Things Don't Leave on Their Own

Things Don't Leave on Their Own

Postby Rattrap » Tue Sep 19, 2006 3:43 pm

Corporal Anthony Cooper had worn one uniform or another of Myrken Wood's guard for a little under a decade. Unlike just about any other territory, that stretch of time is a feat - just to survive in Myrken Wood that long is a feat. But not all things that haunt this haunted territory were necessarily violent and not all were bent on destruction. Some just like to take things...which Anthony was no stranger to. Neither was he a stranger to fantastic stories.

"I'm telling you, Corporal, my Dragon ruby necklace was right there, on my desk! I turned around for two seconds and it was gone. There was nobody else in there! I heard nothing! It's the work of Drow, Corporal!"

The man telling Anthony this story was a noble, as one could expect from another who owns a Dragon ruby necklace. The Corporal didn't even know what the difference was between that and a normal ruby necklace. He wasn't about to ask. No, instead he went through the pertinent, actually useless questions that made the victim feel more comfortable.

"Sir, where was the last place you saw your necklace?"

On the desk, of course. The noble had already said that. One would be amazed how quickly the information could change with direct questioning, though.

"On my desk, you fool! I already said that!"

Strike one for the Corporal. He took the insult in stride, not breaking the stoney expression he wore after first hearing the man bellow about the theft. Internally, he frowned. Anthony was a fine guard, really; he had no problem with fending off the evil plagues, or even dying to protect innocent lives (to a certain extent). However, one thing he could never stand was nobles crying theft when so much as a gold coin disappears. As if they couldn't continue living.

"All right, sir, is there anyone who would know where you keep your necklace?"

"Only my wife, Corporal! And she said nothing about it. It's the work of the Drow, I tell you! Only they could be capable of such a dispicable act!"

See, this is exactly what Anthony hated. The Drow don't give a damn about any stupid necklace, nor is the theft of even on the same scale of dispicable as some of their other passtimes. In other words, it was far more likely the wife was getting irritated and stole it for some cushioning to leave the noble. He was such a catch, after all.

"All right, sir. I'll head back to the Barracks right away and file a report."

"I'm glad to hear it, Corporal! Banish those damned Drow for everything they've done!"

"...good night, sir."

Anthony passed the noble and finally wore the frown he felt, shaking his head ever so discreetly. He was actually going back to the Barracks, though this wasn't anything to do with the noble's plight - just happenstance that his shift was over. Hell, the Corporal might actually write the report.


* * *

In Myrkentown, there are a lot of abandoned houses. The territory brimmed with life, once - as a matter of fact, it does often, and seems to always return to its lively state. So soon after the second coming of the Bloody Flux, this is not the case - many buildings and homes are left empty, their occupants long passed. Most of these buildings have been cleared of the bodies, a joint effort by the Brotherhood and good samaritans. Not many stuck around for the giant funeral pyres erected to safely dispose of potential zombies.

Of course, with unclaimed property, there's always someone who comes along to take it as their own. Some are just squatters, others eager merchants looking at either new shops or just land to sell; some are more genuinely claimed by the kin of the passed. In the cellar of one of these numerous locations - one of the more rundown, half-rotting and collapsing structures - sits a perfectly intact table, untouched by the decrepidation above. Two short wooden stools sat beside it.

On this table gleamed a large purse of Myrken shilling, a few miscellanous gems, a shining gold breast plate, and a Dragon ruby necklace - all reflected back by six inhuman eyes.
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So it Continues...

Postby Rattrap » Thu Sep 21, 2006 3:37 pm

The Dripping Peach is a little known tavern inbetween Foggy Bottom and Myrkentown. It boasts no particular reputation for anything and those that work there like it that way. The food is okay and moderately priced. It gets a lot of its business by simple necessity - people passing through Myrken Wood from south to north usually take a rest there. Especially after whatever horror they'd gone through during their short, inevitable stay at the Broken Dagger.

Those are the lucky few that are just passing through, anyway. Regulars and residents have some sick fascination with going there. But that's besides the story.

This concerns a barmaid there named Tammy, and a customer named Gerard. Gerard was a well-to-do traveler; he ordered a lot and had big currency with no change. He was weak to beautiful women, which usually resulted in large tips. This particular night was no different.


"Ah, lovely meal this was. I shall be quite content on the rest of my travel through Myrken Wood on this stomach!"

Tammy treated the fellow with a smile, moving to collect some of his finished dishes. A shrill cry erupted on the other side of the bar, almost causing her to drop her load. "My purse! Where is my purse?!"

Tammy simply stood there in mild shock, heart beating quickly with the sudden adrenaline rush. Shrill cries were for those dying or about to die, not for those who simply missplaced their money. She frowned, annoyance setting in quickly. Gerard didn't seem to plussed about it, taking out his own purse to settle the tab and leave that generous tip. This eased the barmaid's distress a bit and she headed into the kitchen to deposit the dishes.

