01-19-2015, 09:05 PM
They stood off. The man with the pale skin and lavender hair matched the glare of the blond man with the burned face. Magus was unarmed, but he’d shown the knife-wielding Burned Man that having a weapon or not wasn’t much of an issue for him.
“My terms are really quite fair, when you think about them,” Magus coolly explained. “All you need to do is bring me to the most powerful man that you know in exchange for your life. I will not look for you. If you comply. If you refuse, or if you try to lead me on, well…”
The Burned Man seemed to wrestle with the decision, and a mixture of anguish, fear, and anger was written on his face.
“A-Alright,” he said at last. “I’ll take you to the local spot. There’s some people I know-”
“What do they do?”
“…What?” the man seemed confused.
“I’m not looking for some thugs or thieves. Not looking for any pissant street-level gangsters, do you understand?”
“Y-Yeah, okay. Well… there are these other guys…”
“Yes?”
“These guys-” he paused, seeming to struggle with the words. “They’re… uh-”
“Get to the point,” Magus grumbled, grasping a handful of the man’s shirt and, with his other hand, raised a fist near the man’s face. His hand became ensconced within a thin, swirling energy to punctuate his request.
“Alright! Gods,” he breathlessly spat. He was sweating now, and visibly afraid of what Magus had done. What he could do. “These people, I know of them, but I don’t know them, you know? They’re… they’re fucking insane. They kill people to send a message. Not bad people either-”
“Why?”
“Why? What the fuck do I know, ‘why?’ They want a revolution; they’re-”
“Take me to them.”
“W-What? But they’re-”
“Take me to them. That’s the type of person I need.”
“What… what the fuck are you trying to do?” the man demanded. “Th-They could kill us!”
“Could,” Magus parroted. “They could kill you. But if you don’t take me to them immediately, I will kill you.”
The man glanced at the three bodies strewn about the alleyway and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll take you to them but then I’m fucking leaving. You and them are goddamn maniacs.”
Magus smirked in response and gestured for the Burned Man to lead on. He did, unhappily, but he wound through the various alleys just the same, as the last of the setting sun began to slip beneath the squat roofs of the slums.
They cruised a meandering path through the narrow streets of neighborhoods as destitute as the Earthbound people of his time, and through disgusting alleys cluttered with refuse and body waste. Magus didn’t consider from what or who it had came from, and instead did his best to not breathe in the heinous stench while minding carefully where he stepped.
Eventually they came to what only could be described as a favela, only worse. This place was even more oppressively desolate than the rest of the slums. And now with the last of the sun’s rays beneath the horizon, it was also oppressively dark. Tiny pinpricks of distant torches winked in the distance, but it seemed people preferred to hide in the darkness rather than announce their presence.
The Burned Man rounded a bend and made a beeline across a street shrouded in abject blackness. Not a light permeated this place in any direction. Even Magus, who had spent long stretches of time in darkness, found it difficult to adjust to the lack of illumination.
They came to a stop in front of a small, nondescript hovel that seemed to be hunched forward, as if prepared to lurch into the road – or to keel over and collapse into it. The one tiny window on the front of the house was boarded up, and the building obviously hadn’t been cared for in a long time.
“You’re kidding,” Magus flatly declared, casting a glance around in the darkness to ensure he and the Burned Man were still alone.
“I know they come in and out of here,” the man replied. “They’re called the People’s Army for Democracy and Change,” he breathed. “And they’re the most dangerous people in all Camelot.”
“And you expect me to believe they’re headquartered in the capital city?”
“Didn’t say this was their headquarters,” the Burned Man responded. “But Minas Tirith, it’s a big place. Could be it is.”
“Right, lead on, then,” Magus commanded, but the man didn’t move. He seemed hesitant.
“…No,” he finally responded. “This is far as I can go. I don’t know these people and I can’t-”
“Your knife.”
“What?”
“Give me your knife,” the wizard demanded, holding out his open hand. “If you’re not coming with me, you’re parting with your knife.”
