A World Without a Sun

Other Side

Keeran flexed his fingers, delicately lifting the skull from its proper resting place on the silk cushion. Success, he thought, gazing into the hollowed eyes with bright green ones. Now, I just have to get out of here before the alarms sound, and I'm set.

He tucked the skull into the appointed bag, and turned to tiptoe away. After three paces, he turned back, and smirked. That little weight trap might have proved troublesome... if I hadn't put the exact weight of this little beauty onto it in sand, of course.

He strode out of the Counsellor's trophy room, and down a corridor, set in glimmering marble and alabaster stone. Aristocrats. So easy to steal from. Directly across a descending stairwell lay a large window, and it was here that Keeran set down his pack and rested his gloved hands against the cold glass.

But, just as he was about to lift it up, he heard running footsteps. Crap!

Nowhere to hide; he threw the window open and leaped out onto the small ledge behind it, closing the window behind him as quietly as possible. He flattened himself against the building's side a few feet from the window, and held his breath. Waiting. Sidling away slowly, keeping a wary eye out for traps. This was, after all, an obvious penetration point.

He was thirty-odd feet up, and the night wind was rushing against his face, wildly blowing his black hair back. He heard panicked shouts, and he gripped his pack tightly. There should be a way out... but where?

Aha. There it was, exactly where his employer had specified. Maintenance was busy doing repairs on the Eastern Wing, and their large set-up could easily be used to make a quick descent. He sidled faster, listening as the shouts faded away. Fools.

The maintenance's equipment was simplistic and efficient; it was designed almost like an accordion, with the platform being at the very top. Right now, of course, the accordion was extended, reaching up several floors above him. No matter; he would use the little wind-around emergency pathways to get down. He leaped off the edge, and grabbed onto one of its sides, hoisting himself up on the slanted surface. It took some doing, but he eventually managed to make it down to ground level.

He brushed dirt from himself, grinning. Another perfectly executed plan, by moi.

He stopped grinning when he heard the barking. The barking of a dozen watchdogs running towards you. The barking of a fierce pack, who knew that their prey was trapped by giant, twelve-feet high black gates.

"Hey doggy-doggy..."

"Oh, ah, alright!" Dargus shouted towards Marius as he exited the hall. Dargus hopped up and down, though it wasn't really a hop for his toes never left the floor. Excitement. That is what he was feeling, and it had been ages since he had last felt it. Oh, this is going to be great! His mind was racing. He was leaving. Tomorrow. With Marius! Gathering himself he quickly left the hall, subtly skipping on his way out. Under his beard, a giant smile hid as his glee expressed itself on his face.

The street outside was dark and damp. Several puddles of muddy water littered the street, evidence of an earlier rainstorm, and Dargus, as he carelessly floated towards his home, slipped and fell face first in the dirt. He lied there for a few moments before his need for air compelled him to roll over on his back, his body covered in mud. Slowly he wiped his eyes clear, and as he stared up into the night sky felt the splash of cold rain on his forehead. Why?

He then stood up clumsily as his feet slid in the mud. His jacket was now twice as heavy as it normally was, and as he brushed off the mud with his big palms he noticed something was wrong. His book was missing. No...no... where is it? Frantically he searched around where he fell, hands and knees in the mud. Where are you? Don't leave me, please!

Dargus searched for several minutes, the rain steadily increasing. Soon the rain was so thick that large streams of water began to roll down the street, making it ever harder to find his precious possesion. That was it. He lost it. Heavily, he sat himself down in the mud, cupping his head in his hands. Steady tears were now with the water pouring down his face as sobs began to escape his muddied mass. Suddenly he lifted up his head towards the clouds and let out a loud, painful wail as he slammed his fists into the mud.

However, Dargus had forgotten that he had left his book sitting next to his carving knives, something that he rarely did. He was devastated by the thought of losing it, and as he sat in the street he mourned until it wore him out. As time passed he let his mind slip away and slowly drifted off to sleep, rolling in the mud.

Marius found himself torn between rage and pure grief. How had it escalated to this point? He wanted to walk straight to the mayor's house and tell him the entire thing was off, but he was beginning to think Dargus might come back with twice the pestilence. No, he couldn't call this trip off, but he certainly wanted to throw something now. The rain echoed his mood as he finally reached home, slamming the door loudly behind himself. It was still several hours to midnight, but the torrential downpour coupled with the set-sun had signed death for the day already. There wasn't much left to do now besides sleep or drink. Drink. Brandy sounded quite good right about now.

