RP:In Pursuit of Knowledge
Perhaps sometime long ago this place was great but now it sinks slowly but surely into the thick yellow sand, almost as if it is trying to burrow down away from the fiery heat of the angry sun. All that remains here are scattered remnants of civilization; monolithic piles of smashed wind worn stone help you to imagine what may have been, gigantic spires rising up from the desert reaching out to the deep blue sky in defiance. Those are now long gone. The harsh angry winds batter this area, billowing out across the dunes and crushed remnants of what may have been a road, creating a cloud of thick swept up sand that threatens to choke anyone who lingers here too long. There is nothing you can do here with the exception of mourning the long dead civilization that lived here and admiring how great they would have been if some unknown tragedy had not ripped this city asunder.
Ezekiel clumsily tumbled down the side of a slanted ladder, loose footing leaving him to hop in pain at the needle-like pain that shot up his legs. He was easily out of shape, and definitely didn't have the energy or body to be pulling off the pseudo-parkour stunts he was. Sadly, he didn't have a choice, he wasn't navigating the ruins of the Shattered City for fun, but instead his life. He had came in search of an old artifact...or several...that were rumored to rest here in this very city. Whether or not those exisisted, he didn't know- what he did know was the small gang of outlaws hot on his tail here. "Down there- he's on the ladder!" He felt his heart stop, goggled-eyes scanning the rooftops for the outlaw that not only spotted him, but threw his location to his allies. Once again, the mage started off in a panic-enduced sprint, dashing.. jumping.. and above all else, stumbling though every building, alley, and door he could find. He could hear them not far behind, yelling, cursing, and even kicking down the doors he was shutting.
Seriis chances a glance skywards, scowls, and tugs the ragged scarf wrapped round his mouth up to cover his nose. He lurks in the shadow of what must once have been an immense and beautiful piece of architecture; a jewel of the desert now half-sunken beneath the sands, smooth stone now pitted and worn by a thousand years of harsh weather. The drow is quite certain that, of all biomes, the desert is the kind he abhors most. He is simply not suited to the terrain nor the weather, used to hard ground beneath his feet rather than the shifting ocean of grains that the wind cruelly blows into his face no matter which way he turns, and far more comfortable in the stuffy climate of the underground than here, where he's subjected to the harshest of the sun's rays. One must sacrifice comforts in pursuit of knowledge, though, and he's been made aware of some interesting artefacts laying abandoned here. In this graveyard of old stone and shards of an ancient civilisation, Seriis has managed to find some shelter...and trouble, too, it would seem. His sharp ears have picked up the sound of slamming doors, the shouts of men, and an altogether panicked situation playing out round the other side of the old temple, deeper into the city's ruin. Cautiously he inches his way round the building, pressing his back flat against the stone as he slips into an alcove that once housed a statuette; a small space, truly, but Seriis is a small drow, able to wriggle his way into narrow spaces. There he crouches, red eyes glinting, and watches the progress of an outlaw across a nearby rooftop. That won't do.
Ezekiel was winded. Between recovering from the life threatening pneumonia only weeks ago, and the generally lazy lifestyle he lived, there was no way he could keep at this for much longer. Out of one half-sunken stone structure, and into the next; he slammed it shut and held it with his back. Noisly he panted, chest wheezing up and down with each breath while he racked his brain for anything he could use. Ezekiel didn't get far before he lurched forward, the shoulder of an outlaw being used to shove at the door he was holding shut. The head and right arm of the foe made it through the door. He may have been tall, but by no means was he large; one hundred and fourty six pounds, scrawny as hell. "Where do you think you're go-" The man was stopped mid sentence, the gruesome sound of his skull cracking instead filled the area, followed by a brain-squelching, squish to top it off. Ezekiel dropped the tome sized boulder he found, nervously apologizing before jogging off. A few more minutes of this and he was done.
Seriis at least had the sense not to come here alone. A quick snap of his hand signals to Avarn, lurking around the base of a wide, cracked pillar so large the scholar is having trouble imagining the sheer size of the building it must once have belonged to. One of two drow bodyguards chosen to protect the young noble, Avarn is an imposing figure of muscle and height, with a certain deadly fondness for blood and blades. He and Seriis break their cover in unison, two dark-cloaked figures that sprint the short distance to a sand-clogged alleyway surrounded by crumbling buildings. "Kill them," Seriis whispers to the warrior with a nod to a nearby door, which shudders and groans under the weight of the outlaw smashing against it from the other side, trying to dislodge the hook that swung down to lock it when another rushed through - the one they're pursuing, the scholar assumes. He cares little for all of this, though, and is merely intent on finding his precious knowledge unharmed. Quickly he grabs Avarn's cloak and tugs, ordering, "Stealthily," in a soft tone. There's no knowing how many allies those two might have hidden elsewhere in the ruins. Before he pulls away to head in the opposite direction, he sees his companion's features split in an elated grin; the sort of expression that has Seriis doubting the men on the other side of the door will live beyond a few minutes. With a shrug he leaves Avarn to his play and hops through the gap in a broken wall, headed down a narrow road patterned with alternating shafts of shadow and sunlight.
