Roads Less Traveled: Chapter One
Smoke settles like a blanket about the dimly lit tavern. A combination of the burning of candles, oil lamps, incense, and a plethora of pipes. The small bar room is packed with the dregs of the 10 Million Worlds and the servants of the dark Emperor Shao Kahn. The walls of the box-like edifice are in desperate need of repair, there being more open holes than stone barrier in each. The thin cloth that serves as a door snaps in the constant Outworld wind. The whipping of that gate serving to cause lamp and bared flame to flicker and dance. Thereby filling the cramped scene with an almost hypnotizing play of light and shadow. A place that no human would survive, as most of the inhabitants see such soft beings as either toys or meat.
The dwarf-like barkeep sits calmly tending his clay mugs while two Nomads play a dangerous game of Skenist near the single bench that serves as a bar. A trio of Reptiles watch the Nomads intently, knowing that in the course of the game either one of the players might lose a finger or two, hungry for the fresh meat that is so often absent from Outworld. A Shokan Warrior pleases himself with a pair of foul smelling tankards and the entire hindquarters of something that was once probably humanoid. A pack of six Doroga sit cautiously near the door, the highly religious warriors knowing they are far from the protection of their Realm and smart enough to seek mutual protection in their numbers. A selection of humanoids also mills about the tavern, all reeking of scum and all looking the part of killers or slavers. All, that is, but one.
He sits calmly smoking his pipe alongside the Skenist game. Resting languidly on the dirt floor, his right arm draped over the edge of the bench, his long legs crossed before him, and a wide rimmed hat pulled down to conceal his lowered face. His clothing is worn, sun bleached, and covered in a fine layer of the soot that blows across Outworld. Most of his clothing also concealed in a black cloak that still shines from beneath the covering of dust and soot. He was one of the first to enter the tavern that morning (not that the word had much meaning in a land caught in almost perpetual twilight) and has stirred little in the hours that have passed. And for the most part he has been ignored. Something in his demeanor gave even the mighty Shokan Warrior a pause in any decision to harass the lanky wanderer.
"Drakkast!" the slimmer of the Nomads bellows. Its razor sharp maw clicking gently as he speaks. Slamming his bone spiked fists atop the cards splayed out between them. "I win again. Now Genjho it is time for the Skenist! Will you pay or play?"
The largest of the pair eyes his companion carefully. The narrowing of those triangular crimson portals giving the horrific being an even more evil appearance.
"Play, give me the star."
The Reptiles chatter amongst themselves as the palm sized star is passed to the loser of the hand. The drab baked ceramic disk covered in a brownish layer of dried blood. Seven spokes radiating across the top edge of that circle, one for each finger of the player and two to border the thumb and pinkie.
Standing over the disk the Nomad places one hand atop the star. Drawing back his other arm he allows the long blade-spike to unsheathe from within his flesh. And with a howl of wild depravity he drives that blade down along the outside of his thumb. Swiftly regaining his balance he pulls back and repeats the process for the space between his thumb and first finger. The sound of splintering wood and Nomad insanity fills the air for several seconds as the beast slashes down upon its own hand. Never missing a stroke and never off-balancing itself enough to falter and lop off one of its own fingers. Much to the disappointment of the Reptiles.
"My Skenist, Keppik. Shall we double the wager?"
The thinner Nomad gapes its fang filled maw at his opponent, a Nomad version of a smile, and nods curtly.
"Deal!"
The scene returns to normal as the Nomads settle back down to resolve the card portion of the insane game. The room hardly stirring through-out the episode and the hat wearing humanoid never even flinching, heedless of the down stroke of an arm blade no more than 10 inches away from his own.
The drape over the doorway parts with a whistling of air. The crowd takes in the newcomer with trained subtlety. It does not pay to be nosy in Outworld. Certainly not when the newcomer is obviously an assassin sent by the Shadow Priests of Shao Kahn. His black garb, charcoal gray armor, and ninja attire stating this fact louder than any cry or shout ever could. His black eyes, so deep that he seems to be without pupils, slowly panning about the room. Daring any of the inhabitants to match his stare. Arrogance and lethality pouring from him like toxic mist. And his lithe but muscular form promising that his skills match his attitude with some measure of accuracy.
