Legends of Belariath

Mozenwrathe

Ebon Ivory - Resources Management, The Bloody Way

The first words that Syndel remembered hearing when walking into the walled city of Város Sok Dicsoséget was "What am I to you? Some sort of abomination or something?" Just the sort of strife and chaos the mixed-breed loved to hear upon stepping into a place. None had really checked him out overly close when he had first found himself at the gates of this massive gathering of races. Sure, most of them were humans, but there were a few elves here, a group or two of enterprising dwarves there, even some of those Sheykans he had heard of. Still young, Syndel wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least not without having a blade to its throat and a waterproof satchel to put its head in. (One could never be too cautious with equines, Syndel always told himself.) With few clothes or coin to his name, the dual-blooded elven male had travelled to the "City of Many Glories" hoping to do the one thing he despised most on a day like this one: hide. His flight to the place had begun no more than a week before. Not one of his better or brighter exploits, Syndel figured any town he could walk away from was one he could return to and cause more trouble later on...

He had been a little too free with his knives in a tavern, and ended up cutting a man's hand open. Turned out the man was the leader of a larger group of thugs and robbers, and he didn't appreciate having his "caressing touch" spoiled by "some little, scrawny, lisping, pointy-eared, ass-licking, minotaur nutsack sniffing prick." Of course, the murder-minded elf would admit to being pointy-eared and scrawny, but there was no call for the man to have mentioned the rest. Throughout that entire evening, Syndel had been nothing but a gentleman (in his own eyes) toward the muscular looking madman. (Indeed, the ruffian must have been utterly insane to dare even speak to someone of Syndel's race in that fashion.) After all, Syndel hadn't once commented on how he had seen the same braggart two days before challenge some random farmer's son in a duel to the death over the man's wife. Of course, the swaggering satchel of shyte had won, raping the woman over the same table her husband handcrafted. Even as the blood pooled at the man's feet, the merciless man slapped the woman repeatedly, splitting her lips and blackening her cheeks with bruises. The harrowing screams of the woman had been music to Syndel's ears, even as she sobbed pitifully for release as the lawless marauder ravaged her most private of places, both back and front. It was only when the highwayman threw the broken woman's still weeping body to his men that Syndel had left. After all, only the first few shrieks and wails were normally any good, the rest of them muted by blood and spit.

So, here was the elf facing the human he had seen in action days before. Taking his measure, the wicked-minded crossbred terror had hoped the man wouldn't try to attack him. At least not until Syndel had taking another bite of his salad. (Food was important in a growing elf, after all.) The heavily bearded bandit leader rushed the much more svelte male before him, figuring his bulk and his brute force would be more than enough to crush the elf between his fingers. For his efforts, Syndel stabbed the fool in the eye with his steak knife.

Thrice.

The fork through the windpipe had merely been for show at the time, but the half-blooded moriel couldn't leave without being thorough. It was not as if the man or any other human's life was worth more than the waste that came out of their behinds. Having no less than five people jumping up in shock, the death of the ringleader caused more blades to come out than Syndel had prepared for. Not the first time, nor the last really, that the murderous elven-blooded forester would be outnumbered. Sighing as if he were tired, the singular figure of moriel taint sagged against the table he had been eating at. Grasping at the cutlery that was still on the table, he flung a pair of spoons at the first rogue to approach him. His target dodged, but Syndel's aim was true enough to catch the man behind his first hope dead in the mouth. That one fell back, choking on the metal he had just been forced to swallow. The greasy-skinned human of rather pale complexion before the surefooted elven ranger lunged at him with a dagger. That one got the bowl of salad to the face, breaking the bowl and the man's jawline. Using the side of the broken bowl, Syndel forcefully jabbed it into the human's mouth, ripping it open. The other side of the bowl did the same thing to his throat. Syndel began singing at this point, because music had always been a calming feature in his life:

"Within my heart is there place for you "Upon an altar of morning's dew "Shall my whispers of love shine forever "And will I surrender my desire for you never "Come to me my beloved prize "And blessed are your creamy thighs "My hands are stained with sweat and toil "And for you will I bring the anointed oil..."

