Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
Lonedark; The ongoing RP
Topic Started: Mar 24 2013, 08:10 PM (70 Views)
Silver Fox
Member Avatar
Just a Flash
The sound of booted feet on the metal staircase carried well into the shop, almost more effective than the dull tone that sounded when the door was opened. The proprietor of the shop, Alistor Starstream, would surely recognize the steps as those of Defender Westley Price, the officer that usually placed orders for equipment at the establishment. The Defender had been coming more and more regularly, and his orders were growing larger as a result of the expert handling of his affairs. To Price, the half-breed seemed to be a good enough lad and shrewd in his dealings, just the kind of supplier a force needed to defend a city that was ravaged by foul creatures each night. Munitions were used so swiftly that there was little time for preparation, and the government payed well for the expedience. Little did Wes know that his supplier was in league with his bitter enemies, who wanted to free the city from its ancient rulers.

The underground was the farthest thing from Westley's mind as he entered Starlight Weapons and Supplies, though, the man had a tall order to fill and was hoping to get them on it quickly so he could report back to his commander and retire to his quarters before nightfall. He found the half-elven gunsmith and quickly began to speak, forgoing all introduction.

"Hello there, lad. I have another list for you."

Price withdrew a thin scrap of paper and slid it across the counter, facing Alistor. It detailed an assortment of things that could be had at the Starlight, forming fifty sets of basic equipment: tactical gear, small caliber sidearms, standard assault rifles and the various grenades, gadgets and hullabaloo that came along with it. Circled in thick red ink below that rudimentary list was an assortment of things that would be more difficult to get together, though certainly not within the half-elf's means. The first of the harder to find items was a precision rifle, with an adjustable infrared scope. The rest was a listing of specialized ammunition to suit a variety of purposes: tracking rounds, net rounds, electro-magnetic rounds, and armor piercing rounds. All were child's play compared to the last on the list. Incendiary rounds, possession of which was a top-level offense on par with silver and laser technology, were an odd addition. Of course Alistor could get them, after all he did have connections with the underground, but was it some sort of trick? The Defender's voice cut through any internal struggle that might have been in progress, with all the exuberance of a drill instructor.

"So, can you do this, son?"

On the one hand, it meant a substantial rise in income. On the other, Alistor would be arming his enemies and running the risk of a set-up. The Council had their lapdogs do things of that sort all the time, one never could tell with them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alistor, who feigned interest in Price, smiled congenially as the man came through the door. As always, stowed beneath the counter, was one of Alistor’s prized possessions, a sawed off lever action shotgun with silver buckshot, though he preferred to think of it as ‘monstershot’, to which his hand strayed every time someone entered, just in case. One could never be too careful, especially when one layed both sides of the game as a pseudo ‘double agent’.

The half-breed, a curious byproduct of a human noble visiting a whore house and selecting an elven woman, was no stranger to hard work. The order given by the Defender, however, was quite the list. Not impossible, but still complicated. His eyes grazed over the standard-issue gear, it was unsurprising. It was the ‘special order’ items that grabbed the half-breeds almond-shaped eyes.

The eyes of emerald gazed back up at Price, a look of mild concern on his face. He shrugged slightly, then spoke aloud, his baritone surprisingly deep despite his heritage.

“The standard-issue is cake. I’ve got most of that in stock or in shipment due to arrive in a few days. These other ones, though…” He trailed off, looking at Price with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. He rounded the corner, feigning the limp he always pretended to have in public. It had been that limp that had gotten him out of the Defenders in the first place, when he’d been hit by some shrapnel in a firefight. He’d come out of surgery with full speed and maneuverability, but he hadn’t let anyone else know that. He’d been pretty low on the chain, so no one made a fuss when he left and opened Starlight Weapons and Supplies. It was how he got the contract with the Defenders. A defector, leaving the Defenders, had spoken with Starstream before he died for treason, and said things that had gotten Alistor’s mind working. Once he looked into the words and found them true, he had never felt the same about the government. Again, he didn’t let them know that, for ones going against the government had a habit of also going missing.

“I can get the rifle; the scope will be tricky though, dunno if I can pull that off. Ditto for the ammo. I can probably get net and AP, but tracking and elec-mag are probably a no-go.” And his look turned to one of amusement as he finished with,

“And, in case you couldn’t tell, incendiary is not going to happen. I don’t have those kinds of connections. I’m good, but I’m not that good.” He could probably get them all without consequence, of course, but far be it for him to let them know that, because the only way he could get it would be through Underground contacts, as with most people who got those kinds of weapons: A handy way for the Underground to increase it’s funds for it’s efforts to break the tyranny. The half-elf, standing at about 5’9”, chewed on one of his thin lips while a hand went up to run through his crimson locks. He was a natural blonde, but he preferred to dye his hair a dark crimson, just to try and draw attention away from his silvery-blonde hair, a very noticeable and identifiable color. He also enjoyed changing his hair color frequently, so long as they looked close to natural coloring, especially close to before or after a raid or attack. Sometimes, he’d change it before, then turn it back to the color it used to be after so it would be more difficult to identify him.

“The usual price for the equip kits, but for the special order items it might cost a little more then the usual, especially with how difficult it’s getting to acquire some of these items.” That much, at least, was true. Supply wells were beginning to dry up because of the recent wave of government crackdowns on illegal materials.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Price stared blankly at Alistor as he went through his run-down of the equipment the man needed. The human nodded slowly throughout, and rolled his eyes at the few items the half-breed told him wouldn't happen. He then cleared his throat as he bent down and removed a folded envelope from his right boot and slapped it on the counter.

"Look, Alistor, good help is hard to find. I don't like doing this, but I have no choice but to grant you minor security clearance. In there is your documentation, and here..." something shiny in his left palm found it's way to the counter next to the envelope, " is your TAG."

Being ex-military, Starstream recognized the term, Technological Access Grant, a small badge that would allow him a measure of freedom with things that were normally taboo. A blue slash indicated it as being of the fourth level of clearance. He was now legal to carry everything on Westley's macabre shopping list. The Defender had obviously planned for such a response.

"So, that covers the legalities. In addition, you'll receive a ten percent commission right in your pocket if you can fill my order. Yes or no?"

Wes wasn't much for small talk, and clearly had better things to do with his time than bicker with a shop owner. Something must have come up with one of Alistor's rivals, as TAGs weren't given lightly. The offer was growing ever more tempting given the Defender's last bargaining chip, to be allowed incendiary rounds and infrared would be quite a boon for his Underground connections. There was also an added risk with being more closely tied to the puppet rulers, and all that had transpired could still be a trap.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As Alistor took the security card, he looked with deep scrutiny at the TAG. It seemed legit, so he slipped it into his pocket as he looked to Wes with a deep sigh, slipping the documents off of the counter with a stray hand as though they were never even there.

“Look, Mister Price. It’s not a matter of yes or no, or even of clearance and documentation. It’s a matter of supply and demand. I can get your standard EQ kits together in a few days, but the rest will take serious doing, if I can get it at all. You guys keep hitting the dealers I get my supplies from, so my list of contenders to fill this order is running quite thin. I’m almost definite I can get you what I told you, but the rest will be difficult to say the least. Give me until the end of the week, and I’ll see what strings I can pull, okay? Likelihood is high, but I can’t promise you anything, especially if my dealers sketch out on me because you’ve got them spooked.” While not incredibly untrue, it was a bit of a stretch of the truth. His main source of contraband supplies was usually through the Underground, and that wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to give away openly, but he also had other connections from before his connection to the Underground.

While he might appear directly connected to the government, assuming he wasn’t getting played by either side—a risky assumption indeed—he had to consider that getting close to the puppet government would give him a leg up. After all, dealers, especially those in with the soldiers, had a tendency to….hear things. Things that might be useful for the Underground. The real trick would be to make sure it wasn’t an indirect setup. Let phony information slip to only one person, and when that info is acted upon they know their leak. It wasn’t the first time such raids had happened, and it paid to be paranoid when one was part of the Underground.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Price smiled widely as the half-elf caved. He had been prepared to throw another ten percent on top of his last offer, but things had worked out before then. His smiled dimmed slightly when he was given a bit of the run-around, but unflinchingly slipped a card from the pocket of his dark brown uniform and blatantly dropped it to the floor.

"You should tidy up this place, maybe you'll find something that will help you get the job done. I'll leave you to it, then."

With that, Defender Price turned on his heal and marched out and back down the stairs with a smugness that could be heard in his bootsteps, leaving Alistor to the task of tracking down an arsenal. The paperwork in the envelope was quite in order, the TAG as well, but the real peculiarity was the small rectangular card that the officer had dropped. It was obvious he didn't want to be affiliated with what turned out to be printed in raised red lettering.

Kataal
Trenton Amon
IX III VII

It was a standard looking business card, very similar to the one Alistor himself sported for his own establishment. The address was in the old part of town, where many ancient buildings still stood, many of which housed their likewise ancient occupants. Outside, the sun was just past it's peak, leaving a few hours of safe daylight to burn if the half-elf had anything he wanted to accomplish.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alistor was quick to snatch up the card, almost as though if he didn’t it would disintegrate before him, curious as to what the contents were. As he read it, he nodded slowly. Slipping the card into the same hidden pocket that now held the TAG, he continued about his business of aligning the sight of a particular hunting rifle. After the kind of heavy-duty dropping that went on, he was almost certain he was being watched, and he was not stupid enough to give himself away by running to his Underground contacts first thing.

Instead, once he finished up, he tidied his work station and pulled on his heavy trenchcoat, a handy little item to conceal his lever-action. He had access to auto and semi-auto shotguns, but he preferred the feel of the lever-action, and appreciated its accuracy. While usually not important in a shotgun, he still liked the monstershot to go where he wanted.

While he was relatively certain he could have gotten more money out of the
man, being dropped a TAG was easily worth the other 10%, because that made his usual stowage legal. Before he always made an effort to cover it up, but now he had clearance to sport them. Strapping on his leg-holsters with his semi-auto .44 mags, part of his custom special line he liked to call ‘Starkillers’, he departed the store after stowing his lever-action into the hidden holster within the coat.

His first order of business would be to see this Trenton Amon and see what he was all about. Only after he had all the info he needed, and had things situated, would he contact the Underground. He was less an Underground fanatic, and more of an independent contractor. He believed in what they were doing, and would run jobs for them, but he wasn’t as hardcore as some. His primary objective, unlike them, was to stay alive. That and running as a contractor gave him a bit more autonomy that the ‘troops’ of the Underground didn’t have.

So, after he had geared up and strapped on his grenades and spare clips as well—and, for safe measure, a bit of Kevlar—he exited the building and headed to the Old Towne. It was time to meet Mister Amon, and see what he had for sale.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Alistor reached the address on the card there was little question as to where the place was. A large but simple sign read "Kataal", on the outside of a very old and apparently dilapidated mansion. This was the heart of Lonedark, near the docks, where many of the ancient ones were rumored to have lived in the old days. It had taken an hour or so to make it there, passing through the bustle of the city, but once near the entrance it was eerily quiet. A large Pantheran with a proportionately large firearm stood sentinel beside vast wooded double doors, speaking when the half-breed came near.

"Afternoon. Card?"

A doorman of sorts, he lost interest in Alistor when he was shown the item and gestured half-heartedly toward the door. The foyer of the mansion was in stark contrast with the outside, modern in every way. Crimson cords marked the pathway toward the far end of the room with strange relics on pedestals lining either side, each with a plaque that named the objects. None of them were familiar. Passing through the also crimson curtain at the far end of the foyer, there was little doubt what this place was. Music blared, somehow unheard from the adjoining room. It was a club, and the largest one Alistor Starstream had ever seen. Dance floor spanned the center of the room, complete with lit panels in the floor that responded to the tunes, and at least six individual bars lined the walls. There were plenty of patrons, but in no way was the place full. Aside from the main dancing and drinking area, there were many doorways that lead to places unknown. One stood out in particular, a red curtain like the first, with a dark haired woman standing beside it. Alistor had a few options, depending on whether he was all business or if he wanted to stay awhile and enjoy himself.

Suddenly one glaring detail stood out in the half-breed's mind. A sign above a stage in the center of the club announced in bold lettering that a band would begin to play in two hours time, only one hour before sunset. Either they played the shortest set known to music, or this place didn't plan on locking down for the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alistor, who prominently displayed the card, sighed as he entered the location. He was weary enough that it was in the old town, but that it was so close to the docks made him nervous…the water around Lonedark always made him nervous…

Ignoring that, he passed the Pantharan. Normally, he might fear what the giant beast of a feline would do to him, but he wasn’t all that terrified. Even if it was silver, they were still bullets, and they could still do real damage. Silver, lead, or steel, it mattered not to him. Either way, the Pantheran didn’t seem to care, and he took it as a minor boon that he hadn’t been searched for weapons upon entry…but then again, so few weren’t unarmed in these times, especially as the day wore closer to sunset.

As he passed the small display of relics—he assumed some sort of ancient magik at work because of the sudden increase of sound, either that or really good soundproofing. As he entered and saw the scene, he decided it wouldn’t kill him to take some time to himself and enjoy the club. He knew that with the band that was playing it was likely either a Supernatural band—and given the locale, likely Kindred—or the place was locking down for the night.

While he had confidence in his ability to defend himself, he also wasn’t stupid enough to assume he could take on a small coven by himself, so he figured he’d get down to business soon, and after that decide if it was worth sticking around or if it would be best to split.

A short stroll up to the nearest bar that had a good overlook at the door with the curtain and he leaned up against the bar.

“Hey. Beer, please,” He ordered, slapping a bill that obviously didn’t belong in the purchase of alcohol, for it was a bit too large, “And you can keep the change if you tell me what you know about what’s behind that door.” He knew it wasn’t exactly the most subtle approach, but subtlety wasn’t his intent. If someone asks questions to the wrong people, eventually word will get back to the person being talked about. That was a bit of his intent. Draw out this Trenton, make him come to Alistor, not the other way around. He wanted to pull what control he could of the situation as he waited for his liquor, and hopefully some information to boot.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The place was rather grandiose, and beyond the initial shock of the classic setting was really a sweet little setup. If they could party all night, they would represent such a fine commodity of establishments. It was clear that they were raking it in, anyway, but the lack of perimeter defense, and only a single guard posted at the door set the mood strangely. There was obviously some vampire presence, judging by the amount of beautifully pale women and charming pasty pretty boys. There were also far more sinister presences in small cliques about the rooms, obviously associated with one another in some way, though Alistor didn't know what those motives were. The words "feeding" and "frenzy" came to mind in relation to Kataal, increased glances at the half-elven arrival added to the awkward feeling that was sure to be creeping into the bones of a mortal just being in the presence of the walking dead.

The woman behind the bar smiled, sliding the bill from the bar and filling a glass from the tap before placing it upon the counter in front of Starstream.

"That, my friend, is the smoking room." This caused a wicked smile to cross her attractive, and eerily clear complexioned face. Big amber eyes flared to life as she continued, "The woman in the chair is Vivica. There's only one requirement for entry into the smoking room. Here."

During her speech, she removed a small box from behind the bar, removing a thick brown tube the size of a half-giant's middle finger and set it on the bar. If that wasn't interesting enough in itself, what happened next couldn't have possibly been real. The woman withdrew a small box and placed it next to the tube. Matches. Was there nothing taboo? Such blatant lawlessness nearly reminded Alistor of the Underground, though the apparent kindred that infested the place killed that thought. The woman's voice cut through any deliberation.

"Hurry and you might get to smoke with Trenton before the show. Go on."