The bald headed Doroga make for the door as soon as this black assassin steps forward enough to leave such an escape. An Edenian also makes tracks, sensing that his survival is better assured by being elsewhere. The Reptiles simply back into a corner, ready to use their camouflage abilities at the first sign of trouble. And the barkeep focuses on his task, intent on paying no attention to what he expects to happen in the next few minutes.
"I am here as the hand of the Emperor Shao Kahn. Let the one named Meander stand forward and be judged." The assassin speaks with a voice that is clear and commanding without being raised. His tone is even and without emotion. But to a certain pair of ears there is the inflection of uncertainty. A discovery that makes the challenged individual smile softly.
"Fool," the Shokan spats as he wipes the sticky crimson alcohol from his wide lips. "The name is but a myth! There is no such being in all the Realms. No one is that good. No one can survive the machinations of the Shadow Priests for that long."
"Aye," one of the Nomads chimes in, until this point totally ignoring the newcomer. "And if this Meander did exist why would he leave himself so vulnerable? Open and exposed in this rot hole! Begone! Waste our time no more."
Striding forward the ninja spies the calm figure resting quietly behind the Nomads. His black eyes widening in anticipation. His blood pumping just a step harder as his excitement peaks.
"You! Wanderer!"
The hat moves slightly, just enough for the strands of white hair to be seen. Just enough for the eyes behind those long hairs to set upon the large ninja.
"Rise and discard that hat! I would see your ears."
His eyes dart quickly about the room. Seeing that the Shokan has no patience for this ninja the wanderer holds his position. Only shifting his weight forward enough to rise out of his lounging posture.
"I would like to see my ears too. Do you have a mirror per-chance?"
This angers the ninja so much that he all but charges forward. Pushing his way past the Shokan and the Nomads. He starts to lift the flippant traveler up by the collar when two huge hands grip him from behind.
"Release me you giant oaf! I am..."
His words fall short as a rain of blood showers from a sudden cleft in his throat. The Nomads and the Shokan stand transfixed by the vision of the man that now stands before them. His hat still spinning as it rises upwards. The blur of black and red now stilled. The shimmer of a silver knife held delicately behind him, the edge slicked with a sheen of deep crimson. His right hand holding forward some device that none of those present have ever before witnessed. A solid gray collection of curves, tubes, and blocks which conforms to the flow of his fingers and palm as if carved of wood. His eyes shine like those of a cat and hold a deep purpose within their copper depths, even though they are half covered by the long strands of white hair that frames his face. Hair that catches the flickering candlelight to shine with a hint of gold as it settles about his shoulders.
The Reptiles see it first and know the sign for what it is. Each hissing loudly as they are gripped by horror and fear. Dismayed at this discovery to the extent that they blend themselves into the dark background with a single mind. The vision being that of the tall arrows of flesh which pierce the golden shod locks of the wanderer's hair. The tips of which terminate less than a scant inch from the crown of the Master Assassins head. The ears that mark him as being the last of his kind. The ears that will forever label him as the living legend that he is. And one of the three vanishing Reptiles whispers the word that all minions of the Emperor either fear or despise. A word that all such servants learn to respect.
"Meander."
In a single second the small tavern explodes into chaos. The Reptiles already scrambling to find an escape from the confines of the dimly lit local, relying on that darkness and their chameleon abilities to protect their egress. The Nomads jumping up from their game and releasing their arm blades as they release traditional cries of battle. A sound that few adversaries live to relate. The Shokan Warrior backing away from the motionless fey-assassin and dropping the gurgling body of the dying, dark- garbed failure to Shao Kahn. Even the diminutive bartender ducking down behind the low bar and making himself as small a target as is possible.
"Ding, give that snake an ale." The words are punctuated by a motion that is so quick that only the adrenaline amplified senses of the Nomads can follow it. In one smooth circle the man named Meander spins his whole body. His right arm swinging around on that axis and fixing on the nearly silent footsteps of the lead Reptile, the left flashing out so fast that it becomes a blur to even the Nomads eyes.
