Twisted Nerve(Ang, Em'ika)

[zkjt]

Schrren

Funny, wasn't it, how such a beautiful spot of nature could house such a deadly, and sickening city. On the one hand, there was fortune, wealth, and lavishness. On the other was poverty, drugs, prostitution, and slavery. And in the middle, a religion filled with blood worship and the constant need to cut off body parts.

I slowly made my way into the city, coming in from Uru'Baen. The four guards that flanked me were enough. I was ushered into the city quickly, riding my black stallion with my head held high. I was in the poor part of town at the moment. Around me was the noises of babies crying, sick people screaming for medicine, and the occasion giggle of a drug-empowered addict.

As I drew nearer to the middle of the city, where the Church of worship for Helgrind was. The nearest guard, a man of about his late 20's or so, was trembling. On the inside I scorned him for his fear. I would have to speak to the general about giving me such pathetic tools. Finally it seemed he noticed me staring at him. I had decided not to change my appearance for once, and my maroon hair was greasy and fell to my shoulders, and I knew how ugly and repugnant I must look. He looked away when he met my gaze and I held myself back from eating him there and then. there would be no point to it, Galbatorix would not be happy with me.

And then, we were finally there. It was here I was meeting the back-alley dealers who would be giving me what I needed. Sierthr oil. The Ra'zaac had been the first to use it as a torture weapon. I was, or at least I thought I was, the second. I descended from my horse, swishing my black cloak around me. Two of the guards, excluding(Thank God)the young, inexperienced one, came with me. The other two stood guard.

I made my way through the Church until i got to the main mass room. There was one priest muttering and holding a pot of blood and looking deranged in only a pair of white underpants and a few listeners. I looked around for my men..not there. They had clearly said the main mass room. I scanned the heads. There were a few men, watching diligently, a couple in the back were..having a good time, and otherwise there were only a few other scattered around. So where were they?

I motioned to my guards who immediately came to my side. "Check the rest of the church. Find the men. You know what they look like?"My voice was soft, but layered with anger. If the men got cold feet now they'd surely pay. the guards nodded and split up. I went the opposite way.

I wasn't really paying attention to whatever it was the priest was saying but I constantly felt a pull, an urge to listen. The priest was talking in a different language. I had never taken the time to learn it, but i did know a few words. And what I heard, might have disturbed anyone but me. I heard the word offering several times, what I thought to be blood a couple of times, and Helgrind at least a thousand. Who would worship a rock anyways? The people here were crazy, but I had decided that long ago.

As I was listening to the priest, I never quite noticed signs that I would have looked into if I was paying attention. Sounds like those of bodies being dragged against the floor, or the quiet creak of a door closing. It wasn't until after doing a sweep of the northeastern area that one of my guards came running up to meet me. "My lord, we found the bodies.." I turned my head, focusing my pitiless black eyes on him. "Where?" I was maintaining my self-control, you had to give me that. "uhh.."He was looking at his feet, and playing with his shirt. "Spit it out, or I'll get it out myself,"My voice was a soft snarl. Like that you would get by making a face at a tiger. Or by annoying an immensely powerful and diabolical shade. Either worked. He looked up. "A couple meters back sir. I was coming to tell you we couldn't find him and-"He was interrupted by a shout and then a strangled scream. At once my guard had his sword drawn, as did I. Together we ran down the dark corridor, eager to see what awaited us.

We finally came to the main church room. Everyone had scattered, except for the couple before who were lying naked in the back corner, their eyes wide and terrified. i smiled at them, flashing my filed teeth before turning my attention to the ground. My guard was there, an arrow lodged in his throat. His eyes were wide, his mouth open in a silent plea for help. I grunted turning my head side to side, searching for the right spell. "Beom eka garjzla"Bear me light. In a second there was a ball of light hovering in front of us, lighting the dark hallway ahead. And then me and my fellow guard were off. We made it through the Church fine, but when we got out there was a slightly..disconcertning sight. Both guards were dead. One was lying where we had left him. He had died under orders. The younger, wimpier one had an arrow in his back several feet away. Good riddance. I turned to my guard and together we took off toward the left.

Both of us had no idea where we were going, we had left our horses behind, and I had no sierthr oil. Today was already a bad day for me. We rounded a corner out of a back alley and emerged in a bright sunny square. The Rich District. A man was standing on a raised platform calling off numbers. There were several people standing on the platform in handcuffs. I made my way through the crowd, and by chance, just , managed to see the trail of a cloak go behind a wall. It was the only lead we had, so at once we followed it.

[Angmor]

Some famous person had said long ago, so long that his name was long forgotten, that there was a time and a place for everything. Taraak had never quite believed it until now. In his experience, there were certain things that society would not find acceptable, no matter where, no matter when. However, now he found that he was wrong. It seemed, as he stood over three bodies with a bloodied knife in his hand, that the time and place for a death was right here, right now.

It had been mostly chance that landed him here. With the impending peace summit enforcing a quieting in all military activity, all the Varden's various spies and other covert specialists suddenly found themselves with time to slow down, take a deep breath, and take care of all of the things they had been too busy to take care of before. One of those things was the routine check-ins with all of the various underground cells that ran through the Empire, ordinary men and woman who risked their lives to secretly gather information and assist the Varden with their secret war. Taraak was one of several agents that were currently journeying through the country, visiting all the underground cells in turn, to gather news and addressing needs. Taraak found that most of the work simply involved meeting with the underground leaders and letting them know that they were not forgotten, and that their work was appreciated. It had only been on coming to Dras-Leona that he found a cell that was truly in need of help. Help that he was uniquely qualified to provide.

As it turned out, the cell had been compromised. A high level black-market dealer by the name of Jaal Warith had somehow learned of the cell's existence, and instead of turning them in to the Empire, had decided to blackmail them in return for his silence. For the past four months, the underground members had to scrounge up more and more money to pay off the corrupt shipping magnate, many of whom were already so poor that they had trouble feeding their own families. And now that Taraak had arrived, they had enlisted his help in making sure that the blackmailer was silenced permanently.
It hadn't been easy. As Warith was one of the largest black-marketeers in the Empire, he was well protected at all times. Luckily though, Taraak caught a break. As he had been listening from under the floor of the barracks where Warith housed members of his security force, he had overheard two of Warith's best enforcers talking about how their boss was meeting in secret with a customer inside the cathedral of Helgrind. The meeting was going to be fairly low-key, and Warith was only going to be taking one of his flunkies along with him. As far as Taraak was concerned, it would be the only time to get close enough to Warith to teach him that blackmailing the Varden was a bad idea.

After three days of gathering recon on the Cathedral, planning his entrances and exits, and one very unpleasant night posing as a convert in order to gain entrance to the main mass room earlier than his target, he was ready. As soon as Warith had came in, Taraak had maneuvered his way close enough to surreptitiously slap a small wad of powerful, fast-drying adhesive on the hilt of the bodyguard's sword. He then drew back and watched as Warith and his guard drew to the back of the room, apparently waiting for the client. As soon as the service was well underway, Taraak had made his move. Two knife strokes, and the Varden underground cell was free of their tormentor. Warith never even saw what had killed him, and his bodyguard had been unable to pull his sword from its sheath. Neither man had even had time to cry out, and in a service where many of the patrons were already prostrated on the floor in pools of their own self-inflicted wounds, no one had noticed. A well planned assassination, flawlessly executed. Now all that was left to do was escape.

He looked down at the men he had killed, cleaning his knife on his dark sleeve. He knew that what he had done here would probably come back to revisit him some night when he was trying to sleep. Every time he had ever struck someone down in cold blood, it was a new nightmare to torment him. He frowned, sheathing the blade on his arm. Now was not the time to think about it. Now came the most dangerous part of the op, and he could not allow himself to be distracted.
Focus on the mission. Let the emotions out later.

[/Color]
On an afterthought, he searched Warith’s belt, coming up with a bulging purse. That would probably help some underground members who were currently subsisting on moldy bread…
Hello. What’s this?[/Color]
Positioned at the back of Warith’s belt, where it would be hidden under the long cloak that he wore, there was large, flat metal flask. Taraak shook it, finding it to be filled with a liquid of some kind. Interesting. He stuffed them both into his shoulderbag and stood up, looking around. Still, no one had noticed. He shook his head, moving away from the bodies and blending with the crowd of worshipers. Gods, this place was crazy. Now all he had to do was head for his planned exit. He turned…
And stopped, a shot of adrenaline suddenly focusing on one object, just visible among the crowd.
The red armor of an imperial soldier.

Outwardly, he remained calm, casually turning and striding the opposite direction. Inwardly, his thoughts churned. How could the Empire had known he was here? Had this whole thing been some elaborate plan to get rid of Warith and catch him?
...No, that couldn't be right. He had maintained operational security the whole way, and he had caught nothing amiss. So, what then?
He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. There was now two soldiers, and they were both crouched over the bodies of his former targets. Taraak felt a piece fall into place. Of course, the Empire always had a use for scum like Warith. That had to be who he was meeting.
Either way, his main exit was out. He would have to use his secondary route. Carefully, he started to make his way toward the passageway leading off the back of the room, the one that would lead him toward freedom. He could still pull this off flawlessly if he kept his cool. Two soldiers were hardly enough to cordon off an area, and the Empire wouldn't have come expecting to. Ten feet to the passage. No, he was definitely going to make it...
"Hey! You with the bow and the black hood!"
Along with almost everyone else in the room, Taraak froze. There were several people in his vicinity wearing similar cloaks, but no one else had one and a weapon like the one his back. The soldier had to mean him. He cursed himself inwardly for tempting fate. He briefly entertained the idea of just making a run for it, but he quashed it. In running, they would instantly know he was guilty. Instead, he put on his practiced expression of bewilderment, turning to face to face the soldier.
“You mean me, sir?” He said, his voice suggesting the purest form of innocence he could muster while he surveyed just how much trouble he was in.

