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[Marcus Drago]

30th Winter, 514 AV


Marcus sat on the corner of a street. What street he was on did not matter, but what did seem to matter was what he was doing on said street. Sitting alone, he began to make music with two wooden sticks he found near the outside forest. Marcus was tapping the sticks to the ground, hitting the surface one at a time each, creating a sensational rhythm that one could dance to. He played without a care in the world, full smiles on his face. He did not miss a beat, only intensified the rhythm as he continued. Marcus was dancing himself, swinging his upper torso side to side as he played.

He had been doing this all day, and even earned a few cash from it. However, some Ravokian citizens did not enjoy his show of music talent, which was one of the reasons why two Ebonstryfe paid Marcus a visit to his corner.

"Hey, stop that beating!" screamed one as both walked towards him. One was a little large to be taken seriously, the other was just the right size. The large one was the one that yelled, and also the one to continue yelling.

"I said stop beating!" His screams became louder while his belly pointed at Marcus' face. They both where standing in front of him now, bearing down on him with intimidation and annoyance in their eyes. Marcus payed no attention, looking down to the sticks that he banged over and over again. His white hood covered his face, making it easier for him to not gaze at their ugly mugs.

The large one got rather angry with Marcus. How dare he not pay attention to the law? The man was an Ebonstryfe for a reason, to get respect. If no one showed him respect, then he would force them to. So the man reached out to grab Marcus shirt and force him up to meet his face. However, other events happened against the man.

Like a wild tiger, Marcus sprang himself up to the man, and grabbed at his arm. He swiftly moved around to his backside, forcing the large man and his arm to an uncomfortable position. The man winced in pain before realizing that Marcus had him in restraint.

Marcus chuckled in his ear, then spoke to the large Ebonstryfe soldier only, his voice close to a whisper. "You are surprisingly weak. Aren't you an Ebonstryfe or something? I thought you were all suppose to be... A force to be reckoned."

The large man grew furious with his words, then called towards his partner to get Marcus off of him. His partner cringed at the others request, mostly because of how he ordered to be rescued. Currently, this man was giving the Ebonstryfe a bad name.

Marcus watched as the partner drew out his blade, then pointed it towards him. Quickly did he release the soldier, back away and raise his fingers into the air, resembling a wanted man surrendering to a police unite. "I meant no harm, no disrespect," said Marcus, trying to save himself from certain death. "Just a little fun, that's all." The two guards weren't having fun.

"Get on the ground!" The partner said, pointing his blade towards the floor. Marcus willingly moved to his knees, placing his hands behind his head. At least he would have protection if the soldiers decided to give him a quick knock out to the back of his neck. The partner moved around Marcus, inspecting him to look for something. A weapon maybe? Currently he had none, none but the sticks he used to create music. Then Ebonstryfe saw this, then signaled his large partner with a nod.

That symbol must have meant, 'he is safe to kill,' because the moment the nod was expressed, the large man ran after Marcus and kneed him in the chin. Marcus flew back, landing with his back to the sky and his front to the ground. He thought he could taste blood in his mouth, but when he checked there was none that came out. The soldier struck again, this time kicking him in the side stomach. This caused actual blood to be spilled from Marcus lips and onto the cement. Marcus tried his hardest to get up, but he couldn't. The world was too spinning, his body too painful, his mind unable to deal with the amount of pain he felt. When he couldn't stand, he tried to crawl away, but the soldier wasn't allowing it.

Another strike to his gut, one to his rib, and another to his face. The more the soldier kicked, the harder the attack was, just like the way Marcus banged his sticks. He tried getting up again, but gravity still did not want him to. All Marcus could do was handle the punishment given to him.