It is over in the following second. A conical vortex of pulsing yellow-white energy flashes from the 2 inch opening at the tip of the device in his right hand. The Reptiles are incinerated without as much as an opportunity to cry out, their outlines left against the instantly charred stone wall. The Shokan fares only slightly better, the silvery knife buried a full 4 of its 7-inch length into his left eye. A wound which gives the four armed giant a moment to wheeze a final breath before he topples side long into the nearest wall.
The Nomads pause, each lost in a personal debate over his next action. A delay long enough to allow the hat, which was suspended in the air by its own rotation, to fall gently to the floor beside its owner.
"Options," Meander states calmly. "I don't care about Nomads. You don't work for Kahn you work for pay. As a bounty hunter I can relate to that. But I can't let you take my face back to the Priests, now can I? So you can stay and die."
The tip of the heat-producing weapon blurs for a frozen moment and is leveled between the pair of wandering warriors.
"Or you can hop into the nearest portal and get yourselves lost somewhere else in the Realms. You ever come back," he pauses and offers an almost friendly smile on his thin lips. "Well, let's just say that tracking down two Nomads named Genjho and Keppik would not be the most challenging of marks. And seeing as how you already know of my reputation you also know that this is not an idle threat."
Keppik looks across to his companion and sees his own decision mirrored in those eyes. Yet it is Gehjho that speaks.
"Better death now than a century of running. We fight."
Meander nods softly, already having assumed that would be the answer. And when the Nomads rise up to release their own mystical blasts of bio- electric energy they are cut down by the sudden shower of plasma blots that stutter from the tip of the gently shuddering weapon. The gentle copper eyes watching the flailing dance of burnt bodies as they spin and topple in this explosive spray of heat. He continues the barrage of flashing death even after the pockmarked forms crumple unto the floor. Moderately amused by the distant detonations of the plasma bolts that penetrate the holes in the walls and the doorway curtain. Knowing that this display will keep unwelcome guests at bay while it broadcasts to the Emperor that Meander lives still.
The barrage finished he casually bends down to retrieve his hat. The distant sound of applause reaching his ultra-sensitive hearing and stilling his movements. His acute auditory powers also pinpointing the source of that noise in relation to his position. For a moment he considers folding open the lining of his Telemportal Cloak and simply becoming a ghost to the residents of Outworld. But something in the singular applause speaks to him of being benign. So with a chuckle he scoops up the dropped pipe, flips a large diamond in the direction of the hidden dwarf, and saunters out of the silent tavern. His stride even and unhurried. Following the distant clapping with a precision that others would believe as supernatural. Doing so with a non-chalant step and a rhythmic smoking of the subtle blend within his wooden pipe.
He trails the sporadic sound through the debris strewn maze that was once the capital of Edenia, winding a path away from the diabolic façade of the Black Citadel of Shao Kahn, until he comes to a site that still shows some of its former glory. The gigantic faces of serene gods and goddesses still visible underneath the weathering of ages and the intentional defacing of the Shadow Priests. The courtyard of an ancient temple discernible by the existence of the tiers of wide stairs and the deteriorated remains of a central stone alter. It is atop the altar that she sits. Draped in a full robe of the deepest jet yet still holding herself with a grace that announces her gender. Her face hidden behind the deep hood and the eternal shadows of the realm.
"Do you always act so brash when beneath the eyes of your enemy?" Her voice is soft and even. Confident beyond the age that her tone and cadence suggests. With a lilt that is readily apparent as being of Edenian in origin.
"Do you?" He retorts with a scoff.
The hood raises slightly. To any other this would maintain her anonymity but beneath his eyes no shadow is deep enough to totally hide her face. But it does give her a first glimpse of the living legend.
"I have no cause for fear."
Meander laughs aloud, the sound almost musical in its nature.
"And I have no fear of cause."
With a flourish he sweeps off his hat and offers a low bow. Never allowing his eyes to leave her as he does so.
"For I am the effect that resolves all things. What fear I that such direction cannot lead to its inevitable conclusion." He rises as he finishes with an intentionally absent-minded fumbling of his tobacco pouch.
"You are very eloquent for a Master Assassin, I shall give you that."
"And you are quite misleading for royalty, if I might be so very bold."
