Dead Ringers

[None So Blind]

dead ring·er
(plural dead ring·ers)
n
1. look-alike: somebody or something that exactly resembles another (informal)
2. telemarketing call cut off automatically: an automatically dialed telemarketing call that cuts off when answered because there is nobody at the sender's end available to deal with it

Encarta ® World English Dictionary © & (P) 1998-2005 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Ontario, California, Earth. 2006

As far as Jeff Kaskett was concerned, he was in prison. The white walls of his room had been making him feel more and more claustrophobic in the last few days. He hated the posters on his wall, the way the eyes of his idols seemed to mock him as he strode around the room. His bed, once so comfortable, was nothing more than a sack stuffed full of rocks, his sheets threatened to choke him, his blanket offering no comfort as the temperature dropped at night. How could he have thought of this place as a sanctuary just two days ago? He’d been staring out the window onto the avenue below, but the smiling faces of his suburban cellmates gave him nothing but a horrible knot in his stomach. With a sigh, he let the Venetian blinds fall to a clattering close and threw himself onto the uncomfortable bed again. He glared at the runners of brightly colored soccer pennants around the top of his walls. They’d been there since he was a child, but for some reason the infantile hobbies that he’d left long ago had only begun to bother him yesterday. He was looking at everything in a new light, including the cordless phone that was half buried in the covers beside him. It loomed with unspoken importance, like the shadows he’d been afraid of when he was five.

He glanced at it now, his heart jumping and his saliva drying in his mouth as he thought - hoped - he’d seen the screen on the handset light up. It turned out to be a trick of the light and with a growl that was more animal than human, he pushed himself off the bed and strode over to the small study desk that was buried under papers, books, and an empty grease-stained pizza box. His laptop came to life as he lifted the top, and only paused for a moment when the full screen image of Julie Newmar sprung to life.

“Sorry, Catwoman.” he muttered as he clicked a small lightning icon on the screen and the detailed techno Win Amp skin popped up, covering his leading lady’s lovely face. After only a moment, a simple drum beat began to fill the room. Head bobbing in rhythm, Jeff crouched down and pulled out a guitar case from under his bed. He sat on the bed, letting his torso bow over it, cradling the instrument as he began to play a melody that slowly became more and more complex as the chords progressed. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and let the music take hold of his troubled spirit. Just as he felt the tension of the last few days start to lessen their hold on his lungs to let him breathe properly, the phone rang, the loud burst of chime cutting into the soothing song. He dropped his guitar, ignoring the pained yelp it made and scrambled across the bed to his phone. It took him two tries to push the ‘talk’ button, but he had answered before the second ring, putting the phone to his ear with a shaking hand.

“Ash?! Ash, are you okay?” Only silence greeted him on the other line, and the response to his cries was a mere faint ‘click’. “Ash…?” Finally, he admitted defeat and hung up the phone, standing with a sigh to put his guitar away. No sooner had he stood, Jeff’s world went dark.


<<<<>>>>

The trees of Anebrilith’s foothills didn’t provide much cover, especially as you got close to the city. This was possibly the most important piece of information that Kor had learned all day. Now he stood before several elven guards, glaring them down in turn. Two of them were staunchly refusing to look below his eyes, but the third didn’t seem to have the self control that his comrades did, looking in awe at the evidence of Kor’s manhood. He found himself in the line of a fiery stare that any member of the Brotherhood’s Shadow would have cringed at.

“Eca…” he began, motioning to the foothills. Kor’s frown deepened and the Drow man crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ú lyë-hanyas…” another said with a puzzled look on his face. At this, Kor sneered, and took a step towards the guards. Three hands immediately went to swords.

“Usstan kampi'un mzild taga dos talinth.” Kor said, letting the horror of hearing the Drow language wash over the elves. A taunting light flickered in his eyes. “Xun dos kampi'un nindol? Nostarilya nar huani.”

