Ives wondered around for another half-hour, stopping only to answer questions from the guards. He was surprised they hadn't- an extremely loud noise sounded somewhere in the prisons, alerting everybody that someone had escaped. A guard ran up to Ives, and in a worried but firm tone, he said, " Go check on the new prisoner in the high security cells." Ives had no idea where that was, but he nodded and hurried along. He worked his way around most of the tired guards that had just woken from their slumber and found his way to a large metal door that had been propped open. Next to it was a guard who's head had been impaled by a sword. Ives ran into the metal door and found another guard.
Someone else had escaped besides Ives. He had been pondering over the fact as he hurried out the prison gates and back towards the city of Wound. Ives rushed to his home. He probably was going to need to burn it down now that he had escaped. Ives rand inside and allowed the guard's armor to drop to the ground. He ran to his closet and put on some new clothing. He also packed a bag full of more shirts and pants, he was leaving. Ives didn't know where yet though. He could journey closer to the Corruption, towards Marcheim, Eastern, and Azberth, or farther up the Western Coast to Shroudhelm. He also could steal a boat and head down to the island on the horizon. Ives chuckled, like he was going to be able to steal a boat.
Hell, like he could even get close enough to the harbor...
Ives still needed to catch fire to his house, burn down any proof of his existence there, but he was pretty well known. So instead Ives just packed some crackers and other non-perishable foods for his journey. He hurried to the stables, and plopped down 30 shiny gold coins on the counter and took off with a horse.
"No, no," Aghves answered. "I perfectly understand your frustrations. The Council needs to unscrew itself and get its stuff together.
Jearil remained motionless as Aghves finished. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I have to leave. The city needs me to investigate Lyrium or whatever... perfectly meaningless, and only for 'taxation purposes.' I hope to see you again in the future, Jearil. Have a nice evening."
Aghves casually saluted the madman, and abruptly turned around to walk back to the guard quarters. He had a lot to do in the span of the evening: suit up, gather his equipment, gather relevant information, among other things. Of course, he had to take more time to do this because, as a foreigner, he didn't get the same privileges as the other palace guards. The extra wait times and administrative work was really a thinly veiled discrimination program, but Aghves had learned to get along with it. His father had instilled the particular wisdom of adaptability from an early age. Aghves was thankful for that, as the lessons learned from his village's warrior training had been instrumental in his high status among the military despite his birthplace. As far as Aghves knew, he was the only non-Shroudhelm palace guard in the organization.
It did not take long for Aghves to reach for personal quarters, in the noncommissioned officer's wing of the palace bunks. It was a small room containing only a few living arrangements. A bed was tucked away in the left corner by a desk with a chairs that served as Aghves's work table. On it lay several scrolls of parchment alongside a book titled "History of the Shroudhelm Wars" On the opposite side of the room was a wardrobe, bookcase, and a series of chests stacked against the wall. A window was across the room from the door, which offered a view towards a court below. Overall, it was a small, comfortable dwelling, that offered both privacy and ease of organization. With less things, Aghves could keep his room neater.
Aghves didn't stop to admire his neatly-cleaned quarters, but instead went straight to his wardrobe and began removing his plated armor. Once his steel platings were in a pile on the floor, he went to withdraw his everyday clothing to make the trip down to Raven's Crag more comfortable. Once he had finished this, he gathered his armor and placed it in a satchel bag that he slung over his shoulder. It was about twenty-five pounds, but Aghves could manage. Once this was all finished, he went to his arms chest to find his crossbow and sword. As he went down to the small wooden chest on the ground, Aghves took the key out of a pouch on his belt and jammed it into the lock, which opened with a click. Inside lay Aghves's steel shortsword and scabbard, as well as his crossbow. He took both, clipping the sword to his waist and holding the crossbow with one hand while he reached for his quarrel pouch. He clipped that to his belt as well, and proceeded to the stables.
Because that was his personal equipment, he could access it whenever he pleased. But while he did "own" a horse, the administration required him to fill out a form whenever he wanted to use it. That, and he had to fill out requisitions for provisions such as food and water. While Aghves had never seen any of the native guards do this, he followed the procedure without a word, although he silently resented it. So after he had gone to his horse and gotten everything he needed, he suffered through the necessary paperwork for the gleeful amusement of the portly administration members. And after that, he could finally leave. It was an hour or so after nightfall, but Aghves rode out of the gate, down the slowly degrading roads that eventually led to rocky dirt mountain passes, and towards Raven's Crag.
The day has passed with little going on, sure there was the occasional debate around the tavern about the general state of the realm, but besides that there was nothing of interest. Yet at the same time, the city had no problems complaining about rumors of bandits patrolling the roads, or increased crime. Of course these are just rumors, that can be easily dismissed as the sayings of a mercenary trying to get some gold. Yet there is a hint of truth about the rumors, for the traders that pass by occasionally have become less frequent, of course it could just be that the more southern areas could have more trade opportunity. Either way Hartham does not listen to talks about trading and such, because it is honestly, quite annoying. So that leaves Hartham waiting at the tavern, for a job that that never came that day, left to pay for the costs of living in a tavern in a city of the north, as bored as a hunter who is waiting for prey that will never come.
But then night made it's slow conquest over the sky, thus concluding the day for Hartham. Yet this time he paid the entire room cost, and went to his tavern room. The life of a mercenary can usually be sluggish, yet they always find a way to get through it. But in Hartham's current situation, winter will come soon and he cannot afford to just wait around and "collect dust". Yet trying to go out in the world by himself, would be the same as tripping on his own sword. So now he is between a rock and a hard place. Will he try the near suicidal chance of possible exploration of ruins? Will he stay in the tavern in hope of a job? Will he take the agonizing job of a guard? Or has he just not thought of anything that can work better? Either way, he will need rest if he plans on doing any of the three. So he put his armor away and went to sleep to face the mystery that's known as, a dream.
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Azhek Estate and Winery
"So, what are you planning to do next?" Marco was taken aback, not quite expecting the question. Stopping for a moment to collect his thoughts, he voiced his answer. "I...I don't know. To be honest, I don't really know if I can just pick up and go Dragon hunting." A puff of smoke from the old man's pipe signaled the conclusion of the conversation. "Obviously, you can't. Frankly, I don't care if a goddess or a queen ordered you on a wild goose chase, or in this case, a wild dragon chase, but you can't just, as you so eloquently put it, pick up and go dragon hunting. No, you let go of this folly this instant. Besides, you've got to run today. Someone attempted to destroy our cellar. They were good too. A team of three, according to the twins. They drove them away, but they might be back."
