10-03-2011, 04:18 PM
Chapter 1: Stepping Into Darkness
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66QcIlblI1U[/youtube]
Rain fell heavy outside of the Salty Sailor Tavern. Mastus sat cloaked far in the corner chewing on a thin piece of wheat grass. He did this often when he thought of home. The Tavern was busy as usual. Pirates and cutthroats shouted with joy and merry making as the typical whores danced across the tops of tables offering themselves to the right men for the right coin. A single dancing candle shown atop the Elf’s table giving light to his parchment that was being scanned rather carefully. Mastus ran his finger along a path on the paper, “Need some’elp plottin a course lad?” The voice was dwarven in nature with a thickness to it. Shadows danced off the wall near the table, “I’ve found my way through this jungle before, I’ll do it again. Thanks.” It was important to be short with pirates, yet polite enough to please. Should a pirate view you as to kind he would slit your throat and take your wealth. If he viewed you as rude, he would have you hung from his mast by the crew. Needless to say Mastus grew up around these lesser men and knew how to waltz in and out of their society like a passing ball room ghost. The Dwarf nodded with a sly grin seeing that he obviously wasn’t going to get the better of this one. Mastus returned to his thoughts. They drifted to a young woman and his cousin. He prayed for their safety, but he knew leaving was the best choice. The ghosts that chased him would swallow them up along with him if they could. A hand drifted up into his hood. Once there it rested on his brow. Mastus had thought himself the last Shadow Dancer. He was wrong. Several years prior to his return he was approached by the order and blamed for his Masters untimely death. He denied it and claimed his innocence. They did not believe him and so then cast him out with a mark for death. For years he had managed to remain hidden from them. After having to come forward and join his cousin in defending his title as the new Nova he had no choice but to step into the light and reveal his presence. The order quickly began moving to corner Mastus, but he was always a cunning boy. The rain picked up outside as thunder crashed in the distance. His mind jolted from the past back to the present, “No more running…” He whispered to the candle.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Los0g9Et7Ow[/youtube]
Outside a bearded man sopping wet and draped in thick leathers topped with furs moved among the crowds rushing along the dock to exit the damp weather; some people ran he did not. His steps were quick and light though purposeful. The man turned out of a back alley and headed for the Salty Sailor Tavern. Mastus had just finished his third pint and was rolling up his parchment when the old man entered. Time itself seemed to pause for him. The noise level dropped and almost everyone in the room glanced in his direction. As quickly as they paused they started up again. Noise filled the room. The soaked man weaved through the crowd touching no one. A feat all its own, Mastus watched as his right hand drifted beneath the table and came to rest on his daggers hilt high on his hip. The man moved to take a seat across from the young Elf. His beard hung almost belly level and was a deep black. The two remained silent for a long time. Mastus was the first to speak, “Evening.” It was a simple greeting among all sellswords and weary travelers. Trust was something earned on the road. Nothing came from the old man except a hand moved to remove his hood. The Elf’s eyes went wide at the man beneath, “Master!?” His voice started as a shout then quickly dropped to a horse whisper. Once again nothing came from the old man. His hand stretched out across the table placing a damp letter softly down then returned to his lap. Mastus cocked his head beneath his hood. With a quick yet cautious movement his hand went to the letter opening it after inspecting it. As the Elf read his eyes narrowed. The letter had nothing written on it, only the symbol of a black blade with a crows head sitting on top of the hilt. Mastus placed the letter back on the table; his voice was almost silent in the room. Only a trained ear would have heard it “You are not my Master… Who are you?” The old man reached for the letter. His sleeve slipped up above his wrist showing his hand. There were runic tattoos covering it from wrist to fingertip. The Elf went white; he knew what those tattoos were. Mastus took off his glove showing the same tattoos. A fist fight suddenly broke out between two men in the opposite corner. The old man stood up. He slowly pulled the hood over his head, “We’ll see you in time… You can’t run forever boy.” With a nod of his head the old man headed for the door and back out into the rain. Most