Of Thieves and Myths...

[Dissinger]

(Closed to those recruited)

They said it couldn't be done, that the museum was impregnable, that no one could get out alive with stolen loot. They chuckled at the thought of common thieves ever walking out with artifacts from the depths of Althanian history. They reassured the government of Fallien that their treasures would be safe, and the Jya accepted their words as fact.

However, fate has a funny way of destroying pride. One minute you could be the most renowned person, the next you are reviled. It was the ultimate indian giver, often taking back as quickly as it gave, and today was another example of the foolishness of human pride. As the guards circled through the Museum, a man entered under a woolen cloak. His face was calm and passive, but never quite passive enough. His eyes searched and researched, scanning each room slowly as they seemed to drink in the details.

He moved swiftly for there was something here. It wasn't anyone's but his. His family had paid in blood to recieve the gift, and now he would reclaim what was rightfully his. An artifact of great power, surely it would be somewhere on display, it was after all gaudy and made of what seemed like silver. As he moved through the first qaurter he saw the records that showed the fight between Antioch and Corone, talking of how Corone spared Antioch from its wrath, causing the man to snort derisivly.

As he continued to move he saw other pieces of information dating back to the Demon wars of thousands of years ago. Books and trinkets were around, talking of how people foolishly bought them in an effort to believe such trivial thigns would ward off the demons of Haidia. The talk of life back then was laughable as charlatans abounded in such conditions. He moved past them in an effort to keep himself from being noteworthy as he moved through the crowds. Making his way casually to the Fallien exhibit.

It was here he began the search for it, surely he would find it. It had been lost for centuries, and now it was time for it to return home...

[Andrew]

After strolling into the museum in his full ceremonial plate, clear as day, Luryll wondered what all of the guards were for. What good are door guards when armed men are allowed to frolic freely amongst the priceless artifacts? He considered the possibility that Sonya's uncle has passed along his description when he had agreed to go along with their plan. It was only briefly, of course, because the old (by human standards) man had impressed upon all who would listen the importance of secrecy.

Sonya's uncle, whatever his name was, was a historian. He had plans to study the exhibit extensively, after the rush of the initial opening died down. He also wanted to make sure that the exhibit went well, so that the museum could continue to arrange such things with foreign lands. His health prevented him from traveling himself, so he had to let the artifacts come to him. He was a very selfish man, and Luryll could appreciate that. he could also appreciate numbers; numbers like the one that the old man quoted to Luryll as a reward when he asked for the elf's help.

It sounded to Luryll like it would be easy money. Sonya's uncle had gone on about rumors. Rumors that there was one who would claim the artifacts for himself. Rumors that the one was mightily powerful. Rumors that the officials seemed to be largely ignoring. Luryll could see why, too. The rumors were vague and unfounded. Most of the claims were ridiculous. Still, he was going to be paid a great deal of money to be an unofficial guard for the night; the least he could do was show up.

Luryll didn't actually know what artifact was supposed to be targeted, so he decided to just stroll around for a while. He figured that any attempted theft would cause quite a ruckus, so he didn't need to try to be everywhere at once.

In the first gallery he entered, Luryll saw: a man in a cloak, just passing through; a pimply teenage boy, staring at one of the nude paintings; an old merchant, resting on a stone bench; and an exquisitely painted nude of a woman doing a somersault. She reminded him of Sonya.

[Storm Veritas]

Marble, granite, brass and gold. All of it encompassed one singular theme: money, and lots of it. The lavish spectacle that was Radasanth’s museum came largely on the public dime, and served as the pride of the great city. The opulent enjoyed the palatial art display case, the towering ceilings and looming halls. The poor merely paid for it, with countless overblown citations for public intoxication, solicitation, and other such petty offenses.

He sat on a hard stone bench, which looked brilliant but lacked the functionality of comfort that such a seat should afford. With long black hair pulled tight against his head, his not quite Nordic features stood out. Strong cheekbones, a distinct jaw, and deep set grey eyes between the long and aquiline nose. With his three piece herringbone suit fresh from the tailor, he looked all the part of the aristocrat. Of course, his actions may have sabotaged his appearance.

That’s enough of this nonsense. I’ll be waiting here all goddamned day at this rate.

He pulled a long, freshly rolled cigarette from his pocket, pursing it between his lips. He cupped an imaginary lighter behind a shielded hand and snapped his fingers, the electric arc more than sufficient to light the paper tip. The first pull was smooth – it always was – and he inhaled sharply, savoring that relaxing buzz hitting him all in one awesome wave. Smoking was starting to move out of favor with the noble elite, and there were rumors that it may soon be banned from public buildings. The thought was ludicrous; no one could tell him when and when not to poison himself.

The glares he received were not those of the laissez faire folk who knew what was best for them. Several interlopers seemed put-off by the rich tobacco aroma, obviously fools who didn’t understand how to relax. One heavy-set woman gave him stare of disdain, a furrowed brow that reminded Veritas of a pouting child. Her disapproval was overwhelming, and she even walked towards him, the idea of chastising him on her face. She’d never get the chance.

“Save it, heifer. I smoke these to deal with people like you. Believe me, you’re better off a touch uncomfortable and me sedated than the other way around. I’d tell you to eat me, but you look all-too up to the challenge.”

He smiled at the piggish woman with a condescending chuckle, and turned just as matter of factly to walk away. Soon enough, she’d be a distant memory. The tour group would usher through, and he’d be on his way. Soon enough, he’d be a very, very rich man.

[Beauty]

Slave walked behind and slightly to the left of Lord Gregory Carth. He was in a relatively good mood today, though she could tell it was rapidly declining. She had learned the warning signs a long time ago when she had still been a small child. His normally cold eyes would somehow become colder, his movements more abrupt and his tone of voice carried undertones of angry resentment that the world had failed to entertain him once again.

They were in the halls of a large museum. Slave had never been in one before and looked around in wide-eyed wonder at the many things held in glass cases. Each display had a placard with funny markings on them, but she did not understand them. Her long brown hair swirled around her knees as she walked, covering up her hindquarters much better than the skimpy piece of cloth that she had to use for a dress. It was obviously too small for her, but she knew better than to ask for things from her master.

The tall elven lord ahead of her cast his eyes this way and that. There were not very many things here that entertained him in the slightest. That was until he came across weaponry of the finest caliber. The placards all claimed that the many different swords, daggers, axes and more were from ancient times and had a variety of different enchantments on them. Carth shrugged the last part off. Enchantments were for weaklings and he had little respect for those that used them.

One sword in particular caught his eye. It was made of prevalida and styled much like the rapier he wore at his waist. The hilt was magnificently carved and encrusted with the finest rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and sapphires he’d ever seen. He stared at it, enraptured by its beauty.

Slave stepped up beside him to see what had merited such interest from her master and gave a low gasp of awe. She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life and was quite amazed that such a thing existed. It did not hold her attention for long though, she had no use for such a thing as a sword. Bored now, she stood patiently by for Carth to get tired of looking at something he could not have and move on.

[Dissinger]

The man walked around his steps soft and slow. Each step a deliberate action as he looked around not just the museum's artifacts, but the architecture itself. This would not be anywhere near what he wanted yet he continued to move about almost as if to study the place. Moving to each case in turn he glanced within the Fallien artifacts until he stopped at one, transfixed by the sight before him.

A pendant almost seeming to be liquid metal was hanging in a case. It was small, almost the size of an arrowhead, yet held a grace all of its own. He seemed to look at the artifact a long time before he broke his gaze with it. Looking around he saw a few people but no one standing out. It was with a sigh he looked once more at the case. He knew that it was probably enchanted to alert the guards when tampered with, let alone broken. With a final glance at the pendant he moved about once more, seeming to mingle in with the crowd.