Syndel knew the song was some random lovey-dovey ballad by one of his ancestors, but he didn't care. He just knew that the lyrics along would throw off his attackers. And that it did, causing at least one of the men to freak out and come at the slender elf almost blindly with a battle axe. Now that was something Syndel couldn't block with his bare arms or dodge completely. Instead, Syndel swiveled around one of the bodies of the fallen and threw the lit sheep's fat candle at the one with the axe. Instinctively, the man brought the haft of the axe up to block the candle - which worked. If the man had used the axe blade, he could have prevented him from getting the still melting wax across his face. Syndel used the opportunity of the man's screams in anguish to duck through a few commoners and out through the back door of the tavern. Knowing he would have been surrounded and taken prisoner or worse was one good reason to take the coward's way out. The next reason? The kitchen was in the back area, so he ripped off a few good legs of roasting duck to munch on. There was no reason for him to go hungry while he was running for his life, now was there?

Half of the night would pass before Syndel found a stable unguarded. The bandit leader and his fallen men had been gathered by other members of what had to have been his gang. Undoubtedly there was a fight between loyal followers and opportunists looking to improve their standing in the gathering. Regardless of who won, the hunt was still on for the half-breed, and Syndel was not about to give them an easily chicken to pluck. He had been alive for too long to let some low-brow, slack-jawed, miserable, gutter-licking, absolutely pretentious humans get their jollies on his infamously brilliant body. No, those who wanted him dead could bloody well work for it. Even then, the bile-blooded bastard was just about certain he'd be able to snuff them out if he had enough time to catch them alone or in groups of two or three. The arrogance of the young was not wasted on Syndel at all: he completely reveled in it. Sliding one of the smallest and fastest horses out from their locked stable, the sylvan-blooded moriel left the town of Harca Szépség. Knowing only that he needed to get as far away from the area as possible, Syndel headed due north for as long as the horse could carry him at a decent gallop. Once the horse was too tired, he simply left the sweaty and almost broken beast of burden to its own devices. The thing was too big to truly traverse through the forests the same way that Syndel could on its own, therefore it was a waste of space. It would be two whole days before the elf caught sight of any civilization on the horizon. And it was here that a few more of the group of thugs finally caught sight of the hated elven bastard as well. Heading back to the main party of around twenty, they had hoped to overtake the scrawny, pointy-eared wretch because they knew the area better. If they had been smarter or faster, they could have even taken him down by themselves. By the time that the gathering of cutthroats got a clue, so had Syndel. Vanishing into the underbrush, the half-blooded moriel maker of massacres would spend two more days laying out of sight of his pursuers. When he thought they had scattered enough for him to make his move, Syndel left his hiding place to join the unwashed and unremarkable masses going in and out of Város Sok Dicsoséget.

The location of this city was less than thirty kilometers south west (and just over five kilometers straight down) from the underground sea and subterranean caves that House Na`Aycmk Hniussag would call their home fifty years later. Situated on the far northeast of the continent, Város Sok Dicsoséget was considered a "crown jewel of a city without a crown." Easily more than three hundred years before Nanthalion was first being put up, wars had been fought over who would own this "castle of the people." In the end, it was the coalition of nobles who had fled the rule of the High Council within Sturntsalise that had taken control of Város Sok Dicsoséget. The sorceress Katarein had just ascended to godhood, and those who had followed the banner of the nobles were known now as "a'Huséges." Even so, the relations between the two cities were strained at best. Város Sok Dicsoséget was a hub of trading and cultures, though nothing in particular was found in the city itself. It was not like Sturntsalise with the ivory tower of magic so close by to it. Still, it had its own history - and a rather rich one at that. There were tales that under the city itself lay kilometers of catacombs and sewers, and that the bravest souls could find their fortune in them. Some of it was true, in that there were tunnels of a sort under the city, but one was more likely to find bands of slavers and cultists of Sireya and Tilresh in such realms. There was one bard's tale of a necromancer who had horded many of the corpses underneath the city to his own ends, but none had ever found the man - if he still even was one any more.