would wonder why not just kill Mastus here when the fight broke out? The answer was simple. In their society if you were to be executed you were given the opportunity to run and fend for yourself, should you fail then you were brought back in and put to death in the dark ritual. Mastus knew what the man and the letter meant, it was warning to his honor. It was like saying, we can touch you easily enough do not make us. They would be waiting for him outside of the tavern among the city streets. If Mastus wanted to live, he would need a way out of the city without being noticed. The trained rogue let his eyes quickly go to work scanning the barroom. His brain rifled through ideas and plans that he had used in the past. A new one hit him like a ton of cedar logs. Mastus grinned as if he had out smarted death itself, well… in a way I guess perhaps he had. He stood making his way for the counter. Along the way he managed to slap an Orc, a Troll, and the pirate Dwarf that had offered him help earlier. Funny how closely they were all grouped together. Upon turning to see who had struck them, their eyes only found each other. Insults started first, then the fists. Bruisers burst in the door sweaty from breaking up the last fight. They rushed quickly to break up this fight that now had the entire first floor in an uproar. Mastus smiled slipping behind the bar while the Barkeep was busy cracking skulls with the Bruisers. Once he had made his way behind the bar he jerked open one of the empty mutton crates and crawled inside contorting his elven body to fit.
Hours upon hours had passed. The Tavern was winding down and three goblins showed up ready to take out the trash for the evening. Two of them grunted as they picked up the mutton crate. They dared not question their boss’s decision to throw the meat out but damn… was it heavy. The tiny goblins made their way across the docks and to the trash depot near the fishing quarter. With a heave and a hoe they pitched the large crate into a netted off area just near the water. Every week or so a large fairy vessel would show up take what they could carry and dump it near the Maelstrom in passing on the way to Ratchet. Mastus struggled to control his breath inside the crate. He waited until the goblins voices were a faint whisper in the distance before exiting the crates and slipping into the water. The Shadow Dancer silently sank beneath the dark waves and made his way out of port….
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66QcIlblI1U[/youtube]
Rain fell heavy outside of the Salty Sailor Tavern. Mastus sat cloaked far in the corner chewing on a thin piece of wheat grass. He did this often when he thought of home. The Tavern was busy as usual. Pirates and cutthroats shouted with joy and merry making as the typical whores danced across the tops of tables offering themselves to the right men for the right coin. A single dancing candle shown atop the Elf’s table giving light to his parchment that was being scanned rather carefully. Mastus ran his finger along a path on the paper, “Need some’elp plottin a course lad?” The voice was dwarven in nature with a thickness to it. Shadows danced off the wall near the table, “I’ve found my way through this jungle before, I’ll do it again. Thanks.” It was important to be short with pirates, yet polite enough to please. Should a pirate view you as to kind he would slit your throat and take your wealth. If he viewed you as rude, he would have you hung from his mast by the crew. Needless to say Mastus grew up around these lesser men and knew how to waltz in and out of their society like a passing ball room ghost. The Dwarf nodded with a sly grin seeing that he obviously wasn’t going to get the better of this one. Mastus returned to his thoughts. They drifted to a young woman and his cousin. He prayed for their safety, but he knew leaving was the best choice. The ghosts that chased him would swallow them up along with him if they could. A hand drifted up into his hood. Once there it rested on his brow. Mastus had thought himself the last Shadow Dancer. He was wrong. Several years prior to his return he was approached by the order and blamed for his Masters untimely death. He denied it and claimed his innocence. They did not believe him and so then cast him out with a mark for death. For years he had managed to remain hidden from them. After having to come forward and join his cousin in defending his title as the new Nova he had no choice but to step into the light and reveal his presence. The order quickly began moving to corner Mastus, but he was always a cunning boy. The rain picked up outside as thunder crashed in the distance. His mind jolted from the past back to the present, “No more running…” He whispered to the candle.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Los0g9Et7Ow[/youtube]
