Dante sat alone in the Taras Library, with his back pressed against a large bookcase filled with books of all sorts. He sighed heavily, closed the book in his lap, and tossed it to the side to free up his hands enough to run his fingers through his hair. His eye caught the window and his attention became devoted to it as he realized that it was night and that he had spent the entire day there. He forced himself to look away and grab another book to his right, open it in his lap, and begin to read once again. He rolled his eyes and whispered the first line out loud to himself, “What a pathetic excuse for a man this is,” he instantly closed the book and sighed once again; it was written in his own hand writing.

Dante found himself again looking out the window at the stars that dotted the sky; he had always enjoyed the night. He smirked, knowing that the only reason he loved night was its protection from being noticed. He hated being noticed; one might say that he was shy, however, the ones who knew him closest would say otherwise. There was always presumptions about him that people seemed to have, that he was shy, strange, misunderstood; when truly, only one of those applied to him, though he could never really found himself choosing one. Now, letting his mind and eyes wander, he remained seated and waited; he waited for no apparent reason though he would’ve believed it was ‘Fate’s Hand” that kept him there. The more that he read, the more he found himself believing in things such as ‘Fate’ and ‘Luck.’ They seemed so present without actual proof of their existence. And with that thought, he smirked, continued to wait, as time crept past.

Lysan slowed to a fast walk as he moved through the darkened streets. The Library... Though he had lived in Taras for the last five or so years, he still didn't fully know his way round. His time was spent moving through the backalleys, chasing stupid marks that thought they could escape somwhere - plus, backalleys were so much quicker than using the open street. But, after a particularly unsuccessful chase, he found himself running away down the waning market stalls and streets. The library had come to his mind and had stuck, before he'd had the chance to think about it. If he'd stopped, he might have remembered he was far from it, and had no idea of the way.

To make matters worse, it was night-time. How so many people could like it, he'd never understand. It was more annoying than anything else, all dark, never being able to find the way. Things were much easier to do in the daytime - and criminals don't expect anything to happen in daylight, as technically, bounty hunting should be left for the Taras watch. But again, Lysan found himself running away from a highly dangerous murderer, in the dark - in a place he knew nothing about.

There was a junction in the street, one path veering to the right and the other slightly to the left. Lysan turned hastily, and seeing nothing, took the right path. Maybe I can double back on him somehow... He saw a merchant packing up his wares someway down the road. He jogged towards him, hoping to ask for directions. The merchant, seeing the longsword before Lysan's face, went pale and stood completely still. "Uh... Can you tell me the way to the library?" The merchant stood for a second, then Lysan poked him. "Excuse me?" The colour returned to the man's face. "Oh yes, of course. You just carry on down this road, it's right at the other end." Lysan nodded in thanks, sighed, and carried on down the street. He could hear the merchant behind him hastily moving something about.

At last, the library! Almost an hour of sprinting, dodging, weaving (hard in the main streets) and the occasional scuffle. But he was safe here - though he might have been long ago, for the shadow that he had seen following him had disappeared. Might as well make the most of this place. It's so boring in here! Everything is brown, or grey, and there're so many books. Who needs all of these? He sat down in a chair and picked one at random. "Mad Mages..." He looked at the book strangely. "Some people are idiots." He sighed again, and started pretend reading.

Dante looked up quickly at the sound of the door opening and closing. The sound seemed to echo in the silence of the library; Dante watched the man walk past him, sit down in a chair nearby, and pick up a book. Dante raised an eyebrow and ran his fingers through his hair, watching as the man scanned over the book. He wondered to himself if the man was actually drinking in the information (he wondered that about everyone), but whether he was didn't really matter to Dante. The only think that mattered to him at this point was the book that he was reading. He slid over slightly and shifted his head to the left and faked a yawn; however, the man's hand still covered the title of the book. Dante wished he had been listening to what the man said when he first sat down. All he had heard was the man say something about some people being idiots, but that was all, and that caught his attention in the first place.

Dante considered walking up to the man and asking him, though he was shy about meeting new people; though he knew that if he had ever got to know this person, that they would get along. Dante considered himself to be a likeable person, but then he rolled his eyes, remembering how much he hated himself. There would always be people who hated him; he had a nice personality he supposed but he lacked everything else. He shook his head, allowing the thoughts to disappate. He shifted back to where he was originally and sighed. He took some time to muster up the courage to speak; he leaned forwards slightly and halfway whispered, "What are you reading?"