Pulling the stopper out of a glass bottle, Marius began to drink himself into unconsciousness.

Poke. Poke.

It was the early morning and Dargus was suddenly aroused by a group of children holding sticks. They were poking his face and belly while whispering with each other. "Do you think he's alive?" he heard one young boy of about eight years say. "Na, look at him, hes half in the ground!" said another.

It was true, Dargus was half buried by the mud that had flowed over him in his sleep. Opening is eyes he turned his head with great difficulty to stare at the children, who immediately jumped and ran away, spooked by his sudden awakening. Looking down at his body he noticed his legs and arms were both buried in a few inches of hard, dry mud; his face, belly, and toes were all that remained above ground. Exerting a great amount of strength, Dargus broke his arms free of the dirt and sat up. It was then that the pain of the previous night was recalled to his mind. His book... he had lost it. It was all he had left, and now it was gone.

As he broke the rest of his body free of the mud, Dargus stood and brushed himself off, which itself did little to remove the layer of crusty dirt that covered his body. With a heavy sigh he set off towards his home, hanging his head. Shortly he reached his home, and in futility wiped his feet on his mat before entering.

Through his house he created a trail, akin to that of a slug, of wet and dry mud as he dragged his feet. His head pounded, his sleep last night had not been good at all. As he entered his living room, he sat down next to the fire and picked up a piece of pine and a knife. Singing a melody to himself, he began carving away at it, tears etching a path through the dirt on his face. It was then that he saw it, out of the corner of his eye, his book! He paused and stared at it, feelings of relief and joy replacing those of pain and loss. Quickly he set his tools down picked up the book, kissing it.

"Oh thank the gods!" Dargus exclaimed out loud. His cheery mood was back, everything was right in the world again. Wait... wasn't I supposed to... "Marius!"

Quickly he sat up, putting the book inside his pocket. He had to hurry, he didn't want to keep his new friend waiting. Scrambling through his house he grabbed his satchel, his walking stick, and his jug of whiskey of which he took a quick drink. Wiping his beard, he stepped outside and marched off to Marius's house, still caked in mud.

"Look, I'm telling you, he's not coming! Let's just get this done with."

The young man shifted uncomfortably near the front of the cart, the dilemma clear on his face, "I can't do it, Marius. The mayor told me to be sure the both of you made it out of the town just fine. Said it was real important the two of you went out together, and the likes."

Marius flickered his eyes toward the town. Had he heard something? The morning was still young, but he had been waiting for Dargus out here for over an hour now, and he hoped against hope that he could just leave town and be done with the whole thing. A divine blessing it would be, if they were still possible, to be free of that man. He thought he heard the noise again.

"Fine, just give me the reins, I'll drive this infernal cart myself. Can't have Kova waiting, now, can we?"

Was someone calling his name?

The younger man saw Dargus before Marius got a chance, though, and his face lost whatever color was left in that fair skin, "You know what, who am I to say? Have a good trip, Marius!"

Marius looked at him curiously, surprised at the sudden change of heart. His confusion was remedied by his nose a moment later, though, as it alerted him to Dargus' presence on the opposite side of the cart. If he ever made it back to this town alive, he'd skin that boy for putting him through this.

OTHER SIDE

Keeran frowned, flipping off the dogs. "How dare you brutal mutts growl at me? Do you know who I am? I am Keeran, demon lord of the night!"

The dogs growled at him, obviously unimpressed. Speckles of drool flicked from their jaws as they shook their heads and barked loudly at him, and he shuddered. No way he was letting those filthy beasts get anywhere near him. Disgusting creatures!

Keeran sniffed haughtily, reaching towards his belt. No self-respecting freelance wealth distributor like himself would sneak unarmed into a high-profile target like this. He would have been a fool to forget something as vital as his smoke bombs, or his throwing knives.

Keeran was no such fool. With a laugh, his knives whipped through the air, slicing into the jugulars of two dogs ten feet away. The others snarled, and broke into a sprint. Before they could sink their teeth into his muscular flesh, he threw a smoke bomb in their noses. The acrid tang burned at their sensitive glands, and their eyes were all but rendered useless by the dark grey cloud issuing forth from the container.

With a cheery wave, Keeran sped out of the complex, making sure to grab his knives while darting past the dead dogs. He skidded to a halt in front of the gates, the dirt scraping beneath his boots as he did so. What to do, what to do. The gates were 12 feet high, comprised of vertical and horizontal black bars, with openings far too small to be used effectively as handholds.