Marcheim, Lower District.
Thus started Marco's travel around the city of Marcheim. At first he opted going by rooftop, as the city was well connected and it was much easier to traverse it that way, and it gave a clear view of the estate. As he was observing, he was piecing together a path which the vandals could have possibly taken. As he walked through the run down alleys of the city, he found that far too many eyes have been trailing him since he left the villa. I shouldn't have left alone, it seems. As he kept a wary eye around and about, he felt a cobblestone depress under his step. It took merely two clicks from the ground for him to realize what was happening. Eyes widening, Marco jumped up as high as he can, propelling himself with additional power from his right hand gauntlet, matching the power of the explosive trap laid out beneath him.
Rooftop Garden, Marcheim.
"Is he dead?" A cloaked man whispered, nudging his partner beside him. "I don't know, but from what I saw, the blast caught up with him." The partner replied. "Shut up, both of you!" An irritable feminine voice commanded, turning at the two. Through the darkened cowls, the two men could see cold, hard glares that silenced them both. As she turned around once more, she took a few cautious steps, when a cloak carried by the updraft from the blast fell in front of her. "This is all the evidence we'd need, and we shall be paid handsomely by the new Dragon herself for this. Shame that the runes have been destroyed, it would have sold for a nice price." Three shadows melted among the streets of Marcheim, vanishing with a shimmering black and silver cloak.
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Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
The first hour. Lots of drinking, cursing, and laughing. Balthazar, his nose now a happy shade of red, decided EVERYONE would get drink! Sadly, there were only about 4 other people in the tavern. Still, they at least appreciated it, and moved their chairs to Balthazar's and Jone's corner. They seemed nice fellows, though they were rather shifty eyed when asked about their proffession. They said they were "farmers". Seemed fine, at the time... All of them were wearing rather shabby rags, though they certainly had a lot of pouches on them. They were also all very tanned, and had dark brown hair. The only real distinguishing
Then of course, in the second hour, Balthazar was getting nervous. He kept leaning over, and asking Jone "When're we going? When're we going?" Of course, Jone would just smile and whisper back, "When the rest of these guys go." Of course, the process was agonizingly slow. Still, Balthazar decided to make light conversatoin. Eventually, one of them, left, leaving three strangers.
"Sho, how do y'guysh feel about the politicsh in th- Hic!- city! Heh..."
The last three exchanged glances. "It could be... Better." They all nodded, satisfied with this answer.
"Tell me 'bout it! All these "lawds" and "ladies" 'r just a coupleva peasants in ruffles!" Balthazar's eyes widened. "Er... Offense. Gah! No offense.."
Of course, the men didn't seem to mind this, actually, the room echoed with raccous laughter. "Heh... You're a funny guy. I'm going to regret doing this."
Balthazar felt curious. "Do what?"
Then the bag went onto his head.
"MMMPHHH!! MMMMPH!!! JONE! JONE!" Balthazar flailed around, knocking the table over. One of the men cursed, but didn't let go. Two sharp blows later, the count was slumped over and, to the relief of the men, much quieter.
It was a good decision for Ives to keep the sword. He was definitely going to need it. Up ahead, loud voices laughed and shouted around a bright light.
Ives tried to ride around all the commotion, but it seemed like one of the men noticed him. " Oi! Where da ya think yer goin'?"
The man was clearly drunk. Ives could smell his breath from a mile away. He quickly stepped off his horse, noticing that the bonfire was actually a wagon fire. He could just barely see a pair of feet being dragged into the darkness. " I was headed to Marcheim, who's askin'?" Ives replied, his tone firm; he also had a hand on the blade attached to his left thigh. He knew something was off, but he just didn't know what. A voice boomed over the rest.
" I'm askin'." It was Red, Ives's boss. ' Ya think you can just get up and walk off like that, without any fore warning?"
"N- no sir," Ives was breathing heavily. But then he noticed what was wrong. He had left Wound not even an hour ago. It should still be daylight. Why was it so dark? A mage was helping them...
" I would like it very much, sir, if yer mage would step outta the trees, I hate the dark." Ives told the boss firmly. Red was probably using this to his advantage. It was going to be a long fight.
Ives knew he wasn't any stronger than Red, he wasn't even as strong...
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A stately manor, somewhere in Marcheim.
"I trust you've rid me of my adversary, hmm?" A fat man with an upcurled, well kept moustache queried the three shady looking individuals before him. With a slight hint of disgust, the woman threw the cloak on the floor. "There. His cloak. He never leaves without it. I guess that'd be proof enough." The man surveyed the cloak, rounding it a few times. "Bah, whatever." Pulling a bag of coins out of one of the drawers, the balding man tossed it over to the woman. Turning around to grab a bottle of wine, he asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't want to join me celebrate my victory?" However, his offer fell on deaf ears, or rather, no ears at all. "Ach, well. Your loss." He waved as he addressed the empty room, knowing full well that the guild had time for work and work alone.
The trio were up in the rooftops once more, in the very same garden. A smiling man met them there. "So, he's dead then." The three look startled, but gathered their composure quite quickly. "Uh, yes boss." The other two nodded dumbly, as this was completely out of the norm. However, upon seeing their faces through the hood's shade, he waved at them. "Calm down. I'm not exactly what you'd call on duty today. Good job handling the rooks, Mari." A venomous glare was all that the man got in return.
"Stop playing games. What are you doing here?" The man laughed, asking, "Really now, Ma-" Faster than he could blink, she was t his throat, blade at ready. "Say my name again and those would be your very last words."
The man laughed yet again, with nary a care whther his life was at stake. "Took you long enough to start flirting back at me." She grumbled in frustration, and turned away to leave imnediately. "Alright, I give. I droppedby because I thought ou should know. Marco Azhek is not dead."
