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 Posted: Thu Jan 10, 2008 2:35 pm
...Chivalry is dead...
(Imperial Throne Room, London, England)
Heavy rain continued to beat upon the roofs of Castle Liria, the monotonous tone of the rain drops splattering upon the rafters can be heard throughout the halls of the fort.
"Sire, ummmmm someone is here to see you...", Lyander's butler said meekly, seeing that his master was deep in thought while was watching the rain outside through a window. "It is Lord Rafalli...", the old man continued, quickly stepping out of the way to allow the guest to walk in.
Light footsteps followed the sound of the butler's introduction, accompanied by a low clicking mechanical sound, the guest's being an amputee he had one arm replaced with a bionic prosthetic. "How can you be such a marvellous spy if you make such God-awful noise all the time Rafallis?", Lyander exclaimed in jest, turning right away from the window to face his guest with a small smile in his bearded lips.
"Well my lord it's because anyone who may have seen or heard me does not live long enough to warn anyone else...", the man named Rafallis replied with malicious glee, licking his lips as if relishing the taste of a delicious food. Lyander only smirked, already aware of Rafalli's brutality when accomplishing his missions. "Tell me son, what news have you brought me this time? Anything worth using at all?", the king asked with furrowed eyebrows, unsheathing his ceremonial sword out to play with it as he waited for a response.
"Sources say that America is cooking up something...something good...something dangerous...", Rafallis replied sullenly, yawning to prove the point that he is getting bored already of the conversation.
"Oh? Is it another one of those Genra Mutations I have heard so much about? Or another Gabrielle?", Lyander asked with sincere interest, right eyebrow rising up as he looked at the spy anything concerning his ony 'real' enemy he considers them of great importance to him. "Come on boy! Spill it out!!"
"No sire...apparently they had some help from the Dutch...", Rafallis continued with an evil grin, a sadistic look in his eyes as he asked, "Shall I wreak vengeance on them with your permission m'lord?", his metal hand clicking their razor sharp fingers in anticipation of a possible slaughter...and revenge.
He was last seen there! That stupid black knight! He took off my arm! But worst...he betrayed our flag! Curse HIM! I WILL HAVE HIS HEAD ON A PI-
Those were the words running in Rafallis' mind, only to be cut of as a sudden crack of lightning interrupted his thoughts. After letting the thunder accompanying the flash dissipate, Lyander spoke. "...You want to come after him don't you Rafallis?", the king said with a taunt, knowing full well that Rafallis has a score to settle with the former general of Lyander's armada, the legendary Black Knight.
"Sire I do not let thoughts of vengeance cloud my thoughts...the only reason I want to go there is to avenge the disrespect that the Dutch have done to betray you sire...", Rafallis replied with a slow bow, "...but chivalry will be dead sire...I assure you, traitors will not be left unpunished in our kingdom..."
The man with the metal arm then straightened himself up, only to leave the old king silent and alone with his thoughts in his throne room.......
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 12:01 pm
Somewhere, high above Paris...
The wind blew past her like a fellow wraith as she sped along, jumping with ease from rooftop to rooftop. Tonight, nothing stood between Sly and her goal. Her legs moved in a blur, ebony silhouette cloaked against a deep, dark blue and pinpoints of stars.
Up ahead, the telltale glass pyramid loomed—her target.
This job was by far the easiest she had ever been assigned. It required no blood to be spilled unless not all went according to plan, and that made things a lot easier for the young mercenary—it meant she could travel light.
As she neared the end of her long rooftop trek, Sly tested the versatile black cord in her hands; it was still as strong as it had been when she’d tested it several hours earlier. She locked the device attached to it onto her wrist and pressed a button. At the touch, the cord suddenly reeled into the tiny black box, then shot out several meters until latching onto the very tip of the pyramid.
And then she was airborne, weightless, completely vulnerable—but only for a second. Sly landed lightly on the side of the pyramid, the gecko mode in her boots doing their job and keeping her there. She reeled the grappling cord back into its device and shot it back out, this time to the roof of the building next to the pyramid: The Louvre.
