1st of Summer, 522 AV
It was night. The air was warm and humid, he could feel the moisture stick to his skin. It annoyed him, and a night that started off annoying, well... It was not hard to irritate someone who was already halfway there. He walked silently through an alleyway like a predator that stalked prey. The buildings that loomed about him looked old and shabby, dirty and barely cared for, and many creaked with every little blow of the wind.
There was only a single door in the alley that looked to have any sign of life, but alive it was. Flickering light danced on the dirty floor, and the sound of the loud and rowdy grew louder with every step closer. Further past the door for a few more buildings was the exit out into the broader streets, where life still moved in spite of Syna's sleep.
He ducked into the doorway of the bar and tavern. He was taller than the people the door had been designed for, made even more obvious when nearly every eye in the room glanced at him, and every eye belonged to a being shorter and weaker. None looked very long; it was rude to stare, after all, and you do not stare at someone that is simply so much more physically superior than yourself.
No one paid him much more mind until he got to the bar. He sat and the barkeep moved to him swiftly and requested his drink order. "Gin," came the deep, baritone response. "What's gin?"
The unexpected response seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. His hand grasped the hilt to the heavy knife concealed under his coat as his neck became a swivel and his eyes slowly scanned every single person in the establishment. Alarm bells rung in his head, but nothing stood out to him. He remained on edge.
He calmed somewhat when the barkeep returned with his drink. He nodded a thanks and slid payment and a tip to the bartender. He gripped the glass, a bit small in his hand, and brought it to his lips to take a drink. "Laviku's blessing, that tastes horrible," came the disembodied voice again. It was young and curious, it could not have belonged to someone grown out of their teenage years.
Before he could inquire into this strange voice, a bump from his left spilled what was left of his drink. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He looked down at the drunken, dirty man. Rage welled in his chest. "'ey, ya look like someone w-who could beat some ass," came the drunken slurring. "Now, *burp* I'm of the mind that'n you could beat some ass for me. Alls you need to know is that I'm paying," he waved around a pitiful two busted bronze mizas, "And they don't need ta be killed, just'n roughed up a li'l, hahahaha." The boisterous laughter could have popped the throbbing vein in his temple.
"He stinks," said the voice. "He will die," came Dra'Kel's response as a thought. It was a strange feeling, the surprise and horror that was not his own. Just who was in his head?
WC: 529
It was night. The air was warm and humid, he could feel the moisture stick to his skin. It annoyed him, and a night that started off annoying, well... It was not hard to irritate someone who was already halfway there. He walked silently through an alleyway like a predator that stalked prey. The buildings that loomed about him looked old and shabby, dirty and barely cared for, and many creaked with every little blow of the wind.
There was only a single door in the alley that looked to have any sign of life, but alive it was. Flickering light danced on the dirty floor, and the sound of the loud and rowdy grew louder with every step closer. Further past the door for a few more buildings was the exit out into the broader streets, where life still moved in spite of Syna's sleep.
He ducked into the doorway of the bar and tavern. He was taller than the people the door had been designed for, made even more obvious when nearly every eye in the room glanced at him, and every eye belonged to a being shorter and weaker. None looked very long; it was rude to stare, after all, and you do not stare at someone that is simply so much more physically superior than yourself.
No one paid him much more mind until he got to the bar. He sat and the barkeep moved to him swiftly and requested his drink order. "Gin," came the deep, baritone response. "What's gin?"
The unexpected response seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. His hand grasped the hilt to the heavy knife concealed under his coat as his neck became a swivel and his eyes slowly scanned every single person in the establishment. Alarm bells rung in his head, but nothing stood out to him. He remained on edge.
He calmed somewhat when the barkeep returned with his drink. He nodded a thanks and slid payment and a tip to the bartender. He gripped the glass, a bit small in his hand, and brought it to his lips to take a drink. "Laviku's blessing, that tastes horrible," came the disembodied voice again. It was young and curious, it could not have belonged to someone grown out of their teenage years.
Before he could inquire into this strange voice, a bump from his left spilled what was left of his drink. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He looked down at the drunken, dirty man. Rage welled in his chest. "'ey, ya look like someone w-who could beat some ass," came the drunken slurring. "Now, *burp* I'm of the mind that'n you could beat some ass for me. Alls you need to know is that I'm paying," he waved around a pitiful two busted bronze mizas, "And they don't need ta be killed, just'n roughed up a li'l, hahahaha." The boisterous laughter could have popped the throbbing vein in his temple.
"He stinks," said the voice. "He will die," came Dra'Kel's response as a thought. It was a strange feeling, the surprise and horror that was not his own. Just who was in his head?
WC: 529
