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The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
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<blockquote data-quote="Rolzup" data-source="post: 2889727" data-attributes="member: 10105"><p><strong>Bowie Isn't Just a Knife.</strong></p><p></p><p>The Bitch was considerate enough to have provided pillows for us to land on, so it wasn't much of a fall. No sign of her, or of Jack, in the little room that we'd landed in. Just a mannequin, wearin' parts of a fancy dress, in one corner. And only one way out, a dark little tunnel.</p><p></p><p><em>Too</em> dark, if you catch me meaning. Pitch black, and it swallowed any light that hit it. Magic, again.</p><p></p><p>But not a problem for Duchess, me darlin'. Looped a rope 'round her neck, and she sniffed her way through, with me trailin' behind. The dark didn't last long, and there we were in a hallway...and we had company. The Bitch, she had friends. And where she met 'em, gentlemen, I don't care to speculate.</p><p></p><p>It was knife and club work for me then, while the Pretty Man and the Archer did their bloody work. And what did we fight? You'd hardly believe it, friends.</p><p></p><p>Dogs, made of pure diamond. Spat knives at us, they did, and do I <em>look</em> like I'm lyin' about that? And they weren't the worst of it. There was this...thing, that the Bitch called up. Part snake, part bird, part lady. No face, but it wore a diamond brooch that kept shimmerin', and changin' shape. Had the voice of an angel, but friends? She was the meanest little hussy I ever did meet. </p><p></p><p>Gave the Pretty Man a good squeeze, she did. And he didn't find it all to his likin', either. Can't blame him for that, not at all. He managed to free himself, and we came through it all right, although I'm damned if I know how. I remember standin' there, pieces of broken dogs at me feet, starin' down the Bitch herself. And that's when the Pretty Man cleared his throat.</p><p></p><p>He talked to her, all soft and reasonable, and I found myself noddin' along. It made sense, what he was sayin'...that Fancy, the miserable bastard, was no friend of hers...even if they did share a bed from time to time. </p><p></p><p>Yes, ye heard that right. No, I shan't elaborate. Rather not think about it, truth be told.</p><p></p><p>But there was no point in us fightin' like this, since we had no quarrel with <em>her</em>. And that it was in everyone's best interests if we brought Fancy to ground.</p><p></p><p>She agreed to show us, in the end, where Fancy'd made his escape. Through a tunnel, into the sewers. So we took our leave of the Dancehall, and glad I was of it. Because now we were on <em>my</em> home ground. I know the sewers of Narayan like the back of me hand, and with both Duchess and the Archer trackin' him, Fancy didn't have a chance. We made damned good time, winding our way through tunnels and such, until we came to a Gate.</p><p></p><p>You probably don't know how many Gates there are in the sewers, do you? Well, let me tell you, friends, that there's plenty of 'em, and a royal pain in the arse they are. This one was at the top of a ramp, see, and was lettin' through a stream of clean water from gods-only-know where.</p><p></p><p>And Fancy's tracks, they went right up to the Gate. And <em>through</em> it.</p><p></p><p>Too right, Durrin, m'lad! Fancy's no citizen, and don't wear a gate-mark. Everyone knows that, he boasts of it often enough. He shouldn't have been able to pass through, not him. But there was no denyin' it; that's just what the bastard had done. He'd left some signs behind, traces of some sort of ash.</p><p></p><p>Only one answer. Fancy was a Gatecrasher, plain as plain. And what could we do, but follow his trail?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rolzup, post: 2889727, member: 10105"] [b]Bowie Isn't Just a Knife.[/b] The Bitch was considerate enough to have provided pillows for us to land on, so it wasn't much of a fall. No sign of her, or of Jack, in the little room that we'd landed in. Just a mannequin, wearin' parts of a fancy dress, in one corner. And only one way out, a dark little tunnel. [i]Too[/i] dark, if you catch me meaning. Pitch black, and it swallowed any light that hit it. Magic, again. But not a problem for Duchess, me darlin'. Looped a rope 'round her neck, and she sniffed her way through, with me trailin' behind. The dark didn't last long, and there we were in a hallway...and we had company. The Bitch, she had friends. And where she met 'em, gentlemen, I don't care to speculate. It was knife and club work for me then, while the Pretty Man and the Archer did their bloody work. And what did we fight? You'd hardly believe it, friends. Dogs, made of pure diamond. Spat knives at us, they did, and do I [i]look[/i] like I'm lyin' about that? And they weren't the worst of it. There was this...thing, that the Bitch called up. Part snake, part bird, part lady. No face, but it wore a diamond brooch that kept shimmerin', and changin' shape. Had the voice of an angel, but friends? She was the meanest little hussy I ever did meet. Gave the Pretty Man a good squeeze, she did. And he didn't find it all to his likin', either. Can't blame him for that, not at all. He managed to free himself, and we came through it all right, although I'm damned if I know how. I remember standin' there, pieces of broken dogs at me feet, starin' down the Bitch herself. And that's when the Pretty Man cleared his throat. He talked to her, all soft and reasonable, and I found myself noddin' along. It made sense, what he was sayin'...that Fancy, the miserable bastard, was no friend of hers...even if they did share a bed from time to time. Yes, ye heard that right. No, I shan't elaborate. Rather not think about it, truth be told. But there was no point in us fightin' like this, since we had no quarrel with [i]her[/i]. And that it was in everyone's best interests if we brought Fancy to ground. She agreed to show us, in the end, where Fancy'd made his escape. Through a tunnel, into the sewers. So we took our leave of the Dancehall, and glad I was of it. Because now we were on [i]my[/i] home ground. I know the sewers of Narayan like the back of me hand, and with both Duchess and the Archer trackin' him, Fancy didn't have a chance. We made damned good time, winding our way through tunnels and such, until we came to a Gate. You probably don't know how many Gates there are in the sewers, do you? Well, let me tell you, friends, that there's plenty of 'em, and a royal pain in the arse they are. This one was at the top of a ramp, see, and was lettin' through a stream of clean water from gods-only-know where. And Fancy's tracks, they went right up to the Gate. And [i]through[/i] it. Too right, Durrin, m'lad! Fancy's no citizen, and don't wear a gate-mark. Everyone knows that, he boasts of it often enough. He shouldn't have been able to pass through, not him. But there was no denyin' it; that's just what the bastard had done. He'd left some signs behind, traces of some sort of ash. Only one answer. Fancy was a Gatecrasher, plain as plain. And what could we do, but follow his trail? [/QUOTE]
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The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
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