06-02-2017, 08:33 PM
Chakravartin grinned, the deception was a simple one. But one that would allow him quite a bit of freedom. It would also be good to kill again.
He wasn't especially bloodthirsty- or at least not by his own standards. But dealing death had been a part of his every mortal life. It was one of the few pleasures that made mortality something attractive to a god. Ending the life of another was the absolute exertion of one's own agency over their own. The ultimate violation and ultimate validation of someone's dignity. It robbed the victim of all freedom- forever.
Well, except for Saru. And Primes, Chakravartin thought with a smile. He had felt weak for several days now, and he was tired of it. It would nice- even momentarily, to get a sense of control over fate for a bit.
The passing thought- that Doc, the ghostly creature before them, could become a General was one that he had not been expecting. He wasn't even looking for Generals. But a ghostly creature immune to his punches? One capable of changing shape and becoming intangible? It'd be a useful power at the very least.
The creature vanished from view.
"What bell tower-" Lysandra asked, before a ringing went out.
"That one, I guess." Aang said, looking conflicted, "So, we need to find the person who enabled these fights, and get him to stop."
"The owner lady?" Lysandra suggested.
"She's a weakling. And she seemed unaware of the existence of the dog fights. I think she might only be the most recent owner." Chakravartin said, "But I was unable to find any paperwork supporting my suspicion. No, we're looking for an organizer. If these fights have been going on for a while, and there are only rumors- well, it would also be someone stealthy. Someone who can get people in and out without leaving any suspicious traces."
"So, what, we look for someone sneaky?"
"We look for someone who has a key." Aang said.
It took two more nights. Chakravartin had been tempted to just call the whole thing quits. After all, there was a Primes-only tournament in the works soon enough, and that was more important than anything to do with the town around them. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted to.
It was a passing whim, but he felt he could do it. And he needed something to separate himself from Lysandra and Aang. A secret would be a nice thing to have, along with a powerful creature owing him a favor. The two humans were quickly becoming far too familiar, both with him, and Chakravartin with them. He wasn't afraid of becoming soft- he was a god of war. He wanted True War, more than anything else. He didn't regret his genocides and murders in the slightest. When he thought back to the millions that were slain in his name, it was with fondness and a sense of paternal pride in his warriors.
No, he was afraid of becoming attached to something useless. He had allowed himself to become attached to mortals in the past- he had done so with Ozo, and her wives, and with many of his hosts. What would be the point of having all this power if he denied himself the pleasures of communicating with people he enjoyed. The only issue is that Aang and Lysandra weren't the type to accept being his pets, or his generals, or even warriors. They wouldn't ever see Chakravartin as their god, because he honestly wasn't.
If Chakravartin allowed himself to become attached, they would consider themselves... his friends. As if they were equals. If it wasn't for Aang's annoying pacifism, Chakravartin would have been almost tempted to accept the Prime as an equal- the avatar of a god, like him, stolen to Omni's world, like him. The wielder of a similar level of strength. But no. Aang wouldn't ever aid him in bringing about True War.
So he needed this. To keep him from getting attached. Besides, his patience was paying off.
Chakravartin watched as the carriages strolled by, from his position on a roof with a half-decent view of the rear of the Crescent Moon Alehouse. Aang watched from a roof on the other end of the street, with a different perspective.
The owner woman was standing outside the entrance to the cellar, holding out a lantern. A man got out from the carriage, along with a whole team of followers. They were all men, scarred, and large. They seemed to be quite happy to be here, stuck working in the middle of the night.
The first man began to speak with the owner woman, and he gestured to the carriages, filled with barrels. Some of them quite large.
"The shipments of new barrels? Yeah, they come in every so often." The drunkard leered at Lysandra, who simply giggled, not breaking character, "Mostly though, is, is they take a barrel urp, the empty ones, you know? So that they can sell em' somewhere else. And they replace em with fresher barrels. Crescent Moon ain't a brewery, it gets its stuff from farms, you know?"
"I didn't know that!" Lysandra said, "How interesting."
"Yeah, yeah it... urp, yeah it is. Isn't it?"
"And when do they usually come and bring in the new barrels and carry out the old ones?"
"Oh, it happens just about errey two weeks. On uh, on Fridays. It's the old owner's son, y'see. He's in the merchant trade now. Good kid. Lot of fun at parties, he tells the raunchiest jokes, if you get some beer in him. Bit of a temper though. The boy's been handling the whole thing every- ever-ry two weeks. He goes in with a bunch of his workers, they make a ruckus for a few hours, loading everything, and then they're off."
"And the owner doesn't check in on them?"
"Oh, she's been friends with the old owner for years. The son probly' knows more about what's in the cellar than she does."
"Well, thank you for your story!"
"How about I tell you about the-"
"Oh! No, I can't, sorry. Just ran out of time."
"Time?"
"You know! Got to catch a ride, out of the city. You know how it is. A smart guy like you."