A few minutes later, Sly dropped safely to the marble floor inside the massive building, looking around to gain her bearings. She spotted the entrance to her target corridor a small ways away and silently made her way to it.
***
“You are the mercenary, oui?”
Sly nodded, her pale eyes sharp behind her mask. “Oui, monsieur.”
Her employer looked at her with a skeptical eye “Gah. You’ll do, Renegade.” He rolled the name off of his tongue as though it were a bad taste. The regality of his maroon suit contrasted starkly with Sly’s meager outfit of a tight but breathable lycra suit, her weapons carefully tucked in it out of sight. The mercenary simply continued to stand as he sat, waiting for him to tell her to do the same.
“Sit down, Renegade.” Again; it was as if he were trying to rid his mouth of the taste. Sly was both puzzled and fascinated by this. Nobody had ever dared speak her name in distaste, but she didn’t question as to why he did so now. Instead, she took a seat in the lush, royal chair he beckoned her to.
The man leaned forward to bridge the distance between them. His grayish green eyes were suspicious. “What I say to you is a matter of upmost importance,” he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “You are probably not accustomed to what I ask you to do, and that is why I will pay you generously for your efforts. You know of the Louvre, oui?”
“Oui, monsieur,” Sly replied tersely, her curiosity piqued.
“And you know of da Vinci, oui?”
Sly quickly caught on to this game the man was playing. He was testing her for something. It was a challenge she could not refuse. She leaned in closer to him, her gloved hands clasped in front of her.
“Oui, monsieur. Only an uneducated fool would not.”
He nodded in approval, glad for her understanding.
“Good.” He stood up and motioned for Sly to follow him to a room adjoining the parlor he had accepted her into when she had arrived. The huge double doors opened to reveal a magnificent gallery, with genuine articles of priceless art mounted on the walls, stacked on shelves, and lovingly set about on equally expensive stands.
Sly’s breath hitched; never before had she seen anyone in this dark period who had such passion for the arts. Galileo’s scrolls were neatly laid out on a desk. Michelangelo himself seemed to have donated life-sized statues. Monet accented the window frames.
“Oui…it is beautiful,” she breathed, and turned again to face the man of supreme elegance before her. “You wish for me to retrieve art for you from the Louvre.”
“Oui, mademoiselle,” the man said gleefully. “I will pay you handsomely for your efforts, but it has to be done tonight. Bring me The Mona Lisa by two o’ clock tomorrow morning.”
Sly opened her mouth to respond, but the man held up a hand to silence her.
“I’m not finished.” He took a menacing step toward her, his lanky frame towering at least five inches taller than she. Undaunted, Sly said, “Then finish so I can go retrieve the Mona for you.”
“If you damage it or anything else in the Louvre in any way, shape or form,” the Frenchman said, his voice a venomous hiss. “Not only will I not pay you, but I will kill you with my own two hands. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Sly replied, her heart warm at the man’s overwhelming passion. “I will have it here at two. We will discuss price then.”
***
It was one twenty-five now, and Sly was still in awe of the man’s intensity. He had threatened her life…and she didn’t doubt that he could have carried out his threats. The man loved art like his own child. Should she damage one hair on the child’s head, her own would roll before sunrise.
“Ah,” she murmured to herself as she approached the tiny painting. “Bonsoir, Mona.” She knelt down before the painting for a brief moment, letting the sense of mastery overwhelm her, then stood and walked over to it so that she was only inches away from it now. From her pocket she fished out a tiny electromagnetic pulse device. She charged it and set it upon the wall.
The EMP charge was a small one, so it only powered down the building of the Louvre itself, and only for a few seconds. In that matter of seconds, Sly had artfully dismounted the painting from the wall and placed it in the case for it that the Frenchman had given her, and placed that into the small knapsack on her back.
By the time the power came back on and the alarms were reset, Sly had fired the grappling device and was pulling herself up to the roof again.
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 12:54 pm
Raphael yawned as he continued to scour the dark alleys of Paris, repeatedly asking the shady characters one by one that inhabited the back roads of the ancient country about the legendary Black Knight.