Her heart beats heavily for a passing moment and her reserved breathing seizes. An automatic response to her knowledge that for all her efforts she has not masked her identity from the man. But Meander is forced to give her silent credit. She focuses herself quickly and to those that do not share his amazing senses there would be no evidence of her moment of fear.
"You may. But only if I am permitted to act in a similar fashion." She pauses to allow him the chance to offer the obligatory nod. "I have heard that you have your own means of traveling the Realms? Is this true?"
She wisely lets the rhetoric be her offer for a continuation elsewhere. An extremely bold move considering her station and the fact that they are most likely being watched by agents of the Emperor. But if she has the will for this than he most certainly has the means.
"Perhaps. But my secrets are not to be given so freely. For all things there is a cost."
She stands slowly, gracefully. The robe doing everything to conceal her slender form and nothing to mask the aspect of a warrior and artist. Walking towards him with careful steps. A stride designed to mask her true impatience to leave this place and this situation.
"And what would the Master Assassin ask of one such as I?"
Meander allows a grin to brighten his pallid face. A slight scoff accompanies the first three draws that light his pipe. A look of absolute lasciviousness painted across the copper surface of his eyes.
"Well, it has been a long time since I lay down with anyone, human or otherwise. I think it high time I rectify that situation."
Again he hears her heart flutter, her body sounds telling him clearly that she prays he is only maintaining the rouse. It gives him an extra sense of satisfaction to know that he is capable of inspiring as disquieting a thought in one of her magnitude.
"That might be arranged but..."
"Put these on each of your wrists," he says flatly. Cutting her off and actually stopping her in her steps. The carved jade bracelets that he casually tosses at her feet attracting her attention like a flame does a moth.
"What..."
"They are called Obedience Cuffs. The slavers of Drazd use them with some frequency. They work surprising well against all humanoids. As you will soon discover if you truly desire to witness my powers to bend the Realms."
They stare at each other for a long moment. Her debating the logic in following the path of events that she has set forward. Him internally amused by the hesitation his actions have given his new charge, allowing no such sign of that joy to show on his face or by the admission of his own body.
"Have a care Assassin, I am not one to be taken lightly." She says this with a deeply serious undertone as she picks up the bracelets and slides them into place within the deep folds of the sleeves of that black robe.
"To be certain m'lady. But I cannot afford to lower my guard in a moment of passion without such precautions," he states slyly with a wink and a smirk. "I would not have lived as long as I have were it not for such precautions."
She nods slightly. Unhappy with this turn of events but knowing that she cannot back out now. Too much may ride upon what can result from her plans for this legendary bounty hunter.
"You were going to join me?" He asks with a thick tint of innuendo. Opening his left arm in a gesture designed to lure her forward.
She sighs, a sound clear to Meanders ears but lost on those that might be listening from afar.
Again she walks slowly towards him. An additional sway added to her steps to hint at the seductive curve of the hips hidden beneath the thick fabric. The subtle sexual motion exaggerated by the steps that she must descend to approach the calm fey warrior.
As she nears him he reaches down with his left hand and pulls free the cord that fastens his breeches. With soft popping sounds the cord comes free of the eyelet's that holds the garment closed. Allowing his forced excitement to become readily exposed. Exposed and held out in his left hand. This series of gestures covers the task his right hand sets to on the inside of his cloak.
Again, to her credit he muses, she offers only the slightest internal hesitation. But she does look him full in the eye as he smiles at her. Her deep brown eyes narrowed and searching him for a sign that he is serious about his intent. He simply gazes casually back at her and tips his head down in an indication of what he desires from her. But to ease her reservations he quickly narrows his left eye, the slightest hint of a wink. So subtle that it will go unnoticed by anybody that is most likely watching these events unfold.
She lowers before him, settling onto her knees and looking onto the situation that looms in front of her eyes. Swallowing an instinct to curse she reaches up to embrace this most unpleasant of facades. Her hand makes only the most delicate contact when the world around her swirls and distorts in a cascade of sickly color and nausea inducing motions. She snaps her eyes closed against the barrage on her sense and curls into as small a ball as she can. As if the cover of her robe would protect her from the gut wrenching feeling of being thrown between worlds.