Easily the largest and most influential town outside of Shroudhelm, Raven's Crag sat at the end of its eponymous geographical feature, defended by two story high stone walls and innumerable barricades alongside the road. Banditry was a massive problem on Lazarus Road, with thieves stealing travelers' items day and night. The overworked and understaffed guards were also prone to corruption, and thus, many of these events were payed off and went unnoticed by the "official" guards in Shroudhelm. But Aghves wasn't here to enforce the anti-corruption laws, nor solve the banditry problem as a whole. He was simply looking for the most expensive bandit posse, while allowing the others to slip past. Naturally, this was a massive frustration for the guard, but he did as he was told. Aghves approached the gates of Raven's Crag and went through without incident during the dawn of a new week.
Aghves's first course of action was to park his horse at the stables. He performed this task effortlessly as well, indifferently paying the exorbitant fee with the government-issued money in his coinpurse. The people around Raven's Crag eagerly exploited outsiders: this seemed to be second-nature for the townspeople. But Aghves went along his way, neither caring nor taking action. He milled about the town square for a few hours, ogling the local women from afar and buying a loaf of sweetened cornmeal bread for breakfast, and then went to the local bar for lunch. He entered in his civilian attire to avoid confrontation, and started searching the tavern for any potential persons of interest. After a few seconds idly standing by the door, Aghves had made a mental checklist: tavern owner, barmaid, and custodian. They would know about the goings-on in town, if only because they had to live up to that stereotype for the travelers.
Aghves made his move to the tavern owner first, a burly, peasant-like man in his mid-forties. He had his sleeves rolled up to his biceps, exposing his strong forearms as he wiped down a mug of ale in the lull between customers. Almost immediately, his keen senses detected Aghves, and his head shot up to make eye contact. "Yeh?" he asked. "Wha'cha want 'ere?"
The local farmer's accent was undeniably strong, and he looked ready to snap Aghves in two. But the guard pushed past this for a reply: "I'm here to investigate a series of robberies along Lazarus Road. Is there anyone you can direct me to?"
"Heh! Look 'ere a' this city-boy, now," the owner scoffed. "Prim 'an propa'. But'cha dun sound like no city boy I eva seen. Where ya from?"
"Me? I'm not from Shroudhelm, no. I come from farther north."
"North, eh? Out in 'dem dere mountains?" he asked, pointing lamely out the window. Aghves nodded.
"Yes. I emigrated when I was sixteen."
"Heh. I ain't seen none of your kind b'fore. Why you lookin' for dem robberies? There be more than I can count."
Aghves nodded, but internally wondered if the man could even count past ten. "I'm looking for a string of Lyrium robberies. The Shroudhelm Lyrium Company's caravans."
"Eh. Heh," the owner chucked. "Dem boys be gettin' hit hard, they is. Ev'ry time they 'round the bend ova he', bandits 'n black; black hoods 'n cloaks come from dem mountains to take it. Dey hir'd some sellswords, but it ain't workin'. The bandits be usin' magic."
"What kind?" Aghves asked. The owner shrugged.
"I dunno. Ask one of them there caravaners. De blue armband means the Shr'dhelm Lyrium Comp'ny."
"Alright," Aghves said with a final nod. "Thanks."
"Take care, now. An' if you be needin' any beverages, talk ta Enya over there," he advised as he swept his arm over to point at an attractive young twenty-something near casks of alcoholic beverages. Aghves followed his point, and his eyes immediately fell upon her cleavage.
"Alright," Aghves repeated, as he waved his hand goodbye and went to wander towards the room where the patrons sat and nursed their ale. The room was roughly a square, with windows facing outwards and a fireplace on the wall to the left. About a dozen tables were scattered across the room, with only four occupied by lunch-drinkers. At the other end of the room was Enya's stand, where she stood with her arms crossed on top of the counter. Aghves directed himself first to the solitary caravaner in the dark corner away from the fireplace, because he had to finish business before pleasure.
"Good afternoon," Aghves greeted suddenly as he approached the man. The caravaner looked out of the shadows and replied angrily: "What?"
Morning made it's slow rising as usual, with the people talking about the same old things and doing what they do everyday. Yet there was one individual who, seemed to be the only one that changed their habits, that person is called Hartham. Now you might recall his predicament when the chill brought, and is still bringing, business to a halt. This time he chose what he needed to do, he did not enjoy his choice, but it was the only one he could choose. That choice, was to be a guard, now before you start thinking that the other two choices would be better, then you would be mistaken, for that decision would be like choosing between a protector,a grave digger, or a grave.
Now, there was only a few problems left until he can survive the winter without starving, and one of those problems, was to build up the will to actually join the guard. For if he went through on being a guard, he would have to do such boring tasks, such as filling paperwork, and standing in one area watching for crime that may, or may not come. Then there was the case of if the city of Shroudhelm, would even trust a mercenary, who spends most of his time in the tavern, but then again, that would be describing most mercenaries. Yet until then, when he solidifies his decision, Hartham followed his morning routine and waited in the tavern to see if there could be one last job..........
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Garden Rooftop, after a long chase.
"GET BACK HERE LEANDRO!" Mari shouted over the din of the market, the sight of several people crossing streets through the rooftops an uncommon, but not an unwelcome sight to the citizens of the lower districts. A shadow passed over, his silhouette unmistakably that of a male. Three more soon followed, their fluttering cloaks keeping them completely anonymous to bystanders. "Oh, you've got to be a lot faster than that, Mari." As if on cue, he made a heel face turn, flashing them a smile, before dropping down into the street below, out of view. Mari skidded over the rooftop's edge, crouched, and looked down. "Ugh, lost him." A chuckle echoed behind her, tutting at her. "So quick to give up now, Mari? Really, what happened to your usual perseverance?" Swiftly turning back with a glare, she loosed several knives at him, only to have them all pass right through as he momentarily dissolved into shadow. "Fine, fine. No more games. Come, follow me."
After a long walk(and hike) up the tower of the library...