As he expected, the first soldier was pushing his way through the crowd, sword already drawn in his hand. Strangely, the second soldier was absent, Taraak assumed sent to bring reinforcements. That meant he had five minutes at the very most before this area was locked down, and his escape cut off. It was a mixed blessing, though. In this instance, he only had one soldier to deal with if things turned nasty, and the soldier had no idea what he was getting himself into.
Taraak, on the other hand, did. Very carefully, he slid a tiny wad of parchment from the pouch at the back of his belt…
“Aye, you!” The soldier answered, finally shoving the last worshipper out of the way to stand in front of Taraak, sword at the ready. “You look like you’re trying to make a fast exit. Have anything to do with the two stiffs back there?”
“No sir! I’m just here to get my arrows for the hunt blessed by the priest.” Taraak said, drawing one of the shafts from his quiver for emphasis. “But when I saw the bodies, I figured it would be better to be elsewhere…”
“And you seemed to have figured that before everyone else here.” The soldier cut him off. “I hereby arrest you in the name of the Empire, on the charge of assassination…”
That was all Taraak needed to hear. Without a word, he released the marble-sized wad of parchment that he had been palming in his left hand, letting it drop to the floor beside his foot. The prepared package of explosive powder within ignited on impact, making a loud snap. This distracted the soldier for the tiniest fraction of a second, which was all Taraak needed to slam the point of his arrow into his unprotected throat, using the shaft as a melee weapon.
The soldier’s eyes went wide with shock. Not waiting for his mortally wounded to strike out despairingly with his sword, Taraak moved inward and seized the soldier’s forearm, using his leverage to flip the armored body over his head and onto the floor in a practiced move for taking down a larger opponent. It was right about then that someone screamed, launching the room into a chaos of running bodies. Taraak straightened, looking for the other soldier amid the panic, but seeing nothing. Knowing that couldn’t last, Taraak turned and ran for his exit as he had originally planned, unloosing the bow from his back. All secrecy was gone. Now everything would depend on his speed.

The passage was like most of the cathedral, dark and twisting. Glad of the recon he had taken beforehand, he let his unerring memory guide him through the various winding turns, past one gloomy, bloodstained chamber after another, ever mindful of the sound of pursuing feet behind him. Finally, he neared what he knew to be the final bend. He slowed, pressing himself against the wall and listening carefully. It was very difficult to discern one sound from another in this place. Throughout his entire stay, it had been as if the entire structure was breathing. All the same, Taraak thought he could detect the sound of light conversation from the direction of his entrance. And no one lightly conversed around here.
Very cautiously, he peered around the corner, so that only one eye was peeking around the edge.
As he had guessed, two more soldiers stood just inside the exit, blocking his way. He drew back hurriedly, listening for signs that they had seen him.
"How long are we going to have to wait here?"
"As long as we have to. It's guard duty, kid. C'mon, you can't be such a rookie that you haven't pulled guard duty before."
"Of course I've pulled the job before. It's just waiting around here. This whole city gives me the creeps. I can't wait till I'm transferred somewhere else."
"If you live that long, kid."
Taraak breathed a bit easier. His subconscious silently counting down the seconds he had left, he considered his options. Front door, blocked. Back door, blocked. There were other exits he could use, but they would take more time than he thought he had. In that case, it was a simple matter of mechanics. He needed to get out, and his way was blocked. The only thing to do was remove the obstacles. Slowly and quietly, he drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string. Drawing it back to his cheek, he pivoted suddenly around the corner, and allowing the split-second memorization of the soldier's position to guide his aim, he released the shot.

The soldier did not even see it coming. He looked down at the black-feathered shaft that seemed to have sprouted from just under his jaw, then collapsed against the wall without a sound. As Taraak was reachig for another shaft, he watched as the younger soldier stood blinking over the body of his superior, his face turning white. Then, without warning, he bolted through the doorway and into the alley. Taraak swore, checking his shot. Gods, one shout, and this rookie could bring half the garrison on his head. He bounded forward, leaping over the slain guard. Suddenly he found himself in the alley behind the cathedral, blinking in the sudden daylight. His eyes half-adjusted, he saw the young soldier pelting frantically down the alley. Too easy. Taraak had been taking shots on fleeing targets since he was nine. With a slight twinge of remorse that managed to pierce his mission focus, he released the string.
Thwack.
The young soldier collapsed like corpse cut from the gallows, tumbling to a stop with the shaft protruding from the back of his neck.

Taraak lowered his bow, breathing out the breath he had been holding in a deep sigh of frustration. At that moment, he hated what he did. The face of the young soldier whose life he had just extinguished flashed behind his eyes. The boy had only been eighteen or nineteen years of age, probably just out of training, and now he was dead. Killed for no error than follwing his orders. And why?
So that I can get away. Trading his life for mine.[/Color]
It wasn't the first time. And as with every time before, he wished it would be the last. Just then, he heard the echoing sound of running feet from the dark opening of the cathedral behind him, as if a unspeakable monster had been summoned by a priest of Helgrind was about to issue forth. Taraak shoved his thoughts aside. He would think this over later. He turned and ran down the alley, carefully avoiding the blood pooling beneath the young man he had killed, gratefully leaving the newly bloodstained cathedral behind him.

The alley, he had noted on his recon, led to one of the busiest slave markets in the city. He slid to a stop at the mouth of the alley, taking a moment to stow his weapon across his back and make sure that his appearance was not anything out of place. The bloodstains on his clothes had by then become mostly invisible against the black color, And the late morning hour was just chilly enough that wearing his hood was not unusual. Thus assured, he stepped confidently from the alley and into the large plaza, putting on the persona of a man with an urgent purpose. Immediately, he was enveloped my people, his ears filled with the discordant chatter of the crowd. Over it all presided the shrill cry of the auctioneer, calling out the various physical attributes of the unfortunate slaves on the platform to Taraak's right. He tried not to look. He had seen far to much of such cruelty in his life, and it still freshly effected him every time. And he couldn't afford the distraction at this moment. Having made his way a fair distance from the alley mouth, his used an old trick he had discovered. Timing his actions carefully, he allowed a large man who had been trying to pass him knock hard into his shoulder, spinning him in a full circle before he recovered his path. From any outside observer, it would look like an accident. His spin had been so quick, there was really no way that anyone could have seen anything behind him. Anyone, that is, except him.

Closing his eyes, he summoned the memory of what he had seen halfway through the spin, freezing the crystal-clear image just behind his eyes, like looking at the illustration of a book. Immediately, he noticed a single imperial soldier had been in the crowd, whose eyes had been locked on him. No doubt about it, he was being followed.
Not out of this yet, then...[/Color] [/size][/blockquote]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

Boys never cried. At anything. This place made an exception to that rule.

On our endless round trip across Alagaësia, we had to make a multitude of stops. Dras-Leona was certainly the scariest. Now, I was worldly. I was well-travelled. Culture shock no longer applied to me. And though an entire city devoted to a creepy cult and rampant with the poor was nothing new to me, an entire city mainly populated by maimed citizens was. I’d seen self-mutilation before, but never on this scale. Humans went about their pathetic daily business while missing limbs, eyes, noses, and even huge chunks of flesh ripped from their cheeks or torsos. Dras-Leona was plagued with self-committed leprosy. Disgusting, but at the same time, it made me ponder. Truly, people would believe a big lie sooner than a little one. If so many could be convinced to mutilate themselves, gathering worshippers for a Shade would be remarkably easy.

But not these worshippers. Ugh. And we were on the rich side of town. I shuddered to think of what the poor district had to look like. Deluded schmucks.

Anck and I had devised a simple plan to obtain safehouses across Alagaësia. Saying it was a lot easier than doing it, though- besides having to drag myself across this inferior land looking for them, few places were willing to sell to a Shade and keep their mouths shut about it. At least money wasn’t an issue. With all the cash we’d collected and belongings we’d hocked from my meals in the past six months, we could buy off Galbatorix, if he’d cared any for money. And besides, all we needed was a nice little log cabin. But Anck and her stupid girly habits insisted on a country manor. Spacious, away from people, and most importantly, suited to her needs. Yeah, Anck. And when the tax collector comes knocking on the biggest chateau in the Imperial countryside and finds a sacrilegious hellhole complete with dark magic, sorcerers, a private army and a Shade to boot, your gold-embossed chamber pot will give him the what for. Idiot.

Or maybe I was the idiot for letting her get what she wanted. We had just gotten our hands on an exclusive home by Leona Lake, the infamous Azalea Hall, for the low, low price of thirty thousand crowns. And considering it was a massive manor with an all-inclusive vineyard and cellar, it was low- barring the fact that it lacked any furniture or work force. We’d purchased the thing from Marcus Tábor himself, but he’d been unwilling to disclose just why the place was so deserted. So I’d roughed up a slave, and he’d spilled the juicy details. The previous inhabitants and all their servants had been murdered. They’d been Varden conspirators. Being the son of a duchess, I knew only too well how treason was viewed. Betraying one’s country was punishable to the highest degree, so Galbatorix’s lackeys had slain the lot of them and cleared the place out. Then, Dras-Leona, being the closest city, had slapped a price tag on it soon afterwards. We’d been the only interested buyers for months, which was how we’d got it so quickly. Still, Tábor had raised the price due to the fact that we were foreign. How sweet of him.

We weren’t finished yet, though. You couldn’t buy a place like Azalea Hall and have two aristocrats care for it themselves. And the idea of housekeeping by myself was painful, to put it mildly. So, we were sticking in Dras-Leona for its most famous export besides crazy cult worshippers- slaves. The best and the brightest were found right here. For the occasion, I had my disguise on. I hadn’t gone to the trouble of actually physically changing my face, since Dras-Leona was populated with mindless humans. I was in no danger of discovery here. I only had the lightest spell possible for hiding my features. Obviously, I wasn’t as unbelievably gorgeous as my true form, my skin being a pale golden and my features far less pronounced- but the cat eyes, the long white hair, and the fangs still got me a number of appreciative, or nervous, looks. Obviously. The fact that I was dressed like true nobility- scaly voluminous black robes, a clasped onyx belt, embroidered trousers and shiny black leather shoes- was probably a factor too.

Anck strode smoothly beside me, her arm linked with mine. As usual, she looked like a total doll, except for the fact that her luscious dark curls were now bound in a stupid updo, topped with a snow-white hat, with only a few locks escaping it. However, her clothes made up- she was wearing a pale blue gown, one of those dresses with a tight corset and a skirt that fanned out like a tent and went to the floor. It hid dainty pearly slippers that were low-heeled, since the woman was tall enough already. The corset was all that covered her torso- it was warm out, and people made way for a woman with attractive assets. However, her arms were covered by long white gloves that nearly stretched to her shoulders, and a silver chain set with a large sapphire hung around her neck, hiding the tracking device beneath it. As a finishing touch, a blue ribbon tied into a bow wrapped around the skirt of her dress, and the entire outfit sparkled in the sunshine. She looked like a true noblewoman, the darling little actress. I almost pinched her cheek.

We were making our way over to the slave market in relative silence, although Anck made the occasional gasp of disgust at the deformed citizens. We’d specifically come here on the first of the month, right when Dras-Leona got its fresh load of slaves. Humanoids from across Alagaësia and beyond were put on sale here. We’d have no trouble getting a couple to serve me. Still, I couldn’t help but voice an objection.

“You realize we won’t be in your precious little manor all that often. At least, not at first. What with gaining minions and all that, we’ll be kinda busy.”
“Mm. We will,” murmured Anck, sounding distracted.
“So they’ve got a great opening to run off. What’ll we do then, hmm?”
“They’ve got nowhere to go, Tox, especially if we get non-Alagaësians. We’re offering them food, shelter, and safety. Their only other choice is to end up being auctioned off again. And if you’re so concerned, you can convince them.”
I flexed my feeding hand. “Gladly.”

