Chapter CCLXI: C’est la Vie Mort, Non? ~Multehx

Multehx rested now, sitting on the ground, his back to the tree.

The "good guys", the ones had been with, seemed to be still fully alive, but they were faring like the chess club against the varsity football squad in many ways. The agent watched as one grabbed and hoisted Kentaro, throwing him to the side. He then noted Fulsta's furious movement of limbs, wounding some nicely, but overall, being a bit too erratic to register some good damage. Then there was Lady North. She seemed...well...a bit out of place. Till one man slipped behind her, grabbed her around the arms, and another punched her hard in the gut. Multehx had to wince at that one.

But she quickly dispatched of them, summoning up a mighty torrent of wind and hurling the two to kingdom come. Now the three seemed to be fully active...though as noted, they weren't really the stuff of professional fighters. The Twilighter groaned, shaking his head as he rested his hand on his brow. He casually stretched out a leg, tripping one of the enemies as he charged by, causing him to take a spill...directly on a rather sharp rock. That sort of resolved itself within moments.

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes half closed in a tired unimpressed state.

Rookies...gotta be rookies. Gaw. He rolled his eyes and slightly cocked a brow as one managed to evade a punch and deliver a crushing chop to their foe. Still, if this doesn't get more interesting SOON I'm just gonna let loose here and take these Saturday morning reject evils out like last years freezer leftovers.

And so, Multehx settled back against the tree, regarding the bout with half interest. Eventually, he tried to calculate on his fingers the distance to town and the time it would take these mortals to walk it, and he going at their pace. Then, when he grew frustrated with that, he pulled out a copy of the latest newspaper and began to read through it, pausing only to flip to the appropriate pages.

* * * *

As for life with the knight and the mercenary, things seemed to be gaining more and more interest. Jaded groaned in frustration and swung his broken-broadsword deftly. It cut swiftly through the air and a shrill echo pierced the air as it cut deeply into a drainpipe of a nearby building. He snorted angrily as he withdrew it and ran a gloved finger along the flat side of the blade.

"Bah! Why did he decide he'd check out the moors alone?! 'Oh, someone has to stay in town' he says, 'something might happen' he says, 'there's a wierd boy in town, might possibly be connected to Havering' he says."

The mercenary resisted the urge to spit angrily, as it was not polite to spit at all really, so he turned around on the street and leaned up against a building instead.

Groaning, he brushed aside a lock of his hair. "This burg is about as interesting as a public park...with buildings, a weird manor, and creepy people."

But a sound travelled on the breeze. One of such subtle nature, only the trained ear of a professional could discern what it was. He frowned to himself, taking a tighter grip on the hilt of his sword.

"Things might get interesting after all."

Manoeuvring the blade so he held it upright under the front of his cloak (he had recently purchased from the local garment vendors, as it was so cheap and remarkably stylish) and started off down the street.

He stopped just on the edge of the town cemetery. The sound he had heard came from over here. Scanning the area carefully, he linked the noise to the slightly ajar door of a crypt. Silently he moved over the cold, hardly packed earth. He made his way to the stone structure, leaning silently against one of its walls. Cautiously, he peered around the corner of the stone slab and into the darkness inside. A cold chill and the foul stench of decay wafted out.

Jaded shivered in sickness at this smell as he silently made his way in. He moved as quietly and expertly as he could deeper and deeper into the building, which was amazingly bigger inside than it looked from the outside. As he neared the main chamber of the building, hit boot hit a wall, causing a few small pebbles to scatter on the ground with a slight noise. He looked up, body tensing. He could tell he was not alone, and whoever was there probably heard the sound. In fact, a faint rustle of fabric from within told him this was to be true.

Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to hack and cough violently on the stale air, he made his way into the room. On the ground inside rested your usual: a tomb with ornate carvings on the outside of it, most likely depicting the buried individual's wealth. And the structure was carved out of a stone almost as black as slate and as smooth as marble, so it probably was for a very distinguished person. This seemed normal enough.

But, a few pacing footsteps around the chamber revealed signs of another sort. There were deep scratch marks in the walls, as if someone had been searching to pry some part of the wall loose.

Even stranger, these marks seemed too common around the rifts and cracks in the rock walls. Jaded hummed to himself as he walked back over to the tomb to examine it now.

A thorough investigation and a thorough scrutiny revealed that his hunch was right: there were several deep scratch marks on the sides and top of the tomb as well. In fact...there were a few awful deep ones around one of the carvings. They appeared to have been made by a great amount of force. It was almost as if...

The mercenary got to his knees, grasping what he could of the carved figure with his gloved hands and pulling with all his might. Slowly indeed, the figure began to work itself out. This afforded him a better purchase, so he took hold of the sides with fingers and thumbs and returned to the same degree of effort he had been exerting. More and more, the stone figure was pulled from its hole until, with an echoing clunk, it wedged free of its confinement. He peered into the recess the removal of the figure had made.

Sure enough, there was just enough space remaining behind the fully inserted figure to place some sort of smaller sized object, he deduced. But what could have been there...and what had been searching so desperately for it?

A feminine laugh resounded through the hall behind him. Jaded spun around as footsteps could be heard approaching. He withdrew his sword and held it ready, teeth clenched in anticipation behind his red scarf. His wait was not long, as soon indeed, the person who laughed stepped into the dim light produced by cracks in the ceiling.

Jaded's eyes widened and he growled in a low tone. "You!" he exclaimed, tightening his grip on the sword. "What are you doing here, you witch?!"

The figure placed a clawed, fluorescent pinkish hand to it's chest and blinked in mock surprise. "Who, little old me?" she said in her most innocent voice.

Jaded growled. "Yes, I said you, now TELL me, temptress of the weaker willed!!"

Fanah half smirked, half sneered. "Well, if you're going to demand it of me, no dice, scarfey." She giggled girlishly and winked at him with a cruel grin. "However, I co-ould tell you something, if you told me some things."

Jaded highly considered spitting again, though the scarf tended to rule such ideas out. "What?"

The Twilighter batted her eyes cutely at the man. "First off, you can begin by telling me how absolutely gorgeous I look." she smiled.

"Bah!" Jaded snarled, waving a hand in dismissal. "I should have known you'd try your tricks on me!" He tapped his head with his free hand. "But, unlike your other esclaves de convoitise*, I have a will of granite; you're better off trying to seduce Havering than me. Now tell me, what was it that you took?!"

Stamping her foot indignantly, Fanah glared. "Well, if that's all you're going to say to me, you can shove of, sucker!"

Now, Jaded was a master at combat. He had been for many a year. But that was one backhand he definitely had not been expecting. It crashed into the side of his head with enough force to throw him against the wall with a dull thud. He sank to the floor, blackness slowly overtaking him. Only Fanah's quickly fleeing footsteps and one thought crossed his mind before he lost consciousness: Never underestimate a female scorned...

(esclaves de convoitise*- Slaves of lust)