The Meeting

This story is the first introduction of both Sarcoth and Malokar. It is a short story, not intended for Everything Changes but as an aside. In it, Sarcoth, a young waiter, overhears about an assassination of a Bouroxian Weaponmaster. His curiosity gets the best of him, and seeking to find out more, picks the pocket of someone important.

In any case Sarcoth and Malokar become targets and a bounty is placed on their heads. They have a narrowing escape, and then realize they are both in the same predicament. Talking amongst one another in an abandoned Bouroxian textile mill, they piece together who wants them dead. Together they avoid those trying to collect on the hit placed on them, and turn the tables on the man who placed the hit.

In the process, they manage to steal quite a bit of wealthy jewelery and rob the Doglus who placed the hit on them blind.

The two escape. The story ends with Sarcoth and Malokar thinking about going separate ways, but both of them realizing that they are a better duo than trying to survive alone.

The smells of roast pork, fresh beer and cigar smoke lingered in the cramped tavern. In one corner sat a group of stone faced men, silently playing a card game. Along the bar, a lone man drank another shot as he stared blankly at the wall. A large scar marked his face, drawing a curve from his left eye down his chin. Finishing the strong brew, he set down the glass. A bearded bartender moved to take the glass, the bottle in hand. He eyed the scarre patron and put the bottle and glass away instead.

The bartender grabbed three glass mugs and filled them with beer from a keg. He placed the mugs on a tray and tapping the bar twice, walked through a door behind the bar. A young man looked up from his whittling. Setting down the piece of wood, he sheathed his knife.

Walking over to the bar, the young man picked up the tray and carried the beers over to a table. Seated there were three men eating roast pork and potatoes and speaking in hushed tones. The waited eyed the men at the table. One was bald and clean shaven, save a small patch of hair below his lip. The second was slightly larger, a powerful beard covering his face. His long curled hair draped over his face. His eyes were the only bright spot on his face, and the pupils seemed to glow in the dimly lit tavern. The last man at the table wore a cloak. His hands lay on the table palms down, fingers outstretched. The waiter dared not look to see the face shrouded by a hood. This cloaked man sat silently. Even his breathing was shallow. If it were not for how straight he st, the young man would have thought the cloaked man was dead. The young waiter passed out the drinks slowly, carefully listening in.

"So they will leave at sunset," said the bald man.

"Five days from now. Will Visroth be ready?" questioned the bearded man.

A tone of annoyance appeared in the bald man's voice as he replied.

"Visroth is a honed blade. He is always ready."

The glowing orbs of the bearded man darted from the bald man to the silent cloaked man.

"And his accuracy? My master will not forgive failure."

"You would not be here if you doubted his ability. Your master no doubt has expected you to find the best."

At this, the bearded man snarled. His eyes darted to the young boy. The young waiter knew better than to look his patrons in the eye. He set down the three beers and the bearded man dropped a coin on the tray.

"Scram." growled the bearded man, his face turning back to the table.

The waiter returned the tray to the bar, and sat down. He picked up the block of wood he had been working on, and continued to whittle away. He kept an eye on the trio from across the room, taking special care to not be obvious. He watched the bald man’s lips move, trying to discern the words without looking directly at him. The bearded man gulped down one of the mugs of beer, said a few words, and finished off the other two mugs.

The men at the card table on the other side of the room began to argue, and the boy’s attention drifted to them. To his right, the men playing cards had finished a round. One lucky winner was defending his fortune from the four others demanding a rematch. The deck was reshuffled, and another round began. The boy’s eyes crossed over to the bar. The bartender was still in the back, working in the kitchen. The trio were still quietly whispering, and the cloaked man had yet to move.

The bearded man’s eyes darted in the waiter’s direction. The boy continued whittling, and remained subtly watching the three men. Satisfied that the boy wasn’t watching them, the bearded man produced a small leather pouch. He passed this to the bald man. The two exchanged a few more words, and the bearded man got up to leave.

The boy grabbed a nearby bucket, and walked over to the half empty table.

“Done sir?” the boy asked, his eyes avoiding the gaze of either men. It was the bald man’s voice that spoke up. “Aye. Tell Bishop he still makes the best roast pork this side of the desert.”

“Yes sir,” the boy replied, shoveling the plates, food and all into the bucket and grabbing the three empty mugs as well.

The sun was slowly rising on the small alleyway, casting a strange array of shadows as the light poured through the aging brick and mud buildings. Along the walls of both sides of the wide alley, merchants had set up displays. Their different colored cloth roofings became a colorful rainbow that contrasted with the dull brown of the old alley. Even this early, the market was abuzz with noise and activity. Women strolled the streets in drab outfits, looking around at the various fresh fruits, vegetables and breads.

Powerful guards watched over the merchants and customers. Positioned at the front and back of this alleyway, as well as looking down from the top of the two-story mudbrick flats, these dog-like men watched. These were truly intimidating creatures. Each one stood several feet taller than a man, and had a spear in one hand. They wore a belt with a sword and had on light pieces of armor. (Note: Don’t Huskr’l Doglus prominently display their genitalia?Not common for them to wear chafing undergarments. That is a human thing.)Their shoulders were guarded with savage spiked shoulderpads and a stiff carapace guarded their chest. Their powerful muscles were clearly seen amidst the medium fur that covered their bodies.