Dante winced, realizing he probably sounded nosy; he shook his head slightly, and waited quietly for a response.

"Wha?" Lysan hastily looked up. "Oh, it's um, it's..." He flipped the book round to look at the title, then realised how stupid he looked. Oops... he thought; Argh, it's things like this that get me in to trouble. he turned to the man opposite him. "Uh, well, I didn't really check. I guess..." He looks nice enough, I can trust him. The two sides of his mind attacked each other. You don't know anything about him, you can't trust him. The argument went on for what seemed like hours - but was really a few seconds. At last, he came to a decision. "As you can tell, I wasn't really reading." He sighed. "I was being, uh, hunted. By the person I was supposed to hunt." he stopped, knowing he sounded like an idiot. "Let me start at the beginning."

"I was in the Bloodseal Tavern the other day - you know, the one in the slums. I find it best to stay there, that's where all the people I have to find hideout. I'm a bounty hunter, you see. There's a new mark to be captured, I'm on it." Lysan remembered back to the past few days events. He'd been hunted down, attacked, mugged, attacked again before he'd managed to get the man he wanted. But, it turned out to be the wrong guy, and the real leader came for Lysan, who had just escaped. He decided on a way to tell the man across from him. "But then I killed the wrong guy. He was coming towards me in the tavern, and I stabbed him. About three hours ago, the real leader came after me. I sought refuge here. I could go into more detail, but you'd get bored." Lysan laughed, then put on a serious face. "If you're seen talking to me, they might come after you. We're safe here, but you won't be outside. I suggest we go to somewhere more towards the back, if you want to talk."

Lysan stood up, putting a hand on a bookshelf. It was covered in dust, that stuck in the grooves in his fingers. It was a musty sort of dust, like the type found on antique furniture. It had an unfamilier feel to Lysan, as any furniture that was anywhere near him was usually broken as he jumped over it to capture a mark. Though, he did remember, now that he thought about it, a feel long ago like this, in his old hut, before the massacre. Like everything else in that place, it had been destroyed. He sighed, and tears came to his eyes, but only for a split second. He checked himself, then gestured deeper in to the library. "Of course, you're free to stay here, if you wish."

Dante raised an eyebrow when the man admitted to 'false reading.' However, his expression changed drastically when the man began to explain his predicament. Dante stared, eyes peeled, drinking in every word, nodding during pauses, fascinated and enthralled. This man was experiencing feuds and excitement that Dante could only hope to write, much less participate in. He had read many books involving battles and such, and now that he was hearing them from one, who had experienced them first hand, caused him to become excited. He continued to listen then thought for a moment of the possible consequences of his fascination.

First of all, this man had killed another man, and Dante was not much of a fighter, so defending himself, should things go sour would prove to be fruitless. Second of all, he had only read books, not gotten involved in these sorts of things, and therefore he was clueless about what to do. And lastly, he barely knew this man; however, Dante seemed it interesting that this person was spilling his life story practically to a complete stranger. Dante felt trusted, so Dante finally decided he would be trusting.

Dante was gestured to move further in, and he hesitated slightly; but then grabbed his own book off the table and moved in the direction he was gestured. "Your life is so exciting, compared to the drab of my own. Tell me more." Dante felt like a child, easily entertained by this man, though he was still cautious. He held his book tight to his chest and waited eagerly for a response.

"Tell you more? Sure you want to hear more? My life has been full of killing, death and destruction." He wasn't exaggerating as such, his life had been a dark and mysterious one, but he'd never really met anybody before that had been interested him. Most people he met were either dead or locked up, and his friends rarely kept up with him. It was partly his fault, he supposed. He was always moving around, going from place to place, city to village. It was part of his job - hunted people never stayed in the same place for long. Lysan laughed. Why am I telling someone I don't know about my life? I am far too trusting.

They were sitting in a small space, packed tightly between bookcases on two sides, leaving a small path to the front of the library on the last side. They had come through this path, making several curves to try and lose any watchers. Though, anybody listening in would find it easy to reach them, as footprints were left in the heavy dust on the almost untouched floor. The emptiness here is almost scary, thought Lysan. "Before we start, you're not squeamish in any way are you? No matter how heroic things may seem in books, none of it is like that in reality. Just wanted to clear that up." Lysan found a more comfortable spot, then began talking.

