RP:The Knight Intervenes
Part of the Tales from the Row Arc
Synopsis: Nemisis discovers Kingsley alone and injured in his Cenrili hovel, and after some interaction provides a potion that heals the bandit. Kingsley is now in the Knights debt. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.
Characters: Grot, Nemesis
Location: Cenril; The northern slums.
Deep in the heart of the slums, through a deserted market and past a herb shop there is an alley wedged between two shops. Wide enough to allow three men through abreast, it dead ends abruptly at a small wooden home, more a hovel than anything with shingles in dire need of repair. A small patch of herbs grows on a window sil, the ground is moist from recent rain and an enormous black horse is tethered to a post outside. Within, the light snores of Grot Kingsley permeate, the occasional grunt or whimper of pain, but this secluded nook was all but his. A nightmare pulled him from sleep, but his body did not stir - nay, it was the wind he listened to tonight. Pain sacked him, ravaged, the cuts and scrapes, gashes, the bandage over his chest needed to be remade. Covered in sweat, on his back, staring at the ceiling. Grunting a bit. Bastard was tough, but god damn - his shoulder and chest particularly, sling or no, it was going to take a while to recover.
Nemisis was walking down the streets of Cenril; well rather wandering with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette in his mouth. His footsteps were silent and his eyes hung low out of disinterest and laziness. Honor was in control at the time. The persona usually frequented such walks, moving around until he stumbled upon a place he found peaceful. This time his ways brought him through the dark slums. His presence for the most part went unnoticed besides the wisp and smell of the cigarette he puffed on. Dressed in a half open buttoned up shirt and a set of jeans and shoes, one would barely think he was anybody from far away. In fact, his identity remained ghost for the most part, pulling strings from headquarters. Nemisis had no need for the limelight....not here at least....not yet. Only those who pissed him off enough knew of him or his eyes, which even though glowed in the dark, were still hard to see behind the eyelids. Just like Honor, the draconian walked while staring at the floor, turning whenever he felt the need. Inside his head Intelligence turned the bolt in his head once before saying, "And you wonder why you run into situations. You don't look where you're going." Honor would simply respond with, "These people do not interest me....They are no challenge nor of any entertainment...." Back on the outside, the man would turn a corner that would lead him to Grot's ramshackle. The grunt of a horse would make the demi look up only to see he reached the front of a house. There he stood, staring at the horse who for all purposes remained calm. Maybe the animal could sense that the man meant no threat. It however did show its dislike for the cigarette smoke. Inside his head Intelligence would comment, "What the...? Why would there be a house and a horse here?" Click, click, click, would go that bolt as he turned it. Honor simply replied, "People have to survive somehow...." That six sense of his would allow him to feel the presence of Grot inside the house, though he did not care either way, he felt no ill intent. However, unlike Honor, he stared at the horse and caught glimspe of a PK brand. A grin popped upon Nemisis face in some sort of ironic laughter. The symbol was old, not of his regime. Honor had to give the owner balls for stealing the horse though.
Grot had rather large balls. Stole that horse when he was barely into his late twentie's. It'd been good to him, he'd been good to it. Cared rather deeply for it, obvious from how well it was kept - Kingsley was going on forty-something now, a few strands of gray in shaggy unkept hair and an indistinct desire to find something to put him back to sleep. Very timidly he sat up in the bed. The wince was instant, the passing of gas - that took a bit more effort. But even that hurt, "Bloody feckin' hell." He moaned, looking around in the dark for a bottle of...anything, "Can't even rip one without tah'feckin'stitches threatenin'to break!" Effort and strain on his features, the huffing and puffing for breath, until his head fell back against the pillow again. Empty handed, at that. "Feck. Feck! Whars'that medicine twit? OLD WOMAN FRESSER???? OLD WOMAN FRESSERRR WAKE UPPPPPP!!!~" Half the god damn block was about to wake up, the herb shop just a couple of buildings down was dark however. Old lady Fresser was also quite hard of hearing, Kingsley coughed hoarsely, "Feckin'hell."
