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**Peridan** · 11-03-2010, 02:53 PM

The inn was dimly lit, a dank hole in the wall that oozed atmosphere meant for those less than pious souls to take refuge within. Scoundrels, ruffians, and in general the refuse of society that was attracted to its own kind by instinct or necessity packed themselves in. There wasn't a sign out front, but everyone always called it the 'First Gate'. In some long forgotten time past, a sarcastic wit had carved on the archway: "Always room for one more."

Two young men, one light haired and one dark, casually strolled into the bar room, unnoticed in the noise and the dusky light. They sat down at a table near the back, and the fair haired young man signaled the barmaid without needing to shout or yell. Just a simple hand gesture, and the young lass nodded and went to get their ales. The two young men turned towards one another, sitting relaxed in their seats.

"So, how did that appointment go the other day at the merchant's?" The fair haired young man asked, a faint smirk on his face. He had a strong jaw, and piercing azure eyes that had a tendency to make any lady swoon. He was well built, but moved with a grace that belied his size.

"Well enough." The dark haired youth said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. By contrast, he was average sized with plain features. He doodled on the tabletop with a finger as he spoke, and his gray eyes examined the woodwork. "The family was well off, and I left them in better straits than when I showed up."

"Any kids?" The blond asked.

"Two. Daughters, both." His eyes never left the table. The other man chuckled. "Did you decide to...play, before you took your leave?" Gray eyes darted up to blue, and the finger stopped doodling.

"No. It was an appointment, nothing more, Ian."

Ian raised his hands. "Fine, fine. Just asking, Dan. There are perks to our job, you know. Some better than others." He winked to the bar maid as she set down their drinks. She gave him an appraising look and smirked, but not without a glint of interest. Dan tilted his head as she left, swinging her hips. "Professionalism is part of the job though, Ian."

Ian shrugged his muscled shoulders. "I suppose. Doesn't mean you can't have a bit of fun. Although, I can't imagine our...instructors ever being like us."

"Like you, perhaps." Dan gave him a look. Ian laughed and took a drink. "Ah, don't try to hide it, Dan. You're probably just as depraved as I am. Even worse." Dan simply drank his ale, running a finger along the side of the glass. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Ian's grin was full of pearly white teeth. "Come on. I mean really, we both have been under their tutelage long enough to realize that these guys have seriously gone over the deep end. Dark shrouds, mysterious voices. Ego has blinded them from the simple fact that makes someone like us effective: unpredictability." Ian went on, "With all of their skills and abilities, anyone can see them coming from half a mile away in the middle of the day. No flaws at all create suspicion, and suspicion is the last thing someone like us wants or needs. It's a new world out there, and we need to stay ahead of the game, not turning backward to those old traditions and habits. Like that one they let us know about ages ago, the one about only one to 'graduate'. That's pure rubbish. Why waste all that time and effort just to cull the herd unnecessarily? It's a waste of gods given talent." Ian rambled on, punctuating his remarks with hand gestures. Dan simply sat, listening intently as Ian's lecture came to a close.

"So," Dan asked quietly, "Why do you have that crossbow pointed at my stomach?" Ian's grin only grew wider. "Someone has to implement my ideas, Dan. And the masters would never let both of us live. As stale as they are, they do have a leg up on me in experience." The sound of the crossbow being cocked never left the table. "It's been good to have you as a friend, Dan. I'll always remember you."

Dan sipped his ale. "Same to you." He said with a glint in his eye as Ian's face turned slack in pain. "Whe-when?" Ian managed out, the crossbow clattering to the floor. He sat there, stock still as his face began to turn green. Dan reached down and tucked the small weapon away. "You were predictable. That's all there is to it." He nodded at the glass placed before Ian, the barmaid nowhere to be found. "Both in tastes....and in timing." Dan stood up, placing two coppers for the ale on the hardwood table.

He held up two more. "For Jergal. Old traditions stay that way because they work, Ian. A shame you didn't figure that out." Ian could only let out a grunt as his body stiffened, and his nervous system slowly gave out. Dan smoothly blended into the dank bar and left the man to slowly, painfully die.

**Peridan** · 12-01-2010, 02:33 PM

Shadow Soldier

A young man with dark hair sits in a small cabin with crowded cots stuffed against the wall. The rocking of the ship is a steadily growing discordant rhythm with the faint sound of the waves in the background. He shares the cabin with three others, all too poor to afford their own rooms. They are huddled bundles, miserable in their solitude and with the smell of rotting fish permeating the air of the hold. Quiet desperation hangs in the air, the sort that travelers in cramped conditions suffer wearily until their time of release is at hand. Only the young man seems to have found some measure of calm in the suffocating atmosphere of the cabin, a small candle sitting by his head as he writes. The scratching of the pen is the only counterpoint to the growing turbulence outside. His eyes are a cold gray, and half lidded as he pauses writing for a moment. An unreadable expression on his face is illuminated by the candle light, the shadows flickering around the cabin.

After several minutes, he continues to write.

"....And so, my life has come to this crossroad. One may suggest that it has built me up to this point, but I feel as though it has thus far been irrelevant. I am not the culmination of my experiences, but a traveler starting on a new path, one that is largely unknown to me. I cannot deem to dwell on what the future might hold, but neither can I rest on my laurels from where I have been and what I have done. I can only be in the present moment, be still, be singular as I have been taught.

My training has been thorough to the point that I can poison a blade with minimal movement, blend into a crowd, kill without remorse and without pity. I have been brought up by those who has designs unknowable and mysterious, and who have sent me to this new land to meet with their colleagues. The arts I have learned from these men and women are considered by some to be shameful, void of honor and credibility on the battlefield. However I would respectfully, and perhaps pointedly, disagree.