Here Syndel figured he would be able to use the general stupidity of the sheep known as humans against his hunters. After all, guardsmen would love an opportunity to show off in front of a nobleman, hopefully being picked to serve in a private escort for some rich fop. The less the half-breed drew attention to himself in a place like this, the more likely those men would make asses of themselves in trying to find him. And if Syndel couldn't walk them into a trap of their own making, there had to be a parapet somewhere quiet he could push them off of. No matter what city or town he was in, Syndel was always on the lookout for places to torture and slay people in. One had to be an opportunist when it came to making your victims shriek in horror and plead for mercy that wasn't on the way. As well, the city was filled with men. Males, perhaps, would be the better term. With this much swinging meat just hanging about, who would care about a few sausages going missing from the larder? That was Syndel's thinking, as women were expected to be raped, but men "just died" all the time. What happened to them before their deaths was unimportant if it looked like they died fighting. And some of those men looked to be dumber than the stones used to make some of the main streets within the city itself.

Perfect.

Though to the dismay of Syndel, it was not long before he encountered two of the men after him. As in within twenty steps of the front entrance. He literally tripped over one and into the arms of another. Before the duo had a chance to react, the long-legged moriel crossbreed started on a sprint down the main that he was on, ducking into an alleyway at his first opportunity. He had made it a point not to try to lose them, but to lure them. After all, they were only sluggish pieces of beef fat attached the antelope bones for the most part. There wasn't a human alive that couldn't be killed, and elves were so far above them that losing to one in a duel would be considered a crime against nature itself. With the two behind him gaining, Syndel slipped and fell, crashing into a few casks that had been left in the little dirt covered pathway. Groaning, the song-loving sinner realized he had cut his head open. This could be a problem when it came to see the people coming after him. Footsteps pounding, the men had already drawn cinquedeas and were looking to bring this to a close swiftly. Dazedly, the bloodied and ballad-hating forest strider tried to get to his feet before the two men were on him like flies on horse manure. Just as the first one was three strides behind him, Syndel threw himself backward and over one of the casks. Rolling on the ground a few times, the elf founds himself well out of range of his pursuers, grinning at them. Drawing a pair of hunting daggers, the red-eyed bastard turned upon the men and started to sing again. The tones were haunting and melodic, almost entrancing had it not been for the way the long-eared purveyor of heinous acts scratched the ochre-stained bladed against the walls of the buildings on either side of the alleyway.

"For no longer will I suffer from "Your slings and arrows three! "As dusk turns to dawn oh shall you find "My long-knives impaling thee. "Come now and accept these gifts I offer "As they are meant only for handsome men. "Your blood will spill and I shall thrill "Though we will never be destined to meet again. "Even though you both know far and well "The shaft I want to impale you with "Would feel so much better deep inside "Than the metal you are going to get..."

Noting how he could not help smile as their stares turn to terror, Syndel started to gyrate sexually in the men's direction, hoping to provoke a more pronounced response. He got one from one of the men: cursing his unnatural sexuality, the first man - darker, broader, and with more scars on his hands and arms than his partner in crime - rushed in to hack at Syndel. Almost tittering, the bloodthirsty mixed-blood's laughter wasn't meant to accentuate any sort of femininity. No, the elf deliberately sounded like that just to arouse the rage in the other man. Personally, he found men to do such things almost worthless to his desires, but fisting their tight and mostly firm sphincters until their minds shattered was always fun to do in the middle of an empty saloon. (He always made sure to give them a deep and passionate kiss afterwards, so they knew the sadistic cur of sylvan blood appreciated every strangled cry and broken wail they made.) The man with the overcast glare and the Stygian skin colouring ran with all the grace of a wounded buffalo. Syndel was wondering if such was a feint, only to realize at the last that it was. The second man had a build far more like the fuin-meleth edhel, and had a few throwing darts to use while the first man gave him a well-timed distraction. It took everything the cur of elven descent had to keep himself from losing an eye or an ear from the darts, fending off the man's longer blade with his own two. Syndel's feet were faster and better placed than his attackers, which was the only thing keeping him alive at this time. Wanting to spend more time mocking them, the melodic and melee-loving madman started to sing again, even as he slashed away at the larger man's upper body in a wild and erratic pattern.

