The Hunt in Tarn's Rest

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May 2013

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May 27 - Memorial Day

[Xaz Elephas]

This is going to be a role-play all IC storyline Wanita and I will be doing. In 4 years as an Assassins she the first I have ever told OOc I was hired to kill her as I know she such a great role-play and can trust to not cross over info to her char ic... with that then I thought it would be nice to share with you all... what happens.This will be an epic story.  Please keep all info here you read about.


The Hunt: Tarn’s Rest

Here and there among men, there are those who pause in the hurried rush to listen to the call of a life that is more real. He who sees too much is cursed for a dreamer, a fanatic, or a fool, by the mad mob, who, having eyes, see not, ears and hear not, and refuse to understand.
~Harold Bell Wright (The Shepherd of the Hills)

Tarn’s Rest had grown into a village of light and life, and it thrilled Xaz to watch the progress of stone upon stone, and tile upon tile as the buildings took shape. The village moved around him with the comings and goings of old acquaintances and new, but it did not move him.

By day he wrote, and by night he watched over his village. Laughter poured from the warmly-lit Inn as the citizenry gathered in the evenings to plan, conspire, and fellowship. The warmth of the light lingered in the hearts and eyes of those who retreated in ones and twos into the hazy darkness that enveloped the village like a tomb.


Xaz stood atop the tarn tower, his cloak wrapped tightly around him in the biting chill of night and watched as they filtered out into the night with laughter and song. But another light shone in the darkness beyond the palisades. A small campfire to the northeast burned, and those who were not of his city also conspired. And he watched.

And remembered. Soft and lingering touch upon his flesh – hearts ablaze in the dwindling light of candle flame. Whispered promises between stolen kisses. But Assassins were never meant to be bound by whispered promises in desire's embrace. And so he waited. And watched.

Laughter from a brigands' campfire beyond the palisades brought him back. Behind him, an unlikely quartet filtered out of the Inn, bent on spending their evening in the hunt. A portal opened, casting a hazy azure glow on the Inn and the newly-built village. And then it closed. His post as Assassin was on the perimeter. Here, there was only darkness.

But the light had returned to Tarn’s Rest. And that, for now, was enough. On his forehead he had painted the small dagger. This mark bothered him and he knew he would have to control his emotions like never before.

[Wanita Slade]

Never one that sought solace and serenity in one place, her constant migration from village to village to establish merchant contracts and other dubious means of income was nothing more but a facade. Since her settlement in the foothills of the Voltai, a home for nearly 3 years, life has since been nothing more but a crippling dread of unease. It was only during these rare times, the endeared imagery of friends and more, coupled with scenes of a care-free life filled with laughter, love and willful promises streamed through her mind. They were all scattered now save for a few whom she has an inkling where their life's path has directed them.

A small smile forms at the recognition of her once companion, a man that aided her ascend in status yet the smile diminished swiftly as her face now laid buried within the palms of her open hand. Heavy laden with the burden of guilt, regret overtook her as she now felt accutely alone and vulnerable. Looking about nervously, she felt judgement weigh upon her and berated herself at the indulgence of such a weak trait; remorse. Remorse was a means of end for the feeble.

For now she will dine and spend company with friends upon this new land. Accquaint herself with the various trades that washed upon her shore and the drunken sputterings that she knew on occasions brought her profit. All this before orchestrating her next move. A frugal life she led despite the comfortable sum of wealth accquired. Their origins will forever remain a secret, one she will guard with her life.

[Xaz Elephas]

The Dagger

Xaz lay in his bed. One arm bent resting under his head. He was staring in deep thought at the dagger balanced by its tip at the end of his finger. The daggers cold steel blade intermingling with the moonlight coming in from the opening of his tent as it cast a twinkling display of both light and shadow across his face.

His dagger. Long waited for. Bargained for. It was finally with him. The Blacksmith had seen to that as he promised he would. He'd handed it to him gently, almost reverently. His mohawk reflecting his amused smile when he watched him holding it. He'd been so relieved to have it. As if it held some magnificent power or treasure. Some holy object demanding awe.
But it wasn't. It was just a dagger. The finest steel. Finest balance. Sharpest point. But still, just a dagger. It was the special one he had sent to the blacksmith to repair for this mark.

It was this night, as he stared at it, he realized that it hadn't been the dagger itself he wanted and waited for all this time. Yes, it was still very important to him. The most important of the sentimental objects he hoarded. But it wasn't the dagger his heart had truly craved. It was what it represented. A tool of his trade as an Assassin. It was one he had been given so long ago by him Mentor when he had finished training. A life time ago before he was chosen for the caste; a life he could never go back. Not really. Life as he’d known it had changed forever when Koh had taken him in. Had changed him in ways he never knew existed before. Many truths had been revealed. And many lies.

Looking up at the ceiling in thought, he flicked his finger in one quick movement upwards, sending the dagger up to flip back down on the end of its hilt, balancing on that same finger. He had seen her a few times in the village. He watched her from a distance.

He had a plan.

A plan born of secrecy and trust. And all of the dark and beautiful shades of desire that lay beneath the surface of his dark flesh. He claimed her as his own, his mark, and his prey. He would see to it that no one should lay a hand upon those within whom he claimed as his own – these cherished few who remained his till death and even after death in his memories... each mark, each death became a part of him.

Outside, the wind tore through the trees like a rabid banshee, and chased birds from their sanctuary. Hoof falls betrayed an animal as it fled the camp for higher ground. Tonight he would not hunt. Tonight he would stay in his tent. But tomorrow….tomorrow he would truly begin.

[Xaz Elephas]

Beginnings are the fallen stars
plunged into silvery waters.
Beautiful in their dying

The sky poured stones along his path until he reached the edge of the village as he stood by an old oak. Towering till its top was past guessing at height, an ancient tree stood as marker to land's end and Tarn’s Rest beginnings. Its overgrown limbs stretched over the gates of the village almost seeming to point the way for the Assassin.

The tree's trunk was covered in growths of ivy, and pitted with deep boles. Flowers found their way between gnarled and knobby root as a decorative carpet run rampant with color. Ten grown men holding hands would be hard pressed to surround its circumference without leaving gaps.

A few saplings circled the great tree arranged as if by conscious design. Ringed at set intervals, an arcane geometry and interconnection flashed briefly before shifting and realigning.

Perhaps hundreds of years away from fulfilling such towering potential, the young growth was suffused with a life giving energy that sang in each of the three within the circle. Purer, maybe, less dilute for their newness, and accessibility, as Xaz watched the village, and touched gently at the greenery around him.

The strength of the place, however powerful, and out of reach, came in bright torrents from the ancient tree at its center. The magnitude left no room for question.

Thistledown, white and clean, caught the night's breeze in wide swirls and eddies. Come to rest here and there to paint the green leaves and grass in cottony wisps of pure moonlit ivory.

A painting set alone, and out of time, come to life.

Xaz remained quiet. He made his way to the village moving in the shadows as much as he could, covered and hidden by the night sky that gave birth to Gor’s three moons. He loved the night. Villagers were getting ready for bed. Candles were glowing.  The streets of Tarn’s rest themselves seemed to welcome the peace of night. Quietly he made his was around…learning all the nooks and crannies of Tarn’s Rest. This was important for him to do. This was always the first phase of the hunt that he would spend days on.

It was his beginning. The hunt had begun.