"Funguloooo!", the Italian swordsman cried out in frustration over the failure of this day, punching a random druggie that unluckily crossed his angry path while he exited the alleys and back into the main streets of Paris. Virtually deserted by midnight, no one else walked the roads, the usual gay chattering and jovial noises Paris is known for was gone. Silence ruled the streets at midnight and thanks to the silence Raphael heard the light, almost indiscernible footsteps upon the rooftops.
Looking up quickly at the source of the noise, he squinted just enough to see that there was a shadow, probably a thief or assassin of some sort dashing and jumping form one rooftop to another with great ease.
He will know where the Black Knight is!!
Was the thought that immediately sprung out of Raphael's mind, the blonde locks of his hair now bobbing as he ran after the shadow, following the direction that it was heading.
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Posted: Fri Jan 11, 2008 4:14 pm
Even if she hadn't heard him--which she had--Sly would have known she was being followed. The man's clumsy pursuit of her mere shadow became evident when she noticed someone below running in the same direction she was. So she'd dodged back a little on the flat rooftop, her shadow vanishing, and saw the man stop suddenly and look around, waiting for it to reappear.
But honestly--the man had metal strapped to his boots. If he was trying to be subtle, he failed miserably. Still, Sly found his attempt to pursue her amusing, but albeit her interest she had no time to waste on investigating this. She was on a mission, after all.
She readied the grappling device on her wrist, aimed it at a chimney of a house the next street over, and fired. She swung across the street, dangerously close to touching her shadow at the lowest part of her trajectory before swooping up again and landing on the neighboring rooftop; now neither her shadow nor her silhouette could be seen, as the source of light was too far away to distinguish her apart from the sky serving as her backdrop.
*
The gentleman snapped his pocketwatch shut as Renegade dropped into the room, seemingly from nowhere.
"One fifty-four," he announced with a nod of approval. "Did you encounter any problems?"
Sly shook her head--she didn't think a possible pursuer counted as a problem. "Non, monsieur. The Mona was retrieved without any complications."
She removed the painting's case from her knapsack and held it out to him.
The man took the case carefully, extracting the lid with the upmost gentility, as though cradling the head of a child. His eyes skimmed over the Mona's face, and the background behind her, and finally he deemed it acceptable. "Now, mademoiselle, your payment, as planned."
He strode over to a large mahogany desk and opened a drawer, fiddling around with its contents before turning to face Sly again.
The young mercenary tensed, knowing all too well that many missions for her kind ended unpleasantly with a firearm being drawn from desks as such, but relaxed when the gentleman's hand stretched out to her, a bundle of paper money in it.
Sly took the money and put it in her knapsack, smiling through her mask at her employer. "Merci, monsieur. It has been a pleasure working for you."
"The pleasure is all mine, mademoiselle. Expect to hear from me again soon," the man bade, watching as Renegade vanished out the window he'd left open for her.
*
Leaping again from rooftop to rooftop, Sly retraced her steps to where the loud man had been attempting to pursue her, hopefully looking for a challenge. She could use a workout.
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Posted: Sat Jan 12, 2008 4:23 pm
In a small town south of Glasgow, Scotland, by the name of Ipswitch, a man with a wide brimmed hat and richly decorated attire steps in through the cottage doors of a rather inconspicuous house.
The light caused by the fireplace was dim but welcoming. The room was chilled the moment the man with the hat entered through the door.
He smiled as he stepped through, viewing the man whom he had left tied to a chair and gagged was still there, horror still quite apparent in his eyes.
"Miss me, Rolf?"
Rolf Belowitz, weasel, intimidated pawn and his "informant" for the past two years.
He had a bit of trouble tracking down the dog each time, but no matter the effort taken to uncover him, he was an invaluable asset of information.
Without any empathy, the man in the hat rips the gag from his mouth.
"Do ye have to do this every time," he quipped, voice cracking slightly," Ye know I'm going to fight back one o' these days!"
"Bravado don't suit ya, bud. Particularly false bravado."