The arts I have learned originated in Calimshan, or so I have learned. A single man created the arts that I have been so guardedly taught, the first assassin of our order. Some say he was taught by Mask, god of thieves. Some say he made a pact with some creature from the realm of Shadow. Regardless, he was the progenitor of our arts. He created a stronghold deep in the desert, atop a single mountain. This 'Man of the Mountain' created our order, a group of assassins not merely killers, but soldiers of the shadows. Our battlefield is not the bleak sunlight of the open field, but the alleys and walkways, the rooms and the cities. A battlefield no less deadly, in my personal opinion. We fight a war that is far more unpredictable, and far more complex than any knight on a white steed facing an enemy army. Our enemies are hardly so transparent, and indeed the line between that of a foe and fried is blurred constantly in the world of quiet grays that we live in.

Our order spread from the desert, into the cities and into Amn. Somewhere along the way we have joined forces with the guilds that control the underworld beneath the cities, and we are considered one of them. And we are, to an extent. However, there is no denying that there is no small amount of loyalty owed to our breed, our kind. From the 'Man in the Mountain', there has been a culture brewed, an environment that is very different from what is accepted and admired. Ruthlessness is paramount in our profession, but only coupled with cool intellect.

It with this in mind that I go to this land called Sundren, to serve with the guild that has taken hold within the valley. There is power there, opportunity. And I will be waiting at every turn to grasp it with both hands and further my aims.

I do not know what the future will bring. But until it arrives, I will be silent. I will be still. I will be pitiless in order to not shame the name that I bear."

"Assassin."

The young man slowly puts down the pen, his eyes burning for a brief moment with a kind of passion and intensity that only madmen and those touched by the divine hold in their gaze. Then it is gone, replaced with the same calmness that they held before. He tucks away his notebook and amid the rolling of the ship, the desperate souls crowded against his bastion of stillness, he blows out the candle.

Then there is only darkness.

**Peridan** · 06-17-2011, 03:10 PM

Shadow War

The night stood still, blanketing Sundren City with silence and shadow. To any passerby in its streets at such a dismal time of morning, the City seemed to be slumbering in all of its wretched glory. Life took a small respite from the toils and chaos that ensued during the harsh light of day. It was a pause, a moment, a breath.

For some, anyway.

On a rooftop in the entertainment district, a man died. Blood blossomed from his chest in a red flower of grisly expression, and culminating with a dagger point erupting from his chest in a joyous spray of blood. His face convoluted in pain, the man collapsed onto the tiles, leaking himself down the roof and dripping onto the cobble streets below. The dagger withdrew from his breast, and was flicked to rid it of his lifeblood before sliding away into the killer's sleeve sheathe.

The lithe figure owning the deadly little rose maker pulled back his hood and mask, revealing plain features for any poor soul who might have had the misfortune of watching the killing unfold. His dark hair ruffled in the gentle night breeze, and he looked around for any more enemies.

Dan wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, shedding the perspiration that usually comes with night time acrobatics across Sundren's rooftops. The man had been part of a rival gang, that seemed to think it could get away with not paying dues to the Black Tax while operating within City limits. The rest were around here somewhere, probably playing cards or somethi--

An arrow pierced his shoulder with unerring accuracy, shoving its way smoothly through the enchanted armor of grays and browns. Blood, black under the light of the street lamps and starlight, oozed from the arrowhead for only a fraction of a second before Dan viciously broke the arrow protruding from his shoulder and left the remnant in before darting across the roof.

How they managed to get the drop on him was beyond him. But he needed to shake them, and quickly. Dan darted across Sundren's roof top streets, using his agile frame to shift his weight between jumps to land as best he could without losing momentum. He spared one look back, and managed to recognize two dark figures coming after him with short bows. This would work only if he were lucky. Hopefully Mask owed him a favor or two.

Without warning, he paused mid jump and dropped into a nearby alley. The two figures skidded to a stop at the top of the dark street, aiming their bows at anything that might be their target. The night stood still for a moment more.

Then a cloud of darkness so thick you could drink it expanded around the two assassins. It invaded their throats, their eyes, the pores of their skin. A muffled sound emanated from one of the rogues, and when the darkness cleared like an inky stain washed away, a cracked bow and a corpse sprawled on the rooftop. The other assassin looked around wildly, his heart racing in his chest. Fear crawled under his skin like a horde of spiders, clutching his heart with a clawed talon.....

And nothing happened.

His pulse slowing, the assassin lowered his bow before examining his companion. Poor sap had been paid a bundle for this job, too. Guess he wouldn't be needing that advance after all. As the second rogue reached for his companion's purse, the corpse's hand flew up towards his face. The last thing he saw was a flash of moonlight, and another flower bloomed in his eye socket.

-------

Dan crawled out from under the first corpse, wiping his dagger and favoring his injured arm. He looked down at the man killed in the brief moment of darkness who had acted as camouflage under the illusionary light of the moon.

"Assassin, never make friend of assassin. You'll probably get killed and robbed." He wryly commented.

With a flick of his wrist he relieved the two of their purses before kicking their corpses onto the street. As he carefully made his way down from the fire ladder from a house two blocks away, he took one more look at the rising dawn within the slumbering city.

"Prettiest whore I ever saw." He murmured to himself before turning away.

Then there was only light, and life.

**Peridan** · 07-21-2011, 01:22 PM

Fear's Gaze

A cool breeze wafted through the air vents; a welcome relief from the sticky humidity that clung to Dan's skin. Spread out on the cot that served as his bed, his body twitched in time with his breathing as he slept. Deep, resounding breathing moved in rhythm as sweat ran down his sides and chest.

Twitch.

Dan's hands, callused but nimble, curled in agonizing slowness around the bedsheets. His knuckles turned white, and his veins began to show as his muscles clenched throughout his entire body.

Twitch.

The mask. The eyes, the terrible eyes. They burned through his very soul like a fire searing flesh and bone and muscle and sinew....

His breathing went out of time once, twice. Then back to regularity. Sweat began drenching his cot, his toes curled in anxious strain.

Twitch.

The smell of the drooling beast, standing over him. The sight of the beast's master, eternally calm, inevitably in control. A creature of such pure darkness that every bit of light was sucked away.

His body strained, his every fiber crying out a single question: What is this? What is this feeling?

With a gasp like a drowning man, Dan woke. His eyes staring wide into the darkness of the room with something that hadn't been present since he made a choice that had condemned him to the living hell of his masters devising. His mouth open, a whimper that could have barely been real escaped from his lips.