[Irriari]

The zith had been making slow progress through the streets, entertaining herself with the thought of tripping a random human in the hopes of starting a brawl. It would stop the incessant chatter of the group that had managed to spread themselves halfway across the main walkway. If the zith heard another petching comment about how periwinkle was the color of the season she would paint all of their damned dresses in blood and decorate them with festive entrails. But of course, the city of chaos was never silent. An annoying clacking assaulted her senses from the corner of a street just ahead of her. The zith was more than willing to deal with it on her own, but two Ebonstryfe soldiers had already decided to take action. While she would never openly thank them, she was grateful that something was being done. Korin would have her head on a spike if she went on a murderous rampage in the city. After a few seconds, it was apparent that the human was brain damaged in some way. The mentally ill were not uncommon on the streets, but even the most unstable of individuals knew to avoid the wrath of the Ebonstryfe. The zith stopped, careless of the humans that spat curses in her direction. The entertainment didn’t end with the human refusing to stop making noise. He somehow managed to jump towards one of the soldiers. While the move was technically impressive, it was shortsighted to a degree the zith couldn’t even begin to explain. Every ounce of pain you inflicted on a soldier of Rhysol was paid back to you in triplicate. There was no escaping, and no bargaining. The zith watched, curious to see whether the human would break any bones. The trail of blood that came from his battered upper lip pleased her. If the start of the entertainment was this good, there was no telling what the finale would hold. She waited, both curious about and utterly engrossed in the pain and sadism that played out before her.

[Marcus Drago]

Over and over again was he kicked in every part of his body. Everything ached, including his face, torso, arms, legs, and even butt. Yes, they literally kicked his butt! Marcus realized that these two males wouldn't let up, they would probably spend the rest of their day doing this to him.

So, Marcus began to ask himself a real question, how will he make them stop? He had no skills above the Ebonstryfe, and his weapon was left at his home. Furthermore, if he laid a hand on one, didn't that mean he would be going against Rhysol? Marcus gave himself unbelievable options, but he had to find one that would save him.

One option came to mind that he could probably work with, that was probably his one and only choice. First thing he had to do was stand: he did this by rolling over to his side,moving as far away from the guards as he could go, then pushing himself off the ground. The guards allowed this, probably because they wanted to give Marcus a fighting chance. They definitely weren't done with him, so why not make this interesting?

The large Ebonstryfe officer laughed. It was a cocky cackle, one that a person with too much pride and too much power would make. He took out his blade, then threw it to his partner. "You say I am not a force?" He said. His forehead grew a knot from just thinking about it, the taunt that Marcus made to the guard. "I will show you a force. COME AT ME!" More people gathered now as they watched this guard try to make a fool of this human.

Marcus watched the man for a small while, trying to gather the wind he had lost. Blood still came from his lips, his face was red all over, and it was obvious from the looks of his stature that he was hurt beyond fighting point. However, his grave was dug, and now he had to climb out of it.

The human ran to the Ebonstryfe guard, which made the guard place up a fighting stance. As he got closer, Marcus notice the guard jumping up and down a little, maybe preparing a kick. The large male spun when Marcus was close enough, and moved his feet high in the air.

'A roundhouse?!' Thought the human as a leg was about to connect towards his face. He only had little time to react, little time to save himself from a concussion, a knockout, and possibly certain death from a blow to the head. Marcus moved his hands above his face, making the guard kick his two arms instead.

There was only a slight sting in his arms from the impact, but the human was mostly fine. Now Marcus had a chance; the male allowed himself to get closer to Marcus and now Marcus had a good chance to fight back, show this male some human potential. But how, how could he possibly do this? Take him down with a martial arts maneuver? He wasn't skilled enough for this yet. Beat him with his own weapon? Marcus doubted that he would live if he used a sword against this man. He looked towards the lake, the idea brimming from the suns reflection, then he took the male Ebonstryfe's head. Marcus got a grand hold of strands of hair, then the Ebonstryfe uniform, and with all his power he could muster, he ran towards the lake with the soldier. When he came close to the lake, thanks to the momentum he gathered, he tossed the soldier inside.

Still, after being brave enough to do this, things were not going his way. The male that he tossed grabbed hold of Marcus wrist, then when he was thrown, he made Marcus come with him. Both men where thrown into the water, and sunk towards its depths.