~To be continued
Smoke settles like a blanket about the dimly lit tavern. A combination of the burning of candles, oil lamps, incense, and a plethora of pipes. The small bar room is packed with the dregs of the 10 Million Worlds and the servants of the dark Emperor Shao Kahn. The walls of the box-like edifice are in desperate need of repair, there being more open holes than stone barrier in each. The thin cloth that serves as a door snaps in the constant Outworld wind. The whipping of that gate serving to cause lamp and bared flame to flicker and dance. Thereby filling the cramped scene with an almost hypnotizing play of light and shadow. A place that no human would survive, as most of the inhabitants see such soft beings as either toys or meat.
The dwarf-like barkeep sits calmly tending his clay mugs while two Nomads play a dangerous game of Skenist near the single bench that serves as a bar. A trio of Reptiles watch the Nomads intently, knowing that in the course of the game either one of the players might lose a finger or two, hungry for the fresh meat that is so often absent from Outworld. A Shokan Warrior pleases himself with a pair of foul smelling tankards and the entire hindquarters of something that was once probably humanoid. A pack of six Doroga sit cautiously near the door, the highly religious warriors knowing they are far from the protection of their Realm and smart enough to seek mutual protection in their numbers. A selection of humanoids also mills about the tavern, all reeking of scum and all looking the part of killers or slavers. All, that is, but one.
He sits calmly smoking his pipe alongside the Skenist game. Resting languidly on the dirt floor, his right arm draped over the edge of the bench, his long legs crossed before him, and a wide rimmed hat pulled down to conceal his lowered face. His clothing is worn, sun bleached, and covered in a fine layer of the soot that blows across Outworld. Most of his clothing also concealed in a black cloak that still shines from beneath the covering of dust and soot. He was one of the first to enter the tavern that morning (not that the word had much meaning in a land caught in almost perpetual twilight) and has stirred little in the hours that have passed. And for the most part he has been ignored. Something in his demeanor gave even the mighty Shokan Warrior a pause in any decision to harass the lanky wanderer.
"Drakkast!" the slimmer of the Nomads bellows. Its razor sharp maw clicking gently as he speaks. Slamming his bone spiked fists atop the cards splayed out between them. "I win again. Now Genjho it is time for the Skenist! Will you pay or play?"
The largest of the pair eyes his companion carefully. The narrowing of those triangular crimson portals giving the horrific being an even more evil appearance.
"Play, give me the star."
The Reptiles chatter amongst themselves as the palm sized star is passed to the loser of the hand. The drab baked ceramic disk covered in a brownish layer of dried blood. Seven spokes radiating across the top edge of that circle, one for each finger of the player and two to border the thumb and pinkie.
Standing over the disk the Nomad places one hand atop the star. Drawing back his other arm he allows the long blade-spike to unsheathe from within his flesh. And with a howl of wild depravity he drives that blade down along the outside of his thumb. Swiftly regaining his balance he pulls back and repeats the process for the space between his thumb and first finger. The sound of splintering wood and Nomad insanity fills the air for several seconds as the beast slashes down upon its own hand. Never missing a stroke and never off-balancing itself enough to falter and lop off one of its own fingers. Much to the disappointment of the Reptiles.
"My Skenist, Keppik. Shall we double the wager?"
The thinner Nomad gapes its fang filled maw at his opponent, a Nomad version of a smile, and nods curtly.
"Deal!"
The scene returns to normal as the Nomads settle back down to resolve the card portion of the insane game. The room hardly stirring through-out the episode and the hat wearing humanoid never even flinching, heedless of the down stroke of an arm blade no more than 10 inches away from his own.
The drape over the doorway parts with a whistling of air. The crowd takes in the newcomer with trained subtlety. It does not pay to be nosy in Outworld. Certainly not when the newcomer is obviously an assassin sent by the Shadow Priests of Shao Kahn. His black garb, charcoal gray armor, and ninja attire stating this fact louder than any cry or shout ever could. His black eyes, so deep that he seems to be without pupils, slowly panning about the room. Daring any of the inhabitants to match his stare. Arrogance and lethality pouring from him like toxic mist. And his lithe but muscular form promising that his skills match his attitude with some measure of accuracy.