"Repairing your soul and mending your flesh "Carrying a burden that stays deep within your heart "Lay yourself down upon my altar of sin "So I may tear all your worries apart "Stripping your clothes free from your body "Will I coat you in the perfumes of my lust "Then without much care shall you meet fire and air "As the flames of your pyre turn your blood to dust"

While singing, Syndel managed to trip over himself and fall. Thinking this the best time to carve that liar's tongue from his wretched mouth, the larger of the two cutthroats went in for kill. This, in fact, was just what the devil-minded elf was waiting for. Turning his blade in his fingers, the demon-souled moriel halfbreed brought one of his hunting knives right up into the man's stomach faster than the brigand could slash at Syndel's eye. Pulling upward, the dark elf's grin was malicious as caught the man's stabbing arm with the other dagger, plunging the knife through the flesh and muscle, just about carving it like a farmer would a roasted duck. The second man, seeing this, roared in fury as he knew the first man's death would be soon upon him. Yanking the blades free, the elven slayer spun around in a pirouette of pain, cutting through the second man over and over along his face, chest, and arms. The twirling action was so fast, the second man hit the ground dead before he had a chance to realize he had struck true. Looking down, Syndel saw he had been cut open, but not too badly. Sinking to the side of the alley that faced the fallen body of the first man, he laughed to himself in agony. Knowing he needed to do something, first he went and cut as much clean fabric from the two men's jerkins and tunics as he could, binding up his own wounds. Checking the men for any mehrials they had on them, Syndel grabbed their weapons and scabbards, crawling away from the scene.

It would be at least three hours before the two men were found by the rest of the group. For Syndel, it would be a few days before he showed himself in public again. Suffering from a severe case of "butcher's block blues," Syndel had spent most of the night trying to find a healer in the undercity of Város Sok Dicsoséget that would treat him. It had almost gotten the mestizo elf raped by one gang of ogres, but the darts Syndel had gathered from his previous with the men had proven a deadly deterrent. Sure, he had used them all, but it had been better than the alternative. That, and after slashing the throats of the trio, he had found quite a few useful things on their bodies - one of them being a pair of brooches that got him into a hidden den of shamans and druids that treated those of lesser moral standards at a price. The next two days had been selling off some of the things he had found, getting enough coin together to get himself a mithril dagger. (Yes, he got rid of every weapon he had found in order to afford such, but it was worth it in his eyes. Selling his body to a pair of undersexed sithians hadn't hurt either. Giving in to a night of their debauchery had left him exhausted, sore, completely rejuvenated, and covered in the sexual nectars of two rather impressive females. Not to mention he was one hundred and twenty five mehrials richer at the evening's end. Sure, he had spent five mehrials to have some lecherous pair of venerable satyrs bathe him and stroke off to his naked body, but it was worth the expense. What had surprised Syndel was that he didn't even have the urge to gut them and use their skin for new trousers - either the sithians or the satyrs.)