Three swords were pulled lightning fast and laid against various places of the Drow’s neck. The faces of the guards were holy terrors, the force of their anger obvious in the shaking of their hands and the steel murder in their eyes. Kor’s smile never faded, nor did he back away. In a tree above him, a bird twittered as if laughing.

I hope they kill you, Ghauntyrr’Stra. the bird told her master, hopping up and down the thin branch. He glanced upwards at her, and then turned his attention back to the elves.

“If you are going to speak to me again, I expect you to speak to me in the Common language.”

“If it keeps you from fouling our words with your evil lips, we will!” said the youngest of the elves, spitting at the ground. One of the older men sheathed his sword and placed his hand on the youth’s shoulder before motioning to the other two to back down.

“Drow,” he said as his partners complied. “We cannot allow you into the city like this. Women and children walk the streets.”

“I just want to go into the market and at least buy some pants.” Kor replied, his tone solid.

“We cannot allow you into the market. It is filled to brimming with shopping women. Wait until tonight, when families are back in their homes.” The man’s voice was just as strong as Kor’s but far more benevolent. The Drow nodded, raising his hands. As he backpedaled into a thicker part of the woods, the guards moved back to their positions. Queen fluttered down from her place in the tree so that she could settle on his shoulder.

“Don’t ever call me Ghauntyrr’Stra again.” Kor said, still watching the retreating guards.

You are the only one who can hear me. I don’t see the difference it will make.

“The name makes me sick.” Kor said quietly as he crouched down low and started moving quickly with the line of the trees. “And it’s not mine, anyway. See this penis? This penis doesn’t belong to a Ghauntyrr’Stra. It belongs to a Kor. And that’s me. Kor.”

Fine, fine….. What are you doing? When you move like this, it’s rough to stay on your shoulder. she ruffled her feathers, letting one emerald and obsidian wing slap against his cheek as she tried to balance herself.

“I need to move fast if I’m going to get some pants.”

But the guards…

“The guards can go and vith themselves.”


{Be gone…
He doesn’t understand us…
I understand more than you think. Do you understand this? Your parents are dogs (in Elvish).}

[INDK]

The Bazaar was hot. Not particularly hotter than most days in Anebrilith this time of year, but it was hot none the less. Damon hated the way that his leather sheath stuck to his sweaty body, it chafed against his skin uncomfortably and made the boy wish that he had somewhere out of the sun to be. However, even in the shade of the large stone wall that surrounded the Bazaar, Damon couldn’t help but wish he had spent his money more wisely so that he would have had enough on him to rent a room for the day.

However, the boy had been capricious, and the fifteen gold coins that Sevviel had given him earlier in the day had ended up spent on a variety of different causes. Some of them, such as giving a few coins to an elderly lady, could have been seen as noble, but Damon knew well enough that Sevviel would not be pleased that he had spent a whole half coin on sugar candy. Another two gold coins had gone to cold drinks, and another still to watching a show. Overall, Damon could have spent his money a lot better.

Now he had one gold coin left, and while it wasn’t enough for even the seediest of Anebrelith’s hotels, Damon figured it could at least provide him with a cold drink. However, the boy felt like he would have to be careful enough with this coin to make up for his poor spending. Thus, with a new sense of discipline, Damon moved past the merchants selling cooled jellies and lemon juice until he found a water seller who had turned part of his stall into a place where his customers could enjoy their drinks in the shade. Damon smiled. Buying his drink here would be a particularly mature decision.

Thus, the boy opened his wallet and held out his gold coin to the shopkeeper the moment he was first in line. However, the shopkeeper, a relatively portly elven man, didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“I’m really sick and tired of these things,” the elf said. “You come here with a coin you’ve picked off the streets and you want to buy a drink… how do I know the man who owns that isn’t somewhere around here looking for you.”