"And there he is, Mari." Leandro gestured towards a man with a white-and-gold robe. As he turned around, he took off the hood, revealing a man with snow-white hair and sharp, golden eyes. "Hello, murderer of mine." Mari flinched, surprised at his words, but even more, his looks. "You...how...you died! I saw it happen. The explosion was too great, and even with the counter you set up, the explosion would have only allowed half of you to remain." The man nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes, I believe that is very right, unless of course, an unforeseeable variable had come into play, such as, oh, maybe an enchanted cloak soaking up half of the damage?" The killer shook her head in reply. "It was accounted for. Everything possible you could have done, to be honest." The man nodded once more. "So, even if I change the explosion into something more in tune with my natural magic affinity and conducted it elsewhere? Or if I created a loop shield that used the energy of the explosion itself to power it? Or maybe...if I had the protection of a certain goddess?" The woman nodded, and nodded once more, and was about to nod again before checking herself. "Uh, what."
After relaying his story concerning Cyprus and the Dragon to the three assassins, Marco leaned casually on the railing. "It's but a theory, but my survival is a miracle, all things considered. The backlash, however, had caused...well, this." Marco gestured towards his body, as everything had been altered in a manner that made him a complete opposite of what he used to be. "So. I have a counter offer. Infiltrate the house Dragon, learn what you can of its former leader. Where could he possibly go, what he is doing. Keep tabs on Jezebel too, I know she is moving." Mari waved a hand, shaking her head. "Hold it right there mister, you are supposed to be dead. They'd have my head right now for failing such a simple task, if it weren't for this infuriating guild captain, Leandro. Give me a good reason why I should help you." Marco simply smiled, and replied, "You said so yourself. I'm supposed to be dead. Therefore, I shall stay dead. And I shall provide you money too, if only to tip your scales into my favor for the time being."
[[Evan, since you are in PoW, I think it wouldn't be too much to ask of you what the political status of Marcheim would be right now. The influence of the top thirteen houses, starting with Marcheim's matriarch and ending with House Dragon would be nice. I believe there was a list on the old thread but I can't exactly find it, nor do I have the time too. A short rundown would be fine. I don't really do politics :c]]
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Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
After a long journey of many days, the dolled up revolutionaries arrived on the duchess' doorstep. Surrounded by high walls, flanked by mountains and emitting an ominous blue glow, the city carried a very mystical air. Eris had never seen anything quite like it, having grown up in the sweaty, grimy city of Wound. He didn't know how he should look or act, what he should say to people, anything at all. Eris hadn't dealt with any of this for a long time. He fell slightly behind the other two as he slowed his horse to a trot, contemplating it.
Aralove whistled back to him. "Keep up. We have to move quickly to put our plan in action." Eris quickly kicked his horse back into a canter as they approached the gates. This whole place had an architectural style completely new to him, with many arches and rounded corners. At the city's back loomed the massive figure of Castle Brave. Eris had only heard stories, but seeing it in its entirety was overwhelming. People thought Louvre's palace was extravagant - it had nothing on this.
Somewhere in there, Eris thought, the duchess sat. Dealing with taxes and petty thievery, completely unaware to the fact that they might kill her tomorrow night. The thought made him feel ill. What had he become? A killer? Ana Marie did not deserve what came to her. She was innocent. Who was to say that Lazarus was any different? The walls seemed to grow as they approached the gate, or perhaps it was Eris who seemed to shrink. His drive, his sense of purpose seeped out of his soul as they drew closer to their mark.
He shook the thoughts out of head. He had to. There was no time to worry, no room for error. It was just as Aralove had said, once the duchess was dead there would be change. The world would be a better place. Eris kept telling himself that as Jace withdrew a banner from his pack, and waved it to the guards at the gate. On it were two crossed swords surrounding an iron wolf's head. House Wolf, the Tharin family. One of Eris' old drinking buddies always went on about being related to Lady Adelaide Tharin, being disowned, and so on. He was very familiar with the sigil.
The barriers were let down for a split second while the party was let through. They dashed into the city with haste, and the magic wall was re-sealed behind them. The tremendous gates seemed to shake the earth as they opened to allow them through. On the other side waited some guards and a stately noble to greet and identify the strangers. Aralove quickly got off her horse as she approached, and the two men followed suit. She curtsied to the noble, extending her hand as he bowed to kiss it.
"How do you do," she greeted, "Lady Maria Tharin, of House Wolf. These are my bannermen." The noble, as old bald man, smiled warmly. "It is a pleasure, Lady Maria. Your father told us to expect you at this time. It is a pity we were unable to meet at the congress in Azberth, but better late than never, I suppose." Aralove raised an eyebrow in thought. "That would make you Lord Aaron." The man nodded, shaking her hand. "Pleased to finally meet you." she said courteously.
"Shall I make arrangements with your parents at the castle?" Aaron asked, to which Aralove shook her head. "I'm afraid I must leave very soon. I have come to wish the duchess well at her party tomorrow night. Afterwards I must return to Marcheim - family matters beckon." The man released her hand, nodding. "Very well. I hope to see you again tomorrow night, then." Aralove smiled widely. "Absolutely." she said as they parted ways.
The three of them took their steeds towards a nearby stable. "Ara, what the hell was that?" Jace asked as they walked. "Even I wasn't expecting that." She shrugged. "I had our mutual friend in Marcheim make sure Maria Tharin would... be late. She shouldn't get here till long after Lazarus' party." Jace nodded, understanding, but Eris did not. "What mutual friend? I had assumed it was just the two of you working on this." Aralove chuckled. "Gods, no. We have a few friends here and there. One of them will be helping us at the party tomorrow."
They stabled their horses, and headed to one of the small houses in the residential district. It looked similar to the one in Wound - a few beds, a kitchen, and a small table with some chairs. Not really somewhere that would be nice to live in, but great as a safehouse for a few days. Dropping off their belongings, they sat down around the table with a few mugs of ale. The warm alcohol felt good in Eris' stomach after being absent for so long.
"We can't kick our feet up yet, boys. There's still a lot to do before tomorrow." Aralove pointed her mug at Eris. "Are you still experiencing lyrium withdrawal?" He grimaced, as the memories of clutching his stomach in the cold, empty cell, unable to sleep from the pain, came rushing back. "No. My week in prison took care of that pretty nicely." He downed the rest of his ale - it was things like that he drank to forget. But he was not expecting Aralove's next question.
"Can you recreate it? The early part, I mean." He was taken aback, leaning back in his seat. "I could try. Honestly, now that I've been through it all, the beginning part was just like a little stomachache. It hurt at the time, but I had no idea what it entailed." Jace grinned. "We can use that. It's time for us to go speak to Wilhelm. Just act like you have that stomachache, say you've heard it gets a lot worse, something like that. And we'll get what we came for."
