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Author Topic: Chapter 2B: Emerging from the Shadows  (Read 22842 times)
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Luca the Thief
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« Reply #60 on: May 08, 2006, 08:13:23 AM »

Luca remained stoic as the duke approached her and clasped her hands, swallowing the flood of foul words that bubbled to mind. He was serious. He really truly thought that the half-elf would have the slightest to do with him and his body, regardless of it's physical appeal. Luca couldn't help but detest him with every fibre of her being, and at the same time, pitied his naivity and foolishness of taking her jabs to heart. The moment Tasuli turned her back to her, Luca snapped her gaze to Elen, her eyes wide with mock alarm and disbeleif, her lips pulled tight into a poorly checked smile as she flushed with the effort of holding back laughter.

Now what!? her eyes cried to the female counterpart, but Luca was forced to quickly remedy her moment of loss of control as Tasuli, in all his nude glory, had once again turned to face her. The half-elf sighed, tossing back her head to knock the hair from her eyes, gripping the vial of oil. Without much effort, she kicked off her boots and waded into the swirling, chilled river to her thighs, just below the hem of her short skirt, and looked Tasuli over.

"Do you expect me to get me clothes all wet for you, fellow?" she asked as calmly as possible, though her familiar sarcastic twang could not escape her voice, and the words fell from her lips with an unintentionally teasing suggestion.

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Tasuli Rose
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Half-elf Ylfferhim / Erpheronian


« Reply #61 on: May 12, 2006, 04:38:23 AM »

A blush spread across his cheeks, deepening in hue as the young Duke gazed down at his nude body, seeming to suddenly become embarrassed. Sinking lower into the stream, the water rising to his neck, he bashfully glanced at Luca before looking away once more. At the thought of her hands roaming his naked body, rubbing and caressing, the blush spread to encompass his neck and shoulders. Shyly biting down on his lower lip, he crossed his arms across his chest as though the water alone was not enough to conceal his nudity. Whispering softly, he glanced up at her once again. “Erm... I’m sure I could bathe myself. I never have before, but I’ve watched my servants do it often enough.”

The blush faded as lust burned within his gaze. His gaze focused upon her shapely legs as the water swirled around them, his gaze moving upward to her skirt as his lust consumed mind pondered the feminine mysteries hidden beneath it. Eyes roaming her curvaceous hips, a sly smile crossed his lips. Standing in the stream as the water flowed around his waist, his lower parts yet concealed, he began to slowly walk toward her, every step revealing slightly more of his nude form as the water became more shallow. Tones of confidence and lust resonated within his voice as he spoke once more. “Afraid of getting wet are ya? Well, you’ll just have to learn to like the water.”

As he neared the girl, the muscles of his well toned legs contracted and released as he leapt, his arms spread wide to wrap around her and bear her to the riverbed beneath him. Once again, he sought that which she would not give freely.  

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Luca the Thief
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« Reply #62 on: May 20, 2006, 12:23:23 PM »

“Afraid of getting wet are ya? Well, you’ll just have to learn to like the water.”

Luca wasn't quite sure if she was amused by this poor boy or simply pitied him. Whatever she felt, it was far from intimidation. Though he was taller than her (and even then, he didn't prove to be an especially imposing specimen) and was, clearly, more physically able, Luca was not a novice when it came to dealing with touchy-feely leches.

Tasuli eagerly thrust himself upon her, but Luca had been keen enough to shift her weight to the side over so slightly without his observation. Though her timing was slightly off (she blamed this on her pesky widening hips, figuring that men were becoming increasingly less attracted to her with every coming day and thus less inclined to rape her, distressing the young woman considerably) the half-elf managed to use Tasuli's hasty attitude against him. Hauling to the side, she rolled the duke past her and twisted him about, pushing him backwards into the muddy, sloshing banks of the river. Unfortunately, due to a mild miscalculation, the thief too pitched forward into the soggy depths, landing roughly atop her aggressor and pinning him down... and under the water.