The bald headed Doroga make for the door as soon as this black assassin steps forward enough to leave such an escape. An Edenian also makes tracks, sensing that his survival is better assured by being elsewhere. The Reptiles simply back into a corner, ready to use their camouflage abilities at the first sign of trouble. And the barkeep focuses on his task, intent on paying no attention to what he expects to happen in the next few minutes.
"I am here as the hand of the Emperor Shao Kahn. Let the one named Meander stand forward and be judged." The assassin speaks with a voice that is clear and commanding without being raised. His tone is even and without emotion. But to a certain pair of ears there is the inflection of uncertainty. A discovery that makes the challenged individual smile softly.
"Fool," the Shokan spats as he wipes the sticky crimson alcohol from his wide lips. "The name is but a myth! There is no such being in all the Realms. No one is that good. No one can survive the machinations of the Shadow Priests for that long."
"Aye," one of the Nomads chimes in, until this point totally ignoring the newcomer. "And if this Meander did exist why would he leave himself so vulnerable? Open and exposed in this rot hole! Begone! Waste our time no more."
Striding forward the ninja spies the calm figure resting quietly behind the Nomads. His black eyes widening in anticipation. His blood pumping just a step harder as his excitement peaks.
"You! Wanderer!"
The hat moves slightly, just enough for the strands of white hair to be seen. Just enough for the eyes behind those long hairs to set upon the large ninja.
"Rise and discard that hat! I would see your ears."
His eyes dart quickly about the room. Seeing that the Shokan has no patience for this ninja the wanderer holds his position. Only shifting his weight forward enough to rise out of his lounging posture.
"I would like to see my ears too. Do you have a mirror per-chance?"
This angers the ninja so much that he all but charges forward. Pushing his way past the Shokan and the Nomads. He starts to lift the flippant traveler up by the collar when two huge hands grip him from behind.
"Release me you giant oaf! I am..."
His words fall short as a rain of blood showers from a sudden cleft in his throat. The Nomads and the Shokan stand transfixed by the vision of the man that now stands before them. His hat still spinning as it rises upwards. The blur of black and red now stilled. The shimmer of a silver knife held delicately behind him, the edge slicked with a sheen of deep crimson. His right hand holding forward some device that none of those present have ever before witnessed. A solid gray collection of curves, tubes, and blocks which conforms to the flow of his fingers and palm as if carved of wood. His eyes shine like those of a cat and hold a deep purpose within their copper depths, even though they are half covered by the long strands of white hair that frames his face. Hair that catches the flickering candlelight to shine with a hint of gold as it settles about his shoulders.
The Reptiles see it first and know the sign for what it is. Each hissing loudly as they are gripped by horror and fear. Dismayed at this discovery to the extent that they blend themselves into the dark background with a single mind. The vision being that of the tall arrows of flesh which pierce the golden shod locks of the wanderer's hair. The tips of which terminate less than a scant inch from the crown of the Master Assassins head. The ears that mark him as being the last of his kind. The ears that will forever label him as the living legend that he is. And one of the three vanishing Reptiles whispers the word that all minions of the Emperor either fear or despise. A word that all such servants learn to respect.
"Meander."
In a single second the small tavern explodes into chaos. The Reptiles already scrambling to find an escape from the confines of the dimly lit local, relying on that darkness and their chameleon abilities to protect their egress. The Nomads jumping up from their game and releasing their arm blades as they release traditional cries of battle. A sound that few adversaries live to relate. The Shokan Warrior backing away from the motionless fey-assassin and dropping the gurgling body of the dying, dark- garbed failure to Shao Kahn. Even the diminutive bartender ducking down behind the low bar and making himself as small a target as is possible.
"Ding, give that snake an ale." The words are punctuated by a motion that is so quick that only the adrenaline amplified senses of the Nomads can follow it. In one smooth circle the man named Meander spins his whole body. His right arm swinging around on that axis and fixing on the nearly silent footsteps of the lead Reptile, the left flashing out so fast that it becomes a blur to even the Nomads eyes.
