NationStates Jolt Archive

The mid-morning sun shone clearly through the branches of the large Marsh trees, dew silently dripping to the already-drenched floor of the Black Marsh. A pair of the native Argonian people prowled amongst the trees, bows at the ready. A Nix-Hound had been seen in the area & such a thing was a highly revered treat for the people of the village. The first hunter, a trim male, raised his bow to fire, sighting down the arrow at the foraging Nix-Hound...

Then, in the eerie quiet of the moment, a shot rang out, and the hunter fell, loosing his arrow into the marshland instead of into his target. His companion spun, looking for the source of the noise. Quickly, he snatched up his fallen companion and began to run. A second shot went off, clipping the runner's shoulder, staggering him. He continued to run, his fallen comrade slung across his shoulders. He was the fifth victim this season, struck down by a hidden hunter as he himself hunted for food to feed the village. The runner ran, a third round narrowly missing his head, knicking one of the golden rings that hung from his ear-fins with a sharp ping...

An hour later, he reached the safety of the village, still he ran until he reached the shaman's hut...

Panting, he gently laid his friend down on the dirt floor of the hut...

"Great One, Kenel has been injured..."

The young hunter's chest heaved as he spoke, his eyes a mix of anger and confusion...

"Take rest, young one. I will see to Kenel..."

The shaman began to examine the body of the hunter... He first suspected dark magics, but the hole above the young hunter's left eye told a more sinister tale...

The shaman checked the life signs of Kenel, but the cold & accusing stare of his eyes spoke louder than any heartbeat might have. Kenel was braindead, the shallow heave of his chest gave both the shaman & the younger hunter, named Telne, false hopes. Shaman Holdor Feather-Foot shook his staff over the body, chanting and spreading powdered Blackwood across the hunter's bloody wound. Kenel twitched slightly, then lay still, the trickle of blackish-red ran faster, into his left eye & down his face, staining his green scales a rusty red. Feather-Foot ceased his chanting & lowered his head in defeat...

"I am sorry, young one... Kenel has departed for Makaal's Sacred Realm. May his second life be better than his last..."

Holdor shook a handful of dust across the body, the Argonian equivalent of a confirmation of death. Telne went to fetch the Deathwatcher, an enigmatic Dark Argonian who resided across the village, near the site of the funeral pyre...

Mumbling, he spoke into the darkness of the hut's doorless frame...

"Great One... An offering from the deceased."

Telne laid Kenel's bow on the alter outside of the hut, a thin splash of red had stained the yew.

As Telne left, Deathwatcher Solke removed the bow from the alter with a clawed hand, his dark scales having a dusty grey edging due to his advanced age. He hated daylight, and only conducted funeral services at the midnight hour, the best time for a spirit to leave the body, or so was his opinion...

Telne departed for the Chief's hut, he would want to know of this...

Telne respectfully knocked upon the large hut's door with a scaly knuckle... The door swung open, nearly hitting Telne on the end of the snout...

"Who seeks Chief Redscale?"

Asked one of the Chief's mates, a thin creature dressed in the colors of the Redscale clan...

"Inform him that another of his hunters has been slain... Like the others, his skull seems to have burst. Shaman Feather-Foot knows not the cause..."

Telne turned away, his message delivered. The Chief would speak to teh council of this matter. Telne was the only hunter to have returned with a wounded comrade. Other parties had not been so lucky, both hunters had been slain, their bodies never found...

In a Dark & Seedy Warehouse in an Unknown Country...

A skinny man shouted from his booth, holding up a necklace made from Argonian teeth & fangs. Behind him sat a toned & muscular man polishing the scope of a rifle...

"Only the finest Argonian fore-fangs, sharp as a razor... Only fifty-five each!"

Another man, stocky & sporting a series of scars, spoke to a customer over a mounted set of vampire fangs, set in a plastic block above the still-bloody stake used to kill it...

"Yes ma'am, killed 'im myself. He was a tough 'un..."

The man accepts the wad of currency from the woman, then wraps the mounted fang-&-stake set in plain brown paper. The woman takes the parcel, then disappears into the crowd...

The booths range in products from Golem fragments to Harpie heads to the pelts of werewolves... Anything and everything supernatural or realted was in evidence...

Back at the Argonian product booth...