The tube and matches provoked action as well, there was a golden opportunity to accomplish two things at once: playing with fire while having a very illegal smoke and meeting the one he went there to meet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor, who knew he was pressing his luck by his mere presence, decided that in for an inch, in for a mile. He reached down and grabbed the tube, as well as the matches with a slick grin, his dark emerald eyes never wavering from the amber ones before him. He was not at all shocked at the presence of the undead here—they were everywhere if one knew where to look—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unsettled by it, and such a heavy concentration to boot.

He’d hoped to draw this Trenton out, but it seemed he was still being pushed into the vampire’s coffin, as it were. With a casual shrug, he nodded his thanks to her, downed his beer in one swift pull, and then—fighting the urge to sway uncertainly—he moved across the floor towards the room with the curtain. As he approached, he brandished the tube and the matches with a swaggering smile. He didn’t think her foolish enough to think he was a regular, but he did think her smart enough to recognize guts when she saw it, and doing what he did—that is, being in this place at all, much less into a private room where a Kindred likely was tucked away—took just that. As he looked at her, he gave her a confident wink, his emerald eyes exuding experience, even if he didn’t really feel it.

“You,” he said casually, and with a slight slur that was overemphasized to make him look more drunk then he was, “Mus’ be Vivica.” He tapped the tube against his hand lightly, as though to shift the contents towards his palm. He’d heard long ago of things like these, forbidden items that, while detrimental to one’s health, actually had a soothing effect when one inhaled the smoke from burning it. Though he’d never actually done it himself—and stranger still, had never heard of a Kindred doing it, as he assumed Trenton was—he’d heard that they were disgusting. Oh well, there was a first time for everything, right?

“I’m here t’ have a smoke….preferably ‘n good company. I think Mis’er Amon would be’a great smokin’ buddy, don’chu?” He knew he was taking bigger and bigger risks the further in he went, but doing things like this on a pseudo-regular basis made him no stranger to these kinds of situations. Every nerve was tense, and he was ready to drop everything and pull his weapons at a moment’s notice—for a kindred’s speed, when catching one unawares, was one of the most frequent causes of death, especially among the Underground who faced off with them—and yet he gave off every indication that he was completely relaxed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Vivica looked up and smiled at Alistor as the tube and matches were held for her to see. Without hesitation, she pulled back the curtain. This sentry of sorts did not appear to be kindred, she looked distinctly plain and ordinary among such flawless beauty, but to some it may have given her a beauty all her own. She replied.

"Very well, step right in. Yes, I am sure that Trent is a wonderful smoking companion."

This was all she offered, letting the curtain slip between them. The smoking room was well furnished with high-backed wooded chairs with plenty of satin to ease the bones. A table sat in the middle of the room, which seemed small after the expanse of the bar area. As the name suggested the room was smoke filled and the pungent odor of the finest desert eponi money could buy. Three men sat in chairs, a dark-skinned human with a Nocturi on one side of him and a bearded light-skinned human on the other. The dark skinned human was gently puffing on an stick of eponi that likely came from a tube similar to the one in Alistor's hand. Conversation lulled as the half-elf entered, and the six eyes turned to him. The black man in the center was obviously in charge of things, wearing a tight white tank-top with a charcoal silk button down over it and finely creased black slacks. On his head he wore a white bandana with a brimmed hat over it, the front tilted down over his left eyebrow. A pearly white ring circled the middle finger of his left hand, shifting slightly as the man took another puff from the herb. The Human and Nocturi were dressed in black tactical, with an array of weapons that looked dreadfully familiar, as they were from Alistor's shop, one of the many things Defender Price had ordered from him in the past. The thing that stuck out the most about their appearance, however, was that the pair were wearing strange collars, strangely technological. Before the half-breed could speak, the dark-skinned human stood and withdrew a small shining rectangle from his shirt pocket, flipped it open and spun a round stone wheel with his thumb. A sharp grinding noise followed as the stone wheel sparked against and unseen surface and set a small wick aflame.

"Hey, I'm Trenton Amon, this is Ehran and this is Calvin. You must be Alistor Starstream. Let me get that for you, might as well save the matches. I know why you're here, and I can help you, but there's something I need from you as well. First, though, let's have a smoke and you can tell me exactly why you are here."

The flame was held at the length of Trenton's arm, awaiting Alistor's use.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Upon eyeing Vivca in her natural beauty, Alistor entertained, if only briefly, the idea of continuing their discussion in a more private venue with her alone. He didn't have time for that, though, especially not given the sort of company she obviously kept. With a relaxed grin and a nod of thanks, he continued past the curtain.

The presence of a Nocturi was not so unusual, for they were of the darker persuasion, in both skin and deed, though it hardly settled well with Alistor. While he wasn't a full elf, he still felt the marked difference and the instant racial discord struck between surface elf and their darker kin. Alistor, though, above such baser instincts, roughly shoveled the thought aside, smiling affably to the Nocturi first--sure the dark elf noted his tapered ears and almond-shaped eyes--then to the bearded one, then lastly to the man in the middle. The man he'd come here to see. The Nubian, Trenton Amon.

He easily noticed the heavy arms borne by the other two. If these men were supposed to be his link to the heavier weaponry, then why did they bear part of the package Price had asked for him? Perhaps they only had access to the harder stuff, or maybe the small arms they had access to were only low-grade, he mused. Either way, he shifted, making his own armament apparent. He made sure the stock of the lever action shotgun was easily visible, and the twin pistols, his personal semi-automatic .44 mag Starkillers, or 'hand cannons', rested easily on his thighs as he leaned in and sucked on the eponi, pulling the flame into it to light it.

He could easily get a contact high just from his surroundings, and he knew it, so everytime he took a puff--or made it appear he had--he simply sucked the smoke into his mouth as his chest heaved, pretending to draw it into his lungs, then expelled the smoke slowly from inside his mouth as he deflated his chest.

Easing into the chair opposite Amon and his well armed flunkies, he wasn't surprised the man had expected him, likely Price had informed him shortly after leaving Starlight, though he raised his brow to give the appearance of general surprise.

"Aye," he answered easily, "I am, Mister Amon. As for why I'm here..." he trailed off, feigning another puff of the eponi, "I figured our...mutual connection would have told you that. You already told me you knew why, so I'm curious as to why you're interested in what I have to say when you already know the reason." He quieted, waiting to see what Trenton had to say, while his head started to spin lazily from just the bit of contact he had with the eponi.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trenton puffed heavily on his eponi cigar, forming great rings of thick grey smoke. He smiled and sat, giving Alistor an appraising glance. He gestured to the combat clad companions at either side of him. With a moment to analyze the room and it's patrons, the half-breed quickly realized that both of the darkly clad men were fully equipped in his own creations, to say the least. In truth, they were set up to demolish something. Ehran the Nocturi was packing a Star, a powerful point four five caliber revolver on his right thigh in a snug quickdraw holster. Another sidearm was on his left hip, a nine-millimeter semi-auto too nondescript to bear a product title. Slung over Ehran's back was a Starflicker Magnum, the most powerful twelve-gauge Alistor had ever crafted. To top off the already ample implements of death, the Nocturi was packing a matte black tactical wakizashi, the only non-Starlight tool. The human on the other side was equally armed, leading
off with a Starsight sniper rifle, and a Starkiller of his own. Another key item was a Starflayer sub-machinegun and a tactical tanto. Both of the men had many kinds of ammunition, or just a shitload, and bandoliers of grenades. The collars they wore were the strangest part of their gear, perhaps a communications device of some sort.

“Alistor, let me tell you a story. Over a thousand years ago, before the pact of the old Pantheon, there was a young Angelus born in their ancient capitol in thesky. This young man came from a family of great warriors and gladiators, brotherof legendary swordmaster Damion. His name was Arayan, more infamous than famous really, but also a legend in his own right. Arayan was small for an Angelus, perhaps the size of a large human, and as such people saw him as weak. As the story of Damion went, Arayan also crafted a powerful weapon as he came of age. The dagger would prove to be his downfall. He had come to learn the ancient human magik that sparked their war with the old pantheon in the first age..."

There was no escaping from the wonderful high that flooded the quartet's lungs in the smoking room. Alistor had his share of experience with the substance, perhaps awkward parties or a night between friends in the bushes near his house in the late night. Whatever the reason for his previous knowledge of the subject, there was something off about the eponi. The half-elf could not quite place it, aside from a sweetness the smoke had. It could have been that the blunt was simply of a quality that sharply contrasted what Alistor had been in contact with, or something else. Visions formed around Trenton's words, it was almost like watching more than hearing. The small Angelus appeared in still images that were hard to deny.

"...While competing in the arena, his dagger was hit just as he was releasing the energies within. Arayan was banished to the shadow realm, where he was to fight off the creatures that assaulted him constantly for seven revolutions of the planet. The shadow realm changed him, his crimson wings turning black as ebony, his eyes charcoal grey. He called out to Rem always, with unwavering faith, but his body and mind turned against him. Only one powerful entity heard his cry, the Trickstress. Rem, for whatever reason, did not hear the cries of his child. Sophiri saw this, and took pity on him, in her way. She used him as a trick, which was to set him free. He wreaked havoc for some time, though in the end he came to remember his former life. That is another account of Damion's heroism. It is said that Arayan's shame and guilt kept him from taking a wife, or even a bedmate, but it isn't true. The truth is that Sophiri came to care for this mortal so much that she used him again to play her last trick on mankind and the Gods. All but the realms of the Gods themselves were in jeopardy at this time, at the dawn of modern weapons late in Arayan's life. The old ones again had taken sides, but were swearing a pact of inaction to prevent direct intervention of a certain level. Mortals hardly know of it, though we can all say that the old Pantheon is not as active as they once were. As the pledge commenced, Sophiri used her godly powers to visit Arayan's bed. A child was conceived in the Trickstress' womb growing to birthing age in moments. The child, delivered by Arayan, was awakened to consciousness and given vast power, by mortal standards, as a newborn babe. He was also given a purpose, the last words Sophiri uttered on this plane was 'He will fulfill a Prophecy'."

The story played out in exquisite imagery in Alistor's head, when he suddenly noticed the pair of ebony black feathered wings tucked neatly behind the Nubian's back. They slowly unfolded and extended as Trenton leaned back, finishing the little bit of his eponi blunt he had left.

"I am that child. I stayed with my father, Arayan, until his death and have been wandering since. I am not mortal, but I am not immortal. My life is a trick to me as much as anyone else. I have fulfilled many prophecies, but I have no way to know I have fulfilled my own. I don't know if I have completed my mother's statement, or if there is even really any prophecy."

The pair of darkly clad warriors nodded as if they had heard the story before. Trent continued.

"When I asked why you were here, I meant your reason for waking up in the morning. I've already got the list from Price, Ehran and Calvin are a couple of his boys. The hush-hush stuff, you know what I mean? Take it or leave it, I'm here because I believe that I am the son of Sophiri and I am destined to become enlightened to my mother's purpose, if she had one."

To the half-breed, Trenton seemed completely serious. The wings were a strong indicator of at least half-Angelus blood. Perhaps a kindred with delusions of grandeur? Who knew? Ehran was the first to break the mood.

"Trent, just quit bitching. You could take this fucking collar off us, I bet, but you won't. Asshole."

Calvin laughed and joined the fray.

"He'll probably kill himself tonight, in a really dramatic way."

Trent raised an eyebrow and stood. All sticks of eponi were smoked to the point of fingertip burning, and it was time for the show. Apparently the whole matter had been dropped. There were precious moments for Alistor to make a move, or just go with the flow, which seemed to be headed out of the smoking room back through the curtain to the stage in the main bar.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor, meanwhile, had no idea what to make of this interesting, if slightly boring, tale. Speak of old gods, of Angelus and of the darker planes...they were talk of the mystics, of the powerful followers and believers in more then what was in the present. Of a powerful past and a potent future, if it was to be believed. Alistor, sadly, was not one of those fanatics. Hell, he'd never even touched into the realm of magik. He was a simple gunsmith, doing his job and trying to live in the best way he could.

Thus, when Trenton's story came out, Alistor, needless to say, was more then a little skeptic. Not one to point fingers or make a stir--especially not in the city of the Kindred, and most definitely not where so many were prevalent--Alistor simply shrugged, not quite sure what to say.

"Why do I get up?" he asked, bringing them back to Trenton's initial query, "Well, because I'm not the kind of person who just lays down and takes life as it comes. I like to do the most with what time I have." He shrugged, knowing that whether that meant finding a foxy lady to spend that time with, or accomplishing something that gave him a sense of worth depended on how he felt that day.

"With all do respect, Mister Amon, I'm not one for stories, be they fact or myth. Even if you are the result of an ancient union between an Angelus and a demi-goddess, I don't quite see where I come in to play; why such a tale was weaved for my ears to hear." The men with the collars, men of Defender Price, were regarded with more then a little curiosity, more for their curious neckwear then anything else, though Alistor suspected it was some means of control.

As the group stood and headed out, Alistor sat there for a long moment, indecisive at that moment of decision. Should he go, and drop the whole thing? Try and set up a meeting with Amon later? Or should he stick around and see what came of the night, of ancient pseudo-mortals and their philosophical tales of possible half-truths--note that this can be applied to both Trenton and the Vampiric community that seemed so prevalent in the establishment.

As before, Alistor decided in for a step, in for a mile, so with a shrug he followed the three out, wherever that might lead. Besides, he crafted weapons as a profession, and trained with them several hours a day. It wasn't like he couldn't defend himself if things turned ugly, and it seemed that Trenton had something in mind for him, and that prospect, if his story proved true, piqued the half-breed's curiosity more then anything else...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The mood had changed instantly, all potential energy directed back outward into the main bar area. Trenton seemed to consider the words of the half-breed, ignoring Ehran and Calvin's snickers. He shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Time meant something to me once. With your blood, you should live to a ripe age."

The black winged human cracked his knuckles thoroughly before going on.

"No doubt you are skeptical, I would be surprised if you weren't. I'll tell you straight up: Lonedark is an ancient game played out since the end of the first age. Every piece is set deliberately, from the mindless masses to the kingpins. Some pieces are more useful than others, some are too useful to keep around. Only this place is out of their reach, but that's not enough for me anymore. What will happen when the pieces move themselves? The next time I tell you a story, you'll want to listen."

With that, he and Price's men passed through the curtain and out toward the stage. The crowd was already repositioned around the stage, clearing a path for Trenton. The other two just wandered into the mass, leaving Alistor alone in the crowd. When the winged man took the stage, arms raised toward the ceiling, all went silent. He spoke.

"Welcome to Kataal. It's showtime! This evening, we are fortunate enough to have the Vandals."

The mob roared. All patrons edged forward, tightening on the stage. Alistor instantly recognized the name, the Vandals were widely regarded as the best edge bards in history. There was one inconsistency: they were all dead nearly twenty revolutions prior. With the deafening cacaphony raging around him, the half-breed watched an incredible display. Dark rings of energy were forming in the stage, Trenton in the center of it. Denser concentrations formed around his hands as forms began to take shape. Each member of the Vandals appeared, in their prime. Either there was some serious electronics in the place, or something much more complicated. They began to play, just as Alistor had seen them in clips of footage. Trenton disappeared from the stage and re-emerged near the gunsmith. While the Vandals rocked the house, the dark man spoke above the blaring wall of sound.

"Let's step outside, we need to talk."

Once out through the main entrance, they were alone out front. There was something very apparently wrong. The sun was setting. Still, Trenton marched Alistor nearly to the street before he turned.

"Alistor, you came here to die. You are one of the pieces that they are worried about, and Price is setting you up. He killed one of his own and gave you the 'stolen' TAG, possession of high level contraband and the murder of a Defender would be enough to take your life away. Price is planning to return to your shop at sunrise with a full team and take you in, I suggest you take a day off."