No problem for the demon lord, though. Keeran pulled out a rope, lasso-ing it around the top of the nearest spike. He pulled the knot tight, and quickly scampered up to the top, flipping himself onto the other side of the gate. Not wanting to waste any materials, he undid the knot, stuffing the rope back into his pack. He glanced down at the 12 foot drop, swallowed, and let go.

It didn't hurt as much as he'd feared. He had done this plenty of times before, after all. He had relaxed before impact, using a series of rolls to disperse the force across the ground. He was horribly bruised, though; he wouldn't be able to walk around in public without long-sleeves. Nobody needed to see those hideous abrasions.

((This post is for Quill))

Despite the narrowness in Cradence, Dayn still found himself soaking wet before reaching his home. It was a smaller home, meant for a family of a modest income. The young man was looking forward to finally leaving the humble living quarters; he was meant for greater things than this. With his father ill, though, Dayn would be leaving the household without much income, even if they'd still have the ship. In Tyria, Cradence especially, women were considered of the lowest caste, married or not, so there was not much hope for his mother working in this instance. Perhaps they would be taken care of, perhaps not; it was no longer his concern. Come next morning he would be rid of it all.

As he approached the door, though, something seemed amiss. The lights inside seemed dim and on the doorstep a large bundle was evident. Upon reaching the house, Dayn’s suspicions seemed completely true. The door was locked, the shades on the few windows were shut, and all his belongings he had already packed were sitting on the doorstep. So that was how it was going to be, was it? Well, he didn’t need them anyway. His journey might just begin tonight after all.

Keeran swept down the street, his dark grey body suit melding into the dark cobblestones beneath his feet. He was heading towards his employer, his pack held securely at his side, and he was ready to be paid. He licked his lips. He would have to remember to charge his employer for the used smoke grenade, which, on top of the price of Skully, here, should net him around...

"300 heads? What is this?" Keeran sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of his employer's oak desk, watching incredulously as the buffoon leaned back into his plushy armchair.

"Well, Keeran," he drawled, "it's just that you alerted the guards to your presence, therefore making this job less impressive. People will hardly be awed by my burglary of the Skull of Tanthrib if it was so botchy and... amateurish."

Keeran seethed internally. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to sink his sparkling daggers into his employer's fat little neck, watching as the delicious blood flowed over their pristine surfaces. He licked his lips, entertaining the idea. But, he knew he would never make it three inches from that tantalizing neck; the man's bodyguards and snipers would undoubtedly nail him before he got that close.

Keeran flipped his silver bangs back, stroking the skull with his similarly coloured gloves. "Well, that's too bad," he pouted, standing up and stretching. "I guess I'll just have to find someone who isn't so... picky. Ah-ah-ah!" He said, waggling a reproving finger at the opposite man. "I wouldn't signal them, if I were you. Not if you want Skully-"

"The Skull of Tanthrib!" The man interjected tensely.

"Yes, that." Keeran said, tossing the skull back between his hands as he paced slowly across the room. "Not if you want Skully to stay in once piece."

The man paled. "You wouldn't-"

"I assure you, I would." Keeran leaned in closer, smirking. "I want my money, Mr. Yawazabe."

"Yawaizave."

"Gesundheit. Now, hand over the cash." Keeran hefted the skull in one hand, preparing to throw it against the wall.

"No!" Yawaizave said, starting forward. "Alright! I'll give you the money." He reached into his desk, pulling out a small pouch of clinking objects.

"Good." Keeran took the pouch, opening it carefully and inspecting the contents. When he was assured that the full bounty was hidden within, he closed it up, satisfied. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Yawazabe." He plunked the skull onto the desk and began to walk towards the door. Raising his hand in lazy farewell, he said, "we'll have to do this again sometime."

"I doubt it, Keeran." Yawaizave said dryly, leaning back into his chair. "You're a little too extreme for my tastes."

"Perhaps," Keeran mused, turning the knob and opening the door out onto the street. "But I get the job done."

"That you do, Keeran." The man mused, inspecting the Skull of Tanthrib as Keeran left the small building, "that you do." He snapped his fingers, a body-guard immediately stepping out of the shadows behind him. "Make sure he pays for this slight, Tanto."

The body-guard nodded, and headed towards a small door to the desk's left.

"Oh, and Tanto." The body-guard stopped, waiting. "Don't kill him, I have a few more targets I would like him to acquire for me. Idiot though he may be, he is still useful, and I have no desire to search for another thief. Trash his place, knock him around, just make sure he gets the message. Mess with Yawaizave, and Yawaizave messes back."