Once again his steps were deliberate and pre planned, his gaze searching and researching. As he moved about he caught sight of a man smoking, and couldn't help a feeling of de-ja-vu overcome him. Moving back into the Fallien exhibit he moved about trying to go the other way. It was a risky endeavor entering the public eye for such a feat as the one he was about to try, and he couldn't afford to screw it up. This would surely be his first and last shot at reclaiming his heritage.

Moving slowly he looked around trying to find anything for a distraction before he heard the voice, "Such a beastly man, thinking he can smoke in a public area. I have half a mind to complain to the Minister of Justice herself. She is my uncle's cousin after all..."

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle..." The man muttered as he moved to not attract attention to himself, while a soft smirk lit up his face. This could be the distraction he needed. Waiting he saw the portly woman trudge on grumbling about a man who was smoking, sounding very similar to the man that he had been trying to avoid.

With a graceful move well executed and timed the man walked up to the noble and said calmly, "Madame, I hope you are not upset with the current state of the display..."

"I think it would be better if you damn Corone Rangers would keep the riff raff out of these places. To think, a thief could walk in here and take anything. Really there must be something done, like a fee to enter or something similar," She said only giving him a glance.

The smirk on the man became a grin before he hid it, masking his voice a little he spoke in a bit more gruff voice, sounding like the seasoned men of Corone's Finest, "Well Madame, while I cannot control who enters, I can accompany you and clear the rooms if need be. Surely with one of your stature it wouldn’t be that hard a task."

"I would appreciate that greatly yes..." The woman said as she held out her arm. The man smiled cordially as he hooked his arm in hers and began to walk with her through the museum playing the part she had given him, for the best lies were the ones left unspoken.

[Andrew]

In the back of his head, Luryll crossed the smoking man off of his list of patrons who might be "Seth Dahlios." He would have been irritated at Sonya's uncle for giving him such a lack of description if he actually thought that a robbery was going to take place. As it was, he just kept that list, slowly marking people off as they did things to disqualify themselves.

The smoking man got knocked off for drawing so much attention to himself. The two elves and the dwarf were knocked off because Seth wasn't supposed to be of those races. The door guards got knocked off for being so bloody inept. All of the women were off the list. The old merchant was off, because he barely looked fit enough to lift himself, much less an artifact. The pimply boy was clearly not the "legendary" Seth Dahlios. Unfortunately, plenty of the patrons fit the broad range, so he couldn't just eliminate it down to one and move in. Or, it would have been unfortunate, but for the aforementioned lack of concern.

Luryll wondered how the model had been able to remain still in mid-somersault long enough for the artist to paint her. "Perhaps they used wires," he said quietly to himself."

His eyes lit up briefly, after allowing his mind to follow that train of thought, and he made a not on a different mental list. This other mental list was somewhat closer to the front of his head than the list of potential thieves. He decided to move on to a different room of the exhibit while he pondered the logistics of his latest idea.

[Storm Veritas]

The fat sow of a woman was ushered off, taken by the arm of a far-too-strapping young man. Storm was taken by this development, instantly pontificating the rationale for such a young and capable man to equate himself with such a behemoth. He could have been security, Veritas supposed, but he looked a bit too slight. Generally security types around here were enormous; mountainous men who looked the part, if they lacked the brainpower or real ability to compete with the vast array of muties and wizards who haunted the place. He looked too young to be a curator; the hallowed halls of Radasanth discriminated almost solely by age, leaving old fools to tell half – twisted and otherwise false tales are the true stories of things that happened when they were young and dinosaurs roamed the earth.

I keep my eyes open for you, stranger. Either you’re a chubby chaser or something’s awry, and I’m not putting too much f*cking stake in the latter.

Another man walked in and around, eyes glancing, darting, head moving in a scanning fashion. He wasn’t people watching; he was people checking. Storm knew that he was looking for someone, trying to find a face. The furtive movements of the tall and intimidating presence were a long way from discrete. This one was like him as well; not security, at least not museum hired. Veritas merely glared out and about, another smooth drag of the cigarette relaxing him. He didn’t look at the man, nor would he look away.

This doesn’t feel right. Something is definitely wrong here.

However things were working, he tried to discern between a healthy paranoia and the chance that something really was wrong here. There were only a few strange occurrences, but that was a few more than what he was typically accustomed to. His surveillance had been tiresome and tedious, and he had learned that the Grande Museum de Radasanthe was generally as predictable as clockwork, as reliable as death and taxes. He sat, observed, and waited.

No… something is definitely entirely f*cked up here.

[Beauty]

Carth eventually grew tired of the jewel-hilted sword and moved on to see the displays of paintings. Here he found what he considered to be the most beautiful art of all. Many of the paintings he found here were of women that were either nude or partially nude. Of course, not all the paintings were like that, but he didn’t care about those paintings.

He stopped in front of one painting of a naked woman dancing in starlight. He gazed long at it, his imagination doing many naughty things as his eyes drank in the painting’s colors and curves, especially the curves.

Slave moved with her master, but was not enjoying herself much. The paintings were pretty enough, but were not interesting to the young, uneducated woman. Seeing that her master was much involved with gazing at the painting, she took the opportunity to look around her and see what else was hanging on the walls.

There were other paintings, some of things that looked like they were spun out of the imagination of someone that was quite drunk, others were of delicate fairies and butterflies. She saw a few statues in another room, but passed quickly passed over them. Statues were even more boring than weapons and painting of naked women.

At last seeing everything that might possibly interest her on the walls, the young woman took to people watching. There were many people to see. Women, men, and children all far better dressed than she roamed to and fro throughout the rooms. The children often made faces or pointed, then their mothers would shield the children’s eyes and lead them away, a look of disgust on their parental faces.

Slave did not understand why the children made faces at her or why their parents covered the eyes of the children when she was seen. It didn’t bother her, however that was only because she did not understand that the mothers and fathers found her dress scanty and inappropriate. Shrugging, she glanced back at her master. He was still completely engrossed in looking at the painting and his naughty, erotic imaginings about the woman in the painting.

[Dissinger]

The enormous lady and her "personal guard" moved about the Museum slowly as he looked around slowly. His eyes never missing a beat he smirked as he said, "Well now the history of Antioch."

She stopped looking at the bell of the ship that had brought the traitors on loan from the Bibliopolis, and it was at that moment the man disengaged from his charge. Looking about he saw a chandelier held aloft by a rope, one of numerous such objects, however it was this that interested him as he discretely pulled a lung popper the weapon blacked knife hiding as he inspected the rope.

"Is everything alright Ranger?" The woman barked.

"Checking for something Mi'lady that’s all..." He said as he made the pretense to check the rope, moving the knife to neatly slice through a few strands of the rope. The chandelier rocked gently but otherwise showed no sign of tampering as he moved, knowing that it was only a matter of time when the chandelier fell. Witht he weakening of the rope, and undoubtedly with the pressure the chandelier was putting on it, he would not even have to be around as the rope slowly frayed, and snapped in twine.

Moving back after again subtly holstering the throwing knife he moved back to the noble hiding a look of distaste as he once more took her arm. She then looked at him, "So, what was the problem?"

"I wasn't sure if they tied it tight enough. I merely made sure and came back...tis all Mi'lady," Was his polite response as they moved on. She continued through the realm until once more they were in the room of rather pornographic art. The man sighed as they continued past statues and paintings the fat woman trying to entertain him with useless facts about the art.