The bright yellow life-giving orb was touching the horizon. Never in Alistor's life had he even seen such a thing. The sky turned pink and orange, shadows stretching on forever. Instinct demanded that the half-breed get inside, but the whole situation was dreamlike. If he was to make it to cover before dark, he had to move now. Trenton seemed to be about to continue speaking, but Alistor had a chance to make his move, whatever that was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor nodded, still indeed somewhat skeptical, and followed Trent. He watched the man on the stage, then followed him out when he was beckoned. As he came out to stand beside Trenton, every muscle in the half-elf's body tensed as the first sentence came out of his mouth.

To die? As Trenton explained more fully the situation, Alistor stared at the winged human in mild shock, but hardly surprised. He knew he was too valuable. He knew he was walking a fine line, and he knew the TAG he'd been given was an unusual gift at best. With a drawn out sigh, he looked to the horizon, contemplating the future.

Perfect. The time had come. He could be a legitimate surface dweller no more...not like it was. From here on out he had to go Underground. Already plans were forming in his mind to pack up everything he had and move it to his backup storage cache, a place only his closest Underground contacts knew about. It already contained enough to arm a small squad for a few weeks, but if he moved all his supplies, though cramped, he could arm a few squads for months of raids.

Another question dawned on the half-elf at that moment, though, as he turned to gaze at Trenton. He realized this was his moment to run if he wanted to, to escape while sunlight still drifted upon the surface, but darkness did not scare Alistor. Well, it -did-, but it was a fear he could control.

The question, though, was why would Trenton help him? What did the half-Angelus have to gain? What purpose served in assisting Alistor, especially under Price's nose. With a sigh, he figured Trent would know those were his questions, but he'd wait until Trent said his piece before asking more. The logical part of his brain screamed at him to run while daylight still hung, but Alistor--being told he was to die soon anyway--brushed it aside, his curiosity overriding his base survival instinct.

Watching the sun drift down, Alistor Starstream turned to Trenton and waited, listening.

He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, not without the curiosity that was Trenton Amon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trenton hoped that the news wouldn't throw Alistor off too much, so he smiled when after a few moments the fellow half-breed wasn't making a fuss. He would at least consider it as a valid concern, and need validation of Trent's own motives. So he continued.

"I think I know what's going through your mind right now, so I have another story for you."

As he spoke, Trenton reached into the pocket of his button down and withdrew a small vial from it, holding it between his thumb and forefinger for Alistor to see.

"At the turn of the current age, the dark council of Lonedark gathered. With the invention of guns and ammunition, especially silver, their kind was losing a bit of the physical edge they had always had over most all mortals. There had always been silver arrows and crossbow bolts, but for an old sanguine they are only a minor inconvenience. A bullet is much more difficult to dodge, and requires little skill at short range. As such, the guild of hunters was growing stronger and dropping more and more bloodsuckers each night. It simply would not do so they decided to act as one, making their move. Over the ages, councils had often slaughtered the hunters, sometimes even to the point of killing every last one, but they had found that it was only a temporary solution, as they would always reform. Friends and family of the dead hunters formed new ranks, and the war carried on. That was not enough for this council. Nearly six hundred revolutions ago, they won the war. It is still won."

Trenton now withdrew another object, from his rear pants pocket this time. A small silver-framed mirror rested in his palm. He flicked the vial open and tapped out a small mound of strangely fine grey reflective powder. With a few flicks of his wrist he spread it out flat and used the vial to gather it into two small lines. A small tube came from the same pocket of the vial, which he pressed to his nose and sniffed one line of the stuff. He then layed the shiny silver tube next to the remaining line and held it out to Alistor, speaking.

"They did not simply attack the slayers, their plan was much more sinister. The dark council gave them a boon they couldn't refuse. They whipped the slayers into a frenzy, letting them slaughter any number of lesser sanguines. They even thought they would win, and it was their downfall. The council had 'leaked' , so to speak, an amount of their blood to the slayers. It is widely known that the blood of an old one is potent, giving mortals great power, but at great cost. Those who consumed the blood on several occasions would get addicted, and begin to obey their benefactors, even without knowing it directly. This caused a split in the guild of hunters, the religious refused to consume the impure substance, and criticized those who did. As such, they left the ranks to their temples. Some simply stopped the hunt, choosing to become cattle. Those that were left became the new officers, and were helplessly subservient to the council's whims. They chose to conceal their blood use to boost recruitment, and also to boost each individual portion for themselves. It extended their life indefinitely, some are still around. When they reformed, they were no longer slayers or hunters, they dubbed themselves the Underground. Snort this."

Trent shook the mirror side to side a moment in front of the half-elf's face.

"It is vampire ash and silver powder. It will give you a boost for your first free night, and protect you from parasites. It's not an option, you do it or you will die out here."

It was unclear what the cause of death might be, what was clear was that snorting the line was mandatory. Trenton continued, still holding the mixture out.

"Any sanguine the Underground has killed has been explicitly ordered by a member of the council. Their plan worked out so well that they now use the Underground as a vessel for their own feuds. They play Lonedark like a child's board game, with puppet strings in hand. You are marked for death by them, they see that you are too unpredictable to serve their purpose. Most importantly though, they fear what you might be. Lately, the council has denied my requests to enforce full neutrality in my club. Their underlings feed in my home, and I can do nothing, but I am to jump on a chance to betray a half-elven gunsmith that I have yet to meet? Frankly, I'm pissed off at the sheer disrespect they give me. I am obviously not a concern at the moment, what better time to throw a wrench in things? The council doesn't fear you alone, but they will soon begin to see that I am gathering enough pieces to pose a real threat. Give me one night to prove my point, and I will save your life. I have a car waiting."

Alistor still had a moment to decide, as the last of the distant start passed beneath the duned horizon. Trent's words could have been lies, but they did make a sort of sense that reflected ages of wisdom. The bloodsuckers knew they could never extinguish those that would kill them, so why not embrace it and keep them happy by throwing them the occasional subordinate? If it was true, Alistor's current plan was not as viable as it once was. It was time to make his statement to Trenton, to choose a position.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Silver Fox
Member Avatar
Just a Flash
As Trenton began his next story, Alistor listened impassively, though he couldn't help but be intrigued. As the words deepened his understanding of the situation, he began to understand what was really going on here. Council or Underground, either way he was still being played by the undead higher ups. Not even the Underground could necessarily be trusted if Trent's words were correct.

This night, he knew instinctively, was much like the night he'd spoken with the traitor before he was put to death. It would change his view of the world ramatically, and there was little to nothing he could do about it. Again he felt that same sense of hopelessness, of being a puppet on a string for the elder vampire's amusements, playing to their tune.

If that was the case with the Underground as well, then perhaps so much the better that he'd been marked for death. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was marked as a target by them, for it proved that they were bothered that he went against their plans, that he refused to dance to their tune.

He was funny that way.

Just like with the traitor, he somehow, against some precautionary part of him, just -knew- that Trenton was telling the truth. If not, it didn't really matter, because in the back of his mind he also knew that he was doomed sooner or later, as all mortals were in Lonedark.

Taking the mirror, he held it to his nose, plugging the other nostril, and with a last look at Trenton, sniffed the line.

Let's see how deep this illusion really goes...

A piece controlled by the Undead or by Trenton, that was his options, but at least Trenton was upfront about it. For now, it seemed, Trenton and his goals lie along the same path, and that was okay by Alistor.

Reeling from the snort, he sniffed clean air a few more times, coughing, before looking to Trent. With a sigh, knowing he was throwing himself back into the fold, he nodded grimly.

"What now, then?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trenton exposed a wall of perfect teeth as he watched Alistor snort the line. He then crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. Now that the first line of tests was complete, it was time for the serious business. The half-Angelus spoke.

"Before that stuff hits you, let me tell you what the plan is. Basically, tonight we'll gather resources. In a few minutes, we'll hop in my ride and roll out to your shop to pick up some toys, strictly the best of your work. If you have any other personal weapons caches with goodies in them, we'll stop by them as well. I'll have someone come by after us to load the bulk of the gear in a truck that will meet us at my compound near dawn."

Trent seemed to think for a moment before continuing, adjusting his hat to the perfect angle over the white bandana. Obviously on cue, a charcoal gray vehicle with darkly tinted windows rolled driverless to the road beside them. Strangely, it was dark and silent. There was no rumbling or crashing as with every previous night, no strange sharptoothed creatures on the hunt. Odd. The vehicle, an early model muscle machine by Animus Motors dubbed the "Chimera". It was sleek and obviously powerful, unless the vast hood was concealing a tiny engine. As if to clear all doubt, the hood popped open, revealing a large arcane core of pure white metal. As with typical engines, it was positioned centrally in the compartment quickly spinning in a clockwise rotation. About the size of a large grapefruit, only the top was visible as the main block was bolted together to contain it. Inside the core turned cranks, which in turn powered the wheels. The block was obviously high grade Nocturi steel, the core mithril. Alistor could guess that the frame and panels would also be something high-quality. The body of the Chimera was long and curved in a way that suggested speed. Likewise Nocturi steel rims with low profile tires kept the vehicle low to the ground, while a modest spoiler in the back served to help with grip at high speeds. The hood closed.

"Let's roll out and get the easy part over with. Hop in."

Trenton took the driver's position and motioned for Alistor to ride shotgun, literally. The passenger door swung open, and on the seat lay a clip-fed semi-automatic twelve gauge, complete with bipod. Seamlessly, Alistor's side of the front windshield slid up and into the roof, leaving him enough to position the shotty in front of him, the bottom of the bipod fitting perfectly in the groove left by the vacant glass. The inside of the Chimera was lush and comfortable, with every amenity offered by arcane engineering in the world of transportation. Trenton handed the half-elf another tube like the one that had contained the eponi cigar, smiling.

"This is not for recreation, if you get into a tight spot tonight then smoke it. Do you still have those matches?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor was suitably impressed with the vehicle. Any type was expensive, but the design of the Chimera especially so. As he took the passenger side, his body shifted as per his old training. It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden as a gunner, so as he took the position with familiarity, if a bit of hesitation, he looked over to Trent and accepted the tube before returning to his gunner position.

“And what, then, may I ask is this one for?” He had a few moments before they reached the merchant district, and he’d been fairly cooperative at playing on faith thus far. As such, he figured he was owed an answer or two that didn’t seem preposterous or vague.

Meanwhile, he’d turn his practiced hand at the clip-fed auto-shotty, his attention focused on the situation around him, observing and waiting to see if he became a target so he could find one in kind, but his training had allowed him to be able to do so and carry on a pseudo-casual conversation. Well, as pseudo-casual as you could get talking about one’s own death, a half-god, and the possible destruction of the world.

All in a day’s work, he guessed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trent flipped a few switches in the console and was greeted by music that seemed eerily familiar. A moment later the reason was clear, it was a broadcasting of what must now be going on inside Kataal. The Vandals were barely audible over the sound of raving fans, inebriated out of their minds and loving it. The volume, though, was low enough that Alistor could clearly hear Trent reply as he pulled away from the club. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, the smoke? It’s just some typical eponi with some Dragons’ blood, or Griffon, whatever some magical creature. It makes you ten-feet tall and bullet-proof, you’ll love it.”

The Chimera accelerated at a pace that was beyond comparison, every second of the ride redefined the half-elf’s definition of fast. At first the scenery was just a blur, but after a minute or two things changed. Alistor’s vision became clear and bright, though the city was enveloped in darkness. Each passing object seemed to linger in his vision for an eternity, he was able to take in every detail almost as though he was processing everything at once. There was a dull hum on the outside of his hearing too, in fact his whole body seemed to percieve it. The shotgun swiveled effortlessly on his bipod, and though it seemed the silver load might blow back in his face if he fired, there was no doubt in Alistor’s mind that he would be aiming precisely at his target. Trenton caught his passenger’s eye as he drove, drifting widely around corners still smiling crookedly.

“Yeah, that snuff is definately pumping now. You probably feel like you could tear the arms off an ogre. I’ll tell you what, though...you can.”

This caused him to toss his head back in laughter, chest heaving in merriment for a moment before he continued. The pair was getting close to Alistor’s shop now.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m helping you, and more importantly, what I want in return? Well, other than the fact that sparing you will amuse me by pissing off the council, I need someone to act as a catalyst. All my pieces are positioned exactly as I need them, but unfortunately those of my enemies are as well. I am powerful, but I am not impossible to destroy, given the right circumstances. The council isn’t naive enough to think that I am under their control, but they know that they have a certain amount of leverage on me and show it every chance they get. What they don’t know is that I have leverage on them as well. What I need is the proper lever, that’s where you come in. You will be the tip of my blade as I pierce the vile heart of my enemies.”

Before Trent actually managed to say anything that possessed a clear answer, the Chimera rolled to a stop in front of Starlight Weapons and Supplies. Seeming satisfied with his rhetoric, Trenton stepped out of the vehicle and motioned for the half-elf to lead the way. Standing up gave the buzz Alistor was feeling a distinct change. It was almost as though he was feather-light, and everything he saw became glossy and reflective. The walk up the stairs was timeless and yet it took no time at all. The gunsmith realized that neither he nor Trenton had made a sound coming up the usually boisterous set. The demi-god once again spoke.

“All right, grab your favorite toys and plenty of ammo. Leave it unlocked and I’ll have my people come and get the rest. Take a minute to say goodbye, I doubt you’ll see this place again.”

(( soo, basically you have very little contraband here, but feel free to go nuts. Anything you grab will be made of Elven, Nocturi, or Dwarven steel with Mithril for the tiny mechanical workings and hardware [ firing pin, trigger, screws, sights, hammer, and/or barrel sleeves.] You have duffel bags and holsters and straps laying around, plus tactical clothing/gear, scopes and various specialized gunsmithing tools.))

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor heard the words of the man who was both alarmingly perplexing and curiously intriguing. He couldn’t believe just how far it all seemed to be going and at such a pace. Luckily, nothing major happened on the way to Starslight, and as they arrived the half-elf, no longer concerned about keeping things quiet—after all, the name of the game they played now was readiness, not care—he had them back right up to the loading dock in back.

Using his key to slam open the store-room that was the back of the shop, He moved to one rack that was loaded with standard munitions. Pulling aside a small crate, he reached up and flicked a hidden switch that was previously covered by the crate, which slid it to the side. It opened up another, very small room that was his ‘private stash’. While nothing illegal, it was the pieces he considered his personal best, be they ones he just wanted saved for sentimental reasons, commissioned pieces that didn’t work out, or some such other reason.

While his personal pieces, the .44 mags and the lever-action, were all three nocturi steel with mythril workings—he preferred the lightness of the metal over the durability of the dwarven steel, given his smaller frame—he did know that some people preferred it. In here was his personal stash house of most of them, along with most of his Nocturi steel pieces. Just about every standard piece he sold was elven steel, and when they wanted a ‘special’, he got it from here.

One was a full crate of special order Nocturi assault rifles, one of the most difficult pieces to make in the gunsmithing business. He’d built them himself and had almost shipped them out when the buyer wound up face down in an ally, drained. That was the first thing he pushed out and motioned for them to grab as he continued to round up his other items.

In almost no time four duffles were stuffed full of all sizes and shapes of pistols, rifles, shotguns, and a fifth full of straps, scopes, and just about every other weapon auxiliary including the very rare and even more difficult item to make—silencers. A sixth and seventh was loaded purely with boxes of ammunition and clips, enough to supply the weapons being carted off through likely at least four or five long firefights. A final, eight bag filled with weaponsmithing tools, especially the rarer and harder to find ones, as well as any rare raw materials he had hiding around the shop.

All said and done, a pseudo-large crate and eight duffles were ready in a matter of minutes, and he stepped out grinning.

