The Marvelous Misadventures of Malik

[kaninchen]

Suggested Audio Experience:

"YOU BASTARD! UNLOCK THE DOOR!"

"A thousand pardons, my dearest. I did not expect our rendezvous to be cut so short..."

The rogue gives the smiling woman a quick peck on her sun-kissed cheek. She raises the silken sheets to hide her exposed body, though it does little good now that the rogue has seen nearly every part of it.

"STOP CANOODLING WITH MY DAUGHTER!" There is a banging on the door as the muffled voice continues it's rage-filled tirade.

"Will I see you again?" the young woman asks, voice like honey. The rogue winks, putting his tunic back on and buckling his trousers up. "You are the moon, my dearest. Although you may not brighten my darkest nights all the time, I can always count on seeing you aga--"

The door buckles. Wooden splinters fall to the ground.

"Damn the poetry, just get out of here!" the woman giggles. The room, dimly lit by candles and smokey with the scent of incense, was a site of various... 'triumphs'... not too long ago. Let's hope it doesn't become a prison for our dashing rogue.

He finishes dressing, and gives the woman another kiss, this time on the forehead. "Be safe," she whispers.

Scampering over to the open window, the rogue gives a wink. "Safety? Never heard of her. I'm loyal to only you."

The door smashes open. An incredibly angry middle-aged man, portly around the waist and furious around the face, bursts into the room. He's wielding... gods, no! A frying pan!

"You'll get what's coming to you!"

Standing on the windowsill, the rogue gives a mocking salute to the man. "As did your daughter!"

The woman laughs, but the father only gets more furious. He charges the rogue...

Who backflips off the windowsill, landing on the cobbled street two whole stories below. He lands with the grace of a cat. A cat with a saber on his hip and a twinkle in his beautiful golden eyes.

"Tusbih ealaa khyr! Healthiness and prosperity to you, my good man!" The rogue shouts up to the window.

"Next time I see you, you'll be in chains! Allaenat ealayk!"

The rogue laughs, running off into the night. A starry sky, a full moon, and the wonderful smells of the portside. He ducks through alleyways, hopping over crates, barrels, and the occasional sleeping beggar. Narhamad is beautiful, the most fitting place for this rogue to live. He climbs up a sandstone wall, slinking onto the rooftops. His form, silhouetted against the harbor, where the moonlight shimmers across the water and illuminates the trade ships from the north.

He peers down a rooftop, spotting two patrolling guards. Their torches flicker, scattering shadows across the street. He pulls his face away, avoiding their light and gaze. Can't be spotted, of course. Not when you're the best rogue in the city. Or, hells, the best rogue in all of The Sultanat Qarmazi!

That's right, it's him. Golden eyes, silver tongue, quick hands, and a heart full of love and adventure. Malik Halarim.

Now then, where to go now? The night is still young, and his veins full of vigor. Perhaps a tavern or hookah den? Or one of his many hideouts... or maybe he could stay at a friend's place for the night? He hides behind a rooftop trellis, thinking of his next destination...

[fuzzysocks]

Fantasy Chuck E Cheese

[Morphimus]

Go to a friend's hookah tavern hideout.

[Fish]

the friend who owns it is named charles entertainment cheese and he's always been on the cutting edge of mixing genres of establishments

[kaninchen]

Ah, thinks the rogue. Perhaps Charles is still awake?

Ol' Charlie came in from the north, and opened an 'entertainment center', as he calls it. Hookahs, hashish, dancers, men and women for company and comfort, and a surprising amount of cheeses. Charles really loves his cheeses.

Malik begins hopping from rooftop to rooftop, his shadowy form passing over the heads of witless guards. A cool wind picks up dust, covering any footsteps left behind. Distant sounds of barking dogs, belligerent drunks, late-night music, and people perusing the night market waft through the air, mingling with the soft pitter-patter of Malik's graceful arrival at "Chuck's Place". A not-too-imaginative name, but the usual clients don't care. They're too stoned out of their minds to bicker about proper marketing techniques. Nay, their bellies are warm with alcohol, their faces flush from hookah smoke, and their bedsheets warm from... well, you get the idea.