Eris reluctantly agreed as they made their way towards the doctor's house. The sun peeked over the city's high walls as it settled to rest for the night. However, the walk was not long, and they arrived at their destination before nightfall. Aralove knocked on the door softly, and they heard quick footsteps indoors. The door opened to reveal a man dressed in rags, short in stature, who appeared to be in his late 40s. "Oh my, I really wasn't expecting company. How may I assist you?"
"Thank you for seeing us so late, doctor. Maria Tharin." she quickly said, rushing in and clasping his hand. "My banner has been struggling with chest pains the entire journey from Marcheim. He was addicted to lyrium, and I fear he is withdrawing." Wilhelm paled. "Oh my. Lyrium is a powerful substance, if used correctly. Otherwise, it hurts more than it helps. Please." he said, ushering Eris onto a nearby bed. He frantically ran about, opening cupboards and looking through herbs, and the other two observed as he did so.
"Ah, here it is!" Wilhelm exclaimed, pulling a purplish leaf from his stores. He crushed it with a mortar and pestle, and tossed the pieces into a glass of water, stirring furiously. He hurried the glass to Eris, pressing it into his hands. "Duskleaf. Drink up. It's foul tasting, but it should reduce the effects of the withdrawal." Drinking it down, he looked at Jace in the back of the room, who shook his head. Eris didn't know what that meant, but he continued with the ruse.
"I'm sorry, I don't feel anything. Are you sure it works?" he asked, handing the glass back to Wilhelm with one hand, and grasping his stomach with the other. "Well, it should make the withdrawal go by easier. It'll still hurt, however. Oh!" He jumped up and began rifling through the shelves again. He pulled down a small bottle of white liquid. "Poppy milk! It should numb the pain for tonight at least, giving the Duskleaf time to take effect. Don't drink too much, you won't wake for days."
Eris looked back again. This time, Jace nodded, and he took that as a sign to conclude the distraction. "Thank you so much." he said, taking a sip of the liquid. It warmed his stomach and made him feel happy and sleepy. Shaking Wilhelm's hand, Eris slowly got up and walked towards the door. Aralove turned and thanked the doctor again. "I'll be sure and tell the duchess of your good deeds tomorrow night." He shook his head. "I'm a humble man, my lady. There's no need."
She nodded understandingly, and they departed back to the safehouse. When they returned, Eris fell down on the bed. He was very sleepy from the poppy milk, since he felt no actual pain. Jace withdrew a greenish-white, almost translucent flower from his pocket. "The mountain folk call it Vix's Veil. And for a good reason." He laid the plant gently in the middle of the kitchen table. "Its essence is a deadly, clear poison. If we can get it into the duchess water, she'll have no idea what hit her."
Aralove twirled the flower in her hand, her eyes twinkling and a smile playing across her face. "Sleep, Eris." she said. "You'll need it for tomorrow."
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My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Ives had finally made it. He had that struggling fight with Red, who's combat skill were a little outdated, and just a few bandits along the way. The fight went down like so:
Ives was jumped from behind when it all started. Red's thieves were pretty much all there. Ives broke them off and sliced at their stomachs. He started for Red when the mage shot a fireball at him, Ives jumped back, but Red just kept coming. He seemed to have just walked straight through it. Ives had cleaned off his sword and stabbed Red in the arm before his two front teeth ran away from Ives's mouth. He was bleeding like mad out of his mouth due to the missing teeth, and Red was still walking. He grabbed Ives by the throat and threw him across the ground.
Ives got up and dusted off his clothes. He tackled Red and grabbed for his shiny dagger. Red twisted Ives's hand and broke it. He used his other hand to break Red's nose. And reach for his sword, which was successfully used to gut Red. He ran off before the mage could do any more damage.
Now his first stop, to see his brother. He was quite more fortunate then Ives, wealth -from Ives's point of view- beyond anyone else. Bu then again, Ives was only a petty thief. And plus, according to the letters they had written each other a few years ago, his brother's house was the greatest, the best he would ever see. " Probably not true.." He muttered under his breath. Ives saw a few merchants and traders, and a lot of guards, but the street was mostly empty.
He wondered around for about half an hour, before coming upon his brother's house. He had the letters in his pocket, and was reading off the description, when the house just... appeared. Ives hadn't noticed it while reading off the paper. He walked up to the green oak wood door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. So Ives just opened the door. He took a glance around the place. It was pretty small and it had no basement. Ives yelled his brother's name three or four times. On the letters, it had said that his brother was here during this time. 'When the sun is at it's highest.' He yelled again,
Suddenly, the sack over Balthazar's head was yanked off, a torch only a foot away from his face. He tried to close his eyes, but suddenly his hair was clenched, and his head slammed against a stone wall. "Urg!" Everything went black for a split second, and then his vision returned. Blearily, he looked up. The man was in a hood. How cliche. He leaned down and leered at Balthazar, or at least Balthazar thought he was leering. Again, the hood thing.
"So then, you wanna live? Well, you'll definitely have a rough time with that, the way events are scheduled..." The man turned away, and grabbed some keys from his belt. He unlocked an iron door that Balthazar didn't notice before, and grabbed him by the collar. Suddenly, his world lurched, and Baltharzar was thrown in... His last sight was his slightly curling hand, on the filthy floor.
He awoke, but had no idea what time it was. The guard, he guessed that was what he was, had a piece of iron, and was clanking it on the bars of the door. Balthazar let out a little groan, and suddenly the guard looked at him, surprised. "Awake already? Took you long enough... Still, guess it's time to feed ya." He sauntered over to the other end of the room, and picked up a plate. He slid it under the door, through a small gap, surprisingly gentle... Then he leaned up against the wall, staring at the prone Balthazar.
"Urg... Please... Just don't kill me!" Brave to the end. The man shrugged. "Don't talk to me, I'm not the executioner. Still, I've definitely got a lot in store for this.... A lot of people are sick of people like you, scum of society you are. No amount of money or flashy clothes can hide what you are..." The man seemed to get angrier and angrier as he talked. "A rat! You're just vermin! Something to be disgusted, gotten rid of!" He took a few steps to the door, but suddenly stopped, nearly shuddering. "No... No. You'll get your due..." He glared at Balthazar, as if blaming him for his outburst.