[Nemesis]

It was the second Ebonstryfe soldier to summon the Zith over to his side, “You there! Help me!” His partner would not be impressed at being saved by a Zith, of all beasts, but he was in danger of drowning, or worse, being eaten by the monster - if it still existed, like the rumours suggested. And anyway, the soldier recognised the Zith. They were, after all, uncommon within the city limits, especially alive. He had seen it (no, her) around the Vitrax before - somehow, she worked with, or for, the same organisation that he did.

Wasting no time after hailing the Zith over, he dropped to his knees and bent down over the wooden platform, squinting his eyes to gaze into the water, cursing under his breath. It was not often that someone fought back, not against the Stryfe or Black Sun. He was amazed, and he had already begun to consider what he might do to the assaulter when, or if, he got his hands on him. But first he needed to remove his partner from the water. “There!” he shouted, noting a human-shaped shadow in the water, and a glint that could only be the reflection of a weapon.

Plunging his arm in, he fished around for a limb, a loose bit of clothing, anything that he could grab onto in order to pull his colleague closer to the edge of the dock. He grasped something, and he wasted no time in pulling, and hopefully the Zith was assisting in the quick removal of the Stryfe soldier from the water. Soon, the body rested on the dock, but it was not the soldier, it was the other. Without thinking, the soldier straddled his victim, raised a fist and slammed it down into the side of the man’s face, colliding a few fingers with his nose. “Stay there, scum,” he hissed, leaning close and spitting into the man’s face as he did so.

Turning to the Zith, he shouted, “Can you see him? I need you to get him out of the water… now!” A struggle beneath him diverted the soldier’s attention back to his prisoner, who now had a steady flow of blood from his nose, mingling with all the mud and water that stained his face. With the hand that was still curled into a fist and lodged in the man’s clothes, he shook his prisoner violently, caring nought for the thumping as the man’s head hit the wooden planks along the pathway. “Shut up, you good-for-nothing, petching vagik!” Reaching down, he began to rummage in the man’s pockets. First, he pulled out a small pouch of coins, which was thrown carelessly to the side.

But it wasn’t what the soldier was after. He could not find any citizenship papers on the man. “No papers…” he muttered, his tone low and menacing. He turned back to watch the Zith for a chime, who seemed to be having no luck in finding his colleague. A frown appeared on his face, but he quickly wiped it away and glared back down at the man, “If he doesn’t come back, I will personally make sure you hang, you little petch.”

OOCWelp. Punishment for murder in the city is capital. Especially for a non-citizen. Naughty, naughty. Irriari - I'll leave it up to you whether or not the other soldier returns to us
*

[Irriari]

OOCNem, tell me if this is improbable based on the canal structure or anything else OOCReference Jolted from her reverie, the zith noticed the soldier who remained by the canal side beckoning loudly for her help. The soldier had subdued the bleeding instigator quite handily but the effort left him pinned in place. Now the humans wanted her assistance? The soldiers spoke of her hideous wings in the training hall of the Vitrax, thinking that she couldn’t hear the insults they muttered to each other while she trained. Still, this was no time to reflect on the inadequacies and stupidity of the humans that filled the Ebonstryfe. The struggling soldier in the water belonged to the same organization as she did, and for that he deserved a modicum of respect. The zith bounded forward, covering the distance between the walking path and the canal quickly, knowing from her ravosala rides that the lake was far from shallow. In life or death scenarios, speed and action often made the difference between failure and redemption. Heedless of the precious papers and arrow fletching in her quiver, the zith grabbed the edge of the canal overhang and jumped into the lake, holding onto the canal with her fingertips and claws, digging in with one hand while her legs flailed in the water, desperate to make contact with some portion of the soldier below. A second passed. Then another. Her keen eyesight identified the sinking shadow of the soldier and she stretched her small form as far as possible into the water kicking towards him, digging her fingertips into the wood until they caught on splinters and bled. If the petching human didn’t hang for this, she would see him dealt with herself. The shadow beneath her surged upward, invigorated with a second wind. She felt a hand connect with her ankle for but a moment before it started yanking her down into the depths. The soldier clawed and pulled at her furred leg for leverage, desperate to return to the surface. Had she been listening, Irriari would have heard the telltale pop and crack of her shoulder dislocating out its socket. Her scream drowned out the sound. The pain smothered everything else. Overcome with the agony radiating from her shoulder, the zith focused on the only thing that mattered- holding on. Her vision blurred and specks of light danced in front of her eyes as her head bounced below the surface of the water. The zith inhaled a mouthful of water and retched as she bobbed back to the surface. The soldier had made his way to her waist but her grip was failing faster than the man was ascending. He grabbed at her quiver strap, forcing her entire torso downward. The pressure was enough to cause her grip to falter, sending her into the depths of the lake. While she was only a foot under the surface, Irriari panicked, lashing out with her clawed foot, kicking the soldier in his stomach. Her own survival was paramount, and priority went to the goal of being rid of the parasite that was clawing at her. A second later, the soldier bobbed to the surface, gasping for air to fill his aching lungs, seeking purchase on the canal edge. He found it, and the zith grabbed at his leg this time, careless that her claws were digging into his thighs. It took a moment to orient herself and return to the surface. When she did, she grasped the edge of the canal feebly with her left hand, knowing that her right was incapable of even the most basic of tasks. The zith hung there, coughing violently and gritting her teeth against the pain that had somehow worsened considerably. Adrenaline spent, she shivered and shook, trying (and failing)to look fearsome to the human that remained pinned above her. “If the Ebonstryfe do not deal with you, I will flay you alive, and I promise you it will take the better part of a season.”

