Savage Nights (Solo)(Explicit)

by **Mok** on January 6th, 2012, 10:42 pm

Winter 1, 8:45 PM

His mind began to race. His palms began to sweat. No friends around. Tonight he was solo. Mok also sensed something wrong in the bar. Scanning the room reveals nothing out of the ordinary, but an aura of anxiety filled the area. Also it is worth to mention it was a full moon outside. Anyone could tell you about the weird looneys that come out during a full moon. Nights like this were the worst, everything was on edge. Something was bound to happen.

Sitting down the myrian ordered a cold glass of beer. It is just what he needed to calm down. Waiting impatiently, Mok's order finally appeared. Cheers to the barkeep and bottoms up! Mok's mind drifted as he gulped down his putrid ale. The stale liquid filled his mouth in glorious respite.

The myrian had been binge drinking for a while. Even he was beginning to admit that he was an alcoholic. No matter though. Mok didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he could live his life in any way he wanted. None had the right to tell him what was right and wrong. Only he could decide what he did in life.

First glass and his thirst were quenched. He loved drinking. Loved it. Not only was alcohol delicious, but it also got you drunk. And being drunk was great.

Looking at the liquor rack Mok pondered what to drink next. Dark means fighting, but light means gambling. Without another thought crossing his mind, Mok ordered some dark liquor he had never tried before. Smiling foul, Mok shrugged and gulped it down. It stung, but it was worth it. In all due time Mok would be feeling great.

Another beer. How could you deny an ice cold one after such a nasty. No way! In one breath Mok drank the whole glass. It was great. His throat felt so good. The bittersweet taste of the ale tingled his taste buds. Tonight was going to be a great night. This time, Mok was enjoying himself too much. He didn't care though. Tonight he would lay it all down. Tonight he was going to have fun! Tonight he was going all in. As the beer flowed down his throat he asked the gods of luck to bless him tonight. He didn't know their names, but he told them regardless. It was time to go!

Now he was feeling good. His whole body buzzed in delight. Deciding that he would be good for the next few hours Mok paid the bar keep and turned back towards the floor. Instead of being paranoid, now all he saw was opportunity. Instantly, Mok knew what he needed to do, he needed to get some quick cash. That would make the night.

He made his way to the door.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Mok** on January 12th, 2012, 1:14 am

8:54 pm, Quarter mile away from Tall Johnny's casino.

Out of the bar, Mok bundled up in his shadowweave cloak. The stars where already out because of the early winter. It was brisk out but there was no snow out. The first day of winter was a frantic night for Sunberth. Everyone was on edge and everyone was out enjoying their last days before the hardship began. Mok needed to start his night early. He needed to gamble. The gods were already petitioned and the money already counted. The myrian walked straight to Tall Johnny's and he kept to the main roads. He wasn't in the mood to climb through the allies...no matter how tempting.

As he walked on he took the time to scan his surrounding and scope out the people he saw. A bald man with a long scraggly beard passed on his left. The man had a deep scar on his forehead and was grinning madly. His small beady eyes shifting up and down Mok's body, sizing him up. He stopped a few feet in front of him. Mok finished his last step and then turned his body to face the man. He wanted to be in the best position to kill the man with a single stroke of his sword. Taking care to be as silently and motionless as possible, he slowly moved his hand to the pommel of his gladius. His eyes hidden under his cloak, the warrior gave the man an unseen stare down. He had practiced this move before. The moment any foul play was apparent he would strike from his sheath through the man's neck. He would also reposition himself for another strike in case the man did anything funny.

"Peace," the grizzled man said in a raspy voice. To Mok's surprise he slowly took a step backwards and proceeded to continue on his path. One, two, three, four steps and his new acquaintance were out of Mok's vision. At that moment, Mok had gotten that deep feeling from deep inside your gut. It was that sharp pain that let you know that you were petched. He had felt it many times before in Sunberth and before that in the jungles of the Faylndar. His life was on the line. Without hesitation, Mok drew his blade and pivoted around to guard the upcoming attack.