Rolf quivered for a moment.
"You know the drill, Rolf. Gimme the information I need, an' I'll be outta here and you can get back to being the spineless worm ya were before I got here."
"Damn ye ta hell, Warren Knight! Ye cold hearted basta-- ACK!"
Warren spun about with a backhand that struck Rolf with such force that it knocked his entire chair over, sending him crashing to the floor violently.
"Now, now. You can't be talkin' like that. You know I'm just gonna get what I need out of ya one way or another, so make it easier on yourself, eh?"
Rolf said nothing and just glared up at him.
A steel-toed boot slammed into his rib cage with tremendous power, cracking the chair in half and sending Rolf across the room crashing him into the wall and sending him into a slumping pile on the floor.
The man was coughing up blood and was certain that a rib or two was broken.
"I know ya work for the European Armada, and ya know where Alexander Whitefield is hidin' at. Tell me now, or I'm gonna start losin' my patience."
"Whitefield? The hell're ye wantin' with that bloke?"
"None of your concern."
"I got nothin' ta say about 'im."
"Is that so?"
Warren's empty hand immediately found one of his three pistols and shot poor Rolf in the leg, causing him to howl in pain.
"AGH! DAMN YE TA HELL!"
Warren just grinned and rolled his pistol's chamber once then aimed again, this time for his left arm. The gun barked again, sending a bullet through the legislative worker's arm, forcing another scream of agony.
"Ooh, you're lucky, I think I damned near missed the bone. How 'bout we try again to see if my aim improves?
"ALRIGHT! Agh, I'll tell you where ta find Whitefield... Just get me patched up before I pass out from the blood loss, ye insufferable lout..."
"After."
"Bah! Paris. He's in Paris at the moment, attendin' ta official business... Parliament, a restaurant and the hotel he's stayin' at is pretty much all he's ever seen at... Got two bodyguards with 'em too... Now gimme the damn gauze."
Warren chuckled, satisfied, and tossed over the gauze and bottle of cleansing ointment he had brought in when he'd arrived. With a mocking smile, he tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion and took a low bow.
"Have a nice night, Rolf."
"Damned 'Wandering Night', my a**..."
Warren didn't care that the weasel had given him a rude gesture as he departed, had it been any other dispensable soul, he'd have dispatched them instantly for the disrespect, but Rolf was too invaluable of an informational asset.
As he mounted onto his motorcycle, he couldn't help but grin at Rolf's predicament. He could not tell the authorities, because they would arrest him for treason, he could not alert his friends, or even the target, because he knew Warren would reach them first.
Paris, then. Heh, never thought I'd be going back there again. Well, least them French ain't as good at fightin' as they are at hidin', or even I'd be in trouble.
With a chuckle to himself, he sped off into the night, heading to the nearest port to catch the ferry to the mainland.
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2008 6:32 am
[Paris, France]
Raphael did nothing but sulk since he lost track of the shadow about an hour ago, slumping upon a deserted street corner as his mind berated him over and over again.
Stupid! You are soooo slow! You could have had information about the Black Knight an hour ago but nooooooooooooooo you just have to be extremely slow and noisy! Damn he-
His thoughts froze as he once more heard the familiar light footsteps, his eyes panning out everywhere in a few seconds to check where the 'shadow' was, catching a glimpse of his form on the same rooftop he lost him in.
Running towards the lookout where the shadow is, he cried out, hoping to get it's attention. "You! Thief! Get down from the rooftops and face me!!!"
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2008 1:20 pm
On the ferry from Glasgow to the mainland, Warren sat in his chair, looking up at the star-filled sky. The water beneath the boat parted before it as it passed, making a serene splashing as the ship moved steadily across the channel.
Warren sighed, pulled out a cigar from his coat, lit it and thought to himself.
Paris... Had to be damned Paris...
The city itself was a constant reminder of his past. Despite his upbringing in what remained of Southern Neo-America, he had spent ten years in France, living and working honestly, before he became an agent of Neo America. It was where he had lived his former life. It was where he at one point had a family.
It was a different time then.