Damon sighed. He certainly looked a bit like a ruffian. His clothes were in poor shape, and they clung to his body thanks to the sweat. However, Damon couldn’t help but feel a bit cheated. Had he looked more like how he had before his reincarnation, back when he was the General of all of Raiaera and known throughout the land for his exploits, no one would have disrespected him in the same way.

Normally Damon would have let the incident pass, but he wasn’t in that kind of a mood. Thus, he spoke up to the merchant, clearing his throat before speaking in a calm, but mildly eerie, tone. “Sir, I came here because I have enough gold to buy a drink,” he began. “It is hot out here, and I just want a cold glass and some shade. Since I can pay for it, what’s the problem?”

The merchant scowled. “I’ll call Tel’Aglarim…” the merchant warned.

Damon sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t worth a fight with the Raiaeran army that he had once controlled. The humiliation of that would be worse than the humiliation of the merchant.

“Fine,” Damon said. He threw the coin at the merchant’s face and walked away bitterly. “By the way he was treating me, I’d have thought I wasn’t wearing any pants…”

The boy had no idea how ironic that thought was about to be.

[None So Blind]

Sasha Emelien stood in the shade of the tailor's shop, just beside the market wall. She was still embarrassed from the incident earlier in the day; she had left the house, her aging mind forgetting her pocketbook, and found herself coming short when it came to pay the tailor's bill. A lovely young man had stepped up to help her, however, and now she clutched a pair of denim pants that had been stone washed in black dye. The overall effect was a deep charcoal grey, with darker markings on the hemlines. Her tall grandson had just gotten through his training and was now a guardsmen along the border of Raiaera and Alerar. The pants were a reward for proudly following in the family tradition of Tel'Aglarim warriors.

"I like those..." Kor muttered as he watched the woman from where he clung to the top of the wall. There had been several handy spaces to put his feet in his rise to the top. Now he had the perfect perch to watch the woman, and as soon as the tailor left her in the shade, going to help another customer, he made his move. Swinging his body over the wall, he fell beside the woman in a crouch. She jumped back, a strangled yelp moving from her throat as she watched the muscled Drow assume his full height. Her eyes widened, and she began to backpedal, her mouth opening and closing as if she were daring herself to call for the guards, but finding the courage falling short.

Kor grinned as he stalked towards her, ripping the denim clothing from her arthritic fingers. He let them unfold and pressed them against the front of his body, checking the length and width against his own frame. After a moment, he nodded with satisfaction and slipped them on. They were a bit loose around the waist, but it was the man's philosophy that they would do in a pinch and that there were belts for that sort of thing. An idea shaped into his head and he looked at the woman with appraising eyes. She had yet to say anything, and seemed mostly amazed at the turn of events.

"Old woman," he asked, "How long is your hair?" She blinked at him with confusion and then started to look around. She was seeking a saviour, or maybe just cannon fodder at this point. As she turned her head away, Kor reached out and snatched the comb that held up her bun, her locks tumbling down around her face.

"Hey!" she managed to shriek as he discarded the comb like a piece of trash, "You can't do that!" He ignored her, however, as he reached over to the tailor's stand and picked up a pair of silver scissors. The tailor had yet to notice anything going on, though the man he'd was currently taking measurements of was staring in awed shock. Things like this certainly had never happened in Anebrilith before. His silence ended, when Kor reached over and took hold of the woman's waist-length hair, and chopped most of it off in one swipe.

"Hey! Someone get the Tel'Algrim!" the man shouted, the tailor turning in shock to see what the commotion was about. As Kor began to thread the hair through the belt loops of the pants, the sound of armored feet rang through the square.

"Oh, vith..." Kor muttered as he tied the hair into a knot, keeping the waist of the pants secured firmly around his hips. With a flick of his wrists, the scissors were snapped open, and he held them like a blade. "Why did you have to go and do a thing like that?" he asked the man as he kicked the crying woman away from him. "Now you've just gone and ruined a good day."