On his fourth day within Város Sok Dicsoséget, Syndel saw fit to make his presence felt. Finding himself in broad daylight again, Syndel winced at the brightness. No matter how long he spent under the gaze of the napfény (as some of the locals called the sun), he was always most at home under cover of night. Still, he had felt like hunting. The bodies of the ogres had been hauled away by a small group of tangerine robed humans, and Syndel wanted to know what had happened with their corpses. Not that he saw fit to befoul them, but some of the rumours about things that transpired beneath the city streets had caught his interest. There were still the hounds of human descent sniffing after him, and those would need be dealt with over time. And that was one thing the mule of elven blood knew he had plenty of: time. The walled city was extremely large, and that did not include what little he had seen of the underside of the place. This was nothing like Harca Szépség, Napsütés Hegy, or that other village he had been run out of, Lhach'aduial. All of those little hovels of humanity could fit inside the outer walls of this place comfortably. From a hunter through trees to a stalker of streets, Syndel needed to adopt and adapt quickly, before some more impressive predator actually reared its head and came looking for him.

The guards here tended to lean toward competency, so slaying a few of them for sport would be more of a challenge than he was ready to take on. That, and he had better things to do than run around needlessly like a fox being bayed. Realizing he had not seen a single vulpani or wolven within the city walls since he arrived, he gathered quickly either they were not welcome inside of Város Sok Dicsoséget's borders, or they just didn't feel comfortable. Remembering the last time he had seen one of either was before his little dalliance in Harca Szépség, Syndel figured it was the latter and not the former. In fact, there were none of those catpeople around either. Perhaps they all liked Sturntsalise better. That suited him just as well, as the whimpering balls of fur were not much fun to skin alive. (He had tried it once with a wolven shaman he had caught unawares. By the end of it, Syndel had figured it wasn't worth all the effort.) Making no enquiries of his own, the patient manhunter found it better to just listen in on conversations, seeing what was happening. Hearing of a small cadre of men trying to hunt down a rogue elf and offering rewards, Syndel paid close attention. Apparently now he was worth money. This amused the torture-loving quicksilver quite a bit, as he never thought of bounty hunters before. It would not be too long after that he saw three more of the men from the town he had bolted from showing themselves in a tavern he was eating at. Knowing there were no city guards around, the youthful firebrand actively called attention to himself by standing on the table he had acquired and flashing his shaft and scrotum at the men. Finding himself instantly hard, Syndel questioned the wisdom of that gesture, knowing now he'd be distracted by wanting to bugger them all. The elf didn't have too much time to think, though, as crossbow bolts flew in his direction from all three men. If he hadn't been paying attention, the moriel-minded halfbreed would have lost more than his life due to the bolts. Flinging first the stein of ale and then the cutlery, he saw these men were smart enough to bring shields. Not that much of a worry, thought Syndel, as he sprinted toward them and then jumped betwixt a pair, parrying their hastily drawn blades on the way past. Rolling along the ground and then spinning around, he threw himself back into the fray with a frenzy, dodging and weaving through the trio.

"What is this you see before you "A monster or a freak "Something Gaea has sent to kill you "Because her womanly time has peaked "Lick upon my glistening shaft now "Before a dagger in your mouth I shove "As you were born to pleasure me before "Your soul flees into the skies above..."

Unable to help himself, Syndel broke into song again. Loving the looks on the faces of not only the three men assailing him, but the random patrons of the tavern now being the audience of this performance of death. These three men worked well as a group, but the elf was too swift and savvy for them. Retreating behind a table, the cross-blooded cur grabbed a chair and pivoted, using his own momentum to help him fling the seat at the men. Catching one dead on his shield, Syndel sang a note for victory and drove his new mithril blade through the man's nose and into the back of his head. Moving his victim's body in the way of the two others, the murderous bard grabbed the cutlass the man was wielding out of his dead fingers. Now with two blades, Syndel started truly counterattacking. Using his slender physique to narrowly avoid being gutted and carved time and time again. Feeling the exhaustion piling on him, the elven marauder allowed himself to be scratched by the two assailants, ruining his brand new breeches and tunic with his blood. It was a sacrifice to let him get in closer, plunging both blades into the taller of the two remaining men as that one held the longsword. Booting the other man's shield hard enough to throw him off balance, Syndel stabbed over top the protective leather and wood, driving the cutlass down so hard it became lodged in the final man's chest. Letting it go, Syndel immediately snatched the coin-purses of the three and left, not wanting to be there when their friends arrived.

