07-04-2017, 10:31 AM
Vulre’s helmed head perked up, a plaintive cry echoed across this seemingly empty plane, reminding the hunter that, despite appearances, he was not alone in this new realm. While his Elvish heritage had not seen fit to bless him with the traditional magical prowess, beauty, and affinity for nature, his vision was far more acute than the average man. With his elvish eyes, he saw two men clad in ivory, blonde and brown hair cut close to their skulls, inspecting a softly shaking bundle of black cloth. Where those ears sticking out of it?
Sighing, the hunter began to make his way to the apparent trio.
It didn’t take long. There was little in the way of obstacles, given the apparent void in which they now dwelled. Within a minute, he had turned from a vague blur over the horizon to a much closer man-shaped blur, seemingly denying onlookers the ability to focus on his presence. This effect ended as he spoke, a mixture of sullied steel, dark-brown leather, and dark cloth finally deigning to reveal its presence.
“Well, what do we have here?” Asked the Witch-slayer, the expected lilting Elvish voice weighed down with several pounds of gravel. His well-worn axe hung at his hip, the oil and dirt applied to its surface preventing it from shining in the sourceless sunlight that filled this realm. The pair of armoured men jumped back, taking a few more steps away from the bounty hunter, rather than reaching for the crossbow-like devices at their thighs. The black bundle of cloth turned slightly, verdant eyes gazing out towards him from beneath the darkness of their cloak. The ears seemed to be an artificial affecation from this distance, rather than part of their anatomy.
One of the men, the blonde that had previously been so closely crouched to the shrouded figure, took it upon themselves to speak, overcoming their evident surprise and building anxiety. “Look, I-I know you’re new here, we’re here on official business from-”
Vulre held a gloved hand up, stopping the soldier’s spiel. “Now, way I see it, you might just be raiders.” The men gulped audibly at this, although it was a testament to their discipline that they did not begin to shiver or quake in their standard-issue boots, although a perceptive man might notice the slight shift as they prepared to run, if need be. “Mind you, you seem to have uniforms, making you a particularly organized band of raiders. The only difference between you and a government is a sense of self-righteousness,” laughed the hunter, eliciting a nervous chuckle from the two men. It was a good laugh, practiced in front of a mirror over the course of months, calculated to seem perfectly impromptu.
“Sir, we’re just trying to get this new prime oriented. We don’t mean any harm,” spoke the brown-haired one, hazel eyes trying to keep their gaze away from the axe at the hunter’s hip.
“‘Course not,” said Vulre, cocking his head slightly. They said that a bounty hunter could smell a gold coin from two miles off. While in reality, the distance was barely ten meters, it did a ways to hint at the opportunistic avarice of the long reach of the law. Whoever these two were, they were beholden to a much larger organization. They were his in, provided he could turn this situation to everyone’s mutual benefit. “But you’re going to end up doing it anyways, aren’t you?”
“Just what do you mean by that?” Spoke the soldier with straw-coloured stubble across his skull, reproach creeping into his voice as he stepped forward.
“Take a moment to think about it, lad. Now, I know I’m still wet behind the ears, but the fact of the matter is that Omni said he only takes interesting people into this realm. Now, a bundle of black cloth and angst isn’t interesting by itself. But if, say, someone kept poking at it without even the aid of a ten-foot pole, I imagine it would get plenty interesting, very fast.”
He turned his gaze to the still-frozen bundle of shrouding sable silk. “Whoever they are, I daresay they may need more than a few minutes to process the sudden separation of everything they once knew.” The hunter silently moved forward a few feet, crouching a couple of meters away from the silk-swaddled stranger, ever-cautious. Dull green eyes, devoid of a divine spark, looked towards the bundle. “What’s done is done, little ‘un. All you can do is pick up the pieces and move along, lest you get left behind in the past. Whoever you might of left behind, you’ve still got their memory. An’ nobody’s dead while they’re still remembered. So tell me, what’s your name, ‘less you want to end up forgotten here?”
Sighing, the hunter began to make his way to the apparent trio.
It didn’t take long. There was little in the way of obstacles, given the apparent void in which they now dwelled. Within a minute, he had turned from a vague blur over the horizon to a much closer man-shaped blur, seemingly denying onlookers the ability to focus on his presence. This effect ended as he spoke, a mixture of sullied steel, dark-brown leather, and dark cloth finally deigning to reveal its presence.
“Well, what do we have here?” Asked the Witch-slayer, the expected lilting Elvish voice weighed down with several pounds of gravel. His well-worn axe hung at his hip, the oil and dirt applied to its surface preventing it from shining in the sourceless sunlight that filled this realm. The pair of armoured men jumped back, taking a few more steps away from the bounty hunter, rather than reaching for the crossbow-like devices at their thighs. The black bundle of cloth turned slightly, verdant eyes gazing out towards him from beneath the darkness of their cloak. The ears seemed to be an artificial affecation from this distance, rather than part of their anatomy.
One of the men, the blonde that had previously been so closely crouched to the shrouded figure, took it upon themselves to speak, overcoming their evident surprise and building anxiety. “Look, I-I know you’re new here, we’re here on official business from-”
Vulre held a gloved hand up, stopping the soldier’s spiel. “Now, way I see it, you might just be raiders.” The men gulped audibly at this, although it was a testament to their discipline that they did not begin to shiver or quake in their standard-issue boots, although a perceptive man might notice the slight shift as they prepared to run, if need be. “Mind you, you seem to have uniforms, making you a particularly organized band of raiders. The only difference between you and a government is a sense of self-righteousness,” laughed the hunter, eliciting a nervous chuckle from the two men. It was a good laugh, practiced in front of a mirror over the course of months, calculated to seem perfectly impromptu.
“Sir, we’re just trying to get this new prime oriented. We don’t mean any harm,” spoke the brown-haired one, hazel eyes trying to keep their gaze away from the axe at the hunter’s hip.
“‘Course not,” said Vulre, cocking his head slightly. They said that a bounty hunter could smell a gold coin from two miles off. While in reality, the distance was barely ten meters, it did a ways to hint at the opportunistic avarice of the long reach of the law. Whoever these two were, they were beholden to a much larger organization. They were his in, provided he could turn this situation to everyone’s mutual benefit. “But you’re going to end up doing it anyways, aren’t you?”
“Just what do you mean by that?” Spoke the soldier with straw-coloured stubble across his skull, reproach creeping into his voice as he stepped forward.
“Take a moment to think about it, lad. Now, I know I’m still wet behind the ears, but the fact of the matter is that Omni said he only takes interesting people into this realm. Now, a bundle of black cloth and angst isn’t interesting by itself. But if, say, someone kept poking at it without even the aid of a ten-foot pole, I imagine it would get plenty interesting, very fast.”
He turned his gaze to the still-frozen bundle of shrouding sable silk. “Whoever they are, I daresay they may need more than a few minutes to process the sudden separation of everything they once knew.” The hunter silently moved forward a few feet, crouching a couple of meters away from the silk-swaddled stranger, ever-cautious. Dull green eyes, devoid of a divine spark, looked towards the bundle. “What’s done is done, little ‘un. All you can do is pick up the pieces and move along, lest you get left behind in the past. Whoever you might of left behind, you’ve still got their memory. An’ nobody’s dead while they’re still remembered. So tell me, what’s your name, ‘less you want to end up forgotten here?”
Torcher of tomes, slayer of sorcerers, taker of ears, and flayer of men. Reasonable rates.