[Storm Veritas]

His own cynical suspicions yielded to a successful premonition, as the furtive actions in his periphery were simply too much to ignore. Too many whispers, too many dodgy glances and suspicious, upturned noses. Too many coincidences. He would have to improvise his plan, because things were definitely not working out according to his own personal blueprint.

Where’s my guard, to let me to the breaker box? Where’s that tour group after this to usher out the current group? What the f*ck is going on?

It was ruined for him, and he sat on the stone bench with a stoic face, trying to the best of his ability to avoid screaming in fury. All the money spent on surveillance and intelligence. All the time planning out the guard routes, perfecting the tour group timing. The exacting of the target, the cherry original print that would fetch millions, and the assurance that he could beat the security system with an outage, a little confusion, and some speed. All ruined.

This is f*cking unbelievable. Someone is going to die for this. Someone is going to pay for this aggravation. No goddamned excuse..

Despite the fact that he was positively boiling, he had to keep his composure. Maintaining a steady disposition was key, for he would have to come back. There would be another opportunity, and getting there would take less time than the first, less planning, less preparation. He needed only figure out exactly what had ruined his plan.

There would be nothing obvious, nothing glaring. If security had changed its patrol timing, they wouldn’t advertise it. If the tour group had shifted their schedule, he would have known about it. Whoever got to his inside man certainly wasn’t about to disclose themselves. There would be something subtle, something superficial.

A glint from the corner of his eye, and he looked up to the crystal chandelier overhead, as it rocked back and forth. A quick scan about the support trellis, and a rope was fast fraying. The yield would be imminent, the chandelier would swing, and fall. Storm made for the wall in a smooth but not frantic clip, a steady stride as he swore himself a blue streak. He had misread the situation terribly.

Something subtle, or a massive chandelier crashing to the floor. Good call, asshole.

[Beauty]

Slave was getting bored. She also needed to find a lady’s room. She waited for a little while longer, intending to ask permission when Carth moved on to another painting. That however, was proving to be futile. At last she could wait no longer and tugged on his sleeve hesitantly.

“Master? Master, Slave needs to go to the bathroom,” she told him in a whisper.

“Yes, yes, whatever, but hurry back.”

His reply was absentminded, as if he barely realized that she was leaving his side. He was far more interested in the picture than in the bodily needs of his slave. As soon as he had replied, his mind was instantly back to its former place of erotic imaginings.

Slave whispered a “thank you” and hurried off in search of the sign she had seen earlier that pointed the way to a public restroom. She found it easily enough, relieve to find it before it was too late.

When she came out again, she looked around a little confused. In her haste to get to the bathroom, she had neglected to pay attention to exactly where she was going. As a result, she was not quite lost. Figuring that her master would find her eventually if she did not find him first, she began to wander through the museum, trying to find her way back.

She stopped frequently to look at elegantly carved wood and beautiful masonry. She wondered how the people made the stone look like other people, but was too afraid to ask anyone. She wasn’t supposed to talk to people without her master’s permission and she was afraid that if she asked, he would catch her and punish her.

A very light chinking sound came from above her and she looked up to see a beautiful chandelier. She stood there, transfixed by its beauty, completely unaware of anything going on around her. She thought it looked very nice as it moved very gently back and forth, not realizing that it wasn’t supposed to move at all.

[Dissinger]

The woman lead him into the Fallien exhibit as they moved from case to case. It wasn't until they had reached the amulet that had transfixed the man that she stopped and gasped. Looking at him she read the placard before she said, "Why, this is beautiful, I wonder who could have made such a beautiful piece of jewelry."

"Lazarus the Artificer, back during the Demon Wars to combat the demons that had been plaguing Reven..." The man replied looking hungrily at the amulet.

The ladies head turned as she said softly, "You know about this thing?"

"Know about it? It’s my birthright..." He replied as a gauntleted hand gently touched the glass caressing it.

"If that’s the case young man, let me talk to the curator, surely he'll hand it over after you prove your case," She replied almost consolingly.

The man laughed before he said, "I doubt that, I seriously do."

"I'll offer money for it, I'll get it for you, and you are after all such a nice sweet man..."

"For the love of god, you're ruining the moment, shut up you fat stuck up Coronian pig!" He snapped.

"Wh-wh-what?"

"Why on earth would I pay for something?" He said firmly.

Back in the room with the chandelier he tampered the guards were starting to clear the people out from near the chandelier, its rocking had become much more frantic as it began to dip and stop short of falling, still high up. A few people shrieked at the sight before it finally gave and in a rather dazzling display shattered splashing hot oil everywhere as the guards pushed down anyone who could.

In the Fallien exhibit the man smirked hearing the crash before he flexed his hand into a fist and punched forward, shattering the glass and with a satisfactory smile, grasped the amulet. Pulling his hand out he also reached in and grabbed another necklace, far less flashy and placed it in the befuddled nobles hands before he said, "Good luck pig, hope the necklace fits." He then gave her a wink and moved swiftly for the exit going the long way around to the exit.

[Andrew]

"Well, that was unexpected," Luryll thought to himself as he watched a man put his fist through one of the displays, "someone that infamous should really either be more eloquent or completely gruff."

Luryll waited for the man he presumed to be Dissinger to leave the room with the amulet before drawing his sword. He wanted to avoid alerting the man to his pressence with the sound of his blade being drawn, after all. Once the blade had been drawn, he said to the baffled noble, "charity is wasted on villians, madame. You should choose your friends more wisely in the future. My name is Luryll. Look me up."

He then strode quickly after his Lavinian prey. With his long legs, he quickly made up the head start that Dissinger had recieved. Without so much as a warning, he swung his blade in a wide arc that would, barring the unforseen, sever both of the man's Achiles tendons.

[Storm Veritas]

Pleasant chaos, the best friend of thieves…

Improvisation was the king of scoundrels, and the planning that had created an opportunity such as today would not be forsaken. Veritas refused it; having planned far too long and worked through far too many details to simply squander the opportunity. The guards were few and far between, the rotation of shift to his precious prize coming soon.

With one more swing, the chandelier fell, Storm eying a guard who was peering a bit too long at the incoming disaster. He moved quickly, as he heard the whispers grow to cries, and eyes and fingers pointed at the precariously dancing light. It fell with a stark suddenness, lacking the graceful path and instead collapsing as though dead, hitting the floor in a terrible smash. A spray of crystal shrapnel flew through the large atrium, and the richer crust of Radasanth shrieked in horror. The guard was moving quickly for his baton when Veritas reached him. The burly, tanned security agent never stood a chance. A single hard punch to the kidney, and Storm was behind him, driving a long, thin stiletto behind his collarbone as the large man fell. He was dead before he hit the floor, and Storm took the keys from his pocket with great speed and deft, quiet hands. Dragging the man two steps to the bathroom, there was not likely more than one or two people that could have seen any of it.

Work quickly. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Work f*cking fast!!!

He couldn’t simply take the clothes of the guard now, the white pressed shirt was stained through the neck with blood. Dragging him through the bathroom to a single stall, he was glad he had used the thrust strike instead of a sweeping slash. The blood loss was minimal, and there were still some options. Plopping the beastly man on the tile floor, he unbuckled his pants, incredibly pleased that no one else had gotten up to take a leak.

The coat came off first; the striking set point to his three-piece suit finished the look and gave a general “gray” color to Storm, unlike the white shirt that sat underneath. His pants were quickly swapped out with those of the security guard. The coat went over the shoulders of the guard, concealing the spreading crimson as the wily mage propped him up on the toilet. Veritas’ pants easily fit around the man’s ankles, although forcing them over rugged, beaten shoes was not easy. Switching shoes was a thought as well, but Storm assessed that speed and comfort would be more beneficial than a completed look at the expense of mobility.

Almost there.