“I think this’ll do,” he spoke offhandedly to Trent, motioning for them to load it up. As they finished, if nothing found it’s way to disturbing their work, he’d turn to Trent and sigh, shrugging.

“What now?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trenton stood around uncharacteristically silent as he waited for his people to arrive. Once they had, he let Alistor direct them to the loading elevator. Though quiet, he looked satisfied with the haul the half-elf had brought out. Two human everymen emerged from the truck and started loading. Once they were through, the truck went back down to street level and lumbered along back toward the docks. The place looked pretty empty when they were finished, as they took not only the secret cache, but also the more common items as well. All told, they had enough for fifty soldiers to be armed to the teeth, and twice that many armed lightly.

The strange quiet that accompanied the emptiness of the shop was the signal to vacate. Trent went first, down the stairs and back toward his Chimera, letting Alistor have a minute to lock up or take a last look around. As the half-elf approached the vehicle again, though, something was definately not right. His keen senses focused on what was out of place. A few blocks down another vehicle was hurtling toward them. It was a jet black four door that screamed government, only one branch of which would be out at night.

"Shadowguard."

Trent's words finished the observation, the word ominous despite his matter-of-fact tone. The dark-skinned half-angelus simply leaned against the Chimera, puffing a large stick of eponi. Something was off about his smile, it was even more crooked than before. In a matter of seconds the vehicle made it to them, skidding to a stop as three of its doors popped open. In an instant three darkly clad figures were out and slowly spreading out, drawing weapons. There faces were covered with tactical cowls, but it was easy for Alistor to recognize the firearms he had crafted. Two of the three had been present in the smoking room at Kataal. All three wore the collars he had seen before. Apparently they had been spotted, not like it would've been hard as they were most likely the only non-government vehicle on the road after curfew. Alistor had precious moments to make a decision. From his knowledge of tactics, he could tell that the trio was intending to fan out and form a triangular perimeter for optimum crossfire. Trent just stood, unconcerned, puffing on his blunt. None of the Shadowguard had fired yet, but it was clear that they were prepared to. It was possible that they could be negotiated with, but any interaction would obviously be dangerous.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

If there was one thing that the Half-elf learned about Shadowguard, it was that they were the kind to shoot first, shoot second, shoot third, and ask questions after the body count has been tallied. They were the group that was called in when something needed dead and no questions asked. Alistor eyed their movements, noticing them, moving with his false telltale limp as he lifted a brow. His arms crossed, one sliding inside of his coat and slipping around the handle of his sawed-off, ready to pull when needed. He was a pawn, and he knew it…actually, according to Trent’s words he’d be better termed as a knight, but regardless he was not the one moving the pieces. That said, he eyed the one that hadn’t been at Kataal, studying the strategic layout, ready to pull on him as soon as was needed.

He figured he could leave the other two for Trent if they were any threat, he’d know better then the Half-elf would. Meanwhile, he also knew that pulling first wasn’t his place. If shit hit the fan he’d definitely back Trent, there was no question in his mind about that, but the question was, would it. The odds were high, but it wasn’t an impossibility that things would be alright.

He couldn’t help but idly wonder if he should be pulling out that special cigar he’d been given. Deciding that all he could do for now was wait and let things play out, he waited, hand ready, observing to see what happened next. This could make or brake his public persona. Not that the fact mattered much to him, but it’d be nice to have just in case. Playing the part of the piece and not the mover, he waited to see what happened next, ready to move the instant he saw them do so.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The trio of darkly clad assassins slowly paced toward the Chimera, but didn't fire. Trenton flicked the butt of his smoke to the street and stomped it once to extinguish it completely. Once within talking distance, the nocturi Alistor had seen before removed his cowl and spoke.

"Gods, Trenton, why'd you have to give him a line?"

The half-angelus laughed a bit and replied.

"Hey, I just wanted you boys to have some fun." Trenton turned to Alistor before continuing, "Sorry, kid, you shouldn't have trusted me."

With that, he tipped his had and popped the door of his Chimera open, sliding inside. It purred as it came to life and carried him back the way they had come. While the pieces of this puzzle were still scattered, there was a bit of the picture to be seen. All the while, Trent had told him exactly what he was doing, under the impression that he had decided not to. Not only that, but he had cleaned out Alistor's shop! There was no time to contemplate the betrayal, though, as the three now paced toward him. The nocturi again spoke.

"Look, Alistor, I'm going to be straight with you. I have orders to take you alive. Trust me, it's as surprising to us as it is to you. The Nosfore himself wants to see you. As you can tell, there's two options here. You can fight us, or you can come peacefully. I won't lie, I don't know what the council wants with you. If I were you, I'd see what they have to say."

Ehran seemed to have the look of a man who believes his words are falling upon deaf ears. The pair still cowled simply stood at the ready, anticipating a struggle. Alistor was still running strong on the stuff he had snorted before, but three Shadowguard was daunting to nearly anyone they had business with. The fact that they had been ordered to take him alive was very strange, given the background of the group. They were almost exclusively death dealers, rumored to have roots that stretched back to a guild of assassins in the nocturi expanse, a series of vast underground caverns that the dark elves of old called home. Alistor had a choice to make, he could jerk his guns and get to blasting, or he could go peacefully. On the one hand, their orders to take him alive might give him and edge in combat, but on the other was the perplexing offer to see hear what the Nosfore had to say. Few denizens of Lonedark even knew there was a council, and fewer still had ever seen a member of it, let alone the Nosfore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Ah, Murk’s Blood…” he mumbled the curse under his breath. To be expected from the child of Sophiri. That’s what he got for not being more careful.

This was the moment of choice. Which way would the wind blow? How would he swing? He still had the cigar, if that was to be trusted. What was the most surprising, perhaps, was that while he was irritated at the betrayal, he wasn’t honestly surprised. One learned to not be surprised by such thing in a politically fickle city like Lonedark. Because of it, one could never really be sure of someone’s political loyalties, or if they’d try to stab you in the back rather then help you.

However, while Alistor had been playing both sides, that meant he wasn’t beholden only to one. He was a mercenary, to put it bluntly, and though he bore ties to the Resistance, he also clearly had ties to the Government. Besides, a once in a lifetime—even if it was a lifetime ending—meeting with the Nosfore, who apparently was interested in him personally for no obvious reason…Alistor nodded.

“One condition. I keep my pieces. No search. If you guys are good you already know what I’ve got on me anyway.” There was, of course, the hidden pocket with the TAG, the card he’d been given, and now the tube that had the eponi cigar and their matches, but the Half-elf wasn’t sure how far he could even trust that any more...so for now all he had that he could trust were his firearms, and he wasn’t about to give those up.

“Disagree, and at least one of us—probably more—die right here.” If his offer was accepted, he’d move his hands to his pieces on his hips—with the odds out of his favor, being able to wield two independently was much handier then a decent spread from one—and would follow them into their cars, his hands always near his .44 mags. If not, out came the sawed off, dodging towards the nearest cover in a wild dive, levering as many shells as he could at the three in the process.

It was really up to them. Allow him to have weapons in the presence of the Nosfore, or fail their mission completely.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ehran nodded with a smile as Alistor spoke. He seemed to be pleasantly surprised with the outcome of his meagre negotiating skills. He turned to the others and motioned to the vehicle they had arrived in, then turned back to Alistor as they made their way toward it.

"Hey, no problem as long as you don't try anything cute on the ride there. I knew you were a reasonable kind of guy. Let's get a move on then."

The nocturi turned his back and walked toward the ride, just as the pair of others got in. His nonchalant stride had a jovial quality about it, though he still seemed on guard. One could suppose a Shadowguard would always have to watch his back. Once at the vehicle, Ehran gestured to the rear passenger side door as he circled it and got in from the other side.

Once rolling, the inside of the car was eerily silent. Ehran sat beside Alistor in the back, and fishing something out of his pocket. The half-elf saw that it was a small notebook, opened to somwhere in the middle, a second later a pen emerged and the nocturi began scribbling before showing Alistor what he had written.

It read:
Don't speak, we are bugged. Give me the key.

Ehran looked on edge, expectant. He looked into Alistor's eyes with impatience, waiting for some response. His ebony hand was open palm-up, ready for something to be placed in it. He then wrote again and showed it to the half-elf.

It read:
Did Trenton give you a key?

The nocturi anxiously awaited a reply. The vehicle was coming into the outskirts of old town, where the council was rumored to live in their ancient mansions. There wasn't much time before they arrived, it seemed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They seemed willing to play, and Alistor was fine with it. After all, as a true mercenary, it was less about ideals, more about survival. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be under his own terms, not someone else’s. As the climbed into the car, the Half-elf turned his attention to Ehran. His brow furrowed slightly, curious as to what the nocturi might be referring to. With a puzzled expression, he raised both his hands palms up in the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know’….then thought quietly for a moment.

No. He wouldn’t have…would he? Perhaps this was exactly what he’d been talking about. Perhaps Trenton had been entirely truthful, and just needed Alistor to be surprised for this to work right, whatever he had planned. Then again, he also knew to not put too much faith in Trent…they had met just this eve and on dubious circumstances. Instead, the gunsmith simply assumed that Trenton may or may not have a plan in the background, but for now, assume no allegiances anywhere. As such, whether the nocturi was on the level or not, it behooved him to give him the key, whatever or wherever it was…if Trenton had indeed given it to him, to gain an ally, be it Trenton, whomever this nocturi worked for, or just this nocturi. Either way would be better then the dire straits he was in now.

Quickly Alistor searched his pockets, every nook and cranny in the clothes on his body for any key that Trenton might have slipped him. If he found something, he’d set it on the notebook. If not, he’d simply pull out the cigar tube and set it on the notebook before reinforcing the palms up gesture, a combination of ‘I don’t know’ and ‘That’s all’.

Then, once again, all he could do was wait, hands on his guns.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ehran frowned as his heavily armed captive made no indication of knowing what key Trent may have slipped on his person. Obviously, they hadn't discussed this, the Nocturi's sense of truth could deduce that much. A quick search of his inventory indicated to Alistor that nothing new was there. What he did possess was quite illegal enough, though. It rolled a bit down the small pad before being snatched quickly by Ehran's ebony hand. He brought it to eye-level and spoke in a soft monotone.

"Contraband, one eponi cigar."

The two Shadowguard in the front of the vehicle didn't respond more than a glance, but it was clear that they were not the intented targets of the observation. Alistor could plainly see that Ehran was getting some response, and heard his reply in the same dull monotone.

"The contraband is in my possession, it was volunteered to me peacefully by your guest." After another brief pause, "I assume it was given to him by the son."

The dialogue seemed to have ended there. Ehran breathed a short sigh and spoke in a tone that most definately contrasted with the way he had spoken before. His voice was deep and expressive.

"All right, this is yours, but I need to keep it until we get you through the checkpoint. It'll go in a little envelope, and you'll get it back when we get on the other side."

There was little time to converse further as the auto slowed to a stop and went between two small windowed buildings, the gate entrance to a much larger mansion. There was some conversation between the driver and a guard outside through the rolled down window, but it seemed to file away as worthless when he caught sight of the building. It was old, and yet immaculate. It was a carved out of sandstone and faced with ebony, ivory, gold and a series of square levels reaching toward the sea behind. It was time to exit after a fast drive up the short road to the structure. They left the vehicle Ehran carrying a plastic evidence bag with the stick of eponi in it, apparently found on the ride. The trio walked around Alistor as they entered. The main hall was as ancient and beautiful as the outside. It was well-known as a historical preservation sight owned by the government, but there had always been rumors of dark dealings in the place. Apparently those rumors were true, because government agents were marching him up the stone steps and into the most lavish office environment Alistor the gunsmith had ever seen and behind a lark desk of deep chocolate brown wood sat what could be none other than the king of kindred. He was a beast of a man, large and muscle-bound. One could take him to be in his mid-forties by the streaks of white at the temples and in his neatly trimmed goatee. Ehran stepped forward from behind the half-elf and placed the bag on the desk in front of the well-dressed pale gentleman.

"Here it is."

The man straightened his tie and jacket and leaned over to raise it to look at. Slowly he opened the seal and removed it, pinching it at the base with his thumb and forefinger and dragging it through the air beneath his nostrils. He seemed satisfied as he replied to the Nocturi, addressing all three of the shadowguard.

"All right, you guys take the rest of the night off. Back here at one before dawn."

With that they were gone, off to blow off steam whatever way Shadowguard did. The man then offered a seat to Alistor and smiled.

"Got a light?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor gave no reaction as he noticed the nocturi speaking with an unheard voice. Unheard, at least, to the rest gathered. The two in front had given them a cursory glance then returned to their duties, which meant that the voice was the one that mattered. As he finished, detailing what would happen to the cigar, Alistor was actually surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be. They had no reason to return it to him, but then again they had no need to keep it either, as it was beneath their radar. Much as Alistor had thought himself until the proverbial shit had hit the fan.

With a nod as his instructions for retrieving the item was given, he exited and began to move through the building. Given his escort and the method they’d chosen, oddly enough he felt caged, like an animal on display, more like they were doing it ‘for his own good’. Not because he was a danger to them, but because he was in danger both from himself and from others. It was not a comforting feeling, despite how silly it felt.

As the finally arrived at the location of the leader of the kindred that until now for him and near every mortal of the city had been a myth. Little more then a rumor whispered behind closed doors to scare children into acting as they should. He was suitably impressive, physically. Though Alistor was relatively sure that he’d be hardpressed against a few undead flunkies, against this one all it took was a single look into his eyes to know he would have no chance. That as long as he was under the solid, stern gaze of this absolutely confident man, he was the prey, and always would be. Yet another sensation the half-elf hated.

So, determined to fight against obvious fate but not in an obvious fashion, he decided to, instead of be belligerent as some might have him act, to be entirely, frustratingly reasonable. While he hated being a game piece, one thing he was determined to do was pick his own side and fight like hell to stay in play. As the kindred made his blatantly open request for fire to be placed near his face and for that highly illegal fire source to be revealed, Alistor didn’t even bat an eye as he removed the matchbox, drew one, and lit it, moving forward to hold it for the kindred to suck from, lighting up. Never once did he make a single move to try and use it as a weapon, and once this legended ‘Nosfore’ was done with it, his eyes never the entire time having left that terrifying gaze, he would bring the match up to his mouth and with a quick, sharp puff, blow out what was left.

Then, he’d return the matchbox to its place in his hidden pocket, and set the now shriveled and black matchstick carefully on the chocolate-colored desk that seemed worth so much. All of this, without hardly batting an eye. He might be a game piece, but dammit he was determined to not be the pawn. A knight at least. Then, rather then showing his impatience and speaking out next, he’d wait. The Nosfore could say what he pleased when he pleased, but Alistor knew that no matter what, he wouldn’t get to set the pace of the meeting, so he didn’t bother to try, and instead waited for the Nosfore to begin the conversation that would likely either end his life, or set it off in an entirely unexpected tailspin to wind up miles from where he thought he would be when he’d gotten up the previous morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Nosfore didn't seem too concerned with the light he had asked for, he instead seemed to concentrate on puffing at the cigar thoughtfully, eyeing his 'guest' from feet to face. It was only moments before he spoke.

"You have no idea what you are doing here alive. You know you're in the presence of a predator and that you are the primary prey, and yet you are unharmed. That means either I am not hungry or I have called you for another purpose."

Another puff of the cigar and a smoke ring later he continued, his words quite casual.