Drake hears a knock at his door, and opens it, to see that someone had caught a criminal with a stab wound in his chest. The criminal is breathing extremely hardly, and Drake takes him into the room, sets him on the table, and looks at him.
"What crime has he committed?" Drake asks the villager. "No matter, I have a punishment for him," He says, before the villager could speak. He then grabs a device shaped like a pear, with a screw on the top, and Drake places it in the wound. He starts turning the screw, which makes the 'pear' open, causing the wound to become wider, painfully. The criminal screams, and thrashes around, therefore Drake ties him to the table. He takes some leeches from a jar, and drops them in the now large wound, and sits down to read a book for a while. After a few minutes, Drake gets up, and gets all the leeches back into the jar, and looks at the criminal.
"He bled out... It's a shame I never got to use my hatchet," Drake mutters as he unties the criminal from the table. He drags the criminal out, and pulls the corpse over to a nearby forest, and heads back.
He then says "These were successful tests," as he picks up the pear and the leeches. He then starts his trek from Wound to Marcheim.
Aesselyna roams the town. What to do, what to do. So much free time. Stealing would be a risky move, plus, whatever quota was needed has been filled already.Maybe finding a pub or a restaurant would work best, food is food after all. She looks around for a quick place to eat, being unsuccessful mostly. She feels safe in the lower parts, being armed with a barbed dagger and a spare. Armor helps too, no matter how little protection it actually gives. She knows she can fight off a street rat should the need arise. Is that rain? Is she just feeling things? Either way, she rushes to the nearest tavern to eat at. She walks in and sees a relatively large group, which she tries to ignore as she goes to the counter and orders food. The smell in the air is sweet, something like a pastry. The crowd is talkative, though it is mostly quiet talking. Thankfully, the quietness remains. She gets some bread and some ale, albeit the ale is watered down, and sits at a table. She quietly munches and drinks and sips and sits. There is not much out of the ordinary here, just a small meal, that is all. (I wasn't feeling 'it' this post, I tried but I couldn't find the inspiration that normally lets me write more)
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We kateq’an puwi’jum ri’j k’isis we katopan pa ri utza’m ri uq’ab kawilo chi ri uwächulew man naj tl k’o wi che ri kaj. Pa chuwitz’ap katkuwinik kachapo.Yaj, xyajik Ri ik’ are ri jun nimalaj ja t’uyul puwi’ri uworachak ri juyub’ Are chi’ru nutat kinnuyajo Ri we in kin’e pa ri ik’ Chila kinwar wi.
Few days have passed, consisting of waiting, waiting to get one more possible adventure, hopefully consisting of bandits. Yet it was as if everyday was going to be filled with the constant boredom. To Hartham, this was a torture, a torture that makes filing paperwork seem like a fun job. Yet, if anyone came in for almost anything, he would do the job with the fury of a storm, and the satisfaction of a predator catching their prey. Yet, this is assuming that he can get hired in the first place. But then, something changed from a thought, into an action, the torment of waiting, would be replaced by the moderate annoyance of paperwork. Hartham would join the guard, today, so thus began a short journey to the nearest recruiter.
Hartham got up from the chair, that only occasionally leaned to the left, and had only a few splinters, and simply left into the chilling town. Then minutes passed, and the doors opened to let in Hartham, one who just realized that iron, was not the best clothing to wear in cold weather. This, was followed by Hartham warming up near the fire, then heading back out, this time moving much faster to shorten the time in the cold.
The city was surprisingly, quite busy. With people working in the fields to harvest their crops before the eventual blanket of snow, to merchants seeing if they can rip off a few more people before they leave. Hartham, of course ignored this, favoring to find a poster for where to get recruited over staying in the chilling roads and plazas. Then he saw it, next to the southern wall, a poster that showed the typical “inspiring” motto, with words that suggest that joining the guards is a good choice. Yet this was a waste of ink to Hartham, for all he cared about was finding the location of a recruiter. To his luck he found where the registration area was, then that is where luck decides to betray him, like a friend who is in it only for the bitter end, and the registration area is near the central plaza. That would mean that Hartham would travel through the cold through halfway across the city just to file paperwork. Thus, a journey to get a job to feed himself through the ever chilling air began.
((I'm putting the date back in the location to clear up confusion about time.))
Raven's Crag, Shroudhelm 24th of Rest
Aghves nestled himself into the corner by the booth that the caravaner was sitting in, and leaned up against the oak wood paneled wall nonchalantly. The caravaner eyed him with moderate suspicion, still nursing his oversized mug of ale. The man's face was harsh and chiseled: a man of rugged Shroudhelm build and experience. His bright green eyes shined with the flickering light of the nearby torch, providing an eery contrast to his dirtied face. Around his body was draped a dull-grey shawl to protect against the cold and the mountain winds, which were known to fling small rocks and pebbles at unwary travelers. Underneath that was an equally drab wool coat, shirt, and leggings characteristic of caravaners. While Aghves could not see them, a pair of muddy boots protected his feet against the elements. His attire appeared to be torn and caked in mud, along with what appeared to be a dark splotch of blood on his lower left side. Obviously something had happened to him, and Aghves intended to find out what. But the caravaner didn't seem to want to talk to anyone. As Aghves examined him briefly, he just sat and stared into his ale. He might not even say anything at all.
"My name is Aghves," the guard said politely. "I'm investigating the disappearance of a Lyrium caravan nearby."
A moment's hesitation. "You the tax man?" the caravaner bluntly asked.
"No," Aghves answered reassuringly. "I'm just a guard."
"I didn't do it," the caravaner then said.
"I didn't say you did."
"Then why are you here?"
"I just want to know what happened."
"I don't want to tell you."
"If you tell me, I can fix it," Aghves casually pointed out.
"How do I know you can?"
"I'm a palace guard. I can handle any bandit."
The caravaner sighed into his ale and looked up at Aghves. "It was just a routine run," he began, "from the crystal mines just northeast of here. We took the Lyrium from the facility and loaded it onto the carts. We had four carts..." He stopped. A look of worry crossed his face.
"And?" Aghves said, urging him on.