We arrived at the market, a central square devoted entirely to booths and platforms. Considering the amount of slaves on sale, many nobles from across the Empire had come. However, due to the air of danger I gave off, most people gave me a wide berth, making it easy for me to shove to the front. I managed to get a good look at the goods onstage. Since I hadn’t been to such a formal slave auction in years, Anck had told me the colour codes for the different types of servants. The platform painted pink was where the pleasure slaves were sold, exceptionally beautiful men and women destined for lives as sexual entertainment. The blue platform held servants taken from regal backgrounds, suited as ladies-in-waiting, butlers, tutors or artisans. The largest platform, the yellow one, sold household labourers- cooks and cleaners and whatnot. The grey platform sold workers, adept as farmhands or miners. The green had entertainers- dancers, singers, acrobats, bards, what have you. And finally, the red platform sold the strongest slaves of all, meant as bodyguards or soldiers for a paranoid nobleman’s private army. Many of the captives were adorned with collars- black and spiked meant they were aggressive, even dangerous. Silver collars weren’t spoken of. These slaves were suited to spying and stealth as well as their main purposes, used in the petty political games nobles were only too fond of playing. With such a selection, it was little wonder that Imperial citizens of means gathered here by the hundred every month. I headed for the pink platform.

“No.” Anck, being the humourless she-bitch that she was, dragged me towards the far less glamorous yellow platform. However, before I could protest, I was roughly knocked into by one of the puny humans. I turned to snarl in his direction, but I stopped.

This was no noble. This was something completely different. He was clothed in black attire, but not of the elegant, finely made material that mine happened to be. His outfit was the type someone would wear when trying to blend in with the shadows. His face was nondescript, but his slate eyes were cold and calculating. And he stank terribly of blood, far too much to only be his own. My immediate thoughts were escaped slave. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. The man eyed something behind me before his gaze fell on my face. He looked me up and down with some degree of interest before he seemed to realize why I was ogling him. He dipped into a shallow bow.

“My apologies, milord. I didn’t see you there. Excuse me.”

He slipped off. I decided to let him go. I wasn’t hungry, and even if I was, something told me he wasn’t a human that could go down easily. I turned to follow Anck, but just then a strange feeling clouded my senses. Within me, my dormant spirits flickered briefly before dying down again. Immediately, I was worried. They only got agitated by two things, the first being if I hadn’t eaten in a long time and the second being if they felt the presence of particularly powerful magic. I had fed on some young woman earlier this morning, so that only meant one thing. Agitated, I sped over to the yellow platform. Anck had released me from her grip so she could ponder over the offered goods there.

“Hey!” she snapped when I roughly grabbed her hand. “I just got here!”
“Shut up! There’s someone here.”
She understood what I meant, but didn’t look alarmed. “There are elves for sale here.”
“No! Trust me; this isn’t some pointy-eared schlemiel. Look there.”

She followed my gaze. A remarkably unattractive man was plowing forcefully through the assembled nobles. He was tall and pale with crimson hair and eyes, and accompanied by a soldier- obviously an Imperial Shade. I only knew of four. Xelschea, renowned for her beauty, hadn’t been seen in well over a year. Pele Lahela Serowë never left Urû’baen except for formal visits. This Shade was clearly neither, being male. Durza had been slain by Eragon, and so that only left Schrren. Vicious, sadistic, and a complete maniac, he was feared throughout Alagaësia. Naturally, I wasn’t about to face him alone.

Words;; 1800
Muse;; Ehh. Okay.
Thoughts;; Written at 2 in the morning so not my best work.

[zkjt]

"Out of my way!" I barked at the fat noble standing in front of me. He had been in the middle of buying a slave from the pleasure group, until I had knocked him over and he had lost the slave. She had been shipped away to a man looking quite pleased with himself.

The noble stood indignantly, and turned to face me, his eyes blazing. But when he saw who it was I noticed he flinched, bowed his head and quickly shuffled away. I smirked and continued toward the alley where I had seen the cloak disappear.

The guard next to me was keeping pace with quite well, but I noticed how skeptical and apprehensive he looked. He probably doubted we weren't following anyone special, but I had a good feeling about this shady character. So we continued making our way through the packed square.

The whole place was huge, and it didn't help that it was packed. People were everywhere and that alone made it quite hard to make it through. More than one time, a noble tried to confront me, only to flinch and run. Otherwise our progress can be described as speedy, but the man had a head start and we would really have to work hard to catch up.

It was then I felt an odd presence. The spirits inside me were moving around, and I looked around the square. I knew it couldn't be Pele. She would never come here unless it was a direct order from Galbatorix. Xelschea was a goner, so that left a rogue Shade. I halted in my tracks, confusing my guard. "Sir?" he asked me. I put up my hand, and giving up the search completely slowly began to make my way toward the shade.

He had seen me, and there was a beautiful woman beside him. She had chocolate colored skin and dark hair. I stared at her body hungrily, before looking back at the shade. he had long white hair, and looked disturbing almost. I was close to reaching him, when there was suddenly a scream.

I looked up and saw that the slaves had decided to revolt. They were fighting the guards that were attempting to restrain them, but so far were failing. Many of the female slaves were running, so guards had to chase after them. I looked back at the shade, and though I would have liked to chat with him, realized I had to find the runner. So I was off, making my way back toward the alley.

Finally I was there. The alley was dark, and I expected an ambush at every turn. But nevertheless we continued walking, me and my guard together. There was always some light, so I never needed to use magic. The spirits inside me really wanted to go back, but I restrained them, looking for the man who had murdered my contact.

[Angmor]

When it came to operations like these, it tended to be that whoever had the most options won.
Taraak was confident that he would be getting out of this one just fine. After all, he was in the middle of any open area, so he could dash any direction he chose completely without warning. And yet he was in a crowd, which hampered his pursuers and gave him a whole new set of options. And best of all, the only thing that his pursuers could do was follow behind and wait for him to make his move, especially if it was only one soldier. As escape routes went, he had about as fine a one as he could ask for.
Don’t get overconfident, Taraak.

[/Color] He told himself firmly, latching down on his thoughts. He wasn’t out of this yet. There was still about a thousand things that could go wrong.
Even as he thought it, one of the nobles in the crowd ahead took a sudden step in his path. Unable to stop in time, Taraak bumped.

He tensed, ready to defend himself. For some of the nobles around here, being bumped into by random strangers was punishable by an immediate knife to the ribs. The man whirled with silent growl on his face, but strangely, instead of a weapon, his right hand opened spasmodically, as if he was preparing to deliver one of the flat-palmed strikes favored by certain nomad fighting styles. This was not the only thing that was strange about this man. Unlike most of the nobles in the city, who preferred to dress in the gaudiest possible outfit, this man was dressed in elegantly tailored black robe cut in a style that Taraak had never seen before. There was also something odd about his features, something that Taraak couldn’t quite put his finger on…
But he had no time for that. He could contemplate strange looking people after he had evaded pursuit. And besides, this man was giving him far too much scrutiny, giving Taraak the very distinct feeling that he would not be forgotten. Thinking quickly, he gave the man a stiff bow. “My apologies, milord.” He said formally. “I didn’t see you there. Excuse me.” With that, he set a course and moved off, feeling the noble’s eyes following him the whole way.
Troubling.[/Color] He thought to himself. I hate coincidences.[/Color]

Finally, he made it to the mouth of the alley.
One advantage with having eidetic memory was that he never needed to see something more than once before it was instantly memorized, in this case allowing him to get to know an area of the city like the back of his hand with only one day of reconnoiter, giving him a completely reliable mental map of the area that he could use to formulate escape routes on the fly. Any other man, with fallible memory and sketchy recall would want at least a week to be confident enough to do what he was doing. This alley he remembered very specifically as a way to possibly misdirect pursuit. The alley was shaped like the rune H, with the passageway he was entering forming the right leg of the character. Some thirty yards to the left, he knew, was an almost identical alleyway, with a connecting passage between them. This immediately gave him options should he need them, but he had a very specific plan in mind. He turned left into the passage that formed the H’s center span, proceeded all the way to the end, and then ducked into the parallel alley, looking back the way he had come as he drew his bow from his back. Calming his breathing, he undid the drawstring around his quiver and drew a shaft, nocking it to the string but not pulling it back just yet. His trap in place, he waited.

He did not have to wait long. As he watched, he caught movement. Two shadows, coming down the alley that paralleled his own. Feeling himself tense in preparation for action, he slowly drew back the string until his arrow’s dark fletching tickled his cheek. Yes, the owners of the pair of shadows he was watching were definitely moving cautiously, as if they were looking for something. Finally, the two figures came into view, and one of them was definitely wearing red. Taking only the slightest second to sight up, Taraak fired.
The speeding arrow was not even halfway down the connecting span of the H rune before Taraak was off running, not even bothering to see if he had hit anything.
That should make them think twice. At the very least, they should start to fear turning corners.[/Color]

Running back down the alley, it was not long before he again reached the slave market. Hopefully, after his pursuers got up their courage to come after him again, they would assume that he would not go back to an area they had already chased him out of. As he reentered the square, he realized that this was an even better idea than he had anticipated. Since he had last looked, slaves from the yellow platform had broken free of the guards, causing instant chaos. What with the guards trying to catch the escapees and the prospective buyers scrambling to vacate the area, it was a perfect recipe for getting lost. With this in mind, he exited the alley at a jog, turning the corner…
Just in time to look straight into the strange noble’s oncoming face before they collided, sending brightly colored flashes of light exploding through Taraak’s brain.[/size][/blockquote]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

Yet again, I was subjected to being dragged all over the known world by Creeper Boy.

At least he wasn’t running again. He usually moved like a cheetah when danger was near, but now he seemed to be valuing stealth over speed. He hauled me like a sack of potatoes through the crowd, away from the rioting slaves I’d been hoping to purchase, and headed for the creepiest, most deserted alleyway possible. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from the Shade, though. This was the first one I’d seen in Alagaësia apart from Tox, and his appearance was highly disturbing. Schrren, I believed his name was. Oddly, he’d gawked at me instead of Tox, despite my being totally unmagical. Maybe Tox’s magic was rubbing off on me. Or maybe all Shades were perverts. Either way, he gave me a bad vibe, and I never got bad vibes. Luckily, he’d been distracted by the sudden rebellion, so he hadn’t noticed Tox dragging me off.

Speaking of dragging, I hurriedly sped up to keep in step with Tox, linking my arm with his again. Though we probably didn’t have to worry all that much about looking suspicious, what with the escaped slaves and fleeing nobles, I didn’t want to be careless while Schrren was around. Soldiers were rushing in all around the square, shouting at the angry and terrified slaves as they rampaged. I didn’t doubt it would be put down soon, though. Order was easily restored in a place like the Empire. Hopefully, we could come back before Tox made us leave Dras-Leona. I followed him into the alleyway, mercifully disappearing from the prying eyes of the guards and nobles. But he didn’t slow down.

