Movements in the Dark

A place for the stories that take place within Rhy'Din
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Black Knives
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Movements in the Dark

Post by Black Knives » Sun Oct 20, 2019 5:17 pm

October 19th
Somewhere in Old Market


Two figures strolled through the streets, a man and a woman, hand in hand. Walking along the mail road, they came to a shuttered storefront set below a number of residences on the upper two floors. The pair turned down the side street and stopped at a door that opened upon a stairwell leading to the apartments above, looking for all the world like a married couple coming home after a day at the Marketplace. They were utterly unremarkable, with no particular distinguishing features to spark later recognition. They could have been anyone.

That was just how they wanted it.

Once inside, their pleasant demeanor shifted, subtly but definitely. Walking down a short hall, they entered a large sitting area where others were gathered, lounging in chairs and couches. One of the loungers looked up. "Any word, 'Lara?"

The woman who had just arrived smiled, her lips curving wickedly. "Our lord says that we are free to take the first steps. Our prey has grown comfortable, relaxed, and distracted by other concerns. The city is preparing for its annual celebration of all things frightful and terrible, and so they forget that sometimes, there are things that stalk the darkness."

Another of those gathered sneered, his mouth a cruel smirk. "We'll remind the mongrel kind of that, you can be sure." He looked at the woman. "What of your pretty boy?"

"Oh, I'll be reintroducing myself to him soon enough. We shall have such fun!"
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Black Knives
Junior Adventurer
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Joined: Thu Sep 19, 2019 11:34 pm
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Re: Movements in the Dark

Post by Black Knives » Sun Oct 20, 2019 5:53 pm

((Warning: somewhat detailed description of crime scene below))


October 20th
Just west of the Marketplace


As the sun rose through the morning sky towards its midday peak, officers of the Watch stood guard outside an elven leatherworker's shop known for its soft, flexible hides and intricate detail work. The door stood open, and one of its hinges had come loose while the lock had been torn from the frame. It was clear that someone had forced entry into the shop during the night.

Inside the main shop, the scene was chaos.

Leatherwork was strewn across the floor, shredded and scrored into useless scrap, while display cases lay in pieces with shards of wood and glass everywhere. The storage rooms and workroom in back were similarly tossed, the tools of the shopkeep's trade ruined beyond repair. One of the Watch officers examining the scene shook his head sadly. "Someone was out to completely ruin this guy's livelihood."

"They did more than that," replied another Watchman, coming down the stairs from the second floor living quarters. "You don't want to see what they did to him and his family."

In the main bedroom, the elf and his human wife had been propped up on the settee. arms across each other's shoulders. They were gutted and their throats were slit; blood soaked their nightclothes and stained the wooden floor in front of them. Worse, though, were the two children in the next room. They had been skinned, and the wide-eyed agony in their bloodied faces implied that they were alive while it happened. The empty skins were nailed to the wall. Between them, written in what was probably the children's own blood, were the words "Mongrels Die!"
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Black Knives
Junior Adventurer
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Posts: 3
Joined: Thu Sep 19, 2019 11:34 pm
Location: back alleys and secret lairs

Re: Movements in the Dark

Post by Black Knives » Sun Nov 03, 2019 10:41 pm

November 2nd
Old Temple, near the border of Dockside


The trio of orcish toughs stumbled homewards down an alley after a particularly rowdy evening. Their heads swam with strong drink and lusty wenches, and they sang in the loud and slurred manner of drunkards everywhere. At the moment, one of them was finishing off a verse. "They come runnin' at the pop of a cork..."

His two companions joined in then. "'Cause every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed orc!"

The song broke down into raucous laughter, heedless of the sleeping townsfolk all around them. The one in the middle, who had been singing the prior verse, clapped his comrades on the back and looked ahead, then pointed. "'Ey, d'you see somethin' movin' ahead?"

"Ayuh," replied one of the others. "Ya think it was one o' them beasties tha 'Unters Guild is payin' bounties on?"

"Mebbe we kin bag it!" The third orc rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. His glee fell flat seconds later, however, when the figure stepped out into the dim moonlight, revealed as a far less challenging foe. "Ah, 's just a scrawny human! Go home, little human!" All three orcs advanced on the human, planning to have a little harmless fun.

Then something unseen yanked the middle orc's feet out from under him, sending him sprawling. His compatriots turned to help him stand, and at that moment the cobblestones beneath them simply... detonated. There was no burst of flame or smoke, simply a loud crack followed by an eruption of stones upwards, like a geyser. All three orcs collapsed to the ground, reeling from the shockwave, as other figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black, a half-dozen in all surrounding them. The first of the orcs, largest among the trio, climbed to his feet and drew a particularly nasty long knife. "I'm gonna gut all o'y-"

Without warning, the blade flew from his grasp, hung in the air for a moment, then flashed back in front of him. The orc blinked, then blinked again, oddly wondering why his chest suddenly felt warm and wet. He raised a hand to his throat and pulled it away, staring at the dark red blood, almost black in the moonlight, that trickled down his fingers. Then his legs gave out and he sank to the street. His companion who had so recently mocked the 'scrawny human' didn't even make it to his feet before a pair of heavy stones flew at his head from either side. His death was accompanied by the crunch of bone and the squelching sound of crushed flesh.

His friends dead, and half of his face bloodied and swollen from the explosion, the last orc stared at his attackers, jaw agape. "W-why?" he croaked.

One of the black-cloaked assailants stepped forward, drawing a slim black knife. "Because you exist." He casually tossed the blade into the air, and it froze, then flew towards the last surviving orc. His final sight was that blade coming straight towards his eye, and then his scream was suddenly cut very short.

__________

The next morning

Early risers on a Sunday morning found the scene, and called the Watch. There was no trace of who or what had attacked the three orcs, but it was clearly not an unthinking beast. On the wall, written in blood, was a brutal, three-word warning. "Gutter Races Bleed!"
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