02-13-2018, 12:53 PM
Atelos had only been gone for about a quarter hour when Shang finished the paperwork and deposited the stack into a bin for one of the town hall aides. They could be (mostly) counted on to complete everything he had left blank for one reason or another. With the bureaucracy taken care of for the day, the sorcerer returned to his desk and plucked the egg from its roost. Leaning down at his desk, he entered the combination into the lockbox and set the egg atop the small stack of books that included his journal, his copy of Fifty Shades of White, and the Necronomicon.
Once the container was sealed, Shang Tsung stood up from his desk and brushed off some of the dust that occasionally collected on him if he sat for too many hours in the office. Taking a few paces back into the center of the room, he did a quick once-over to ensure he hadn’t left any of his valuables lying around. The room was bugged, but he’d rather secure everything in the event that an intern or an aide developed a case of sticky fingers. The last time something had gone missing from Shang’s office, the pile of bodies had been enough to raise some eyes.
After grabbing his coat from the rack near the door, the sorcerer snapped his fingers and waited for the lights to turn off before making his exit. He slipped the overcoat on as he traversed the hallway, and by the time he reached the back stairwell, the hood was over his head. He departed through the Town Hall service entrance and was indistinguishable from the rest of the rabble as he cut through Darkshire’s governing district en route to his home.
For today, he had decided to take route number seven. He had a dozen different paths that he had developed over the last two years. Darkshire was a much better place than it had been under Mayor Boone, but that didn’t mean Shang hadn’t accumulated his fair share of enemies—political or otherwise. Dobson and the majority of the junta were respected as ‘children of Darkshire’ because they had either been ‘born’ here or grown up here over the years.
Shang was the outsider, at least in the eyes of the town’s old ruling class. The people loved him as much as anyone else in town, because he had done so much to keep them safe. He still received accolades for escaping from Silent Hill, even if that felt like a lifetime ago for many of the town’s mortal denizens. While the middle- and lower-classes adored him, it was the people with money who often tried to give the sorcerer fits.
The last assassin had tried to take him out near the middle of route six. They had been an amateur—most of the hired knives in Darkshire were novices. Even the few outsiders contracted to take him down had been middle-of-the-pack. In that regard, Shang figured that the threats on his life were intended less to kill him and more so to try and intimidate him. Some sort of scare tactic that probably would work on some lesser person.
Unfortunately for the upper-class interests, the only experienced killer in Darkshire was on Shang’s payroll.
Like most days, Shang experienced no excitement on his stroll home. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. One finger snap later, and the ‘condo’ light up as the magical candles flickered to life throughout the building. An eternity ago, this had been the home of the paladin Argento, the former Champion of Darkshire. The sun-loving, justice-hungry dullard had protected this place for years before he became a loose end in need of severance. Shang Tsung had ‘inherited’ the paladin’s old home after Argento’s unfortunate demise in Silent Hill. After leaving the place as it had been for about a year (out of ‘respect’ for the fallen), the sorcerer had rehabbed the rundown place.
While his office had a lot more of his personal flair, the condo was rather vanilla by living standards. Shedding his coat and tossing it onto a rack, Shang made his way for the back room and started to hum as he found the key for the steel door. Once unlocked, the sheet of metal slid into the wall—a quaint, pseudo-modern touch that the sorcerer had added. The lights for his armory closet turned on automatically, casting a pale orange light upon a variety of implements concealed within the sealed chamber.
The first thing the sorcerer retrieved was his jian. Still humming, he slipped the belt sheath around his waist and pulled it tight. Like a few of the other trappings in the closet, he often utilized them during ceremonies, but the last time he had donned everything had been the days of the assault. With the jian nestled into its spot, he reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down a metal box that looked like it could hold a pair of shoes. Instead, the container, once unlocked, house an oversized handgun and a polished lightsaber. The science-fiction weapon slipped over his unoccupied hip, and the Desert Eagle, once in its holster, nestled between his shoulder blades.
Returning the box to the shelf, Shang retrieved the Day’suis from its prominent place at the center of the armory closet. The sorcerer frequently trotted out Argento’s weapon to play to the sympathy of the audience at public events. On this day, he brought it out for an altogether different reason. Heavy even by his standards, the hammer rested diagonally across his back.