"Y-Yeah, course I do. Cause' I'm smart..."
Lysandra was an excellent actress, when she needed to be. And people tended to be a bit more willing to talk when they're not of their right minds.
The owner woman took her lantern and left, and the man in charge of the carriage group unlocked the door to the cellar, throwing it clear open and entering into the dark room, his men beginning to carry barrels down with them.
Chakravartin grinned, sliding down from his perch and running for the group of carriages. He relied on his nose, and it didn't lead him astray.
He punched one of the men guarding the second of the three carriages, and jumped into the darkened wagon. Men began shouting in alarm at the sight of him, but only two chased after him. He created two Palace Hands, and had both choke his two attackers, lifting them into the air until they were wheezing, and at the edge of unconsciousness, before almost throwing them down into the wooden floors. The other men, outside the carriage, were thrown into a mass of chaos by Aang, who had dove down at the same time as Chakravartin. The Bender would be spurring the men away, to drive away any reinforcements for the main culprit- the man who had kept an underground dogfighting ring in the cellar of the Crescent Moon Alehouse running, despite his father selling the bar.
He sniffed the air, and turned to four of the larger barrels, with great handles on every side. It was designed to be lifted by six men together- very heavy. It was also greatly reinforced, and locks and chains held the top- on an iron latch, rather than being closed permanently.
It was a barrel meant to transport something strong. One that could be opened and closed. He rubbed a golden finger across it, and smelled the mix of fresh, and dried blood. These barrels had been used often.
He pressed his head against them, and listened to the heavy breathing of a sleeping Dire Wolf. Taking a step away, he turned to the next smelliest thing in the room. Another locked wooden container, but this one more of a chest. He activated his lightsaber, and burned a hole into it. He reached in, and drew out the smelling salts that the men would have used to awaken the wolves, when it was time for them to fight.
Passing the lightsaber to a Palace Hand, he sent it flying forward, slicing open chains and cutting holes in the Dire Wolves' containers.
He then threw the smelling salts.
The chaos Aang was causing outside among the other workers was a fine thing. But the chaos he had just unleashed inside the carriage was something entirely beyond it.
Chakravartin smiled.
He wasn't especially bloodthirsty- or at least not by his own standards. But dealing death had been a part of his every mortal life. It was one of the few pleasures that made mortality something attractive to a god. Ending the life of another was the absolute exertion of one's own agency over their own. The ultimate violation and ultimate validation of someone's dignity. It robbed the victim of all freedom- forever.
Well, except for Saru. And Primes, Chakravartin thought with a smile. He had felt weak for several days now, and he was tired of it. It would nice- even momentarily, to get a sense of control over fate for a bit.
The passing thought- that Doc, the ghostly creature before them, could become a General was one that he had not been expecting. He wasn't even looking for Generals. But a ghostly creature immune to his punches? One capable of changing shape and becoming intangible? It'd be a useful power at the very least.
The creature vanished from view.
"What bell tower-" Lysandra asked, before a ringing went out.
"That one, I guess." Aang said, looking conflicted, "So, we need to find the person who enabled these fights, and get him to stop."
"The owner lady?" Lysandra suggested.
"She's a weakling. And she seemed unaware of the existence of the dog fights. I think she might only be the most recent owner." Chakravartin said, "But I was unable to find any paperwork supporting my suspicion. No, we're looking for an organizer. If these fights have been going on for a while, and there are only rumors- well, it would also be someone stealthy. Someone who can get people in and out without leaving any suspicious traces."
"So, what, we look for someone sneaky?"
"We look for someone who has a key." Aang said.
It took two more nights. Chakravartin had been tempted to just call the whole thing quits. After all, there was a Primes-only tournament in the works soon enough, and that was more important than anything to do with the town around them. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted to.
It was a passing whim, but he felt he could do it. And he needed something to separate himself from Lysandra and Aang. A secret would be a nice thing to have, along with a powerful creature owing him a favor. The two humans were quickly becoming far too familiar, both with him, and Chakravartin with them. He wasn't afraid of becoming soft- he was a god of war. He wanted True War, more than anything else. He didn't regret his genocides and murders in the slightest. When he thought back to the millions that were slain in his name, it was with fondness and a sense of paternal pride in his warriors.
No, he was afraid of becoming attached to something useless. He had allowed himself to become attached to mortals in the past- he had done so with Ozo, and her wives, and with many of his hosts. What would be the point of having all this power if he denied himself the pleasures of communicating with people he enjoyed. The only issue is that Aang and Lysandra weren't the type to accept being his pets, or his generals, or even warriors. They wouldn't ever see Chakravartin as their god, because he honestly wasn't.
If Chakravartin allowed himself to become attached, they would consider themselves... his friends. As if they were equals. If it wasn't for Aang's annoying pacifism, Chakravartin would have been almost tempted to accept the Prime as an equal- the avatar of a god, like him, stolen to Omni's world, like him. The wielder of a similar level of strength. But no. Aang wouldn't ever aid him in bringing about True War.