[Marcus Drago]

'It looks so beautiful underneath... I wonder why people don't come down here more... Wait.....' Marcus widened his eyes, realizing what was happening. Currently, he was floating to the surface of the lake, all the way to its darkest depths. To his right was a man swinging his arms up and down rapidly. The large man looked frantic, scared until he was crap-less. Marcus stared at him as they both sunk, a blank expression on his face.

'Does this man know how to swim?' he thought as he watched. The man gave no worthy effort to reach the surface, only sunk deeper into the shadows.

Feeling the need to help all who needed a hand, Marcus grabbed the mans arm and placed it over his shoulder. The stryfe fought at first, but seemed to relax as he realized that he was nearly out of breath. He allowed Marcus to take the wheel and begin to kick. Marcus moved his legs front to back, trying what his mother had taught him to stay afloat. 'Keep kicking,' she would tell him when he was a child, just learning how to swim. 'Keep kicking,' his father would say when ever he fell off the ship and needed to get back on. 'Keep kicking!' he told himself, as he tried to save his own ass. 'I could escape,' he thought. 'I could just swim away right now and leave him for dead.'

He looked at the man who was looking to him, like a sad puppy lost in the ocean of fear with only a basket to keep him afloat, Marcus being that basket. 'But what would that solve...'

They came closer to the surface and Marcus could almost feel the cooling yet warm air of the dry world. His free hand that was not used to keep hold of the man was used to swim towards the top. It took extra work to being them both above. Marcus already had a soar arm and legs from just carrying this man on his back.

Oh how close where they to safety, oh how glorious it would be if he could only reach the top then run as far away from his corner as possible. He was so close, and yet he had to be so far as something kept them from reaching shores safely.

As Marcus moved further to safety with the man, he found himself becoming increasingly tired. From the need to carry the man and also himself, he grew gradually weak, the pressure of the water making things more difficult than needed. He loosened his grip to the man, his arms turning to a jello substance, his feet loosing its will to continue. The moment when Marcus became weak, he forgot his surroundings, the situation he was in, and the fact that he had no means of attaining oxygen, Marcus breathed in the water.

He began to choke, loose all known existence of the man he was carrying, then grab hold of his neck in hopes of saving himself. After a second, his mind had finally come back to reality, thanks to the brief shock, and he finally noticed that he had loosen his grip on the man, and that the man was beginning to sink once again.

'OH CRAP,' Marcus thought, reaching for the now drowning authority. His arms and legs too tired from carrying this man to the surface, and yet he had to do this. They were so close that, if Marcus will allowed, they both could possibly survive this ordeal.