The streets of Cradence were soaked already, the cobblestone slick with all the water that pounded it from between the roofs. As Dayn stomped through the water, though, he didn't take too much notice. He was irritated at being kicked out of his own home, but it wasn't a huge surprise; the row he'd had with his father the night before didn't leave a whole lot of room for staying together any longer. Maybe after he was rich he'd send them some money to take care of themselves, but for now he couldn't be bothered by it.

He'd saved up a fair bit of money over the last year or two, though, and he still had that. A night of celebration in the bars sounded just fine to him, perhaps passing out with a pretty face or two. His body brimmed with excitement, as if he could feel the glory awaiting for him just over the sunrise. With a broad smile, he peeled off one of the main streets and into a tavern he was familiar with.

Keeran flopped onto a stool, and tapped his knuckles against the wooden surface of the bar. "Martini, and make it dry." The barman, a huge, muscular brute with hair like a bear's, nodded, and pulled out a flask.

Keeran spun around in his chair to face the tavern at large. It was a good place, for a tavern. Well, it had to be, otherwise he wouldn't be in it. As if he would ever grace a lowly, run-down hole with his glorious presence. No. Only the best taverns would suffice. This establishment's paint was new, its chairs intact, and the bar served unspiked, alcohol-free water. Of course, the patrons were still drunken idiots trying to kill each other, but that was part of the tavern experience.

He breathed deep, accepting the large glass given to him by the bartender. He raised the martini in a mock-salute to the tavern, and took a long sip. "What a night."

Dayn gave a sideways glance toward the door as flung open to reveal a silver-haired man coming in from the rain. Already sitting only a few spots from the newcomer, the young man kept an eye on him, careful to catch his order and even wrinkling his nose a bit at the sound of it; a martini? Dayn looked at his mug of ale before him, sizing it up. Already beginning to feel a little intoxicated, from his own drink, it took only a moment and a half before he decided he simply could not stand to be outclassed by this stranger.

Downing the remainder of the ale with a single gulp, Dayn slammed the mug onto the countertop, "Bartender! Get me one... no! Two! Of whatever that man just got. A... ah... a martin! That's the ticket." Sliding a pretentious look toward the newcomer, Dayn immediately began drinking the new alcohol the second it was in front of him.

Keeran smirked at the boy, watching as he downed his second martini. The boy's empty ale mug lay forgotten beside him, resting near the drained martinis. The boy was already well on his way to intoxicated; he wasn't planning on having fun tonight, but hey. Keeran was never one for letting an opportunity to mess with someone's head pass.

"Ooh, impressive," he said, impressed, "but can even a big strong man like you keep all that nasty alcohol down? I wonder," he said, reaching a concerned hand towards the empty martini glass as if to take it away, "can you handle your liquor? If not, then you should go home and sleep it away." He had definitely laid on that last part a little thick, but the boy was intoxicated. Anything that Keeran said had to be much more direct and exaggerated if the message was going to come across.

The bar in front of Dayn was beginning to get a bit hazy, but the man wasn't about to let that get in his way. Slapping his hand on the counter at the other man's words, he tried to look him in the eyes, though it became very difficult with his inability to focus, "Home! Don't got one, not no more. Don't need one! Keep yer business to yer'self, or I'll drink ye' under the ruddy table." His words were slurring together, clearly not a man who drank heavily enough to keep his alcohol from overly affecting him.

With another slap on the wood in front of him, Dayn tried to pull himself together, but focusing seemed a million times harder than usual. "Dayn Summit! You best remember the name, else you'll find yer'self... Find yer'self..." he paused, his face turning a nasty shade of green right as the bartender dropped a tin bucket in front of him. Without hesitation Dayn grabbed the bucket and vomited into it for a good second or two. Pushing it aside, the man put his arms onto the bar-top and slumped his head onto them, muttering to no one in particular, "I... I don't feel so great." He tried to make a vain threat to the bartender about the quality of his drinks, but the words fell apart halfway through each one.

"Summit, eh?" Keeran said, playing with his dry ear. It really did itch; he would have to remember to moisturize it later. "Well, little Hill, it certainly does seem like you can handle your liquor." He repressed a smirk, watching as the boy teetered back and forth in his chair.

"How about a little wager? A little... bet. I'm going to order you another drink, and if you can drink it and keep it all down, then I'll give you a place to stay. If you lose, then you'll have to be my little errand-boy. I wouldn't worry, though; I'm sure that a big guy like you can handle another mug." He signalled the bartender with a gloved finger. "One large mug of cheap ale, please."