"I assure you that I am very hungry, but what I hunger for is power. I used to rule this city, I sat at the head of the council for a thousand revolutions when mortals were free but that time was too short. I saw no need to your people or meddle in their affairs, let alone drive the gods from our domain. While you and I don't live in the same way, Alistor, we both continue our existence without needing to control the world we're in. In fact, I feel like we are very alike in that, we take things as they come at us without living in fear of what might come along to end our journey. Your kind have an advantage over us, though, you will die. There is no chance at immortality for you, so cannot be tempted into squandering what time you do have grasping at infinity. That, you see, is exactly what's happened to the council. Through subtle manipulations, they have removed me from power. I still preside over them but I have only my personal power to sustain my position, if the twelve councilors were to unify against me then it would be a dark time for Lonedark both mortal and kindred alike. Mister Amon has been essential in keeping them occupied, but his influence is growing weaker. They have begun to focus their attention on him, leaving me to my own devices."

The eponi was gone as the story ended, with the Nosfore placing the butt next to the match, grinding it until a small 'L'-shaped piece of black metal dropped to the desk beside everything and gestured for Alistor to take it. The large creature became more serious as he spoke, finally spelling out Alistor's place in the chaos of the Lonedark underworld.

"The son of Sophiri is my most valuable piece, but because of his nature the best way to move him is into harm's way. Remaining alive when nearly the whole council wants you dead is admirable, but who knows how long that can be kept up? I have only one other with me on the council, and his position is failing fast. What I need isn't another piece, it is another player. I play for my own power, Trenton plays for sheer joy of the game, and the councilors play for their elusive eternity. You, Alistor, will play for another reason. I'm not asking you to play on my side, but I don't need to. Once you are shown the game, I am convinced that you will play for exactly what I want. Game over."

The Nosfore was somber as he delivered his words, always gazing into the eyes of the gunsmith.

"Unfortunately, I cannot explain to you what the circumstances are. You simply wouldn't believe. Therefore you must be shown, and I do not have the resources to guide you myself, my every moment is fixed upon the board. The choice has already been made, hate me if you like but I am forcing you into this deadly game. From this night on, the council will know your location and hear every work that is spoken in your presence. Never tell anyone what was said here, they will assume that you are just another recruit. The object from that stick of eponi is the key to your freedom, never let anyone know you have it. I chose you for your wit, dexterity and affinity for engineering, I believe you can overcome this situation I am putting you in. When you free yourself, go to Trenton, he will point out your path. Do not trust him, though, his attention span is short, and his love for the game is so strong that he may not want to see its end."

With that, he leaned over and pulled open a drawer. In a deft movement, the item was out of it and made to lay upon the desk. It was a collar, the same as those he had seen the Shadowguard wearing, though this one was open. Alistor could guess what was happening. The Nosfore spoke once more, standing with the collar dangling from his fist.

"There is a groove on the inside that will fit your key, it is the only place you can conceal it. Never try to manipulate the collar in the night, familiars monitor you during the day. They don't have the keen senses of a sanguine, but they record your movements and interactions carefully. One last thing, half-elf, you may not believe me, but I am truly sorry for this. If I could regain my power without this, I would."

Something about the Nosfore changed at that moment, something that would definitely make Alistor feel as though he needed to draw a weapon. The pale figure seemed to fill the entire room as his eyes cut to the core of the gunsmith. He was about to charge. No, a tightening around Alistor's neck and a sharp snapping sound below his chin and he knew the charge was over. Large hands held him in place for a moment after, and then released. If Alistor were to turn, he would see the Nosfore standing between him and the door, finger to pursed lips to indicate silence. The vampire lord then made another motion as if reaching into a turtle-neck sweater to scratch an itch. Given the words he had just spoken about the collar, it was clear the message was to stash the so-called key. A voice buzzed in the half-elf's mind just then, impossible to ignore.

Test your bounds if you must, but you will submit. On the second level there is a door near the stairway labeled with a black eight-pointed star. You will be briefed once inside.

A lot had happened, and Alistor was likely to need a moment to take it all in. There was a sense of impatience about the voice in his mind, presumably from the collar. Still, the gunsmith was heavily armed and could do some damage if he liked. Another option was to go quietly, but how many times had he done that this night, and where had it gotten him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Silver Fox
Member Avatar
Just a Flash
The half-elf sat with disquieting calmness, waiting out the entire situation. As things progressed, he took them as he came, saying nothing nor even displaying any reaction. One thing that someone learned in leading the sort of life Alistor had is that even a facial tic can give away vital information, and must be carefully kept in check. So, poker-face in play, he simply watched and waited as the key was revealed from within the eponi cigar, as he guessed it might be.

After the words were spoken, the collar snapped around his neck before he even realized what had happened, and with a sigh, reached for the key and tucked it inside the collar. Just what it was meant for he had no idea, why he’d need to use such a key was a mystery to him…not to mention why he was wearing a Shadowguard collar. He wanted to ask a million questions, but knew he couldn’t because of them being monitored. With another sigh he stood, though the buzzing voice in his head was a new sensation. He’d have to get used to it. He was used to the conspiratorial voices whispering outside his head, not in. It would probably, at some point, give rise to the question on if he were truly crazy.

Ignoring that satirical point, he considered his options. While he could go on a bloody rampage, it would likely accomplish little but his own demise, and for now the point was staying alive. Boring as it might be, it ensured future fun. Besides, if worse came to worst, perhaps he’d just be able to blow his way through to here at a later point, especially if the Nosfore’s words were true.

So, with a drawn out stare of part annoyance and part amusement aimed at perhaps the most predatorial killer in Lonedark, he walked past the powerful sanguine and went up to the second level via stairway to the room with the star. Stepping in, he sighed yet again, wondering just who was waiting to screw him over in this room, just as had been in the past several rooms he’d been in. The Nosfore, Trent, Price…the list was getting frustratingly long. Either way it had been a long night, and was bound to get only longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The night, it seemed, wasn't going to be as long as Alistor thought. He was greeted by Ehran in the designated room, who stood in what appeared to a supply room of the ancient mansion. Supplies for the recruits, that is. All manner of weapons and tactical equipment were racked, hanging or sitting on shelves, many of which were Alistor's make. The Nocturi nodded for him to sit at the rectangular table in the center of the room, while he sat on the other side.

"You've been conscripted, it's as simple as that. You are a member of the Shadowguard, there's no way out but death. This collar links us to every other Shadowguard, via our handlers. You may preconceive this as slavery, but believe me when I say that it gets better with time. The first few tasks are the most difficult, but very necessary. You're well armed, and I'm aware that you were the creator of some items in this room, but I still need to assign you some things. At certain times it will be required to dress in a specific manner."

He rose from his seat, and grabbed a dark gray pack and three belts of the wall, each with very low profile pouches. He dropped them beside the half-breed on the table and turned around to grab one of the large duffels Alistor himself had filled, and dump it on the end of the table. That wasn't all, though, he then made his way to the other side of the room and withdrew from the rack a finely crafted Nocturi assault rifle, fully customized with strap and a pouch on the butt containing an extra magazine. Those too were placed on the table where Alistor sat before Ehran spoke again.

"All right, that should be sufficient. You'll bunk in the next room over with the rest of the new blood. Pick a bunk, stow your gear and rest up. You will need it."

This was the end of the conversation. Alistor was shown to a room one door adjacent to the supply room, where the heavy reinforced door was left open behind him. Ehran vanished from sight at the staircase. There were ten bunks in all, though only half were occupied. Two looked to be alseep already, but the remaining three were gathered near the light from the open door, leaving one open bunk nearest the door on topside, complete with a large chest at the head of it. Entering the room, Alistor was forced to walk between them to enter. Two human men were sitting on their respective bunks on the right, and an ashen gray skinned woman was on the bottom bunk on his left. They had the look of those who were just talking until intruded upon, simply waiting for Alistor to make his choice. Say something or move on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As Alistor heard the terms of his conscription, he said nothing. As he’d already decided, if he was to be a game piece, then fine, but he’d be damned if he was going to be a pawn. Without saying anything further, he simply accepted the gear, packed it up, and moved on to the area where he’d been directed. His own miniature arsenal—while powerful—was actually less then he’d had at the beginning of the night, when he’d packed up the duffels to begin with. He smiled ironically as he gazed at the guns. To most this would be hog heaven. A shitload of weapons that they could have their pick of. To the gunsmith who’d produced near all of them, and many, many more , it was not such an impressive array.

The one thing he did have going for him, however, was that despite having his storeroom at the Starlight emptied, he still had a cache or two that hadn’t been touched within the city. Either they didn’t care, they’d decided to let him keep those on purpose, or they’d simply snatched him up prematurely. Either way, he still had those for insurance in case he ever did need to make his own way…and he’d need them, if he ever wanted to abandon the Shadowguard. They’d made it plain: The only way out was death.

As the half-elf swept up his items and moved into the next room, he gazed at the gathered ‘newbies’. Idly he wondered if these people bore any sort of military or militia training as he did, or if they were simply people whom the Shadowguard decided fit the physical requirements and would be easy to control. Alistor couldn’t help but feel that ingenuity was an element that was also necessary, however, and so he figured it best to assume those gathered couldn’t be played for fools.

As they gazed at him dumbly, waiting for him to make his move, he glanced at them each in turn, soaking them in. Alistor wanted to be as unpredictable as possible. He wanted to be the crazy bastard no one could read and that confused the hell out of everyone, so no one knew what he’d do next…and perhaps the best way to do that was to start off looking predictable. After a moment of keeping his face blank as he absorbed them, he let a congenial affable grin light up his face.

“Hey, guys!” he spoke, smiling warmly, “Guess my being the last one in makes me the newest, even of us new guys huh?” His words were spoken with an almost sickly friendliness, hoping that his friendly attitude would properly belie the fact that he would murder any one of them for convenience’s sake, if he knew he could get away with it. He even let a single hand go up to rub the back of his head in an ‘aww shucks’ gesture as he moved past them to the bunk next to the gray-skinned female—hey, he had a thing for the ladies, he’d be the first to admit it—and stowed his gear before turning back to the others.

“Sorry for barging in. Let me introduce myself. I’m Alistor Starstream.” He removed his trenchcoat and his shottie, but kept his mags on his thighs—in a place like this, it was second nature to keep some sort of defense insurance. He turned to face the others, wondering what they’d say to him. If they remained silent—which was possible, but he certainly hoped not—he’d just shrug, and go to bed, relying on his training to keep his sleeping light, ready to awaken and pounce on whatever might approach him during his sleep. One way or the other, he suspected he was in for a long night…but that a much longer day would follow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The denizens of the barracks looked askew at Alistor when he spoke, then focused their attentions toward the back of the room. Toward the end they were now looking there was a slight rustling. The woman Alistor bunked above glared down at him and harshly addressed him in a whisper.

"Quiet, fool! If you wanted trouble, I think you're going to get it."

After a tense moment, it seemed the potential storm had passed. The others settled their gazes back on Alistor, obviously relieved. The man on the top bunk spoke first, twisting at the end of his turned-up moustache.

"Very well, Alistor. We're just discussing what we know about our captors. I'm Bosco, and this below me is Jeril. We were in the same unit."

Bosco left out the details of his and Jeril's personal history, but the pair did seem soldierly to Alistor. Bosco was a large middle-aged human with a handlebar moustache and short, slicked back hair. Jeril was a younger human, with looks typical of a man with rich parents. Freshly shaven and a vaguely superior air made him instantly annoying. Thankfully, he said nothing. The woman was the next to speak up.

"Corporal Dreja, sir. Long time no see, Lieutenant Starstream."

There were sparks in the mind of the half-elf as he heard the name. Suddenly it clicked, he already knew her. This half-nocturi woman had passed through Alistor's command shortly before he left the military. He had been impressed with her, and always assumed that she had gone on to bigger and better things. It was odd that she was there now, in the most unlikely of places and across from two others that also served together. As he could recall, the real bigwigs had been scouting Dreja for work in a somewhat hush-hush unit. She had simply disappeared one day, so it made sense that she had been picked up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor smiled sheepishly as he heard the woman yell at him, and so he did for the moment as he ws told and maintained his quiet demeanor. As the rather quiet pair was introduced, The half-elf considered quietly the pair, already sizing them up. His tactical mind was already absorbing information on their movements and words, their general behavior patterns, saving it for later. Alistor, when he was in 'recon mode', could be quite savvy indeed at gathering information, and at the moment that was his express purpose...for in Lonedark, especially for one in such a position as he, the adage that 'knowledge is power' honestly did hold true.

As the woman spoke, he felt the flickerings in his mind, and as the neurons fired mental patterns connected, and he pulled social information from the dark cobwebs of his mind that contained his military past, he nodded slowly, smiling slightly. Her somewhat biting tone wasn't missed, but Alistor, ever the smartass when it came to such attitude, smiled back tritely.

"And hello to you too, Corporal," he responded back, not missing a beat, "long time no see. Don't tell me you never made it past Corporal...and I had such hopes for you too...but then again, so did Command, as I understand, so perhaps that's why you're here. And how are you doing? Aside from the getting yourself 'conscripted' part?" The word 'conscripted' was of course spoken with a bit of sarcasm...at least, a bit more then the rest of the somewhat sarcastic and slightly biting reply. To the other two, who he glanced at while waiting on a reaction from the no-doubt off-put half-Nocturi, he smiled wanly.

"And what about you two? What are you in for?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dreja basically lost total interest in the conversation after Alistor spoke, and opted to lay down and cover herself entirely in the green woolen cloth that masqueraded as a blanket. That left the two men opposite in the conversation, the other half-breed was clearly done. Bosco replied.

"Dunemen, that's what we are, mate. Got swiped while we were patrolling."

So, it emerged. The pair were supposedly Dunemen, the notorious branch of armed forces that were crazy enough to patrol the desert wasteland outside the walls of Lonedark. Rumors of the creatures they had to face were more common than the Dunemen themselves. Jeril was the next to speak.

"We spotted a camp, but when we got there it was abandoned. Next thing we knew, there were bags over our heads and collars around our necks. Then we were put into a car and driven here. Some nockie gave us the rundown and here we are. What's your story?"

The pair waited for Alistor to explain, before Bosco spoke again.

"From what I gather, we're being put to the test soon. I, for one am getting some rest."

Jeril agreed and they both took to their bunks, leaving Alistor to his possessions and his own lumpy mattress. Even with the uncomfortable bed, sleep was inevitable. The shock was waking up. He felt hands shaking him, dragging him down and to his feet. A voice barked out commands.

"Up! Gear up and move out, it's time to see who's worth a damn."

The half-Elf was allowed to grab his duffel, pack and rifle, and ushered out of the room and down several flights of stairs, to the point where it was clear that they were underground. The trio from the previous night were there as well as a few who must have been sleeping in the back of the room. The Nocturi, Ehran, lead them, and the Pantheran he had seen at Kataal was bringing up the rear. The group marched single file, until they cam to a large thick door. It was secured with a wheel that Ehran turned to swing it open, which revealed the thickness to be at least two hands wide. The Nocturi spoke.

"Your first trial begins now. Survive."

An ebon arm extended to point their way. There were only two true Shadowguard, it was possible to overthrow them, maybe. If he garnered enough support from the other recruits. There was only a moment to try anything, though, otherwise it was time to face being locked into some trial that consisted of gods knew what.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the half-Nocturi went to sleep, Alistor half-smirked, but said nothing, then turned his full attention to the other two. As he listened to their brief summation, he nodded as he considered, then considered his own words very carefully before eventually speaking up in return.

"Gunsmith. Guns are my specialty, including designing, creating, modifying, and wielding. Former member of the military, alongside the overly exuberant half-Nocturi over there, and after that I was pretty much straight shopkeep. What interest they have in me now that makes me more valuable then a few years ago I haven't a clue...so why now I also wonder." He was, quite obviously, relatively up front with them about himself. The more they knew about eachother's strengths, the better they could work together. If he happened to simply hold back on his skills a bit, saved for dire circumstances, would they even notice? Hopefully not, given that only one had ever seen his skill before, and that was years ago.