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Tasuli Rose
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« Reply #63 on: July 01, 2006, 01:18:23 AM »

Spluttering as he was forced beneath the water, Tasul’i nevertheless kicked his legs, vainly struggling. Darkness enshrouded his vision as his head sank beneath the rushing water. Frantically reaching up, his hands clawed at the clothes of his former victim, scrambling to grasp anything by which to pull himself up, succeeding only in pulling her down into the muddy waters with him. Rolling over, he dislodged Luca from her position astride him, thereby dumping her into the river as he stood, crimson locks plastered to his scalp and pale skin glistening in the sunlight. A scowl twisted his lips as he balefully glared down at the thief, emerald eyes ablaze with rage. Reaching down, his fingers maliciously entangled in her hair as he lifted her by it, lifting her to her feet as he stared into her dark eyes.

“Did thou not just make an attempt upon my life? A crime of such magnitude is punishable by death, but perhaps I shall make an exception for such a pretty toy as thou.” Pulling her close, Tasul’i roughly kissed her on the lips as his hand tilted her chin upward, the other hand yet entangled in her hair. Ending the kiss as suddenly as it had begun, he shoved her down, pushing her beneath the water, using his grip upon her hair to hold her there. A cruel smile crossed his face that failed to reach his eyes.  

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Yarg Anklebiter
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« Reply #64 on: July 02, 2006, 08:43:23 AM »

Slowly, darkness faded into clarity. Taking a quick survey of his surroundings, Yarg realized things were very much different than he last remembered. For one thing, they ground was not shaped remarkably like a horse. Jolting out of his awakening stupor, Yarg bolts up, causing his body to dislike its position on top of the horse and promptly deciding to fall off with an 'oomph'.

Getting up and dusting himself off, Yarg once again tries to figure out where he is and what is going on. Glancing around, he sees people in the river including the violent man from before. He was holding something underwater with a particularly grumpy look on his face. Confused, Yarg stares at this situation until he sees a leg flailing from out of the water. This boy was holding a person underwater! Why is he so violent!?

Armed with his anger, yarg marches right up to and into the river, walking up to the nude man and, the water up to his waist, scolds him fiercely.

You listen here, young man! What is your problem? Are you not intelligent enough to control that little temper of yours? Why can't you just calm down and stop hurting people? Look at that poor girl there, Yarg gestures at the suffocating Luca, Are you honestly evil and stupid enough to want to hurt her? You need to learn to grow up.

Whenever I see a Fire, I try to put it out. 'Cept unlike the usual methods, I use OIL!!

- Yarg

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Luca the Thief
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« Reply #65 on: July 02, 2006, 09:23:23 AM »

She could have bitten his lips right off his pretty little face.

Luca should have expected a violent response, but the pain on her scalp came without warning and as she resurfaced from the water, the half-elf let out a shrill, curt cry, clenching her jaw. Face flushed with rage, the thief's eyes burned lividly with a fiery spirit, now intense with loathing.

It was only when his despicable lips touched hers that Luca realized just what she felt for him. She hated this boy. She hated him in so many ways. In a vain attempt to escape Tasuli, Luca writhed violently to the side despite his grasp on her hair, only to be recieved with another icy plunge into the water. He was a man, and that made him strong, far stronger in her prone position for Luca to have any ability to escape on her own. Her head collided with a rock on the shore and the pain erupted like a burst bubble all across her scalp. Attempting to shout out, Luca lost her air in a plume of bubbles and continued to struggle, legs flailing in an attempt to catch him a tender spot.

Long, unbearable seconds passed and Luca's lungs burned whilst the cut on her temple bled as a thin mist into the moving current. Heart pumping, consciousness would not grace her for much longer if she remained underwater. Luca opened her eyes and looked up as she thrashed, with less enthusiasm now. The sun filtering through the dirty water nearly blinded her, but she saw a glimmer of orange and red standing not far from where she was being held.

Red. A sash. A boy. My brother... she thought absently, memory of another savior temporarily brushing the pain of her lungs, eyes and head from her mind. But as the nostalgia followed it's course, as did the more unpleasant memories, and without remembering that she was underwater, Luca gasped for air.