Lastly, the sorcerer dropped down and poked a finger against a nondescript metal pad in the shadows of the closet. The tiny piece slid up to reveal a red light that light up and cast a beam forward. Stooping a little further down, Shang lined his right eye up with the sensor and smiled when a soft click followed a few moments later. Standing up to his full height, the bureaucrat reached up and waited for the recess in the ceiling to finish its short descent. Once it was done moving, Shang Tsung retrieved the tiny box and cracked it open to reveal a glimmering Power Ring.
“Hello, beautiful,” the sorcerer whispered as he plucked the ring out and then returned its container to the recess. As he stepped away from the armory closet, all the various parts reset themselves, and the door slid back into place.
Looking down, Shang smiled as he slid the ring over his right middle finger. He felt the familiar flush of power rush over him. “Now we’re good,” he whispered as he went to go find the robe he would wear overtop his attire.
***
When Shang found Atelos, the Spartan was making his final preparations to depart for the drow territories to the north.
“Yes, Sorcerer!” The Grecian barked as he caught sight of the sneering sorcerer striding through the evening shadows. Spotting the shape of the hammer behind his shoulder blades and the sword dangling from his right hip, the Spartan donned his own nefarious grin. “You look dressed for a night on the town.”
Shang Tsung chuckled. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity for a road trip with an old friend.”
“Is that Shang Tsung?” One of the soldiers whispered to a peer. “Like, seriously… is that Shang Tsung.”
The sorcerer cleared his throat as he walked next to Atelos and looked at the young man decked out for battle.
“Who else would it be?” He asked as the soldier instinctively went to attention and snapped off a quick salute. Shang wanted to laugh, but he settled for a quick, sideways glimpse at a smug Atelos. “He’s your officer. I’m just a politico with an itch to scratch, Private Jesse Hampton.”
The young man went a little pale. “You know my name?”
Shang chuckled softly. “I know all your names. You think that just because I work in an office that I don’t know the little people?”
To the sorcerer’s left, the Spartan just barely managed to suppress a snicker. Feeling his old friend’s eyes glaring at him, Atelos pointed through the open gates. “You don’t need to campaign, Triumvir Tsung. Let’s get our horses and move out.”
“Of course, Captain Atelos."
Once the container was sealed, Shang Tsung stood up from his desk and brushed off some of the dust that occasionally collected on him if he sat for too many hours in the office. Taking a few paces back into the center of the room, he did a quick once-over to ensure he hadn’t left any of his valuables lying around. The room was bugged, but he’d rather secure everything in the event that an intern or an aide developed a case of sticky fingers. The last time something had gone missing from Shang’s office, the pile of bodies had been enough to raise some eyes.
After grabbing his coat from the rack near the door, the sorcerer snapped his fingers and waited for the lights to turn off before making his exit. He slipped the overcoat on as he traversed the hallway, and by the time he reached the back stairwell, the hood was over his head. He departed through the Town Hall service entrance and was indistinguishable from the rest of the rabble as he cut through Darkshire’s governing district en route to his home.
For today, he had decided to take route number seven. He had a dozen different paths that he had developed over the last two years. Darkshire was a much better place than it had been under Mayor Boone, but that didn’t mean Shang hadn’t accumulated his fair share of enemies—political or otherwise. Dobson and the majority of the junta were respected as ‘children of Darkshire’ because they had either been ‘born’ here or grown up here over the years.
Shang was the outsider, at least in the eyes of the town’s old ruling class. The people loved him as much as anyone else in town, because he had done so much to keep them safe. He still received accolades for escaping from Silent Hill, even if that felt like a lifetime ago for many of the town’s mortal denizens. While the middle- and lower-classes adored him, it was the people with money who often tried to give the sorcerer fits.
The last assassin had tried to take him out near the middle of route six. They had been an amateur—most of the hired knives in Darkshire were novices. Even the few outsiders contracted to take him down had been middle-of-the-pack. In that regard, Shang figured that the threats on his life were intended less to kill him and more so to try and intimidate him. Some sort of scare tactic that probably would work on some lesser person.
