his carefully dishevelled appearance. He seemed to hang in the air for a second before arcing down finally with a thud onto the roof top.

In the small pokey bed chamber below, a web of cracks appeared and dust fell with a delicate shower and cascade of barely audible noise to the splintered floorboards below. The occupier of the room, too drunk and slovenly on the squalid bed did not notice the inception of his little world. Duffy coughed and gathered the blood from his injuries into his mouth and pushed himself up to his knees just as the slumbering drunk rolled over and mumbled.

"That was - nasty, low-down, deceitful," he spat the red gobbet onto the dust before him and stared at it. He guessed, under the glare of the sun, that whatever state he arrived from this encounter to the next, it would be not a pretty one. "Above all," he scrawled to his right to pluck the Katarhna from it's upright position, embedded in the mud roof top where it had struck the solid but uncertain surface as it had fallen with speed from it's owners hands, "exactly how I like it!"

He rose and grasped the blade with his hands so that it rose from the floor with him. Almost instantly, he felt a wave of sickness wash over him and evaporate into the air like the stale smoke which drifted up from his extremities. He wobbled a bit, before turning to face Izvilvin and removing his afront in the form of a cold shoulder. "I guess now it's time to show you me 'and," he jokingly waved his fingers at the drow, before clearing his throat and slouching. The pain still lingered in his body and sweat had formed on his brow as a visible watermark of early defeat.

"No bar will keep me for long, no chains for an en-eternity - I 'as people in 'igh places and heroics to be gettin' on with. 'Ow boutz I go with ya, do a show and a song and a dance for these there guards, you get your coin," he raised the Katarhna, the ghostly image of the Blade-Singer hero Lysander's prominence in history, and let the sun catch it's blade to shine brightly like a magical sceptre.

"A few days later, I be off into the night like a ghost - I go about me business, gettin' me infamy en-route, and all ends well in love, and o' course, a bit o' war!" His voice croaked with a dry rasp, making his accent more discernible except to those who were familiar with the Scara Braen twang it's citizens tended to drown others in when speaking in understandable and often overtly lucrative business terms.

"I don't be needin' to tell you what a blade-singer can be doin to ya, but I might offer you the chance to win either way without us coming to blows proper - your tricks," he pointed at the lightning blade, are just tricks to this blade's power!" He was absolutely bluffing, but he clanged it onto the rooftop and conjured Lysander's power into it all the same.

It burst into life and vibrated with an audible, hive like hum - it shimmered, it's motion visible to the eye only in a blurred after-wake, and droned in the air deeply as Duffy moved it quickly side to side.

"What's it to be - a deal, or a dance?"

[Izvilvin]

In the wake of Mjolnir's bolt, Izvilvin's hair slowly settled back down. His eyes had winced shut to avoid the shining light, but they crept open again to survey its result.

Residual changes in the atmosphere between Izvilvin and Duffy had only begun to disappear, leaving an effect not unlike the waves of heat one saw in Fallien. Through it Izvilvin could see the thief's battered form, his clothing disheveled and torn in places, his hair on end, blood on his lips and cheek. It was the first time the drow had actually used Mjolnir to strike someone with a bolt of lightning - he didn't like it. It reminded him of the bolts Sasarai the wizard was able to summon, and he was a man who'd let his abilities warp his mind.

The tangible remains of the bolt - static in the air, floating heat - dissipated as Duffy began to stand. Izvilvin approached as the man spoke, closing the gap between them, trying to take away any opportunity the thief would have to run.

How many times had he hunted to similar end?

It was fortunate that Izvilvin had learned a significant amount of the common tongue in recent years. In the past he might have confused Duffy's proposal and focused solely on the fact that the human drew his blade. "This is acceptable," he responded, sheathing his own enchanted swords in a sign of good faith. Perhaps not the smartest approach, he realized, but if it would set the jittery thief at ease it might make things that much easier.

Taking Duffy in was enough to sate Izvilvin's wounded conscience, anyway. Radasanthian citizens would be safe from the human's sticky, exploratory fingers for a short time before he was once again at large, but the point wasn't to end the man's life. Every now and again, he would turn around to check behind him, looking for Izvilvin and doubting, even just slightly, the lifestyle he'd chosen.

A gentle breeze tussled their clothing and hair, scattered dust and dirt about the rooftop. Their was commotion below, the result of the crashed wagon - Izvilvin could hear the driver attempting to explain the situation to a mob of angry merchants and their would-be clientelle.

Duffy and Izvilvin would have to make a quick stop on their way to the prison.

[Duffy]

Duffy dropped his jaw in shock at the sound of the drow's blades being sheathed. The lightning, a prominent threat on the horizon of the rooftop cavalcades and hidden sun vistas faded from view and the thief come bard now come negotiator felt his muscles relax and the beating pressure of his heart in it's cage ease away.

He put his own blades away with considerably less finesse, practically shoving the Katarhna back into it's sheath and stuffing blade into cloth without much thought. If he had not been concentrating on trying to remain composed and 'mature,' he might have hewn off his own leg and bled out right there on the rooftop. With a pounce, he limbered up and eased away the last of the stiffness and patted the dust off his shirt from his collision and flight, and stepped forwards.

