R
Rando
Guest
The stranger was in a white shirt, black suit and grabed a brass-tipped cane on his way out the door. Rupert followed.
He went outside and peered about, finding Hawther heading West, out of town. The strange older gent was following about twenty feet back. As usual, there were few of the town's citizens out.
Hawther turned a corner down an alley way, a short cut to the Mine Road. The old man turned as well, but Rupert stopped. He waited a moment, then slowly peeked around the alley's corner. He could see Hawther exiting the alley at the other end of the block, but the stranger was gone.
Rupert stepped into the alley, watching Hawther disapear down Mine Road. All in one instant a firm grip was on his collar and he was jerked off his feet.
Spinning around, Rupert was brought face to face with old stranger in black.
"Who are you then?" he growled, flecks of spit flying.
"I...I...I..." Rupert stammered, unable to form a sentence. He was most unacustomed to being assulted, let alone twice in one day.
"Shut up mutt!" The old man, showing a greater strength then his age should allow, dragged Rupert to a nearby door and threw him through it. Rupert crashed to the floor, feeling his forehead split and the warm flow blind him.
The stranger closed the door behind him as he entered what seemed to be a warehouse, long abandoned. Rupert strugled to his knees and tried to stand, but his feet were kicked out from under him. He fell again, this time on is back and tangled withing his robes. The stranger placed the sole of his boot onto Rupert's chest.
Rupert blinked through the blood and looked up. He was a stern old man with leathery features, and he looked mean. He smiled through yellowed teath and leaned down.
"What's a whelp from the court doing this far south? Come to get the King's coinage through? Push that damn war? No, not today."
Rupert recieved a square kick to his ribs, rolling him over on to his stomach.
"When will the king see that there's a real threat to be had, down here?" The old man was screeming now, almost preaching. "When will he realize that his war in the North is a ploy devised by his real enimies who hide in the South?"
Rupert was kicked again, this time a stomp to his back. Suddenly he was picked up and turned over, and he met the old stranger's gaze nose to nose.
"Oh, there's war to be had son. But the battle is to be first fought here."
Rupert was getting dizzy, and he was still half-blind from the wound on his forehead. He was crumpled on the floor like a rag doll, limbs and cloathing a knoted mess.
Rupert tried, even in his pain, to staighten himself out, to sit up in a little more dignified possition. As he pulled at his robes, his hand touched on something cool and silken. The glove.
Choose your Path!
A - Slip on the glove and hope like hell it's a weapon.
B - Slip on the glove, but try to talk to the old man before attacking.
C - Call for help.
D - Curl up in a ball and play dead.
E - Put on the glove and hope like hell it's some kind of escape.
He went outside and peered about, finding Hawther heading West, out of town. The strange older gent was following about twenty feet back. As usual, there were few of the town's citizens out.
Hawther turned a corner down an alley way, a short cut to the Mine Road. The old man turned as well, but Rupert stopped. He waited a moment, then slowly peeked around the alley's corner. He could see Hawther exiting the alley at the other end of the block, but the stranger was gone.
Rupert stepped into the alley, watching Hawther disapear down Mine Road. All in one instant a firm grip was on his collar and he was jerked off his feet.
Spinning around, Rupert was brought face to face with old stranger in black.
"Who are you then?" he growled, flecks of spit flying.
"I...I...I..." Rupert stammered, unable to form a sentence. He was most unacustomed to being assulted, let alone twice in one day.
"Shut up mutt!" The old man, showing a greater strength then his age should allow, dragged Rupert to a nearby door and threw him through it. Rupert crashed to the floor, feeling his forehead split and the warm flow blind him.
The stranger closed the door behind him as he entered what seemed to be a warehouse, long abandoned. Rupert strugled to his knees and tried to stand, but his feet were kicked out from under him. He fell again, this time on is back and tangled withing his robes. The stranger placed the sole of his boot onto Rupert's chest.
Rupert blinked through the blood and looked up. He was a stern old man with leathery features, and he looked mean. He smiled through yellowed teath and leaned down.
"What's a whelp from the court doing this far south? Come to get the King's coinage through? Push that damn war? No, not today."
Rupert recieved a square kick to his ribs, rolling him over on to his stomach.
"When will the king see that there's a real threat to be had, down here?" The old man was screeming now, almost preaching. "When will he realize that his war in the North is a ploy devised by his real enimies who hide in the South?"
Rupert was kicked again, this time a stomp to his back. Suddenly he was picked up and turned over, and he met the old stranger's gaze nose to nose.
"Oh, there's war to be had son. But the battle is to be first fought here."
Rupert was getting dizzy, and he was still half-blind from the wound on his forehead. He was crumpled on the floor like a rag doll, limbs and cloathing a knoted mess.
Rupert tried, even in his pain, to staighten himself out, to sit up in a little more dignified possition. As he pulled at his robes, his hand touched on something cool and silken. The glove.
Choose your Path!
A - Slip on the glove and hope like hell it's a weapon.
B - Slip on the glove, but try to talk to the old man before attacking.
C - Call for help.
D - Curl up in a ball and play dead.
E - Put on the glove and hope like hell it's some kind of escape.