As there was the suggestion for sleep, Alistor nodded, rubbing his eyes. Despite the Corporal's choice for sleep, it wasn't until the topic came up in conversation that he realized how sleepy he really was. With a half-nod he stood and moved over to his bunk. After doing a once-over to his gear--in true style he needed to make sure it was all properly cleaned, working, and organized--he moved to his bunk to get some sleep...and then, an instant later, he was unconscious.

When he awoke to the act of being physically shook, Alistor's nerves seemed to scream at him. There was something wrong with that. His reflexes should have prevented much of anyone from sneaking up on him, asleep or awake. Military training did that to a person. So, the idea that they could, was somewhat troubling. Pushing that thought from his brain, he gathered his things--and was greatful he'd given them the once over before sleep, as he obviously didn't have the time now--and headed out.

As the group found themselves in front of the door, Alistor considered for a brief moment. He thought about fleeing, but ironcially, that thought itself was fleeting. The once-and-future-soldier hated to admit it to himself, but the concept of growing stronger through using these Shadowguard appealed to him, even excited him slightly. In the last twenty-four hours he'd lost everything and stared down two people who not only could make just about every NeoTerran being tremble if they were who they said they were, and he was feeling noticably weak and unimportant. Much as he hated to admit it, rather then accept it, he hated that feeling.

No, he wouldn't run, not until he'd taken every ounce of skill-training, ability-honing, and resource-farming he could from these elite-of-elite soldier units. Only then, once either he was mortally threatened or they had little left to offer him, would he consider flight. Until then, he would play their game. Without another moment's thought he stepped in, all his senses hyper-aware as he waited for the beginning of this likely-grueling test that would determine his and the others' worthiness to join the Shadowguard.

Let the fun begin.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There were two more recruits in addition to Dreja, Bosco, Jeril and Alistor himself, one of which was suspiciously pale. It wasn't certain, but he very well could've been a sanguine. The last was a dwarf of exceptional years, complete with snowy white beard and hair. In addition to a large calibur pistol, he carried a large double-bladed axe on his back as well as many pockets and pouches full of oddly shaped things. All were shown through the door, Ehran smiling as he watched them pass. His smile did not appear in any way joyous. The feline Feran showed no sign of emotion, only stood apparently bored as the six were locked in. The sound of the bolts sliding into place echoed of finality. What was beyond this point? There was no time to contemplate. The voice inside Alistor's head rang.

Alistor, ready your weapons and take position at the rear of the cell. You will be rear guard and supporting fire. Assess your surroundings before you take action, not everything you face will be an enemy.

The others had clearly also been instructed, they were gathering their gear and forming ranks. It was something military folk could just do, something that was imposed in their behavior for life. All but Dreja were moderately burdened. She carried a only the slim utility pack, a suspiciously pointy pouch on her left hip, and a slender dagger sheathed on her right. Jeril had a similar load to Alistor's, but carried only a pistol and a belt-fed automatic. A large percentage of his burden must have been ammunition. The pale one and Bosco had matching submachineguns. Dreja fell to the back of the group, behind even Alistor. The half-breed noticed that she made not a sound with her bootsteps behind him. the dwarf was opposite Alistor, with Jeril taking the lead position while Bosco and the pale one flanked him. The half-nocturi floated silently across the stone slabs only a pace or two behind them. A flare burst to life in Jeril's hand, and he held it like a beacon above his head. For the first time, the cell saw exactly where they were.

The whole passage, save the thick dwarven steel door behind them, was stone. The place looked ancient, and there was clearly only one way to go. The narrow hallway ended with an arched doorway, beyond which could be seen a table of some kind. Jeril nodded toward it and the group slowly started to advance. Alistor needed to prep his gear and move out.

When they passed through the arch, the real nature of the place was clear. It was not a table they had seen from the entrance, but a slab holding a coffin. In fact, the room was full of them, there were six similar slabs with various styles and ages of coffin. All instincts screamed that this wasn't good. Just then, a creak began at the nearest coffin. Those on the left, opposite Alistor, trained their weapons on the box. Jeril seemed to edge toward a portcullis that offered a possible exit, and followed with the pale one in tow. If he was a bloodsucker, he wasn't eager to meet his own kind. Of course, they could just be corpses, but that seemed an idiotic notion based on where they were. Dreja was simply gone without a trace, leaving Alistor his choice. The portcullis, the coffins or some other route?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Acknowledging the silent voice in his head, he prepared his gear. Pistols in their holsters, which were strapped to his thighs as well as identical but silenced pistols in underarm holsters, Shotgun in it's weaved holster in his trenchcoat, and the strapped assault rifle secured over his shoulder, next to his pack, in such a way that it wouldn't interfere with his pistol wielding, but could easily be hauled off his back via the strap and brought to bear. All, of course, were locked, loaded, prepped, primed, and ready to kick some ass.

As the group began to move andthe coffin creaked, Alistor's reflexes acted before a thought even processed, and his pistols were in his hand. One had flicked up and pointed towards the coffin, and the other, working independantly as his pistoled hands were wont to do, flickered towards the exit. Ambushes through use of distraction and misdirection were not uncommon...and he'd seen and heard such things before.

What bothered the half-breed most was the suspicious disappearence of Dreja. Despite having a pale-looking one--perhaps one of the newest of the turned sanguine?--his biggest concern rest on his former subordinate. She'd vanished before he'd left, and that had been a few years back. Why now was she fingered for this when she'd vanished so conspicuously before? Either she was a plant, and already a full member of the Shadowguard sent to observe, or she had been with a different unit that had recieved insane training previous that had upped her value to the Shadowguard. Eitherway, he suspected, based on his information, that she was the one to be feared among the group.

Alistor's position as 'support' and 'backup' wasn't unusual, and part of that meant when everyone looked left, it was his duty to look right just to make sure they didn't turn into Remsacs in the process. So, as they focused on the creaking sound, he focused everywhere but...but mainly on the only other entrance he could find, the Portcullis. This didn't stop him, however, from trying to locate any other possible entrance or ambush points, and so he scoured the rest while keeping an eye on the Portcullis for any movement.

Few people realized it, but the support role was the backbone of the group. The support covered everything everyone else missed. So, with guns in hands, he waited for the less obvious--and thus most likely, knowing the Shadowguard--solution of 'what next' to present itself, while just hoping to god that the missing Coporal wasn't just in it to breed them over for her own gains.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Things happened fast after hot irons were drawn. Alistor received specific commands, just as it became clear what was going down. Out of the coffin burst a slim pale man, quicker than any could fire a shot. The creature grabbed ahold of Bosco and held him by the throat as though he would slit it with his fingernails. The older Duneman proved an adequate enough human shield to create an instant stand-off. That wasn't the only problem, though. The snapping of Jeril's leg rang out from the portcullis. Apparently they hadn't noticed the archaic bear trap that was now embedded in the frontman's left shin and calf. He was on the ground, attempting to pry it off. The pale man made no move to help him, instead focusing his attention toward the group's troubles and beyond. The other coffins were opening. Some lids were gently raised, others blown clear off their hinges by the force of what was inside.

As this happened, Dreja reappeared. The sanguine holding Bosco seemed surprised and frightened by the half-Nocturi simply popping into existence behind him. Next came a look of anguish as he fell to the ground and burned to ash. The glint of mithril was enough to let Alistor know she had some prior knowledge of hunting bloodsuckers. She had in her left fist a bagh nakh and in her right a large curved dagger, both nocturi steel and tipped in mithril. She edged back away from the other coffins, dragging Bosco with her. He gasped a little, but seemed otherwise fine. The handler's voice sounded in his mind again.

The left coffin in the rear and the coffin right next to it in the middle. Your pistols should easily pierce the wood, take them down.

Others seemed to find targets as well, though Dreja had once again vanished from sight. Jeril, Bosco and the pale man were firing toward the coffins, as well as the machinegun in the hands of the feline recruit. The dwarf tossed a roundish grenade toward the back of the room, which burst quietly, flinging small orbs of light around that end. Together with the flare that Jeril had pried the bear trap from his leg with, severely scorching his leg arm in the process, the entire chamber was illuminated. Still no Dreja, though, despite there being few shadows to lurk in anymore. Suddenly, forms began to emerge from the coffins he had been instructed to target. Make a move or find a new plan, that was basically the choice. The team wasn't too badly damaged, and they were now six versus five.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As things snapped into activity, training took over. Orders were relayed and the half-elf reacted as per his orders. His brain was processing occurrences even as his finger pulled back, his other pistol, pointed towards the Portcullis, still coming to bear. The loud report of his heavy forty-four magnum semi-automatic might catch some attention, but hopefully it would be too little too late. As he felt the recoil of his first weapon throwing his arm upwards, his second arm came in line with its target, the one in the middle, opening fire.

Into each of the two coffins that began to open he unloaded three rounds into each, body braced. If Dreja was capable of doing this much, he trusted her to dodge his fire. Though shadows obviously couldn't conceal much, she still was hidden from view. The most likely--and most effective--alternative left was a magical means of cloaking. He had no time to wonder why she received it and they didn't--her clear capability made it rather obvious--so instead he waited, guns trained on the coffins, to see if they moved. Moving in close to doublecheck them was an obviously stupid move, and thus one he did not make. Instead his gaze flickered to the other two...one with the damaged leg thanks to the bear trap, the other shaken up from almost being taken down.

If his fire was effective, he could easily have reduced the odds from six versus five to six versus two...but it was almost impossible to tell and stupid to make assumptions. That being the case, he relied on Dreja for the wetwork and was ready to act as suppressing fire as needed. Silently he glanced back every now and then to the injured teammate, hoping to find that he wasn't in any worse trouble, though clearly based on Jeril's actions, he'd be the problem of the group. In a combat unit and trying to retreat, leaving the others to their fate? Ludicrous. He wasn't even worth the monetary value of his gear.

No, he was ready to bust as many mortal-shaped leeches as he could find here...anything to help him grow stronger. One of these days, he'd like to have his own abilities peaked and be able to do the same kind of combat Dreja had shown them all she was capable of.

Until he was better then the others at their specialties plus had his own, he wouldn't consider himself even a remotely capable fighter...not against what he suspected he'd have to go against, and certainly not if he was going to revolt against not only the Shadowguard, but all of the Sanguines and the very structure of Lonedark itself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Things unfolded rapidly. Alistor seemed to perceive each event independently, even while he was taking action. He pumped several rounds into each coffin as directed, but that wasn't hardly the end of the firefight. In an instant, a sanguine from the pair of coffins to the rear was upon Jeril and the presumed sanguine recruit. They fired repeatedly on their assailant, but the liquid reflexes of the small female were proving formidable against the attacks. Jeril continued to fire his weapon as he took hit after hit. The kindred ally turned quickly against the kindred foe, baring long fangs and an exquisite speed and strength of his own. He caught hold of the woman and had her in a headlock, but he too was taking a beating. Alistor couldn't catch any more of that battle without losing focus on his own. The center coffin that he had riddled with silver slugs had contained a particularly large and sinister looking sanguine, which blazed across the short distance toward the gunsmith. The left coffin was still, yielding nothing.

At that same moment, Dreja reappeard at the back side of the chamber. She entered melee with the last sanguine to emerge. Alistor's fellow halfbreed was fast, almost effortlessly landing blows on the speedy parasite. The others were firing on their own targets, quite preoccupied with conflict. The half-breed needed to make a move quickly, the bullets he fired with the forty-four in his right hand were clearly not enough to take out the sanguine that was rushing him, but the contents of the left coffin were still undetermined. Would he remain fixed on two targets, or shift his strategy somewhat?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The pistol wasn’t having the necessary stopping power. Time for a tactics change.

Effortlessly he flicked his right hand back to slip the gun into its holster, and instead it made a small reach across his own body to bring out the weapon hidden within his coat, the sawed-off.

One hand held the pistol, the other held his shotgun full of monstershot. He hated this tactic, but he used it when necessary. As he leveled the shotgun at the charging enemy, he fired the round full on into the middle of his opponent. By flicking his wrist forward, hand laced in the lever, then flicking it back, he could one-handed ready the next shell. He couldn’t do it for an extended period of time without losing both energy and accuracy, but it was doable for pressed situations like this one.

He landed shell after shell into his opponent until either he ran out or the creature stopped moving, while his other hand waited to see if anything came from the second coffin.

He might not have the speed yet that Dreja was showing, but when it came to guns—both crafting and wielding—he was near-unparalleled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The creature's advance was thwarted by Alistor's monstershot barrage. As it turned to ash, similar events unfolded around the chamber. The kindred were being destroyed one after another, recruits taking charge. Within moments the fight had wound down, revealing the next challenge. Jeril had fashioned a splint out of some coffin shards and some strips of cloth from an old tapestry that adorned the wall beside the portcullis, which was drawing most of the recruits' attention now.

The mechanical device looked old, but the gears and pulleys that drove it were well-maintained. There were no spider webs and no layer of dust, only a clean cast-iron grate connected to steel gears and chains. Jeril's limp seemed to ease in a short amount of time. Already he was moving with comfortable steps, gazing toward the obstacle before them. He spoke.

"There's a lever back here."

The human was leaning on his bad leg, bending toward it to see what was behind the bars, apparently finding something of interest. He set about getting some rope from his pack and quickly fashioned a lasso, holding it in his hands on the far side. As Jeril began to swing the rope, Dreja whispered in Alistor's ear.

"He heals quickly, but will he survive this?"

Though he heard her and felt her breath on his neck, she was not visible to him. Just as suddenly as she said her words, her presence was gone. Noone else payed any attention to her popping in and out of perception, perhaps they were somehow in the loop.

If Alistor had any ideas of his own, now was the time to speak. If not, they would soon see what Jeril's idea would get him. Success or failure? All knew that failure came at great cost, and that this test was only a game for the ones who weren't playing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As things came to a conclusion, his first action was simple: Reload. His weapons each found their expended ammo replenished, and only once that had been taken care of and the weapons were back in their place did he turn again to focusing on the situation at hand. Survival was concern one. Fuck other goals.

Now that he was free to pay attention once more to the situation at hand and he heard Dreja's words did he chuckle softly. So softly that none of the others could hear, then whispered to the nothing where he guessed she enveloped,

"Regardless, he's handy. 'Faster then your slowest friend' and all that, and I don't owe him fuckall." He smirked as a thought came to his head. "The only one I'm interested in keeping alive other then myself can already handle herself damned well." Some of his unit loyalty had rubbed off on him despite no longer being in the miltiary, after all. He glanced over to them, watching them work, and shook his head. Something about a lever in such an obvious place that bothered him... If they were supposed to be a special group, with advanced tactical thinking, 'dyur, let's pull the lever' just seemed like a dumb move without examining everything. Ignoring the movements of the masses--thinking more like an individual then a unit, as to him it was survival he wanted and not 'happy friend time'.

Alistor moved about, checking each pile of remains for anything that might have been left behind, then thuroughly searching each coffin, examining every crevice, every nook, every corner for anything conspicuous or even minor that seemed out of place, letting the others deal with the 'obvious' option. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but being paranoid had kept him alive so far.

Let the others do what they wanted, he'd focus on the less direct approach...as in this particular situation it seemed more likely to lead to not dying, which was his personal preference in this situation.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The alcove looked as though it rested at the base of a volcano. Alistor left a trail of bootprints in the gray debris, and noticed that Dreja did not. Each coffin was empty, save for more ash, and the clothes of the former parasites also yielded nothing. When the gunsmith had finished his quick search, he turned to find the former corporal holding a small bag out to him. She smiled and dropped it from his eye level, leaving him the option of catching it or not. She then let out a short and high-pitched laugh as a loud crashing sound echoed throughout the corridor behind Alistor, toward the portcullis.