Ezekiel tripped, body-slid across some stone, then got right back up. His limbs felt like lead, and the air he inhaled, poison. Never has he ran this hard, and never has he managed this long in situation like the one presented. His jog turned into an exhausted stumble, and from there a pitiful crawl. Before the club of a second outlaw could come down on the back of his cranium, he managed one last door, and simply flattened his body against it. One booted kick was all he could stop, that alone sending him to stagger backwards, and promptly falling flat on his rear. Satoshi would slaughter him if she ever learned of what he did next. While the second booted kick of the outlaw broke the door in, he had no way of anticipating the explosive blast of Ezekiel's palms. Like a jet's afterburners.. the mage let loose a destructive torrent of raw, unstable and above all else- deadly energy; arcane magic at its finest. If they ever went back to look for the bodies, they'd have a hard time finding this one. Ezekiel still didn't know what became of the bodies he'd had to hit like this. With both door and outlaw pushed outwards, the man clawed back to his feet, and set off in the opposite direction. No sooner did he step out the back of the abandon building, did the fist of the last outlaw (that he knew of) caught him squre in the jaw. Seeing stars, Ezekiel spun a full three hundred and sixty degrees on the heel of his boot before falling flat on his face. "You're quite the slippery little rat, aren't you! That's fine." A hooked blade was unsheathed.
Seriis' path is soon obstructed by an obstacle, located around a corner, so the drow's able to keep his element of surprise due to that and the fact that the man in his way is distracted with Ezekiel. The only reason Seriis did not run right into them was thanks to his infravision - he's been continually switching between perceptions every couple of seconds, squinting through wavering banners of heat for those emitted by a body, an enemy. Sliding to a stop, the drow backtracks a few steps, steeling himself for imminent confrontation; the outlaw is larger than he, if thinned by hunger, but Seriis' petite size means a quick and brutal takedown is the safest way to attack, before the other has a chance to retaliate. He is, after all, as much a well-trained killer as he is a scholar, but he's by no means particularly strong. The man is armed, he notes, and appears to be accosting a stranger whose garb is different from the rest of the outlaws - their trespasser, perhaps? A breath is taken, and then Seriis rushes again, right at the wall; a well-placed foot upon its surface serving to change the course of his leap so that he comes careening round the bend and slams straight into the startled man before there's even time to cry out. Legs wrap round his torso, pinning his arms, and Seriis uses the weight of his momentum to topple them both as he drives his dagger through the man's eye. He's dead before he even hits the ground, whereupon the drow disentangles himself and turns in a smooth motion to face Ezekiel, panting. After a long moment's pause, he sheathes his dagger and steps toward the mage, and then over him, passing into the cooler air within the sand-smothered building. "Why are you here?" he asks, glancing back. "You're not one of them."
Ezekiel was in the process of crawling away from the last outlaw and his rusty looking blade until the sound of a thud forced his attention back. He could have cried at the sight of Seriis, literally. If it wasn't a trio of rougish thugs chasing him down for the pitiful belongings he had, it was a drow wielding a bloody dagger. Ezekiel was cornered in a dead end of buildings and rubble, with no way out except for up. The energy used in his last 'attack' left him drained, and now curling up in the fetal position. He squeezed his eyes shut from behind the goggles, and cringed, waiting for the drow to end him. "Take it...take it all. Let me live!" A handful of change was thrown at the drow...copper, silver, and a single gold coin, more copper than anything else. "P-please...I'm sorry, I'll leave...just let me.." For all he knew, Seriis was a part of the outlaw's gang too.
Seriis spends a few seconds silently studying the faded architecture within the building, Ezekiel's initial pleas falling on deaf ears. He searches for anything recognisable; that unique flair to an embellishment, the artist's mark, that might point toward its original creator, but whoever built this city is not a man Seriis ever studied. The clatter of coins draws his attentions back to the whimpering man and the drow quickly stamps on one copper still spinning, his words an angered hiss; "Quiet, pathetic fool! What if there are others - you want to bring them here, too?" He resists the urge to kick Ezekiel, though it's with disdain that he regards the man, a faint glimmer of irritation in his eye. "I don't want your money, or your life-- keep them. Those other men, though...they're not so kind." A soft laugh escapes him - Seriis Al'Reim, -kind-. It's laughable, really. "I'm here for knowledge. What do you know of this place?"
Ezekiel silenced his panicked begging for a short while. "Seven. There are seven more- two in a courtyard a tenth of a mile south, and four setting up camp beneath a fallen statue. They.. T-they can't hear me. Us." He may have been a jittery, paranoid wimp, but he was quite the perceptive jittery, paranoid wimp. "Bounties were put up. Artifacts, in the Shattered City. This city. Take them, take the city, I don't care just let me leave..?" He was still curled up, but at least now sitting with his back against the wall. As far as Ezekiel knew, the drow was going to dispose of him once he got the information he wanted; or even if he didn't. Either way, in his mind, he was a gonner.
Seriis' eyes narrow a touch at the information given - he'll have to ascertain the position of these men and possibly deal with them, to ensure he's undisturbed during his search. An observant one, though, this man. Seriis studies him curiously, wonders if he only knows of the other outlaws because he literally stumbled into the centre of their camp, then snorts. "You came all this way and now you'll leave?" he asks, shaking his head. "Fool. These artefacts, you must not want them very much if you won't take them -after- half of those idiots are dead. Do what you like." Stepping away, the drow begins to move deeper into the building, walking slowly as though he expects a trap to trigger at any moment. "Oh, keep an eye out for my friends if you leave," he calls back casually, despite the grave meaning implied by his words, "but don't expect the same treatment from them. Avarn eats men like you for breakfast."
Ezekiel was proud. He made it through this entire encounter without messing his trousers.. for once. It took a lot too, to bite his tongue durring the conversation, and Seriis' mock of an explanation. In all reality, Ezekiel probably could have made an artifact ten times more interesting and useful then whatever it was they.. he.. everyone was searching for. That was information best kept to himself, lest he end up in debt to another tool wanting him for his work only. We're looking at you Ranok! Still, he was given his life, and alternatively a free ticket out, at least if he was quick and quiet enough to take heed. He'd watch the drow leave, before trailing in his wake.. only to take another route in the end.