The Jones Chronicles

Kettin was not far off from where Jones was standing. The gypsy camp itself was in total ruin. After Groshna had died in the fire, the rest of the trolls hurried back to the caverns from whence they came, having lost direction from a leader. Jones was unhappy, having lost his prisoner, and the prospect of tracking him through a town was beginning to seem an ominous chore.

Tracking, of course, was going to be even harder, seeing as how the man had just disappeared into thin air. The fog did have a distinct aroma? like fresh dew. Sniffing his was along, Jones walked through the moors, to the city gate, where he nodded at the guard.

"I've come from the fight. Trolls were about, but I managed to do my fair share of damage." Jones almost boasted.

"Go through Stranger, I see you've had battle recently" replied the dwarven guard.

Grinning, Jones smudged some blood from his lightweight platemale armor, and walked into the city. Nightfall was in mid-stroke, and Jones smelled the air, and walked through the streets. Now was too early to inquire about the gypsy's presence, and he laid low, waiting to spot something. Instead, he bumped into a man selling illustriously fine armor.

"Well, I'm sure a thief like you could afford it?" Grim grinned, and pointed at Jones's dagger, which was sheathed. The figure he presented was an awesome amount, and Jones did not have the time, nor the funds to supply it.

"Sorry? Grim. I've got more important things to do." With that, Jones purposely bumped into Grim, trying to steal the plate armor he had, but couldn't seem to pry it away without notice. Jones simply smiled, and carried on, searching for the one he was after, forgetting about Grim, and his armor.

When Damon landed in the middle of a busy marketplace, he was more then conspicuous, he was totally out of place, and met many a glaring eye. His gypsy robes gave him away at once, and he received more then a few insults on his profession.

Running into an alleyway, Damon was almost horrified to see Jones in the same marketplace, talking to a dealer of armor. He made his way back into the same marketplace, ducking down low, but not avoiding attention. Jones didn't see him, but an old woman did, and upon making eye contact, she yelled out "Gypsy scum!" and began chucking stones at him.

Jones perked up, and Damon ran fast, trying to make it through the market, and out of harms way, but not before a stone met his forehead. Woozy, Damon stumbled into another alley, and into a doorway, where a barmaid stood. She offered him assistance, but soon he had passed out. Jones arrived shortly afterwards, and claimed him.

Damon awoke north of Kettin, bound and gagged. "Ymph! Mph nemeph geth mph pth!" Damon yelled. He surveyed his captor who was almost fading in and out of reality. Jones stood at 5"7', dressed in shadow-like clothing, which wrapped around him, and protected him from harm's way. His features, though hidden in darkness made him out to be obviously human. There was no doubt about it, Jones was a human. Attached to his belt, was a sheath, and Jones was cleaning some rust off of his dagger, which was almost covered in it. Damon thought to himself. Surely if Jones ever discovered the location of the Darkstone Sliver, he'd dispose of it in such a way as a thief would. He'd probably give it to some man who paid him to go off and find it, or sell it.

But as Damon looked at Jones, he saw a surprising, and unmistakable presence in his neutral aura. Two scarlet eyes gave him an almost ravenous glance, having formed themselves from seemingly nowhere, and disappearing in the same fashion. Damon's own eyes widened in horror. Those were the eyes of Magus, the head of the vampire clan. But why would a thief be in league with the vampires?

Damon struggled over this question, instead of struggling over the ropes, which only seemed to tighten as he moved against them. This man was a very powerful thief, one who had seen days before himself. He worried for his own well being, for Damon knew that thieves were ruthless men would stop at nothing for gold, and undeserved glory.

Jones grinned, beholding Damon with nothing less then total apathy. This laughable excuse for a gypsy had tried to escape from him, only to get caught being seen in public, and then bound after stumbling into a bar, not before catching a rock with his forehead. Amusing it was indeed.

Damon winced a little, and turned away, focusing on a small nearby rock. As he stared at it, it wobbled in the dirt. Jones immediately backhanded Damon. "None of that either? Last time I put you and a rock together, you ended up knocked out, and I need you awake." Smirking, Jones returned to his previous position, and Damon realized that he had not even registered the faintest movement in the thief's direction. He had moved, and struck so fast, he could hardly see it before it happened. Yes, this was a dire predicament he had gotten himself into, and he knew that he'd have to break out of it soon, or be a slave to this heathen.

Moonlight seemed to shiver in the cool air. The night itself was growing longer, and it became apparent to Damon that Jones was not a man who slept often, when he needed to be awake. Jones's eyes, somehow pierced into Damon, beckoning him to show the truth. All this time he wondered how a fellow follower of Jehane could act this way towards another follower. Thoughts raced in his mind, and he decided sleep was a favorable alternative.