When she returned, her heart skipped a beat at the sight behind the bar. A figure lay in wait, indescribable due to twisted and incomplete shadows, yet distinctly inhuman, with an inhuman body and an inhuman number of limbs with altogether inhuman limbs - the hand was caught in clear light, though Gerard had already turned away and no other patrons were alert to catch it: four long, hideous digits of dark, hairless flesh. Gerard's price was snatched up quickly before the shape disappeared suddenly and completely right in front of Tammy's eyes.

She decided to call it a night.
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When Theives Get Theived

Postby Rattrap » Mon Sep 25, 2006 5:58 am

Cuthbert - as he was only known, and it was unlikely that was even a truthful first name - was a thief. A rather good thief, in fact - he wasn't a large man and bore really no distinctive features or marks. He was nimble, careful, and quick. He had been a performer before he found thieving to be rather profitable.

In fact, Cuthbert stole Aloisius Treadwell's wedding band right off his finger in the middle of the Broken Dagger and made off with it. Whether or not this makes him an excellent thief banks on one's opinion of Aloisius Treadwell. The then-Councilor was naturally asleep during the...exchange.

Of course, Cuthbert sold the ring for all that he could. Not only that, but he then stole it back and sold it to someone else. And then again. After the third transaction, some of the more crooked merchants were getting smart to his ploy. Unfortunate, but considering the success of such a small theft, Cuthbert was hardly plussed about it.

Until that ring and all the coins he'd made from it were stolen from him.

Cuthbert took up no official residence. That just meant taxes and all that was an unnecessary burden. He preferred it that no one really knew he was even in Myrken Wood. So far as he could tell, few did. Fewer still that could take things right under his nose. Cuthbert's loot was spread across a desk in another of one those unoccupied houses, ready for counting. There were no fires lit (that would give away the status of the house, naturally), no windows. Only one door. The night was quiet and, really, Cuthbert had no reason even remotely to believe that his stolen goods and profit were in any danger.

Nonetheless, he stepped out for just a moment to relieve himself only to find on his return that his loot was relieved from him. No footsteps, no creaks, not even the sound of coins clinking together.
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The Marketplace

Postby Rattrap » Fri Sep 29, 2006 5:51 am

The air was calm and still as the sun approached noon, though Melinda Kvatch certainly couldn't see it. Few could; the sky was enveloped in gray and a thick fog did the same to the ground-dwelling folks in Myrkentown's town square. All in all, it simply wasn't that great of a day. It was made even less so by Melinda's illness, though that was hopefully a minor thing that would pass quickly. Melinda was blessed with an unusual resistance and recovery to illness, among other qualities.

Martin Kvatch was only blessed with Melinda, and perhaps a natural affinity for breaking things and people. He was gentle more often than not (he never and would never harm a lady! ...Drow being an exception), but his rage was clear and definitive to those who crossed him and Melinda. They owned a quaint little shop just off the square, selling just about anything: jewelry, trinkets, and other oddities. Even the occasional enchanted weapon passed through their hands, though those passed rather quickly. The shop is called 'Rarities of Amasynia'. Melinda usually does the bartering, Martin usually does the breaking of people who get uppity. Overall, they've enjoyed mild success on average, though they have almost lost their shop entirely during the Plagues and other times money was better spent on saving one's own life instead of useless trinkets.

Having heard of the recent string of thefts, they took more care in the security of their shop. Martin came in early and armed, checking to see that the merchandise that was present the evening before was still so. Today, this was still the case. In fact, nothing unusual happened until the noon hour came upon Myrken Wood.

With Melinda at home due to her illness, Martin was left to his own style of charisma. There were only a half dozen potential customers - only two actual. When noon came, the shop was empty save for Mister Kvatch. He decided to make the best of the slow time and eat. After detaching his sword and placing it on the counter, he took a seat nearby. The sword was a beautiful, unusual blade; one of the aforementioned enchanted weapons that Martin simply couldn't let go for any price. His seat had arms, making it uncomfortable to sit while the sheath was still attached - hence the removal. With no one in the shop and the sword only five feet away in plain sight, its theft was grouped with the other things that ranked as the last things on Martin's mind. No, not even on his mind. The bread loaf stuffed with tomatos was much higher in the priority list.

But of course, Martin was but two bites into his lunch when he spotted sudden movement by his sword. Just a quick flash of a hand, reaching from the other side of the counter to drag the sheathed weapon out of sight. The surprise of this stunned the man for a moment - not just because of its outrageousness, but that the hand had been distinctly inhuman. Unlike anything he'd ever seen.

That soon gave away to rage. The brutish merchant sat down his meal, took the spare club from under the counter (he always felt it was better to be prepared) and lept over the counter, fully prepared to pummel to death whoever or whatever it was that had just brazenly taken his sword.

There was another moment of surprise when there simply wasn't anybody or anything there. The following curses scared away the seventh potential customer before she even entered the shop.
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