"Your best example of a crime against your Gods?" is what the priest at the temple asked Syndel as he found haven there for a small time. "The one thing you know you must ask forgiveness for? It is best to confess and find your heart free of all woes and worries. I would be most happy to guide you on the path which will lead you to enlightenment, elven one. Our temple has shown many to the righteous and most impressive path of Aden`Ver. Even those of your people have found the truth and the steel within their heart."

It took every ounce of Syndel's remaining control not to burst into laughter at the man. Even though he was but an acolyte, the foolish words coming out of the blond haired barbarian's mouth were nothing but drivel in the ears of the halfbreed. Of course, the fact the barbarian looked as if he could throw the much smaller crossblooded moriel through a wall without trying helped to bite his acerbic tongue. Shaking his head, the Stygian-souled elf asked quietly and meekly where it was best to acquire potions of the restoring kind. The human took pity on Syndel (which was a mistake to believe what was before him) and gave him directions. Nodding with the appropriate amount of humility, the snickering sinner was on his way again. It would be a long while before Syndel was done with Város Sok Dicsoséget, of that he was certain. He had only slain a small portion of those trying to get to him, and he still had no idea of what truly happened in the undercity. Still, his first priority was getting himself healed up. The next step would be getting out of sight again. Cutting up two ruffians in a back alley didn't matter to anyone. Getting into a fracas in the middle of a popular eating house? Now that is something the local guards would not take lightly. Finding first the apothecary who had the healing salves and overpaying the woman to keep her mouth shut, Syndel made his way back to the underbelly of the walled city, where all the real wheeling and dealing in the shadows happened.

Using his smaller size to squeeze through cracks in fences, the elf found himself a proper place to disappear for a while. Making sure that nobody around saw him enter or leave, Syndel spent two days in a broken down shack. He would have made it a third, but he came across a pair of thieves about to sodomize and rape some half-elven priestess. Not that he was interested in stopping them originally, but they did attack the slender sylvan-blooded bastard the moment he crept into what Syndel had grown to think was his personal little hovel. Having no need for witnesses, the dark-souled ranger cut both of them down without much ado. The priestess herself had fled, leaving Syndel with nothing to play with - or so he thought. One of the men had survived his blade, just barely. Using the remains of the healing potion, Syndel gave the man back enough of his health to survive a few rounds of fucking and sucking. Bashing the man's teeth in had prevented the unfortunate scoundrel from biting Syndel's cock in half, and had given the mixblood some time to explain to his captive just what was going to happen to him. The moans and shrieks of the man were muted first by the vest of his dead friend, and then by the rather thick and turgid length of Syndel's shaft. It had been a while, and Syndel was going to enjoy every minute.

It took the man Syndel had "salvaged" two days to die. Syndel was sort of disappointed that he could not have made the man last for another few hours. There were always more men to savage and sodomize, he figured. It wasn't as if there was a shortage of males around to experiment with.

Setting fire to the shack where the two bodies were, the elf went to find himself another place to go missing for a while. That didn't happen, given that he ran into three of the men from the town and one well-armed bounty hunter with them. It seemed that Syndel's bloody game of hide and seek was nowhere close to over, yet. Once more was the elf rushing through narrow alleyways, except this time it was more than crossbow bolts he was evading: one of the men was a wizard. Feeling the heat of the flame-bolts coming up behind him, Syndel slid along the ground feet first. Watching the streaks of purest fire fly over his head, he saw trail ends of his hair toasted by the heat alone and charred for up to the length of his thumb.

Now they had done the unthinkable: the worthless, feckless, ruinous bastards had touched the hair. Before he would have been fine with merely escaping their clutches. Now they had to perish and know why they had died horribly.

