Post by Tandar on Jun 6, 2012 21:08:44 GMT -5
10 August 657
Brad’s breath came in ragged gasps as he ran through the deserted street. He was exhausted and he felt like his legs couldn’t carry him another foot. Splash. His foot landed in a large puddle and dirty rainwater doused his fine clothes. Risking a glance behind him, he could see a shadowy figure outlined by the moonbeams confidently tailing him with a long, steady stride. Brad whimpered and picked up his pace as he rounded a corner in an attempt to lose his pursuer. As he continued his flight, his vision began to diminish, becoming blurrier with each passing minute. He lost his balance on more than once occasion and stumbled. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the figure, now nothing more than a moving shape because of his reduced ocular capacity, turning the corner and gaining on him but still a considerable distance away. Brad could see the lights from the Red Feather Inn roughly fifty yards ahead of him. Once he reached the inn, he could seek refuge or perhaps even find someone to protect him from whomever is chasing him.
Suddenly, the lights from the inn were blocked out as the figure stepped out from an alley in front of Brad. A pair of hands grabbed him and redirected his momentum, throwing him into the wall to the side. Brad slammed into the brick wall and fell to the ground, blinking rapidly to clear the stars from his vision. "That's impossible! How did you—". Brad broke off and looked down the street in the direction he had come, but no one was there. He had just seen his pursuer in the street behind him. How did the figure manage to cut through alleyways and get in front of him in a matter of seconds? "Hey!" Brad shouted. The figure held him by the ankles and dragged him into the narrow alleyway as he tried weakly to kick at his assailant and claw at the ground. The figure moved him behind a large rain barrel and stopped, dropping his legs.
"Shout for help, and you won't get this antidote." The midnight blue–garbed assassin produced a small glass vial containing a light bluish liquid in his gloved hand but whisked it away to a pocket out of Brad's reach. "Cooperate with me and—"
"Antidote! Why do I need that?" Brad made an attempt to snatch the vial from the assassin, but his reaction was much too slow and delayed. "What's wrong with me?!" He held up his hands in front of his impaired eyes and stared at them as if they were mutating before him.
"The tea you drank was poisoned," the figure told him. "Soon the toxin will begin to dissolve the organs in your body. It's not too late to neutralize the poison, but death will be extremely painful if you allow it to reach your vital—"
"Okay! Okay!" Brad waved his arms rapidly in the air in front of him, signaling the assassin to stop. "What do you want from me?"
"I know you hired Victor to murder your wife."
Brad's expression of horror turned to one of surprise. The circumstances surrounding his wife's death were a closely guarded secret.
The assassin continued. "I want to know where to find Victor."
Brad hesitated and glanced at the corner of the Red Feather that he could see from his seated position. "No way," he said firmly, shaking his head. He tried to stand by using the wall and barrel for support, but he felt so dizzy he had to lower himself back down. "Bad things happen to people who rat about Victor. I mean really bad things."
"A really bad thing is going to happen to you if you don't tell me what I want to know," the assassin replied. He pulled the antidote out of his pocket and made as if to throw it as far as he could.
"Wait!" Brad held up a hand. "He's at a place." He racked his brain. "It's called Mitchell's." Satisfied, the assassin handed him the vial of light bluish liquid, and Brad downed it immediately. Already his vision seemed less blurry. "Who are you?" he asked, looking up at the man in the midnight blue clothing.
"My name is Kevin Biton de Allaris."
"Allaris!" his target exclaimed. "That's—"
Biton abruptly silenced him with a kick to the face. He pulled Brad up and shoved his head into the full rain barrel, holding his head under the water as the man struggled to surface for a breath. Water splashed out and soaked Biton's clothing. His target swung his arms about frantically, trying desperately to loosen his grip. After a moment, a rush of bubbles came to the surface of the rain water, and Brad's body slumped lifelessly.
Brad’s breath came in ragged gasps as he ran through the deserted street. He was exhausted and he felt like his legs couldn’t carry him another foot. Splash. His foot landed in a large puddle and dirty rainwater doused his fine clothes. Risking a glance behind him, he could see a shadowy figure outlined by the moonbeams confidently tailing him with a long, steady stride. Brad whimpered and picked up his pace as he rounded a corner in an attempt to lose his pursuer. As he continued his flight, his vision began to diminish, becoming blurrier with each passing minute. He lost his balance on more than once occasion and stumbled. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the figure, now nothing more than a moving shape because of his reduced ocular capacity, turning the corner and gaining on him but still a considerable distance away. Brad could see the lights from the Red Feather Inn roughly fifty yards ahead of him. Once he reached the inn, he could seek refuge or perhaps even find someone to protect him from whomever is chasing him.
Suddenly, the lights from the inn were blocked out as the figure stepped out from an alley in front of Brad. A pair of hands grabbed him and redirected his momentum, throwing him into the wall to the side. Brad slammed into the brick wall and fell to the ground, blinking rapidly to clear the stars from his vision. "That's impossible! How did you—". Brad broke off and looked down the street in the direction he had come, but no one was there. He had just seen his pursuer in the street behind him. How did the figure manage to cut through alleyways and get in front of him in a matter of seconds? "Hey!" Brad shouted. The figure held him by the ankles and dragged him into the narrow alleyway as he tried weakly to kick at his assailant and claw at the ground. The figure moved him behind a large rain barrel and stopped, dropping his legs.
"Shout for help, and you won't get this antidote." The midnight blue–garbed assassin produced a small glass vial containing a light bluish liquid in his gloved hand but whisked it away to a pocket out of Brad's reach. "Cooperate with me and—"
"Antidote! Why do I need that?" Brad made an attempt to snatch the vial from the assassin, but his reaction was much too slow and delayed. "What's wrong with me?!" He held up his hands in front of his impaired eyes and stared at them as if they were mutating before him.
"The tea you drank was poisoned," the figure told him. "Soon the toxin will begin to dissolve the organs in your body. It's not too late to neutralize the poison, but death will be extremely painful if you allow it to reach your vital—"
"Okay! Okay!" Brad waved his arms rapidly in the air in front of him, signaling the assassin to stop. "What do you want from me?"
"I know you hired Victor to murder your wife."
Brad's expression of horror turned to one of surprise. The circumstances surrounding his wife's death were a closely guarded secret.
The assassin continued. "I want to know where to find Victor."
Brad hesitated and glanced at the corner of the Red Feather that he could see from his seated position. "No way," he said firmly, shaking his head. He tried to stand by using the wall and barrel for support, but he felt so dizzy he had to lower himself back down. "Bad things happen to people who rat about Victor. I mean really bad things."
"A really bad thing is going to happen to you if you don't tell me what I want to know," the assassin replied. He pulled the antidote out of his pocket and made as if to throw it as far as he could.
"Wait!" Brad held up a hand. "He's at a place." He racked his brain. "It's called Mitchell's." Satisfied, the assassin handed him the vial of light bluish liquid, and Brad downed it immediately. Already his vision seemed less blurry. "Who are you?" he asked, looking up at the man in the midnight blue clothing.
"My name is Kevin Biton de Allaris."
"Allaris!" his target exclaimed. "That's—"
Biton abruptly silenced him with a kick to the face. He pulled Brad up and shoved his head into the full rain barrel, holding his head under the water as the man struggled to surface for a breath. Water splashed out and soaked Biton's clothing. His target swung his arms about frantically, trying desperately to loosen his grip. After a moment, a rush of bubbles came to the surface of the rain water, and Brad's body slumped lifelessly.