Both men extended their fingers but something, or someone, had to prevent them from connecting. Something grabbed hold of his jacket and quickly pulled Marcus from the water. Marcus tried his hardest to stretch his fingers, at least touch his possible only hope to a future, but the strength of two individuals were greater than his.

Marcus coughed when he could breath in oxygen again, happy that he no longer needed to struggle to hold himself together. Unfortunately for him, two officers weren't very happy to see that he was the one alive.

The partner of the drowning man pulled him up from the waters and onto the doc. Instantly was Marcus met with spit and attacks to his face. The only thing he could think about was how kinky this would seem for a whore. Odd thought right?

"Stay there scum," the man said to Marcus, treating him with the most disrespect. Which was what Marcus would probably do if he were in their shoes.

The man spoke to a Zith female near the docs then turned back to Marcus. He shook the human, banging his head against the wooden ground. The man screamed, ' Shut up, you good-for-nothing, petching vagik!' All Marcus could think then was how he said absolutely nothing to summon forth a 'shut up.' The man searched Marcus body, threw away Marcus two gold coins, then muttered, 'no papers...'

'Oh fuck,' the human thought as the man realized that he could do anything to Marcus with no repercussions. He gave the human a warning, and all he did was give a nervous smile.

“If he doesn’t come back, I will personally make sure you hang, you little petch.”

'You could always... Go save him yourself,' Marcus thought, keeping every rhetorical word and snarky comment to himself. All his wise guy comments and actions got him in this mess. Sure he could think up many things for this situation, but right now his main focus had to be to survive.

He looked everywhere around him, then began devising a plan of escape. First, how would he get out of this mans grip? He was hysterical, cocky, distressed because his partner was not above ground level. If the man didn't show, he would probably have nothing but rage. Anger was never your friend, not in a life or death fight. Marcus took one glance to the mans dagger while the soldier stared into the waters. The dagger was close to his waste, close to Marcus. If he could then he would reach for the mans dagger. When involving the Stryfe's, one shouldn't allow them the chance to react, they had to be killed immediately. If he thought quicker, he could move quicker. Surprise this man like he surprised the now drowning one.

Marcus then looked around him, for any area he could run to. His options where little with the other stryfe guards watching, but he did have one alley he could make a break for. The minute he could get out of this city was the minute he would be safe from harm, for now. Marcus waited to see what would happen. Did he actually have to kill a stryfer, or would his life be safe for a small bell? The suspense was breath taking.

The man flinched suddenly, and Marcus watched, his heart pounding and sweat dripping along with water. He was prepared for anything, raising his adrenaline for that one chance to escape. Then, the female dived into the lake. He could hear the former stryfer screaming for help. Marcus and the one straddling him looked in disbelief as both officers surfaced.

The one on top of him looked ecstatic, then turned back towards Marcus, shedding the look of disgust once again. Grabbing Marcus by the throat and his shirt, the man lifted the human to his feet, then forcefully pushed Marcus towards the two. He tripped and fell to the ground, rolling right in front of them

"Help them up you disgusting varmint before I cut your throat right now!"

Marcus wasted no time moving to the two who hung from the canal. He helped the bloody man out first, since he was no longer the one giving the 'I will kill you face,' then extended his fingers to the Zith. She looked piss, scary pissed. The type of pissed a crazy woman gives a man who just cheated on him. This one, out of the other two that just roughed his ass up, scared him the most. "Need a hand," he nervously chuckled.

[Irriari]

MarcusI think after this post, we should wait to see what Nem has to say about the situation, as she technically controls all aspects of the NPCs. I’m unsure what your punishment would be and unless you were planning on trying to escape, I doubt much will change. The zith nodded to the soldier that had instructed the idiot human to help her. While she was loathe to accept assistance from one so weak and pathetic, she knew that her left arm wouldn’t hold her weight. Without using both arms, there was no way she would be able to pull herself up onto the canal edge, and she didn’t intend to sit in the water until a ravosala came by. So she accepted the help and found herself standing on the canal edge a quarter bell after the whole incident had begun. While it seemed longer due to her injuries, the whole affair was actually quite short. The citizens of Ravok had mostly dispersed now that there was no one in risk of imminent danger or death. Irriari ignored them, instead focusing on the human that was the source of her lame arm and ruined fingertips. His features were unimportant. His weapons, words, and story were even less important. The only thing that mattered was that he was still breathing. While the zith wished to mete out her own punishment and dislocate both of his shoulders (and more), she knew that the Ebonstryfe preferred that citizens were made examples of for all of Ravok to see. Knowing this, she settled on kicking him square in the stomach, with the intention of having him sink to the ground from the pain. While it didn’t perfectly mimic the drowning she had experienced earlier, knocking the wind out of someone was always unpleasant. She turned to the Ebonstryfe soldiers that had originally dealt with him, curious as to what his fate would be.