The breathing of these guards was harsh and forced, their faces forever locked in a cruel snarl. Each guard watched as the patrons passed them, glaring down at the shorter men. Ashblack noses in front of their long snouts twitched as each person passed in front of them. Their ears were perked upward and vigilant. Their eyes were hollow and cold.

Over a dozen of these soldiers stood watch over the market place. Yet the merchants and patrons seemed to ignore these watchmen, as they went about their days business. No one dared look in their general direction. To look at one in the eyes would mean a quick death.

“Stop! Thief!” shouted a small, balding man. The balding man was just finishing a transaction, when he saw a young man leave his stand.

A young man, casually walking away broke into a mad dash. Some of the patrons tried to grab him, but he slipped out of their grasp. He sped along down the path, the walls closing in ahead as the spacious market turned to cramped side streets.

Do I REALLY want to repeat Aladdin?

Aladdin – One Step Ahead

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPMHbUTcUXE)

The difference is that Malokar is far from Aladdin. Aladdin was an honest street rat. Malokar is a dishonest street rat. Aladdin steals only what he can’t afford. Malokar steals what he wants.

Assassin’s Creed Trailer - (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cc-ClutaN_I)

Several of the dog guards watched the young man from above as he hurried through the streets. Ahead of him, two guards calmly stepped forward and crossed spears, blocking the young man’s escape. Not slowing his stride, the youth feigned to the right, and made a massive leap to the left. He bounded off the left wall, easily clearing the left guard, and coming down softly on the road beyond them. Again, he leaped at the left wall, narrowly avoiding a flying spear. When he landed, he paused for a moment. Crouching, he watched the two wolflike guards racing towards him. His eyes darted around as he looked for a way out. He held a small pouch in his left hand, which he now took the time to firmly tie onto his belt. The guards were getting closer to him and the young man still had not moved. The young man seemed almost oblivious to the world around him as the guards came within a few feet.

It was then that the young man acted. In a flurry of movement, he threw a handful of dirt at the left guard. The right guard lunged at him with a spear. The young man dodged it and rolled to the other side of the alleyway. He grabbed a small clay pot and hurled it at the wall directly across from him.

The guard

What the hell? Who is this? Malokar? Come ON NOW MAN!!!

Remember the name

His hands moved swiftly. A bump with the shoulder, a slip of the hand around the back side. Three fingers, that was all it took to loosen the heavy purse. The leather fit smoothly in his palm, and his hand flowed to around his back. In near the blink of an eye, the purse was gone in a hidden pouch on his back. A smile and an apology, and the young man moved on. Calmly, the young man placed a small coin on the counter of the shopkeeper, and bought a loaf of bread and a block of cheese. His mark hadn’t even noticed that his purse was missing. The young man thanked the merchant, and walked off, surpressing a smile. It was all so easy.

What I’ve done

“Stop! Theif!”

----

He was surrounded. Their spears were all pointed at him. If any of them choose to lunge, they would surely hit their mark, or worse, he would fall to his death several feet below trying to avoid them. Precariously balanced on the ledge of the building, Malokar peeked a look over the edge. He had already drawn a crowd of onlookers below. They were pointing and staring at the young thief. His attention returned to the five Doglus guards.

“Skrah,” one of them growled. The human language was difficult for many of them, but Malokar knew well what they wanted him to do. He would never surrender. One hand reached behind him and felt the pouch. It was still there. The leather was soft to his touch, and he could feel the many coins it held. A month’s worth of any free-slave’s wages, at least. If he turned it in, he would be executed for his insolence. He knew there was only one way to get out of this situation. He closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

It was the guard on the far left that

Need to design the city that the story is built around, as well as the political environment they are in. Something of importance about how the Doglus began to rule after the disappearance of the Warlock Lord, and how their dominance quickly took over the humans and pigmin that had fought alongside the Doglus in the Wizard’s War. The Doglus had taken over Sareth, Vendsland and Bourox, renaming this land Bourox. The lands of Canoa and Uoan were united under one flag to become Canoan. There was tension between Canoan and Bourox, as neither one wanted another all out war, yet both wanted to dominate the other. A sort of Cold War began, and both sides employed assassins and spies.

There should also be some mention of the remaining Nemesis, the strange shadowy nightmare creatures. Thirsting for the remaining Wizardik in hiding, these creatures are sometimes seen, but never captured nor defeated. They are a menacing sight, and are a horror story told by children and drunken men.

There should also be a little lore of the Wizard’s War thrown in, and some of the olden members of the Grand Council should be referenced.

Have Malokar steal the pouch, pay for the bread, and walk off. He is chased but not identified or caught. So Malokar steals something he shouldn’t have? What was it? Sarcoth overhears somethng he shouldn’t have? What was that? What does a high profile assassination have to do with them? How does Visroth plan on executing the Elder? How does this execution affect Bouroxian Government?

They crouched across from one anther in the small room. Neither of them said a word. The sounds of the guards looking for them began to fade in the distance. It was Sarcoth who broke the silence first.

“Alone, we’ll be dead men.”

Those that still believe they are free are the ones most enslaved. “Sad really. They still believe they are free.”

---------

“So, you’ve finally come for me.”

The cloaked figure was silent.

“I know that I’m not going to be able to convince you the folly of this. I’m sure you’ve already been well paid.”

The grey Doglus put down his glass.

“Well. I guess it is time then. Please, do it quickly.”