It is over in the following second. A conical vortex of pulsing yellow-white energy flashes from the 2 inch opening at the tip of the device in his right hand. The Reptiles are incinerated without as much as an opportunity to cry out, their outlines left against the instantly charred stone wall. The Shokan fares only slightly better, the silvery knife buried a full 4 of its 7-inch length into his left eye. A wound which gives the four armed giant a moment to wheeze a final breath before he topples side long into the nearest wall.
The Nomads pause, each lost in a personal debate over his next action. A delay long enough to allow the hat, which was suspended in the air by its own rotation, to fall gently to the floor beside its owner.
"Options," Meander states calmly. "I don't care about Nomads. You don't work for Kahn you work for pay. As a bounty hunter I can relate to that. But I can't let you take my face back to the Priests, now can I? So you can stay and die."
The tip of the heat-producing weapon blurs for a frozen moment and is leveled between the pair of wandering warriors.
"Or you can hop into the nearest portal and get yourselves lost somewhere else in the Realms. You ever come back," he pauses and offers an almost friendly smile on his thin lips. "Well, let's just say that tracking down two Nomads named Genjho and Keppik would not be the most challenging of marks. And seeing as how you already know of my reputation you also know that this is not an idle threat."
Keppik looks across to his companion and sees his own decision mirrored in those eyes. Yet it is Gehjho that speaks.
"Better death now than a century of running. We fight."
Meander nods softly, already having assumed that would be the answer. And when the Nomads rise up to release their own mystical blasts of bio- electric energy they are cut down by the sudden shower of plasma blots that stutter from the tip of the gently shuddering weapon. The gentle copper eyes watching the flailing dance of burnt bodies as they spin and topple in this explosive spray of heat. He continues the barrage of flashing death even after the pockmarked forms crumple unto the floor. Moderately amused by the distant detonations of the plasma bolts that penetrate the holes in the walls and the doorway curtain. Knowing that this display will keep unwelcome guests at bay while it broadcasts to the Emperor that Meander lives still.
The barrage finished he casually bends down to retrieve his hat. The distant sound of applause reaching his ultra-sensitive hearing and stilling his movements. His acute auditory powers also pinpointing the source of that noise in relation to his position. For a moment he considers folding open the lining of his Telemportal Cloak and simply becoming a ghost to the residents of Outworld. But something in the singular applause speaks to him of being benign. So with a chuckle he scoops up the dropped pipe, flips a large diamond in the direction of the hidden dwarf, and saunters out of the silent tavern. His stride even and unhurried. Following the distant clapping with a precision that others would believe as supernatural. Doing so with a non-chalant step and a rhythmic smoking of the subtle blend within his wooden pipe.
He trails the sporadic sound through the debris strewn maze that was once the capital of Edenia, winding a path away from the diabolic façade of the Black Citadel of Shao Kahn, until he comes to a site that still shows some of its former glory. The gigantic faces of serene gods and goddesses still visible underneath the weathering of ages and the intentional defacing of the Shadow Priests. The courtyard of an ancient temple discernible by the existence of the tiers of wide stairs and the deteriorated remains of a central stone alter. It is atop the altar that she sits. Draped in a full robe of the deepest jet yet still holding herself with a grace that announces her gender. Her face hidden behind the deep hood and the eternal shadows of the realm.
"Do you always act so brash when beneath the eyes of your enemy?" Her voice is soft and even. Confident beyond the age that her tone and cadence suggests. With a lilt that is readily apparent as being of Edenian in origin.
"Do you?" He retorts with a scoff.
The hood raises slightly. To any other this would maintain her anonymity but beneath his eyes no shadow is deep enough to totally hide her face. But it does give her a first glimpse of the living legend.
"I have no cause for fear."
Meander laughs aloud, the sound almost musical in its nature.
"And I have no fear of cause."
With a flourish he sweeps off his hat and offers a low bow. Never allowing his eyes to leave her as he does so.
"For I am the effect that resolves all things. What fear I that such direction cannot lead to its inevitable conclusion." He rises as he finishes with an intentionally absent-minded fumbling of his tobacco pouch.
"You are very eloquent for a Master Assassin, I shall give you that."
"And you are quite misleading for royalty, if I might be so very bold."
