Kydris Shieldew
In the back of the Roanite's throat, the noticeably acidic aftertaste of his drink felt more and more pronounced as the game of darts progressed. At the start of the evening, he and Thrall had made their way to the tavern together, and while his butcher had a penchant for drink, Kydris had other vices of his own. T'was shortly after the two--who often found themselves heading to the same place on their weekend nights--departed from one another that Kydris sought out the establishment's owner.
It would be wrong to say that Eadrus was a friend of Kydris's, but only because it would be wrong to assume Eadrus had any friends at all. Most everyone who made a habit of visiting the Mare knew him on a personal basis because he demanded it to be so, but not a single of his many patrons were more to the old shark than walking, talking money machines. It behooved Eadrus to know enough about all his customers to best squeeze a buck out of them, but on this particular night it wasn't money that The Puppeteer sought.
To Kydris, however, money was the only thing that truly mattered, and thus he believed Eadrus had reigned him in for the express purpose of collecting on a mounting debt. A debt Kydris had challenged Eadrus to a game of darts to absolve. Were he a wiser elf (he was not) he might've played to extend his payback period, but because he
always felt lucky he instead made quick work of betting his services in perpetuity.
Now, thirty minutes after he challenged Eadrus to double the bet, the intermingling flavors of many different wines were becoming more and more prevalent as his throat dried. He tried to clear it nonchalantly, but between his viciously sweating brow, trembling fingertips, and throat noises, there wasn't a single person at the dart-stand that would've mistaken him for calm and collected.
"You know," Eadrus said, breaking the looming silence.
"Not three games ago, you were talking my godforsaken ear off. Where's that fire gone, friend?" With a blinding speed, the elf's entire visage seemed to shift, his bright eye's meeting those of The Puppeteer.
"Ah! Of course, old friend. It's just this wine, you see. I've burned through so much of your hospitality I'm beginning to think I'm in no good shape to compete. In fact, I can barely even stand! Ha!" As if to make the point, Kydris attempted to stand, but instead brushed the goblet off the countertop, spilling it's dark contents all over the hardwood. Before Eadrus could react, Kydris made a show of desperately clutching the countertop, and swaying back and forth by only the strength of his grip.
"Oh dammit! My sincerest apologies Eadrus... much as I loathe to admit it, I can hardly stand! This last game... we just must postpone it! I'd hate to have to cancel this whole thing but..." Kydris closed his eyes, feigning disappointment while fervently fanning his face with one hand.
On either side of where they sat, two highly-unimpressed guards reached for the handles of their blades--this wasn't the first time they had seen someone try to flee, and certainly not the first time they had witnessed Kydris's act specifically. Both gruff men took one step forward, but halted when Eadrus raised a single palm upwards. With a flick of his wrist, he sent both guards away to the door where he knew they would have a better chance of blocking the elf's movements.
"Now Kydris," Eadrus's voice was low and raspy. His words were ever-so-slightly slurred by his own inebriation.
"You aren't going to run now are you? We have such a magnificent game going. You forget that you're up two games, and so am I! We have a classic tie-breaking match to go and you want to leave!" Eadrus snickered over the rim of his goblet. At once, his gaze narrowed, and his tone seemed to shift from jubilant to malicious as he added,
"I'm up next, aren't I? I think you'll stay to see the outcome, no?" The elderly human lurched from his cushioned seat, tossing his own goblet aside before clasping the Roanite and tossing him back into his seat.
Even through the haze and bustle of the basement casino, Kydris's trained eye spotted a number of paid muscle, all of which seemed to move towards the sparse exits in wait. Even though he could give Eadrus the slip with relative ease, he wouldn't make it far. His panicked eyes fluttered around the room searching for any sign of Thrall, whom he couldn't see from where he sat. The first two games had swung in his favor: he had won both back to back. It felt like ages ago, as between each round the two prolific gamblers would take a moment to put back a glass of wine or two. It was a custom tradition in the Mare that most of the darts players would respect out of courtesy, and also because the added challenge added a level of unpredictability most addicts like Kydris enjoyed.
The only problem was that--as if by some cruel god's wrath--Eadrus would go on to win the next two. The first to three had the victory. Kydris hadn't played poorly for the round: he landed a seven on the board. The odds would've been enough in any other instance to be less than a bother to him, but in this case he knew that what followed would be nothing less than a massacre.
TWANG!
With a sharp thud, and subsequent reverberation, the dart collided with the felt surface. It's long, red shaft contrasted against the yellowed cylindrical backdrop that made up the bulls-eye. Kydris stared on, his lips curling into a smile just a little too wide to be natural.
"Wow!" He said, a little louder than necessary.
"What a good shot!" Eadrus looked back at him, snickering at the elf's obvious discomfort.
