02-27-2016, 11:35 AM
The tawny, well-muscled woman hefted the crate up from the cobbled stones of the street, turned, and dropped it onto the angled wooden beams of her stand.
“Yes, well,” she said dismissively, “maybe it's time they all just give up on such frivilous things.” She pulled a short, metal pry-bar from her belt and jammed it into the uppermost seam of the wood. She wriggled it up and down, the nails squeaking as it came loose. “Every time one of those meetings forms, all of the members wind up dead, or worse!” She lifted the lid off the crate, revealing a vibrant assortment of fruits. “Besides, our omnilium goes to food and shelter now instead of gold for the king’s coffers.”
The thin, hooded man reached into the display and plucked a fresh pomegranate out. “You think with your stomach, Tiana. Don't you have any sense of loyalty?” He snaked his head back and forth, peering into the shadows nervously. “Gilgamesh and his disciples founded this city, let us in!” He placed another hand atop the fruit and twisted it in two, juice leaking over his fingers. “We must strike out against the attackers. Take our city back!”
“And how do you plan to do that, Jahar?” She spat back at him, peeling open another display. “If they can do what they have done, how can you stand up to them, if you even knew where they were?”
Jahar took a bite from the pink flesh, and spoke with his mouth full. “We will find them,” he said, voice soaked in confidence. “As far as fighting them? We can rely upon Sasuke. He is more than capable of sending them away.”
Tiana slammed her balled fists down, wood splintering violently. “And where is he, Jahar?!” Her eyes were ablaze now, the thin veil of patience torn away with rage. “Where is our supposed leader? Where was he when we were attacked, and where is he now?” She cast her arm in a wide, angry arc over the ransacked city. “What kind of leader abandons his people? What kind of friend shinks from battle, for feae of losing his little trinkets? I spit on Sasuke!” And she did spit before waving her hand at Jahar, dismissing him. “And you speak about loyalty... We are alone, now.”
The spidery rebel scowled and tossed his snack into the dirt and shook his head. “I see you have work to do. I'll leave you to it,” he snapped, clearly disgusted. With a final baleful glance, he turned and stormed away.
He pushed through the crowded market, carefully walking around the giant crater that had been torn into the street. He shook his head at the reminder of his city's devastation, each chip in the stone, every scorch marked wall, boltering his conviction.
He drew his hood up around his head and turned sharply into a nearby alleyway, his features instantly concealed in the darkness.
Darting through the shadows, Jahar negotiated his path through the byways, past shady nooks and box-crowded crannies, until he arrived at a doorway.
He reached his hand out, rapped the steel frame three times, paused, and twice more. When the slide opened, a gravelly voice demanded, “Password?”
“Golden King,” Jahar replied.
The slide snapped shut, and the clank of the lock resounded. With a creak, the door opened. “Welcome back, friend,” a portly merchant said, his elegant mustache bouncing. “Who is your friend? A new recruit?”
Jahar’s eyebrow quirked. “What?” He asked in confusion, and turned to look behind.
There, in the gloom, a figure stood, draped in a ragged, linen cloak.
“Who goes?” Jahar demanded, a tint of panic in his voice. When there was no reply, he shouted, “Who are you?!”
A red hand drifted upwards, a glint of gold reflecting from it as it drew down the hood. “Oh, you could say I was a friend.” Sinestro offered a cruel grin and pointed his fist in their direction. “Just not yours.”
Fear overtook them.
“Yes, well,” she said dismissively, “maybe it's time they all just give up on such frivilous things.” She pulled a short, metal pry-bar from her belt and jammed it into the uppermost seam of the wood. She wriggled it up and down, the nails squeaking as it came loose. “Every time one of those meetings forms, all of the members wind up dead, or worse!” She lifted the lid off the crate, revealing a vibrant assortment of fruits. “Besides, our omnilium goes to food and shelter now instead of gold for the king’s coffers.”
The thin, hooded man reached into the display and plucked a fresh pomegranate out. “You think with your stomach, Tiana. Don't you have any sense of loyalty?” He snaked his head back and forth, peering into the shadows nervously. “Gilgamesh and his disciples founded this city, let us in!” He placed another hand atop the fruit and twisted it in two, juice leaking over his fingers. “We must strike out against the attackers. Take our city back!”
“And how do you plan to do that, Jahar?” She spat back at him, peeling open another display. “If they can do what they have done, how can you stand up to them, if you even knew where they were?”
Jahar took a bite from the pink flesh, and spoke with his mouth full. “We will find them,” he said, voice soaked in confidence. “As far as fighting them? We can rely upon Sasuke. He is more than capable of sending them away.”
Tiana slammed her balled fists down, wood splintering violently. “And where is he, Jahar?!” Her eyes were ablaze now, the thin veil of patience torn away with rage. “Where is our supposed leader? Where was he when we were attacked, and where is he now?” She cast her arm in a wide, angry arc over the ransacked city. “What kind of leader abandons his people? What kind of friend shinks from battle, for feae of losing his little trinkets? I spit on Sasuke!” And she did spit before waving her hand at Jahar, dismissing him. “And you speak about loyalty... We are alone, now.”
The spidery rebel scowled and tossed his snack into the dirt and shook his head. “I see you have work to do. I'll leave you to it,” he snapped, clearly disgusted. With a final baleful glance, he turned and stormed away.
He pushed through the crowded market, carefully walking around the giant crater that had been torn into the street. He shook his head at the reminder of his city's devastation, each chip in the stone, every scorch marked wall, boltering his conviction.
He drew his hood up around his head and turned sharply into a nearby alleyway, his features instantly concealed in the darkness.
Darting through the shadows, Jahar negotiated his path through the byways, past shady nooks and box-crowded crannies, until he arrived at a doorway.
He reached his hand out, rapped the steel frame three times, paused, and twice more. When the slide opened, a gravelly voice demanded, “Password?”
“Golden King,” Jahar replied.
The slide snapped shut, and the clank of the lock resounded. With a creak, the door opened. “Welcome back, friend,” a portly merchant said, his elegant mustache bouncing. “Who is your friend? A new recruit?”
Jahar’s eyebrow quirked. “What?” He asked in confusion, and turned to look behind.
There, in the gloom, a figure stood, draped in a ragged, linen cloak.
“Who goes?” Jahar demanded, a tint of panic in his voice. When there was no reply, he shouted, “Who are you?!”
A red hand drifted upwards, a glint of gold reflecting from it as it drew down the hood. “Oh, you could say I was a friend.” Sinestro offered a cruel grin and pointed his fist in their direction. “Just not yours.”
Fear overtook them.
![[Image: sig2.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/KrimTheUnsettler/sig2.jpg)