"Yessir, that's 'im... That feller back there's a pretty damn good shooter, thinkin' about puttin' a few more of 'em out in the Marsh, see if I can boost buisness up a bit."

The man before him, dressed in a black buisness suit, lays a large wad of money down on the pitted wooden surface of the counter...

"Then do so. My employer congrajulates you on your progress & hopes to continue such favorable relations..."

He takes a set of five necklaces, along with a mounted hunters' spear & an Argonian hide belt... It was another typical day at the Grey Market...

OOC: I guess you enter as a customer or something...

BTW BUMP

OOC: MS has guessed correctly, an interested party may enter as a customer seeking the hunt of a lifetime, or as a concerned individual willing to help the Argonian people with their delima. The Argonian people would be grateful of outside assistance to deal with this threat. I will have no armies driving tanks through the marsh, or great fleets of airplanes crossing the skies. Keep it to one or two characters, advisors of sorts.

OOC: MS has guessed correctly, an interested party may enter as a customer seeking the hunt of a lifetime, or as a concerned individual willing to help the Argonian people with their delima. The Argonian people would be grateful of outside assistance to deal with this threat. I will have no armies driving tanks through the marsh, or great fleets of airplanes crossing the skies. Keep it to one or two characters, advisors of sorts.

Dank Gamise walked into the grey market, passing the many tall customers. Dank was a Hobbit, one of the very few left in existence, evicted from his previous home in Mikatopia. The Mikatopian government had been trying to remove the supernatural from Mikatopia. Dank was lucky, he was a noviolent being. Vampires and Werewolves were killed or expiremented on. Dank posed no real threat, but he was exiled all the same. Dank had been looking for weapons, but had stumbled upon the plight of the Argonian people. He was genuinly angry. Generally as a rule, hobbits don't engae in battle, but Dank had lived in the dark ghettos of Mikatopia and found only the strong survived. He began to make his way to the Argonian camp...

OOC: Finally, some intrest. It will be a long walk to the Black Marsh, I hope he is ready.

((Nice idea, WA, as usual.))

A figure cloaked in armor blacker than night, a stained scarlet scarf draped raggedly about him, crouched silently atop a low building overlooking the Grey Market.

"Hunters." He growled to himself. "Greedy money-grubbers. Never should one stalk prey for such an abstract concept as money. Only for the thrill." A wicked grin split his pale lips to reveal jagged, needle sharp canines. "Only for the fear of the prey. I'll show them that fear tonight."

With that pledge, he vanished into patient wait.

((Enter my favorite character, probably the most insane character on NS.))

The mercenary Dekker Bray entered the Argonian village for the up-teenth time in his 30-someodd years of exsistance, this time for personal reasons. Someone was hunting his friend's people, like animals. Dekker was an expeirenced soldier, he knew a sniper attack when he heard about it.

The thing that puzzled him more than anything was where his friend, Whiptail, was. No hunting of monsters or vampires could keep such a patriot from the preservation of his people...

Dekker unslung his backpack, setting his freshly-cleaned M4 carbine down next to it. Soon, he'd prepare for some hunting of his own...

After many days of walking and adventure, Dank arrived at the Argonian camp. The adventures he expirenced would take up an entire book, so they will be left for another time.
Dank walked up to the Argonian guards. The giant lizards frightened him a bit, but as Danks uncle Ferris used to say, "A Gamise has gotta do, what ever a Gamise has to do."
Dank cleared his throat. "Good moring master Argonians, I would like to assist you in your plight. You and i have many differences, but we are the same." Dank waited to see if the Argonians would kill him, or let him live.

OOC: Im gonna make one more character if you dont mind.

