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Post by Admin on Jun 1, 2012 15:19:25 GMT -6
As the faint sun sinks below Hell's horizon, the shadows deepen. Some demons close shop as they retire to their meager lives. But for others, the day has just begun...
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Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2012 22:10:01 GMT -6
The Black Devilcat slides easily through the market crowd busy fingers relieving fools of their coins. He chuckles to himself as he shadows up to the edge of roof and looks out over those below him.
"Pigeons..." He stiffens at the scuff of a footstep behind him but relaxes as the other thief nods in passing and slips down a drainpipe.
After glancing around warily once more he shadows into an opening in the crowd below, losing himself again in the crowd.
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Post by Lysandor on Jun 4, 2012 13:41:30 GMT -6
A few alleys away, a pair of sterling eyes stare up sightlessly at the sky.
A short, heavily scarred Fallen lies in a pile of garbage, likely pushed out of the way by some demon or other. He's covered in wounds - some fresh, some only half-healed - and looks as though he hasn't a decent meal in several weeks.
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Post by Narrator on Jun 4, 2012 13:43:53 GMT -6
Demons scurry through the alleys - some on business, others running from something. Most pass the catatonic Fallen with barely a second glance.
One burly Nightmare, however, takes notice of him and pauses to study him for a moment. He smirks to himself and snorts in derisive amusement.
As he walks towards the Fallen for a better look, he says, "I've been lookin' for you. You got quite a bounty on your head, you know that?"
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2012 1:56:53 GMT -6
He's drawing close to his own quarter of the city and picking fewer pockets as he goes. After all it doesn't do to steal from your own. He sniffs the evening air and shadows suddenly to the nearest balcony, swinging up onto the roof instantly. He crouches down and takes in a long breath.
His ears flatten to his head and he creeps to the far edge of the roof. "Blessit Lysandor..." the devilcat hisses softly as he takes in the scene below. His eyes narrow and taps his claws on the tiles.
"What to do..."
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Post by Narrator on Jun 7, 2012 15:30:33 GMT -6
The Nightmare edges closer to the comatose Fallen, moving his head to better see him.
"You're not going to give me any trouble," he says decisively. He kneels to pick him up, and tosses him over a broad shoulder. "The Count's going to be pretty happy to see you again."
The Nightmare chuckles as he starts walking towards the opening of the alley, clearly imagining what he's going to do with the money from the bounty.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2012 1:57:33 GMT -6
Satarel whistles sharply and pulls the hood of his short cloak over his face. He flips off the roof aiming to land a few feet behind the Nightmare.
He touches down as a knife buries it's self in the bounty hunter's shoulder. On the roof stand two hooded masked figures, one tossing a dagger and the cranking up a crossbow.
The DevilCat smirks under his hood.
"Do you forget where you are? This is the King of Thieves territory... and you know what that means."
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Post by Narrator on Jun 20, 2012 13:35:38 GMT -6
The Nightmare yelps in pain as the dagger hits him, and he turns to confront his attacker. The comatose Fallen slides from his shoulder to the ground. His eyes widen and flames dim when he hears attacker's voice. With ears flattening against his head, he takes a step back.
"I was gonna give you a cut!" he says quickly, voice tight with pain.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2012 2:52:14 GMT -6
"A cut... how generous. And how much did you plan on tithing? Five percent? Ten?" Satarel taps his chin, looking over at Lysandor's comatose form on the ground.
"No... that just won't do. Not at all... I can't let you take that Fallen in. My master know what the count wants with him and has issued his own orders. So." He grins under his hood showing all his teeth and waves at the two on the roof.
"Just watch for the city guard for us."
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Post by Narrator on Jul 5, 2012 17:43:09 GMT -6
The Nightmare takes several steps back. "Of course! Whatever you say!"
He hurries to the end of the alley, flames dim on his mane and tail. One ear is forward, listening for the city guard, but the other is back and listening down the alley for any sounds that might suggest the Devilcat would betray.
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Post by Lysandor on Jul 5, 2012 17:49:16 GMT -6
Throughout the entire exchange, Lysandor's condition never changed.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2012 1:50:07 GMT -6
The hooded thieves on the roof jump down, as Satarel kneels beside Lysandor. "You birdbrained fool, what the hell are you doing out here... " He frowns and and shuts the Fallen's eyes.
"Gives me the creeps when you are like this... Take him to the inn... And call Doc. I doubt she'll be able to do anything for him but we can at least make sure he doesn't have any serious injuries." He straightens up as the larger of his lackeys heaves Lysandor over his shoulder. Satarel walks to the end of the alley.
"Agpeth, who's wanted by the crown is at the Putrid Trough. My master has no use for him. And you needn't bring us a cut... consider it a finders fee. Good luck."
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Post by Narrator on Jul 11, 2012 12:47:49 GMT -6
Satarel's lackeys haul the scarred Fallen and clear the way to a rather well-to-do pub. It is well-lit and already becoming crowded with customers and patrons. However, there are more than just the front door. Unbeknownst to the demons below, several shadowy, hooded figures lurk on rooftops, keeping on eye on the goings on.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 27, 2012 0:39:04 GMT -6
Satarel walks through the pub without pausing but he waves, winks and even blows someone a kiss. He hops over the bar and busses the cheek of the devil woman behind it, covering his whisper.
"I've got a client if anyone asks. I'll be in the basement if you need me."
Down the stairs and at the past of a row of huge ale casks he traces a certain pattern on a certain cask. The end swings open silently, revealing a small room complete with a bed, desk, stool and catatonic Fallen. A steaming bowl of water with a rag in it sits beside the bed. A clear message from his minions.
Satarel sighs and slides an arm under Lysandor, easing the coat over his scars.
"You... really owe me."
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Post by Lysandor on Sept 15, 2012 13:32:53 GMT -6
The Fallen makes no response, gives no sign that he's heard or seen anything.
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Post by Narrator on Sept 26, 2012 18:47:51 GMT -6
A small Demonling skitters into the room, eyes darting but never daring to stray at the Fallen on the bed.
"Doc can't come, sirs," he squeaks. "Says she's up to her elbows in Rachet gutses."
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Post by Deleted on Sept 30, 2012 23:31:40 GMT -6
Satarel curses quietly. "Fine..." he cuffs the Fallen and glares at the demonling. "I'll be out for a while. You stay here with him and make sure he doesn't die or stink up the place." The Devilcat smiles grimly, and sweeps out of the barrel.
He prowls back upstairs, nuzzling up to Cerist. "Take messages for me would you. The Master needs something for his little project..." He gives a long suffering sigh and teleports to the stairs and then up them.
Moments later he is out on the roofs again, teleporting across them so quickly he's nearly invisible.
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Post by Admin on Oct 1, 2012 15:57:36 GMT -6
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