Silence broke over Dayn for a long moment as he considered the drink before him. Finally, though, he frowned and looked to the silver-haired man with an offended look, only just realizing something. He shook his head sharply, though he wished he hadn't immediately after as his world spun hazardously through his eyes, "No. No! What, d'you think I'm stupid!" He gave a sharp jab with his thumb toward the ceiling of the tavern, "I've already got a place to stay right... right..."

Placing his hands on the counter again, Dayn wondered if he was about to throw up for a second time. Instead, though, a long, satisfying burp erupted noisily from the man's mouth. With a pleased smile, the man slouched back into his seat again, finishing his sentence, "Already got a place to stay right up there. Y'll have to do better than that." He paused, looking at the mug that now looked enormous to him, "Not that I couldn't finish it, 'course."

Keeran laughed lightly, leaning back on his stool. "Right, of course. You have a place to stay, how could I forget? You're staying in the tavern rooms. And I'm sure that you have a nice job to keep the money flowing in, so you can remain here. But," he said, tugging absently at his gloves, "of course you do, strong lad like you."

He took a sip of his martini, swishing around in his throat before looking back to the kid. "Money makes the world go 'round, after all." He sighed theatrically, leaning back again. "I was ready to pay you and everything. Nice place, decent pay, but... you're staying here. My mistake. I suppose I could always find someone else, but I was so excited to have you on the team."

He smoothed his black body suit, and stretched, as if to stand. "But, ah well. You're all set, so I have absolutely no chance of hiring you."

Dayn glared at the man out of the corner of his eye, too drunk now to figure out if he was making fun of him or not. He wasn't sure, but he didn't like it one way or another. Raising his hand to slam the bar again, he stopped halfway at a look from the huge bartender, letting the hand fall loosely to his side. With great difficulty he tried mulling over the possibilities in his head, but the fuzzy thoughts kept getting in the way every time he felt close to making a connection.

He was pretty sure he didn't want the man to leave just yet, but he kept forgetting why. Tomorrow was going to be the day he set off on his journey, but this man seemed like he might be important. Important people could be helpful, especially when you yourself deserved to be important already. That was it: the man couldn't be allowed to leave just yet! The glare slowly faded to mere suspicion as Dayn peered at the man, finally responding to his little monologue, "What kind of work?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," Keeran said, flapping his hand as if to say that it was of no real importance. He had the boy hooked; now it was the time for the actual questioning. "But," he said, frowning slightly, "how do I know that you aren't just a common mule? I mean, I could still use you, but I'd like my assistant," he emphasized that last word, "to be more... capable. What can you do for me, Hill?"

Dayn frowned at the man, once again not sure if he should be insulted or complimented. Narrowing his eyes, though, he looked at the man suspiciously, "This and that, is it? Well! That jus' sounds damn exciting." An assistant, was it? He kept trying to concentrate, failing more often than not. Assistants were grunt workers! For both this and especially that! He couldn't be reduced to a grunt worker, no sir.

Burping slightly, he straightened his posture as if to impress the man, "I... I am no assistant! I am a mage of the highest regard on my way to the... to the Temple of Asol. Tha's'right." He spoke the words as if he expected the other man to fall on his hands and knees at the mention of it. The bartender flicked an eye to Dayn's forehead, though, checking to be sure there was no tattoo there that would represent being a part of the group officially.

To Dayn, though, this man now represented a clear insult. How could he expect the great Dayn Summit to be his assistant. His lapdog! Absolutely unacceptable. With a bit of a sneer now, Dayn looked at the other man carefully. "M'fraid I leave firs' thing in the morning, so I'll neither be able to help you with this or that. Good--" he burped again, "day!"

Pushing away from the bar, the man did his best to touch on his feet smoothly, though he certainly did quite a bit of swaggering. One foot in front of the other, he began to walk slowly toward the staircase up. He was done with this man, to be sure!

Keeran shrugged lightly. "Very well. If you are a potential acolyte, then I'll be seeing you again soon enough anyway." He swirled the last few remaining drops in his drink, sipped, and stood. "Well, I'll see you at the Temple in the morning, Little Hill," he said, stretching. "Try not to look too hung-over; they don't like their acolytes to be staggering drunkards." He flipped a couple coins at the bartender, who caught them smoothly, checking the value before dropping them into a small tin behind the bar.