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Tasuli Rose
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« Reply #66 on: July 03, 2006, 10:23:23 AM »

If only there were compassion within his heart, then perhaps the young duke would grant this pathetic creature mercy and not prolong her torment. Yet to pity others was to be weak, and weakness was a luxury of the common man, not nobility. Never again would Tasul’i trust the good intentions of others, to do so would lead to betrayal as it had in the past. Nor did he dare trust himself, for tempting whispers resounded within the darkest recesses of his mind, luring him to commit deeds even he found atrocious. Temptation was the demon that haunted him most, one to which he often succumbed.

Gazing about with the shock of one freshly awoken, as if viewing the scene before him for the first time, Tasul’i blinked, shaking his head as if to the clear the cobwebs. Slowly his grip on the comatose thief loosened, releasing her body to settle within the murky waters. Lifting both hands before his eyes, he stood, dumbfounded as he gazed upon the instruments with which he had inflicted such agony. What madness possessed him that he had to harm others to sate his dark lusts? No one deserved to be the victim of such senseless rage, least of all a member of the fairer gender. As he glanced down at the stream as it flowed around his legs, his own reflection caught his attention, eyes alight with insanity. How he hated those eyes, unblinking as they stared back at him. With a self loathing, he raised his hands to his face, bestially snarling as his nails raked his pale flesh, miraculously avoiding his eyes by chance or subconscious design. Blood flowed freely from the scratches upon his face. As if the pain could alleviate his guilt, his hands descended, clawing at his torso and arms. Crying out savagely, Tasul’i threw himself down, landing toward the middle of the stream, shoulders scraping against sharp rocks. As he sat up, blood mingling with the murky waters of the stream, vehement whispers could be heard by those near him.

“Murderous fool! What right does thou have to life as his corpse lies beneath the earth? Thou deserves death. Only when the worms consume thy rotten flesh will justice be served. Just lie down within this stream as the water flows over thou, coaxing thou into an eternal slumber. Never again would thou experience doubt, pain, or the desires that haunt thou so. Nor would thou ever harm another creature again. Grant thyself mercy and end this pitiful existence.” Falling silent, he began to lie back, eyes closing as the water flowed over his scratched face, at peace for the first time in his life.

One last sight remained upon his mind, one he saw even with his eyes closed, burned upon his memory as it was. It was of the halfling, standing within the stream, eyes silently accusing. Tasul’i remembered watching the lips of the wee one move, yet if he spoke then the noble could not recall the words. Yet one memory of the halfling remained vivid. Even immersed in water, he could feel the flames, consuming the fabric of his tunic, maliciously seeking to taste his flesh.

Bolting upright, his eyes snapped open, gazing upon the halfling with undeniable fear. Slowly he scooted backward in the stream, gaze ever focused upon the diminutive form of the halfling, not halting until his hind end sat within the shallows of the far shore. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, as if the stream could protect him from the fire mage as it would ordinary flames. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood yet evident upon his face, as he rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around his knees, gaze yet intent upon the halfling.  

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Elendilwyn
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« Reply #67 on: July 03, 2006, 03:05:23 PM »

Elen was further downstream, away from the rest of the group, far enough to only realize what was going on with the Duke and Luca a little later than she should. With the clothes sore from being scrubbed hard, a consequence of Elen’s annoyance, she had momentarily faced upstream and saw the Duke violently pushing Luca under water. Horrified, she dropped the piece clothing she was holding and ran back… not that she really knew what she had to do but instinctively, she knew she had to do something. That was until the hobbit appeared.

For a while, there seemed to be a truce, the hobbit and Luca on one hand, the Duke on the other. She was about to help bring Luca back to the shore when she saw the Duke throw himself into the middle of the stream, face lined with trails of blood, coupled with the new red wisps that found its path on the water's surface, wounds he made for himself upon hitting the rocks—this idiot has a death wish—and it was not compassion that hit Elen but frustration, anger and impatience. She was not going to sit around and be docile any longer. Any more pushing around from this insane young boy, they would never get to their journey’s end.

She looked at the hobbit and said, “Please take care of Luca here. There are some fresh clothing in the saddlebags. Take what you need. It won’t do to have her falling sick. There is food and water too. Help yourself. I have to see to that big baby of a boy.” With that line, she turned around and walked towards the Duke.

