Thread: Fortune's Eyes, Fortune's Hands [Ariamella & grungeknuckle]

RE Fortune's Eyes, Fortune's Hands BlinkyWinky grungeknuckle As he ran, Devlin swore loudly. Horseballs cockspittle assbunching tittyknockle! He yelled, an almost constant stream of curses and nonsense spewed from him. He took a flight of steps, leaping two at a time, as arrows whizzed past him, striking the walls and stairs, the railing of which provided some minor cover. He reached for the door at the top, only to draw his hand back in reflex and duck down, as a thick, jagged arrow planted itself deep into the wood, just above the handle. Devlin made another grab for the door, pried it open, and dove in, rolling to the side, as more arrows struck and skidded off the floor. Two of the invaders, the Underfolk he'd been told, barreled down the small winding path, charging towards the stairs Devlin had just used. Three more were on the rooftops, notching more ragged arrows into their bows of bone, sinew, and enchanted stone. Striding, almost leisurely, just above the edge of the rooftop, coming up behind the archers, was one of the Underfolk Preachers. He was larger than his bretheren, with a great, single eye in his forehead, and oily black tendrils squirming along his jowls and scalp. A prophet of an old god, forgotten by all but the deepest and darkest of beings. A god who's might was being used by the Underfolk to fuel their invasion. With a throaty, maniacal howl of delight, one of the Preacher's hands burst into flame, and he moved as if to fling something at the doorway. Devlin didn't wait for him to finish, kicked the door closed, and half crawled, half slipped, across the stone floor, trying to get away. There was a dull, heavy thud, as the wall cracked, and the door splintered, fire splitting and shredding the timbers. Devlin, having finally hauled himself to his feet and on the other side of the room, leapt through the window, down into the waterway below. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Devlin stormed through the sewers beneath the city, the sack of loot at his side jangling with each step. If it hadn't been for that, he would have been able to sneak his way through the city, with little incident. Hell, if it hadn't been for that, he would have been out of the city hours ago. But when the call went out, and people started evacuating, he started doing what a thief did best looting. Row after row of abandoned houses, hastily abandoned, doors left wide open. There were always valuables that people hadn't time to secure, and they were all his for the taking. But now, Devlin was left to wonder if it had all been worth it. The sack of gems and jewelry meant nothing if he couldn't get out of the city alive. Every once in a while, he drew his rapier, as some other poor sod with the same escape plan as him scrambled down the sewer. He hadn't seen any Underfolk in the waterways yet, but he wasn't taking the chance. Devlin knew these sewers well. He'd used them as an escape route on more than one occasion, having plotted and memories their pitfalls and crannies. He hit a passage, and knew he could go no further. The tunnel would become steeper, and more slipery, and end up opening up in the clifside beneath the city. A drop like might not be survivable. Instead he went back upward, climbing, grunting, and eventually pushing up a grating in the street. It looked mostly abandoned, save for the bodies and blood. Scratch that. When Devlin first spotted a lone figure, huddled near a barrier of overturned and abandoned carts, he'd quickly assumed it was another invader, and ducked his head down. After tentatively poking his head back up, he saw it was indeed not the case. Psst! Hey! You there! He loudly whispered, trying to get the girl's attention. Is it clear?