[Nemesis]

The other soldier was okay, the first was relieved to see. A little shocked, perhaps, and sodden, but alive and breathing. When all four were in an upright position, the first soldier stepped forward, grabbing the assaulter by the scruff of his neck. “He has no papers on him.” They might have been lost somewhere in the fight, but it was doubtful, seeing as all citizens of the city knew that those papers were more important than anything else that they could own because, without those papers, anything of material value could not be claimed as theirs. As such, citizens kept those papers safe and secure on their person at all times - they wouldn’t just fall out.

Either way, without that citizenship document, the man was no longer considered a citizen (even if he had been before) and, as such, was subject to all of Ravok’s laws but would enjoy none of the rights. “Ah. No papers.” The second soldier stepped forwards menacingly, until his nose was inches away form Marcus’, “Should have known that scum like you would not be a Ravokian. What to do, what to do…” The sound of dripping beside the edge of the dock turned the two soldiers’ attentions towards the Zith. Unconsciously, the two pulled back in disgust as, for the first time, they took her in. “That saved me?” The wet soldier asked incredulously.

“Oh, simmer down, Lotes,” interjected the other, forcing a smile at the Zith, “I recognised her - she’s the one with links to the Stryfe, remember? Supplies poisons and stuff. If she’s good enough for my superiors, she’s good enough for me.” The man between them all was left forgotten for the moment, though the soldier didn't once loosen his grip on the man. “So what are we doing with this?” He asked, pulling up sharply on the man’s clothes, winding him.

The other soldier was still staring at the Zith, however. “What’s your name, Zith?” He asked, taking a step towards her. As was natural for him to do so, his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his weapon, though he did not hold it in a threatening way, more precautionary as he had been trained to do in potentially volatile situations, and this one had already been a violent one. “I think I know you to… you have a few other… particular talents, don’t you, Zith? A few skills that you might want to hone..?”
*

[Irriari]

Irriari watched the scene unfolding around her with interest. The soldiers were busy frisking the human that had the arrogance to stand against them. The inspection was none too gentle, and she laughed at the pained look that danced across the human’s face as he was moved around by his neck. A few of the wounds had clotted, but one of the particularly nasty head wounds dripped blood from the top of his forehead all the way down to his chin. Irriari stared at the gash as the soldiers spoke, enamored with the delicate path the blood took before it dripped onto the stone below. Wounds were beautiful to those that dealt in pain and terror. A single wound could tell the story of a broken promise or a fierce battle that had been lost. In this case, the wound told the story of a fool too proud to know when to give in. Her inspection of the wounds that littered his body was interrupted by an Ebonstryfe soldier staring the human down from a few inches away. With her entertainment interrupted, her eyes flicked back at the soldiers in front of her. The sopping wet soldier seemed incredulous that a zith could have saved him. He would have sooner believed that Rhysol was dancing with Priskil in the skies above them. She glared at him for a moment, silently daring him say otherwise. Her shoulder ached in protest, reminding her that even breathing came at a cost. If he was bold enough to claim that she hadn’t pulled him out of the water, Irriari knew that she would throw him back into it. Her fingertips were still dripping blood from the ordeal and it was apparent that she would receive no thanks from him. Petching humans. The second soldier must have noticed the anger painted across her face caused by his companions slight. He placated the man and vouched for her reputation among the Ebonstryfe. As minor of an influence as she had, it was nice to be recognized for her poisoncrafting. Irriari laughed again as the instigator struggled to catch his breath. He was in petching bad shape, and his torment at the hands of the Ebonstryfe hadn’t even begun. She would have almost felt sorry for him if the delightful cadence of his heartbeat didn’t delight her to such a degree. Irriari stopped laughing in enough time to answer the answer soldier’s question. She was grateful for it, as his posture indicated that he wasn’t a man to be toyed with. “My name is Irriari.” As he referenced her interests in torture and interrogation, Irriari’s heart skipped a beat. Surely the soldier wasn’t implying that she might be allowed a chance at punishing the human? It was almost too much to process, and she had to fight to suppress the images and ideas that danced through her head. She could flay the flesh off his fingertips off with a rock! She could finally see just how far a human’s shoulder could stretch until it popped out of its socket. The sheer array of options was enough to make her giddy, and the tone in her voice reflected her excitement, “Yes, I do. I’d enjoy practicing them very very much.” She paused and hastily amended her statement, “If it would please the Ebonstryfe, that is.” During her first week in Ravok, the zith had failed to understand the importance and power of the Ebonstryfe. Nearly every human cowered in terror at the mere mention of the soldiers. Even the inn-keepers she had spoken to had nothing but praise for the warriors of Rhysol. The knowledge she had gained the first week in Ravok had tempered her interactions with the Ebonstryfe ever since. It was better to treat a soldier as if he was an Elder than it was to choke on her pride in a cell.

