The Darksome Road

The Darksome Road

Marcus heard only the opening and closing of an unseen door, and guessed that someone had been dispatched to search for Soren. ~~Good luck finding him. You'll need it~~ Marcus smirked quietly as he rose from the table. "And if you're done wasting my time, I'll be leaving to find where the real 'game' is."

The man at the table reached for the cards and began to shuffle them slowly. "Afraid we'll find someone out there? Or are you afraid you'll lose?"

"Neither," Marcus answered, "cause there is no one to find, and I never play a game I can't afford to lose. But I don't see your ante, boy."

The room fell into a tense silence with the statement. It was a calculated risk. The figure at the table was easily Marcus' elder and clearly accustomed to some degree of respect, but Marcus knew his kind. They respected defiance, and didn't trust the servile. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw that the guards' eyes had gone wide with shock and the grips on their blades had tightened. They were waiting for a word, a sign, anything from the from the dark-clad figure at the table, telling them to strike down this new one for his impudence. It was a clear sign of allegiance and it struck Marcus as odd. In the throbbing silence that followed, it made him think he'd made a mistake, a very dangerous mistake, until a small sound, perhaps a mirthless chuckle, slid from the man's lips. It was short-lived sound, and when it stopped the man gestured again and one of the guards to his side stepped forward, scowling at Marcus with ill-concealed derision as he spilled a bag of coins onto the table.

The grey-eyed figure pushed them all into the center of the table and spoke dryly, "For your bravado. Most . . . entertaining." The last word was punctuated with a twisted smile and tone, as if the speaker might find a flaying or even an execution to be entertaining. It was a tone which wasn't lost on Marcus.

Reminded of the danger in this game, Marcus retook his seat with care, his eyes gleaming with false greed but true excitement, and he emptied his own pouch to match the bet. "I hope you'll be as entertained with your pouch lightens. Deal."

The cards slid quickly beneath skillful fingers, surprising unimpeded by the leather gloves, but the deal was slower, even purposeful, and five cards came to rest before Marcus each with a slow snap of the man's wrist. As they fell, the woman pulled a chair from the wall and sat backwards across it, resting her arms atop its back and her chin atop her arms as she affected an expression of boredom. Her posture said she didn't want to be there, but her eyes said something else, and Marcus found the combination to be slightly distracting in its curiosity. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, however, and he turned his attention back to the game.

He looked down at the backs of the cards that sat before him on the table, then back up to the dealer, smiling knavishly. Without lifting his cards, he tossed a small emerald onto the not-inconsiderable pile of coins resting between him and his host. The dealer remained expressionless, making only another simple gesture, and again the pile of coins grew.

Marcus raised an eyebrow at the call. High stakes indeed. If this group wasn't with the guild he'd eat every coin on the table. "Well now, looks like there's decent game to be had in this godforsaken city after all."

The smallest hint of what might have been a smile rose to the man's lips with the description, but the eyes remained cold and focused. It was a strangely disquieting expression, and Marcus was forced to look away, picking two cards from his hand at random and sliding them forward before leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. His two cards were replaced with a swift hand and an air of indifference before the dealer placed the deck back on the table and folded his own hands before him on the table.

After a few painfully silent minutes, Marcus spoke a single word. "Pass"

The dealer didn't respond, but sat silent, waiting for something Marcus couldn't fathom. It came finally when an unseen door was again heard to open and a figure stepped partially into the light that shone down from the skylight above. He was about to speak, but the dealer cut him off, without looking back. "Call."

Confident in his true game and not caring about the cards, Marcus flipped them over one by one without ever looking down. One corner of the man's mouth twisted into a small smile as he did the same. If Marcus had known the man at all, it might have made him nervous. As it was, he took it as a small sign of acceptance and assurance that he was still on the right track. Glancing down at the table for the first time, Marcus saw that he had won the hand, holding three fours, a king, and a ten, while his host boasted only a pair of jacks. He chuckled with the discovery, "Too bad."

The man's face never changed as he raised his hand in a slight gesture. "We didn't see anyone," the scout answered in response. "He's alone."