Where the floor had been beneath Jeril, there was now a wide open gap. It was clear what had happened. The lever must have been to release the trapdoor. A closer inspection would reveal Jeril dangling from the rope ten feet below the floor, a few feet above the bottom, which contained several skeletons of varying races, most with broken legs. There was a path beyond the pit, obscured by darkness, which appeared to run directly below the path they were trying to take.

A second examination of the grate revealed that it was quite thoroughly welded to a steel beam that was set in the floor. Jeril had found a way out. Each silently came to that conclusion and climbed down the rope after the human as he scoured the bones for anything of use. Alistor could either follow or try to find a new path. The small velvet bag contained no clues, only a large mound of sanguine dust. The gray skinned female waved to him from the other side of the grate and proceeded to run, no...the only way to describe it was 'frolic,' down the corridor.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor didn’t care what tracks he left, though he found it interesting that Dreja didn’t. An important note. As his search revealed nothing, he sighed, knowing he should have expected it. When Dreja offered him a bag, he took it, glancing inside, before chuckling and tying it off, slipping it onto his belt.

As he heard the crashing he spun, shotgun in hand and at the ready, stopping when he saw it was just the floor giving way to make the idiots drop. He sighed and made his way over to them, gazing down at the pit. He smirked slightly as he noticed fall, and considered the situation. Trying to find a new route seemed pretty fruitless, especially on his own. So, following the apparent group consensus, he climbed down to follow the path below, curious to see where this would go, ready to defend himself further if necessary.

I really hope this doesn’t mess us up…lets see where this goes…

With weary determination, he pressed on, making sure to be very careful of further ambushes, though his paranoia was slightly alleviated—though he was also slightly creeped out—by having Dreja moving ahead of them, keeping watch.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The lower path was dark and seemingly endless, but ironically less forbidding as it was not littered with coffins and vampire dust. Jeril's leg was now completely healed without a trace of the vicious claw-trap he had stepped into a few moments before. He took point and clicked on the moonbeam beneath the barrel of his gun. The rest of the group did the same, and commenced following the long straight tunnel. The walls and overhead were bare jagged stone, obsidian perhaps. Reflections of light glinted off of the awkward angles which looked as sharp as daggers. The floor was in stark contrast with the walls, though made of the same shiny dark stone. It was perfectly flat and smooth, like walking upon a black mirror, possibly inducing some minor vertigo in any who gazed down upon it.

Dreja, having somehow passed through the welded and reinforced grate, was now above the group. The soft pitter-patter of her footfall above indicated to Alistor that she was roughly fifty feet ahead of Jeril topside. Given her predisposition to be undetectable, the footsteps they heard above must have been for their benefit. Oddly, the thought that it may have been someone (or something) else didn't cross the half-breed's mind. He simply knew it was her.

After a few moments of walking in silence, it became clear that every recruit was experienced at patrolling and knew their roles well. Jeril was ahead with his belt-fed weapon and ammo backpack, Bosco and the pale human stalked on either side of him with their small caliber automatics. That left Alistor to cover their backs as the narrow tunnel went onward into the darkness. The voice in his head spoke again, though this time he could tell that the words were being broadcast to all members of the team. This time, though, it wasn't the calm instructions he had heard before, but a sharp reprimanding tone, almost frazzled.

It seems that one of you has come across an object that should not have. We are aware of its purpose, and warn you now that there is no escape. We want it, at all costs. Relinquish it to your team leader now.

After a moment of silence and awkard glances, the voice spoke again, this time obviously irate.

Very well. No one is getting out of this test without that k...item. When your comrades fall, you had been search them well. If the object is not in my hand as the survivors step outside this catacomb, I will personally scrap the whole team and start recruiting over again.

As the voice dissipated, Alistor was keenly aware of the shift in attitude each member experienced. Everyone was more on their guard now, glancing suspiciously at each other. No one wanted to die for the slim rod of metal that was tucked in the half-breed's collar. The scrutiny seemed as though it would last forever, until the pale man broke the silence.

"Do you guys hear that?"

For a moment there was nothing, and then a low rumble emanated from the tunnel behind them. A second later, there was a huge crash and the sound of stone falling upon stone. Another crash followed and then another. The tunnel was caving in behind them at a rapid rate. The voice of the irate man was forgotten and the recruits broke rank and began to run. Ahead of them the path forked three directions. Bosco yelled gruffly as his short legs carried him at a breakneck pace.

"Whichever way Jeril goes, I'm not going!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

While the other idiots clicked on moonbeams, that was something that Alistor was decidedly against. Nothing gave away ones location better then a literal ‘spotlight’, so to speak, that acted as a beacon and told the enemy exactly where you were. Not like sanguine couldn’t see in the dark anyway, but the last thing they needed was big flashing signs that screamed their locations. So, instead, Alistor lagged back a bit, and thanks to his mixed heritage, he was able to use the ambient light from the others’ stupidity to see quite clearly without giving away his own location. Shotgun at the ready, they moved, and he heard the voice speak in his mind.

He let out an exasperated sigh and raised the long-barreled gun, gazing at the others coolly. For all he knew, every single one had been given a key and the instruction he had, and this was part of the test. Either way, he knew the deck was stacked against him, and like hell he was going to give up his only joker. Dreja was the most capable one, clearly, and could slit everyone’s throat, including his own. This he knew instinctively based on her training. Damn, but the girl had gotten good since he’d last seen her. The last thing he wanted to do was be on her bad side if he wanted to survive this, and that meant being on her good side…which meant teaming up with her wherever possible.

As the cave in began behind them, Alistor’s eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed.

Damn it all…

Using his keen hearing as the group bolted in the only direction they could go, he listened desperately for signs of which way Dreja took when he noticed the path split. Whichever she took he would follow. If, for whatever reason, he was unable to track her movement anymore, he would instead avoid taking the path either Jeril or Bosco took. Both seemed bothersome. If he was lucky, the light-skinned human would follow either Jeril with the noisy heavy weaponry, or Bosco, a creature whose race was well known to be lacking in grace and stealth. For some reason, if following Dreja wasn’t an option, given a choice between the heavy weaponry, the stubby dwarf, and the creepy almost-sanguine, he’d choose option D…none of the above.

He doubted he’d be that lucky, though.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the booming of the tunnel's collapse drew closer, Alistor's choice was made for him. A slender ashen-gray arm shot down and grabbed his collar, dragging him upwards. The half-breed couldn't see which way the others had chosen, in fact he couldn't see anything at all. Dust and debris engulfed his vision and sealed his lungs from precious air. The force of his right side slamming into the wall didn't help that either, nor did the journey upwards, bumping and scraping along the wall for no less than ten feet. Finally he was over the cusp of the wall and out of the cloud, on the floor above the collapse. Below him was a gaping hole which sloppily plugged the three paths, and behind him, Dreja.

The dustcloud had turned Alistor's clothing and exposed flesh as gray as the half-nocturi's, though she was eerily lacking a spec of dirt on her. Dreja wasn't out of breath in the least as she spoke.

"Don't speak, just listen. They know you have the key, Alistor. Ehran briefed us on the entire situation before you arrived. If you want to survive long enough to use it, do as I say. The next time you see the others, they will be your enemies. Kill them. Now follow me."

She motioned for Alistor to rise and keep pace with her silent steps. The level above the tunnel they had been traversing was much different than below. A checkered marble floor stretched out before them, with elegant tapestries and the occasional crest lining the walls between torches. After turning a corner to the left, they were greeted by a familiar face. Trenton.

The visage of the half-god was much different in this chamber. Rather than a dashing fellow in fine clothes, Alistor saw a malnourished wisp of an angelus wearing nothing but a shredded pair of trousers. Trent's bones stuck out awkardly, as though his skin were too small. Alistor had never seen a living person so emaciated. His appearance wasn't even the most shocking thing about the situation. What stuck out the most were glowing silver shackles that chained his body and limbs to an equally glowing silver chair. Were it not for the restraints, one would use the word 'throne.' His voice was strong, though, as he spoke.

"So finally we meet face to face..."

Trent's eyes were strong too, burning just as fiercely as Alistor remembered them, not a hint of mischeif missing. Dreja looked solemnly at the foot of the silvery seat without speaking. Trent continued.

"We're safe from prying ears here. I still have power, no matter the chains. This is my throne, Alistor, my seat at the table. I move my pieces from here."

The deathly thin demi-god's smile made no mistake who those pieces were.

"Of course, it would be nice to get out. That's where you come in. I still have a few tricks up my sleeves. I offer a gift of power in exchange."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Silver Fox
Member Avatar
Just a Flash
As Dreja hauled him upwards, he was silently glad to see her, and as he listened, he said nothing, as she’d requested of him. Instead he followed her, and as they came face to face with none other then Trenton, Alistor felt like burying his face in his hands at the insanity of it all.

Dammit all, why couldn’t it just be simple? He mused quietly to himself, remembering the ‘good old days’ of running guns for the underground. As he listened to Trent speak, he felt quite sure that, once again, he was an object being used. He didn’t like the idea, but if he was going to be a piece, he’d be damned if he was going to be a pawn. A half-lunatic grin flickered across his face as his psyche felt perilously close to snapping at all the craziness he’d seen in the past few days alone.

“Then let me guess…the you I met at the club was an illusory you, or some sort of golem you could control?” He let out a slightly crazed chuckle and shook his head, and after a long moment slowly regained his grip on the sanity that threatened to flee.

“I am getting ridiculously sick of being people’s play things…but given that as the play thing I don’t have a choice in the matter, I might as well at least take what strength I can get. Based on the fact that we’re talking, Dreja guided me to you, and neither of you has tried to murder the other, it’s safe to assume she’s on your side, yes? Gods forbid I make an enemy of this woman because, so help me, she frightens me far worse then you do at the moment, and I trust her on the sheer fact that I know she’s had dozens of opportunities with me unable to fight back, but hasn’t killed me yet.

“Give me your gift of power, damn you, and I’ll do your dirty work, if only because sad as it is, I get the feeling that your ridiculous half-truths have been the most honest anyone’s been with me so far. I don’t care what side of this little personalized war I’m on so long as it ends with me being able to walk away. If that means taking this power of yours and being able to use it to my advantage, so much the better.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trenton's emaciated face grinned like death. He spoke in answer to Alistor's first query, nodding.

"Yes, it was just a puppet. So far it's done it's work well. Here's the trick, Alistor: They've forgotten they caught me. I've been shackled here for a long long time, saving enough power to extend my double outward. With a little help from a high priestess, it looked as though I had escaped."

Dreja gave Alistor a sly look after the last bit, but said nothing. Trent continued.

"I've already given it to you. In payment, you must return here and free me. You will know the right time. As another show of good will, I'll spare you the worst year of your life."

With that, Alistor faded into blackness. When he awoke, it was between white satin sheets in a flat that must have been the whole floor of a multi-level building. Though he knew he had never before been there, he had an eerie feeling of familiarity with his surroundings. Everything suited his taste perfectly, but the kind of tastes that screamed money was no object.

The collar still rested around his neck, and a short inspection would reveal that the key the Nosfore had pulled from his eponi cigar was still in its groove. Another thing was undoubtedly different about the half-breed. His body seemed somehow more solid than before. His muscles showed signs of relentless training and he felt as though he could run at full tilt nigh indefinitely.

As he slowly began to realize that he was currently in actual reality, a trickle of memory was running deep beneath the surface of his thoughts. Things were slowly being made clear. Alistor couldn't recall that night in the catacombs, but he could now remember months upon months of rigorous training and duties. He remembered his recent promotion to full Shadowguard status, and the beautiful allowance he was given for his operations. He knew that behind the huge mirrored wall was a weapon rack that contained everything he could need to any type of mission. Not all was clear though, and before he was able to truly recover from the shock of being simply in another place (and time, he knew deep down), his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in his mind that he read as intimately familiar. Dreja. Alistor could somehow tell that it was from the collar.

Time to go to work. Approximately twenty men, fiftieth Sandside at the Vein.

Immediately he knew the spot. The fiftieth street on the inland side of Lonedark where it met the large bi-way called the Vein. It was a slummy side of town where most of the filth existed. As the half-elf knew that beyond the mirror's surface was an armory, he also knew that beyond the door to this flat was a private elevator to three pristine vehicles. He had only a moment to load up and move down to choose one. His muscles practically walked him through the process with animalistic instinct.

When he neared the location, he knew instantly what the problem was. A local watering hole was alive with gunfire, with fighting spilling into the street. One side of the conflict, what seemed like the winning side, was dressed alike. Each of them were wearing gray with great red teardrops on their backs. Alistor felt as though he knew they were the aggressors, and probably the greater evil, but knew his orders were to assist them. It seemed his assignment was to make an example of the bar denizens, and the bar itself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It took Alistor some time to adjust to the concept that he had somehow managed to jump an entire period of his life. As bits and pieces began to filter back into his conscious mind, he became aware of things that had occurred. It was odd, having them appear in his mind as memory without ever having actually experienced them. This didn’t impede him from going about his day. He knew his surroundings were his; the fruits of his labor apparently as one of the Shadowguard. As he pulled himself from his bed, he found he was confident enough in his life that he slept wearing little but underpants. He remembered days that he would sleep with a gun next to him, and as he sat up, prying himself from his sheets, he lifted one of the fluffy pillows to see a rather heafty pistol. It seemed he still had cause to not trust others around him…big shocker that was.

He heard the call and as he moved through the apartment which felt a perfect temperature, despite the time of day, he moved to the mirrored wall. His hair, faded to his natural blonde, was slicked back to give him a clean-cut and authoritative appearance, his emerald eyes were somehow harder then they used to be…and that was a mean feat in and of itself. He glanced at himself for only a second before turning to the bookshelf next to it and pulling on the third book in from the lefthand side, the middle row. As he pulled on it—ironically titled ‘To Arms’, by someone named Valexis Nestor—the mirror slowly lifted to reveal the weapons wall. As it revealed many different weapons of his own personal manufacture and made with a quality of material he never would have otherwise had. It seemed he was doing quite well for himself, all things considered, and the hardened body he’d seen in the mirror had been some evidence of that. He’d never felt as good as he felt now.

As he looked at the options along the wall…he grinned.

I know the spot. On my way, gimme a few minutes to prep.

A handful of minutes later he descended to his parking garage dressed in the customary black of the Shadowguard. A black trenchcoat concealed his sown-in holster for his lever-action shotgun…an upgraded version of his old one. On each thigh was strapped a forty-four mag, just like he’d held before, but again upgraded to a higher-quality make and material…apparently his new line of Starkillers. Either that, or someone else had learned his secrets from him for the sake of convenience for him. Snapped to the small of his back were two clips for each gun, and the pockets of his black trenchcoat were stuffed with shotgun shells.

As he moved with practiced ease, he glanced at the three vehicles. One was built for speed and maneuverability, one was built for durability and adverse conditions, and one was built for versatility, the ability to go moderately fast but not break under stress. He knew the fast one was his favorite, but he knew too that the versatile one was most commonly driven. Selecting the versatile vehicle, which he knew to be called a ‘Harpy’—the fast one being a ‘Sylph’ and the durable one being a ‘Dragon’—he climbed in and activated the key. As the engine spun, the sphere powering up to bring the vehicle into working order, He popped the car into drive and felt the wheels spin. It took off at a moderate pace, and he knew by the way it handled that he was incredibly familiar with it.