“But this place is-”
“You’ll take your chances in this place without a knife. You only have to worry about people like you,” Magus interrupted, gesturing with his hand for the knife. The Burned Man was reluctant, but eventually handed over the crudely fashioned dagger. “Now get out of here before I slaughter you. And remember; I won’t come looking for you. Unless you’ve been lying to me.”
Magus watched as the man took off into the darkness without even a word of retort. Good. If he was that nervous about just coming to the neighborhood of this People’s Army for Democracy and Change, who knew what kind of neurotic mess he would be on the other side of that door.
A group of revolutionaries could be waiting for him on the other side. He knew he might be walking into an unfavorable situation – he knew he might be walking into a trap. Maybe. He also knew he might be walking into a building to meet the person who could help him find what he sought – a way out of the Omniverse.
The mage pocketed the dagger he’d taken from the man. He didn’t need it; he just didn’t feel right about letting a man who had a reason to kill him walk away into darkness armed with the means to do so.
Magus closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and then placed his hands on the primitive metal latch. He tugged against the rust and wear, and was surprised it pulled free, and the door swung into the building.
A single torch flickered against the far wall. It seemed about halfway-burned; it could only have been lit a few hours ago. The small flame that danced upon it licked up toward the stone ceiling of the miserable hovel he’d walked into, and he and it were the only things to occupy the entire place.
There appeared to be a trap door in the ceiling, but no way up. Magus paced toward it, eyes turned upward. But he’d have seen someone on the ceiling if there was anyone up there – the building was hardly tall enough for anyone to have remained hidden.
Magus scanned back and forth fervently now, slowly realizing that he’d been had. The Fiendlord angrily stormed into the corner of the room and had made to throw a punch against the wall, but froze upon hearing a hollow footfall with his last step.
He rocked his foot, putting pressure on it, and heard a dull clunk of wood softly contacting wood. Trap door.
The wizard stepped back and crouced down on the balls of his feet, eyes searching for the outline of this door. Sure enough, cleverly hidden with dirt and fabric made to look like dirt, the faintest square outline could be made out, as well as a similarly camouflaged handle, which appeared at first glance as erosion, pitting, in the ground. Magus reached down and grabbed the handle.
“My terms are really quite fair, when you think about them,” Magus coolly explained. “All you need to do is bring me to the most powerful man that you know in exchange for your life. I will not look for you. If you comply. If you refuse, or if you try to lead me on, well…”
The Burned Man seemed to wrestle with the decision, and a mixture of anguish, fear, and anger was written on his face.
“A-Alright,” he said at last. “I’ll take you to the local spot. There’s some people I know-”
“What do they do?”
“…What?” the man seemed confused.
“I’m not looking for some thugs or thieves. Not looking for any pissant street-level gangsters, do you understand?”
“Y-Yeah, okay. Well… there are these other guys…”
“Yes?”
“These guys-” he paused, seeming to struggle with the words. “They’re… uh-”
“Get to the point,” Magus grumbled, grasping a handful of the man’s shirt and, with his other hand, raised a fist near the man’s face. His hand became ensconced within a thin, swirling energy to punctuate his request.
“Alright! Gods,” he breathlessly spat. He was sweating now, and visibly afraid of what Magus had done. What he could do. “These people, I know of them, but I don’t know them, you know? They’re… they’re fucking insane. They kill people to send a message. Not bad people either-”
“Why?”
“Why? What the fuck do I know, ‘why?’ They want a revolution; they’re-”
“Take me to them.”
“W-What? But they’re-”
“Take me to them. That’s the type of person I need.”
“What… what the fuck are you trying to do?” the man demanded. “Th-They could kill us!”
“Could,” Magus parroted. “They could kill you. But if you don’t take me to them immediately, I will kill you.”
The man glanced at the three bodies strewn about the alleyway and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll take you to them but then I’m fucking leaving. You and them are goddamn maniacs.”
Magus smirked in response and gestured for the Burned Man to lead on. He did, unhappily, but he wound through the various alleys just the same, as the last of the setting sun began to slip beneath the squat roofs of the slums.