He recognized it now, this feeling. He and it had long since parted ways, but it had come back like an old lover, embracing him in its sweet murmurs.

Fear.

**Peridan** · 08-10-2011, 02:48 PM

Steel grey eyes gazed out over the deluge clattering down onto Sundren's rooftops and cobbles. They stared from a small alcove on the side of the street and a wicker chair that creaked with age and experience as its occupant rocked back and forth. One arm dangled loosely from the side of the chair's arm, while the other held a small cigarette that wafted smoke up into the watery air past the alcoves overhang. The man could have been twenty, thirty, or forty depending on how you looked at him. Plain brown hair, slightly tanned skin, and an unremarkable shirt and trousers clothed his only distinguishable feature, his flinty gaze.

Daniel watched as townsfolk scurried to get out of the rain, like so many rats abandoning a sinking ship. Clambering over one another to get inside, their eagerness in serving the most important creature in the street: themselves.

Pitiful.

Daniel watched, and listened, and waited for the streets to clear as the great torrents of water hurled themselves towards the ground, filling the air with a tangy scent of ozone and moisture. He flicked his cigarette into the street, adding to the constant patter of raindrops over the cobblestones.

He stood up with a smooth grace, about to make his way to his home within the Eboncoin Lair. He paused, looking back out once more in the direction of the street.

There was a small girl splashing in the puddles. With gleeful abandon she jumped from one to the next, uncaring to the whims of nature. Her tattered dress whirled about her, and for the briefest of instants Dan saw not a poor common girl.

He saw Emily.

"Choose. Would you lament her death like some sniveling worm? Or will you take vengeance on her killers?"

"A life of mediocrity?"

"Or a life of blood?"

A young Daniel kneels with a girl's head and chest cradled in his arms. He's covered in blood, and he shakes with either grief or anger. Or both.

He looks up at the shadowed man, his face contorted in pain and rage and sadness and despair. He chokes out a response.

"I want them to suffer."

The shadowed figure appraises the boy silently for a moment, then dips its head once. "Come."

Daniel sets the girl down with a gentleness that belies his words, looking at her for the last time before his heart crumples and dies within his breast. He stands, and follows the figure into the dark alley.

Daniel blinked, once. The little girl looked up at him, pausing in her game. Fear had her paralyzed at Daniel's expression as the two stared at one another for a singularly long moment. He almost didn't notice when the cart came slipping around the corner and crashing into and crushing the girl.

"Emily!"

Or where she would have been if Daniel hadn't dipped and rolled forward, flinging himself and grabbing the girl to the other side of the street. The cart turned over, throwing its driver off to the side. Daniel didn't notice, or care, as he looked at the girl shuddering in his arms. She looked up at him with wide eyes before sobbing and tearing himself from his grasp, sprinting away to her home.

Daniel looked down into his arms once more, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The driver started screaming at him, shaking his fist as he pulled himself from the wreckage. "You sonuva bitch! What're you doing in the middle of the-" He gagged as Daniel punched him in the throat offhand, not even turning to face him. As he struggled to regain breath, Daniel walked slowly away, his mind a thousand miles away in a city called Waterdeep.

Emily.

**Peridan** · 08-26-2011, 05:11 PM

Far above Sundren City, Daniel contemplated while surveying the town down below. The Exigo factory had many nooks and crannies, and he frequently came up here when the guards inevitably had their backs turned. It didn't take much, just a hook and some rope.

A gentle breeze ruffled his sandy brown hair as his face remained in the usually stoic expression that occupied it whenever he was in deep thought. His hand caressed an old flute he had purchased in Aquor. He traced the grain of the musical instrument with a careful finger, following the straight lines and rounding about the subtle twists and turns. Old, but serviceable.

His mind wandered to days earlier. Finding out about the plot to trap the Judicator (self righteous prick that he is) and Emiliana. Sending the elf, Lasvi to warn them. Seeing the two of them together, in his rooms. Seeing her so....content.

A black rage filled him, sending out waves of frigid anger that settled behind his eyes and brought his body to a tense point, like a drawn bow. Just as quickly, it vanished, leaving him feeling only the void in the pit of his stomach.

No.

Anger is weakness; it is a foolish, worthless, emotion. It serves no purpose. He recalled his Sister's words to him, poignant.

"I hope she is worth it, Brother."

Daniel sits on the farmers fence, looking up at the sea of stars above. It makes him feel insignificant.

"...So do I."

Daniel closed his eyes, content to let the wind caress him for a moment longer. He slipped the hardy flute into his boot, and pulled out a note requesting his presence for...dinner. Of all things. The script was flowing, and feminine. A callused thumb ran along the almost elvish looking script, before he simply let the note go. He watched it dance along the currents of the wind until it vanished among the lively town below.

A few seconds later, the ledge was empty as the cloudless sky above.

**Peridan** · 10-31-2011, 11:53 AM

A cloaked man huddled over the bar at Jimmy's, nursing a glass. He seemed to speak to thin air, but if one were perceptive in the arts of camouflage and stealth, a dark figure could be barely spotted in the shadows.

"Let's speak somewhere else. You know the north sewer grate?"

Daniel lifted his glass in response, taking a sip.

"Last time we met, it was on bad terms, Shade. If you think I'm going to follow you into a dark alley for you to dispose of my corpse, you've got another thing coming."

The shadowed figure nodded imperceptibly.

"Back room then."

Nodding his acquiescence, Daniel tossed a few stags to Jim along with a meaningful look. He stood and made his way to the back, as the shadowed figured followed.

Daniel shut the door as Sparrow slipped in behind him. Not the best sneak around, but she was a priestess of Mask and so deserved no small amount of respect. All the same, Daniel's ears never lied.

"Come on out, Sparrow." He waggled a finger.

The hin stepped from her hiding place, making a small frown. Daniel turned his attentions to the other man who stepped from the shadows.