"Years ago, around ten, I think, there was a tribe in the heart of the Istan desert. Things were hard - crops were very unpredictable, and food was scarce, along with water. There was often not enough to go around. Though, even that there was not enough, people stuck together. There was a sense of community spirit. But, there was one thing nobody could tolerate. Stealing." It's all my fault... Tears welled up in Lysan's eyes again. This time, he couldn't stifle a sob. It came out, leaving Lysan embarrased. "I'm sorry..." He said, "It's all my fault, that they were massacred." Argh! What have I done? "I'll carry on, if you want. But, it could take a while. I'm sorry you had to see me like this..." His voice trailed off, and he sank lower to the floor. "I'll tell you something that never happens in storybooks."

"My brother was dying. He needed food, but it was a particularly bad harvest that year. So I stole. A whole weeks worth of food and water, hidden in our family's hut." He thought back to his brother, starving, pale, spending all day lying in his bed, staring blankly into space. "Everything was fine for a few weeks, until he was well enough to talk. He asked me where I'd got the food from. I thought he'd be happy I'd saved him, but i was wrong. I was sent packing the next day, with nothing but a blunt piece of metal and a days rations." I didn't know what I was doing. It wasn't my fault... but it was. "I wandered for days, with nothing. Then I came to Balefire. Want me to continue?"

Dante was not given enough time to respond throughout most of the story; however, he would occasionally nod giving proof to the man that he was paying attention and listening. Dante did not have to be told that things in the real world played out much differently from that of books; only the guillible would buy into something as silly as fantacism. He smirked, remembering people who were like that, 'buying' everything that was 'sold' to them, whether it be a way of thought that one would think nobody could ever possibly believe, or it could take on a literal meaning, which annoyed him slightly less but was still pointless. He shook his head, returning to reality and realized that the man was waiting for him to give a sign that it was 'ok' to move further in the conversation.

Dante cleared his throat as quietly as he could and spoke, "Yes, you can continue. I do have one question though."Dante allowed his voice to trail off into the silence of the library. He thought about it a moment then when he felt that he had worded it the best he asked, "Why was your brother upset that you stole? I mean, I can understand if you had a choice, but from what you say, it sounds as if there was little choice in the matter and the only option was to steal." He could speak from experience when he said this; Dante, currently had no money. "One has to eat to live, and if they have to steal to eat, then so be it." He smiled lightly and then muttered under his breath, "I would know... and I am damned for it." He set his book down on the floor, looked back towards the man waited patiently for the man to answer his question.

(OOC: Sry for the delay... issues)

(OOC also sorry about the delay, I had stuff on.)

Lysan shook his head. "Some old tradition, or something like that. Anyway, there's something I forgot to tell you." I say forgot... "The person I stole off - his family mostly died. Two of their three children and his wive, dying of starvation. And it was my fault. As I said, it was a particularly bad harvest that year, so nobody else in the village could help out without going hungry themselves." Lysan sighed heartily. Life has not been good to me. "Nobody found out about me stealing for awhile. Even when the family died, people just put it down to a lack of food. I couldn't bring myself to tell them it was me. My mum and dad... It would break their hearts. I was stupid, I thought they'd never find out."

The desert wind drifted across the golden sand. Sand Dunes rose out of the sparkling sea, as if resting lazily. There was a small, flat area in the middle of the Dunes, where the tribe camped. They weren't nomads, as animals always came back to the Oasis to drink, and there was space for growing a few secluded crops. The people there had little, but they were relatively happy. They lived in peace, and knew nothing of the chaos and turmoil in the growing world around them. There was no knowledge of Kingdoms clashing swords, or assassination or theivery. In some respects, the tribe was seflish, hoping to live the way they had been for hundreds of years - alone, away from the rest of Imythess. And so, the little camp knew nothing of the slaughter and massacre that lay ahead of them.

"I hoped they'd never find out. But it doesn't matter now... They are all dead. My village, my family, and my brother. The person I had tried so hard to save. It's ironic, isn't it; the gods play tricks on us as though we were circus animals. The tribe was quite religious - we had a few deities. Though, they don't matter to me either. I follow no god or goddess - figureheads if you ask me. Excuses. It's down to the people to make things happen. Religion is almost a joke."

"I stumbled around in the desert for days. I ran out of food and water, and nearly died. But I came upon the City of Istan. I managed to find somethings to keep me alive. The problem was, I had no idea where to go or what to do. Our tribe knew nothing of the outside world. So I travelled, from desert city to desert city. In the middle of one such journey, I was ambushed, by a group of well-dressed cavalry. But more of my story later - tell me about yourself." He was almost happy to see the subject move from him. He didn't like telling strangers about his life, but he couldn't stop himself.