His look was close. With white rolled sleeves and black pants mismatched from brown shoes, and terrible black suspenders up over his shoulders, he had come close to transforming from the fastidious salesman to something far more blue collar. The pants of the security agent were fortunately unsoiled, and while they were too large for the wiry Veritas, the baggy look fit the pauper attire even better. The hair, however, gave him away.

Retrieving a small bottle from his shirt pocket, he turned on the faucet to the sink as he rubbed his wetted fingers through gelled hair, softening and detaching the freshly slicked look. In seconds, he had pressed the contents of the bottle through his hair, which now hung roughly about him in a very non-descript brown – black. The sheen, luster, and fire was gone, and the sharp edges of the man were sacrificed for a man who looked at home with a toolbelt. Not that the daggers were missing beneath hip pockets, mind you; one still painted his thigh scarlet beneath the “new” pants.

Good God… you look like a goddamned loser. You’ll fit right in.

He pushed to the door, a nod and a forced, feigned smile to a man who entered, intent on relieving himself with a quick leak. The door to the last stall was locked, and save for a bit of excess water about the sink and a dead man appearing to struggle with his final deposit, Storm Veritas was effectively gone.

Outside the washroom, people had scattered widely, moving away from the explosive crash and thereby the murder that none had likely seen. Rifling his hand into the large pants, he thumbed his hand over the keys. The smile that now came across him was legitimate. He knew the secret. To have access to such an event was rare, but hidden in plain sight would be the perfect place for all of Radasanth’s worst.

[Beauty]

Slave moved back a little as the museum guards cleared the area a bit. She didn’t understand at first why they were making everyone move, but she didn’t want to get in trouble. She looked back up at the chandelier, completely entranced by its beauty. She had quite forgotten about going immediately back to her master.

Then, it fell.

The young woman screamed shrilly as it fell and tried to dodge back. Even so a tiny shard of crystal flew past her cheek, grazing it slightly. She put her hand to her cheek and screamed again at the sight of blood on her fingers. The cut was scarcely deep enough to bleed at all, but she was not aware of that. She was aware only of the fact that she was bleeding and there was a ton of crystal shards all around her.


In the paintings area, the loud crash at last drew Carth’s attention from the painting he’d been ogling. He also finally realized that Slave was not standing beside him. He remembered vaguely that she’d asked him something, but he could not remember what or when she’d asked him.

Anger began to course through him that Slave had not returned yet. He did not care one whit about the shattered chandelier or anything else that was happening in the museum, he wanted only to find his missing slave.

Slave was now very much afraid and began to carefully pick her way away from the fallen chandelier. Once she was clear of the crystal littering the floor, she picked up the pace, looking frantically for her master. She was in such a hurry that she did not even see the man until she bumped into him, nearly falling down from the impact. Without thought, she began to apologize, being careful not to look at the person she had bumped into.

“Sorry! Sorry! Slave is sorry! Please don’t hurt her!”

[Dissinger]

Seth however heard the words of the man to the fat lady. He was well beyond ready to void anything the man would do when he began his stride in an attempt to catch the thief off guard. Seth however, was far from it, as once you had stolen something paranoia became a fast friend, allowing him to keep his guard up. The mans sword glinted slightly in his peripheral as he stole a glance over his shoulder, You'd think someone trying to guard the Museum would know better than to sneak up on a world class thief...

Into the hallways they went when the sword was swung, and in a practiced maneuver Seth leapt forward, only to watch as a young woman, in nothing more than a potato sack bumped into him. The slash managed to graze his boots and nick into his feet causing him to ignore the pain as he looked sharply at the quickly bumbling and apologizing slave.

Seeing the opportunity before him he moved quickly as he grabbed the girl pulling her close to him as he slide behind her and with a quick flourish pulled the knife and brought it to the girl’s throat. Moving slowly backwards he growled, "Alright chump, you want to play hero, then her bloods on your hands if you don't drop the sword and back away..."

His steel grey eyes met with the would-be hero's own as he waited for his reply. He didn't care what the man would do, he wanted to get out of here with his freedom intact. Unfortunately he had to do, perhaps the worst play in the book, remembering back to Darith's and even Justin Revan, his dead mentor’s instruction.

Hostage situations are more trouble than their worth, only use them if you're buried in people and cornered. A good thief should never have to rely on this trick... They had chided him.

Looks like you got a lot to learn Seth, he grudgingly admitted to himself as he awaited the man's reaction.

[Andrew]

In the mind of Luryll K'Ou, slaves were property, and not actually people. Especially slaves who spoke with such pathetic syntax and grammar as the one shielding his prey. He was, however, aware that not everybody shared his beliefs, so he couldn't just run her through to get at the man behind her, which was the strategy that appealed to him most. Besides which, she was quite the ornament, as property went.

He did not have time to think back to his combat training in the homeland, if he wanted to succeed at his task. Even if he had, the elves were soft, and probably would have had him do as the man said. That was the strategy that appealed to him the least.

In a single movement, Luryll stepped forward while delivering a thrust towards Dissinger's face. The Lavinian was nine inches taller than his little human shield. Whatever risk there was of accidentally hitting the slave woman was acceptably deniable, in case anyone asked.

He said, as his chromelike blade flew through the air, "why would I have to play at being a hero? It's what I am." Only the intensity of the situation kept him from laughing out loud at his own lie.

[Storm Veritas]

Things were working out well. In fact, he assured himself that things were working far too well. Doing his best to assume to posture of a frightened, stunned observer, Storm exited the bathroom in his new garb, geared to appear the role of everyman. He was only at the door when he saw a melee break loose, one of the more “interesting” characters being lured to the hallway to help some trifling woman. There was chaos here, and it was just enough to allow for free movement.

It was anarchy. The pristine floor of the museum was a battlefield; the only quiet folks the sword swingers and captive alike. The bystanders were anything but silent; their voiceless cries building into a singular raucous roar. The pleasant play of piano that usually filled the halls was gone, and authoritarian shouts and yells from guards attempting to diffuse the situation were doing more harm than good.

Out of the frying pan, into the frier… Absolute perfect place to cook.

He could move quickly, seeming to shuffle with his chest to the action, palms out like a frightened and patent observer. He moved to whisper to someone, saying something meaningless, and trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. He had traveled only forty feet when he had reached his initial destination; a single steel door with the familiar mark of “Employees Only” draped across the header. A single lone chair stood stoic and hollow, the normal guard abandoned in favor of riot control. This was it. It was the target: it HAD to be the target.

Glances shot about the room smoothly, as Veritas tried to assess the entire room without using the fleeting, furtive glances so typical of a suspect criminal. He saw none looking, and took a long deep breath. It was time to dive deeper, time to strike, retrieve, and retreat. It should have been a touch and go operation.

Should be candy from a f*cking baby, but today doesn’t precisely seem like it’s going to run swiss watch clean.

Confidence. The only thing he could project now was the self assuredness that this is where he was supposed to be, and that there was nothing extraordinary about his visit to this otherwise inauspicious room. He stood, pivoted, and slid the key into the lock, first fumbling twice striking metal with the blade before the guard’s key settled into metal tumblers. The first of three keys worked, and he smiled from his soul as he opened the door, one folder of documents away from riches.

A made f*cking man. The pot of gold at the end of the shitstorm.

[Beauty]

Slave whimpered in fear as she was jerked to her feet. She started to cry out for her master, but then felt the sharp edge of the man’s blade at her throat. Not wanting to incite further anger against her, she was careful not to struggle against him and moved as he did.

“Please don’t hurt Slave...”