As he rounded the corner and came into view of the firefight, he pulled over and climbed out. He moved towards the situation, analyzing it with sharp and accurate capability. Greater evil had no factor in the way his brain functioned; it was about what he needed to do, and who was friend and who was foe in that determination. In the face of his superior training, the numbers that used to bother him or cause panic no longer seemed to. He knew, undoubtedly, that his skill surpassed theirs…surpassed most all of the existing mortals within Lonedark, and even many of the immortals.

As he approached he glanced at the losing side and evaluated; numbers, spread, and their apparent skill, desperation, and panic level. Depending on what he saw, he might pull his shotgun and let its spread do the damage if they were tightly clustered or he’d pull the pistols and begin to pick them off one by one, each hand targeting independently to expedite the end of this fight. Much might have changed for Alistor Starstream, but one thing hadn’t. Business was business, and anyone who caused a problem for his business or his welfare needed eliminating.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor felt as though he was floating. His frame, his body, had never been so solid. It taken no time for him to navigate the streets. Very few had vehicles of their own, let alone fancy ones like his. Somehow he knew that all official transports had been held up until he made his destination.

The fallen consisted of innocent and villainous alike, going about the business of dying or being dead. None of them were marked with the drop of blood as those who greeted Alistor. Suddenly, it dawned on him that he knew these people fairly well. Not the men specifically, bug the regalia they wore. Ghouls. These particular ghouls were the honor-guard of the Dantes family, who were well known for their moral ambiguity. For all intents and purposes, they were unofficially tied into the government. The head of the family, Cassamir Dantes, was one of the oldest and most well-respected sanguines in Lonedark. A former council member and notoriously eccentric figure, Cassamir’s wealth was estimated to be endless. His ghouls, the honor-guard, were something like police for sanguine society. Where Shadowguard dealt with mostly mortal affairs, the honor-guard of Cassamir Dantes was concerned with sanguine affairs. There was somewhat of a rivalry between groups, which explained the hint of contempt as he was greeted.

“It’s one of ours…he’s flipped out. No offense, but you can’t handle this. We asked for a Sanguine and we need a Sanguine, period. No mortal stands a chance.”

Alistor’s orders were clear, and leaving wasn’t really much of an option. The half-elf noticed the exact moment the pair let fear overcome them. Pathetic.

“Look, we’ll cover the perimeter, but we aren’t going in there. His name is Ezekiel, you can’t miss him.”

Their words were true, for inside the building the Shadowguard would find only one living soul. Scraps of bloodied cloth turned the crest literal, more than a dozen honor-guard were strewn about like rag dolls. Fresh blood painted three of the walls and a good portion of the ceiling and floor. In the middle sat a man who seemed to glow dimly whiter than white. He was sitting at the single table which had not been overturned pouring a quarter of a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey into a large glass and tippng it back in two gulps. The glow was not the strangest part however, it was the archaic plate armor he wore and the massive war hammer that sat beside him on the ground. He did not look large enough to lift it, but as the last man standing, it was clear he could. His face was angular and feirce, he stood as Alistor entered and leaned against the pommel of the hammer.

Ezekiel’s hair was shortly cropped and of the blondest sort as almost to be white or transparent. His voice was mid-baritone, and pleasant to hear. His tone was not menacing, just quite direct. His gaze was as if he knew Alistor well, or was perhaps so self-confident he did not care.

“Who has made this your battle, Shadowguard. I have fought many of your kind, but none so elven. That was a long time ago, it seems. Is it your intention to slay me? I will not be taken alive.”

His language was odd, old by Alistor’s standards, but the man couldn’t have been more than his own age, and he was clearly human-ish, but strange pale figures with perfect features were not something uncommon in Lonedark. Clearly the half-elf saw them every day. When Ezekiel next addressed the Shadowguard, his pale green eyes were fixed upon the collar he wore.

“I want Cassamir Dantes, it is my right to speak with him. The Pact applies to all who know of it.”

Alistor didn’t, but it was probably safe to assume some sort of long-term agreement amongst odd figures like the one before him. The androgynous voice in his head chimed in.

No. Keep him contained while more of ours make their way.

At this moment the half-elf knew that his mind had been invaded and watched the change in Ezekiel’s face before he snatched an ornate helm, looking to be made entirely of mithril, from the table and placed it over his head. All together with his full plate, it was more wealth than the gunsmith had ever seen in his life. By sight he knew he could make match the entire raiment of firearms he carried now with no other materials but something for the handles or stocks. The war hammer the man now lifted was something else altogether. It was at least the Shadowguard’s own weight just in the obsidian head, which was inscribed with runes at all sides. A fist-sized piece of rounded obsidian, before covered by Ezekiel’s hand, formed the pommel. It too had runes carved over it’s entire surface. The pale man lifted the massive thing slowly into a defensive posture. His presence left Alistor’s mind as he did so and he was once again alone in his body, able to take action.

There was no estimated time of arrival on the backup he hoped would come. Ezekiel seemed content to wait for the half-elf to make the first move. It was clear that he regarded the Shadowguard as a novelty.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alistor couldn't help it. As he felt the cold disgust roll off of him at his approach, he eyed the speaker and lifted a single, slightly slanted brow. Despite his disclaimer of 'no offense', he was doing a damn good job of saying 'no sorry-ass mortal can handle a sanguine'. The half-elf couldn't help himself, he let a slight smirk tilt the corner of his mouth upwards as he brushed past the speaker with little more attention than he'd pay an insect buzzing past. The fear of this creature only cemented the Starstream's distaste for the honor guard as he slipped towards the building. If the Ghouls were going to hide with their tail between their legs, then he'd have to show then what real operatives could do...operatives who didn't have a chemical dependency to maintain their skills and abilities. Clearly they weren't keeping him in so much as everyone else out, because they stunk of fear at facing him. If he approached, they'd likely retreat.

He wasn't stupid; he wasn't going to get himself killed for honor or any such thing. Alistor was too much of a survivor for that. No, he simply had that much confidence in his skills combined with his newfound reflexes, training, body, and memories. He was quite impressed with himself, truth be told, and though it might border on arrogance, he wanted to see what the passed time had done to his physical capability.

As the newly minted Shadowguard operative made his way into the building, he spied the offending creature. Plate armor, a gigantic hammer...he looked like something that had stepped out of the old tales grandparents told their progeny's progeny of days before such modern luxuries existed. He approached with an easy gait, though he made no secret of swapping out clips on his Starkillers as he spied the armor before slipping them back into their holsters. Piercing rounds it was, then. Incendiaries wouldn't do much good if they couldn't crack the outer shell. Even his speech was archaic, Alistor noted as he sauntered in.

He heard the words of the sanguine followed by the words in his head, and he knew he wasn't alone in there. He saw the creature spring up, falling into a defensive posture as he prepped his own gear for a fight.

Shit. I'm not geared for close-quarters...I suck at it.

Though his primary focus was guns, Alistor was, before everything else, a smith. As such, he did know a small bit about armor, even the archaic pieces. The joints were the weak points, he knew, so his eyes scanned his opponent, this Ezekiel, before he felt his hand go to the lever-action in his coat and pry it free, popping the lever to load a shell into the chamber of the shotgun. He wasn't sure his armor-piercing rounds could punch through mythril, so he'd have to hope that his monstershot could do a better job...and if not, there helm didn't cover all his face. Though his own posture looked relaxed, his body was coiled as tight as a spring, ready to snap into action at the slightest provocation if necessary. He didn't know this beast's speed or strength, but clearly it was superhuman...he could only hope his training had exceeded his own personal limits, or else he was well and truly fucked.

“Look, Zeke...may I call you Zeke? Truth be told...I hear Mister Dantes isn't in the mood to receive visitors.” Shadowguard might have primarily dealt with mortal matters, but that didn't mean they weren't trained how to take down sanguine. In their line of work it wasn't just a good idea or solid training...it was essential. “However...it seems I've been given the go-ahead to play around with you a bit...so what say we play?”

Before the time jump I never would have done this, because I'd have gotten my ass kicked...but let's see where I stand now ability-wise before I determine if I should be thankful or slighted that he's not taking me seriously...

When he moved it was with all the furious speed he could muster in a single relfexive action. Though his primary talents was in accuracy, that didn't mean that 'gunslinging', as the skill was known, wasn't something in his repertoire, speed being even more important in this business than during his days in the militia or the resistance. So, using all of the considerable speed his form could manage, he wrenched his arm holding his Skyblaster Lever-Action Shotgun up to bear on Zeke, pulling the trigger without wasting the energy to slow the momentum of his arm. Meanwhile, his other arm windmilled around to come above his head in the reverse direction of the shotgun. As it passed and released its first shell, Alistor's free hand slammed on the muzzle of his shotgun as he released the stock, though his fingers remained laced through the lever. This action, as he spun to his right, would snap the gun down, clear the breech for the expended cartridge to come flying out, and snap a new one in its place as with a flick of his wrist he brought the stock back up to snap into the lever, his fingers closing around the hilt of the gun.

Meanwhile, his left went for the Starkiller on his hip. There was a two-tactic method to fighting like this. Tactic one: Keep moving. You stop or slow and get hit, and you're as good as splattered. Avoid getting hit to survive...that was pretty much the rule against armed sanguine. Tactic two: keep shooting, aiming for the armor's weak points. Joints, holes—be it for eyes or any other reason—and the like were the goal of the day for where to aim. He had no melee weapons, so he had to make his shots count. As a gunner, even at close range he couldn't let this beast show him up. His honor and pride were on the line since—he hoped—his life wasn't so much. Since his armor was durable and his weapon probably enchanted, that meant accuracy over stopping power was key. The shotgun was for the spread and to test the strength of the mythril plate against his monstershot. When necessary he'd switch over to the Starkillers, but for now he wanted to see how his favorite baby, his Skyblaster, fared.

Either way, this would tell him exactly what he could do...be it for good or bad.

So, as he spun to his right, he'd bring the Starkiller in his left to bear on his target and search for weakpoints to hit. Hopefully he'd be able to, or else all his training and skill was for absolutely no reason except to get trounced upon by this massive behemoth of an immortal soldier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Ezekial offered only a shrug in reaction to the half-breed’s flighty attitude. He was clearly a creature of serious disposition and in no mood for games. He seemed to read the impending violence in the Shadowguard before him. As Alistor’s gun blazed Ezekiel turned in his shoulder and bowed his head. While not inflicting any serious harm on the immortal, the resulting ricochet tore holes in the ceiling above and floor beneath him.

“Idiot, The Pact will protect itself… You‘ll likely kill us both.” Ezekiel’s voice boomed. He came stomping toward Alistor just as he fired his second blast of monstershot and drew his Starkiller. He drove the mace into the wall beside the half-elf as he juked, but fell victim to a rough body check as the armored beast closed the gap between them.

He was fast, probably as fast as Alistor if he hadn’t been wearing that armor. As his breastplate came into contact with the half-elf’s own midsection, he felt the full momentum. Judging by he several feet it knocked him back, he had made out pretty well with his strategy of mobility. Had he hit the wall, it would have been enough to knock the wind out of him. In this case, as he was slammed, his body reacted instantly contorting and twisting around to put his feet beneath him.

While this was happening, two memories simultaneously flashed in his conscious mind. The first was an ancient tablet. The Nosfore was there, something important. It was in a strange tongue, the Nosfore’s voice translated.

We place this pact upon our blood and all those immortal that shall not be broken. The Forbidden Truth will not be revealed. When we live again we will pass judgment upon the keepers of our domain. This pact shall only be called upon in times of dire need and will not be ignored.

The memory was fuzzy, clearly from his missing recent history. The second, however, was quite recent, in fact it was his most recent memory since waking up in his flat that very morning. Dreja, she was telling him about the others. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember what had happened, but her words were clear. The next time you see the others, they will be your enemies. Kill them.

Alistor realized why it had jumped into his mind at the same moment he felt a biting pain in his left calf. A moment after that, the opposite wall disintegrated under a hail of bullets. Ezekiel was hit in the face multiple time and through his left hand. He swung the mace and hurled it. It pushed air enough to fan the half-elf’s temple and crashed into none other than Jeril, who took it handle first in the chest with a sickening crack of ribs. He bounced back like a rag doll while the mace devastated the wall behind. Bosco was there as well, with a look of horror on his face. Glancing around the room it seemed two others he recognized has also begun to rain bullets down on Ezekiel, who was now ducking and covering his face with his gauntlets and bracers. He called to Alistor in a deep voice, above even the thundering of guns.

“You must abide by The Pact. Dantes will come, he must. He only wishes me dead before the blood forces him to face me. He has no choice! They may slay me, Shadowguard, but only you will face the consequences, for only you have seen.”

There was a choice to make. Ezekiel was unarmed and pinned down by several Shadowguard, looking quite at a disadvantage. They had gone without drawing Alistor’s attention when hey arrived, yet it was odd they hadn’t been coordinated through their handlers. The fact that he had taken a bullet to the leg was not a good sign either. He had his orders, and he had his memories. He had to choose between the two, likely risking his life regardless of his decision.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Well…shit.

This was quite a pickle. The orders or the memories…the shot to the leg was no good, and for the moment he had no attention from anyone. With his current material wealth he knew that cost didn’t matter. He didn’t mind getting some clothes ripped or dirty…not that it mattered, considering his nice pants now mirrored the hole in his leg. Ducking to a knee he slipped the Starkiller into its sheath and tucked the Skyblaster under his arm to free his hands, he ripped the bottom off of his trenchcoat quickly and bound the wound; it would have to wait until later. Coming back to his feet he knew his mind was already beginning to postulate possibilities for what was going on. Could he be a personal errandboy of the Nosforae, separate from the rest of the Shadowguard? Could they be rogue agents, possibly working for the resistance he’d once served?

It was hard to tell what was truth and what was fallacy at the moment, so he’d have to go with his gut…and his gut said Zeke should face Cassamir…and fuck the others. Either way, Dreja had made it clear they weren’t on the same side, and out of all the memories and knowledge he had, he trusted in Dreja more than anything else. If that meant The Pact—which he now had a strange feeling he himself had witnessed—was fulfilled and the others had to be dropped, then that was what would happen.

Back on his feet and with Skyblaster in hand, he eyed the few who shouldn’t have been as much of strangers to him as they were, he suspected. Jeril was the one who used the belt-fed, and Bosco and the pale one used subs, last he recalled. Jeril was now slumped upon the floor from the sickening impact, which only left Bosco and the other. Submachine guns were the tools of the inaccurate and untrained. Though they seemed Shadowguard as well, which meant their skill had likely dramatically improved along with his own. However, the weapons they used likely determined their specialty, so he was careful to take not of it. Meanwhile, he slipped the shotgun back into the holster in his trenchcoat, grabbing for both his Starkillers.

It was time to see just how much he’d improved.

His goal was to use each hand independent of the other, to function as its own autonomous weapon and target multiple individuals. With Jeril out of the fight for now—and possibly for good—he decided to go for Bosco and the other. These weren’t immortals. They were run-of-the-mill combat veterans. Those he should be able to handle, even if they were other Shadowguard. He brought each up, targeting their vital points: head, neck, heart, joints, and the hands and arms that wielded the weapons of their choice.

He’d have to make his first shots count, since he wasn’t their focus right now. He probably would never get a better opportunity to line up a shot on them than now.

If something’s going on here that I don’t know about let me know now…or forever hold your peace, he murmured into the mental link, giving them one last chance to explain Jeril and Bosco’s presence before he moved on his own. If he heard a response he’d stay his hand long enough to listen. If not, he’d carefully aim his first barrage before unleashing on Bosco and his cohort.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Fully Featured & Customizable Free Forums
Learn More · Sign-up for Free
« Previous Topic · Role-Plays · Next Topic »
Add Reply

Black Water created by tiptopolive of IDS