No, it was a different world.
With another puff of his cigar, inhaling deeply the rich tobacco, he continued to stare into the starry zenith. He'd arrive in Paris in one day's time. Whitefield would have to be found quickly to avoid having to deal with ghosts from his past...
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2008 1:44 pm
Chanceless
Somewhere, high above Paris...
The wind blew past her like a fellow wraith as she sped along, jumping with ease from rooftop to rooftop. Tonight, nothing stood between Sly and her goal. Her legs moved in a blur, ebony silhouette cloaked against a deep, dark blue and pinpoints of stars.
Up ahead, the telltale glass pyramid loomed—her target.
This job was by far the easiest she had ever been assigned. It required no blood to be spilled unless not all went according to plan, and that made things a lot easier for the young mercenary—it meant she could travel light.
As she neared the end of her long rooftop trek, Sly tested the versatile black cord in her hands; it was still as strong as it had been when she’d tested it several hours earlier. She locked the device attached to it onto her wrist and pressed a button. At the touch, the cord suddenly reeled into the tiny black box, then shot out several meters until latching onto the very tip of the pyramid.
And then she was airborne, weightless, completely vulnerable—but only for a second. Sly landed lightly on the side of the pyramid, the gecko mode in her boots doing their job and keeping her there. She reeled the grappling cord back into its device and shot it back out, this time to the roof of the building next to the pyramid: The Louvre.
A few minutes later, Sly dropped safely to the marble floor inside the massive building, looking around to gain her bearings. She spotted the entrance to her target corridor a small ways away and silently made her way to it.
***
“You are the mercenary, oui?”
Sly nodded, her pale eyes sharp behind her mask. “Oui, monsieur.”
Her employer looked at her with a skeptical eye “Gah. You’ll do, Renegade.” He rolled the name off of his tongue as though it were a bad taste. The regality of his maroon suit contrasted starkly with Sly’s meager outfit of a tight but breathable lycra suit, her weapons carefully tucked in it out of sight. The mercenary simply continued to stand as he sat, waiting for him to tell her to do the same.
“Sit down, Renegade.” Again; it was as if he were trying to rid his mouth of the taste. Sly was both puzzled and fascinated by this. Nobody had ever dared speak her name in distaste, but she didn’t question as to why he did so now. Instead, she took a seat in the lush, royal chair he beckoned her to.
The man leaned forward to bridge the distance between them. His grayish green eyes were suspicious. “What I say to you is a matter of upmost importance,” he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “You are probably not accustomed to what I ask you to do, and that is why I will pay you generously for your efforts. You know of the Louvre, oui?”
“Oui, monsieur,” Sly replied tersely, her curiosity piqued.
“And you know of da Vinci, oui?”
Sly quickly caught on to this game the man was playing. He was testing her for something. It was a challenge she could not refuse. She leaned in closer to him, her gloved hands clasped in front of her.
“Oui, monsieur. Only an uneducated fool would not.”
He nodded in approval, glad for her understanding.
“Good.” He stood up and motioned for Sly to follow him to a room adjoining the parlor he had accepted her into when she had arrived. The huge double doors opened to reveal a magnificent gallery, with genuine articles of priceless art mounted on the walls, stacked on shelves, and lovingly set about on equally expensive stands.
Sly’s breath hitched; never before had she seen anyone in this dark period who had such passion for the arts. Galileo’s scrolls were neatly laid out on a desk. Michelangelo himself seemed to have donated life-sized statues. Monet accented the window frames.
“Oui…it is beautiful,” she breathed, and turned again to face the man of supreme elegance before her. “You wish for me to retrieve art for you from the Louvre.”
“Oui, mademoiselle,” the man said gleefully. “I will pay you handsomely for your efforts, but it has to be done tonight. Bring me The Mona Lisa by two o’ clock tomorrow morning.”
Sly opened her mouth to respond, but the man held up a hand to silence her.
“I’m not finished.” He took a menacing step toward her, his lanky frame towering at least five inches taller than she. Undaunted, Sly said, “Then finish so I can go retrieve the Mona for you.”