She waded into the stream and stood next to Tasuli. She looked at him, crossed her arms and made no attempt to help him up but instead went, “I don’t care for your whims and fancies. I don’t care about your own misery and self-pity. We are all here to do a job and that is to assist you and get this journey done and over with. If you cannot even allow us the decency of respect on this quest then really, you do not deserve to be a Duke. You are just an empty shell, one with a title but no grace to contain that title. Saying all these as a servant, I am out of line but if you cannot behave like a Duke, I don’t see why any of us should behave like servants. Now, would you please stop behaving like a baby and get up. We wasted enough time trying to please you already. If you cannot be bothered with propriety, none of us will bother too.”

With those words fresh on her lips, she turned her back on Tasuli and walked back towards the shore, turning around to add, “when you are done being immature, come to the shore and I will dress your wounds.”


The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

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Luca the Thief
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« Reply #68 on: July 03, 2006, 04:27:23 PM »

The water rushed into her lungs like a team of horses, searing and constricting at her chest where it did not belong. Sure of death, her mind no longer clouded by memories long past and adrenline surging through her veins, Luca heaved out of the water choking and gagging. The fact that Tasuli had released her did not seem especially pressing to the thief as she lurched for the shore, coming close to toppling the little man over in her blind search for air. Water escaped her lips with every shiver, but still Luca could find no breath to ease the pain in her chest. Tears were streaming down her face when Luca crumpled to the ground still hacking.

After some long seconds combatting to find her lungs, the half-elf was finally able to wheeze with relief, still clearing her throat which had grown raw with the effort. Running a hand through her dripping hair, the cut on her temple stung and she looked down at her red palm.

Luca cursed viciously under her breath, looking up and around. She was forced to squint in the daylight and had difficulty recognizing Yarg and Elen. While she had not lost an excessive amount of blood, in addition to the panic, exertion and her empty stomach, it had taken a toll on Luca.

"I need..." she stammered, attempting to stand simultaneously but flopping back down with a moist squish on the grass before she could finish. "Ugh..." Blood rushed behind her eyes and the half-elf constricted her face, falling backwards and covering her eyes with her hands, willing the pain away. "That rat bastard....."

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Tasuli Rose
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« Reply #69 on: July 05, 2006, 01:52:23 AM »

Fear faded to be replaced by indignation as the maid scolded him. Never before had anyone dared to speak to him in such a manner, and the young noble did not appreciate it now. Even his mother, the Duchess, did not have the right to accost him so, not that she would dare to for fear of his wrath. To allow such insolence was to invite it to occur again, and as a noble it was his duty to ensure that those around him knew their place.

Standing, skin glistening with a mix of blood and water, Tasul’i waded across the stream, gaze intent upon the servant. The presence of the others was scarcely noticed by him, not even pausing to look down at Luca as he stepped over her. If guilt for her condition existed within him, then it was not apparent within his expression, as only anger showed there. Moving to stand before Elendilwyn, seemingly not bashful about his nudity, one hand descended, his intention being to slap her across the mouth.

“Learn thy place, servant, and dare not to scold thy betters.” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion as he spoke. As he looked at the scratches upon his arms and torso, blood freely flowing from them, his expression became pensive. Glancing up to gaze at Elendilwyn, he addressed her yet again. “What wounds does thy see? I am invincible, nothing may inflict harm upon my body. Bring me my sword and I will prove to thou that the blade cannot pierce my flesh.” He gestured toward the sword hanging upon his saddle within its blue scabbard as the stallion peacefully grazed.

He was above the woes of mortals and could not be harmed by their afflictions. To even imply that he could be harmed was blasphemy.  

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Elendilwyn
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« Reply #70 on: July 05, 2006, 03:02:23 PM »

If there was any moment that she suspected he was completely mad, it had to be now. That silly boy apparently had no clue about his own physical condition though for a moment she was afraid when he raised his hand in the attempt to slap her and had stepped back instinctively to create more distance between the both of them.

“Learn thy place, servant, and dare not to scold thy betters.”