IC: A man in a black treach coat walked down the dark streets of the Market. Every thing about this man seemed dark, from his clothes to his eyes. No one who passed him looked at him eye to eye, in fact, very few could.
The mans name was Anderson. No first name, just Anderson. He came from Mikatopia as well. His job was to kill. He grinned. As a agent in the Paranormal divison, he was well aware of the powers of the supernatural, and they didnt scare him. Unlike many agents, Anderson had been trained since childhood to be this way. He had psychic ablites that he used to persuade people to do things they wouldnt normally. And now he was on a mission. This grey market was Dangerous. If the Mikatopian populace discovered that Vampires and Elves and Argonians existed, they would panic. He would find the source of this market and destroy it. Plus, he had heard of a Argonian uprising in the Black Marsh. Argonians apparently were good hunting...
He walked up to the desk. The portly man looked at him and said "Well, how can i help you sir?"
Anderson smiled, an action that made the fat man cringe. "My name is Edward Anderson, I was hoping that i could go on the next tour into the Black Marsh..."
The Attendent immediatle felt unexplainable hatred for this dark man and his Mikatopian accent (sort of an Aussie accent). The Argonians were brutal against intruders, maybe he'd die, "Yes sir we have one position left."
The Anderson smirked ,his powers had worked again. "Good."

Dekker chuckled as the hobbit appeared.

'A midget... that's f**kin' weird...'

He gathered up his things, slinging the M4 over his shoulder. Slowly, he approached the halfling...

"Don't worry, kid. They only eat orcs & goblins."

Dekker said with a smirk, extending a large hand. He stood at 6'2", weighing a muscular 280 lbs. Dekker was dressed in jungle-pattern BDU's, with a H&K Mk23 SOCOM on his right hip, as well as an AMT M1911A1 Hardballer under his left arm. Fingerless tactical gloves covered the plams & knunkles of his large hands, each scarred from shrapnel & various 'fight-bites' from unarmed combat throughout his life.

Dekker sported a scar running from his hairline down across his left eye, and another across his right cheek, one caused by shrapnel, the other the product of a close call with a bullet...

The two perimeter sentries looked at the small human with a mix of confusion & wonder. Never had they seen one so small, yet so articulate in the softskin language. As they conversed among themselves, a familiar face came up behind the hobbit, towering over him. It was the 'Nak'Tarash', or 'Wolf' in Argonian. The first sentry believed that his softskin title was Dekker Bray. The pair bowed in respect, Bray was known as a skilled hunter, and a companion of Whiptail Longtail.

It was at this moment that Whiptail himself chose to appear, coming up from behind the two guards. He spoke to them in their native tongue, then they left. Whiptail was different, to say the least. His scales where the color of charcoal, his eyes twin pools of molten gold. His frame nearly equaled that of Dekker Bray, standing eye-to-reptillian-eye with the muscular human. A silver crucifix dangled down in front of his black tunic, glittering in the sunlight. A pair of katanas where attatched to his back, beneath a tattered cloak the same color as his tunic & pants. A black steel-plated Colt M1911A1 was wedged into his Durzog-hide belt, next to a small throwing knife. Clearly, he was one who warrented respect among the Argonian people, for his intelligence & ability as a warrior & hunter. Whiptail knelt to reguard the hobbit, something he had never seen before, despite his wide travelling...

A scream ecohed through the Argonian swamp before dying away into pained, rasping sobs.

"N...n...o...leave...me...alone!" A man yelled, backing up against a tree and wincing as the stump that was once his arm touched the damp wood.

With his only remaining hand, his left, the would-be hunter fumbled for the pistol he had in his back belt, and emptied the entire clip into the dark figure in front of him, each report bouncing off the empty swamp. The figure merely stood there and withstood the onslaught, twitching slightly.

"Ow. That stings." The vampire rasped, grinning maliciously.

He tossed away the hunter's sniper rifle, now bent in two places, and brought up his bloodstained blade. The hunter's eyes fearfully traced the blades smooth movement as it cut through the air, and widened in pain as the fine blade pierced his stomach with a meaty "thunk."

"Does it hurt?" He asked, bringing his pale face within an inch of the hunter's.

The hunter made an effort to nod, but instead retched blood onto the blade.

"I said, does it hurt?" The blade twisted, causing the man to keel over onto the vampire's hand.

Deciding this was enough, the vampire brought his hand upwards, tearing the man's throat open and bringing his sword up to split the man's ribcage along with the tree behind him. The vampire slid away, licking the blade furiously, as the corpse dyed the soggy ground red, his deadened eyes staring blankly through the mists into the stars above.

Dank bowed to Whiptail. "My friend, time is running out for the people of magic, the people of fantasty. We are being replaced by the gun and the computer. People no longer think we have souls too. There is a place where i belive this big person", he motioned to Brey, "Has also come from. We need to destroy this marketplace of evil."

Back at the Grey Market...