“If you damage it or anything else in the Louvre in any way, shape or form,” the Frenchman said, his voice a venomous hiss. “Not only will I not pay you, but I will kill you with my own two hands. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Sly replied, her heart warm at the man’s overwhelming passion. “I will have it here at two. We will discuss price then.”
***
It was one twenty-five now, and Sly was still in awe of the man’s intensity. He had threatened her life…and she didn’t doubt that he could have carried out his threats. The man loved art like his own child. Should she damage one hair on the child’s head, her own would roll before sunrise.
“Ah,” she murmured to herself as she approached the tiny painting. “Bonsoir, Mona.” She knelt down before the painting for a brief moment, letting the sense of mastery overwhelm her, then stood and walked over to it so that she was only inches away from it now. From her pocket she fished out a tiny electromagnetic pulse device. She charged it and set it upon the wall.
The EMP charge was a small one, so it only powered down the building of the Louvre itself, and only for a few seconds. In that matter of seconds, Sly had artfully dismounted the painting from the wall and placed it in the case for it that the Frenchman had given her, and placed that into the small knapsack on her back.
By the time the power came back on and the alarms were reset, Sly had fired the grappling device and was pulling herself up to the roof again.
*** Raphael yawned as he continued to scour the dark alleys of Paris, repeatedly asking the shady characters one by one that inhabited the back roads of the ancient country about the legendary Black Knight.
"Funguloooo!", the Italian swordsman cried out in frustration over the failure of this day, punching a random druggie that unluckily crossed his angry path while he exited the alleys and back into the main streets of Paris. Virtually deserted by midnight, no one else walked the roads, the usual gay chattering and jovial noises Paris is known for was gone. Silence ruled the streets at midnight and thanks to the silence Raphael heard the light, almost indiscernible footsteps upon the rooftops.
Looking up quickly at the source of the noise, he squinted just enough to see that there was a shadow, probably a thief or assassin of some sort dashing and jumping form one rooftop to another with great ease.
He will know where the Black Knight is!!
Was the thought that immediately sprung out of Raphael's mind, the blonde locks of his hair now bobbing as he ran after the shadow, following the direction that it was heading.
*** Raphael yawned as he continued to scour the dark alleys of Paris, repeatedly asking the shady characters one by one that inhabited the back roads of the ancient country about the legendary Black Knight. "Funguloooo!", the Italian swordsman cried out in frustration over the failure of this day, punching a random druggie that unluckily crossed his angry path while he exited the alleys and back into the main streets of Paris. Virtually deserted by midnight, no one else walked the roads, the usual gay chattering and jovial noises Paris is known for was gone. Silence ruled the streets at midnight and thanks to the silence Raphael heard the light, almost indiscernible footsteps upon the rooftops. Looking up quickly at the source of the noise, he squinted just enough to see that there was a shadow, probably a thief or assassin of some sort dashing and jumping form one rooftop to another with great ease. He will know where the Black Knight is!! Was the thought that immediately sprung out of Raphael's mind, the blonde locks of his hair now bobbing as he ran after the shadow, following the direction that it was heading.
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Posted: Sun Jan 13, 2008 3:39 pm
Sly stopped running and curled into a catlike crouch the moment the man’s voice addressed her. As he occasionally shifted his weight, she could tell that it was the same man who’d attempted to tail her earlier; his movements were far from graceful, and he was almost painfully obvious.
He’d called her a thief; was that just a lucky guess, or did he know more than he appeared to? She banished the question with a knowing smile and a shake of her head, knowing that she’d been too careful to have her identity jeopardized by this one bumbling idiot. And besides, she’d only stolen once. She wasn’t a serial thief, so there was no way he could have known her mission before he’d tried to follow her. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he have been silent in his attempts to follow her?
So she deducted quickly that this man was no threat to her, and there would be no harm in investigating him face-to-face, provided she remained on her guard, prepared for anything.
She sprung from her crouch in a graceful leap, somersaulted twice in midair, and landed easily on her feet in front of him.
“Yes?”
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