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the beggar king

 
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Sinjin Fai
professional bastard
Old Wyrm
Old Wyrm


Joined: 03 Feb 2006
Posts: 432
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Jobs: Town Drunk, Village Idiot
Can Be Found: Rhy'din
21393.24 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Tue Dec 19, 2017 1:19 am    Post subject: the beggar king Reply with quote

"You can’t just ‘bring in’ a Ravnos. If he talked, he’d lie. If we thought he was lying, he’d tell the truth and confuse us. If he got loose anywhere that was our space - trouble. If he got away, or the others heard about it, we’d be swarmed by them. As for ‘working’ on him, they aren’t…manipulable in the sense you’re used to. Every clan has a weak spot they guard, or a goal they’re after, or a secret you can find out and blackmail them with. But a Ravnos makes the most of his weakness, has no plans, and couldn’t care less who knows what about him. They are the only really unpredictable people, because they are the only ones who make a habit of acting in their own worst interests."

- Calebros the Nosferatu Elder, on Kahlil Ravana; from Clan Novel: Ravnos (White Wolf 1999)


---



It was not uncommon knowledge that Sinjin burned every bridge he walked over, both literally and figuratively, and Peccavi stood as yet another piece of evidence in the litany of his failures, his miseries. Sinjin swayed on his heels, hands jammed stiffly into the pockets of his pants as he looked upon the years-old wreckage of the night club. Once upon a time, this was his elysium -- his little piece of paradise where he sat upon a darkened throne, a young prince watching the politics of the night children dance before him. Now it was a husk, ruined and ravaged of anything of value, from his second floor office to the basement where he did his true work. Nothing had been built over the empty space, nor had the wreck been torn away, left to be aged by time like so much of Rhy’din’s other histories. He had no mind to rebuild it. The Redemption brought him enough income to sustain himself and his hobbies, but certainly not enough to start a new nightclub from scratch. And yet--

He wrinkled his nose and frowned. He didn’t care about the club or the money, or maybe even the elysium itself. What he cared about was the power. He cared about the game. Sinjin inhaled a slow, useless breath, his eyes half-lidded under his sunglasses. Ah, there it was, tugging at him from just underneath his sternum: the unavoidable allure that was a risk. He could see it now, the path laying out before him like a golden road, and his frown ticked up into a cat curl of a smile. All of his journeys began the same way:


A suit like a second skin, dark as night, and a tie around his throat the color of a fresh wound. Hours later from his tour at Peccavi, he was prowling down the street while the lamp light reflected back against his sunglasses. He had learned -- slowly, yes -- that he did not need to begin anew. There was no point in recreating a world that he would likely leave again, abandon to fall apart like a sandcastle on the shore. No: he could simply be the wave that ate another man’s castle.

He craned his head up, looking at the gated entrance to the Rhy’din Historical Works Museum. Though it was after hours, the lights were on inside and two body guards stood at the gate, ushering others in and out. Another man’s elysium. Another man’s castle. Sinjin smiled, swayed on his heels, and oozed like shadow as he walked toward the gate, formulating his plan as he walked. Just another roll of the dice, but this time -- this time, he knew the odds.

He would not be a prince. He would be what he was always meant to be: the beggar king of night.
_________________


Last edited by Sinjin Fai on Mon Jan 01, 2018 7:00 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Sinjin Fai
professional bastard
Old Wyrm
Old Wyrm


Joined: 03 Feb 2006
Posts: 432
See this user's pet
Jobs: Town Drunk, Village Idiot
Can Be Found: Rhy'din
21393.24 Silver Crowns

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PostPosted: Mon Jan 01, 2018 6:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

“Once upon a time, there was a king…”


The docks were quiet, but flickering red and gold lights shined out of the windows, warmed with fog. He wound his fingers through Jewell’s and lead them both through the dark, close to the edge of town where the wilds of the woods licked at the edges of civilization and hollow eyes flashed from the shadows. He paid them no mind. He cared little for the feeling of danger, the feeling of hair that raised on the back of a person’s neck when they sensed the inevitable. He only smiled, chin lifted as he breezed them both past the two thick-necked guards at the door, and watched them stare like their eyes were daggers at his back.


“He was neither good, nor wise, but he was clever.”


Inside the warehouse, the low thrum of music vibrated through bodies and soaked into the walls; thick smoke mingled with deep red and gold lights, painting the air around them as Sinjin guided them deep within the lion’s den. The muffled screams blended with the music, each new room in the winding warehouse providing a new layer of debauchery: the dead and the dying, kindred who feasted on more than mortal blood. It was hard to see what, but the smell of their blood was intoxicating on the air: fae, elves, dragon, angels, demons, sirens, spirits, perhaps even gods and demi-gods, trapped beyond their accords. Sinjin lead Jewell past it all, his fingers still simply wrapped around her own as so many angry and incredulous eyes followed them. He seemed to revel in it.


“But the people had no need of a clever king, and they took his throne.”



The corridors gave way to a broader space: a dance floor, a bar, a space to mingle and make deals all overlooked by a pavillion where one woman sat alone, pale skin resplendent in silk as red as blood. He cut through the dance floor, past the booths fitted with more bodies, more offerings chained and waiting for those who were ready to feast. When he walked toward her pavillion and she stood, he could sense others with forceful intent gathering themselves -- ready to leap in should he raise a single finger toward her. He did not lift a finger. He paused at the bottom of the stairs with Jewell and the queen looked down at them both with eyes as pale as sea foam.

