Just Run With It

Okay guys, scary and new territory here. We're all going to write a story!

Ha!

No really, we are. This thread is similar to The Vale Story thread in that we all participate as story tellers, however, those rules no longer apply. This time, we are actually going to make sense. Or not, depending on your mood . We each have a turn and cannot post twice in a row. We need to keep ourselves updated on the story all the way through and keep it interesting. There is no 'story line' as such, we make it up as we go.

The Rules:
*The main characters must remain the same. They can develop as characters, but they are essentially the same person. And the characters can change, depending on the drift of the story. Jane doesn't always have to be main girl her evil ugly sister Doris might push her way to the front.

*Please respect your fellow storytellers and pay attention to their posts. For example, I will jump up and down on Ainsley's grave (which I dug, coincidentally) if he posts that the main characters pull out laser guns and begin doing the moonwalk when GD posted before him that they were being chased by dinosaurs. (There is leeway to this rule. For ex, you can story tell the characters into this position - as long as it makes sense.)

*And that brings us to NO GODMODDING! Even though these are our characters collectively - if they must die, they must die. So please guys, don't paint our protagonists into unescapable corners. They can seem unescapable - but please try to keep a door open for the next storyteller.

*Absolutely anybody can play. Of course, for this thread to work, there must be two or more players... but you can drop in or out as you wish. Just please keep abreast of the general gist of the story if you wish to re-enter.

*There is no set rule for the world, for creativity, for poetic licence. Have at it guys... just make it good, please.

*If your post is too long and requires more than one post, that's okay. Simply let the other storytellers know you're not jumping the queue, but just exploring every way to use the alphabet

*Keep an eye on this post. I might just add more rules as I go along and remember them!

Okies.... Perhaps I should start off, seeing as I'm the thread starter.

Good Luck to "Just Run With It".

Just Run With it

Chapter One:

The world was dark, light confined to the pale flickering of sickly fire as it sputtered under the mantel. It painted the patron's faces with a demonic half glow, dark shadows chasing across expressions that could have been bland but appeared grotesque and evil in the half light.

The stench of ale and smoke permeated the air and Landry coughed, trying to keep the sound low and unnoticable. He shrunk from the curious gazes directed at him as his ploy to be invisible failed. To Krull with his delicate throat!

Stifling the urge to cough again by taking a small sip of his beverage, he then had to stifle the urge to throw up the contents of his stomach and let go of the meagre dinner of cheese and tough old turnips he had had earlier.

Reaching down surreptiously, he fingered the small blue cloth in the pocket sewn on the inside of his tunic. He knew that feel, knew the smell of it and almost smiled - but covered the action with another sickening sip of his drink. Why had he had to pay an entire copper for this stinking ale?!

Her, that's way. Her. Larissa - she was the one that had called him here. The one that had specified in which village, which tavern, which table, which meal and which ale and at what time. And she had done it all in his sleep.

Sighing and fiddling with the small square of blue cloth, he sat and waited. Wondering for how much longer he could stand the combined smell of burnt meat, old soup, sick, tabac smoke, unwashed bodies and stale beer. And the rough woolen of the cap that was jammed over his head - covering the points of his ears.

The door opened and he blinked, momentarily forgetting to be nauseous the instant he looked up to see who was framed in the doorway. Only when the door was closed and the new patron moving towards him did he allow the barest hint of a curve to the corner of his fine lips.

"Good evening, Landry. I trust that I have not come to you at a bad time?"

In the backlight of the doorway, his silhouette and its congealing shadow had betrayed his true, infernal nature. But the shade-shrouded leathery wings melted away as the light perished with the door's closing, and cloven hooves showed themselves to be nothing more remarkable than finely cobbled bullhide shoes with etched brass buckles, peeping from beneath the hems of red satin trousers not unlike what an aristocrat might wear.

The visitor brushed his black hair from his eyes with a sweep of his hand, and his eyes roamed the breadth of the tavern with a grimace of distaste. "Madame Larissa spoke rather highly of you; surely such a gentleman as yourself does not squander his coin in such lowly ale-pits as this. You deserve far better than this, Landry. And that is why Madame Larissa summoned me to her home and advised me to speak with you."

Another sip of the wretched ale found its way through Landry's lips. "Yes, she said that she might send someone. So do you have a name?"

"My true name is rather long and awkward," the pale, devilish man answered, parting the buttons on his crimson waistcoat for a measure of comfort. "So I simply go by Ilsenham Cold. I have many talents and many friends in this world, and I can help you."

"But you don't work for free, do you?"

A touch of lamplight briefly caught one of Ilsenham's dark eyes as he leaned forward across the table, inflecting across his iris with an unwholesome shade of...scarlet? "Certainly not. But I have brokered many handsome bargains in my time, and I can do the same for you. Perhaps we can come to a suitable deal on how I can help you resolve your...problem. So...what is it that you truly need?"

Landry nodded and stifled an instinctive urge to take another sip of the awful brew that sat half consumed in front of him. He did not bother to offer to buy anything for his new companion - instead respecting that the man was far too refined to even contemplate the offer.

Dignity not intact, he sighed and curled his fingers - stopping their restless movement. "Larissa's never invited me to her place," he cocked an eyebrow and brushed some of his hair back behind his ear, revealing the points before he could stop himself. Ilsenham smiled thinly to himself, but his eyes shadowed his thoughts, making his face almost unreadable. He clasped his hands one above the other on the table top and leaned forward slightly, his grin growing only a degree bigger.

Landry sighed again and continued, either oblivious or pretending to be, "Besides, it seems that Larissa has something in store for me. You see, I didn't come here to see you. In fact, I don't even know who you are. She just told me to come here and meet - I was assuming that I was going to meet her. But -" he shrugged elegantly, his eyes betraying his disappointment.

Ilsenham chose that moment to speak, or rather to utter a sound. He laughed. It was a low chuckle - something from deep down and indicated a most private joke - something only uttered in the depths of his own mind. His voice came out mirthful, but there was something else there, something richer and deeper than Landry could put a finger on. "Oh, and when have you ever had the pleasure of having the Mistress come to you?"

Landry's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline and he then had to stifle the urge to pick up the pewtrid drink and slosh it over that immaculately aristrocratic face of Cold's.

Ticking his fingernail against the wooden table top, he thought long and hard about why he was here. About his history and about Larissa - how he had asked her to help him. And then he thought about Ilsenham himself. Pursing his lips he cocked his head to the side and asked, "What did she tell you before she sent you here? About me, about my life? I assume she told you something. I mean, you're here, aren't you?"