The woman rose with the announcement and began to walk in the direction from which the scout had entered, clearly dissatisfied with his report. The dealer turned his head sharply in her direction, the first quick movement he had made since Marcus had entered, and one which reminded the ranger of nothing so much as a hawk suddenly spotting its prey. The woman stopped where she stood, but gave the man a look which suggested to Marcus that she might have done otherwise had they been alone. Still, she returned to her chair and said nothing. Satisfied, if less than pleased, the man turned his attention back to Marcus. "Looks like you're fortunate . . . care to see if your luck holds?" The tone was inviting, in the same way that a candle is inviting to the moth that spirals towards its flame, and like the moth, Marcus found himself unable to resist.

Sliding the coins to his side of the table, he answered with his earlier confidence. "If you can afford it. Of course," he added, winking at the woman with a false leer, "I can afford other things now."

The man appeared to be cognizant of the fact that Marcus' appraisal of the woman extended no further than her face, but the first hint of irritation crept through his dry tone, "Even if you could, that's more than you can handle." Two gloved fingers tapped the table before him and another bag of coins was spilt onto the wooden surface.

Satisfied that he had committed the woman's features to memory, Marcus turned back to the dealer and pushed matching coinage into the center of the table, thinking he had finally found a weakness in his opponent. "Perhaps, but it would be well worth it to find out for sure. Don't you think?"

The woman rolled her eyes at both comments and turned her head in more than mild annoyance. To Marcus' disappointment, the man was not so easily bated, and he smiled but said nothing as he tossed out another ten cards with practiced ease. When he was done, he dropped the remainder of the deck onto the table and leaned back in his chair, waiting.

Marcus tapped the top of his cards, tempted to look, but again he left them face down on the table. "Shall we make this more interesting?"

"What do you have in mind?" The man asked without a trace of curiosity.

"Information from you instead of coins."

A single . . . chuckle? slid from the man's lips again. "What makes you think I know anything you'd be interested in hearing?"

From just what had seen in the room, Marcus wagered that the man knew plenty. At the very least he knew about the guild and could introduce Marcus to those who knew more. Straining to conceal his excitement, Marcus leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the table, locking eyes with the dealer. "My risk. You in or out?"

The smile that returned his stare was unnerving in its emptiness. "In."

Striker Kel

Cross me and with blades of darkness, midnight-forged
my very soul, I will send you screaming into the depths.

((Co-authored with Ranger Marcus. Thanks to Quaralyn for the use of her character))


~~At last, we're getting somewhere. ~~ Marcus thought with confidence as he answered with a nod. "I ask, and you name the wager. I'm new here, and I'm looking to get in with the 'right' sort of people." He glanced meaningfully at the rogues assembled around the room.

The man turned his head and smiled faintly at the woman, the expression suggestive of a private joke. She was apparently still annoyed and didn't return the gesture, but did arch one brow high above a deep green eye. He seemed genuinely amused by her response and turned back to Marcus with a broader smile that faded as he spoke. "That's costly information."

Marcus watched the unspoken exchange between the two. The man across from him was obviously the leader, but the woman was clearly an important member of this cell. The dark-haired man she accompanied her from the Web must have be a rival of some sort, but judging from the earlier display, not a successful one. The dealer clearly placed more faith in the woman's abilities, and the dark-haired man resented it. Perhaps Marcus could use that information to his advantage later. But that would have to wait--He wasn't 'in' yet. Putting the matter aside, he tossed a magnificent bejeweled dagger on the ante. It slid across the table with a small scraping sound, and when it stopped, Marcus locked eyes with the dealer again and slid three cards out to be replaced. "Well?"

The dealer answered simply. "All right." Before Marcus had time to reconsider, the three cards he had selected were replaced. The dealer, however, stood again with his five and an inscrutable expression.

Marcus studied the dealer carefully, tapping the top of the cards. Something, intuition perhaps, told him he was being 'fed' his hands. He was being led down a path for a purpose he could not guess yet. A test, perhaps? Maybe. He only hoped that whatever it was, he was passing. "Shall we end this now?"

The man leaned further back in his chair, placing one elbow across the back, and spoke with a confidence generally reserved for those of higher rank. "Why not?"

Marcus flipped over his cards, certain that he would again have the winning hand. Face up on the table, the cards showed a five, a three, a seven, a four, and a six. "A straight," he announced, impressed by the dealer's ability. "Can you beat it?" He watched as the dealer turned each of his cards without curiosity or concern. There was something disturbing in his mannerisms, but lost in the thrill of the hunt, Marcus only tucked it away for later consideration. The dealer had a ten, a two, a nine, a four, and another ten. Marcus chuckled when the last card fell, still playing his part in the unfolding drama. "Not your night." Grinning, he reached across the table and started to gather the winnings. "My information, if you please."