Upon awakening, Damon realized he was being dragged. His cot was bouncing uncomfortably against the dirt. It was morning, and the sun was creeping over the Pardor range. Jones was heading northwest, through the territories of the minotuars, and slowly, seeing as how there was the chance of a Katrin attack. But Jones had better reasons to be going slow, and Damon didn't realize it. The Broken Dagger Clan's headquarters resided in the sewers of Keldebar, and news of a thief's escape would be a top priority among the leaders.

The Broken Dagger Clan stood for unity, and of course, a rogue outlaw was the last thing they needed. Jones was one of these. All Jones stood for was to help the forces of darkness, and take his rightful place in history, under Seluctruh's wing. Proving himself was a task that led him away from the Broken Dagger, and into the Vampires Clan, ruled by Magus. It was under Magus he had acquired all his prowess as a thief, remaining unknown outside of his newly taken homestead of Windy Bluff. However, the problem was larger than he would ever know. Upon his defection, a manhunt for him had overtaken the realms, so he could be brought to justice as a heretic. Even now, magic users were showing the Broken Dagger Clan leaders whose face had been remembered by the spies, and when it matched that of Jones, action was taken.

Damon struggled, only to feel the ropes tighten around his neck. He coughed, and spat. Jones came over to him and loosened the rope, smirking. "Nice try gypsy. Hey what's your name again?"

Damon was cut off as Jones cuffed his mouth with his hand. "One more sound and you die." Jones said under his breath. Jones looked up, and swore silently. A Katrin scout was around, and Katrins not only had excellent vision, but were almost as crafty as he was. Jones muttered, and decided to camouflage himself, leaving Damon to the scout.

The Katrin scout had been on patrol for an hour at least. He was tired, and was trying to think of some way to get out of doing his work when he sighted what looked like a small two man party. When he looked again, he saw one man bound to a cot, and nothing else.

The smooth rocks served as perfect stepping stones for the Katrin scout. He skipped across them with finesse, while making his way through the shrubbery and bushes over to the tied up, and very confused Damon.

Meanwhile, at Keldebar, a gnome messenger ran off to Morgaz to inform the Katrin Elite forces of Jones's existence in the area. The Broken Dagger Clan had been doing small favors for the Katrin Elite, like spying, sabotage and assassinations. Jones had been an agent for a small amount of time, acting as a town drunk to confuse the guards, while picking up information.

Because they owed the Broken Dagger Clan, the Katrin Elite had offered early on to extend itself by capturing Jones, and returning him to the Broken Dagger. News of his arrival in the lands was not only startling, but satisfying, and a group of scouts were sent to each outpost in the immediate realm. Vero was among them, and he headed south east, towards the moors.

Damon kept his mouth shut, even after the Katrin scout untied him, and removed his gag. He knew Jones was lurking about, waiting to strike, and didn't want to take any chances. After all, Jones told him not to speak, and judging by how he was closely watching Damon, it was a good idea to take heed.

Jones was heading north west, figuring he'd catch up with Damon and the scout later. The Katrin encampment wasn't too far from him, and he could already see it. He also saw further on, what looked like a messenger, travelling south. He was camped, and it looked like Jones could intercept him. It was his job to make sure he wasn't being hunted, so he could prolong his own life.

Vero saw the camp of the Katrin's and decided to stop just short of it and work on the delivery of his message. If it was good news, he could read it aloud, and proudly. If it was indifferent news, he could just show up, read it, and return. If it was bad news, he would give it to the gate guard, and tell him who it was addressed to.

The letter crinkled a bit as Vero unraveled it, and held it up to the sky for what little light was left. It read:

The Katrin Elite Forces wish to subdue a rogue thief, known as Jones. He is presumed to be very crafty, and it would not be a good idea to outwit him, rather to use force and or magic. We leave this matter to you in terms of scouting your sector. Report any possible sightings to us in your usual report of the area.

Vero looked around. He figured if the thief was around this area, he'd probably want to watch himself.

"Why couldn't I read it before!?" Vero said aloud. If he had known a thief was about he could have concealed himself better. Now however the camp had been set, and there wasn't any point in moving and camouflaging everything. Vero closed his eyes, and prepared for slumber.

"If those stupid High Command idiots would tell us when we're going into danger," he muttered, before rolling over and seeing Jones kneeling beside him. "Oh- yrrgl!"

Jones slit had Vero's throat like cutting butter, spilling his blood all over the letter. He then reached down, grabbed the parchment and tossed it into the flames. Vero crawled away, but Jones only lunged over to him, and buried his dagger to its hilt in Vero's back, collapsing his left lung.

The fatally wounded Vero cursed himself. Jones spat on him, removed the six hundred and twenty two coins from his pouch, and packed it away. Jones kicked the fire out, packed up the small tent, and buried it. He dragged the dying Vero slowly away from the campsite, dusting his tracks out as he went, so as not to be detected.

Jones dragged Vero over a hill, to a large waterfall. Vero looked up at Jones, almost questioningly. He managed to force himself to say one word. "Why?"