SHIT
"Well Kydris, you know what they say about betting coin on a dancing--" Before Eadrus could finish, an explosive sound ricocheted off the walls, stunning most of the patrons into silence. What followed was a flurry of movement, as a newcomer quickly disabled the limbs of the same two guards that had previously stood on either side of Kydris. Eadrus, in mute horror, could only watch on as his men were swiftly dispatched. Gently, the elf moved behind the fat man as the two watched the spectacle, and while the room was occupied he deftly pulled the hand sickle from his belt.
The newcomer had clearly shocked the Puppeteer into submission, as he seemed to indicate that he wanted the room vacated of the other two goons at the only other exit. Eadrus, enraptured with the newcomer barely felt the small difference in weight at his belt and Kydris--now crouched behind him--slit Eadrus's coin-purse from it's clasp. With a dexterity matched only by other professional thieves, Kydris plucked the falling bag up by the lip of the bag as to avoid having the gold pieces collide with enough force to make them jingle.
Kydris took two slow steps backwards before the voice called out.
"I'm taking him."
The elf was more preoccupied with the door, but the sudden shift in the gathered populace seemed to clue him into the fact that it was he the assailant was after. Meekly, Kydris piped up, his left hand holding the coin-purse behind his back.
"M-Me? Oh! You must be a prospective customer! Well--"
Before he could finish, Eadrus leapt in front of the elf, holding both arms out as if to protect Kydris.
"Hell no! I don't know who you think you are but... but this elf owes me his life now, dammit! No one takes my winnings! Nobody!" As Eadrus spoke, Kydris spotted Thrall on a table nearby, evidently very drunk. Slowly he stepped towards the Lecyri, his hand still tucked behind his back.
Lydris was ready for a fight which he was sure was about to commence. It was by some miracle then, that Eadrus seemed to completely surrender at the mention of a debt to The Spider. Kydris rolled his eyes at the name, his momentary exasperation slipping through his otherwise unguarded facade.
What is with criminals in this town and their goddamn nicknames? I mean for the love of Ronan...
“You say his life is forfeit, eh?” the stranger said softly from afar. “Well, until your taxes are paid in full, his life is mine. You got any problems with it, take it to the Spider. I’m sure he has a few words to share with you.” Eadrus seemed taken aback, the words unable to escape his throat. Desperately, his fat head swiveled back and forth on his neck as he watched the mysterious assailant march towards Thrall and Kydris.
At this point, the trashed Lecyri spoke up; "Are we done with this already? I got to go work mate... I have an hour to get there and I didn't even take a nap." Kydris glanced down at his exhausted cohort. "Oh please, stop pretending its my brilliant company that's keeping you here, you bloody drunkard." Kydris plucked Thrall's cup off the table, momentarily sniffing at the lip, only to recoil in visible disgust. "I don't even want to know what kind of crap they have to give someone your size to put you down..." In the midst of Kydris's commentary, the new member cut in, beckoning for the two to follow.
Kydris, though he didn't trust the stranger, followed after him, making sure to help Thrall up with his free hand before swiftly following the assailant from the Mare. For a time they walked in silence as Kydris made sure they weren't being followed. When he was finally certain they weren't, he gave Thrall a gentle nudge in the ribs, and gestured towards the new guy as if to ask who the hell their mystery rescuer was.
Without any real read on the stranger, Kydris opened his mouth to speak, his words laced with a saccharine sweet affection to best approach the grumpy looking fellow's sensibilities. "Look, uh.. friend. I'm extremely grateful for the swift evacuation, but you needn't have---"
“Y’all are some damn fools, you know that?” he shook his head, mumbling under his breath before adding, “I come lookin' for a Conjurer and I find he’s indebted to an idiot like the Puppeteer and a random damn Lecyrian. How do y’all know each other anyways -- Actually, nevermind, I don’t care. Now, follow me, we’ve got shit to take care of.” Kydris paused, his feet coming to a rest. Before he could voice his own displeasure, Thrall cut in. He had to give it to the butcher: for having just witnessed their captor cause The Puppeteer to tremble in fear, the Lecyrian did not seem like he could've cared any less about what the man had to say. Kydris snickered, and slapped the outstretched hand, though his own palm was some sizes smaller than the hulking beast of a man.
"So what you want from us? Cause honestly, besides butching the best meat in Lyf, I ain't no good. So, hit me up for pork chops Kydris or... you... stranger. I'm gonna head towards work before Paul sends his chickens to retrieve me. "
Before either could react, Thrall took off for his shop which Kydris knew to be some streets ahead, leaving the Roanite alone with his captor who seemed less than psyched to be there in the first place.
Thanks a lot, buddy.
"Look, I don't know what you think you've won. The thing about me and contracts is that I prefer to consider their contents... interpretive. If you think I was going to sign away my life in there, you're wrong pal. My life is mine. The only reason Thrall's mention of pork-chops hasn't totally eclipsed whatever interest I have in you, is that I figure it's not worth it to be on the bad side of two different titled jerks." Kydris folded his arms over his chest. "Tell me where we're headed at the very least." As he spoke, he rearranged his newly acquired coin-purse to clasp at the side of his belt, while never letting his eyes go astray from the stranger's own.