Her voice was quiet and fearful. Where was her Master? He was supposed to protect her from bad, mean people. She tried to look out of the corner of her eyes for her Master, but she couldn’t see past the other people in the museum. Seeing the other man’s weapon coming toward them, she whimpered again and squeezed her eyes shut.


On the other side of the museum, Carth searched the many faces, trying to find his missing slave. She should have been right back, but she was not. Obviously, she had wandered off instead of coming right back to him. For that disobedience she would need to be punished, but first he had to find her.

[Dissinger]

Son of a... was all he managed before he had to move swiftly pulling the slave with him to the side. As the blade cut across his cheek spilling the blood from the deep wound he growled lowly as he began to move back away from the would-be guard. It was obvious he didn't consider the slave anything of true value, and so the thief had to hunch to make sure the next such blow would surely put the girl in jeopardy as he continued to move the slave girl.

"Alright hot shot, that’s your one free blunder, next time it’s a slit throat and a free trip to prison. You know how nobles get attached to their property..." Seth replied as he moved into the next room. Guards were now starting to show up as Seth found himself cornered almost. Without enough guards he would have to do something desperate in order to get out. Blood continued to drip down, distracting him slightly as he tried to stay ahead of the elf and the guards, keeping them from hurting him further. It was at that time a voice filled his mind, less like the voices of old that would try to seduce him, and much more of a demanding voice.

Alright piss ant why the hell am I in your possession, and who the hell are you? The voice was stern and seemed to be more concerned with his being awoken rather than anything else.

"Great, just what I need a peanut gallery...' He said as a few of the guards had pulled weapons and were beginning to encroach upon the thief.

Care to answer for my question before I make this all go wrong? The voice replied again.

Where the hell is it? Seth though as he looked around searching for the source of the voice. He could have sworn it wasn't there a mere moment ago, before he looked and noticed something startling, the amulet, was gone.

Yeah, just as I though another stupid thief trying to make use of me. Well then, I guess its time to get you caught, hope the hang man gives you a nice thick rope, break your neck before you suffocate... The voice replied.

Oh hell no, I didn't come all his way just to get... Seth was cut off when unexpected a ball and chain fastened around his wrist the chain just long enough to draw his arm down to the ground, and far away form the slave. Groaning as he hit the ground, feeling the strain of his arm trying to stay in its socket he cursed, "Son of a bitch!"

That what you get for messing with the greatest Revanian ever! When they ask you who got you caught, just tell them it was General Karel Dahlios! The voice cried out triumphantly.

"The Hex Magi?" He muttered as he tried to drag the ball managing to get a foot back before he growled, "This is just fucking great..."

One of the guards finally spoke up, "Alright Thief, just drop your weapon and no one will get hurt. You needn't be killed over a few gold..."

Seth looked over at the man before he said, "Well now, it seems I am in a bit of a pickle, lets see how well I can fight with one hand..." He then drew Malice form its holsters when he muttered under his breath, "Just keep it together Dahlios...just keep it together..."

Dahlios? You're a Dahlios? There is no way that's possible, you are far too weak to be one of my offspring...

Shut up, I don't need to hear your incessant bitching at me. If you want me caught, congratulations you got me caught whoever the hell you are. If you would be so kind as to give me my other hand, I'll be more than happy to show you just how much a Dahlios I am...

The voice seemed silent as Seth groaned trying to hold up his dagger defensively as he knelt in an effort to free up some mobility. He had to hope and pray whoever had assaulted him with telepathy and conjured the ball and chain would be merciful and set him free. As he watched the encroaching guard things started looking very dire.

(Go to the thread for instruction on the next round of posts)

[Beauty]

Slave whimpered still as she nearly stumbled with Seth. So far, she had escaped harm from her captor, but how long that would last she didn't know. Now, as he slowed down he started talking, but it wasn't to her and it certainly wasn't to anyone else. Was the bad man crazy?

Quite suddenly she found herself free as the arm that held her was pulled away. Taking her chance, she ran away, dodging between the guards. She wasn't concerned at all about the man that had threatened her life.

"Master? Master, where is Master!?"

She cried out for him as she ran heedlessly through the halls, pushing her way past other people. Then, she saw him. He looked angry, but she was too frightened to worry about him being angry with her.

"Master!!"

Carth looked up at the sound of his slave's voice and began pushing his way toward it. When he got to her, despite his anger at her disappearance, he was surprised to see tears streaming down her face and a bit of blood. Pulling her quickly to him, he began to talk to her in soothing tones.

"Hush now, my pretty one. Tell Master all about what happened. Why didn't you come right back?"

Between sobs and rubbing her teary eyes, Slave began trying to explain all that had happened.

"S-slave tried, Master! Slave got lost and then the big, pretty light fell. Something flew through the air and cut her cheek, it's bleeding! And it hurts a lot! Then a bad man grabbed Slave and held a sharp thing to her throat. He was going to kill Slave! Slave was scared!! She couldn't find her Master!"

"Shhhh, it's okay. Master is here now. Where is the bad man that was so mean to you?"

Slave silently pointed with one hand as Carth stood to his feet. His anger was back, but this time it was not directed at Slave. With the young woman trailing close behind him, he stalked off in the direction of the young person the guards were slowly surrounding.

"Is that him?"

Slave nodded fearfully and stayed behind Carth, afraid that the man might try to pull her away again.

"All right, I'll take care of him. You just calm down, Slave."

[Storm Veritas]

The best way to curse a plan is to note how well it is going.

While this was really no relevant fear of Storm’s – a mix of cynical pessimism and the general anarchy that had besieged the museum compiled anything but smooth order – he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. The turn and click, the swift spin, and he was inside the small closet, usually guarded, usually inaccessible. The information he sought was here, the incriminating evidence. Knowledge of it was dangerous enough; possession of these papers was downright death-defying. Yet they did exist, and were there for the taking. The only question which lingered in Storm’s brain was ”why?”.

You come into possession of evidence that can extort untold riches and keep it in a f*cking janitor’s closet? Sure, no one thinks to look, but WHY? Why not hide it in a safe, a vault, some underground passage, some place under your bed? Why expose it in a public place.

The question disturbed him, and largely because the answers scared him. They filled him with paranoia. A trap, a ruse, a set-up. Someone watching the whole deal. Someone higher, waiting. Yet none of it mattered to him aside the watchful lust of his left-brain, telling him that here and now was not the time for rationalization.

Go now. Think later. Move!

The location was certainly no small task. The closet was dank and stunk like hell, cheap porcelain tiles forming black and white swatches across dimly lit walls. A single overhead bulb burnt furiously, casting radiant light down upon a cement floor. Radasanth had electricity now, but used it scarcely and poorly. A filing cabinet in the back of the room stood as a stoic defender, squat and heavy and four feet tall. Pacing quickly, he stooped and squatted and pressed his body next to it. The slight squeal, a small budge. His hair dye was running in his eyes, his sweat making the locks stick to his brow.

It wasn’t working well. The cabinet was heavy, and the wiry Veritas was ill equipped to move such a beast. Could he fit behind it? Pry it with a bar, leveraging it?

F*ck that.

A quick blast from his fingertips, and a loud crash as the filing cabinet rebounded off the back wall, carrying all the subtlety of a bull down Radasanth Square. The smell of ozone as he drew back his hand, relishing briefly the electric hate. A sneer, a smile, happiness untold. He withdrew the dagger, his patented titanium blade, and went to work on the chipped black tile behind the cabinet. It popped free easily, and he squatted to reach in the wall. The soft give of insulation, and then the paper fell to his hand. A manila envelope was withdrawn from the wall.

Jackpot

Yet outside there was now sound, a clattering at the door. Someone had come. Someone had heard him. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The disguise was a waste now, and the envelope was certainly not negotiable. He was stuck.