A fall, tuck and roll, and Malik is now on street level, approaching the door. Funny... the lights are off, thinks Malik. Shouldn't it be open at this time? It's barely even midnight.

The smell of copper and iron tickles his nose. Steel from blades, and the sickly metallic smell of blood. Alqurf!

Malik draws his saber -- a short single-edged blade, a perfect balance of finesse and power -- and carefully opens the door.

Dark room. No lights. The smell of blood is stronger, somehow overpowering the scent of alcohol and hashish that typically permeates this establishment.

"Du'," Malik whispers, sending a small orb of light from his fingertip. It hovers to the center of the room, revealing a grisly scene in the dull blue-white light. Bodies, dozens of them. Most of them look like the typical drunkards that frequent the place, likely too drunk to fight back. Some of the entertainers, as well, lie upon the floor or slumped over pillows.

His ear perks up. No, there is a struggle. Somewhere, in the back rooms. A gruff voice, shouting something, but it's muffled by the thick curtains and stone walls. He couldn't hear it outside, but over the silence of the bodies, it's all he can hear now.

How, then, to deal with this situation...?

[Morphimus]

Rush in silent as an owl in flight.

[minitiate]

steal their weapons, then what are they gonna do, kill you? the perfect crime

[fuzzysocks]

Inspect the bodies before going further into the bar. How did they die? By sword, by magic, by flame?

[kaninchen]

Malik first inspects the bodies. Various outward wounds, both of a slashing and bashing sort. Bruising, cuts, gashes, bleeding... a grisly scene. Whomever did this either wanted to make a statement, or was absolutely savage. Or both.

He quickly searches a few of them -- not just for their coin purses (can you blame him?) but also for weapons. Nearly all of them are unarmed, only making the situation worse. One body, however, has a bootknife, still sheathed. That'll do, for now, as a nice surprise weapon alongside his saber.

Like the owl at dusk, whose flapping wings are hardly heard over the din of the earth-bound denizens, Malik's soft padding footsteps are inaudible over the sound of the struggling as he runs to assist whomever may still be alive. He pushes aside a heavy curtain, beautifully embroidered and splattered with blood, making his way through the back 'pleasure rooms'. Hookah smoke still visibly clings to the ceiling. How, in all the gods' names, did the attackers manage to slaughter people so brutally, so quickly, with nobody knowing?

The struggling gets louder, and one room still has light. Malik bursts in, saber and knife at the ready. Inside, two figures wrestle over a gore-soaked axe. Several bodies adorn the room, but they're not the usual clientele: the bodies are heavily armed and armored, in black cloaks, scale armor, and full-face helmets. The two figures, fighting by candlelight, grunt and groan and cuss as they grasp at the axe and shove at one another in an attempt to gain superiority. One is a similarly heavily armored person, and the other is a Lupii -- a wolf-person from the northern continent of Sungar. The Lupii is unarmed and wearing a simple tunic, but his size and frame are just as imposing as his assailant. He grabs the masked face, holding it back, as he turns to look at the newcomer.

"Hello! Who do I kill here?" Malik asks, weapons at the ready.

"Oh for f... HIM, OBVIOUSLY," the Lupii snaps. Malik nods, throwing the knife at the attacker's thigh. They groan and fumble the axe, and the Lupii takes the advantage, grabbing it with full force and kicking them away. A Lupii is already a huge threat, but now that he has an axe? The final attacker's groans are cut short by a sickening crunch as the axe connects with his neck, smashing through the armor. A final gurgle, and they topple over. All in all, five attackers. And it seems the Lupii took them all out himself.

The Lupii turns to face Malik. He's a full foot taller than the rogue, broad-shouldered and fluffy, making him command the entire room. "You didn't kill him like you said you would."