Dangerous, stealthy, and cruel, Shadestrike was one of the most hardened killers that the Kurz Cartel had to offer. Daniel recalled the imprisonment of the drow in the cells within the Eboncoin's Lair, and the acidic dagger that he had so lovingly held in front of her. Daniel tensed, just from the sheer weight of the man's reputation among the underworld.

"It's about those bad terms that I wanted to speak about. Your disrespect has just about run out my patience."

Daniel forced himself to remain relaxed.

"You tried to usurp control from the Coin, Shade. I won't follow your orders without the go ahead from Devante."

Shade's eyes bore into Daniel's own placid gaze, and Daniel could practically feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You'd best watch yourself, Nobody. Speak to me like that again, and I'll kick your teeth in."

Daniel crossed his arms. "I respect you as a professional, Shade. But the simple fact is--"

Without warning, or even the slightest bit of movement, Shadestrike has suddenly become armed, and lunged at Daniel with his blade, striking a blow to his midsection. The sharp and cool pain of steel making its way through his midsection was quickly accompanied by the flame of agony that was the acidic enchantment covering the rapier. Daniels eyes widened in surprise as he was effectively pinned against the wall for a moment before Shade's blade withdrew.

His hand went to his midsection in shocked disbelief, coming back redder than her lips.

Daniel did what he was trained to do in situations like this, and vanished into a nearby shadow. Holding his side, he could barely concentrate on his enemy before him, his dazed head swimming in double vision. Come on, scum, focus. Focus. Focus.

Reality snapped into focus, and he could see Shadestrike looking about, his blade dripping with his life's blood.

Shade sneered, his cold blue eyes darting around the room. "Coward."

Daniel drew his dagger, and his own grey gaze sharpened in hatred. "Traitor!" He threw himself at his opponent, catching him unawares. His dagger snaked upwards while his hand hit the nerve ending in Shadestrike's spine, paralyzing him. Shadestrikes eyes stared at him in cold fury while Daniel staggered, his blade dangling from his hand. Daniel gritted his teeth, blood running down his side and shoved the blade upwards into Shadestrike's stomach. As the assassin tumbled to the ground, Daniel twisted it for good measure and stood up unsteadily to the ever vigilant gaze of Sparrow.

"Your actions will be reported to the Coin, Sparrow." Dazed and wounded, he stepped over Shade's body, leaving the bloody scene behind.

-----------------

**Peridan** · 11-29-2011, 03:52 PM

Silence filled the lavish looking room deep beneath Sundren's streets. A tangible, thick silence that sunk into ones ears and eyes like a living thing. Daniel leaned against the bar counter, expensive wines and liquors lining the shelves behind him. His finger carefully followed the groove in the bar top wood. Around, and around.

The masked figure of Shadestrike stood not five feet away, his eyes unreadable. The leather-clad man had his blade hanging from his left hip while his arms were crossed. The viper of the Cartel practically seethed a dangerous aura.

The small hin, Sparrow, lounged on the decorated couch, priestess of Mask and deadly combatant herself. In contrast to the fluid restlessness of Shadestrike, she was as still and calm as a stone at the bottom of a well.

Bobcat, the elven Cartel, stood in the corner of the room, leaning on his staff. His stretched skin and alien eyes gave him a fey appearance.

And finally, a rugged looking man in his early thirties stood in the center of the room. His seasoned gaze pierced through all of the gathered thieves and assassins in its focus and intensity. Kurz himself.The famed smuggler slowly placed his hands behind his back and spoke in a resonant, almost musical voice.

"I hear there have been problems. I'm here to provide a solution."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Daniel laid on his back on the roof of Jimmy's, looking up at the sky. A bottle of whiskey sat next to him, and the night's chill was pleasantly repelled by the warm fire in his stomach.

All of that work for a cover. Gone. Just like that.

His normally impassive face cracked, and he could practically feel the anger bubbling deep inside him. It wasn't insurmountable, but it would cause problems. Lots of them. Not only for himself, but for his associates. His family. Her.

He got to his feet, not a little unsteadily. The night air bit at his face and hands as he shook them out. He tensed his muscles and relaxed. Tensed, and relaxed. Slowly his blood worked its way through his limbs and veins, arteries and tissue. He pulled up his hood, and murmured an arcane phrase. The night flared into life in his mind, the darkness lifted. He could see every crack in the rooftop, every movement through the streets as clear as day.

Tense. Relax.

Tense.

Relax.

Te-

Daniel burst from his spot on the roof as though the hounds of the hells were on his heels. His heart racing, he sprung like a cat to the next rooftop, and the next. His breathing grew labored as he made his way across the City's roads above the streets, the strain of the jumps and the constant activity made the air in his lungs burn with intensity. He traveled towards the Trade Tier, dashing with reckless abandon.

He paused, standing on the Exigo rooftop.The tall stacks of the Exigo warehouse spewed black smoke into the night air. The sounds of mechanical gears whirred in the background beneath his feet, setting the roof to vibrate in occasional shuddering.

Sundren City lay out before him, in all of its splendor. It's dirty, thriving, putrescent glory. His chest heaving, the man who had once said goodbye to all that he had loved in a dirty alley, with a small girl bleeding in his arms, did so again.

**Peridan** · 03-23-2012, 12:15 PM

A Sea of Swords and Beginnings Pt. 1

The sharp tang of sea salt mixed with the stench of fish, shit, and spices hit the young man's nose almost instantly as he stepped onto the pier. A light breeze ruffled his sandy brown hair as he shifted the worn knapsack hanging from his shoulder, the cord twined around his fist. He gazed around with his eternally calm grey eyes, examining the bustling port. The docks of Waterdeep were full of people of all shapes, sizes, and races. A group of elven sailors from Evermeet were busy arguing with some dwarven merchants on the far side, the dwarves' obviously irritated shouting overcoming the elves measured responses. Young, but certainly no fool. These docks were just as dangerous as any other part of the city, probably more.

As if to illustrate his thought, a red-headed Cormyrian human, at least six feet in height was brawling with a half orc with a broken tusk, their fists bashing with meaty thunks against each others ribs and faces. A small crowd surrounded them, cheering one or the other on in a relentless flurry of betting.