Her heart beats heavily for a passing moment and her reserved breathing seizes. An automatic response to her knowledge that for all her efforts she has not masked her identity from the man. But Meander is forced to give her silent credit. She focuses herself quickly and to those that do not share his amazing senses there would be no evidence of her moment of fear.
"You may. But only if I am permitted to act in a similar fashion." She pauses to allow him the chance to offer the obligatory nod. "I have heard that you have your own means of traveling the Realms? Is this true?"
She wisely lets the rhetoric be her offer for a continuation elsewhere. An extremely bold move considering her station and the fact that they are most likely being watched by agents of the Emperor. But if she has the will for this than he most certainly has the means.
"Perhaps. But my secrets are not to be given so freely. For all things there is a cost."
She stands slowly, gracefully. The robe doing everything to conceal her slender form and nothing to mask the aspect of a warrior and artist. Walking towards him with careful steps. A stride designed to mask her true impatience to leave this place and this situation.
"And what would the Master Assassin ask of one such as I?"
Meander allows a grin to brighten his pallid face. A slight scoff accompanies the first three draws that light his pipe. A look of absolute lasciviousness painted across the copper surface of his eyes.
"Well, it has been a long time since I lay down with anyone, human or otherwise. I think it high time I rectify that situation."
Again he hears her heart flutter, her body sounds telling him clearly that she prays he is only maintaining the rouse. It gives him an extra sense of satisfaction to know that he is capable of inspiring as disquieting a thought in one of her magnitude.
"That might be arranged but..."
"Put these on each of your wrists," he says flatly. Cutting her off and actually stopping her in her steps. The carved jade bracelets that he casually tosses at her feet attracting her attention like a flame does a moth.
"What..."
"They are called Obedience Cuffs. The slavers of Drazd use them with some frequency. They work surprising well against all humanoids. As you will soon discover if you truly desire to witness my powers to bend the Realms."
They stare at each other for a long moment. Her debating the logic in following the path of events that she has set forward. Him internally amused by the hesitation his actions have given his new charge, allowing no such sign of that joy to show on his face or by the admission of his own body.
"Have a care Assassin, I am not one to be taken lightly." She says this with a deeply serious undertone as she picks up the bracelets and slides them into place within the deep folds of the sleeves of that black robe.
"To be certain m'lady. But I cannot afford to lower my guard in a moment of passion without such precautions," he states slyly with a wink and a smirk. "I would not have lived as long as I have were it not for such precautions."
She nods slightly. Unhappy with this turn of events but knowing that she cannot back out now. Too much may ride upon what can result from her plans for this legendary bounty hunter.
"You were going to join me?" He asks with a thick tint of innuendo. Opening his left arm in a gesture designed to lure her forward.
She sighs, a sound clear to Meanders ears but lost on those that might be listening from afar.
Again she walks slowly towards him. An additional sway added to her steps to hint at the seductive curve of the hips hidden beneath the thick fabric. The subtle sexual motion exaggerated by the steps that she must descend to approach the calm fey warrior.
As she nears him he reaches down with his left hand and pulls free the cord that fastens his breeches. With soft popping sounds the cord comes free of the eyelet's that holds the garment closed. Allowing his forced excitement to become readily exposed. Exposed and held out in his left hand. This series of gestures covers the task his right hand sets to on the inside of his cloak.
Again, to her credit he muses, she offers only the slightest internal hesitation. But she does look him full in the eye as he smiles at her. Her deep brown eyes narrowed and searching him for a sign that he is serious about his intent. He simply gazes casually back at her and tips his head down in an indication of what he desires from her. But to ease her reservations he quickly narrows his left eye, the slightest hint of a wink. So subtle that it will go unnoticed by anybody that is most likely watching these events unfold.
She lowers before him, settling onto her knees and looking onto the situation that looms in front of her eyes. Swallowing an instinct to curse she reaches up to embrace this most unpleasant of facades. Her hand makes only the most delicate contact when the world around her swirls and distorts in a cascade of sickly color and nausea inducing motions. She snaps her eyes closed against the barrage on her sense and curls into as small a ball as she can. As if the cover of her robe would protect her from the gut wrenching feeling of being thrown between worlds.
~To be continued