"Lead on, then? I know not where we go and know not what you will of me," prideful in his defeat, his stage-acting voice returned, a slick repertoire of virulent noble put downs and over pronounced reciprocation. "If we could just briefly visit a place called The Old Harbour Inn that would be excellent. I wish to hide-away this relic of mine which would do the world a great disservice if it fell into the wrong hands in my absence - other than that," he held out his wrists together, mocking the bondage he would serve in order to save his own skin, and that of his pursuer.

"Dishevel my appearance somewhat before we return - for plausibility. Let me act out the rest, me accen' will do most of teh work as nobody likes a posh rogue to be 'ad in the stocks, makes the people rebellious like!" He smiled broadly and was done with his meandering.

At the back of his mind, there was an image - whilst Duffy would become 'that thief in your head' in the drow's mind, the drow had become 'that potential ally' in his - oh the possibilities, oh the adventures, of the majesty they could weave if only he could break through that wall of ice surrounding his morals!


Spoils:

Radasanth Silk - a six foot length of earth red silk, solid and well crafted with golden threads spiralling along it.

Statue - a small, tourist trinket worth no more than 10 gold.

Kendal Cakes - speciality treats made of sugar, peppermint and lemon juice.

[Silence Sei]

• STORY ~


Continuity (5/10) ~ While I had no idea what Duffy was up to other than his regular stealin ways, Izzy saved the continuity score by explaining his self-induced redemptions.

Setting (8/10) ~ The streets of Radasanth have never seemed so busy. Why is it that there’s always a damn cart about to hit –someone- in a chase scene? I also liked Izzy’s mentioning of narrowly avoiding the kid.

Pacing (4/10) ~ This thread suffered some pacing issues. In some posts, there would be hardly anything done, while in others there would be enough for a 15 minute short. I would suggest to the both of you that you think about how many actions you want to put in each post, and use it as your basis from now on.

17/30


• CHARACTER ~

Dialogue (4/10) ~ The dialogue was average, and the only reason the score doesn’t reflect that is because I didn’t realize why Duffy had changed his accents until much later in the thread. Izzy made a passing mention of a Scara Brae accent, but I didn’t make theconnection until Duffy outright said it was his natural tongue. Further, Duffy, when you had your character say "No bar will keep me for long, no chains for an en-eternity - I 'as people in 'igh places and heroics to be gettin' on with.”, the word ‘herorics’ struck me as odd. Why would Duffy keep out the h’s in every other word but that one particular one?

Action (7/10) ~ A threat, a chase, a lightning bolt, and an agreement. Really, you can’t do much better than this. If the thread had been dragged out longer, you may have screwed your pacing score up in order to make a higher action score, but otherwise yall did fine, just fine.

Persona (8/10) ~ I felt Duffy’s carefree attitude and stubbornness throughout the entire thread. Likewise, I could sense Izzy’s determination to stop the crook at all costs. I had just wished that each character would have spent longer stopping to think. While that’s not Duffy’s forte, per se, the had an ample opportunity while recovering in the bed.

19/30
• WRITING STYLE ~

Mechanics (4/10) ~ Izzy, you used a –bunch- of Homonyms, a bunch. You also used Duffy’s name like it was the only thing you knew him by. I suggest you start using some synonyms like ‘the thief, the crook, the actor, the troupe member’ etc etc. Any of these could have been used than just saying ‘Duffy’ as much as you did. Duffy, Izzy’s extreme homonym usage made your two biggest mistakes glaring. The first one was at the beginning of the thread, when you used the word ‘he’d’ outside of dialogue. The second was forgetting to put your quotation mark at the start of one of your sentences around the end. As long as Izzy starts saying stuff like ‘he would’ or ‘could not’ instead of ‘he’d’ and ‘wouldn’t’, your next quest should be awesome.

Technique (6/10) ~ A little alliteration from Duffy, a few good comparisons, nothing all that shabby, really. There was just nothing outstanding either.

Clarity (5/10) ~ Duffy, I could understand you and Izzy just fine for the most part, until it got to Izzy originally cornering Duffy. You started off by putting Duffy in a defensive position, but didn’t shift his feet around or give any indication of what the stance looked like. From that point on, the thread became slightly more confusing, but not too bad. (It took me a minute to realize how Duffy was ‘wall crawling’.)
Wild Card (7/10) ~ I look forward to the sequel, simple enough. Especially once Duffy officially joins the Knights and realizes Izzy is under Sei’s command as well. I smell sitcom!

22/40

Total score: 58/100

Izzy gets 2670 exp, and 315 GP (While Izzy had to reimburst for the cart, turning Duffy in would more than make up for it)

Duffy gets 1950 exp, 100 GP (all the collateral damage is your fault, and you had to pay the gold back, bud), and all spoils approved.

Good job gentlemen.

[Silence Sei]

GP-EXP added.