Unfortunately for the upper-class interests, the only experienced killer in Darkshire was on Shang’s payroll.
Like most days, Shang experienced no excitement on his stroll home. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. One finger snap later, and the ‘condo’ light up as the magical candles flickered to life throughout the building. An eternity ago, this had been the home of the paladin Argento, the former Champion of Darkshire. The sun-loving, justice-hungry dullard had protected this place for years before he became a loose end in need of severance. Shang Tsung had ‘inherited’ the paladin’s old home after Argento’s unfortunate demise in Silent Hill. After leaving the place as it had been for about a year (out of ‘respect’ for the fallen), the sorcerer had rehabbed the rundown place.
While his office had a lot more of his personal flair, the condo was rather vanilla by living standards. Shedding his coat and tossing it onto a rack, Shang made his way for the back room and started to hum as he found the key for the steel door. Once unlocked, the sheet of metal slid into the wall—a quaint, pseudo-modern touch that the sorcerer had added. The lights for his armory closet turned on automatically, casting a pale orange light upon a variety of implements concealed within the sealed chamber.
The first thing the sorcerer retrieved was his jian. Still humming, he slipped the belt sheath around his waist and pulled it tight. Like a few of the other trappings in the closet, he often utilized them during ceremonies, but the last time he had donned everything had been the days of the assault. With the jian nestled into its spot, he reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down a metal box that looked like it could hold a pair of shoes. Instead, the container, once unlocked, house an oversized handgun and a polished lightsaber. The science-fiction weapon slipped over his unoccupied hip, and the Desert Eagle, once in its holster, nestled between his shoulder blades.
Returning the box to the shelf, Shang retrieved the Day’suis from its prominent place at the center of the armory closet. The sorcerer frequently trotted out Argento’s weapon to play to the sympathy of the audience at public events. On this day, he brought it out for an altogether different reason. Heavy even by his standards, the hammer rested diagonally across his back.
Lastly, the sorcerer dropped down and poked a finger against a nondescript metal pad in the shadows of the closet. The tiny piece slid up to reveal a red light that light up and cast a beam forward. Stooping a little further down, Shang lined his right eye up with the sensor and smiled when a soft click followed a few moments later. Standing up to his full height, the bureaucrat reached up and waited for the recess in the ceiling to finish its short descent. Once it was done moving, Shang Tsung retrieved the tiny box and cracked it open to reveal a glimmering Power Ring.
“Hello, beautiful,” the sorcerer whispered as he plucked the ring out and then returned its container to the recess. As he stepped away from the armory closet, all the various parts reset themselves, and the door slid back into place.
Looking down, Shang smiled as he slid the ring over his right middle finger. He felt the familiar flush of power rush over him. “Now we’re good,” he whispered as he went to go find the robe he would wear overtop his attire.
***
When Shang found Atelos, the Spartan was making his final preparations to depart for the drow territories to the north.
“Yes, Sorcerer!” The Grecian barked as he caught sight of the sneering sorcerer striding through the evening shadows. Spotting the shape of the hammer behind his shoulder blades and the sword dangling from his right hip, the Spartan donned his own nefarious grin. “You look dressed for a night on the town.”
Shang Tsung chuckled. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity for a road trip with an old friend.”
“Is that Shang Tsung?” One of the soldiers whispered to a peer. “Like, seriously… is that Shang Tsung.”
The sorcerer cleared his throat as he walked next to Atelos and looked at the young man decked out for battle.
“Who else would it be?” He asked as the soldier instinctively went to attention and snapped off a quick salute. Shang wanted to laugh, but he settled for a quick, sideways glimpse at a smug Atelos. “He’s your officer. I’m just a politico with an itch to scratch, Private Jesse Hampton.”
The young man went a little pale. “You know my name?”
Shang chuckled softly. “I know all your names. You think that just because I work in an office that I don’t know the little people?”
To the sorcerer’s left, the Spartan just barely managed to suppress a snicker. Feeling his old friend’s eyes glaring at him, Atelos pointed through the open gates. “You don’t need to campaign, Triumvir Tsung. Let’s get our horses and move out.”
“Of course, Captain Atelos."