Outside a bearded man sopping wet and draped in thick leathers topped with furs moved among the crowds rushing along the dock to exit the damp weather; some people ran he did not. His steps were quick and light though purposeful. The man turned out of a back alley and headed for the Salty Sailor Tavern. Mastus had just finished his third pint and was rolling up his parchment when the old man entered. Time itself seemed to pause for him. The noise level dropped and almost everyone in the room glanced in his direction. As quickly as they paused they started up again. Noise filled the room. The soaked man weaved through the crowd touching no one. A feat all its own, Mastus watched as his right hand drifted beneath the table and came to rest on his daggers hilt high on his hip. The man moved to take a seat across from the young Elf. His beard hung almost belly level and was a deep black. The two remained silent for a long time. Mastus was the first to speak, “Evening.” It was a simple greeting among all sellswords and weary travelers. Trust was something earned on the road. Nothing came from the old man except a hand moved to remove his hood. The Elf’s eyes went wide at the man beneath, “Master!?” His voice started as a shout then quickly dropped to a horse whisper. Once again nothing came from the old man. His hand stretched out across the table placing a damp letter softly down then returned to his lap. Mastus cocked his head beneath his hood. With a quick yet cautious movement his hand went to the letter opening it after inspecting it. As the Elf read his eyes narrowed. The letter had nothing written on it, only the symbol of a black blade with a crows head sitting on top of the hilt. Mastus placed the letter back on the table; his voice was almost silent in the room. Only a trained ear would have heard it “You are not my Master… Who are you?” The old man reached for the letter. His sleeve slipped up above his wrist showing his hand. There were runic tattoos covering it from wrist to fingertip. The Elf went white; he knew what those tattoos were. Mastus took off his glove showing the same tattoos. A fist fight suddenly broke out between two men in the opposite corner. The old man stood up. He slowly pulled the hood over his head, “We’ll see you in time… You can’t run forever boy.” With a nod of his head the old man headed for the door and back out into the rain. Most would wonder why not just kill Mastus here when the fight broke out? The answer was simple. In their society if you were to be executed you were given the opportunity to run and fend for yourself, should you fail then you were brought back in and put to death in the dark ritual. Mastus knew what the man and the letter meant, it was warning to his honor. It was like saying, we can touch you easily enough do not make us. They would be waiting for him outside of the tavern among the city streets. If Mastus wanted to live, he would need a way out of the city without being noticed. The trained rogue let his eyes quickly go to work scanning the barroom. His brain rifled through ideas and plans that he had used in the past. A new one hit him like a ton of cedar logs. Mastus grinned as if he had out smarted death itself, well… in a way I guess perhaps he had. He stood making his way for the counter. Along the way he managed to slap an Orc, a Troll, and the pirate Dwarf that had offered him help earlier. Funny how closely they were all grouped together. Upon turning to see who had struck them, their eyes only found each other. Insults started first, then the fists. Bruisers burst in the door sweaty from breaking up the last fight. They rushed quickly to break up this fight that now had the entire first floor in an uproar. Mastus smiled slipping behind the bar while the Barkeep was busy cracking skulls with the Bruisers. Once he had made his way behind the bar he jerked open one of the empty mutton crates and crawled inside contorting his elven body to fit.
Hours upon hours had passed. The Tavern was winding down and three goblins showed up ready to take out the trash for the evening. Two of them grunted as they picked up the mutton crate. They dared not question their boss’s decision to throw the meat out but damn… was it heavy. The tiny goblins made their way across the docks and to the trash depot near the fishing quarter. With a heave and a hoe they pitched the large crate into a netted off area just near the water. Every week or so a large fairy vessel would show up take what they could carry and dump it near the Maelstrom in passing on the way to Ratchet. Mastus struggled to control his breath inside the crate. He waited until the goblins voices were a faint whisper in the distance before exiting the crates and slipping into the water. The Shadow Dancer silently sank beneath the dark waves and made his way out of port….