His hand leapt up once more, this time producing a wild and dancing electric blast. The door exploded, and into the darkness cast the light of the museum hall. Sound was growing now, more were coming, but one poor idiot lay on the ground aside the door, unconscious and yet dumbly awestruck.

He was running now, moving towards a group of chattering fools. Perhaps they would make cover for him, or perhaps attack. He wouldn’t slow down in any event now. The fate of Radasanth – and preposterous riches – lay in his hands.

[Dissinger]

The guards slowly closed in as he groaned trying to pull the ball up. He held his daggers tightly before he said softly to himself, “A little help would be appreciated…”

Help? You don’t need help, you need a miracle boy. Hope you like prison food…

He growled in a frustrated manner as one of the guards stabbed forward with a spear. The chain was wrapped quickly around it as he dodged and snapped the tip off making it no better than a useless stick. They seemed to back off as Seth said, “Don’t corner a Lavinian, bad things happen…”

Lavinya? That small piece of-

This time he was used to the telepathy and cut off the voice as he spat, Finish that sentence and you’re not going to enjoy what I do to you when I get my hands on you. I guarantee you I will destroy you with everything I have if you keep this up…

Those are some big brass ones you’re toting, think you can back them up?

The guards seemed to be encroaching again as Seth spoke aloud, confusing the guards, “Give me five minutes…”

The voice laughed at the bold words as it spoke again, Perhaps you are a Dahlios…let’s see you dance boy…what do you need?

What do I need? Seth thought back towards the voice as te guards seemed to be muttering around him. Soon they formed up spears behind the shield and sword men as they began to move forward, seeing how dangerous the cornered thief was. As the blood began to drip down his face he looked far more menacing as the ball and chain began to morph slowly running upwards and around his hand.

Boy, I can make any weapon or armor you want…what do you need?

I need a chest plate, I’ll kill them without you… He said boldly. The voice only laughed harder before the liquid metal began to flow over his chest, before it hardened into a breastplate like seen on a suit of armor. While Seth wasn’t quite used to the weight, he could manage as the arms slowly folded in giving him ample room for maneuverability.

Yes, you got the fire, lets see you whether the storm, good luck…Dahlios.

“Sir, drop your weapons or we will attack…” The guards said as Seth stood up to his full height. A few of the people seemed to be thinking twice as he glared each of them in the eyes.

“Luck is the product of those out of skill, or desperate. I don’t need Luck…” He said boldly as he dropped into stance. He then grinned as he backed up, into what was near a statue. It depicted a man holding a weapon and pointing off towards the horizon. As he grinned he said, “Oops…”

With a spinning kick he hit the statue sending it careening towards another one, setting up a chain reaction of falling statuary as he grinned waiting for the first of the would be fighters to come forth.

[Storm Veritas]

The chaos continued in front of him, guards and men going back and forth in a confused dialogue of considerable angst. A few guards turned to him as he ran, but confusion was ordinary now, and a man running was not much more suspicious than one walking. Perhaps the envelope in tow was suspicious, as he tucked it tight to his body like a mother carrying her child. Confidence was innocence now, and he wouldn’t give another reason for speculation by appearing to not belong.

Bunch of idiots fiddling while Rome f*cking burns.

The plan to run past the guards and out the door was perhaps less than masterfully crafted, but improvisation had become the order of the day. Sadly, this would not do on this all-but-ordinary day. One of the men, a doe eyed young constable not a day over twenty, turned to him with an attempt at respectful restriction, his voice steady and unassuming while stern.

“Sir, hold up a moment please… We need to speak…”

Yet the kind young man would not finish his sentence. From full stride, Storm knew the lad would be no match, and struck quickly and without hesitation. He slid fast, snaking feet between the legs of the unexpecting guard, twisting his hips violently to whip the boy down. The trip was merciful while savage, and the nearly juvenile security agent was down just as Veritas popped back to his feet. To his left, a short young lunatic seemed to have grown a chest-plate of some sort. No. That wasn’t possible.

“Holy shit, dude. You need to try the fountain water here before you leave.”

A smile, and he was off, spinning easily out of the grasp of yet another inept guardsman. They were weekend details, lacking the savage nature to strike a fatal blow while acting with high levels of fear. The others around him, although quite suspicious, were frankly none of his problem, as far as he were concerned.

He turned another corner, tucking his envelope into the chest pocket of his coat. Out of sight and out of minds of the guards, he was able to walk quickly and easily past the guards.

Hell no. Not that easy.

He reached a guard, a look of storied surprise and dismay on his face. The insides of the lithe mage tormented him, threatening to pop at the seams. He couldn’t bear the thought of this, but couldn’t resist either. A concerned and faceless guard contingent approached, a short and older bald man watching in earnest as Storm clutched at his chest pointing back in the general direction of the fools jabber-jawing the guards.

“Back there, sir! There are thieves there, fighting the guards! First corridor on the left, hurry sir! There are many!”

Without hesitation, the guards thanked him and moved, reinforcements on the run to reach the others, including the freak-boy with the metal chest. There would be likely a dozen guards now, but none saw him march through the front door, envelope in hand and wicked smile on his face.

Because he was Storm Veritas, and he was the biggest show in town.

[Beauty]

As he strode forward, Carth loosened his sword in its sheath. The tall elf shouldered his way through the crowd and arrived just in time to see the young man kick a statue over. The resounding crashes as each statue fell into the one beside it filled the already panicked citizens with more fear. The elf was impressed. It had been quite sometime since he had seen someone who could cause such widespread fear and devastation with such a small amount of work. He stopped behind a guard that looked to be in his early 30s and glared at the thief over the guard’s shoulder.

“Well? What are you men waiting for? Get him!”

He pushed the guard in front of him forward then pulled his own weapon out completely. He held the long steel blade easily in one hand, ready for the thief to bolt through the hole in the wall of attackers he had made. Glancing around at the other guards he shook his head in disgust. The guard had not yet moved further than the two steps he’d taken when shoved. As a matter of fact, none of them had moved yet. Anger and disgust chased each other across his handsome features as he strode forward.

“Fine, if you won’t, I will.”

Bringing his sword up, the man glared at the young-looking thief before him. He couldn’t have been much older than Slave. Nevertheless, the man had caused harm to his property and that could not go unpunished. He didn’t bother to say anything to the young man. It was not necessary, in his opinion, to speak to those guilty of a crime. It was only necessary to punish them. As such, he stepped forward, the tip of his blade facing the thief, looking for a way in to the vital organs within the thief before him.

[Dissinger]

Moving towards where the statues had fallen, a clear opening where the guards could not cover his footsteps were sure, cocky, almost arrogant as each step was given his eyes never leaving the armed guards. From the crowds an armed man was stepping forward, obviously to make him pay for some petty crime. Vigilante justice was the thing for the young kids to do in Althanas, and today was no exception to the status quo.

Continuing to walk he spoke his voice echoing through the room, "You think you can stop me?" His steps continued their arrogant way through the room. He frowned seeing guards run into the room, and realized just how cornered he was. The entrance and exit to the rooms had just been sealed, he would have to cut a swath through the crowds, and innocents were still gawking though a few had run. He was caught, it was a matter of how much people got hurt before he was done.

As he twirled his blades he spoke his voice almost uncaring as he said, "So then, since you seem to be some gaudy adventurer, let’s try it this way. Make the guards back down, and I will be more than willing to duel you, you kill me, its game over, I win, I walk Scot free."

What the hell are you doing Dahlios? You think the guards are just going to bow down to this punk kid? I doubt he has that authority, Karel's voice rang true in his mind as he watched for the man's reaction.

