01-17-2015, 11:59 AM
The Spartan had departed to go find himself.
With his portion of the garrison on temporary leave as their commander filled out paperwork and tried to replace the dead recruits, the sorcerer found himself sitting in ‘THE Pub’ on a dim afternoon where the clouds were especially heavy in the sky.
“I heard you and the Spartan killed yourselves some necromancers out in the forest.”
Shang glanced up to see the ‘alternate’ bartender standing across the counter from him. Unlike the heavyset man he’d met when he first arrived in Darkshire, the bar’s backup bartender was a woman. To give her due credit, she wasn’t like many women that the sorcerer had encountered in his unnaturally long life. She wasn’t upper class, yet she wasn’t exactly a pauper wearing rags and trying to pity the coins out of his pocket with her equally appalling child. No… Cheyenne wore skimpy flannel tops, extremely short denim bottoms, and talked as if she were from the antebellum American South. Shang would also admit that she was attractive, which undoubtedly explained her choice of occupation.
“Yes, we did,” he replied as he took a sip from the flagon of ale. The stuff was bitter and grotesque, but like many things, Shang knew that appearances were important. He needed to look and act like he belonged to the everyman and that would be impossible if he didn’t drink their piss water at their grungy, partially clean establishments.
“That sounds dangerous,” the woman cooed as she leaned over the bar a little, subtly highlighting the fact that one could see more of her ample cleavage. Shang was no fairy, nor would he deny a chance to bed the woman. Even so, he had learned long ago to keep a lid on his sex drive. Men and women too often used the exchange of carnal pleasures to get things they wanted or advance their station, and the sorcerer knew that fact very well.
“Very dangerous.” A devious smirk spread across his visage as he leaned a little forward as well, putting himself within half a foot of the young woman’s face. Knowing the game he was playing, Cheyenne winked and walked off to ask another customer if they wanted a fresh drink.
As he reclined back onto his stool, Shang heard someone clear their throat behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he immediately noticed the garrison insignia that the young man had stitched to his leather shirt. “Shang Tsung?”
“Yes?” The sorcerer inquired as he took another long sip and set down the empty flagon. “Can I help you?”
“Your presence is required with your garrison. Your commander wants to meet with you immediately.”
What now? A quick glance told him that more than a few people were interested in the conversation. “No problem.” The sorcerer replied as he fished into his pocket for coins. “For you, Cheyenne,” he said, mimicking her wink as he set the stack of coins down next to his mug. As always, he tipped the woman more than was required, but that was because doing so was the natural way to fit in with the silly, chauvinistic dynamic of female server and male customer.
“Thanks, Darlin’,” Cheyenne said with a small wave as Shang allowed himself to be led out from the pub. They walked to Shang’s garrison in silence, and once they were upstairs, the boy gestured him into the office before excusing himself to other duties.
“There you are, Tsung,” the commander replied with a faint smile as he stood up out of his rickety wooden chair, rounded his table, and shook hands with the sorcerer. “I apologize that I pulled you out of leave a little early.”
“It’s no problem, Commander.”
“Good, because I think you’ll be pleased with what I brought you here for.”
“Oh?” Shang asked as his commander turned around and picked up a small wooden box from his desk. The man turned around and opened the box to reveal two small metal pins depicting the heraldric emblem of Darkshire.
“It may seem like very little, but this medal designates you as a full member of the Darkshire Garrison, with all the additional rights that militia members receive. If you so desire, you may go to the armory to receive new arms and armor as well.” With that said, the commander picked up one of the medals and set the box back on his desk. “When the Spartan returns, I ask that you send him to me. I was notified that he was under a great deal of duress.” Shang nodded his head as the commander pinned the medal to the front of his cloak.
“What now, Commander?” The sorcerer inquired.
“Work hard. Do good for our town. You’d be surprised at the turnover rate for our officers…” the commander trailed off as his eyes traveled to a map of the Moors on the wall. Shang glanced over and took a mental note of some of the landmarks before his superior’s eyes came back to him. “Anyway, you are dismissed. You may resume your leave until you hear back from me.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Shang slipped out of the office and back into the streets of Darkshire. Overhead, the sun was long gone, and the skies were slipping from gray to black. In an hour or so, he’d be free to go satisfy his hunger once again.