“He lost us, ‘Tox. Let’s go back.”
“Aww! Still my hopeful little sunshine, aren’t you? Forget it. We’re going south.”
“Then can we stop? He lost us!”
“And the whore doth complaineth! Listen, babe, if you just let me carry you-”
Thwack!

I didn’t even see it coming. Tox had just been about to round a corner when someone barrelled into him at high speed. And though Tox was particularly strong, the person’s speed as well as their element of surprise knocked him right out of my grip and flat onto his back. The other person suffered far worse, though, and was flung backwards until his head collided with the stone wall of the building behind him. I glanced at Tox. He was irritated, and the weak spell he’d used to hide his face was flickering, but he was unharmed, rather like an overturned beetle. Mildly amused at the mental image, I did a double take on the strange man. He was dressed in dark robes that were stained wet with some liquid, probably blood. But besides that, he was entirely nondescript. With an average height and body shape and average looks, he was just a face in the crowd. I wouldn’t have given him a second glance if he wasn’t unconscious with a head wound.

But it was for that very reason that I was put on edge. He fit the bill exactly when it came to assassins and spies. You never saw a particularly good-looking or ugly assassin, or one with an odd hair colour, or anything else that might stick out. They always looked normal. I briefly wondered if he’d been sent to kill Tox, but then I dismissed the idea as ridiculous. This man was clearly Alagaësian, and no one knew about Tox here. At least, no one alive. And his mother couldn’t have possibly given out the contract, since she wanted him alive. This little collision must have been some sort of mistake. Either way, I didn’t trust anyone as suspicious-looking as this guy. I waved my hand in front of his face and pinched him to make sure he was properly out, and then propped him against the wall. Seeing what looked like the hilt of a knife sticking out of his sleeve, I removed it, awkwardly pointing it at him as he stirred and mumbled in pain.

“Ay, yutz. Oy.” I heard Tox picking himself up. “Oh hey, it’s that guy.”
“You know him?” I asked, surprised.
“Well, no. He bumped into me in the market. Schmuck seems to like smacking people.” He walked over. “What’s with the knife? He’s just a slave with cold feet.”
“There’s something off about him. I don’t think he’s a slave.”
He tilted his head. “He did show up about two seconds before we ran into Schrren. Just leave him. Or kill him, if it makes you feel better.”
I glanced over at him. “Tox, your mask is gone.”
“Oh. Crap.” He touched his face, now back to its usual green-skinned, vampiric self.
“Put it back on.”
“Not while Schrren’s around. The magic’ll draw him like a fly to honey.”

Shouts from behind made both of us turn around. At first, I was nervous, but when I heard commands and reports being relayed back and forth, I relaxed. They were just soldiers scouting out the escaped slaves. It’d be easy to lie our way out of trouble. But when I glanced back at Tox, my heart sank. He had that look on his face again. His jaw was clenched, his hands were enclosed into fists, and his slitted pupils had dilated so much that his eyes were almost entirely black. His spirits were agitated. Schrren was nearby again. I dropped the knife and grabbed Tox’s arm, hauling him over to a small wooden door inset into the nearest building. I rattled the knob, but was dismayed to find it locked. Tox hissed curses under his breath and made to break it down, but just then a cold shiver ran down my spine, and probably his as well. Swallowing, I turned back towards the alleyway to see Schrren standing alone behind us, his upper lip curled into an unpleasant smile. His black eyes, made horribly obvious by his sunken facial features and sickly pale skin, seemed to bore into my own. Soldiers rushed towards him, surrounding him in a half circle with their pikes and arrows pointed straight at us.

“We’re-” I tried to start.
“Silence, harlot. I know you’re a cohort of this…” He looked Tox up and down with a certain measure of both curiosity and disdain. “… thing.”
Tox went for another tactic. His feeding hand splayed open, revealing the pulsing, mouth-like feeding organ on his right palm. “Come any closer and I’ll kill your agent.”
He beckoned to the assassin. The man coughed and stirred again, but I couldn’t tell if he was actually waking up or just lapsing in and out of consciousness again. In response, Schrren made a sharp hand signal, and an arrow embedded itself into Tox’s shoulder. He snarled, snatching at the shaft and hissing in that reptilian way of his.
“That agent is responsible for murdering my men. He’s coming with us. As for you, I’m sure Galbatorix would find… whatever you are… very interesting. And you.” He glared at me with those eyes again. “Something isn’t right about you.” He turned to his men. “Take them all back to the gates.”

I backed off, knowing Tox was about to do his thing. White, swirling wisps had appeared in the alleyway, and ghostly figures rushed through them, snarling at the guards. They panicked, pointing their weapons every which way, which was when Tox disappeared into the mist. I knew his illusion powers weren’t nearly as strong when his spirits were upset, and he was too proud to reveal the spells he’d been working on for more than two hundred years to Schrren, so he was thinking them rather than saying them out loud. It was enough to trick magically ungifted humans, though, and I heard screams as the hidden Tox reaved off limbs and stabbed at weak points in armour. Finally, I heard the gurgling scream of someone being fed on. At that point, Schrren must have decided enough was enough, because he snarled in the ancient language.

The words and the meaning were lost on me, but the ghost and the mists suddenly dispelled, revealing deformed bodies, an armour-clad desiccated corpse, and Tox and Schrren with their gazes firmly locked on one another. He was mentally battling the other Shade. Tox’s most powerful weapon was his mindbreaking, but now he was frozen for two reasons. One, Schrren was a Shade; making him one of the most powerful opponents Tox had ever faced off with, and two, Schrren’s very presence was upsetting his spirits. If they woke up, all hell would break loose, and I wasn’t sure that Tox would survive the trauma. I didn’t resist when I felt an injured soldier tying my hands behind my back, and saw the same being done to the now semi-conscious assassin at my feet. The soldiers were much more hesitant about apprehending the physically vulnerable Castox, but a short barked order form Schrren quickly motivated them into tying him up.

He didn’t react; he only kept staring directly into Schrren’s eyes. Then his head was smacked with the flat of a sword, knocking him right out of concentration. Since Schrren was doubtlessly about to invade his mind, I moved fast. I took on a burst of speed, running right at the Shade and kicking him hard in the stomach. I would have gone for the groin, but I wasn’t sure if normal Shades had the ability to reproduce. He was winded for about two seconds before he turned on me, striking me across the side of the head and knocking me to the ground. It was too late for him, though. Tox had been captured, but his mind was firmly locked behind steel barriers. Clearly furious, the Shade roared at his men to move us. I was hauled to my feet, as was the assassin, and we began to march.

Just another day in the life of a monster worshipper.

Words;; 1666, lol.
Muse;; Good! But a little rushed.
Thoughts;; Mwaa. Wraith skillz ftw.

[zkjt]

"Yes, you come with me..and you. And.." I looked at the host of soldiers, all standing at attention. Many were portly, or extremely skinny. I finally chose a man who seemed to be in his late 30's with a drooping mustache and large forehead.
"All of you, follow me," And then I turned and strode down back the way I had originally come.

Halfway through the alleyway I had decided I would need reinforcements. Me and my sergeant had gone back and grabbed 8 soldiers, to help arrest the man who had killed my contacts. I was almost very curious to find the other shade, and I itched to arrest the man quickly before the shade left.

And now I was going back down the alleyway, an orb of red light hovering in front of me. I strode quickly, almost at a jog, while the guards clambered after me, most not used to exercise. I would have to mention this to Galbatorix. After running for a few minutes, I heard people talking in front of me. I raised a hand, motioning for them to stop, and when they all had I stepped out from behind the corner where I was hiding.

“Silence, harlot. I know you’re a cohort of this…” The man had tried to talk, and so far I hadn't gotten a good look at him. And the I did. It was the shade. His white hair was long, down past his shoulders, and he had a sickly green shade of skin color. He was almost as ugly as me. So he was the one managing this assassin...interesting. Did he work for the varden..? He must have unless Galbatorix was hiding him from me. I frowned at this, but continued to stare firmly at the shade as my guards went in a half-circle, blocking exits. I turned and saw the assassin himself, appearing to be dazed, barely moving around.

I curled my lip as I saw the shade move toward me, revealing...something on his hand. I blinked and made a flicking motion with my hand. An arrow shot from over my shoulder and went straight into the shade's shoulder. Grimacing, he pulled it out and snapped the shaft in half. I cocked my head and said in as silky of a voice I could get, “That agent is responsible for murdering my men. He’s coming with us. As for you, I’m sure Galbatorix would find… whatever you are… very interesting. And you.” I turned to my men soon after. "Take them to the gates," I had begun to turn away, I mean I definitely wasn't expecting any resistance. But then suddenly mist drew in and...things floated through the mist, making the men tremble and poke pointlessly at them. I turned back at saw the woman standing next to the assassin...no shade. Snarling, I began to chant, ignoring the cries of my men. When I opened my eyes the mist was gone, and the shade was revealed hacking at my sergeant's neck. Great.

He seemed surprised. The drain on my strength wasn't too bad, but I would have to watch myself. And then I locked eyes, and drove my mind against his. Mind breaking wasn't one of my best techniques. I mean, I was one of the best in the Empire, but the worst of the best. Nonetheless, I drove my mind against his using all my tricks to try to slip past his barriers. They were rock solid. Trickery it was then.

I motioned with my hand while fighting with my mind, and saw with satisfaction that one of my men was approaching the shade with a sword. He hit the shade in the head with the pommel, and his shields faltered. It was enough. I got into his mind, beginning to sift through his memories. Him and the woman running. Learning his name Castox...and then I drew back my mind unwillingly as I was kicked in the stomach. I turned and saw the woman facing me wild-eyed, with tousled hair. Growling, I slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling. My remaining guards were on her in a second, tying her hands behind her. I turned to Castox and saw him staring at me stony-faced. "Malthinae!" He glared at me, but was unable to move. My guards tied him up quickly, and we strode off with the three prisoners.

I kept my mind slightly brushing Castox's consciousness so I would know if he opened it back up. I was surprised, but happy. I had lost 5 guards, but Galbatorix would be happy with the new subjects. I was still slightly wary of Castox though. I doubted that the magic he had performed was his strongest, and I knew I had to be careful. The thought of killing him right then and there drifted into my mind, but I shoved it out after a seconds thought. Galbatorix would be angry if I did.

We strode through the city, heading toward the gates. The woman struggled, but it was futile. My guards had firm grips on her, and I would use magic if I had to. Finally her struggling got to me. "Slytha!" I barked. I watched with satisfaction as she went limp in the guards arms. And then I looked at my treasures. An immobile shade, sleeping beauty, and barely conscious assassin. But as I turned to look at the assassin, I saw him just starting to move around. Great..another one to look out for.

