t3hDarkness! Take your life into your own hands!

[Wyborn]

OoC: This will not be that kind of topic, not an out-and-out battle, not yet. You'll see. Come, brother, and know me better. -OoC

No one could have named the shape that sat in the shadows, to which darkness clung like a cloth, unseen though he sat right next to the fire. The night was all around him, and though the stars and the moon were hanging in the sky without a cloud for cover, he was unseen.

His hand was black beyond reckoning as he reached out and threw another log onto the fire, and from it one could tell that he was huge, a giant amongst men, able to hold a man in his hands and crush his diaphragm with the power in his fingers. One could not have said if his hand had claws, or fur, or feathers, or even fingernails, as it was pulled back into the darkness of his frame.

His red eyes sparkled, and he shifted where he sat. He waited.

[t3hDarkness]

A formally dressed man entered the clearing, not so much entered as simply appeared without so much as opening a snapping a twig or even disturbing the dust on the ground. For one instant, there was only the waiting giant and then there was a second figure standing by the fireside as if he had already been waiting in that position for hours.

He was staring intently into the fire and the reflections of flames danced on his asymmetrical mask. Finding some sort of satisfaction, he looked to the darkened figure figure and stated in a low almost musical voice, "We usually consider it only polite to meet clients thought a mediator to arrange deals, unless of course you wish to speak of something of a nonbusiness matter."

Without looking back to the enshrouded figure he tapped the cracked face of his expensive looking wrist watch and then replaced his hands in his pockets.

[Wyborn]

OoC: I apologize for not making it clear enough (mentioning the moon and stars and the night and all), but at the moment they're outside, and I think I'm gonna stick to that. -OoC

"...unless, of course, you wish to speak of something of a nonbusiness matter."

The figure wrapped in darkness chuckled, a sound that was both warm and dark, raspy where it shouldn't have been and reverberating throughout the very air itself. His wide red eyes turned towards the well-dressed man, and they shone so very brightly. The fire lived in them, it seemed.

"You have come to die tonight," he said and then held up a hand as if to still his opponent's movement, though the masked man had not flinched. "Not at my hands, and not yet. You and I are here, together, to palaver. To learn."

One could almost hear the grin behind the mask. "Very unorthodox."

The giant in the shadows ignored him, though his eyes never wavered from that masked face. "I am a keeper of stories, a teller of tells - every story ever written, every story ever known, is known to me. I have seen them in my fire, heard them in my dreams." He gestured to the fire, and the masked man looked in, but apparently could not see whatever it was that the one in shadows saw. "But what I see is limited in its own way, and when stories come from other places, other worlds, I must learn them through different means. I would know the story behind you."

The masked man cocked his head, and seemed about to speak, when the shadowed figure waved his hand dismissively.

"Not your story. I would find nothing less interesting than the story of some peon in a petty guild of shadows who operate in the darkness. But there is a driving force behind you, the very soul of your intentions, your God, and with him I would speak at length." From within the shadows, the figure produced a cup of clay, filled to the brim with some green, rank-smelling liquid. "This will put your mind at ease, and let me speak to the god who drives your motions, so long as both are willing. But if you do not let it, the connection will not take place, and I will be deprived of my stories."

The masked man spoke after a time. "Why would I do this?" Why would I trust you, he did not say, but the shadowed figure must have heard it anyway because he chuckled. It was like grinding pieces of broken glass together.

"Come, now. Every man loves stories, else you would not be here." He gestured with the cup again. "What say you? Will you taste of this offered cup, and open to your mind, so that I might palaver with the god you never knew you had?" There was a moment of silence, and he grunted. "All right. In addition to you hearing what I hear, and learning what I learn, I will tell you your future, the future of the world in which we sit; such is within my power. What say you?"

He held it out, and he waited.

OoC: This is essentially a plot device to allow you to relay out-of-character information through your own character, which is something that's never been used in a serious context on the battlefield before. Take it or not, as you will: but I am the first to offer to turn one's character into a mouthpiece for the author. -OoC

[Wyborn]

OoC: Drumming this back on up to the top. -OoC

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: Drink the goddamn water.

[Wyborn]

OoC: If you'd prefer not to do this, you can just have your character et up and leave, and I'll find someone else to try this little exercise with. Wouldn't be any hard feelings. -OoC

[t3hDarkness]

"The masked man thought about it for a good long while, and then replied, "Opening my mind is something that can be easily done, opening my mouth is sadly beyond what I am capable of." To prove his point he tilted his head sideways to reveal the pins holding the mask to his jaw and side of his face.

[Wyborn]

The man in the shadows grinned. "Oh, I could help with that. I promise." The masked stared back at him, implacable, and he chuckled. "Only kidding. But since you have conceded, there is a simple solution." He tilted the cup and poured the contents onto the fire, which burned too hot to be quenched - the liquid sizzled and burned and hissed, the smoke rising up from the fire turning a brackish green color as the fire itself burned indigo and orange.

"This should be simpler for you. Breathe."

[t3hDarkness]

(Ooc: I am still confused by the process, but intrigued as to what might happen.)

Always willing to indulge curiosity, the masked man sat down and inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to surround him and fill his lungs.

He stared through the fire at the storytler and said, "So, how does your tale begin?"