Nemisis turned his attention from the horse to the house when Grot's moaning and groaning started up. He sounded somewhat like an old man who had nothing to do but wait out his age and grumble about any and everything in the world. However, the draconian's facial expression did not move an inch. Another quirk of Honor, lack of facial expression unless interested. However, in some odd form, Grot had to be considered lucky. He managed to grab the persona's interest (after about five minutes of standing still and listening) enough for him to do something rather than turn around. But still, he was too noisy for the man's taste. The chaotic one did not care, not thinking twice about walking up to the door and kicking open the door with his foot....he still refused to remove his hand from his pockets, "Shut up....You're too damn loud..." It was dark. The only thing that could really be seen was those half closed ruby red eyes and the burning cigarette end.
Grot half-said 'Hanan?' aloud when he heard that voice. No that wasn't her. Hell. Another intruder, like that last git who kicked in his damn door and held a sword to his throat. A moment of ingenuity had hands clambering for a dagger that, for the second god damn time, wasn't there. "Feckin'.....Hell man." He looked at where the voice had come from, near Adon - all he saw out that dirty window were two eyes and the ember of a burning cigarette. A disettling feeling, truly, even for the brute. He'd grown up in these slums. Uneducated, hell...couldn't even read or write, but he knew glowing eyes like those. Trouble, that's what they were. Straight feckin' trouble. "Yes....yes sir." My gods, was that civility coming from Kingsley? Unlikely. The man had god damn nerve, he was an idiot half the time, but those eyes spelled death. "Are you one of them..." Curiousity took him, evident amongst pain in his tone. After a brief groan where eyes fluttered back to the ceiling for a moment, returned to Nemisis, he continued: "Lycaneer' things I heard about in tales?" Yeah, idiot.
Nemisis exhaled slightly at being a lycan...if only he knew. None the less the man replied, "No....we are not a lycan...." There would be silence from there on out for about three minutes. Inside his head Intelligence was looking at Honor, turning that bolt in his head with a smirk on his face, "He's peeped your interest hasn't he?" Honor simply said coldly, "Yea...what of it...?" Crossing his arms Intelligence replied, "No need to be so crabby about it. What are you waiting for?" Honor then said, "I’m considering whether I should help him or not.....I can smell the blood from wounds..." Click, click, click, goes that infamous bolt before Intelligence responded, "Interesting. Well he did, manage to steal a horse. You sure we shouldn't punish him?" That grin appeared on Honor's face again as he said, "Not under our regime....I give him that though.....See what you can do for him..." Intelligence chuckled before shrugging and switching control with Honor. Back on the outside, those half closed eyes opened up fully and the cigarette was flicked out the window. Shutting the door behind him, the room went completely dark as footsteps were heard moving towards the man. Still, his eyes were the only visible thing at this point. But this wouldn't last long when draconian opened up his palm and a ball of fire sprouted to life. It would rise and form a ring above Grot and turn into a small disk, bringing some light into the room. The man might be scared half to death at this point, but Intelligence was too meticulous to be worried. He just yanked the covers off of the man and observed him quietly. Intelligence was far more detailed than Honor. His curiosity made him look at everything to the atom. Scratching the side of his head, he simply said, "Hmmm"
Grot just about died. The little bit of light he had was vanquished, the glowing-eyed man had come inside. Referred to himself as 'we'! Oh hell man. Bloody hell and ashes alike, hell! When the blankets were stripped away, Kingsley was too busy staring off at the man's eyes to freak out too much - really, he couldn't do much. Could barely move. Breathing was laborious at best, those Rynnie boys had screwed him up hard. He took Nemisis for an assasin, or something far worse. Kingsley was too damn afraid to do much thinking, instead, words spilled out of his mouth - "Oh gods above please don't kill me! I'm sorry for what I did to those Rynvalian fecks! I din'have a choice! Please! This is all a big misunderstanding!" It took a great deal to work Grot up into begging. Easy to anger, slow to fear - it had to be those god damn eyes man.
Nemisis had just finished scrutinizing Grot when he noticed his heart rate. In just seconds after, he started pleading, causing the demi to burst out into laughter. Intelligence and Honor were very different when it came to facial expressions, "Oh how pitiful you sound!" The man actually held his stomach and chuckled a bit more before saying, "We are not gonna kill you. And we don't give a damn about Ryvnale anyway. Now calm the hell down." Grot's wounds were bad, really bad. Scratching the side of his head, the demi mumbled incoherent words. Inside his head Intelligence was turning that bolt saying, "The hell had he gotten himself into? Oh well." Back on the outside, the man twiddled the fingers of one hand, contemplating on pulling out the scalpel.....No, instead he would reach into his pocket and pull out a green vial, "Yes this is it. Catch." Without warning the man tossed the small vial at the bandit.
