For those uninitiated in the Foundations, there were a few characters that you should stay clear of. The silver hands brutes were one, anyone showing signs of radiation or mutation another and above else, anyone that would never normally call this place home. For someone like that to survive down here they would need a threat that people not only respected and feared but also brought with it a distinct fallout area wherever they may go. The Pale Spine was a place where many of these would frequent. The heavy smoke, partly cinnamon, partly burnt syth with the after taste of something similar to tobacco blanketed the air and appearances. This made it perfect for hiding away, and unfortunately perfect for not seeing the dangers sitting next to you.
The two prisoners ducked their head as they entered. The room was sunken down into the lower floor. This created a space above on the main area used for other matters that couldn't be solved with a drink. The man smiled, almost recognizing the distinct smell. The girl however, at such an age as hers, recoiled and rubbed her eyes. She was given a slightly sympathetic look by the other prisoner before he lit up a snyth pipe that he had managed to rescue from his jumbled belongings and sat down at the bar. He got the attention of the barkeep and found his glass to soon be full with a purple liquid; its surface reflected like oil but bubbled like it was being heated with the distinct aroma of something illegally strong. This was a drink to forget. The girl on the other hand was still trying to adjust to her new surroundings. Her lost state did not go unnoticed, three guys at the corner of the bar, which by their apparent lack of co-ordination, had been drinking for a while, that or something chemical. She fumbled around in the smoke trying to find a chair. Not an easy task, especially under such a watchful gaze.
From upstairs a heavy boot stomped its way down. A small group, sitting by fire fireplace suddenly moved. The smoke gathered by their movements and swirled around the young girl, who had, unfortunately found a seat. The boots were followed by the slim figure of a man, his clothes were tailored, but from a fashion months ago. They had seen better days but to most, this was the fashion here, anything that wasn’t from fashionable above, anything that wasn’t pristine and undamaged. He sat down at his usual spot next to the fire. A barmaid suddenly appeared out of the smoke with a drink in hand and placed it down on the table in front of the man. Her sight then fell upon the girl, there was a brief look of confliction on her face before the sense of self-preservation kicked in and she swiftly disappeared. The girl suddenly realised her situation, not the severity of it, but the fact she was sitting next to a dangerous stranger. So she did what she did naturally, distract and impress, reduce the threat. She passed pleasantries at him, to which he sipped his drink. She tried to charm him, removing her hood, in hopes her looks would impress. There were only cat calls from the other side of the bar. Her last resort was her most intimate to her. She reached over behind her and tapped around for a fork. She then presented it, covered it with her hand and revealed the item to be plated in amethyst. Now this, this garnered his attention. He dispatched his own set of pleasantries, revealing himself to be Lord Shroud, or at least that was his name above. She introduced herself again as Chloe. He too, like Maw, had noticed her hands and realised she was far from home, and therefore easily manipulated.
There was a pinprick of pain in the front of the girls brain, her eyes momentarily squinted. The plated fork was snatched. She rubbed her head and then passed pleasantries at him, to which he sipped his drink. She tried to charm him, playing with her hair, in hopes her looks would impress. There again, were only cat calls from the other side of the bar. She resorted to her last tactic. Chloe reached over behind her and tapped her hand around for a fork. She presented it, plated it, and was introduced again. However this time the gentleman produced his own fork. Taken aback by this she didn't notice one of the gentlemen from the corner of the bar being coerced into talking to her. The two guys who remained at the bar started sloshing their drink around in their glasses, the reward for a dare completed. This would go un-drunk. His approach and lack of etiquette along with her current situation left her to react almost instinctively. With his lecherous breath down her neck she reached out to his crotch and plated it amethyst. Although she unsure what ended up being plated, the man started to cry out in pain while his compatriots laughed on, one falling out his chair. The newly plated man forced his way through the rest of the patrons, through the smoke and to the outside world. The Lord laughed; she was definitely not what she appeared to be, her eyes betraying a sense of enjoyment out of the pain she had inflicted.
On the other side of the room at the bar, the male prisoner had drunk one or two more than he would have usually done. He repeatedly said to the barkeep this was down to stress. His current state afforded him new found courage, or at least emboldened his usually passive nature. The barkeep had been giving watchful glances over at a cloaked figure in the shadows at the other end of the bar. When Chloe had plated the drunkard, it was this figure that stopped the barkeep from interfering. This piqued the prisoner’s interest. He sidled over, offered something to smoke, to which they did not reply. He offered a drink, again no reply. He offered his name, Eryn, to only be met with silence again. The barkeep now was trying to get the attention of Eryn, gesturing to move away as quickly and as carefully as possible. This went unnoticed and the prisoner quickly rose out of his seat. The cloaked figure grabbed hold of his arm. Eryn looked down and saw what was causing the pain from the grasp. The cloaked figure had a clawed grip, which was now drawing blood. They, on the other hand, still looked forward, calmly. The prisoner was now panicking; there was only one species that could do this, a species infamous in children’s stories and the nightmares of adults. Eryn tried to recoil, the claws now digging in deeper.
The cloaked figure noticed that the two gentlemen left at the corner of the bar were now nearly blind drunk. The figure retracted their claws and nodded to the prisoner; perhaps he was being let go, perhaps he wouldn't die. The truth of the matter was that although the figure considered him to be an oddity down here, there were better things to do. The figure rose and the barkeep nervously shuffled over. A silver coin was passed over and the barkeep nodded. A look was given over to another figure in the bar, a large brutish gentleman. His eyes were squinted, while a forked tongue tasted the smoke, cinnamon, snyth and alcohol in the air. The two drunks were herded by this man out to the back of the bar and into the alleyway. The cloaked figure followed. A few moments later Eryn had downed another drink, and followed the figure out. Chloe, noticing that her companion was leaving, swiftly followed with Lord Shroud on her heels.
No comments:
Post a Comment