What happened next was all a blur for Syndel. It was here that his second name came into play, "Voidwalker." Though he knew that he was facing no less than four well armed thugs and craven curs like himself, the elf knew no fear or trepidation. There was not even a sound from him, which was highly unlike his regular self. Normally he would be chattering and taunting throughout a battle, but this time there was nothing but silence. He could hear nothing more than heartbeats - his own, and those of his opponents. Seeing more spells being leveled at him, the elf lowered himself in his stride. Crossbow bolts flew in his direction, but he managed to dodge them all by enough for them to only graze him. Wondering if the bolts were poisoned, Syndel only managed to regret not being able to pluck them from midair as he had heard some legendary elves accomplish. Of course, not having mailed gloves on reduced his desire to try such a thing. Just as the wizard was finishing his spell, the city-stalking elf had made it half of the way down the alley. The spear of eldritch force flung itself at the half-blooded moriel, crashing into his shoulder and spinning him around. The force of the blast spun him around but did not slow his stride. He did, however, lose his footing and crashed to the ground. That tumble managed to save him from the next volley of crossbow bolts, all of them piercing the ground just after Syndel moved. Getting back to his feet, the sociopathic sylvan-touched slayer found himself face to face with one of the men's rapiers, the other one en route for his gall bladder. Drawing the captured cutlass from one of the last few men he had slain, the unnaturally quiet male parried both blades deftly and continuously, even as two more of the men came in for the kill on either side. Slide stepping away, Syndel found himself grazed by the swords of the two on the left. Noting the smell of the steel as it almost lopped off his nose, he wanted to laugh but he was too far in the mental maelstrom of "The Void." Poison, and a most lethal one at that. It just happened to be the only poison he was immune to. (Though now he couldn't eat boysenberries for risk of choking and dying horrifically.) Swaying out of the way of a kick leveled at his ribcage, the monster in elven skin whipped his hands forward to carve up the leg and ankle of the booting brigand. The howl of anguish would be swiftly sliced into silence as the mithril dagger cut through his throat without warning.

One dead. Three more to go.

The elven outlander would continue his silent rampage, going now for the wizard. Eyes closing, Syndel would give himself completely to the sensations around and within him. His movements were more like a dance: an intimate waltz with an unseen partner. His gyrations managed to throw the moriel madman out of the way of a second magic bolt, the power of the blast almost audible as it careened past his head. The smile growing upon his face, Syndel weaved in past the two swords aimed for his stomach, once again being clipped and scraped but not actually stabbed. The mithril dagger came around the side of the magician's head, catching him behind the jaw, just under his earlobe. Pulling downward, he would watch as the man's life quickly spilled out of his throat. The smile became just that much larger as he yanked the blade free, spiraling away from the remaining two. It was the fact there would be no more magic from that source. Not to mention the way his blood rushed from him like a ruby waterfall. That image alone made him want to put his hands into it and splash it over his face. There was no time for that, Syndel knew in the back of his mind, as there were still people living that needed to be left face down in a pile of broken bottles.

Two deaths delivered. Two more lives left to take.

Even with the fountain finally sputtering out, the blood coating the elf's left hand made holding the blade that much harder. Knowing now some of the poison was in fact getting through his life's liquors to slow him, Syndel started to breathe deeply and slowly. Forcing his heart rate to decrease, the carnage-loving cur would back away from the two remaining men, looking at his surroundings. The remaining man from the village that he remembered seeing pulled out a heavy looking metal stick, while the hired sword sheathed the falchion he was holding and drew two short sabres - each of them about the length of a tall man's forearm. The smile on the face of Syndel slowly subsided, like the snows fading before the heat of a fireplace. This would be a problem. Syndel stood almost motionless as the sword and stick came for him, one after the other. The professional remained aloof, apparently waiting to see what the blood-spilling half-blood would do. Thinking through his possible options, the halfbreed moriel would retreat while parrying, using his superior speed and dexterity to make up for his lack of physical puissance. Waiting for an opening, Syndel just about walked through the man's defenses twice over, but had no means of capitalizing on the motions. At least not without leaving him open to being cut into ribbons by either remaining. The fact he could was good enough to set the man into a foaming frenzy, becoming more erratic and unpredicatable with his attacks - and his footing. Syndel continued to make inroads on the panicing human, eventually tripping him up - literally. And as the man fell, the elven mongrel jumped upon the man's arms, stomping on the inside of the elbows. Leaping high into the air, Syndel suddenly move in the direction of the hired blade, discounting the fallen man thanks to the solid "crack" he had heard when the man hit the floor. There had been some stones and broken pottery around when their fight began, and it seemed the man's head had connected with some of the refuse on the ground in the narrow passage.