The hustle and bustle of the docks wasn't a problem for the young man as he slipped past the bloodthirsty crowd and past the inevitable fight that would break out when one of the dwarves finally snapped. The grey eyed teen took a quick step to the left, shifting past a sailor with a braided beard and a cutlass hanging from his hip and nudging him with his elbow. He was violently shoved back, and raised his hands in apology when the fierce looking pirate scowled down the tip of his long and pointed nose at him.

"Sorry! Pardon." The man started to curse at him as he scampered off, a small pouch in his hand and a gleeful grin of victory on his face. A little spending money wouldn't hurt, right? He whistled as he bumped and brushed his way through the crowd to the ship that had agreed to take a young, aspiring sailor aboard, the Black Arrow.

He had only heard rumors about the ship and its captain, Joseph 'Ironknuckle' Undine. They said that the Captain always waded into battle with a pistol in one hand, and his iron fist, a living metal magic that he acquired in his youth while fighting Luskan pirate mages. One hit, and a man's face would practically implode from the impact. He doubted that all of the rumors were true, but he had seen some strange and terrible things since that bloody night in a dark alley...

No, better not go there. Not while the sun is shining, and the bustle of life surrounds him. Not now.

He shuddered, and forced his way past a pair of gnomish tinkerers setting up shop in the middle of the docks, the little buggers. Finally, he reached the warship with the elaborately carved name of the Black Arrow engraved on its side. The ship itself was carved entirely out of a darker wood that had an oddly metallic sheen. She had four masts, and a sleek shape with runes carved on the sides that the young sailor couldn't even begin to try and identify. A figurehead was carved seamlessly into the bow with curved, liquid lines. It was a woman, with hair draped over a shoulder as her exquisitely shaped face gazed out towards the sea, her chin lifted in a slight gesture of defiance.

It was beautiful. Deadly, dangerous, but so alluring that the young man took a hesitant step forward to touch the hull with a hand, feeling the whorls of the wood with a finger.

"Kid!" A sharp voice rang out. The young man practically jumped, his heart pounding against his chest. He turned to face a sharp faced man, his arms crossed. He quickly regained his composure, and offered the other man a hand.

"Sir! Permission to come aboard. James Umber, reporting." He knew enough to not wipe the sweat from his hand, or to correct the nervous expression that he was no doubt showing. It'd be better to remain a green sailor, with everything to prove. After all, it wouldn't be far from the truth.

The sharp faced man examined with with eyes that would have given his masters a run for their coin. Dressed in practical, plain gear, the man had a scar running vertically across his right eye and a plain golden earring in his left ear. His ice blue eyes finally relented, and he offered a gloved hand of his own.

"I remember, you're the lad recommended to us by Jasper and his ilk." His grip squeezed the young man's, and the sandy haired youth briefly wondered if it would break. His neck strained, and his eyes began to water before the other sailor released his grip with a slight nod of approval. "Welcome to the Black Arrow, James." The man turned and headed up and onto the deck of the ship.

'James Umber' looked down at his hand with a grimace before following the man. Hells, this was going to be something.

**Peridan** · 04-05-2012, 11:47 AM

Sea of Swords and Daggers Pt. 2

"Again!"

The cheers of the surrounding crew were muted in his head, still ringing from the last blow that had very probably cost him a few brain cells. He shook his head several times to clear it, the hard deck cool against his feverish hand. James blinked several times until his opponents had reduced from five to only one, hazy it might be.

He reached out to grab one of his wooden practice blades, the hilt scraping against the angry blisters on his hands. But the mocking smile of the swordsman stung even more so.

Woman. Swords-woman.

The coffee skinned slip of a girl, barely older than he had just whipped his ass soundly across every inch of the deck with her practice blades, two light sticks about three feet in length. The curve of her raspberry colored lips and the laughter in her verdant gaze betrayed her barely concealed amusement at the youth who would probably be nursing these wounds far longer than after they were physically healed.

She lazily flicked her blade in James' direction and called out mockingly. "Come on, city boy. Is that really all you have?" The rest of the crew jeered and cheered the excellent showmanship and a few coins passed hands.

"I'm sure he'll get her this time."

"Yeah? Bet you five pieces he doesn't."

"Come on lad! Get on up!"

"Stay down, ye lubbin' yokel!"

James could taste blood in his mouth, mixing with the sea salt in the air and water. His head threatened to take a dive and swim once more, but he grasped the second of his wooden daggers and rested to tip against the deck to steady himself. His eyes darted around the crowd, until they rested on the sharp faced man with the steel grip. Dressed in plain, practical clothing, he was the only one not saying anything. But it was his voice he needed. Joseph Undine, the Captain of the Black Arrow.

Watching. Judging.

James steeled himself, clawing his way up until he stood. He lifted his blades, and he focused. Focus. Focus.

The easy-going girl barely shifted, and she was darting at him with her blades hanging loosely, but with deadly purpose, at her sides. A quick swipe, feinting to the left before she aimed a kick at his midsection.

Or where he would have been.

'James Umber' saw it. He saw it move slowly, as though through a cloud of water. He didn't just guess, he knew where she was going to strike and how. It was as though someone was calmly, rationally explaining to him what to do and how to end up with his knife shoved up through her ribs. And suddenly, there he was, his wooden knife pressed gently against her side. And her own blade resting against his sweat covered neck.

The crews chatter slowly fell away as Captain Undine stood from his perch on the far side of the deck. "That's enough, you two. Save it for the smugglers we're chasing." He spoke calmly, but his voice rang with authority. James and the girl slowly moved away from one another, tossing away their blades. The girl's emerald eyes flashed in curiosity and not a little confusion before she turned away.

James just felt as though a gnome was dancing on his head with spiked cleats.

As they pulled apart and the Captain turned away, the crew returned to life and started to slap him and the girl on the shoulders in congratulations and encouragement. James only looked to the Captain, for any sign of emotion. Undine turned back, and James could swear he saw a brief smile of satisfaction before he moved farther along the deck.