They cruised a meandering path through the narrow streets of neighborhoods as destitute as the Earthbound people of his time, and through disgusting alleys cluttered with refuse and body waste. Magus didn’t consider from what or who it had came from, and instead did his best to not breathe in the heinous stench while minding carefully where he stepped.
Eventually they came to what only could be described as a favela, only worse. This place was even more oppressively desolate than the rest of the slums. And now with the last of the sun’s rays beneath the horizon, it was also oppressively dark. Tiny pinpricks of distant torches winked in the distance, but it seemed people preferred to hide in the darkness rather than announce their presence.
The Burned Man rounded a bend and made a beeline across a street shrouded in abject blackness. Not a light permeated this place in any direction. Even Magus, who had spent long stretches of time in darkness, found it difficult to adjust to the lack of illumination.
They came to a stop in front of a small, nondescript hovel that seemed to be hunched forward, as if prepared to lurch into the road – or to keel over and collapse into it. The one tiny window on the front of the house was boarded up, and the building obviously hadn’t been cared for in a long time.
“You’re kidding,” Magus flatly declared, casting a glance around in the darkness to ensure he and the Burned Man were still alone.
“I know they come in and out of here,” the man replied. “They’re called the People’s Army for Democracy and Change,” he breathed. “And they’re the most dangerous people in all Camelot.”
“And you expect me to believe they’re headquartered in the capital city?”
“Didn’t say this was their headquarters,” the Burned Man responded. “But Minas Tirith, it’s a big place. Could be it is.”
“Right, lead on, then,” Magus commanded, but the man didn’t move. He seemed hesitant.
“…No,” he finally responded. “This is far as I can go. I don’t know these people and I can’t-”
“Your knife.”
“What?”
“Give me your knife,” the wizard demanded, holding out his open hand. “If you’re not coming with me, you’re parting with your knife.”
“But this place is-”
“You’ll take your chances in this place without a knife. You only have to worry about people like you,” Magus interrupted, gesturing with his hand for the knife. The Burned Man was reluctant, but eventually handed over the crudely fashioned dagger. “Now get out of here before I slaughter you. And remember; I won’t come looking for you. Unless you’ve been lying to me.”
Magus watched as the man took off into the darkness without even a word of retort. Good. If he was that nervous about just coming to the neighborhood of this People’s Army for Democracy and Change, who knew what kind of neurotic mess he would be on the other side of that door.
A group of revolutionaries could be waiting for him on the other side. He knew he might be walking into an unfavorable situation – he knew he might be walking into a trap. Maybe. He also knew he might be walking into a building to meet the person who could help him find what he sought – a way out of the Omniverse.
The mage pocketed the dagger he’d taken from the man. He didn’t need it; he just didn’t feel right about letting a man who had a reason to kill him walk away into darkness armed with the means to do so.
Magus closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and then placed his hands on the primitive metal latch. He tugged against the rust and wear, and was surprised it pulled free, and the door swung into the building.
A single torch flickered against the far wall. It seemed about halfway-burned; it could only have been lit a few hours ago. The small flame that danced upon it licked up toward the stone ceiling of the miserable hovel he’d walked into, and he and it were the only things to occupy the entire place.
There appeared to be a trap door in the ceiling, but no way up. Magus paced toward it, eyes turned upward. But he’d have seen someone on the ceiling if there was anyone up there – the building was hardly tall enough for anyone to have remained hidden.
Magus scanned back and forth fervently now, slowly realizing that he’d been had. The Fiendlord angrily stormed into the corner of the room and had made to throw a punch against the wall, but froze upon hearing a hollow footfall with his last step.
He rocked his foot, putting pressure on it, and heard a dull clunk of wood softly contacting wood. Trap door.
The wizard stepped back and crouced down on the balls of his feet, eyes searching for the outline of this door. Sure enough, cleverly hidden with dirt and fabric made to look like dirt, the faintest square outline could be made out, as well as a similarly camouflaged handle, which appeared at first glance as erosion, pitting, in the ground. Magus reached down and grabbed the handle.
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)