Kundai: The Scorpion

[Donovan]

That night, as Aeron had wandered quietly back to the house, she had been followed. For so long, the shadows remained silent, still. Now, they were whispering their promise of revenge. The two slept quietly, as had been the norm in the past several weeks, almond-shaped emeralds peered into an open window from a perch above. Clad in form-fitting black leather was this slender figure that seemed to melt into the darkness itself, gloved hands clutching onto a branch below as support.

The time was nearing. Like a statue, he remained half-hidden in the night, observing until that right moment arrived.

... The sun rose, as did the woman. This raven-haired male companion of hers, however, had been slower to rise in the recent days. It seemed all of the physical and emotional turmoil had begun to take its toll on him. Such a tragedy, indeed. Without a sound, the slender form stepped across a stronger set of branches, drawing nearer to the window that had been cracked open as ventilation. The plan, just as the Scorpion had imagined, was falling into the category of perfection. He was alone, unaware, and at his most vulnerable at this moment in time. Poor fool. He hadn't any idea what he was truly dealing with, did he? Dropping to the ground below, the Hitokiri landed in a crouch, edging the window further open. A leap that rivaled the grace of a feline creature was made onto the sill, where he dropped in to the room of the sleeping man.

Weary eyes would come to open, blinking several times to focus on the black silhouette that stood directly in his view. Donovan scrambled to bring himself upright, instinctively reaching out for the sword that had been propped against the wall the night before.

Gone.

"Who will save you now, Donovan?"

The voice was soft; young, even... commonspeak laced by the accent of the Orient. Vengeance boiled within those steely orbs that were locked upon Donovan's own.

"Who are yo---", the man inquired, albeit stifled in his attempts by the forward snapping of a split-toe boot in his face. A warm, coppery taste tingled his tastebuds, and his head was driven back against the headboard with the immense force behind the blow. Eyelids fluttered in surprise, and the next sound to follow was the ringing of steel. The silver-bladed katana flashed forward, lacerating the exposed flesh across the man's left shoulder, down to his midsection at an angle. Donovan rolled off to the other side of the bed; a move that proved to be little more than an exercise in futility. All of it had happened so quickly, and the next strike was not so different. Upon turning to face, a winged shuriken had found itself embedded in the man's abdominal region, sending him sprawling; the wall his only savior from completely collapsing.

For Donovan, the world had turned red. But out of fury? No. The man's brow was also split, sending a trickling of crimson down in to his visage. It was blinding, offering only a blurred view of the figure that approached so quickly, and seemed to whirl in his mind. The very last thing the man saw before darkness was the arch of a black foot connecting with the front of his head, and the feeling of the wall behind him giving way.

The young, accented voice echoed within his mind, whilst the man wrestled in and out of consciousness.

"Aite. I will not stop until I have claimed your life. It is both my duty, and my desire."

And then, darkness consumed.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

It was shocking, to say the very least, arriving home only to be informed of what had occurred in her absence. Aeron had listened, stunned and then shocked upon viewing Donovan’s badly beaten form. She had been too shocked by the brutality of it to even feel anger, at first. The anger came of course, later, in the long, dark watches of the night.

All the woman knew at this point, was this attack had been about revenge. It had been carried out, as it was, to demoralize the man, to show him the power this assassin wielded. The only sound in the room, was the quiet breathing of the man sleeping in the bed, there was nothing else. Nothing disturbed the peace in the aftermath of so much damage, done so swiftly and with such precision. That is what bothered her the most, the precision she saw in the marks on his body. Whoever this man was, he was cold. Calculating. Patient. That was very, very disturbing, and she was worried that Donovan would not view things in the light of truth, rather more the illusion of bravado. Aeron suspected his assailant was counting on it, in fact.

A soft, tired sigh escaped her lips. There would be no sleep for her tonight, perhaps very little sleep in the days and nights ahead. That would dull her edge, and she must absolutely be sharp, for this vengeance seeker would show no mercy, no quarter. He was clearly very efficient in his methods, and therefore a very dangerous opponent to have lurking about. There were no thoughts about her own life; her only concern was for the man lying in the bed.

But, despite her best efforts, the past weeks and months had taken a toll on her body and mind as well. Aeron might be immortal, but she was not invincible. In the late hours of the night, her mind and body succumbed to the fatigue she concealed so well, and the woman drifted into a light, restless sleep.
Her dreams were of faceless assassins who prowled the night, wielding sharp-edged weapons, bringing with them, blood and death.

[Donovan]

Against the wishes of those who watched over him, the man had traveled the woodland path towards the Broken Dagger, in search of an answer that, just perhaps... may not have even existed. Why all of the sudden? What was this creature who had so brutally beaten him into unconsciousness? None of it made any sense, save Aeron's reasoning that mayhap it was based on some path of vengeance.

Little did he know, she was right.

For hundreds of years, the two Clans began their struggle for power beneath the cities of Faerun. Those known as the Dragons, and those known as the Scorpions. Eventhough such bloodshed escaped the eyes of mortal men, the battle waged beneath the dark underground, taking one soul at a time until, at last, one of them assumed the advantage over the other and obtained total domination. For those who sought peace, it was but a shadow of a dream to be attained. Legend has it, that upon the arrival of some Elder Council, the two clans sank back in to some sort of agreement. For this agreement to stand, however, it was absolutely necessary that neither Dragon nor Scorpion seek to inflict harm upon one another.

Unknowingly. That line had been breached, and the darkness had slithered its way onto the surface, at last.


The Red

If only he had known, this search for answers would have led to so much more.

It was like some horrible nightmare, being snatched up into the large claw of the massive creature. But for Donovan, the nightmare lasted only but a moment as he was carried into the distance. Donovan rose to the sounds of some large, rumbling creature. The sound, as it was, had been from seemingly every direction. Fire-flecked emeralds fluttered open, focusing on the large creature in front of him. For a brief moment, it startled him. A dragon! Feet and hands alike scrambled, pushing himself back against a stone wall.

Or what he'd thought was a stone wall, rather.

From above, a gentle snort sounded, and smoke billowed into the man's visage. Turning hazy emerald spheres upward, he'd find the face of another Red, staring down at him quietly.

"I ... Strabo...", He was speechless. Just as any seeing man would be. A sharp twist of his head found the creature in front of him once more, accompanied by several smaller Reds. Five in all, they simply gazed upon the man's fragile form, until at last, the largest of all had spoken in a fluid form of common.

"The Scorpion...", the Dragon rumbled softly in contemplation.

Donovan could only watch, stricken by a mixture of fear and surprise at the massive creatures which had surrounded his mere six foot frame. The Scorpion? The parchment Aeron had shown him bore such a design, and had been left upon his battered form.

"Let me tell you a story, Donovan. Perhaps then, you might understand just what is at stake, here..."