By now we were nearing the gates to Dras-Leona. It seemed like the slaves had been round up which I found satisfying. As I looked back at my prizes, I saw that Castox was glaring at me furiously. I smiled at him, showing my pointed teeth. I doubted he would get by my spell, but I knew he was at least attempting to struggle against it. Turning I barked an order at the guard toward the gate, and he quickly moved forward to open the gate.

And now I had to decide what to do with them. To take them to Galbatorix would take to long, so I would have to settle with the dungeons. I motioned, and the guards followed me. The dungeons were in a conjoining room with the barracks, and all three prisoners were brought in in a haste. I depositied Castox and the assassin, and grabbed the girl. She would be first.

After leaving the guards there, I brought the sleeping girl to a small room off of the dungeon. With a quick word in the Ancient Language, she woke up. Her eyes anpped open, and focused on me sharply. I adapted a calm manner and smiled at her. "Let's start with your name," I said, maintaining a good composure. When she didn't anser, I didn't falter. I cocked my head, and entered her mind. Though she put up good enough barriers, I plowed through them. In a commanding voice I yelled, "Tell me!" I added force, and a sharp jab to her mind. Secretly, I was hoping she wouldn't answer me.

[Angmor]

When it came down to it, there was only so much punishment that a human body could take before it decided to shut down for a while. Even with all of his training in resisting pain, Taraak was no exception. This fact came bitterly to front of his mind as he lay on the floor of the alley, doing his very best not to pass out.
He groaned slightly, the action giving him something else to concentrate on besides the pain. Gods, this shouldn’t come from just running into someone. He must have hit his head on something considerably harder than his skull. That would explain the hot waves of agony spreading outward through his body with each beat of his pulse. Through blurred vision, he was vaguely aware of a face bending over him before he blacked out again.
On the strength of panic, he clawed his way back to consciousness, just in time to hear an unfamiliar language, coming from a voice that sounded unlike any voice he had ever heard before. For some reason, it provoked the mental image of a snake speaking in the common tongue. Inhumanly rasping, yet deep and melodious.
“Oh hey, it’s that guy.”
“You know him?” This one was a female voice, but not as high in pitch as most woman he had heard. Deeper, more exotic, and carrying with it a certain effected smoothness that was usually found in officials and courtiers. Not something one usually expected to run into in an alley.
"Well, no." Returned the odd, slithery kind of voice. "He bumped into me in the market. Shmuck seems to like smacking people." Footsteps on the paving, coming closer. "What's with the knife? He's just a slave with cold feet."
Knife?

[/color] At that Taraak renewed his struggle to rise, trying to throw off the haze around his senses. He managed a slight twitch of his arm before the pain just about overwhelmed him again. The voices started to fade...
"There is something off about him. I don't think he's a slave."
"He did show up about two seconds before we ran into Schrenn. Just leave him. Or kill him, if it makes you feel better..." It was, of course, at that particular sentence he lost consciousness completely.

"Come on! Get up!"
Taraak lay on his back in the mud, the raindrops mixing with the blood and dirt crusting his face as he stared up at the stormy sky. He knew that he needed to comply with the order from the sarge as quickly as possible, but the ground was just so comfortable. Even with the cold rain and mud, he felt like he could lie here forever, staring up at the intricate patterns of lightning that splintered the sky...
A foot slammed into his side, making him cry out and double over in pain.
"I said get up!" Sergeant Baric barked warningly, leaning over him. A punctuated flash of lightning lit up his black-eyed visage, making him look the very image of death.
"Yes sir." Taraak managed to gasp out, scrambling clumsily to his feet, snatching his quarterstaff from the ground and dropping into a defensive stance on the way up. Baric had backed up a few paces, his own hardwood staff making slow, hypnotic circles from hand to hand. These movements were made to distract an opponent, but Taraak knew better.
Don't worry about the weapon, look at the eyes. The eyes will tell you everything you need to know. You can worry about the weapon when he's actually using it for something, but until then, look at the eyes.
Sure enough, he detected a flicker of something in Baric's dark eyes, something that told him to leave one hand in the center of his staff while the other grasped the end, bringing the free end down in a low block to protect his legs. There was a wood-on-wood crack that mimicked the thunder as his staff and that of his opponent connected, sending vibrations up his arm. Baric wasn't going to give him time to recover, however. Taraak backpedalled frantically, whirling his staff wildly as the sarge bored down on him with strike after strike, the constant vibrations straining his muscles and setting his teeth on edge. Finally, a neat upward swing sent his quarterstaff flying from his numb fingers. Quick as the flash of lightning that preceded it, Baric danced round behind him, a rap to the back of his knees and again at his shoulderblades sending him face down in the churned mud of the training field. This time, he stayed down.

He had just been doing this for too long. Sergeant Baric had had them all going since long before dawn, running the obstacle course, endless exercises with knives, and now sparring until long after sundown. Taraak and the rest of the trainees had thought the storm would at last put an end to the day, but Baric had gone on to quickly crush that hope by pointing out that a little rain never hurt anyone. This did not however, mean that no one had ever gotten hurt in the rain. Every part of his body felt bruised and sore, and he felt now that the only thing he had ever wanted to do was lay here and rest his tired limbs.
"Get up." Came Baric's command from above him, but he ignored it. He just didn't have any more to give. He felt and heard Sergeant Baric's boot plant itself in his side, but strangely, he didn't feel any pain. "Get up."
"No." He answered, his own voice sounding dreamy and far away. "I can't do it any longer."
For several moments, the only sound was the pattering of the rain against the ground. Finally, he heard Baric sigh.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Taraak. I always saw it in you, but I had hoped I was wrong."
Taraak felt himself being rolled over onto his back, and he found himself staring straight into Baric's hollow eyes. "But no. You're going to go and do the easy thing. You're going to roll over and die, just like any other man would do. You're weak." Baric spat in disgust, turning and trudging back toward the barracks.

Taraak felt the warm saliva dribbling down his cheek, trying to hold back tears as Baric's words echoed through his mind.
You're weak. You're weak. You're week...
Was it true? Was he weak? Should he just roll over and give up, because he was too weak to survive here?
Just then, as Baric's scorn cooled on his face, something inside him snapped. His shame boiled away, replaced by a sense of icy rage. Who did Baric think he was? How well would he do at ten years old, working hard all day before trying to spar with someone almost twice his size? Taraak felt his fatigue drain away, his body flooded with new strength. No. He wasn't weak. Baric could knock him down as many times as he wanted, but Taraak swore that whenever he got knocked down, he would always get back up.

He surged to his feet, setting his eyes on Baric's retreating back. With a snarl he charged forward, snatching up his quarterstaff as he ran. Holding the wooden rod like a spear, he raised it above his head and brought it down as hard as he could toward the back of Baric's head.
He was fast.
The sarge was faster.
Baric had his staff up in a horizontal block almost before Taraak began the attack. Lightning flashed as the weapons connected yet again, blinding Taraak for a split second. He braced himself, waiting for the retaliatory strike that was soon to come. Baric would probably be angry, but he found himself unable to care. He had show that he wasn't weak. Strangely, Baric did not attack. As his vision cleared, Taraak found him the exact same, still holding the block above his head, simply staring down at the trainee. Taraak noticed after a moment that he was smiling.
"Good." He said. "Very good."

By nature of his profession, Taraak had quite a bit of experience with unconsciousness. Drawing from his experience, he knew that the growing throbbing in his head probably meant that he was coming around. As if he was an outside observer within his own body, he felt each of his senses return one after another, layering on top of one another as they built up a picture of his situation. The first thing he was aware of was sound. An echoing cacophony of dim voices, punctuated here and there with rumbling sounds that evoked images in his scrambled imagination of large iron doors slamming shut. Much closer, he heard what sounded like two men in a low-voiced conversation, but he was unable to make out any of the words. A moment later, he realized that he was lying on his stomach, the surface pressed against his face feeling cold and gritty. Finally, there was the smell. Wherever he was, the sewer smell that permeated Dras-Leona was even stronger here, sticking in the back of his throat and making him suppress a fit of coughing. He made a preliminary attempt to rise, but the resulting wave of nausea and dizziness made him sink back down against whatever he was laying on. He groaned as the throbbing pain in his head grew threefold.
Ok, wasn't quite ready for that one yet. Take it easy. If they were going to kill you, they'd have done it already.[/Color]
So, who were they? Better question, how had he gotten from an alley in Dras-Leona to... wherever this place was in Dras-Leona. Even better, where was he?
For the first time, he cracked his eyes open. He shut them barely half a second later, still feigning unconsciousness. If there was an enemy out there, he would have an advantage so long as they still thought he was out. Taking advantage of his perfect recall, summoned the image of what he had just seen, examining the image with his mind's eye.
There wasn't much to see, really. He was lying on a dirty stone floor, the rest of the room so dimly lit it was difficult to make out. The only source of illumination was from the barred window set in the center of a heavy timber door at one corner of the room, through which also came the sounds he was hearing. Everything else he had seen could come from anywhere, but the design of the door was one that he knew all too well.
Well,[/Color] He thought ruefully to himself. It won't be the first time I've woken up in an imperial cell...[/Color]

Just then, he heard a faint scraping noise from somewhere behind him. His breath caught instinctively, and he strained to listen over the noise coming from outside...
No, there was no mistaking it. Now that he was listening for it, he could definitely hear another set of breathing back there.
Not only was he waking up in a cell, he was also not alone in it.
Working slowly so as not to set off his aching head again, he rolled over onto his back, opening his eyes carefully...
And stopped short.
In the shadow of a corner at the other side of the cell stood a figure. In the dim light of the cell, Taraak could make out no details other than that the shape was more or less human.
Except for the luminous yellow eyes, that glowed just visibly in the gloom, the slitted black pupils staring straight at him.

For a moment, he had no idea what to make of it. While had had about as much experience with these sorts of situation than anyone, he truly had no idea what to do when he was sealed into a ten foot by ten foot space with a shadowy monster. But then his well trained instinct for survival kicked in, and he realized that whatever was going to happen next, he would probably have a better chance if he was standing up.
Making sure not to make any sudden moves, he levered himself slowly to his feet, ignoring the pulsing pain from his head. Throughout the operation, the yellow eyes never wavered from his own.
Finally with a last effort, Taraak was standing. The figure didn't move a muscle, simply continuing to stare at him with those glowing yellow eyes. Finally, he took it on himself to speak.
"Look," He said. "I'm not sure who you are, or what's going on, but-"
There was no warning. One second the figure was standing in the corner, completely still and relaxed, and the next he was surging forward faster than the spy could follow. Taraak found himself being slammed hard against the wall of the cell, causing him to cry out in pain and surprise. He found himself pinned in place, staring straight into the yellow eyes.