**Peridan** · 05-01-2012, 03:39 PM

Sea of Swords and Stars Pt. 3

There wasn't anything quite like the night at sea, James decided.

It'd be simple to say that it was peaceful, or that the stars shone above. That the water moved in a constant rhythm that lulled you to sleep. But this was something else entirely.

The night wasn't just peaceful, it radiated serenity that calmed the nerves and relaxed the spirit. Groups of sailors lounged around the deck, playing games and laughing around a small makeshift fire. A quiet camaraderie filled the air as easily as the smell of cooked ocean fish, garnered with bizarre spices and herbs that the sailors had gathered over their many voyages. One scarred sailor, fearsome in size and looks, strummed an odd looking lute while leaning against the main mast. His eyes were closed, and his rough hands handled the instrument with contradictorily delicate care.

And the stars. Gods above and below, James had never seen the sky that was so infinitely bejeweled, glorious in its breadth and wonder. He had grown up on the streets of Waterdeep, and the lights of the City of Splendors were a pale comparison to Selune's children. Each star was brighter than any mage's conjuration, any coin or diamond. If his life were a candle in a field of light, he imagined that it would look something like this. Something that is singularly fragile and plain, yet part of a tapestry that glittered with a thousand thousand lights just like his own, resulting in something that was utterly fantastic.

So fragile, and so easily snuffed. James curled a hand, looking at his palm and nails, turning it around and examining the back. So easy to take a life.

James rose from his perch on the far side of the deck, and joined a group of sailors gathered around the magically created fire. The flame hovered an inch or two over the deck, and yet failed to blister or crack the wood beneath. James didn't know what this ship was made of, but he had to hand it to Undine. It was unique.

The sailors were chatting amongst themselves, passing a bottle around and enjoying the cool night ocean breeze. Their attentions were scattered, only intent on relaxation after a hard day at sea.

At least, until the girl with the emerald eyes and smooth, coffee colored skin took a step into the firelight. Her feet were bare, clinking with delicate anklets made of some type of glass. Her wrists were adorned with something similar, including silk ribbons curling downwards. Her torso and legs were exposed by a thin dress, her smooth stomach trailing down to her barely exposed hips.

Her other foot touched the deck with all the grace of a fey, sending another soft clink through the warmth laden atmosphere. The burly lute player strummed several strings, and a thin flute player joined into a tune that was both unearthly and powerful.

And then she danced.

The night, the sky, the ocean, none could compare to the way she danced. Her exquisite skin and flowing hair twirled in tandem with her ribbons, and her anklets crystal chimes resounded like thunder through James' blood and bone. She was like the flames: unpredictable, wild, and unable to be tamed. Her movements flowed from one to the next in perfect timing, and the ribbons whipped out as she gracefully flowed around the magical flame. Her shadow danced along side her and on the faces of the sailors, flickering from one to the next. The ribbons seemed to speak in a seductive manner, but James could detect the underlying danger that was hidden in their movements.

That spin, and that one....with blades, it could easily decapitate an opponent, disarm a man at the wrist or arm. With a flash of realization, James understood that the dance was exactly that: it was a tempest of death to any who dared to mistake it for a harmless game.

And that made it all the more beautiful.

Sweat glistened on her skin, running in rivets down her neck and exposed back as she twisted around the flames like some dark angel, bringing silence and stillness to her enemy with her frenetic performance. She slowed, ever so carefully, until the ribbons wilted at her sides and her anklets fell silent. Her audience came to itself gradually, the sailors coming to themselves from that place of fire, shadow, and music. Their hands slowly began clapping, until the entire ship was raining applause down at the makeshift band and its deadly dancer. Cheers and other shouts of praise filled the air, making the girl laugh and flash a set of white teeth.

James was no different, applauding the girl who had just removed him so completely from the world he knew, and what's more had made him grateful for it. Her brilliantly verdant gaze caught his for only a moment, but it was enough.

Oh, it was certainly enough.

**Peridan** · 07-16-2012, 09:50 PM

Sea of Swords and Dreamscapes pt. 4

Disclaimer: Mild sexual situations

She came to him after the fires had died down on the ship, a dark figure of husky laughter and flames dancing in her eyes. His murmurings of incomprehension mattered little to her lips and wicked smile. She smelled like cinnamon and the sea, a sharp tang softened by sweetness of her lips and skin.

As the sea rolled beneath them they gasped in strained breathes together, riding the wave to its eventual release. The ocean roared around their ears, and James could swear he saw the stars of the ocean sky burning above their single, perfect moment. Afterwards, they lay together looking up at the night sky, curled around one another possessively.

His hand stroked the curling hair from her brow behind her ear in a continuous motion. Around the hair, behind the ear. Back around the hair, behind the ear. Around the hai--

"You're putting me to sleep." She murmured gently into his chest, resting her forehead against the nape of his neck. The corner of his lip curled upwards in a lopsided smile. "Then sleep."

She only murmured something incomprehensible and gently nipped at his neck before he felt tired as well. Suddenly and completely exhausted, even. The last thing he saw as he slipped into unconsciousness was the brightly glowing light of Selune, surrounded by her courting stars....

------

He walked in a valley of his own design.

His foot crunched against the black rocks against his feet, and he looked about at the nightmarish landscape before him. Blasted rock, mottled stone, and hellish flames whipped around the valley floor.

Its walls were high black stone, smooth and flawless. Moving shapes could be seen at the top of the cliffs, some massive beyond all imagining, some quick and small that darted along the stony chasm.

He took another step forward, and he saw the corpses. The bodies of the children he himself had killed in the wars between Waterdeep's cast-outs. Those who were no more deserving than he, no more pitiful or wretched. These were his brothers and sisters of the streets that he had fought with, that he had killed.

They called to him, each in their own way. Some were whole, others were mutilated in ways that he had killed them. Jeremiah, he had killed him with a stone. Pounded his skull in over a piece of bread. Susannah, he had stabbed her with a piece of glass he picked up after she had ambushed him with her gang for some slight on her territory.

Joseph, the pickpocket. He had killed him because he had tried to steal his small stash of gold, his only gift to Emily. Emily.