"Whiptail you say.."
"Indeed, he is a danger to Mikatopian Security."
Anderson looked at the man across from him. He didnt knwo the man by name, but he had known him for at least sixteen years. This man worked fo the Royal Guard as well.
"How so?"
"He is a hunter of vampires, much like you. Unfortuantely he sympithizes with Elves etc..."
"Why should i care?"
"Because over the course of the last year the Non-human Leauge has been trying to contact him, get him on thier side."
"I cant kill him though...from what i hear, hes a damn immortal."
"You dont have to kill him, just scare him off, or cut off his f***ing legs, i dont care jsut get rid of him."
Anderson gave the other man a smile, which made hium cringe,
"I'll do my best."

Rumors from all over the world eventually find their way amongst the ranks of Rangers and the Border Patrol. That there were dealings in 'exotic' hides in the black market became known, and the Rangers decided to send someone to investigate.

This being was Hkweet. He was tasked with gathering information on these activities, and the area at large. So it was decided that a light bag would be packed, and Hkweet would be sent off.

Arriving at the tiny airstrip that was often found at countries of this type, he shakes off the dust from his trousers and enters the port. Being a 7'10" lizard, he gathered more than a few stares; some in fear, others in wonder. Still more looked on with anger, or was it enterprise? He wasn't sure.

He checked his baggage and papers with the customs officer, who looked a bit surprised to find a collapsible hammer in the pack. It was secured, though, so no more attention was paid to it. Other than that, everything went smoothly.

A hired car took hin out to the outskirts of the city, where the wilderness grew. "Ah, I don't go no further than here, mister. Strange happenings are going on in there, and I ain't gonna tangle with them."

Hkweet thanked the man, paid his fare plus a tip, and exited the vehicle. Hrrrrr.....the map shows the Black Marsh to be several leagues into this area. Better get going. Too bad I couldn't bring my Guat on the plane.

He entered the dense woodland, eyes and ears keen to the sounds of nature.

Anderson stood alone in the bus. Well, not really alone, he was the only living person on the bus. he looked around at the dead men. About ten or so. They hadnt wanted to go to the Black Marsh. So he killed them all. It had taken 30 seconds, too long. He looked around, placed a remote mine on the bus then escaped with all the supplies he could carry. He was going to hunt some Argonian tonight...

Telne, the first survivor of the hunted hunters, appeared beside Whiptail...

"Another hunting party has vanished... They supposedly left an hour later than Kenel and I did. We should go..."

Telne fumbled with his English, more fluent in his native tongue. The young Argonian was just over twenty, barely an adult by Argonian standards. He held a short spear in his hands, along with a bow & quiver across his back. He was fit, slim & muscular. Telne waves excitedly for Whiptail to follow...

Whiptail rises to do so, watching as Dekker begins to apply some greasepaint to his face, tying a bit of faded green mesh around his head...

"Dekker will follow, of that I am sure. Mister Dank, you are free to follow as well, although we might need to arm you, or at least give you a mount to ride through the Marsh. There are many deep crossings in our path..."

In the Marsh...

Two hunters come apon the slain sniper, they prod him a few times with their spears, then sling him up on their shoulders with their recent Nix-Hound kill, the finder of the corpse carrying the rifle as his trophy...

Dekker finishes his 'painting', snatching up his M4 & preparing to follow Whiptail & Telne into the Marsh...

The vampire, David the Shadow Reaper, watched the small group depart from the Argonian village from the safety of a black, spidery tree. The sword glimmered softly with the fresh blood upon it.

Dank looked at the Argonian,"I've walked hundereds of miles and you want to leave right away? What about breakfasr? Or at least a snack..." A hobbit could never forget his stomach....

((Bumparoony.))

((Bump! Ahh nooooo, the bump! The bummmmmmp!))

Dank looked at the Argonian,"I've walked hundereds of miles and you want to leave right away? What about breakfasr? Or at least a snack..." A hobbit could never forget his stomach....

Whiptail reguarded the miniture human with a confused look...

"If you wish, we may stop at the hut of a friend of mine, and find yourself something to eat. I will warn you though, once we enter the Marsh, you will have to eat what you find or kill..."

He points with a clawed finger at a small hut across the village square...

"Shaman Feather-Foot resides there... He will feed you."