The bounty hunter was a completely different story. First, the man actually leveled some sort of magical field around himself, slowing the motions of Syndel by some great degree. As well, the poison still seeping through the veins of the mixblood moriel was making him more queasy by the minute. The blades of the bounty hunter were coated in something viscous and almost swirling on the blade. Whatever the liquor was, Syndel wanted nothing to do with it. (At least nothing on the receiving end. Using it on others, however, was a different matter entirely.) The finesse that the bounty hunter wielded his short sabers was almost the equal of the drugged and sluggish Syndel, which was more than enough to enrage the bloodshed-enamored elf. What made him the most irate was the fact the entire fight, Syndel had felt his cock growing and stretching, to the point that he had been at full erection since he felled his first foe. Leaking precum, he could feel himself almost at bursting now, to the point every time he looked at the man before him, he thought about jerking himself to a frothy orgasm all over his opponent's face. However that was not going to be possible. Not with the way those blades of the man kept getting closer and closer. It was as if Kirva herself had finally tired of the existence of the half-breed, wanting his soul to feed her everlasting hunger. The elf would have cursed the name of the goddess if only he could think clearly enough to speak. Instead, only his eyes narrowed as he felt bile starting to rise in his throat. Fighting off the sensation, the strange-souled bastard continued to defend against the stronger human's double-fisted fighthing style. Feeling more breeze, Syndel hestitated to look down at his now ragged jerkin and tunic. Only his elven frame had saved him, being just a little thinner than his clothing had made him look. It would be now that the "Voidwalker legacy" would show itself, as Syndel would fight his way into the man's defenses. Even with only one blade, Syndel deflected the twin swords by smacking the man's guarding hand away on different angles, never trying to hold the position but moving it. As fortune would have it, the bounty hunter's patience came to a bitter end as he lunged at the bastard-blooded elf, aiming for his face and his stomach. Syndel bent himself to narrowly dodge the swords, plunging his own into the much larger man's right hand. As he did, the elf drove his elbow into the hollow of his final foe's throat, crushing his windpipe. Falling, the gurgling noises of the leather clad bounty would come to a close as Syndel drove his boot into the man's neck, breaking it.

Realizing now that Város Sok Dicsoséget would not be quite the safe haven as he had wanted, the slender slayer thought to himself of how long he could keep it up. Finding now was the best time to give into the stomach upheavals, he went to go and lose what little he had to eat earlier. It would take him only five minutes to lose his breakfast, but thirty more minutes to stop the painful cramping. Feeling horrific within now, Syndel went back to the bodies he had left behind him. Rifling them for anything useful, he took the short swords and any coin the men had. Using one's waterskin, he washed out his mouth a few times, hoping that they hadn't thought of poisoning their own drinks as well. (It was something he would have planned out ahead of time, after all.) Now, with enough coin to buy himself a way out of the the city, Syndel went to find another section of the place. This time, though, he'd make himself a little more public - at least in terms of quality places to sleep. Renting a room at an inn known as Miego Narsus Tavern And Rest, Syndel spent some of the money getting himself treated by professional healers, and purchasing himself some new clothes. He only needed to sleep through the day, as that evening he left through the window. Leaving some coin in the hands of a few rather shady looking vendors in the southwest quarter's bazaar, he bought himself a horse and left the town under the cover of an overcast night. Not looking back, Syndel travelled to the west, vowing to return to the walled city soon.

Soon, of course, meaning when he felt he was strong enough to start slaying the city guards with impunity...

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