But, the man wasn't attacking him at all. To Mok's astonishment the man was several feet away now with his hand stretched out. Whatever that man did, it wasn't right. In his hand was a small wooden box. The myrian was on the edge of the cliff of sketchiness.

The guy spoke, "This is the finest Pulp in all of Sunberth. I will give it to you for a fair price."

"What's that?" was all Mok could think of.

"Pulp. It makes you feel good myrian. Opens the djed in your mind. Good price."

"Tell me magician, will I lose my wits?"

"None can say what will unlock in your mind. Your soul may take you on a journey, or maybe you will lust for flesh and blood. Either way this is the best around here. What say you? Right now! Take it or leave it."

"Fine! What is your price?"

"You’re going to Tall Johnny's right?" the Pulp dealer nodded towards the building down the street.

"Yup."

"Okay, so you can take a gamble then?

"Speak."

"Make five racks gambling. If you get that or more, I'll take nothing. If you make even a copper less, you owe ME the five racks. Is that not reasonable...sir?"

This type of thing was just right up Mok's alley. Live on the edge of the sword. He would take the bet. And if all else fails he would just kill this magician. No regrets. No promises. Mok lived his life.

"Yup." Mok grunted. The man tossed the box through the air. Mok snatched it with his free hand. "But you’re finding me in the morn."

The Pulp dealer grinned and walked away into the shadows.

Mok continued on his path to the casino. Strangely, he saw only shadows walking far away from him. No one got near him after what just occurred.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Mok** on January 12th, 2012, 1:19 am

9:01, near Tall Johnny's casino.

The alley was perfect. The shadows concealed his location to anyone looking in, and his shadowweave prevented opponents seeing him from behind. It was right across from Tall Johnny's. The myrian finally took the time to inspect the box. He opened it up, but it was too dark to see. He proceeded to smell the Pulp. It smelt terrible to him, like the excrement of a heated stallion. Closing the box tightly, Mok hid it in a deep pocket in his pants, under the chain of course.

Now for the plan. Tall Johnny's had too much security. If he got in a bind, there was no way he could survive alone. Plus, you only go into the casino if you’re blowing a bunch of cash you already have, or watching the damn fights. No, the gambling warrior needed to find a street game to jump into. Street dice. He was great at that game...no matter what he rolled. Scanning around he found just the guy he was looking for: Khjut the Ephyrian.

Khjut was an eight foot tall, mean, and above all he was a weasel. He waits outside crowded places and for a small fee; he will get you anything you want. Drugs, alcohol, weapons, information, gambling, whatever. And at very he'll tell you where to go.

"Yo, Khjut. How's life?" Mok called out stepping from the shadows. He had never seen Khjut in his life.

"Shut up. What do you want?"

"Dice game."

"I know a guy named Rico. Throws with anyone and everyone few streets yonder."

"Appreciate," the myrian said shaking one of his hands, giving him a few coins. Khjut the Ephyrian nodded his chin.

Mok walked back into the shadows and proceeded to the game. He was going roll those dice until he lost all of his money. That's what people didn't understand about rolling bones. The longer you go the higher your odds are of winning. Even if your chances to win only go up a fraction, it was worth it. The myrian wouldn't roll blindly though. He would feel out the flow of the game and roll and bet accordingly. It was time to go!

Several minutes later he came upon the dice throwers. Wide-eyed and buzzing Mok looked up and thought about the god of luck once more.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Mok** on January 13th, 2012, 6:42 am

9:04, dice game on the outskirts of Night Eye's territory.

Six people crowd arround each other shooting dice. The room was thick and cloudy. Mok had walked right in by handing the goon at the front a couple of shinny ones. The night was young, so Mok decided to sit back and watch awhile.