And was about to respond that she did not think he was better than any of them but he had gone on to ask about his wounds. She was torn between further anger and pity but eventually went in favour of the latter. She looked at him point blank and replied…

“You are only human like the rest of us and if we don’t see to those wounds soon enough, they will get infected and your perception of your own invincibility or should I say mortality will come hitting home like a sword across your neck,” ignoring his gesture requesting for his sword.

Against her better judgment, she reached out to take his arm, with the intention of leading him back to shore to be attended to.


The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

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Tasuli Rose
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« Reply #71 on: July 10, 2006, 10:27:23 PM »

One could mistake him for a child, overlooking the physical qualities that belied such a conclusion as he followed Elendilwyn to the shore. A sharp cry of pain escaped his lips as her hand brushed along a scratch and tears flowed down his cheeks. Yanking his arm from her grasp, he sullenly took a seat upon the grass, scowling at the stallion as it nudged him. Arms wrapped around his knees, he sat and watched as the maid approached, making no move to resist her attempts to bandage him.

Curiosity shone in his eyes as his gaze turned to Luca, yet laid out upon the grass, recovering from her earlier ordeal. He frowned as if trying to recall the past few moments, eventually failing to do so. Turning his gaze back to Elendilwyn, he asked in a childish and somewhat high-pitched voice.

“What happened to her?”

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Elendilwyn
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« Reply #72 on: July 11, 2006, 06:37:23 PM »

Tasuli seemed to have calmed down somewhat, probably tired from all his tantrums. It would give them all a peace of mind if he would sleep for a while. As he sat and sulked, Elen’s heart softened somewhat and proceeded to handle him as gently as she could, cleaning the blood stains with a piece of cloth—nothing too major that would require bandages and fresh air would help them heal faster. His eyes wandered to Luca and she followed his gaze, immediately remembering that Luca needed to be seen to as well and wondering how the hobbit was dealing with her.

“What happened to her?”


Elen was not sure how she should answer him as she herself was not sure both about Luca's present condition and what had transpired earlier—but no harm scaring him a little—and looking him squarely in the face she said, “you tried to kill her… her life is probably in danger now and if she dies, you will have guilt forever in your heart.” She paused and continued, “I will leave you to your rest. You had better get some sleep. I need to see to Luca,” and proceeded to get up and leave.


The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

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Tasuli Rose
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Half-elf Ylfferhim / Erpheronian


« Reply #73 on: July 14, 2006, 03:29:23 AM »

Languidly his gaze followed her delicate hands as they cleansed his wounds, wincing occasionally at the slight sting of the water upon his open cuts. Tasul’i seemed disinclined to move, think, or even realize his own nudity, content to sit upon the shore, corpse-like. As her words resounded through the air, his head slowly lifted, green eyes gazing into those of sou’cald blue, lips parted slightly in astonishment, slowly mouthing the word “kill” as the realization of what he had done weighed upon his mind.

He had enjoyed it immensely, this could not be denied, the sensation of having the life of another within his grasp, to extinguish as he pleased. It was exhilarating to have such control, for someone to be dependent entirely upon his mercy. Flexing his fingers as he gazed down at them, a cruel smile crossed his lips. Again and again he would succumb to the seduction of sadism, inflicting pain upon others for his own petty amusement.

As Elendilwyn stood and began to walk away, he thrust out one long leg toward her ankles, hoping to trip her, wishing for her to fall upon her face. Licking his lips as another thought occurred to him, namely that there should be blood, painting her pretty face a deep shade of crimson. He then proceeded to lift one arm to his lips, tongue flickering out as that of a serpent’s, trailing along the blood that remained upon his cuts, emerald eyes alight with delight as they watched Elendilwyn.

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Elendilwyn
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« Reply #74 on: July 18, 2006, 02:35:23 PM »

She had seen Tasuli place his foot in front of her with the intention of tripping her, though not quite in time to prevent herself from tripping but still managed to catch her fall in time. She just fell on her knees, breaking the fall with her hands. She could feel anger rising within her as she turned back to glare at him but decided at the last split second not to give him the pleasure of seeing how the fall affected her and smiled instead, though it could be said that it was a grimace more than a smile. Getting up and dusting the dirt of her clothes, she continued walking towards Luca.  


The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

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