The Theeon Saga - Chapter 02
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CHAPTER TWO The bar quarters were dimly lit by candles, that hung irregularly and loosely from the dirt walls which made up the place. The bar itself was made of old, rotting wood, patched together with rusty nails and wooden planks, the planks themselves rotting, and the floor nothing but mere dirt. The choice of booze was nothing to be excited about either. It all tasted the same; it was just coloured differently and poured into different types of grimy bottles, all with peeling labels. This was the only real place of respite for the enslaved, except for their sleeping quarters. Even then, Theeon eyes kept watch, and their ear was always listening, so conversations of certain types had to be kept to a whisper. 'Well, we have to thank them for at least letting us have a drink, right?' Tarkell proclaimed, sitting himself down at a corner table with Arvin. He raised his dirty, chipped glass to the candle light to inspect the contents. The spluttering candle light showed what appeared to be loose bits of something floating through the liquid. Tarkell merely shrugged it off, lowering the glass to his lips, sipping the rancid content. Arvin sat, sipping his drink for a moment, his eyes scanning the bar quarters constantly. The candles scattered around the walls light up his rough, gaunt features. Messy, short dark hair, face marked with dirt, that seem to stain his skin, his eyes a dull grey. 'Well,' he turned his gaze to Tarkell opposite him, 'they better grant me a drink, after working twenty-odd hours, in those conditions. Otherwise I'd rather go like that other sod today.' He threw back the rest of his drink, and slid the grimy glass across the table. Tarkell sat, staring at Arvin over his glass as he sipped slowly, while pushing himself back in his rocky wooden chair. 'So; what's this plan of yours?' Arvin shot him a look, and then carefully looked around; taking note of anyone who might have overheard Tarkell. 'Keep it down!' He Hissed. 'Or I'll end you; right where you sit!' He stood and walked over to the bar, returning a minute or so later, with drinks for himself and Tarkell. 'Right; so it's like this,' he said, sitting back down, taking a swig of his drink, grimacing as the liquid slides down his throat. 'We need four or five able men for this to work, so now I'm putting my trust in you. I barely know you, but I'm tired of waiting around. So, if you fuck me over, don't think I won't hesitate to put a blade through your neck. You got me?' Tarkell nodded his agreement. 'Good. Now,' he downed the remainder of the rancid drink, slid the glass across the table, clinking it into the other, and continued. 'The guard Theeons seem to change over every so often. They go down along the catwalk, and inform the sentry of this, before they do. That's our chance'. Tarkell sat, staring at him for a moment, pondering what he has just been told. 'But, that's just too simple, that woul-,' Arvin cut him off. 'Exactly. It's a surprise attack. We have to move quick and fast, use the drill and pickaxes to take out the sentries along the catwalk, and then take the guard as he comes through the main door.' Just as Arvin finished his sentence, a whip cracked by the entrance of the bar. Three, one-mark Theeons strode in; causing everyone to stop mid conversation; a look of worry crossing the faces of the enslaved. Everyone, except Arvin, and one other man known as Green. 'Finish your drinks, and piss off to your sleeping quarters.' The Theeon spat. For a moment they all sat completely quiet, motionless. Then Green stood, pushing his chair back from the table. He finished his drink, before casually walking over to the bar, and grabbing a full bottle. He returned to his table, and sat down with a sigh. 'Yep. I'll leave when I finish my drink.' He laughed, waving the full bottle out in front of him. He set it down, uncorking it, and taking a greedy swig. 'Well; tastes like cat piss - like the rest of it. But it's good cat piss. Want some?' He holds the bottle outstretched, in an offer to the Theeons, who stood glaring at him. The lead Theeon flicked his whip out, knocking the bottle from Green's hold, and slicing his hand at the same time. He drew the whip back, laughing as they saw blood run off his hand, dripping onto the rotting wooden table. Green looked at his hand, and slowly nods his head, pursing his lips. 'Well, that'll just about do it.' He said. He wiped his hand onto his shirt-sleeve while glancing around the room. Suddenly, before anybody could realize what was happening, the wiry man had leapt up from his chair, and darted across to the Theeons, catching them off guard. In a swift, smooth motion Green lands a heavy punch to the Theeons stomach then placing a hand on the back of the sentries head forcing it down through the rotting wood planks of the bar. Before the remaining sentries could react Green turned speedily, landing another heavy punch to the throat of another, causing him to spit, splutter and heave before falling backwards onto the floor holding his throat. The third remaining Theeon stood staring at him, bewildered. 'So; what'll it be mate?' Green grinned Before the Theeon could reply, his face abruptly crumpled, as a bar chair shattered across the back of his head. He collapsed limply to the floor. Where the now, unconscious Theeon had been now stood a slave miner, clasping the remains of a chair in his hands. He looked up at Green with a sizable grin crossing his face, seeming quite pleased with himself. They stood studying each other awhile before the man released the remains of the chair from his grip. 'What?' He laughed. 'I couldn't let you have all the fun, mate.' He takes a step toward Green offering his hand, 'The names Reven.' Green nods approvingly and accepts Reven's hand with a firm shake. 'Green' Arvin had sat smiling to himself as the whole sequence played out. 'What're you smiling about?' Tarkell inquired. 'I think we just found who we were looking for.'