[Open/Jack/Richard] Get Away

[THE NARRATOR]

Taking place at the same time as the discovery and the chase by the accursed man of his missing portrait, in an alleyway not far from a place most if not all mythical beings take notice of and know about, also known as the Troll Markets, a singular man was being chased. This man was no one in particular, singled out not at random but for a single transgression that he had perpetrated upon a woman working at a bar as a waitress.

The air is salty, faintly rank with odors typical of the sea and all of her wiles. Fish, spray and the unnatural scent of diesel fuel for the ships in the harbor. The ground itself was moist and glistened in the sunlight from the ambient water, making the cobblestone alleyway slick and hazardous to anyone not truly prepared for it.

Old crates, some damaged and destroyed, others faintly new and still discarded litter the sides of the ally near the walls. Pieces of paper flutter if they were dry enough and lucky enough to catch the rare breeze that managed to find its way into the dead end trap of this tomb of modern society.

What was this terrified man running from, you ask? The answer itself is simple enough, and yet terrifying at the same time. He was running from shadows. Mere flashes of darkness that chased him from heaven to hell and back again, or so it seemed to the one being chased as he scrabbled along the cobble stone.

To be sure, the terrified man was being hunted, corralled into a place with very few travelers, even fewer listeners and only the man and his hunter and whatever god either of them believed in.

This all being said, allow us to continue our next chapter in our story, or at least the second part to the very beginning, yes?

[richardhead]

"No, please don't hurt me!"

In that dark alleyway people always say they don't want to meet someone, someone met that someone they were terrified of. He had been warned, of course, and in the end he made one slight transgression. You see, the person in question was one of a local gang called the Night Runners. How they came up with their name is irrelivent.

The transgression was simple. He tried to hit on one of the ladies of a local bar that Richard Head visits whenever he is in port. Mr. Head is a sailor, but not in any particular Navy. He works as a helmsmen and captain of a smaller vessel, capable of transoceanic travel, and he had a particular voyage planned once his very reluctant and repulsive partner arrived with whatever cargo he was carrying.

However, even as he thought over these small details, the wimpering of the gang member cowering before him brought him back to reality. The man had been roughed up already, scuff marks, cuts that would definatly scar, and other various wounds already littered the surface of his body, and Richard gave a somewhat lopsided grin, even as he held a very sharp shortsword/dagger (The honed edge is only 12 inches) that he claimed was a gift from a friend. He used it partially as a wall ornament in his cabin, as well as for gutting some of the larger fish they might catch in the ocean.

"I warned you. I warned you away from her. I specifically warned you never to touch them again with your hands, you pathetic sack of shit!"

Enthusiasm and venom dripped from his words as his grin turned into a snarl and a sneer, curling the once handsom face into a monsterous expression of itself. As the man watched in horror as the twisting and perversion of the human face and body continued beyond simple expression, the hunter of man changed, shifted into a semi-creature like form, complete with fangs, a beastly vissage and glistening claws emerging from his fingertips.

The effect upon the man complete, as he was reduced from fearsome gang member to dribbling moron from fear and a decent helping of physical abuse. The hunter took a couple of deep breaths before halting the change his blood lust had taken upon him and reversing it.

After a gesture of his hand for the quivering man to stand was not followed imediatly, Richard growled to himself and lifted the man bodily by his collar, setting him on his feet roughly, holding him upright so he could regain his feet.

"I warned you to stay away from her. You didn't listen. You get only one warning, and that was it. Punishment paid out, no more warnings. You will stay away from her, understand me?"

Richard leaned in close, practically cheek to cheek, and frowned as the man nodded hurridly, fully aware if not comprehending completly of the massive danger he was in. Truth be told, even as the man began stumbling away from Richard to the entrence and exit of the alley, Richard himself despized what he knew he had to do.

"Disgusting... filthy, disease ridden useless mass of meat and bone."

His words echoed in the alley and the hunted man's ears, perhaps warning him of impending doom, yet the human reaction time was too slow to even flinch before the damage was done.

In Richard's mind, it took an instant, yet it was the effect of inner reflection after the deed that he could tell it was an eternity. The action itself was so viscious, the man's shoe had flown off of his foot, landing at the exit of the alley.

Richard had grabbed the back of the man's neck with such force that he had stumbled forward half a step before he was yanked back by said grip. The effect was the whipsaw that took his shoe off, and upon falling backwards the shortsword/dagger that Richard had been carrying sprouted from his chest with such force that the ill fated man was lifted bodily from the ground, at least to shoulder height. The blade cleaved his heart in two, ending his pain almost imediatly, and yet even before his eyes stilled, the man looked back at the man who had killed him, shuddering his last breath into the face of his killer.

"Disgusting filth."

This was all the words needed to be said before Richard disposed of the body in the river, weighing him down with pieces of concreate and covering the splash site with bits of the broken crates that were quickly washed away by the tide.

As he washed the blood from his hands in the waters of the docks in which his small boat was moored, he contemplated the shifting lights dancing on the ripples of the water, and began mentally prepairing to make the crossing to Ireland.

[THE STAFF]

Closed due to thread failure, proof it happens to the best of us!
Closed on: 2011 June 13 by The Staff