The man was silent, and for a moment Marcus thought he wasn't going to answer. When he looked back up at the dealer, however, he saw that the man wore an expression of careful contemplation. In Marcus' opinion, it boded well. "There's a . . . group you might find to your liking." The man began slowly, and Marcus knew by the peculiar emphasis on the word "group," that the man meant "guild." "They hold some degree of influence within the city," he continued, drawing Marcus further in. "They go by the name of Ravenclaw."

Marcus grabbed the jeweled dagger from the pot and slammed into the table, pinning the cast-aside joker cards to the table scant inches from the dealer's hand. Marcus' eyes narrowed dangerously and he spoke in a hoarse and threatening whisper. "Not good enough. If I had wanted amateurs I would have asked for them by name." His outrage was only half false. The Ravenclaws made no secret of their existence, parading publicly through the streets with wanton displays of death and destruction. It was a foolish pride, perhaps, and one which had led to the capture of most of the guild. Whatever else the man sitting across from him might be, he wasn't a Ravenclaw. That much was clear.

The guards flanking the table stepped forward when the knife drove into the surface, but the dealer didn't flinch, prompting Marcus to wonder if the man was in full possession of his faculties. No one was this detached. Maybe he was higher up in the guild than Marcus thought, but more likely he was simply putting on a show of his own for Marcus' benefit . . . or someone's else's benefit, Marcus thought suddenly, remembering the unspoken exchange between the dealer and the woman. Whichever it was, the dealer only shrugged impassively, "I can only tell you what I know. I thought you said you were new. Now you have an opinion? Which is it, boy?" His words dripped with mocking sarcasm, and Marcus suspected he was trying to bait a response. He gave him one.

Pulling the dagger free, Marcus stood and began to gather his belongings, preparing to leave. "New, yes, but not stupid. Finding the Ravenclaws is like finding a mime. They're out in the open and die about that fast too. Apparently, you aren't the player I need to be looking for."

The dealer laughed. It was a chilling sound, one which suggested a dark and one-sided amusement as it refocused Marcus' attention to the table. "Oh, you think not?" he asked in a voice that carried the same timbre. "Tell you what. One more hand, and I'll change your mind."

The woman shifted nervously in her chair with the statement and stared sharply at Marcus. It was gesture which told him to leave . . . while he could, but Marcus had other plans. ~~Perhaps I just passed their little test.~~ he thought, glaring hard at the dealer, determined to unnerve the man. "Very well, but if you're wasting any more of my time it won't be money you'll have to worry about losing." He paused to let his words sink in before leaning forward over the table and placing his face directly in front of the dealer's. Drawing on his own deepest anger and hatred, he managed to look squarely into the man's cold grey eyes and added in a harsh whisper. "So what’s your price? Boy."

A slow, dangerous smile slid across the man's face as he stared back at Marcus with the near feral amusement of a cat toying with its prey. For a moment, Marcus thought that he had gone too far, that he had stepped into a trap, and he resisted the urge to turn away and look for Soren. But finally the man spoke again, matching his anger with that same unshakable indifference, "The dec."

Marcus

" I am a Ranger.
We stand on the bridge and none shall pass.
We walk in the dark places where others fear.
We hold the line between the light and the dark and never sway."

((written with Striker Kel))


Marcus suppressed the surge of adrenaline that coursed through his body with the man's words. It was how Eowyn had referred to the token when she gave it to Calo, and it made Marcus think that perhaps the stranger who sat before him knew more than he had begun to suspect. He allowed a pensive expression to cross his face as he sat back down in the sturdy wooden chair and took the ebony token from his pocket. He inspected it for a brief moment, then began walking it across the backs of his fingers as he pretended to consider the matter. "This?" he asked with feigned curiosity, "Who does it belong to?"

The man seemed largely unimpressed by the display, leaning back in his own chair with an expression that was at once both detached and sharp. It was a look Marcus had seen only a handful of times, but never on one like this. "Is that what you want to know?"

Marcus frowned. He knew that Eowyn had taken the token from the demon, which was probably more than the dealer knew. "No, I'm more interested in who it comes from."