Taraak struggled, trying to break the figure’s grip on his shoulder while he searched desperately for the other hand…
Ah, there it was. A single ray of light from the door grate fell on a single pale, long-fingered hand, looking like it was frozen in the act of delivering a flat-handed strike before Taraak had instinctively grabbed the figure’s wrist, stopping the blow from hitting his chest. His memory sparked…
…The man whirled with silent growl on his face, but strangely, instead of a weapon, his right hand opened spasmodically, as if he was preparing to deliver one of the flat-palmed strikes favored by certain nomad fighting styles.
He frowned inwardly. It can’t possibly be him…[/Color]
There was a low snarl from the figure, and as Taraak watched, a narrow slit opened in the palm of the pale hand with a small wet sound.
Taraak’s eyes widened. What the hell?[/color]
The figure began pushing against Taraak’s block with inhuman strength. Unable to reassert his grip, Taraak watched helplessly as the monstrous hand drew closer and closer to his chest…

Now, Taraak had no idea what was going on here, nor what this thing was. But he could only assume that having this creature put that slit against his chest would be a bad thing. And since the monster was obviously a lot stronger and faster, Taraak knew that he would not stop that from happening by beating it in a test of strength as he was trying to do now. Changing tactics, he repositioned his arm, and let go of the figure’s wrist. Unable to check the momentum of the sudden release, the figure sprang forward just enough for Taraak to deflect the hand up and to the side, making it connect solidly with the stone wall just above his right shoulder. There was a reptilian hiss in the darkness, and Taraak suddenly found himself picked up by his tunic and tossed bodily through the air. He hit the floor on his stomach and skidded at a steep angle, finally coming to rest at the foot of the wall on the other side of the cell. Through blurred vision, he was just able to make out the figure advancing slowly towards him, some kind of long garment swinging dramatically as it advanced. Taraak realized then that this wasn’t going to work. If he was at full strength, he might be able to dance with this thing long enough for him to think of something. But with his body still shaky from getting his skull halfway stove in, there was just no way. Still, why was this thing trying to kill him? Surely if they were put in the same cell by the Empire, they both had to want the same thing… Whatever the case, it seemed his only recourse was to try and reason with it.
The irony wasn’t lost on him for a moment.
“Look, I’m not sure who you are,” He gasped out, wrestling himself into a sitting position against the wall. “but I think you’re making a mistake.” Just then, his hand bumped against something hard lying on the floor next to him. Ah, a rock. That would help. He surreptitiously wrapped his fingers around it and slid it carefully behind his back. “We both want to get out of here, right? Maybe we can help each other. Killing me just isn’t worth it.” It might have been his imagination, but the luminous eyes might have flicked slightly. Unsure if it was a good thing, Taraak tightened his grip on the pitifully small rock, hoping desperately that he would not have to use it.[/size][/blockquote]

Wow, I am hugely sorry this is so late, guys. Now, with writing class ending and the play done, I should be getting more time. Especially now that my muse has returned.

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

Rage flared up inside me as Schrren forced us to march. I was completely immobile, but the ropes around me allowed me to drag my feet at a steady pace. I watched as Anck was roughly pulled up, a scrape marring her flawless face, and the mystery man as the same was done to him. He was notably more conscious than before, but his eyes were twitching beneath their lids as if he was dreaming. But I was more worried about Anck. She furrowed her brow and pushed and sassed the guards until Schrren barked out a spell, and she collapsed into the soldiers’ arms. Fuming, I struggled violently against my bindings, knowing that each second I did would drain the Shade’s magic. This was very bad. Of all the people that could have captured us, it was him. I was trapped, and he was more than capable of hurting Anck. And the look of maddened lust he’d given her was anything but hope-inspiring. Think, Tox. Don’t let him get to you. Just think.

We were marched in broad daylight past the passers-by as they looked on, their faces mixtures of fear, puzzlement, or interest. Most of the terror was directed at Schrren as he marched proudly, while open-mouthed gawks met my gaze. I snarled viciously at anyone who got too close, baring my serrated fangs. I was so furious that flames ought to have been streaming out of every pore of my body, but the spell bound me physically and magically. And so, I just focussed on draining Schrren’s powers. The walk was long and arduous, and when I wasn’t sucking away at Schrren’s energy I was watching the slaves being rounded up. Guards filled the entirety of the streets. Well, that just made escape even easier. My heart sank. This couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t. There were so many things I wanted to do. I didn’t even know what Anck looked like in her underwear yet.

We reached the gates of Dras-Leona, where Schrren paused, probably wondering what he was going to do with us. After a few moments, he turned around and barked in that animal voice of his, and the gates were opened. We were marched past them and down a small set of stairs inset into the wall, obviously the closest barracks. We were pushed past a mess hall and flights of stairs probably leading to bedrooms. The entire place was empty, no doubt thanks to the slaves’ revolt. We were forced through another door that took us down into the depths of the dungeons, which were packed tightly with the filth of the streets. Maniacs clung to the iron bars and blathered nonsense, prostitutes assumed provocative positions and called out, and adolescents stood around gloomily. The real criminals and psychos were taken to the palace dungeons, and if they were bad enough, to Urû’baen. Schrren probably didn’t want anyone important messing with his prisoners.

The unknown man and I were flung into an empty cell. Having no control over my body, I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. I groaned before suddenly feeling the invisible barriers around me drawing away, freeing me. With a snarl, I rose to my feet, just in time to see Anck, who was mumbling incoherently in her magical sleep, being dragged off for Schrren to do gods-knew-what to her. I roared and bodily slammed myself against the iron bars, clinging desperately as I tried to force them apart. But they must have been magically enhanced, because they didn’t budge. When I summoned my spirits’ flames and blasted the door, it took on a strange blue glow. I made the mistake of trying to touch it with my left hand. It zapped me, sending pain shooting up my arm before it went completely numb. Swearing viciously, I turned and started pacing around the cell. The window? I glanced up. It too had the blue glow, and it was too small for me to fit through anyway. I returned to my nervous pacing, racking my brain for some sort of a solution.

A groan of pain nearly made me jump, and I turned to glare at the escaped slave as he rolled over, his face twisted with pain. His eyelids flickered as his gaze fell on me, before widening so I could see the steel-grey colour of his eyes. Fear. I was used to it. However, this man rather reminded me of a wounded animal- far more dangerous than an ordinary one. He looked cornered and ready despite his somewhat vulnerable position on his backside. I allowed him to rise to his feet, trembling with the effort. Then he looked at me, trying to guess what I was, probably. For a long minute, we just stood there, two predators scoping out their competition. But two hunters couldn’t share the same land. One of us would have to get rid of the other. And I wasn’t about to become the loser.

“Look, I’m not sure who you are, or what’s going on, but-”

I wasn’t going to let the little human reason with me. I rushed him before he’d even finished his sentence, slamming into him full force. A cry escaped his lips as I rammed him up against the wall, terror eclipsing his face. Since my left arm was still completely gone, I was using my weight to trap him as it hung pathetically by my side. I raised my right hand, briefly allowing myself to savour the moment before I brought it towards the slightly exposed skin of the man’s chest. He snatched my wrist, but I was far stronger than him. And then, he reacted. It was probably just the fear driving him on, but he suddenly released me. Since I’d been putting a lot of weight on that hand, I briefly lost my balance, enough to let him smack my hand away, slamming it into the wall above me. Hissing with pain, I dragged it out of the wall, dripping black blood, and snatched the man by his tunic, flinging him across the room. The satisfactory crash of his body hitting the floor before slamming into the wall alleviated the pain of my wounded hand. I strode towards him slowly, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against me now.

“Look, I’m not sure who you are,” he suddenly hissed desperately, forcing himself to sit up. “But I think you’re making a mistake.” Ah, the bargaining stage. Then it was too bad for him that I didn’t like negotiating. “We both want to get out of here, right? Maybe we can help each other. Killing me just isn’t worth it.”

I paused, my mouth working and no sound coming out. He was right. Despite all the power I had on hand, I was stuck. Paranoid from the unexpected capture and terrified over whatever Schrren was probably doing to Anck right at that very moment, I wasn’t thinking straight. I hadn’t come up with anything. The last time I’d escaped from somewhere as secure as this place, I’d been using Anck as a human shield. Insensitive, yes, but it had worked at the time. I really would need him. An escaped slave would be handy. And if he really was some kind of secret agent as Anck and Schrren had suggested, then that was even better. On top of all that, I wasn’t hungry now. And I wanted to save space for that bastard Schrren’s life force. Could I even feed on a conventional Shade? Huh.

“Alright, look…” I stepped forward. I apparently did it too quickly for the likes of the slave, however, because suddenly a puny rock was being bounced off my forehead. I touched the tiny cut that had appeared, and felt my superhero resolve being snapped.
“I said, LOOK!” I screamed, flames exploding violently around the cell. The man cowered. “When I say something that so obviously begins a negotiation, you do not respond by using my face as a skipping pond! Comprende, bandito?”
“Sorry,” the man said, sounding perplexed.
“Good answer. Now, I don’t know if you noticed, but did you see the little lady? About yea tall, dark skin, very easy on the eyes? No? Well, that… that… SCHLEMIEL…” the man avoided another explosion of flame, “has her in his disgusting little hands. And he’s doing the most… well. I can’t say exactly what because there could be kids reading this. But I want her back. I want her unscathed. And to do that, I need to leave here. But that… you see that weird blue glow, slave boy? Yeah. That’s magic. And it’s screwing around with my magic. Look what the bastard did to my left arm. So we need to get rid of the magic and get out of here. You help me get my babe back, and I help you get out of Dras-Leona. And honestly, who wouldn’t, I mean, this place makes Galbatorix’s palace look like heaven, eh? So, what say we shake on it, you… uh, what’s your name again?”

Anck had always complained that I talked way too fast, like some kind of sleazy businessman. She appeared to be right. The man hadn’t said a word, and now he was blinking slowly like he was trying to absorb everything I’d just said. Annoyed, I tapped my foot expectantly before sighing and shoving my hand towards him. He jumped.

“Y’know, I don’t really have, like, time to bat this around, so if you want me to eat you instead I’d be more than happy to-”
“Taraak.”
“Eh?”
“It’s just Taraak.”
“Ah, lacking a family name, are we? Well, you’re not alone. Pleased to meet you, Derek, the name’s Castox, but you can call me Tox. Now, what think you of the deal? Don’t worry about the hand; as long as the feeding slit’s not open, you’re totally safe.” I waved it at him impatiently. “Going once, going twice…”
“Alright! I help you get this girl…”
“Anck. Anck Seh Namun. She’s got royal blood in her, I’ll bet.”
“This Anck Seh Namun, and you help me out of Dras-Leona.” He looked at my hand with a measure of uncertainty before carefully slipping his into mine.
“Bingo!” I squeezed, and as promised, I kept the feeding slit shut. “Now that the small talk’s over and done with, what the hell are we gonna do?”