A couple of swindlers were teaching the boy to play the game. The gullible kid was done for. Sure, they would explain the rules a few times, but they wouldn't teach him how to play. That idiot was more than likely to lose all his money. Unless of course he was a magician of some kind. Anyways, the crooked men explained the game to him.

"Alright listen up kid, I'm only going to say this." a fat bearded man slobbered, "First, you roll the pointer. If ya roll a seven or eleven on your first roll, ya win. If ya roll a two, three, or twelve, ya lose. If ya roll anything else thats your pointer. Then, ya continue shooting until you roll until you roll seven, eleven, or your pointer. The pointer is a win for you, seven or eleven is a lose and pass the dice."

The young kid nodded quietly and placed his first bet: a single gold miza. The fatty that explained the game covered his bet equally. The kid then proceeded to roll away:

Secret :

Greedily, the fat sausage finger reached over the floor and thumbed the gold miza. Mok could see excitement in the kid's eyes. He knew that the kid would continue betting and betting.

With a sigh of boredom Mok leaned forward an made his way back to the door. He needed to get some liquor and wait out some of the players. Once it got late he would enter, after some people made some money, after some sharks got fed, he would jump in as they slept.

He made his way to the door.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Mok** on January 13th, 2012, 8:39 pm

Winter 2, 4:37 am, the same dice game.

He had been sitting there for hours of waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to enter. Leaning against the wall in the corner he sipped on gin and watched each roll, counted each die, scanned each man. Everything seemed fair. He could not see any cheating. After a while it was apparent that this was a clean game. He could feel it now, the tides moving back and forth. Those who lasted longer only got stronger. Those who got stronger stayed at the top. The game Mok was watching was getting to that point. That was when he would strike after hours of stalking his pray. That is when the big stakes come down. That is when the strong fall, when they get greedy.

The thick hazy glow of the lantern was all that Mok could see now. A man began to swear. He has lost all his money. The unfortunate gambler slowly stands up, only to fall down. His legs were too weak to carry him out. He sits there crying as he waits for his legs to work again. He begs for a few mizas back so he could live for the next few days. Oh how he grovels. The fat man only laughs and throws a single gold miza to his feet. It was common practice to give some miza back to a shooter if he groveled at your feet. But only a single gold miza? What a petching scumbag. No matter the universe would make him pay. Rather, Mok would make him pay.

The myrian turned gambler makes his move. He walks over slowly and takes his place directly opposite of the fat man. There was not a single man left.

"So you finally make your move huh. I see. You're looking to duel the strongest man here. You waited like a petching vulture until everyone else died to fight me," the fat man chortled. On his lap sat a sword.

"Come on you foul bird shit, pass the dice, it’s time to play."

"Very well."

Laughing, the fat man placed the dice in Mok's hand. The myrian held them tight, feeling for anything that was off. Yes, these were legit dice, the same the group was using the whole time. Mok threw his coin pouch on the floor and placed down a single gold miza. He was matched easily by the fatty. And so the game had begun.

Secret :

Mok had a method to the madness. After every roll the myrian would cast the dice, snap his finger, and continue pushing forward. Right now he was only 6 gold mizas down, but he needed to keep attacking. The odds would eventually be in his favor. He would win eventually.

Secret :

Now after all of that he was down seven gold in total. There was no reason to fret though. All he needed to do was keep rolling. The fat man remained quiet in the background as Mok kept playing. The tides were spiraling down for the myrian, and his opponent wanted to dry up his luck, before upping the bet. 'Let the fool keep rolling,' the fatty taught to himself. And so the shooting continued for Mok.

Secret :

No movement on the table at all. It had been at least an hour since Mok started rolling and he had been consistently around negative seven. He needed to pass the dice, he needed a break. A bead of sweat dropped to the floor after each roll. The anticipation got especially high, when he kept rolling junk numbers over and over. Put no matter what he did, he couldn't get back on top. What was going on? He was supposed to have luck tonight. Hadn't he petitioned to the gods?

