Right time, Wrong place

Through the bustling streets of the metropolis, Soulderesh the guards pushed and shoved their way through street vendors and shoppers alike in the crowded market section. All searching for a silver haired elf whom had been accused of stealing the purse of a rather wealthy Sheik. One squad in particular was closing in on whom they believed to be the suspect. They came at him from behind, grabbing him by his cloak and spinning him around to face their swords only to discover that it was instead a rather elderly looking man whom didn't seem upset at all for the harassment. "Well hello there youngster!" He said with a friendly grin. "catch any bad guys today? Oh i remember back when i was a member of the guard. Those were the days i tell ya. Back then me and Shale, an old buddy of mine, Used to patrol all up and down these streets." The man continued to prattle on until the guards had just about had enough of him. Not wanting to appear rude to an elder of unknown Class they waited until he paused before they apologized and thanked him for his time, beating a hasty retreat before he could respond.

As soon the guardsmen were out of sight the old man shook his head with smirked. "So that's how he wants to play it does he?" As he spoke a change came over him, his frail voice took on a more husky sound, he began to grow younger and in the blink of an eye he appeared as a young man. His ears grew slender and pointed. The only thing that remained the same was the color of his hair, A bright silver. "Sending the guards after me for beating him in cards. Looks like someone's a sore looser." Throwing his hood back over his head he started back down the stone paved road through the markets.


After a short while he stopped outside of a rather seedy looking tavern which by the looks of it also doubled as a brothel. "Weeell this looks like a fine establishment!" Exclaimed the elf. "Rough looking place like this is certain to hold more than a few idiots bent on loosing a few coins. Doubt anyone would make too much of a fuss about it too. Few men would ever admit to coming to a place like this. Especially any one of importance" He said with a mischievous grin as he entered the tavern.

"Who's bright idea was it to go trapsing through the MIDDLE OF THE BLOODY DESERT!!" Shouted an obviously irritated elf over the howling wind which had been picking up gradually for about an hour now.
The elf himself, who was standing at the back of the small train of people folded his arms and glared at his company in front, his light blue hair being whipped around in the wind behind him.
A rather burly tanned man stood in the front of the consort, by the look on his face it seemed he was quite used to this perticular man's comments. "It would have been the quicker and safer route if we diddnt get caught off guard by that last sand storm..." He said with a bord yet aggitated tone to his voice before walking hastily up to the elf with a clenched fist. As he got there he raised it to level with the elfs nose, "And i swear if i hear one more thing out of you i'm going to re-arrange your face!"
The elf raised his eyebrows, seemingly unaffected by the threat. "Lay a finger on me mercinarry and you wont see a rem" he said rather calmly.
With this the man lowered his fist, "Seeing as we're in the moddle of a desert and all... who's to say you diddnt just wander off from the group and die of thirst in this god-forsaken place?"
Catching onto his implied meaning and watching the last handful of people begin to brandish weapons, Syndorian lifted his hands and adopted a sheepish smile, "Now now" he said with a nervous chuckle, "Lets not get hastey..." he began to back away slowly towards the one and only camel that carried their supplies. "We can... negotiate right?"

The large brutish mercinarry pounded his one large fist into his other open hand, "I think we've talked enough, am i right men?" After a curt resoundeing "yea" from the rest of the mercinarrys Syndorian fumbled for his blade at his bealt and hastilly cut away the ropes from one of the merc's hands, freeing up the camel, after hesitating he jumped onto its back and prompted it into a run, speeding him away from the mercinarrys. "Lets see who gets lost now huh?!" he shouted back over his shoulder as he rode away. He was about to add more before the wind swept up a clump of dust into his mouth, causeing him to splutter. "confounded place!" he shouted in aggitation as he shook his fist at the wind.

"Yea... good idea boss, 'lets lure a wealthy looking elf into the desert and rob him blind, its easy money' says you.... " Said a lacky of the mercenarry as he walked up to the leader. His speech was ccurtly interrupted when the brutish man hit him over the head with his large fist. "Anyone have anything else to add?" Taking to the silence the mercinarry let out a sigh. "Pompus idiot like him is as good as dead out there anyway."
Another thought to add that he was heading in the direction of the city, but took one look at the other still collapsed on the floor and thought it better to keep quiet.

A throwing knife thudded into the dead centre of the dartboard nailed up on the wall of the Tavern, causing a chorus of frustrated groans to rise from half a dozen men who were crowded around a dark elf, his arm still outstretched from the throw and a grin spreading across his features. After staying still for a few more seconds; savouring the enjoyment of winning before he turned to face the nearest of the men around him, who seemed to be the leader of the small band of locals engaged in the game. The dark elf’s grin was akin to that of a cat’s that has been at the milk. “Pay up” He grunted, his voice as usual was an animal-like growl, suggesting that the elf spent more time fighting others than chatting with them.

The man glanced thoughtfully at the pile of coins on a nearby table that were the stakes of the game then glanced at the bar where the dark elf had left his two large weapons then shared a look with the five other locals who had partaken in the contest. They nodded and the leader turned to glare at the Dark Elf, whose grin was ebbing away at the corners of his mouth due to impatience. “Don’t think so, Veythel. Ya see; there’s six of us and one of you. Why should we have to pay?” The man said and his cronies chuckled.
Feeling brave with the support of his pals, the man stepped towards Veythel, towering over the shorter elf and smiled the same way a man would in a dark alley just before they mugged someone. Veythel simply gave him an unimpressed look then glanced at the dartboard where the throwing knife was still buried in the bull’s-eye, waited for the man to follow his gaze then turned and stared at a spot on the man’s forehead, right between his eyes. Veythel’s grin returned, though this time it portrayed pure malice. In his right hand he held one of the spar throwing knives the group had been using in the game and he began to tap in against his leg, letting the man know of its presence.

The man glanced down at the movement and saw the knife in the dark elf’s hands and stepped back – probably not the best tactic against someone with a throwing knife as it just gave Veythel more room to throw it - his smile vanished and was replaced by a look hinting of fear. “Err...” he started but was cut off as Veythel stepped swiftly forward, his free hand rising in a fist and slammed it straight into the man’s stomach causing him doubled up. Veythel seized the opportunity of them being at the same head height and nutted the man, bringing his forehead straight down on the bridge of his opponent’s nose, accompanied by a painful cracking noise. The blow sent the man sprawling backwards, his hands grasping his own nose which was beginning to gush with blood.
Veythel sighed and shook his head. “Pathetic” he grunted then turned to look at the other five contestants in the throwing knife contest. “My money. If you’d be so kind.” He growled sarcastically. The closest of the remaining men who was smaller built and younger then the man just gone down to Veythel’s head butt glanced at Veythel and then at the man groaning in pain with a broken nose, weight up his own chances and hastily scooped up the coins on the table and proffered it to Veythel, who grinned again and took it without hesitation. “Good boy.” He sneered then, with a quick glance sideways, threw the knife at the dartboard. By sheer luck, as it had not been Veythel’s intention, the knife hit the one already imbedded in the bull’s-eye and stuck into its hilt. This act caused the last of the men’s bravery to end and the five of them dashed for the door, two of them stopping briefly to help their downed friend to his feet.

Veythel snickered as he watched them flee and began to walk back to his stool at the bar where he had left his weapons and counted his winnings. “Another drink, barkeep” He said as he reached his stool and put down some of the coins on the bar top with a clink, slipping the rest into a pouch on his belt.