[Marcus Drago]

A Zith, the creature of the night. Magically born from the human race, Zith's were nothing but demons in human form. They were known well for their kidnapping of homo sapiens, animals, and almost anything else with a heart beat. They were un-trustful beasts that relied more on their passion for violence than anything else. If something brought it boredeom, their natural thought was suppose to be to kill it.

So why was this thing in the Ebonstryfe? It was out of its element, had ultimately little trust with other beings, and was commonly known as vile creatures by anyone not Zith. How could it possibly join this organization full of humans? These things where very violent creatures who would no sooner rip a mans heart out than have to take orders from them.The fact that Zith and human where coming together for a common enemy would pull Marcus heart strings, if he wasn't the common enemy.

The tough looking Ebonstryfe guard grabbed Marcus by the back of his neck and held him like a wild dog. Instead of cowering in fear or begging for him to stop, Marcus kept a tough look on his face, non verbally suggesting that this pain he felt meant nothing to him. The Zith laughed at him when she noticed, causing him to look at her in a weird way. From his look, one could tell that Marcus thought it insanely psychotic.

The one that held him mentioned that he had no papers. The fat one made a comment, and Marcus resisted every urge to taunt both. The fat man moved to speak with the Zith, and Marcus disliked every word he made.

'Well this can't be good,' he said to himself as multiple thoughts began racing through his head at once. How would he get out of this? What would be the best route to take? He could kill everyone of them, run while he was given the chance, but how far would he make it out of Ravok? There were too many guards, too many witnesses, too many contingencies to deal with.

He could try talking things out, but how and with who? Ugly, the man that held him, didn't seem like the type of man that needed much from Marcus, not unless he had a thrill for being killed, which was still an option for Marcus to take. Fatso, there is no need to describe that one, didn't have much need either, other than a good diet schedule. So that left the Zith.

'Oh, fuck me,' he thought as he began thinking of anything she wanted. What did he have that he could offer to her? More importantly, what was her weakness and how could he exploit it? His thoughts raced faster than lightning, a million all flowing through in one tick. When he thought he had come up with something, Marcus grinned.

"Zith," the captured man said turning his grin back towards a hardened tough guy expression. He picked his first words carefully, knowing full well that if he couldn't catch her interest then he would fail at making his deal. He needed her curiosity on him, her passion to know something peeked by his offers. If he could catch her then he could snag her away. Without wasting a chime, the man said, "I have an offer to make with you I know, and you know, you cannot refuse."

All he needed was a raised eyebrow, subtle words such as, 'there is no offer you can make me,' or even a pause in her thoughts. If she showed signs of interest, Marcus would feed on it like a parasite to a vassal.