A flicker of curiosity flashed across the man's features. It was the first Marcus had seen, but like everything about the man, it told very little of what he was thinking, and Marcus was forced to wait for the words which finally followed. "Do you know what it is?"

Marcus considered the man's words. Eowyn had said that the token would have come from a guildmaster, and though he wondered how she would know, she seemed very certain on the matter, and Calo had accepted her statement without question. "If I didn't know what it was, why would I care who it comes from?"

The man answered with no small amount of skepticism, "If you know that, you know that if I tell you who it came from, I'm risking my life, so that information is going to cost you something more."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Agreed. And your price?"

The man placed his hands, fingers interlaced, atop the table and leaned forward with a new but no less disturbing expression. "Why not make this truly interesting?"

Marcus nodded, not taking his eyes off the dealer, and wondering what game he was really playing. The man smiled grimly as he straightened in his chair. "I'll tell you my price after I win."

Marcus matched the smile. "Then by all means, deal."

The cards again slid beneath dexterous fingers, snapping crisply against each other in a blur of motion. The dealer never looked down to them, but kept a steady eye on the ranger, a strange mixture of sport and condescension rising in his eyes and flickering through the fading shadows even as the cards flickered beneath them. The expression never changed, and without another word, five cards came to rest before each player, making only small scuffing sounds as they cut across the table.

Marcus glanced down only briefly at the cards that laid before him, then back up to the dealer. He was close now, very close, and his heart pounded with an excitement which his face concealed. "If we're going to do away with betting this time, why don't we just be done with it. I'm sure you dealt me a fair hand."

If he'd hoped to trigger a response, he was disappointed, for the man answered smoothly, ignoring the clear implication of the statement. "If that's what you want."0

Marcus' eyes narrowed, but he was still confident of the outcome. "You first."

The man flipped the cards over one by one, again without looking down, and again without concern. The light from the skylight above reflected off the cards in eerie warning, and cast a shadow of a mask across the dealer's aquiline features. Tearing his eyes away from the darkening figure before him, Marcus looked down at the cards: a three, a three, a queen, and another three.

Marcus frowned and nodded towards the last card, "You missed something."

The man smirked in response, a casual confidence that belied the tension hanging heavily between the two. "I never miss. I simply hate to end the excitement so soon. Your turn."

Marcus frowned further, but began to turn over his own cards: an ace, an ace, an eight, an ace. He paused, looking down at the cards in front of him and paling slightly as he reached for the last one . . . another eight. The blood in his veins turned to ice as he stared at the cards and the message they conveyed. Suddenly, the realization that he was no longer in control, that he had never been in control, struck him mercilessly, nearly blinding him in its terrifying clarity. Almost in slow motion he reached for the sword beside him.

Before fleshed touched steel, however, two sets of hands grabbed him roughly from behind and held him in place. "Not thinking of leaving are you?" the man asked with blistering sarcasm, the ruse dropped at last, "We're not done yet." He rose slowly from his chair as he flipped over the last card . . . another three. A smile, biting in its emptiness and possible foreshadowing, spread slowly across the man's face, "You've lost."

Glowering beneath the other's gaze and the hands that held him fast in his chair, Marcus glared up at the dealer and tried to shift his weight and balance to his advantage. In the darkness of the room, the dealer didn't notice. "Nothing to say?" He asked, staring down at the trapped figure with twisted pleasure. "Don't you want to know what I want?"

Marcus merely spat on the ground by the other's foot in response, prompting a dry chuckle from the dealer. "No?" He asked in mock disappointment, circling the table like a bird of prey, ready to strike, "Well, as you can see you've caught me on a particularly generous evening, so I'll tell you anyway." He placed both hands on the table and leaned over the seated form of the ranger. His steel grey eyes were cold and clear, and they cut deep with an intensity that bespoke a chilling twist of fate ...... the hopeful predator had now become prey, and the figure that loomed above him in the darkness knew neither leniency nor mercy. Beneath the hardened gaze, the silence between them pounded, growing to such a deafening level that it was almost merciful when the man began to speak ...... almost. Leaning even closer to the ranger, the man's lips parted, and a voice like a whisper from the grave echoed in Marcus' ear, "What I want from you, is your life, and I intend to take it--Now."

Striker Kel

Cross me and with blades of darkness, midnight-forged
my very soul, I will send you screaming into the depths.

((co-authored with Ranger Marcus))


Continue to part three.



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