| Light came early in the dry lands of the Calimshan deserts. Alsways early, and always with a fierce heat that seemed to bare down upon men relentlessly. How the locals could bear it on a daily basis was beyond Rail. He walked down the street, in plain sight, something he would never have considered doing while in the Northern lands of Fáerun. He knew it was a fruitless excercise, though, to try to walk in shadows in the city of thiefs. If there was but one thing Calimshan was noted for, it was the unsurpassed ability of the master pickpockets, thieves and assassin's that crowded the already busy streets. He raised his arm above his forehead, attempting to block as much of the sun from his sight as he could. The arcane gauntlet only seemed to refract the light even further, sending shards of it towards his eyes.
"Damn desert sun..." he mutter to himself. He looked ahead to wear Virrilis and Ferchen walked side by side, and how both seemed unbothered by the glaring sun.
The three had been able to dig up some semblence of a lead on Sethin. It was too reliable, but it was more then just the usual stories they heard. This one entailed something about a elf overseeing a trade of goods in the more seedy regions of the city. Rail scoffed to himself. The whole city was a seedy location, and any who claimed otherwise were fools, or foreigners. As he walked, he dropped his artifical hand back to his waist, and fingered the hilt of one the many blades that ordained his belt. He had developed a slight interest in the smaller weapons. Light and deft, as he had put it, though he retained his sword on the other side of his waist.
Ahead of him, Virrilis walked forward with grim resolve, intent on finding his double, and ending the conflict once and for all, and Ferchen walking close beside him. It had been growing more intense of late, as if he knew that Sethin was close. Perhaps the two had some link, Ferchen thought to herself. It was not unheard of in natural born siblings. She occasionally looked over the placid elf, sometimes allowing a small break in the seriousness of their task, and letting a smirk slip through. If Virrilis had ever seen it, though, he never let on. She worried for him, but was confident in him at the same time. She knew he was capable, but she began to wonder about how far he would go. She casually slipped her hand over into his, giving it a breif squeeze before retracting it. Virrilis cast a quick glance, which was met by a loving smile.
*****
Shadows crept along the side streets of the inner circle of Calimshan. Even the harsh desert sun could do little to penetrate the hidden nature of the back alleys of the city of theives. It was what made it perfect for the double dealings that would take place so frequently in the city. Three men waited patiently. Two men, with turbans wrapped around their heads, and white pieces of cloth trailing down, across their faces. And another, smaller, more slender then the other two. The two men stood upfront, hands resting comfrotably upon the hilts of their wide scimitars, watching every shadow carefully. Behind them, the smaller man stood, his arms crossed, and his head bowed, and eyes closed. His drapped towards the ground, almost dragging upon the sand, and was stark white. There the three waited, looking into what appeared to be only darkness.
Then, as if being one with the shadows, several forms stepped out from various locations, making not a sound in the process. As they appeared one by one, the two men drew their weapons, and brandished them defensively, protecting the smaller man behind them. Fifteen in total revealed themselves, eacher with their own weapons at the ready, before one last man withdrew from the shadows. The man was larger then life, standing almost seven feet tall, with a long handlebar mustache failing from his face. The facial hair only seemed to be accentuated by the fact he was bald. By his side, a masside scimitar huin loosely, and confidently. He walked out of the shadows, his arms crossed, looking towards the three men.
"So..." the man started, his voice low, but domineering. "What does the good Pasha have for Mur'kül today?" He seemed to puff out his chest in the process.
The smaller man glanced up, his eyes opening a crack. "the 'good Pasha' has nothing to give to those who are not honest with him." The mans voice betrayed no motion, no fear. The two men infront, though, visibly trembled at the idea of angering the large man.
Mur'kül quirked his eyebrow, and gave a deep rumbling noise in response. "Mur'kül does not like to be accused of being a theif."
"Is that not what you are?" the small man replied. "The Pasha has no desire to keep one such as that around. You are a thief. the least you should be proud of that fact." He lowered his arms, and took a step forward, passing his small dou of gaurds. "So, he has offered this choice for you. Give him what you owe, and you may continue working for him, or..." The man grinned maliciously.
"Mur'kül does not cator to threats, tiny elf!" His face turned read as he spoke, and his hand went to the blade at his side, drawing it swiftly.
"Indeed, it would seem so." As the elf spoke, something from the corner of his eye flashed. In just as fast a moment, the elf leapt back, just as the shaft of a crossbow bolt dug itself into the sand. As if on que, the entourage of men charged the trio, weapons brandished, blood lust in their eyes. Mur'kül also charged forward.
The elf quickly drew a pair of long bodied daggers, each about twelve inches. As the first few men came charging in, he parried both clumsy attacks, reprising with swift death, cutting thin lines across their throats, then quickly moving forward to Mur'kül. His own companions fault desperatly, but skillfully, against the numbers, slowly whittling them down.
"So, the tiny elf wishes to fight Mur'kül, does he..." Mur'kül grinned, and gave a bellowing laugh. The elf stood nearly two feet shorter then the large man, and only smirked. "Then I shall crush you like a worm!" He charged forward, his scimitar swung high above his head, ready to bring it down, ending the elf's life.
As the blade came in, the elf twisted his body only slightly, and the blade went speeding past his slender form harmlessly, and into the sand below. just as quickly, the elf stepped on the dull edge of the blade, pushing his weight into it, and stepping ontop of it. He was now eye level with Mur'kül. He leaned in close, as Mur'kül struggled to pull the blade out of the sand, and from the elf.
"The Pasha does not appreciate when his property is harmed." The elf grinned viciously. Then, whipped his hands hand, driving one dagger into the abdomen of Mur'kül, and the other to the temple of the man, slowly piercing his skull. As the tip entered his flesh, Mur'kül's eyes widened with intense fear, finally realizing who it was that was about to end his life. The final image that he would see, would be that of Sethin grinning as he took care of a now useless pawn...  |