---

I awoke to aching pain throughout my entire body, like I’d just been manhandled and dragged across an entire city. Oh, wait a minute. I had been manhandled and dragged across an entire city. My arms were splayed across wooden armrests, which I gripped firmly as I tried to make myself sit straight. I was in the smallest, most boring room imaginable, with nothing but a stone floor, ceiling, and walls, with three objects inside it- two simple wooden chairs with a matching table. There wasn’t even a window. However, as I managed to seat myself properly, I noticed a smaller table off to the side with crude-looking sharp metal instruments on it, all coated with a thick layer of blood. Feeling afraid, I automatically crouched in my chair, making myself smaller.

“Let’s start with your name,” said a chilled voice near me.

I finally looked at the Shade sitting across the table. If it was possible, I found him more revolting than any person I had ever met before, including Tox. My Shade was egomaniacal and slightly bipolar, whereas this one was megalomaniacal and totally deranged. And Tox, though markedly odd, had attractive features such as his yellow eyes and flowing locks. This guy was just plain ugly. I shrunk down in my seat, unwilling to answer him. His pasty white face was calmer than a pool at the moment, but his black eyes danced with sadistic pleasure and a certain edge that was frightening to behold.

“Tell me!”

My silence had pushed him over that edge, apparently, because he suddenly forced himself into my mind. I put barriers up, but they were shaky. Tox had been teaching me how to defend my mind for several years now, but I rarely got the chance to use it in an actual battle and I was afraid now. And with his power, the Shade easily ploughed through the barriers. I cried out and grabbed the sides of my head in vain as a few short, sharp jabs prodded my memories. But suddenly, he retreated. It had been a warning. Still, he’d lifted some information- my homeland of the Antilles, and that Tox was from a royal family. I needed to talk, and I needed to talk now. However, I wondered why he was verbally interrogating me instead of just taking everything I knew by force. Some scheme of his, no doubt, or maybe he just wanted to see my response to fear.

“Men,” I sighed. “So impatient.” My lovely dress was filthy and torn, unfortunately, but there was a rip down the hem that I could put to use rather nicely. I folded one leg over the other, blatantly showing them off to the Shade. I wasn’t about to play his little mind games. “My name’s Anck Seh Namun, Anck to my friends, or at least it would be if I had any.” I tossed my hair down my back, revealing both of my shoulders. “The Shade, he’s my escort of sorts. We just moved in from abroad. We were buying slaves before they so rudely revolted against you… some people. Ugh, I could really use a smoke. And then, of course, you captured us on some whim. I assure you, we’re just looking to become naturalized Imperial citizens. Nothing more.”

I eyed Schrren fearlessly, toying with the corset of my dress. If I kept him happy, I would get out alive, no doubt. Tox and I had worked on our ‘back story’ for weeks. I found myself worried about him. I’d been knocked out until I’d reached this room, so I could only assume that we were somewhere underground due to the lack of windows, probably some dungeon. Hopefully, Tox was in jail and not dead. And if all else failed, I had stuck the knife I’d taken from the assassin securely in my shoe. I could feel the now warm metal blade underneath my toes. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be found out about.

Words;; 2400
Muse;; Really good!
Thoughts;; I really like this post, you guys!!

[Angmor]

After training for so long, Taraak took pride in his ability to adapt to sudden changes in a situation. But even the best, he now knew, had problems sometimes. And, after going from waking up from head injury to fighting for his life to negotiating with a monster who was throwing down an ultimatum in a voice that was a cross between a demon of legend and a pushy weapon merchant who liked to shoot gouts of flame from his hands, Taraak was indeed finding trouble.

He found himself blinking under the sudden blistering hale of information, feeling as if he was negotiating a tightrope while trying to catch falling pieces to a puzzle that he would need to assemble on the other end. Very quickly, he gave up trying to catch the pieces, instead just closing his eyes and letting his eidetic memory take in the scrambled babble for his conscious to sort out whenever he had a chance to do so. At last, the slithery voice came to a halt, leaving Taraak the moment he needed to replay the memory of what he’d heard, this time much slower, slotting the information into place to fill the gaps in his perception.
Apparently, this thing had a female companion with him. As he was easily able to match the voice of this thing with the first voice he had heard back in the alley, he assumed that the striking female voice he had heard immediately afterword belonged to this companion. And this girl was also apparently in the hands of some enemy that the Thing didn’t particularly like, but he was unable to get them out to save her due to some spell on the door and window. So, the Thing was offering him a deal: Help find the girl, and he would live. Well, when it came to that, what choice did he have? Still, how the hell would he do that? First step would be getting out of the cell, and there was no way that he could really help with that…
“Y’know,” Came the Thing’s voice, intruding on his thoughts. “I don’t really have, like, time to bat this around, so if you want me to eat you instead I’d be more than happy to-”
“Taraak.” He responded quickly, opening his eyes. He supposed it would probably be better to seal the deal before he set to work on the new task, especially with these kinds of stakes.
“Eh?”
“It’s just Taraak.” He clarified, rising slowly and carefully to his feet to ease his throbbing head. Damn it, sometimes people were so slow. Could they get on with this?
“Ah, lacking a family name, are we? Well, you’re not alone. Pleased to meet you, Derek, the name’s Castox, but you can call me Tox.” Finally, a name. Taraak mentally filed it away for a time that he could do a little research.
“Now,” The Thing said. “What think you of the deal? Don’t worry about the hand; as long as the feeding slit’s not open, you’re totally safe.” For the first time, Taraak noticed the hand that had been thrust in his direction.
The hand with the slit in it that had very nearly been pushed into his chest a few minutes earlier.
Suddenly, he wasn’t quite so anxious to seal this deal.
The Th- Castox, he corrected himself, apparently noticed his reluctance. A reptilian sighed pierced the air, setting his teeth on edge. “Going once, going twice…”
“Alright! I help you get this girl…”
“Anck. Anck Seh Namun. She’s got royal blood in her, I’ll bet.”
Anck. Finally, he had a name to match the voice. Now all he needed was a face, and he’d have a full mental file for her. And once he had the face, he would have held up his end.
“This Anck Seh Namun,” He amended, “And you help me out of Dras-Leona.”
Feeling himself cringe, he looked one last time the proffered hand, his every instinct screaming that this was a bad idea…
Oh hell, just do it.

[/Color]
Locking away his protests behind iron bars of will, he slapped his hand into the pale, monstrous one in front of him and gave it one hearty, spasmodic jerk.
“Bingo!” Tox rasped, obviously pleased. “Now that the small talk’s over and done with, what the hell are we gonna do?”
In answer, the first thing that Taraak did was to pull his hand away, shuddering despite himself as he examined his palm. He considered himself one who did not scare easily, but hands were a representation of humanity, and there was some primal fear in the hand of a monster. Still, his leather half-glove was undamaged. This monster had kept his word.
For now.
And now, it was time to go to work so that this good faith would continue until Taraak was either safely away or, preferably, better equipped for treachery when it came.

For a moment, Taraak held his vigilance, knowing that he was not in danger, but unable to relax just yet. Castox stared a moment, then seemed to take the hint, splitting the silence with another sigh as he took a step beyond arm’s reach. Taraak hated himself for being so shivery about it, but there was just something unsettling in the creature’s presence, like the feeling of a million insects crawling all over. Thankfully, the feeling seemed to lessen with distance, and he found himself able to think on the objective. Just then, his head gave one mighty throb, as if in protest for being forgotten. He winced. Right. Let’s attend to those little details first…[/Color] He thought, taking a mental examinations of all the reasons his body wasn’t happy with him.
He was more or less bruised all over from being thrown around by Castox, especially on his back and left side. Yes, he thought, pressing gently, he would be a nice shade of purple in the morning…
Finally, he turned his attention to what he’d been dreading.
His head.
Reaching up gingerly, he began to very carefully probe the wound, his fingers crunching over the crust of dried blood that matted his hair. Rather a lot of blood, he thought. That wasn’t good. He’d seen plenty of head wounds that left people going strong, only to keel over dead an hour later when something was dislodged inside that should have stayed where it was. But then, he’d also seen people with head wounds that should have been dead, and yet didn’t.
Very carefully, he inched his fingers a bit closer… Then a bit more… Finally, his fingers came into contact with the wound itself, causing him to hiss in pain. Waiting for the sting to subside, he tried again.
Well, he thought to himself, it seemed that he’d gotten lucky again. For all the blood, the somewhat rounded gouge in his head was not very deep, and seemed to have clotted over nicely with an ugly-feeling mound of scab tissue. Still, there was no way to tell. For all he knew, he was a dead man walking, and would know all about it in a few minutes.
Well, better get to work and see how far you can get, then. Professional image to maintain and all that.[/Color]

Straightening up carefully, he eyes began roaming the room, cataloguing the obstacles and resources. Since he had already seen most of the cell, he concentrated his attention mostly on the ethereal blue shimmer that flickered in and out of his site, the main reason that they were stuck in here. So, that was what this Castox had been talking about. Not for the first time, he cursed whoever had discovered magic. Anything that was solid wood or metal or stone, flesh and blood, growing and living, he could deal with just fine. But magic… Magic was its own, and there were very few things that could be done to it except to bring in stronger magic. Which Taraak couldn’t exactly do, and Tox apparently didn’t have.
Shutting his eyes, he summoned up all he knew about magical barriers, hoping to find something useful. It wasn’t much, but he did have some experience, having literally run into them a few times before. As far as he knew, barriers were like any spell, requiring an utterance of the Ancient Language to produce the desired effect. That effect, he also knew, was as unique as the person desiring it. Some barriers deflected only physical objects, some deflected only magic, some just absorbed attacks, some sent them back at the attacker, there was never any set feature beyond making sure that something did not go through a certain space. So, he would need to find out just what this one did before he went about circumventing it.

Opening his eyes, he took a few steps toward the door, aware of the yellow eyes of Castox on him the whole way. He ignored them, leaning in close to examine the blue shimmer. Although it was difficult to pin down with his eyes, it definitely spanned across the entire doorway. He briefly entertained the idea of gouging out around the doorframe, but he quickly discarded the idea. The masonry around the door was far too sturdy, and the seams between the stones too small, even if he had anything to gouge with. No, there wasn't really any way to get around the barrier. That meant he would have to go through.