His boot paused. Emily. He had just as well as killed her. Killed them all. But no, no. He needed to survive. He needed to thrive, to do...what? What did he need to do again?

He took another step, and he saw Jazim stab Emily through the chest with a dagger. Saw him pick up a stray gold coin flecked with blood as he walked away from her corpse, with himself lying broken and bloodied on the ground. Wait. Wait! No! NO!

Another step. He saw the man in shadow, the culling of young boys. They were here too. Those he had killed in his training, because he needed to kill Jazim. They hadn't been good enough, hadn't been fast enough. Hadn't been smart enough. Some had been killed by the training itself, but even they were here. Not his fault. No, those weren't his fault. Were they? He had made it to the last group, the boys sent to apprentice elsewhere. Even as he had been sent to the sea.

He stopped. There was a door ahead, a plain one. Simple hinges, oak frame. Worn. Used. But in this bizarre and hell-filled land, it was the most terrifying thing of all. He quivered, and the valley looked down at this boy.

He knew he had to go on. But behind that door? What was there? He knew, on some level. He knew what was in there was far worse than anything out here in the wasteland. In there, there was only shadows and death. Pain. Choked sobs of suffering. Cries of mercy, of pleading.

He had to go on, though. Fear settled into his bones, fear of the monsters inside. And the monster he knew he would become if he stepped forward. There wasn't anything that could stop him, was there? Nothing stood in his way besides that flimsy door.

He couldn't, he wouldn't. Would he? He shivered, cold. Frightened. Scared. He was on the ground again, watching the blood leak out of Emily, the footsteps of Jazim echoing in the alley.

And then, for the briefest of moments he could see the stars. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders and a warmth settle on his back. A soft whisper of encouragement into his ear, and the knowledge that he'd never be alone, even in the darkest of places.

"Oh, Emily. How I missed you." He said softly.

A boy stood on a precipice. And he stepped forward into the darkness.

--------

He woke with a fading feeling of something dark and terrible. And she wasn't beside him. He vomited, coughing the remains of whatever poison she had slipped into his mouth while sleeping. His eyes focused once, twice, and settled on the Luskan insignia placed in his hand. Why would--

His eyes widened in realization, and narrowed just as quickly.

---------

The Luskan assassin stood over the sleeping enemy of the pirate captains who would see the sea as their own. Joseph 'Ironknuckle' Undine. The man who had been captured, and gotten away with one of their most valued magics, the magic of living steel. His hand was the priority, right after his death. She lifted her blade. Her mission complete, she could abandon her long time cover after they found evidence of hiring in the boy's things. Finally, she could leave, maybe even forever. No longer a Luskan play thing, used and abused like a toy that never fought back.

Her hand tightened. After this, never again. Never, ever again would she submit herself to those beasts. Maybe she'd find a fishing town, marry a man, and grow old. To never hold a blade again....

The blade found its mark. Her lips opened slightly, her eyes wide. Never again.

Daniel pulled his dagger from her side, catching her as she fell. She looked up to him, blood running down her lips.

"M-Mercy." She pleaded with her eyes, so full of fire not long before. A tear streaked down her face, mingling with the blood onto Daniel's hand. Daniel nodded once. "Of course."

He pulled her in close, murmuring softly as she sobbed. His dagger pierced her heart, and her eyes slowly closed.

Daniel No Man's Son shut his eyes as well. The sunrise peeked into the cabin and the three figures lying prone in it, and a pool of blood slowly spilling onto the dark wood of the ship.

End of Sea of Swords

**Peridan** · 11-16-2012, 09:51 PM

Heroes and Beggars pt. 1

"And so, the heroic knight walked into the sunset. His quest to rid the world of evil never ending, but not without hope."

The elderly beggar finished his tale, the rapt gaze of half a dozen street urchins set upon him. The man was old, worn. He was a thief and a liar. Worn down by the harsh punishments that the world had to offer. Missing an eye, several teeth, and a leg. And yet, as he completed his tale, the street rats felt a stirring inside themselves. Something that longed for the wind swept fields of battle, of dragons and queens. Of heroism.

"Now, off with you, you brats. I need t'make a living here!" The beggar shooed them away, not unkindly. He knew of the hardships that they faced, despite being so young. They were low from what society had to offer them. But despite this, they had time to spare to listen to an old fool. Little thieves and pickpockets in the making, they were.

One in particular strayed behind. A plain looking boy, with dark hair made even more so from grease and dirt. Barely big enough to survive in the thriving city of Waterdeep, or so he'd think. However, he was mostly unmarked, lucky he hadn't had smashed bone or some other serious injury inflicted.

The boy strayed closer, shuffling forward in a step that reminded the old man of a frightened feline when faced with a tantalizing bowl of milk. The boy's soft grey eyes stared into his single milky white blue, the two of them silent for a moment. The old man leaned forward, grinning a terrible smile of rotting teeth.

"Scat."

The boy simply stared back for a moment, his eyes breaking and looking down in confusion. They turned back upwards. "Those stories you told us. Are they true?"

The man hacked flem onto the ground flecked with red. And he laughed, a cackling gleeful sound that did little to relieve the look of confusion on the boy's face. "Rat, what do you think? Do you think that there are really knights who wander, and save damsels from terrible sorcerers? Do you honestly believe that in spite of all of this--" He gestures to the vermin infested alley, stinking with the smell of rotting fish and refuse, "--there are such things in the world?"

The boy looked about, his gaze age old for one so young. "No. There is nothing good here. Nothing pure." He turned back to the man. "But, there might be. Somewhere, anywhere else. Away from here, there might be heroes."

The old man's cackling glee faded into a soft smile. "Child. There are no more heroes. There's only the winning side." He looked at the ribs on the child, and could count them easily. So fragile. So hopeful. He reached down into a pouch at his side, and pulled out a crust of bread. He tossed it to the surprised boy. "Go, child. Get out of here, you're costing me money."