Grot was more or less unintelligibly gibbering away up until Nemisis laughed. Laughed in his damn face, fecking hell - that caused a bit of the man pride to swell, pleading ceased, and he narrowed his gaze on Nemisis' glowing orbs. How long do you think that bit of backbone lasted in this condition? When the action alone had him grunting in pain? Not long, nay, it soon slipped away toward the window. He started to ask, "Why the hell are you - " when the vial was tossed at him. Truth, Kingsley played hot potato with it for a moment before securely grasping it. Eyed it, Nemisis, the vial, Nemisis - "Wot is this?" heart rate was slowing. In Grot's experience, if a fool was going to kill you, he'd just as soon slit your throat than feed you poison.
Nemisis just blinked as Grot almost dropped the vial. If he did, it would have been his fault and his loss. None the less he simply said, "Drink it. It will more or less heal most of those wounds up." Another scratch the side of the head was delivered before his eyes trailed across the room, "Dirty...."
Grot didn't hesitate too much on it. This was an opportunity to take advantage of, in his eyes. Obviously this glowing-eyed fellow was an angel in disguise, considering the fact Kingsley wasn't dead yet. So he drank it in one swig, made an ugly face at that - damn thing tasted disgusting! It was thick too, "Icccckkkkk!" coughed a bit, "Ah bloody feckin'hell if that ain't the worst tastin'shyte I ever tasted, ever!" God damn it if it wasn't, but it was already making him...tingle a little. This was odd. Grot was as familiar with magic and healing as a blind man was with bird watching, but the enthralling sensation made him dart eyes about the room. "Oh - aye, well, ain't got nothin'feckin'nice really. It keeps meh warm yeah?" The place /was/ dirty. This was a slum neighborhood after all, an old worn throw rug. It had fur on it at least, used to look luxurious. Likely belonged to one of the Merchants that used to manage this city. A dresser, night table, copper brass candle holster - rather basic. "Why yer helping me for? Yeragod damn scary-ass fool!" There were more weapons in the one-room home than furniture, that was for sure. None displayed, just messily strewn about. Honing stone on the rectangle table that served for eating, a bit of oil beside. Wax for bow strings, hell, an unstrung bow. Lots of blades. Swords, daggers, a gigantic cleaver the length of his torso. That, that was his weapon of choice. Still had dried blood on it, could be mistaken for rust - nay, Nemisis would smell it. Whatever the hell had beaten Kingsley to hell, it was obvious he'd been the victor by the blood on that blade. Quick-like he grunted, grasped his stomach, "Oh hell...the hell...was in that?"
Nemisis watched Grot intently as he drank it, "Well we never said it would taste wonderfully. Its a mixture of herbs and chemicals we made in our lab. You are not a test subject. And off of a whim we decided to help you." Just then, he heard Grot's stomach and began to laugh, "Some of your wounds should start to heal now. Also, it moves through you pretty fast."
Grot could nearly feel flesh starting to knit together again. An intense sensation, neither pleasant or uncomfortable. It simply..was. "We?" The glowing eyed stranger recieved the oddest of looks, a tilt of the head - done without wincing, surprisingly, "Lab? Are yeh onnadem scientest folks dun make dat....magic-what have you?"
Nemisis simply does not respond to the reference to the subject about 'We' Scratching the side of his head he says, "Yes, a scientist is one of our professions you can say. But the rest, you need not know."
Grot nodded and rubbed index and thumb fingers through a patch of hair growing on his chin, the start of a new goatee. "Oh. Right. Well. Reckon' by my code I owe you one stranger."
Nemisis closed his hand and the ring of fire ceased to exist. Once again, all that could be seen were his eyes. Grot would not see the nod but the draconian did it anyway saying, "Yea, yea. Consider yourself a lucky one." With that, he simply walked out the door and exited.