As the voices of the guards rang around them, Kor thrust the scissors into the pockets of his new pants and began to run like hell, shoving the patrons of the market aside as he made for the main gates.

[INDK]

Damon wasn’t always the most lawful type. He stole when convenient, and showed little to no regard for the fact that he was supposed to stay away from the Obsidian Spire. Normally, he wouldn’t have even been all that concerned about someone stealing from a tailor, especially after the way that the man in the drinks shop had treated him. However, there were certain things that no one who considered themselves a hero could tolerate, and one of them was an innocent old woman screaming for justice. Immediately, Damon forgot about the soft bigotry he had experienced at the bazaar and quickly leapt into the fray. There were Tel’Aglarim soldiers all around the place, but most of them were clad in armor and they were all disorganized. Damon was younger, faster and had a position of advantage in catching up with the drow.

Thus, without any hesitation, Damon began to get moving. He ran straight past the shops, slowing down only for a moment as he passed the tailor’s shop just to make sure that the old woman was alright.

“He even kicked her,” Damon thought angrily. “That didn’t help him escape, that was just mean…” He wondered now if what Sevviel always said about dark elves was true. From her account of history, she had been beleaguered even by one of the most civilized dark elves, a former captain of the Brotherhood’s Shadow division.

As Tel’Aglarim soldiers began to shed their armor and heavy weaponry, it seemed like none of them would have the same chance in getting to the dark elf as Damon would. However, the Tel’Aglarim did have a few advantages on their side. While Damon was busy chasing, the soldiers were attempting to seal off the gate. That way, the dark elf couldn’t leave.

The situation was beginning to seem out of hand. This was likely nothing more than a simple case of thievery, but the way that people were carrying on in the bazaar, it would have seemed like the entirety of Alerar had invaded. People were cursing dark elves, and others were talking about how Raiaera could never be safe as long as their wicked neighbors continued to exist. Oddly enough, not nearly as many people seemed concerned about the fact they had just encountered a half naked stranger. Thus, as Damon continued after the dark elf, he knew he was going to have to catch the thief soon if he wanted to avoid complete chaos in the city. Closing the gates might keep the thief locked in, but the cost of a pair of pants might seem cheap compared to the pandemonium that might happen otherwise.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop!” Damon demanded, wondering why he bothered shouting after the thief when he was going to need his breath.

[None So Blind]

"Vith!" Kor repeated as he saw the guards posted at the gates. The doors were already beginning to swing closed, so he changed his path, moving to the side. A young girl, carefully taking buckets of water just pulled from the well, was crossing the street when she found a heavy hand on her shoulder. Kor grabbed her blouse and flung her sideways, ignoring the yelp of surprise or the crashing of the buckets against the sidewalk. Water cascaded at his heels as he ran down the street. A couple of guards moved in front of him from the alleyway and he pulled the tailor's scissors fast, burying the sharp edge deep into a guard's forearm as the man tried to clutch at the Drow. Abandoning the temporary weapons, Kor again changed directions.

A baker was watching with amazement as the dark skinned elf jumped over a small cart and made for his stand. There was no time to save the freshly baked rolls when one dark bare foot slammed onto the top of the wares, sending baguettes flying. A stream of cream filling hit the baker square between the eyes before he ever realized that the Drow had just used his stall to scale up the side of the building he sat beside. Once on the roofs, he jumped three alleys and found himself heaving heavily as he came down on the fourth building. He was only dimly aware that he was not, indeed, far from where he had started, and leaned up against the large chimney that graced the roof, catching his breath. Queen soared over his head and came to light on his knee.

It will only serve you right if you get caught. she said haughtily, and not being able to find the strength to swat her away, Kor leaned his head back and gulped in air instead. He would need to start running again soon if he was going to be able to get away from the youth that seemed to have needed to pursue him as well. While Kor didn't put much store in the intelligence of the city guard, there was something vaguely familiar about the boy he had seen. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes, intent only on staying a few moments longer.