So he needed this. To keep him from getting attached. Besides, his patience was paying off.
Chakravartin watched as the carriages strolled by, from his position on a roof with a half-decent view of the rear of the Crescent Moon Alehouse. Aang watched from a roof on the other end of the street, with a different perspective.
The owner woman was standing outside the entrance to the cellar, holding out a lantern. A man got out from the carriage, along with a whole team of followers. They were all men, scarred, and large. They seemed to be quite happy to be here, stuck working in the middle of the night.
The first man began to speak with the owner woman, and he gestured to the carriages, filled with barrels. Some of them quite large.
"The shipments of new barrels? Yeah, they come in every so often." The drunkard leered at Lysandra, who simply giggled, not breaking character, "Mostly though, is, is they take a barrel urp, the empty ones, you know? So that they can sell em' somewhere else. And they replace em with fresher barrels. Crescent Moon ain't a brewery, it gets its stuff from farms, you know?"
"I didn't know that!" Lysandra said, "How interesting."
"Yeah, yeah it... urp, yeah it is. Isn't it?"
"And when do they usually come and bring in the new barrels and carry out the old ones?"
"Oh, it happens just about errey two weeks. On uh, on Fridays. It's the old owner's son, y'see. He's in the merchant trade now. Good kid. Lot of fun at parties, he tells the raunchiest jokes, if you get some beer in him. Bit of a temper though. The boy's been handling the whole thing every- ever-ry two weeks. He goes in with a bunch of his workers, they make a ruckus for a few hours, loading everything, and then they're off."
"And the owner doesn't check in on them?"
"Oh, she's been friends with the old owner for years. The son probly' knows more about what's in the cellar than she does."
"Well, thank you for your story!"
"How about I tell you about the-"
"Oh! No, I can't, sorry. Just ran out of time."
"Time?"
"You know! Got to catch a ride, out of the city. You know how it is. A smart guy like you."
"Y-Yeah, course I do. Cause' I'm smart..."
Lysandra was an excellent actress, when she needed to be. And people tended to be a bit more willing to talk when they're not of their right minds.
The owner woman took her lantern and left, and the man in charge of the carriage group unlocked the door to the cellar, throwing it clear open and entering into the dark room, his men beginning to carry barrels down with them.
Chakravartin grinned, sliding down from his perch and running for the group of carriages. He relied on his nose, and it didn't lead him astray.
He punched one of the men guarding the second of the three carriages, and jumped into the darkened wagon. Men began shouting in alarm at the sight of him, but only two chased after him. He created two Palace Hands, and had both choke his two attackers, lifting them into the air until they were wheezing, and at the edge of unconsciousness, before almost throwing them down into the wooden floors. The other men, outside the carriage, were thrown into a mass of chaos by Aang, who had dove down at the same time as Chakravartin. The Bender would be spurring the men away, to drive away any reinforcements for the main culprit- the man who had kept an underground dogfighting ring in the cellar of the Crescent Moon Alehouse running, despite his father selling the bar.
He sniffed the air, and turned to four of the larger barrels, with great handles on every side. It was designed to be lifted by six men together- very heavy. It was also greatly reinforced, and locks and chains held the top- on an iron latch, rather than being closed permanently.
It was a barrel meant to transport something strong. One that could be opened and closed. He rubbed a golden finger across it, and smelled the mix of fresh, and dried blood. These barrels had been used often.
He pressed his head against them, and listened to the heavy breathing of a sleeping Dire Wolf. Taking a step away, he turned to the next smelliest thing in the room. Another locked wooden container, but this one more of a chest. He activated his lightsaber, and burned a hole into it. He reached in, and drew out the smelling salts that the men would have used to awaken the wolves, when it was time for them to fight.
Passing the lightsaber to a Palace Hand, he sent it flying forward, slicing open chains and cutting holes in the Dire Wolves' containers.
He then threw the smelling salts.
The chaos Aang was causing outside among the other workers was a fine thing. But the chaos he had just unleashed inside the carriage was something entirely beyond it.
Chakravartin smiled.
Quote:Must speak with the owner of the tavern: Accomplished.
Must examine the grounds and ask around about odd sightings: Accomplished
Must conduct research on the history of the tavern: Accomplished
Must wait until nightfall and convince the ghost(s) to leave by whatever means possible: In Progress
Aang: 4,630 words, 25,550 characters (including Astral Realm Posts).
Chakravartin: 3,920 words, 22,034 characters.
8,550/5,000~10,000 words.
![[Image: Green+Lantern+%2321+Larfleeze.jpg]](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4knYjWR4Ftg/UbffBSdAvAI/AAAAAAAACoU/SGQqiRnByVA/s1600/Green+Lantern+%2321+Larfleeze.jpg)