With his portion of the garrison on temporary leave as their commander filled out paperwork and tried to replace the dead recruits, the sorcerer found himself sitting in ‘THE Pub’ on a dim afternoon where the clouds were especially heavy in the sky.
“I heard you and the Spartan killed yourselves some necromancers out in the forest.”
Shang glanced up to see the ‘alternate’ bartender standing across the counter from him. Unlike the heavyset man he’d met when he first arrived in Darkshire, the bar’s backup bartender was a woman. To give her due credit, she wasn’t like many women that the sorcerer had encountered in his unnaturally long life. She wasn’t upper class, yet she wasn’t exactly a pauper wearing rags and trying to pity the coins out of his pocket with her equally appalling child. No… Cheyenne wore skimpy flannel tops, extremely short denim bottoms, and talked as if she were from the antebellum American South. Shang would also admit that she was attractive, which undoubtedly explained her choice of occupation.
“Yes, we did,” he replied as he took a sip from the flagon of ale. The stuff was bitter and grotesque, but like many things, Shang knew that appearances were important. He needed to look and act like he belonged to the everyman and that would be impossible if he didn’t drink their piss water at their grungy, partially clean establishments.
“That sounds dangerous,” the woman cooed as she leaned over the bar a little, subtly highlighting the fact that one could see more of her ample cleavage. Shang was no fairy, nor would he deny a chance to bed the woman. Even so, he had learned long ago to keep a lid on his sex drive. Men and women too often used the exchange of carnal pleasures to get things they wanted or advance their station, and the sorcerer knew that fact very well.
“Very dangerous.” A devious smirk spread across his visage as he leaned a little forward as well, putting himself within half a foot of the young woman’s face. Knowing the game he was playing, Cheyenne winked and walked off to ask another customer if they wanted a fresh drink.
As he reclined back onto his stool, Shang heard someone clear their throat behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he immediately noticed the garrison insignia that the young man had stitched to his leather shirt. “Shang Tsung?”
“Yes?” The sorcerer inquired as he took another long sip and set down the empty flagon. “Can I help you?”
“Your presence is required with your garrison. Your commander wants to meet with you immediately.”
What now? A quick glance told him that more than a few people were interested in the conversation. “No problem.” The sorcerer replied as he fished into his pocket for coins. “For you, Cheyenne,” he said, mimicking her wink as he set the stack of coins down next to his mug. As always, he tipped the woman more than was required, but that was because doing so was the natural way to fit in with the silly, chauvinistic dynamic of female server and male customer.
“Thanks, Darlin’,” Cheyenne said with a small wave as Shang allowed himself to be led out from the pub. They walked to Shang’s garrison in silence, and once they were upstairs, the boy gestured him into the office before excusing himself to other duties.
“There you are, Tsung,” the commander replied with a faint smile as he stood up out of his rickety wooden chair, rounded his table, and shook hands with the sorcerer. “I apologize that I pulled you out of leave a little early.”
“It’s no problem, Commander.”
“Good, because I think you’ll be pleased with what I brought you here for.”
“Oh?” Shang asked as his commander turned around and picked up a small wooden box from his desk. The man turned around and opened the box to reveal two small metal pins depicting the heraldric emblem of Darkshire.
“It may seem like very little, but this medal designates you as a full member of the Darkshire Garrison, with all the additional rights that militia members receive. If you so desire, you may go to the armory to receive new arms and armor as well.” With that said, the commander picked up one of the medals and set the box back on his desk. “When the Spartan returns, I ask that you send him to me. I was notified that he was under a great deal of duress.” Shang nodded his head as the commander pinned the medal to the front of his cloak.
“What now, Commander?” The sorcerer inquired.
“Work hard. Do good for our town. You’d be surprised at the turnover rate for our officers…” the commander trailed off as his eyes traveled to a map of the Moors on the wall. Shang glanced over and took a mental note of some of the landmarks before his superior’s eyes came back to him. “Anyway, you are dismissed. You may resume your leave until you hear back from me.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Shang slipped out of the office and back into the streets of Darkshire. Overhead, the sun was long gone, and the skies were slipping from gray to black. In an hour or so, he’d be free to go satisfy his hunger once again.
![[Image: Shang.jpg]](http://www.omniverse-rpg.com/images/Shang.jpg)