Mok tossed the dice towards the fat man, "Your turn."

"Oh is it now. Kekekeke. You want me to roll? HAHA! Your dead in the water. The gods arn't on your side tonight."

"Shut up and roll."

"Fair enough." his opponent muttered as he picked up the dice and started to shake them.

Finally, Mok could breath. Taking a swig of his gin, Mok added more alcohol to his system. His breath started to stink of the clear liquid, but he needed it to stay up. Gin was clear and it kept him awake. The rolling continued.

Secret :

Suddenly, the fat man stops and hands the dice to Mok. It was a rude gesture. Mok had rolled and crapped out many times and this scumbag was only going to shoot a few before handing back the dice. What a pretentious douche.

"Here you go. Your turn again."

"Petch you. You only lost a single gold over all. I rolled plenty. Keep rolling, or ante up."

The slob guy sat and pondered for a moment and for the first time in the night he flashed his smile. He had four shiny gold teeth. Fools gold no doubt, but gold none the less. He finally answered. "Alright then, I'll ante up. Don't you think it's time we start winning real miza? Eh? Eh? I can see it in your eyes. Your worried, but not dead. You can see by your results on these petty bets that your going to lose once we raise the stakes. I know you haven't came here and challenged me to place petty bets. Are you ready to start playing for real?"

"You talk too much. Put your money where your mouth is scumbag."

Hands slap the floor, followed by the sound of coins falling, "Twenty gold mizas for this roll."

"I match you," Mok counts out twenty coins.

Secret :

Now Mok was down twenty six gold in total. He would allow one more bet. Biting his tongue, Mok remained quiet. All that he focused on were the dice. Nothing else entered his mind. He used all the energy he could possibly harness in the universe and transferred it to the dice. This was it. It would be over in a moment. Yes. The myrian had gotten it. He would go all in.

Fatted placed another twenty gold on the floor. Mok shaked his hand and emptied his whole purse bag, "All in. Man up huh?"

Wild laughter was all that Mok's opponent did. It was almost as if he was sure that he would win. Nodding in approval, Fatty rolled.

Secret :

There was no way this was happening. Mok had lost all his money on the very first damn roll. The gods had forsaken him. Wait no. The gods were never there in the first place at all! Mok understood now. He had to make his own luck. Ovek would never have listened to a non believer. Mok had to take this into his own hand. The darkness began to envelop him. As all his gold was taken away from him and stored in a fat sack. The darkness in his heart began to take over.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Mok** on January 15th, 2012, 12:54 am

6:53 am, Minutes after the dice game is over.

Mok began to see red. He needed to plan quickly. He needed it to be a calculated move, not a rash decision. He had checked the gladius at the door with the man's bodyguard. Fatty had his hand on the pommel of his sword already and was getting ready to take off.

"Hey man. Listen to me. You got to give me some miza back. You can't walk away here with kicking me some coin so I can drink for the next few days. Hey man." Mok said with a shaky voice. His right hand slowly went for the glass bottle he had been drinking out of.

Fatty laughed and tossed him a single gold miza, "I have pity for petching idiots as yourself. Here you go, here is a coin."

Mok remained silent and pretended to look down in shame. The myrian greedily grabbed the coin with his other hand and continued to mope. He was waiting for the optimum moment to strike. Fatty stands up and starts to make his way around the warrior. Time! Mok sprang like a loaded cross bolt and pounced on Fatty like a myrian tiger in the Faylndar. Using the half empty bottle of gin, Mok smashed it as hard as he possibly could on the man's face. Using his left hand, he shot out to Fatty's sword hand and dug his claws into his fist. The gambler let out a howl of pain, but the glass did not shatter on his lumpy face. The myrian then put his head low and attempted to bull rush the opponent into submission. If Mok could mount his opponent, it would all be over.