It's better than trying to escape and getting myself worn out by guards. I figure if he does have that authority, I can cripple him and move on when the guards aren't paying attention, He retorted to the General of Reven.

Yeah, that works, at least my brood didn't grow stupider, just a bit weaker.

And just what’s that supposed to mean?

Better keep your head in the game pal, a moment's indiscretion means your dead.

Seth didn't have time to argue as he pushed at the noble trying to make him force the deal, "So, you going to use that thing, or am I just wasting my breath with a two bit wannabe hero?"

[Beauty]

“Who said anything about killing you? I really couldn’t care less why you were here in the first place, but no one touches my property without paying for it...”

He kept his voice and anger well controlled. He didn’t often bother with telling common folk his rank unless he thought he needed it. He motioned to the guards to leave them be, for the moment anyway. Accustomed to being obeyed instantly, he didn’t bother to check to see if the cowardly guards had obeyed his silent orders. He stepped forward, watching the thief closely.

“As for your deal, I don’t care about that either. If you get away it makes no difference to me. I’m sure by now they’ve gotten a good enough look at you to be able to keep you from leaving the city.”

The young elven lord did not realize, of course, exactly who it was he was facing. Had he heard the tales and known the reputation of the man before him, he would not have been as cocky and arrogant. As it was, he thought this would be a quick fight, a few slices on the man’s bare skin would suffice as payment for the harm and trauma the man had imparted to Slave. He stepped forward again, his movements sure and steady as he brought the slim blade into action at last, sweeping it to the side and down, aiming to make a thin slice in the man’s right arm.

Slave had followed her master as far as the edge of the crowd, wondering what he was going to do to the man that had scared her so much. Fear filled her large, innocent brown eyes as she watched Lord Carth begin his attacks. She had seen him practicing and knew that he was very skilled with his weapon. She had no doubt that her master would come out on top, but she did not want the other man to die or get hurt too badly. Afterall, he had really only scared her very badly. He hadn’t actually hurt her at all. The falling light had given her the cut on her cheek, not the man Master was fighting.

[Dissinger]

Seth immediately blocked with his gauntlet his lips forming a devilish grin. He let the grin continue to broaden as he said, "Well then, guess I'll have to make do with what I got."

Kill the kid, he's a pansy, he is all form and no true experience, he's as green as they come, Karel said as he snorted in derision.

No, he's still of use to me alive. Even if the guards don't listen to him, I can use him as my human shield through the crowds. Now, its just a different matter of pushing my way through, Seth retorted. The general huffed before he seemed to go dormant, the breastplate slowly going liquid and forming into a band around his gantlets. Seth frowned before he sent at the Hex Magi, What the hell is going on?

You think I can hold it forever? You're crazy, just get us out of here, I have to rest for a bit.

Pushing the Elvin noble he shoved Carth back into the crowd before he pushed the attack sending Carth on the defensive as he rained down blows with his daggers. Each blow forced Carth deeper into the crowd as they parted around him, the guards trying to keep up with the fight before they emerged on the other side. With the crowd trying to keep away it was a simple task for Seth to lock up Carth and put him between himself and the guards, lest one get a clever idea and stab him in the back with a spear.

Once they were together Seth grinned as he pushed himself closer to Carth, "So like a noble, think you have all the answers, and anyone not noble born is gutter filth. Well this piece of filth would like to inform you, you're probably going to get in trouble for obstructing justice, hope daddy has a deep enough wallet.."

Sending a savage kick he sent Carth back into the guards as he gave a casual salute and ran through the museum trying to find the exit. He sped through the alleyways as he heard the sounds of metal upon metal. Reaching the exit he hit a burst of speed as he saw a guard trying to get in his way. Without a second thought he spoke, "Life is passing you by!"

Grey energy arced over his arm as he threw forward the ball of grey energy, dramatically slowing down the guard as he sped by him out the doors. Once on the streets he moved into an alleyway, trying to reach his planned escape route. His steps took him through the alleyway before he sighed and began to walk slowly, pulling the hood of his cloak up in order to hide amongst the crowds as he began to blend in.

[Beauty]

The superior grin on the young lord’s face vanished as Seth came at him. His sword flashed in the light as he deflected each attack the thief attempted, but he could not seem to get anything back on the thief. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he was using the wrong kind of weapon for fighting someone using a dagger, but he gave it no thought at the moment.

The guards caught Carth as he fell back with a grunt and helped him to his feet. Not pausing to check himself for damage he turned to follow the thief, still intent on getting repayment for the damage done to Slave, but he could not see the thief anymore. Disgustedly, he sheathed his sword as the guards filed out, trying to follow Seth. He did not care to give chase through the streets, but he would always remember the face of the young man. Lord Gregory Carth did not forget a sleight that had not been repaid. One day, he was certain, he would see the young thief again and then he would resume the punishment for damaging Slave with interest. For now though, he strode through the crowd that parted for him to collect Slave.

“Come along, Slave. We’re done here.”

Slave obediently followed her master out of the museum and into the busy streets. She wasn’t scared anymore, but the cut on her cheek still stung. However, given the mood that her master was currently in, she did not think it wise to bring his attention to it. The cut was not deep anyway, and would only bleed for a few more minutes before her body started healing it. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the hard stones of the street, but she did not notice. Her feet had long since grown used to any type of pavement. The only time she wore shoes was in snow.

Soon they came to the inn Lord Carth had taken a room in. He barely saw who was in the common room as he stormed his way up to his room with Slave trailing along behind. Once in the room, he grumbled and mumbled to himself as he packed his travel bag. Normally, he would have Slave do it, but right now he needed something to do with his hands lest he take his anger out on Slave. He knew she did not deserve his anger and he always strived not to take any anger out on her that she had not caused. Slave stood by the door watching confusedly, but knowing better than to say anything.

Soon enough, the bag was packed and slung over Slave’s shoulder. He still had not said a word to her and likely wouldn’t until he had gotten full control of his temper. He led the way down the street and out of the city gates. Right now, all he wanted was to be away from Radasanth and the faces of those who had seen him be bested by a mere thief with daggers. He did not wish to remember the event at all, but he could not ignore it until the thief’s debt had been paid. “One day, thief. One day, I’ll find you and make you pay.”

[Letho]

GENERAL NOTES: This was an interesting, easy read, concise and straightforward, but lacking in several departments. Also, while usually the story suffers when one of the members stops posting in the middle of it, I didn't feel that Andrew's quitting hurt the flow of the thread. Therefore, I won’t dock major points for it mostly because he basically played a slightly more elaborated guard. But without further ado, the rubric.


INTRODUCTION – 7

I have separated feelings about the introductions you did. Diss, I understand you didn’t want to present the reasons why Seth was in the museum from the get-go to add to the tension. But referring to Seth as a nameless man to create an air of mystique backfired in the second post where I got genuinely confused, thinking it wasn’t Seth that approached the fat woman. Storm did his job very nicely, also keeping his reasons secret and riding that motive throughout the thread which was good. Andrew’s intro was lacking. I didn’t get a good feeling of his character (other then his desire for personal gain) and no matter how much I researched, I was unable to discover who Sonya is. Beauty did a good job as well, giving me a good presentation of what the master-slave relationship was all about, but while the intro was well balanced between the two characters you play, I couldn’t say the same for the rest of the thread.