Jones replied slyly, "Enjoy the swim," and cast Vero off into the dark waters, which eased the pain in his body, allowing him to numb. "At least he'll die with no pain," Jones commented before heading back the way he came. Damon would no doubt be at the outpost by now, but hopefully, he'd have kept his mouth shut.

Damon had done just that. He hadn't spoke a word since Jones told him not to. Damon not only distrusted the Katrin, but had a sort of animosity towards them. His family had been travelling north of Eria, when a Katrin war machine backfired, destroying the gypsy camp, and killing his mother and father. Damon would rather obey Jones, than indulge the cat-race for information.

Jones came upon the outpost in a short while, scanning the area, and looking for a place he could use to breach the defenses. He saw a small door, which looked like it was some sort of message shoot. Jones sneaked over to the wall, and climbed atop to, to see the defenses of the grounds. It was laughable. There were three guards, each one sleeping in a different position. The Katrin, it seemed, were lazy creatures, who would rather grow in sloth using excuses, than in power, with training.

Jones skulked past the guards, and took out his tattered cloak. If he was to infiltrate this place, and bring Damon out, the gypsy would need something to keep him concealed. He tucked the cloak back into his belt pouch, near enough to the top to be accessed easily. The corridor was poorly lit, adding Jones's advantages.

A small interrogation chamber proved to be the holding place of Damon. Jones smirked, noting the poor defenses. He also saw that Damon's normal attire was being kept in a separate room, across from him. Jones figured he should retrieve was he could from this room at the moment, and return for Damon afterwards.

The small closet like space in which the gear of the gypsy was being held was actually a storage facility for other sorts of armor. Jones picked up a plate similar to that he had seen on the man from Kettin. He grinned, for this was not only lightweight material, but better than his. Jones removed his platemale, and fit the plate around his body. It was crimson, and had a red seal on it. Jones looked for more equipment to pillage. There were daggers, and shields, and swords, but none of which served his needs.

Jones picked up Damon's things, and packed them in a spare belt pouch. He took out some scrolls, and looked them over. They traced a route from Aina's port, to Shagrim. Then from Shagrim to Phatep. Jones raised his eyebrow. This was strange indeed, and he decided he'd keep the scrolls.

Walking down to the interrogation room, Jones slipped in unnoticed. Damon was sitting facing the wall, silent as a statue. A Katrin man who was holding a whip entered, and Jones stepped back, behind the doorway as it opened. Damon's eyes looked up with suddle horror.

"I don't think he's allowed to talk," Jones scoffed, quickly darting out of the doorway, and slamming it.

"Hey what the?!" The Katrin man yelled, but the other guards ignored it, seeing as noise from the interrogation room was not uncommon.

"He must be really beating that one," said a guard to his companion as they lazily strolled through the hallway, yawning.

Jones took his dagger, and cut into the Katrin's stomach. However, this laceration was only a small one. The Katrin brought his whip back and struck at Jones, who dodged, grabbing it.

Seeing that Jones had his hands on the whip, the Katrin yanked back on it, slowly putting Jones off balance. He then punched right at Jones, hitting him in the new plate. "Ouch!" the Katrin exclaimed, holding his hand in his mouth. Bad idea? Jones jumped up and brought the hilt of his dagger against the interrogator's jaw, bringing his sharp teeth upon his unsuspecting hand.

"My hand! You broke my hand!" the Katrin yelled, as Jones cut into his shoulder, snapping his left clavicle. He then delivered a quick, deadly stab to the ribs, which punctured the Katrin's stomach, spilling his insides all over the floor.

Damon winced at the bloodshed, and closed his eyes. Jones simply tossed him the pouch containing his equipment. "We've got tracks to make" Jones said. "Here, take this cloak? it'll make you unseen to eyes not accustomed to it. But don't think I won't be able to see you, because I'm used to the affects of that thing."

Jones tossed Damon the cloak, and set left the room, kicking the still bleeding corpse of the Katrin interrogator to the side. He slid away into the hallway, Damon close behind, and soon both were outside the perimeter of the outpost. Damon looked at Jones.

"Because I need you alive for now," Jones scoffed. The trail was long ahead of them, and Jones wasn't out of the water yet. He may have avoided being sighted in this area of the Katrin Elite's power, but he might not be so lucky later.

Jones looked at Damon. "I'm not goin to tie you up. I'm also not goin to gag you. But I swear, if you pull any funny business on me, I'll hunt you down and do to you what I did to that guard."

Damon simply sighed. "I can't tell you what you want to know. It would be against everything I stand for." Damon caught a glimpse of Jones's eye, and for a moment the two understood each other.

Damon gathered some grasses, and made a small fire, while Jones began to clean his gear. The sun was setting, and the light danced on the sky, and in the clouds of the night. Jones and Damon made camp that night, on the outskirts of the moors, and the Pardor Range. Their travels from this point have yet to be discovered.

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