To Mok's surprise though, his opponent swung back. A barreling fist hit Mok on top of the head several times before they slammed into a wall. Mok was in the advantage though, he had Fatty pinned up against the wall and he had control of his sword hand. No matter what happened, the myrian would not let go of his fist, he couldn't afford being slashed at. Fatty let out another yelp trying to get his bodyguard to help him. Mok grabbed Fatty's left leg and jerked it with all his strength. They both fall on the floor. Something sharp bites into the myrian hand. The stupid idiot had bit him, but Mok held in the scream and held on for dear life. Mok curled up a fist and started to punch the guy in the face.

Crack! Crack! Mok was smacking the side of Fatty's head as hard as he possibly could. In his mind he envisioned himself breaking his opponent’s skull. After only two strikes, all the biting stopped. Fatty's left arm covers his face. Now all of his strength was put into his free sword hand. There was no way that the fat guy could win. Mok flipped his body 180 degrees so that he was controlling his arms and back. Now his mind journeyed back to his lessons in Taloba. He had drilled every day for years. It should be muscle memory by now. Mok stared to go for an arm bar lock to get the man's sword out. Quickly Mok pivoted and wrapped his legs over his face and chest and pulled the sword arm through. No mercy. No talking. He could not hesitate.

Mok snapped the man's arm. The sword dropped the floor. The guy howled in pain. The myrian jumped to his feet and without wasting a moment he grabbed the sword and began to stab the man over and over. The warrior was out of breath and tired and wanted him to die quickly. I sword piercing the neck was how this man was finished. Blood spurted like a fountain from his neck and soaked Mok's legs in dark liquid.

The door swung open. The sunlight burst in and the hazy room immediately began to clear. At the door was the body guard. His scimitar was drawn and he was ready to fight.

"Your master is dead. Go home and bother me no more." Mok said short of breath.

The light was hurting his eyes, and he was having trouble adjusting to the whiteness. Unfortunately for the myrian, that was exactly when he attacked. A flash of light was running towards him. Blinded by the light, Mok was late to react to his strike. Only at the last minute, was when Mok saw the incoming side slash. His instinct kicked in and he leapt backwards trying to dodge the strike. He jumped too late though. The heavy bladed scimitar cut through the chain mail on his fore arm and cut him barely.

This didn't faze him though. He immediately got into his fighting stance and ignored the pain. He got into the overhead fighting position and half his wounded arm forward in defiance of the man. The two began to circle each other. It was time to fight now. His eyes were adjusted and there was no way he would lose now. He had gone through way too much to lose now.

Mok would make the first move. Mok makes a stab at the man's neck, which is easily parried. Mok withdrew his sword, took another step in his stance, and gave a powerful overhead strike. His intention was not to finish the man with one strike but to disarm him. His opponent parried downwards, freeing up for Mok to smack him with his off hand. This lead to both men withdrawing. The warrior re adjusted his grip and stance and made another diagonal slash. This time his contact was much more devastating. Even if he wasn't making any progress, he was shattering the man's grip. Mok withdraws again.

This time the body guard strikes with a downwards slash. This was going to parry that would test Mok's mettle to the core.

"Hiyahhhh!" Mok yelled with all his power bring the sword up. Clank Mok hit the scimitar. No thinking! Counterattack. Sliding his sword off of the scimitar he brings up the tip and stabs the man in the throat.

The battle was over. His opponent feel to his knees: dead. Mok stood for a moment looking at the scene. His arm was bleeding and he had just killed two men. Once out of his daze, the myrian rushed to get the hell out of the room. First, he grabbed all his coin back, plus all of Fatty's. Next he searched the body for anything that seemed valuable. Whatever object the man had Mok took without thinking. Next he went over to the guard and did the same. He didn't bother taking the armor, because that would take too much time. Instead he reclaimed his gladius, and took the short sword and the scimitar.

The myrian ran.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

by **Ink** on January 23rd, 2012, 6:25 am

And in the Aftermath . . .

The Rewards are Revealed.

Mok :

Written in the ink :