"That I didn't, but I did help, yes?"

A pause.

Then, the Lupii laughs. A boisterous, full laugh. He wipes blood -- not his blood, somebody else's -- off his face and hands, and extends one massive hand to shake. "Lucius Miretalon. I take it you came here for pleasure as well?"

[minitiate]

Get this fine fellow to join you for some alive entertainment, see if you can get to know him a little better (in whatever sense of the phrase you feel fits)

[Morphimus]

Make out with this wolfman hunk immediately.

[fuzzysocks]

Shake his hand with gusto. "Something along those lines."

[kaninchen]

Malik shakes the outstretched hand. "Something along those lines, yes." He releases his grip and goes to pull the boot-knife out from the dead man. "This hardly seems like a bar fight gone wrong."

"Quin etiam," Lucius replies, speaking in Lingva, the tongue of his people. "This was a targeted attack."

"A den of drunkards and prostitutes hardly seems a fitting place to massacre," Malik says, searching the rest of the bodies. Other than their dark armor and cruel weapons, he can't seem to find any distinguishing marks, or anything to signify who they're working for. "I wouldn't think there'd be anyone worth killing here."

Lucius snorts. "No offense taken."

Malik laughs. "No, no, not what I meant! I mean, unless you know something I don't."

Lucius shrugs. "Nec iterum, I haven't a clue why this place was attacked."

"Nobody here worth killing," Malik mumbles, rubbing his chin. "... Unless..."

"... Unless?"

Malik hops up to his feet. "Charlie, perhaps. The owner of a place like this will hear many secrets, most of them dark and twisted. The walls may be thick, but the morals of man are thin."

"Then let's find your man. The proprietor?"

Malik nods, rushing out from the room. His orb of light still hovers in the main room, and he summons a few more to brighten the place. The two search through the bodies.

"How did nobody come running out screaming?" Malik asks.

"Everyone here was too high, too drunk, or too nude to fight back. The back doors were barricaded from the outside, funneling everyone to the front to be slaughtered."

"Where were you in all of this?"

"The backrooms, enjoying some music. I knew I wouldn't be able to take them on in a fair fight, so I waited to ambush them."

"Hah!" Malik smiles. "Dishonorable combat. Seems we both enjoy something in common, other than low-brow entertainment."

Lucius chuckles. "I half expected you to chide me for being a sneaky bastard."

"Birds of a feather, my friend." Malik pauses, and pulls one corpse off of another. Ah, Charlie, hidden under a body. Gone too soon, and fittingly squished under a woman's bosom in his final moments. "And speaking of friends, here's our late one."

Lucius strides over and looms over the body, hands on his hips. "Dead men tell no tales."

Malik squints. "He did in life, however. Many tales. Like, for example, how he never married."

"How is that relevant?"

Malik slowly pulls a ring off of Charlie's hand. A plain-looking thing, but with curious markings. No language that Malik's ever seen before, at least.

"A simple trinket, how is this important?"

"Charlie was, despite his business, a humble and austere man. Never wore jewelry, ever. Humble peasant's clothes, bathed only once a day rather than twice like everyone else. A frivolity like this isn't like him."

Lucius chuckles. "I see. Hardly a good clue, however."

"We'll find someone who knows languages." Malik stands, pocketing the ring. "I still need a good drink. Care to join me? I think there may be another bar nearby that is infinitely more lively than this joint."

The Lupii nods and laughs. "Aye, I'll join you. I owe you that much for helping me out in that scrap."

Two rogues head out the door, leaving it in solemn silence. The door remains open on purpose, so that the guards will investigate. It's the least they can do. The moon comes ever closer to its apex in the sky.

"I hope we don't meet any trouble on the way there..." Malik mumbles.

[Morphimus]

Immediately meet some trouble on the way there.

[fuzzysocks]

Oh no, a rogue a capella group!