Resisting the natural human urge to touch it, he cast around, looking for... Ah, there it was, the small rock that ended up being so unhelpful to him before. Maybe now it would be time to repay the debt. He reached out and picked it up, mindful of Castox's boot. Standing up, her stepped as far away from the door as the confined space would allow, and tossed the rock experimentally toward the barrier. If it allowed some inanimate objects to pass through, then there might be a chance that he could rig up a way to gouge through the door to get at the bolt...
There was a sharp fizz sound, and Taraak was forced to leap sideways as the rock was launched back at him with even more force than he had thrown it. He was just a hair too slow, and the rock nicked the first knuckle of his middle finger, sending a shock a pain up his arm. He hissed, shaking his hand as he glared at the offending stone as it lay impassively at his feet. Well, that was it then. He'd done everything he could think to do for the moment. Now, he knew he could figure something out given enough time, but Castox did not strike him as the patient type. When he turned around and said that they would need to settle down and wait for an opportunity, he guessed that they would be right back where they started when he first woke up, with him fighting a stronger and faster opponent with nothing in the way of assets but a tiny rock. He would need to figure out a contingency plan for that before he verbalized admitting defeat, then. Perhaps, if he threw the rock and just the right angle, it would strike the barrier at just the right angle to distract Castox just long enough to…
Just then, an idea struck him. A shadow, really. A flicker of a plan. But somehow, he could not think of any reasons why it wouldn’t work. Restraining a sense of excitement that was starting to well up within him, he turned, checking that directly opposite the door…
Was the window. A window, that was shielded in the exact same way as the door, a shield that propelled objects away with greater force than before. At last, Taraak allowed himself a tight, predator’s smile.
“Castox,” He said calmly, taking up position in a far corner of the room. “Stand back.”

Bracing himself, Taraak hefted the rock and threw it at the window, very careful to make sure that it struck the barrier straight on. There was the now familiar fizz, and the rock was again thrown backwards…
Straight into the barrier of the door. Like the swinging of a pendulum, the rock was bounced back from the door into the window, and back again, over and over, gaining speed with each strike. Very soon, the air was filled with a continual angry buzz, and the passage of the rock became a shimmering grey blur, too fast a human eye to possibly follow. Suddenly under a constant barrage, the blue shimmer of the shields started to grow brighter and brighter, until Taraak had to look away for the intensity, hoping that he hadn’t misjudged and was about to kill them both. Finally, the buzzing built to a crescendo, and with one final electric crack, the shields disintegrated in a shower of blue sparks. Suddenly, there was silence.

Very carefully, Taraak looked up. After a moment, he advanced one tentative step toward the door, the tang of ozone heavy in the air. He took another step, then another. Then, with a final glance at Castox, he reached forward and touched the door with the tips of his fingers.
Nothing happened.
At last, Taraak relaxed completely, a sense of deep accomplishment filling him.
So much for the omniscience of magic. Just look at what one of us mere mortals did with just a rock and some thinking time.[/Color]
It was right then that he noticed that not only was the shield gone, but so was the lock on the door. Apparently the rock had been heading toward the door when the barrier melted, and with nothing to stop it, the stone had struck the door with the force of a battering ram, splintering a fist-sized hole in the wood and blowing out the steel deadbolt. Taraak stared a moment, blinking.
He hadn’t even planned it that way.
For years, he had resisted this feeling, fearing that it might go to his head and give him a false sense of confidence. But now, just once, he allowed himself a private glow of certainty that he really was good at what he did.

But only for a moment. After all, they were not out yet. There were still guards outside, and he couldn’t imagine that they hadn’t heard at least some of the noise. They probably only had about another twenty seconds before they turned the corner to investigate. And then, of course, they would need to somehow find a way to get around this place enough to find this girl that Castox had told him about. But, as with most instances like this, they would need to take it one obstacle at a time. This in mind, he stepped to one side the door, gesturing to Castox.
“After you.”[/size][/blockquote]

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

This kid was ridiculously paranoid. If the near heart attack I’d given him by shaking his hand wasn’t enough to reinforce the fact, the wary gaze he was now giving me did. Every time I blinked, I expected him to scream like a little girl and try to climb out the window. And then, of course, he’d get zapped, and he’d continue screaming until my patience wore off and I snapped his scrawny little neck like a twig. The mental image gave me the urge to giggle, although when I saw his never-wavering glare attempting to bore into me, I knew that wouldn’t be the case. No gory fun for Castox, then. At least, not yet. After a few more moments of eye-battling, I got bored, giving a heavy sigh and finally turning away, leaving the pesky mortal to his pondering. I went to the corner like the naughty little boy I was and leaned against the wall, watching him.

As soon as I was gone, he completely changed, his brow furrowing as he thought, probably very deeply. And yet for some reason, this kid, despite being nothing more than a worthless slave, struck me as very intelligent. Something told me that if I moved a muscle even while his back was turned, he’d be on me faster than that damn Shade had been on my Anck. The thought of it made my nerves twitch, and I snarled gutturally, flames engulfing my arms. Taraak was too polite to say anything. Well, those nobles he served probably did the weirdest things- hell, my own mother, a duchess in the freaking Saxon Empire, had gone and turned me into a Shade. He had to be used to this sort of thing. Therefore, I felt absolutely no need to hold back from anything- the fire-shooting I was so fond of, talking, or prying for information.

“So… so, this Shade, right? He’s a real piece of work, innit? I mean, he’s super-famous in these parts, you’ve gotta have heard of him, maybe even met him. He really hated you, maybe you worked for him before? Look, I know you’re busy, but it’s pretty damn creepy in here and I’m just tryin’ to make conversation. I’m not from these parts, you can prolly tell from my accent, and no offence, but you Alagaësians, the way you talk and your names… like, OO-ROO-BANE. What. Is. That, some kind of verbal diarrhea?... Oh-kay then, how about a joke? Now, what did the Grim Reaper say to the grieving relatives? ‘My business is dead people. If I have no dead people, my business is dead, people.’ Huh? Huh? OH, COME ON!” He didn’t even flinch at the explosion of flame. “I know you’re alive, servant boy. I can hear you breathing. Ugh, since when did the lower-class ignore those of obvious upper-class…”
“Castox,” said Taraak.
“Eh?”
“Stand back.” He had suddenly migrated to the back of the room.
“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about! This whole democracy thing and the separation of the classes had better just be a fad. Oh, and call me Tox, please. It’s faster, and better, than Castox.” I moved up against the corner.

It struck me that Taraak hadn’t been paying any attention to my genius babble, or the fact that I’d been spouting flames when he didn’t react to my joke. Irritated, I sulked and glared as he did the most ridiculous thing with a rock. He threw it at the window, and bounced it off the door, and bounced it off the window, which bounced off the door, which bounced off the window, and bounced off the door again. After that I stopped following, because it was pretty much redundant. It did, however, make a shiny light show, although the noise left much to be desired. Eventually, my brilliantly sensitive ears started to cry out in pain, and I clapped my hands over them, squinting at the now overly shiny blue light. I wanted to yell at Taraak, but the noise stopped with a sudden, thunderous crack that made me shudder violently as I felt the magic die. The feeling was scary, creepy, and Taraak’s smug look wasn’t helping things. Well, those of the less-than-lower class did have a ridiculous hatred of the arcane-

“After you.” His voice surprised me.
“Er…”
“I’m not the heavy combat type.”
“Yeah? WELL, NEITHER AM I, BOURNE BOY!” I blew out more flames.
He looked shocked, like some secret of his had been revealed. Then he sighed in annoyance. “Alright… but you’ll need to handle the guards. Here they come.”

I peeked out of the now-open doorway, indeed hearing the rhythmic clank of steel armour as it came down the stairs. I expected to see other cells, but I was surprised to notice that we were at the end of a long hallway only accessible by the one flight of stairs. Well, at least Schrren had had the kindness to give us the best room… what was I thinking? The ass had gone and locked me up without the sincerity to at least separate me from the common-born, taken my Anck, was doing things to her, and here I was, playing hide-and-seek with a slave who I’d probably end up eating…

Taraak must have seen the rage written all over my face or something, because he suddenly bolted back into the cell and hid behind the wall. Unable to contain my fury, I jumped up and down and roared, releasing a molten blast of flame that would have incinerated everything if the prison weren’t built out of stone.

“Everything’s Anck’s fault!” I bellowed. “If she hadn’t needed a slave, which is ironic considering that she is a slave, I wouldn’t be in this damned city, locked in this damned prison with that damned slave, that Schrren the Shitty didn’t even had the sincerity to at least separate me from, taken my Anck and is doing things to her, and here I am, playing hide-and-seek with the slave I’ll probably end up eating…”
“… Are you done?” ventured the slave right about then. “You killed those two, but more’ll be coming with that noise…”
“NO, I AM NOT! JUST…” I fumed, smoking and burning and hissing before I forced myself to get a hold of my anger. “Okay, okay, I’m cool, I’m cool, I’m fine… wait… did I say all that out loud, just now? ‘Cause y’know, I didn’t mean it-”
“Sarge!” someone screamed. “SARGE! Caius and Embri are dead! That green thing killed them! Get the Sh- Schrren!”
“How many times do I gotta tell them? I’m Castox, Lord of the- OI!”

I snarled again as the slave suddenly gave me a shove, bolting for the stairs. Not keen on being left behind, I followed, passing two charred corpses that I only just noticed, and going up the stairs. I took them three at a time, bouncing after the surprisingly fast servant. Just before we reached the top, he dodged a sword blow from a tiny soldier that didn’t look to be out of his teens. I knew Anck would give me a hard time if I went and killed a kid, so while he was preoccupied with Taraak, I cracked him on the back of the head, careful not to hit his neck. He slumped to the floor, and I looked up just in time to see Taraak rounding a corner. It was dark and slimy in the prison, making me fume as I tried to get rid of the imprint the blue light in the cell had gone and made in my vision while storming after the slave. If he intended to leave me behind, I would give him such hell; he wouldn’t stand properly for a week. I managed to keep up with him despite being disoriented, though, although after winding around yet another corner he disappeared. I swore and slowed down, only to be violently yanked behind a wall.

“Before you kill me, listen closely.” Irritably, I listened. And then my blood turned to ice. “Those screams make it pretty obvious that the torture chamber’s right here. She’d either be here or somewhere near the regular prison, being interrogated. But considering the circumstances, I think it’s a safe bet that she’s here. But we’re still far from the surface. Do you have any idea of the prison’s layout?”
“Uh… no go, sorry.”
“Didn’t think so. We’ll start here, then. Although…”
“Although what?” I snapped. “What brilliant trap has Schrren laid in store for us lucky duo? Swinging axes? Killer badgers? Oh, maybe he intends to drown us in tea-”
“Are you familiar with the new painless soldiers?”
“Painless soldiers?” I blinked.
“Painless soldiers.”
“Painless soldiers?”
“… Painless soldiers.”
“Painless s-”
“You know what… you’ll find out pretty soon.”
I sighed. “Whatever. Let’s give it a whirl.”

Words;; 1477
Muse;; Good at the beginning, then it sorta... deteriorated.
Thoughts;; Great at the beginning, BLEGH by the end!