"No sellswords..."
"Why? There has been a chronic banditry problem, no?"
"Y-yes... But I was assured this particular route would be clear."
"That was the road that had been experiencing the banditry problems."
"I didn't realize it at the time. I just took my orders and hoped to make it to Shroudhelm within two days."
"Indeed."
"Well, so we had four carts. I was with a handful of others to make sure the beasts got where they needed to go... and as we passed through Gailard's Pass, back a few miles in the mountains, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. As I went to get a closer look, there was nothing there. But then I turned around to see a dozen hooded men charging down the rocky slopes with these strange knives. They... they overpowered my men."
Tears started forming at the corner of the caravaner's eyes, and he started sobbing. "I was the only one left. I was in the cliffs, and I just watched as they butchered my men and took them away. Why did they have to take the corpses?"
Aghves frowned as well, looking momentarily up at the ceiling. "I've never heard of bandits doing that."
"Neither... neither have I... I just... I don't know... Have you heard enough? Go away."
The caravaner looked back to his drink, and immediately took a large sip. He sighed and placed his head in his hands on the table.
"I've heard enough. Gailard's Pass. Thank you."
"Go away," the caravaner repeated sadly. Aghves nodded, and pushed off from the wall. The guard hesitated for a moment, before he walked away with a furrowed brow. The ambushes came at Gailard's Pass, which made sense. Any novice tactician would choose there, seeing as it was a narrow pass with steep cliffs for archers. That was nothing out of the ordinary. But black cloaks and snatching bodies? That was new. Aghves had never heard of that. What could they possibly need with the bodies? For a brief moment, a dark thought passed through his mind: what if they were cannibals? But Aghves ignored it. It was far too unlikely, seeing as the region wasn't undergoing a famine. He would continue to mull over this, at least until he wandered towards the other side of the room and the barmaid caught his eye again.
"Would you like anything, sir?" she asked in a beautiful voice. Aghves considered it, but then refused. The story the caravaner told was far too disturbing. He had to get to the bottom of it that evening. He had to stop the bandits.
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
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Azhek Estate and Winery, Marcheim
“What do you mean, he’s gone?!” The twins flinched, an enraged, aged giant bellowing in their ears. He was not in a good mood. “This cannot go unpunished! Trace the bomb! Round up all rune-makers here. Take them all to trial! Heads must roll.” Tears built up in the old man’s weary eyes as he turned his back towards his audience, a veil of silence falling upon the room. “Old man,” the elder of the two addressed the forlorn giant, “calm down. We will get to the bottom of this. It pains us so, to lose him as well, but we must save face.” The old man turned once more, the fire in his eyes flaring, but dying down a moment later. With a controlled voice, he spoke. “You are right, Lohac. No one knows he’s gone yet.” A rustle of wind entered the room as a window opened. The moonlight fell through, revealing a glowing, golden silhoutte. “That’s right, because he isn’t, Anglo.”
“You caused me undue worry, Marco.” The old man, sighed, smoking his pipe once more. The aroma of the tobacco filled the room, and right now, Marco didn’t mind, thinking it more as a comfort than a nuisance. “Yes, I believe I did. I don’t like the physical change though. I feel marked.” Walking over to a nearby vanity mirror, Marco inspected himself once more, seeing his eyes still golden, and his hair still white as snow. Closing his eyes, he mentally checked himself, and even though he can’t feel it, he knows he is more powerful than before, almost as though he were reborn. “Oh, but you are. Not very obvious, but it’s certainly Cyprus’ mark on you. It was bound to happen, anyway.” Interest sparking in his eyes, Marco turned, raising an eyebrow. “Go on, Anglo.”
“You know how long the Sovereign Lands have existed. Of course, wars would have to have been fought. The gods themselves too, participated. Nobody wanted it, but everyone deemed it necessary. It was the land that was at stake, after all. So the gods struck a deal, no longer would they themselves participate in the wars themselves, but they would rather choose champions to fight for them. Great warriors, the wisest of wizards, the keenest of archers, the fastest of hunters. Blessed in one way or another by the god that chose them. You, I believe, are now one of them.”
Balthazar was bored. This may not have seemed like too much of a problem, since he was kidnapped, but it was slowly driving him mad. Balthazar couldn't even pace back and forth, the guard didn't want him walking around. He sighed, and let his head fall back on the cobblestone wall- OHNONONO- "ARGH!" Pain seared through Balthazar's skull as the tender, new sore spot on the back of his skull collided with the cobblestones.
He grabbed the back of his head, and tried to squeeze the pain out, but that just made it worse. Soon his clothes were(more) filthy, as he was rolling around on the ground, fighting the urge to cry. Suddenly, he heard a creaking sound as the door to the other room, which he had yet to see, opened. There were low sounds, and the sound of his gate being opened. "Up with you, then!" The rough voice of his guard thoroughly convinced him that the pain wasn't that bad... Yet.
As he struggled to his knees, Balthazar suddenly saw a slight figure slip behind him. He clenched his teeth, expecting death... But then got a blindfold over the eyes. "AH!" He screamed and flinched a bit when it slipped over his head, causing the hooded guard to laugh at him. "If that scares you, I can't wait for you to see what we have in store for you!" Balthazar whimpered a bit as the stranger behind him forced him off his knees, and blinded shuffled down the hallway.
While walking down, however, he wasn't occupied with what was awaiting him... The hallway smelled filthy! Balthazar wrinkled his nose, a constant mantra of "Ew" went through his head every time he inhaled. And then he started stepping in puddles of something... It was at this point that he was glad he was blindfolded... GAHOWOUCHOW!
Suddenly, a light rushed at him intense and fast that he had to close and clutch his eyes, even under the blind fold. He tried stumbling backwards, but felt the tip of something sharp and cold dig slightly into his back. "Gaaah..." Once again he danced forward, but nearly ran into the hooded man. It took a few seconds for them to restrain him and keep him standing up straight. Balthazar let out an "Ah..." of relief... Then they yanked the blindfold off of his eyes.
He once again tried clutching his eyes, but his captors weren't having any of that. His guard, grabbed his hands, and put them behind his back. Balthazar squinted up at him- Wait, were they outside? No, Balthazar, focus! "W-What are you going to do to me?" The guard didn't talk this time. He just raised a finger towards a platform in the middle of the sandy area.