“Sinjin Fai.” She had the sort of voice that made men fall to their knees and beg for her hand. She looked upon him with a muted balefulness, and though her voice was soft it carried like a wave. “I did not welcome you here. Have you come bearing a gift as apology?” Her eyes fell to Jewell, half-lidded and careless.


“But a clever man, whether prince or pauper, does not need a throne to rule.”


He squeezed Jewell’s hand and smiled. “A gift?” He asked aloud, as if he hadn’t realized he brought such a stunning little morsel on his arm. As if he didn’t see every pair of eyes following them. “Several gifts, actually.” The sinner flashed a bright, cheshire smile up at the other vampire. He did not doubt for a moment that Jewell felt that thick energy that began to wrap around him, almost electric. “I know you aren’t fond of sharing,” he went on, his tone almost mournful. “But the more the merrier--”

Her eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to speak, but another sound gave her pause: a howl. And from the windows, eyes that had once been in the dark flashed bright before glass panes cracked and thick, dark bodies leapt through. Sinjin closed his eyes, his mind held in concentration. The pig had been good practice, but calling to the packs of wolves deep in the outskirts of Rhy’din -- required significantly more concentration and energy, especially in the numbers they arrived in. Dozens upon dozens of the wolves, some natural and some lycanthrope in nature, began to tear through the warehouse and wreak havoc. The sound of music and moaning was soon replaced by screams, shocked noises which carried and traveled, bouncing off the walls into a chaotic symphony. The sinner tipped his head and gently kissed Jewell’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of her -- of blood, of the dead and dying and panic and anger. He felt the queen’s rage as much as her want for escape and he knew which would win. He had no fear.

He never did with them.


“A clever man needs only his will.”
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Sinjin Fai
professional bastard
Old Wyrm
Old Wyrm


Joined: 03 Feb 2006
Posts: 432
See this user's pet
Jobs: Town Drunk, Village Idiot
Can Be Found: Rhy'din
21393.24 Silver Crowns

Items

PostPosted: Thu Jan 11, 2018 11:35 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

He knew something was wrong as soon as he walked inside the Deadwood. There was no gentle meow or pattering of little cat’s feet as he opened the door; the faerie lights on the high vaulted ceilings had gone dead. It took him only a moment’s pause by the door to inhale the scents of death and want for violence. He took another step inside and shut the door behind him, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Not to sound arrogant,” he called out as he slid out of his trench coat and hung it on the hook by the door, “but I’ll still give you a chance to leave if you’d like to live. It’s your choice.”

A snort came from his bedroom as two figures walked out, painted by the shadowed moonlight that spilled in through the windows. One, a man who looked Sinjin’s age or younger, seemed to stare assessingly at the Spaniard; the other was a woman who was dressed in black leather and looked like she could kill with her looks or her fist, if she so chose. Her stalk toward Sinjin was less predatory and more sexual, walking with a gait that a Rhy’din model would envy. “What kind of idiot doesn’t have any wards or locks?” The man asked. He sounded tired -- like this was all beyond his pay grade. He looked boredly at his companion, her sly smile revealing sharp fangs as she began to circle Sinjin like a hunting cat. “Whatever,” the man sighed. “Let’s get this over w--”

His voice was cut off by a sharp scream and a muted, wet silence. Before she could even make a move, the woman’s throat was nearly torn in two, peeled apart like a ripe fruit under the ugly claws that curled from Sinjin’s hands, grotesque and narrow. His mouth was lovingly buried in the wound -- or so it looked, because there was still someone who looked exactly like Sinjin standing near the door who spoke crisply while the exact duplicate pressed the woman’s squirming body to his chest, crushing her. “That was the wrong choice,” Sinjin murmured softly.

A cold chill went down the man’s spine. “Ravnos!” He hissed aloud. No one had told him this *** was a Ravnos. He could feel the power coursing through the air, digging through his mind and playing tricks on it but he couldn’t pick them apart, couldn’t resist. Was she dead? Had he even touched her? Was any of this real? He jerked a step back, seeking an escape -- two people couldn’t take down a Ravnos like this -- but the only exit was behind Sinjin.

The man looked aside toward the floor to ceiling windows. “*** your choice,” he spat, and turned. A split second decision had him tearing across the apartment and toward them, intent on smashing through them -- and he hit solid rock and brick. The windows were gone, replaced by more wall, as real as his own flesh as he smashed his fists uselessly against it. When he turned, it got worse -- now there were no exits and he was simply trapped in a stone box with no one but Sinjin Fai quietly staring at him in the dark.

There was no heart to beat in his chest, but he knew the smell of death in the air as the sinner stalked quietly toward him. “You think killing me is going to make a difference?” He sneered, bearing his teeth at the Sinjin. “You’re *** meddling in things you don’t understand. They’re not going to make the same mistake with you twice--” The spaniard seemed to loom before him, his shadow stretching out and licking at his heels, grasping at him, holding him down as a perfect cheshire smile shined brightly in the dark.

“Oh no, please,” he whispered as his face elongated, monstrous and without ken for mortal minds. “Send more--”




Sinjin Fai stood by the door of the Deadwood, hanging his coat on the peg attached to the wall. On the floor, a man and a woman writhed and screamed, tortured by nightmares and figments that only they could see and hear. After carefully rolling up his sleeves, Sinjin reached in one pocket for his cigarettes. On another day, he may have simply killed them and left them on the streets for the sun to burn them up. Tonight he would take his time.

Tonight he would soothe the beast.
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