SETTING – 4

I think my biggest beef with this quest is the setting. While you all hit it off with good introduction of the setting and some plausible descriptions, that feeling deteriorated as the story advanced. I will point out several things that bugged me. For one, I would really, REALLY like to see guards who aren’t brainless Cro-Magnon bastards. One would think that the biggest museum on the continent would be guarded with someone other then the weekend guards. On that note, Corone Rangers don’t hold posts in the cities, especially not in Radasanth. That is the job of the Corone Armed Forces. Next, the massive chandelier hanging by a single rope... I don’t think so. Also, I’m pretty sure that electricity isn’t introduced to Corone public yet. It’s these little details that kill the setting, especially if there is precious little of it. And once the chandelier crashed, the museum became rather bland. Storm’s little venture in the closet remedied that a little bit, but not by a lot. In short, one would think that in a setting such as a museum, with loads of tapestries and hallways and vases and shit you would find a better way to utilize it all.

STRATEGY – 6

Again, there are two sides of the coin here. Seth’s idea to use the fall of the chandelier was good, not spectacular, but a valid tactic. Combined with the deception of the fat noble woman, it seemed like a good way to go. Though, I’m not certain why she thought he was a Ranger. Storm did good here too, playing the opportunist that sat on the sidelines and waited for his opportunity. Adnrew’s attack bugs me though. Why in the world would a person swing his sword and someone’s feet from behind is beyond me. Also, I felt that for an expert in swordsmanship, Carth would show a bit more skill and guile in his fight with Seth.

I will reflect on another segment of strategy here, and that’s the strategy of the NPCs. The guards have Seth cornered, have him at a disadvantage with weapons that have substantially longer reach, and they are afraid to act?! Strange to say the least. And speaking of guards, they might be dumb, but I see no reason why would they obey a random nobleman that hold no rank whatsoever.

WRITING STYLE – 7

Relatively different styles you all have, and yet they blended in with each other very well. A few pointers though.

Storm, try to avoid Earth references in your writing. I’m pretty certain that Storm didn’t come from Earth and that he doesn’t know about it, so it’s strange to see him think about things like Swiss watches and Rome and several other things.

Andrew, while you started off rather well, your last two posts became sloppy, with several misspelled words and wrong capitalizations.

Diss, I’d say this was your standard performance, nothing too flashy and eye-catching, but nothing wrong with it either. I get a feeling that your writing sometimes lack imagination and freshness. I know you’re a fast writer, but try to maybe re-read your posts a day or two afterwards (I usually re-read and edit my posts when it’s my turn to post again in a thread), and see what you can do to make it better. Though, maybe that’s just my style.

Beauty, I think the concise style you’re using fits the Slave character perfectly, because she’s simple and her thoughts are not too intricate. But sometimes you fall in a trap between brevity and lack of interest in posting, I think. I know it’s sometimes hard to work with the current info in a quest, but try to do so when you feel your muse is around.

RISING ACTION – 6

There was some good build up in the beginning, with Storm stalking around, Seth unfolding his plan, Luryll nosing around and Beauty and her master just browsing, but once the chandelier fell, it was just your basic brawl. So while there was some rising action, it seemed to stall far too soon, leading to a rather unremarkable climax. You basically had no action and then went straight to a bedlam and all of that in the first 10 posts. I know the chandelier falling was supposed to do just that, but I felt no tension in the transition and that hurt your score a bit. I want to feel what Seth is feeling when he’s getting more and more cornered by the guards, I want to sense the trepidation in the Slave as he holds a knife to her throat. Emotions and inner struggle can do wonders for Rising Action.

CLIMAX – 6

Once again, nothing breathtaking. It was hard to discern Storm’s since he basically wrote a solo in which he slipped through the cracks and got what he wanted without too much fuss. Seth had some with the Amulet yielding to his will and allowing him to fight Carth, but it was nothing I held my breath over. Beauty’s climax was Carth’s fight with Seth which was ultimately very disappointing. Climax is supposed to represent the pinnacle of everything that was said and done in the story, it was supposed to be either a cheer of victory or a cry of failure. I felt like most of the characters involved walked over the climax rather callously.

CONCLUSION – 5

I was left with a lot of question marks that shouldn’t be there. What was the info that Storm stole? Why was it in the museum if it’s some dirt on the nobles? What was the final conclusion between Seth and the amulet? What exactly is the Amulet? Why Seth wanted it so much and ultimately what it meant to him once he got it? The Beauty gave me the best conclusion here, with Carth’s anger and the desire for vengeance. Tie up loose ends, that is the ultimate rule of the story, even if it doesn’t feel natural. It’s better to have a poor conclusion to the matter then no conclusion at all.

DIALOGUE – 7

There wasn’t a lot of it, but it was used well and in sync with the characters. Storm’s callous cynicism, Seth’s hypocrisy with the woman, Slave’s coy tiptoeing and Carth’s lack of emotions, it all fits perfectly in the picture. Seth sometimes feels over the top, but he’s an over the top kind of character, so his bitter semi-angry comments fit well. All in all, good work here. Nothing to stand-outish, but solid work.

CHARACTER – 8

Personally, I think this is where all of you excelled. Even Andrew, who became MIA later on, played his character well. I loved how calculated Storm was, serene and controlling his emotions, using the opportunity to get what he came for. Everything, from a lit cigarette to a final deception of the guard was done in a way Storm would really do it. Seth was his usual self as well, using whatever tool he can get his hands on to achieve his goal, and not afraid to get his hands dirty. But Beauty enchanted me with her depiction of Slave. It might be the fact that I’m weak when it comes to slave girls, but after reading Beauty’s posts, I felt this mixture of both anger and sorrow in me, and every bit of me wanted to kick the shit out of Carth and set her free. That’s what good character writing is all about, to connect the writer with the reader. Word of warning to you Beauty though: From time to time you shift too much weight on Carth, so the Slave becomes irrelevant in your posts. Remember that Slave is still the main character here.

WILD CARD – 7

It was a good quest, I’m in a good mood, so I’m giving this a bit more then the average. Good job!


TOTAL SCORE – 63


SPOILS:

Dissinger receives 3000 EXP and 100 GP
Storm Veritas receives 2000 EXP, 100 GP and the stolen documents
Beauty receives 600 EXP and a benevolent passerby slips 300 GP into her hand, telling her to buy herself a new outfit
Andrew receives 300 EXP


Also, regarding Dissinger’s Changling Amulet spoil, I will allow it, but I put some edits in bold and would like to add a stipulation that it still needs to be approved by a RoG mod at the next update.


Changling Amulet - The mythical Changeling Amulet has been discovered. It grants the wielder the ability to form it into any weapon the wielder should choose, if the amulet believes its wielder worthy of such an honor. However, there is a few restrictions on this amulet as it is not nearly as limitless in power as the legends tell:

1) It only creates one weapon of hardness equal to Delyn.

2) It can create armor, but only enough for one piece or set of pieces. Guantlets, Breatsplates, Greaves, Leggings, ect.

3) It can only create weapons that the wielder is aware of. It will not change into a Nodachi if the wielder has no idea what a nodachi is.

4) It will only last five posts, before it must cool off for a three post period. (In terms of quests and battles it is counting consecutive posts, not three of my posts.)

5) It does not confer ability to wield what it changes into upon the wielder, unless the spirit imprisoned in the amulet is willing to gift such ability. A rare happenstance as the spirit is often spiteful and will not go out of its way to get its owner killed.

It also has one additional ability only usable by the wielder once per battle or quest, for a period of five posts as well:

Possession - Should the wielder be entirely desperate they can let the soul imprisoned within them possess their body turning them into the avatar of the soul. When this occurs the Amulet will use all energy of the persons spirit to transform into a full suit of steel platemail armed with a Delyn spear. For those five posts the wielder will show utmost expertise with the spear, however, upon the amulet relinquishing control, will drain the user to the point they will pass out. (This is not a may, it is a hard in stone fact.)

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

EXP and GP added!