Solo The Edge of Entropy

S.T. Solo Prompt

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A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Moderator: Regime

The Edge of Entropy

Postby Regime on December 8th, 2017, 2:28 pm

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Winter 1st, 517 A.V.
4th Bell


They came like a wave.

There was nothing supernatural to it, nothing super normal; they simply arrived. The long stretch of covered wagons halting their movement in front of a closed portcullis during the early morning black of night. From the back of such wagons appeared an elegantly dressed man in all black. As he appeared from beneath the sun bleached wagon tarps to look over at the buildings entrance, his face was hidden by a silken scarf. "It is the perfect instrument for our designs." Those words were spoken in a deeply rich tone as soft as the silks he wore, its volume never reaching above a whisper as his bare feet carried him over towards the gatehouse.

The driver of the wagon canted his head towards the pale silken man, he himself adorned in blackened armored robe. His knuckles tightly choked the reigns in his hands, not out of nervousness, but anticipation. "I thought you said this place was abandoned? It looks like someones locked themselves inside." The man in silks glanced back towards The Driver with a smirk on his lips. That smirk. It almost felt as if he had been tempted with foreplay to the climax that their organisation was building toward; whether it had been days or seasons or years. The silken man set a hand to the stone wall of the gate house then started to climb up the sheer face of it. Defying gravity as he soon vanished over the top of it in silence.

From another wagon, a man adorned in full plate armor landed onto the ground with a heavy thud of steel. His skin held a noticeably deep purple tent as his silver hair gleamed in the moonlight. Almost immediately, everything went silent as the multitude of people that made up the caravan all went quite at the sight of him. He ran his eyes over covered wagons designed to work as portable cages to transport slaves. Many of the slaves within felt a sense of destiny and foreboding; and it welcomed them to either embrace it or refute it. The choice, as with all things of that manner, was theirs. But whatever choice they made, they could all but feel it pounding in their hearts when the armored Akalak cast his gaze over them.

Many of them had been slaves from birth, it was all they had known, and from how they were treated by the men who now owned them. They enjoyed the pleasant stable life of servitude. "Rictor. Salem. Let the slaves out and ready the to start unloading the supplies. Vesalius should have the gate opened soon." He turned to look over his shoulder at a young man covered in haphazard tattoos who exited from the wagon he'd just appeared from. The boy smiled wickedly as another person soon exited from the wagon behind him. That man pushed the boy forward, shoving him out of the way jestfully. "Out'ta my way, Salem."

Salem turned to playfully punch the other man in the shoulder, then chuckled. "Then stop being a shyte head." Rictor was a tall man who wore a high collard jacket that hid the bottom half of his face. Salem couldn't see the man's smile, but he knew Rictor enjoyed messing with him like a father would to a son. The armored Akalak walked over to the portcullis as he nodded his head over at The Driver of the lead wagon that the Symenestra had exited from previously.

The Driver glanced over his own shoulder into the back of the wagon he drove. "Edward, wake up." After a moment of silence, he turned to the Strider that pulled the wagon then spoke quickly in pavi. The horse moved forward just enough to jolt the wagon. It caused the passenger within to shoot awake. "Petch you, Zsavin! You and your horse too!" A grumpy human adorned in a fine red tunic with orange wrappings exited from the wagon. The golden chains he wore sparkled brightly in the moonlight as he softly started to twirl a gold miza along one of his knuckles out of habit.

When several chimes passed without the gates opening, it was shocking to everyone upon hearing screams of pain from beyond the main gate. Only moments later did the gate slowly start to rise to allow the group full access to The Quay. The Symenestra who climbed the wall previously slowly exited from the gate with his eyes covered by a silk scarf, blinding himself.

"No one has claim to the building. However, three members of The Daggerhands were holding a celebration within the main building with various prostitutes." He stepped aside to motion a hand towards three women who were scantly clad with their clothing in hands. As the armored Akalak looked at the blood covering each of them, he realized that Vesalius had most likelt killed the men while they were in the process of copulating. "Ele'non. If we let them go, they will tell others of our arrival. The Daggerhands will most likely retaliate due to the loss of three."

Ele'non rested their hand onto the hilt of their longsword as the Akalak went into deep thought. "Edward, appraise them. If they are useful we will keep them...." His lack of an option as to their fate if they were deemed irrelevant did not escape the women. They each attempted to appear attractive in their blood covered states as Edward approached them.

The long silver haired Akalak turned to focus his attention elsewhere. "Salem, there are bodies within the building. Get rid of the them. Rictor, get a slave to clean up any bloody mess as to not offend Vesalius's sensitivities. Afterwards, keep watch for trouble." The three women went wide eyed as they realized that they were in danger of becoming slaves. "Everyone else, get inside. We've work to do."

Zsavin held the reins of his horse, but did not need to use them as he spoke out to his Strider to move forward through the open gate. He was a Drykas, but it seemed like the horse and horseman agreed to refrain from using a yvas when driving a wagon. "The Vino have arrived." a palpable voice uttered, crisp and sharp as the words resounded from Ele'non's other half, bearing the barest echo of cruelty about it as its echo was broken by the sounds of the gate hose doors closing, and the portcullis falling.

The Quay was theirs.
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