The wide eyes of the boy blinked a few times. The beggar scowled. "Off with you, dammit! I'll tell a story again in a week's time. If you're alive, by then." The boy nodded slowly, and scampered off. The old man sighed, and stared at his pocket with his remaining few crumbs. He licked his finger, and collected them to place on his tongue.

"No heroes left. Only where you--" He yawned to himself as he watched the setting sun along the docks, quickly falling into a dozing sleep. He murmured.

"Only where you stand."

**Peridan** · 07-06-2013, 12:51 PM

Heroes and Beggars pt. 2

It was a beautiful day.

Daniel never really thought much about the weather, the time of day, or the quality of any. There was little time, when trying to find enough to eat. More often, his eyes watched passer-by's and their purses. Depending on the purse size, he'd decide if it was worth the risk to take his small shiv to the strings. Too heavy, and the guard will likely respond that much quicker. They're probably a merchant, or a noble. Too slim, and you have no reason to go after them. Those folk are more likely a planted mark for any of the thief guilds that ran in the city. They'd place out easy looking marks in order to catch pickpockets who didn't pay tithes to the guilds.

And, let's just say that never ends well.

The best marks were those that were right in the middle. Maybe a craftsman, or an artisan looking to sell their works. Not important enough for the guard to respond quickly, but still having a decent amount of walking coin on them.

Daniel had hit one of these an hour or so ago, and managed to hit it lucky: beneath the paltry few coppers and silver griffins was the glittering face of an ancient wyrm stamped on the side, a full golden dragon. Which, in turn, led to the purchase of a fine meat pie from a dockside bakery that knew better than to ask questions. They took a little more change than was necessary, but Daniel wasn't going to complain. He still had enough to eat well for a week and even squirrel away some for the winter months.

All this, of course, led to him sitting on an overhang on the temple of Tyr. A few decent handholds, and some quick jumping led to a view of Waterdeep that couldn't be beat. That, of course, and Daniel's small stash of coin hidden away in a rook's nest behind the statue of the Maimed God.

Daniel brushed a lock of brown hair out of his eyes with a hand, the other gently cradling the meat pie as he looked out over the city from his vicarious perch. The wind blew in a soft gust, the scent of the spice traders from the marketplace filling his nostrils from only a block or two away. Bells rang from the Church of Helm down Holy Way in tribute to the God of Law and Order, an intricate symphony of music to let His faithful know that it was time to pray. Meat juices ran from his lips as he took a bite of the pie, savoring his first taste of beef in almost a year. He licked his lips, making sure not a drop of juice escaped. The chatter of people below rose upwards, and a flock of pigeons cooed from somewhere on the buildings below.

Gods above, it was a beautiful day.

Daniel's eyes drifted over the expanse of city, imagining. Is this how people saw the world? Is this how they lived, laughed, and enjoyed life? A full stomach, and the world about them in its infinite pleasures? He envied them, then. The people who had such opportunity, such pleasures available to them every single day.

He shook his head wonderingly. Incredible, that they should have so much, and fight over so little. What use was even more money, more power, when this, right here, was perfection? He silently vowed that if he were ever lucky enough to have enough to eat every day, he would never take the small things for granted.

Funny, how the small things are sometimes the largest. It was only a matter of perspective.

An excited chatter drifted upwards to Daniel's perch. Curious, he carefully set his meat pie on the ledge, covering it with a bit of cloth to prevent any greedy pigeon from taking his hard earned meal. His deft fingers finding the right grips, he quickly, but carefully, made his way down the side of the temple. His feet hit the cobbles with barely a thud, and he made his way over to the side street.

As he turned the corner, he saw an angry, red faced merchant holding a club, shouting at a pile of rags on the ground. The pot-bellied man's face looked like it was an over-ripe cherry, about to burst. The fat jowls of his cheeks jiggled as he waved the stick in the air. Surrounded by a small crowd, Daniel's comprehension dawned as the pile of rages shifted, and a glint of dirty blonde hair caught in the sunlight. Daniel's heart practically stopped, seeing the owner of the halo of blonde hair.

A girl, his age. Covered in grime, her arms thinner than his. She had a gash running alongside the side of her face where the merchant's boot had likely struck. If she survived, it'd likely leave a scar on an otherwise flawless face. A sharp nose, and her eyes. Her eyes were like...like that stuff he had seen in the jewelry shops window. A brown crystal, but within it flecks of a rosy golden color. What had it been called? He struggled to remember, but after a moment he gave up. It didn't matter. Nothing would ever be like her eyes, nothing to compare to. But that was the only part of her face that was beautiful at the moment. She stared up at the merchant, her face holding a pale and bleak expression of one knowing that death was only moments away. And in her hand, a half rotten apple.

He could do it. He could run in there, and save her from a savage beating that she probably wouldn't survive. He could protect her, and be a hero. Like in the stories. A brave knight, standing up for a distressed princess, slaying a dragon.

But, then, he froze. He imagined the pain of getting beaten by the large man. The feeling of his bones snapping under the steel toes boot, mercilessly crushing him. His ribs snapping, one by one, by one....then finally all at once, like a firecracker.

He felt bile starting to rise in his throat. Move. Move! Go! Save her! He fought against his body, straining. His lips became dry, and he fruitlessly tried to moisten them with his tongue. It felt like sandpaper, dammit. Why was he doing this? Why the fuck was he going to try and save some random street urchin? Wouldn't it be better to just wait? Maybe he could get her to a healer, maybe they'd heal a street rat for free, maybe....

With a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knew, then. He knew what stopped him. It wasn't fear, it wasn't hesitation, it wasn't pragmatism.

It was survival.

He had been born and bred to survive. It was what he did, every gods damned day. He scrounged, he fought, he bit his way to life every minute of every hour. To give that up, to let it all go, for what? For someone he didn't even know?

No. Not him. He turned his head, shame coursing throughout his body. He couldn't.

A sharp cry filled his ears, and his eyes widened. His head whipped back, and was greeted with the sight of the merchant holding his knee in pain. There, next to the girl, was a small boy with a fierce glare. His chest puffed out, his stance steady, he stood protectively over the girl with an expression on his face that fit more on a knight than a child.

His face was the face of a hero.

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