... Dear gods, he knew all these people! All of them were members of his household, mostly servants of his! All of them were on their knees, with their hands bound and bags over their heads. Balthazar felt a shiver in his stomach. No one probably even knew they were missing.
Trying to fake a noble look on his face, Balthazar walked up to the top of the platform. He looked around in the small arena-like area, what with the open top and sandy floor, he sighed. Balthazar did NOT want to die here! He didn't he didn't he did'n- Well, if he did live it would be hell to get all this oil out of his hair, but.... No! He needed to live!
He desperately tried to dart away from the platform. The guards were clearly surprised, no one had apparently attempted this yet. They nearly dropped their weapons, but then Balthazar tripped on the edge of the platform and fell on his face. His hands weren't bound yet, and he desperately got onto his knees, yet was tackled from the side, in a flurry of dust and scuffling. "Oi! Oi! Get offa me!" Balthazar was still trying to crawl away, but at this point the rest of the guards had caught up to him and were holding him down.
Finally, half dragging and half pushing Balthazar, he finally saw the face of the person who had put the blindfold on his head... It was a woman, surprisingly plain. She had an amused expression on her face, but you could see she was barely containing her irritation.
"You always were a stupid one, Balthazar. We're hardly going to kill you!" She laughed at him. Suddenly, Balthazar's old guard perked up.
"Wait, what do you mean? You said we'd kill him!" He was growled at him, impatient, apparently. The woman sighed, and said, "Listen, are you serious? This was the whole plan... You know, make 'em suffer, watch his household die, blah blah blah. Seriously, have you forgotten this?"
Balthazar perked up here, "Actually, I don't care too much about these guys... Most of them are servants, and if you're just going to let me live, then... By the way, do I know you?"
The woman gives Balthazar a shocked look. "W-wait... Servants!?" She glared at the guards around her. "What is going ON? Is he telling the truth?" A couple of the men looked bashful. "Well... The lord were a bit hard to get to, so we thought that these guys would be fine..."
The woman let out a tiny scream. "COME ON! I planned this for MONTHS, and you guys screwed it up!" Another guard peeps up, "Actually, the plan wasn't that great. We could hardly get in position and put the sacks all over their heads at the same time without being seen..."
Balthazar's old guard that says, "Well then, since he's not invested, and your little psychological torture has failed, can I kill him now?"
The woman gave a sharp look to the guard. "I'm the one paying you! You do what I say!"
Of course, at this, the hooded man drew his blade. "Seriously? I guarded this prissy little idiot for ages, and now you want me to just keep doing it? I'm sick of him, hell, I was sickened at the first sight of him! No, I'm in this so I can see him," He pointed at Balthazar, "Die! And you'll have to stop me yourself!" At this, he lunged at Balthazar with his blade. Then, everything broke up into chaos. Guards loyal to the hooded man started stabbing and slashing at the other guards, despite there being more of them. Soon the guards who were holding Balthazar ran into the fray, leaving Balthazar on the ground.
Soon the fight caused a huge cloud of dust to raise into the air, as Balthazar came to his feet again. As he stumbled to the edge of the arena, a guard made a blind slash at him, which cut right through his shirt and went down the left side of his body. His pathetic whimper was drowned out by the clashing of blades and screaming. However, he was still on unsteady feet, and he managed to walk to the edge of the arena, and go through the first door he saw.
As he closed the wooden door behind him with a click, many of the sounds of conflict were blocked, but he didn't notice that. Instead, he ran down the hallway he found himself in, completely ignoring the prison cells. There, another door ahead! Good luck, finally? As Balthazar ran towards it, he thought that Wouldn't it just be wonderful if it was... Locked. Damn it all!
But Balthazar refused to have his freedom taken away from him by a flimsy wooden door! He threw himself against it... Okay, not that flimsy. But still! It seemed like forever, in that wavering torch light with the moans of guards and prisoners behind him, that Balthazar threw himself against that door. But, eventually, he did it! Balthazar happily ran out into the courtyard... And looked around.
"I have no idea where I am. MOTHER-"
Ives wondered around for another half-hour, stopping only to answer questions from the guards. He was surprised they hadn't- an extremely loud noise sounded somewhere in the prisons, alerting everybody that someone had escaped. A guard ran up to Ives, and in a worried but firm tone, he said, " Go check on the new prisoner in the high security cells." Ives had no idea where that was, but he nodded and hurried along. He worked his way around most of the tired guards that had just woken from their slumber and found his way to a large metal door that had been propped open. Next to it was a guard who's head had been impaled by a sword. Ives ran into the metal door and found another guard.
Someone else had escaped besides Ives. He had been pondering over the fact as he hurried out the prison gates and back towards the city of Wound. Ives rushed to his home. He probably was going to need to burn it down now that he had escaped. Ives rand inside and allowed the guard's armor to drop to the ground. He ran to his closet and put on some new clothing. He also packed a bag full of more shirts and pants, he was leaving. Ives didn't know where yet though. He could journey closer to the Corruption, towards Marcheim, Eastern, and Azberth, or farther up the Western Coast to Shroudhelm. He also could steal a boat and head down to the island on the horizon. Ives chuckled, like he was going to be able to steal a boat.
Hell, like he could even get close enough to the harbor...
Ives still needed to catch fire to his house, burn down any proof of his existence there, but he was pretty well known. So instead Ives just packed some crackers and other non-perishable foods for his journey. He hurried to the stables, and plopped down 30 shiny gold coins on the counter and took off with a horse.
He decided to go to Marcheim.
"No, no," Aghves answered. "I perfectly understand your frustrations. The Council needs to unscrew itself and get its stuff together.
Jearil remained motionless as Aghves finished. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I have to leave. The city needs me to investigate Lyrium or whatever... perfectly meaningless, and only for 'taxation purposes.' I hope to see you again in the future, Jearil. Have a nice evening."
Aghves casually saluted the madman, and abruptly turned around to walk back to the guard quarters. He had a lot to do in the span of the evening: suit up, gather his equipment, gather relevant information, among other things. Of course, he had to take more time to do this because, as a foreigner, he didn't get the same privileges as the other palace guards. The extra wait times and administrative work was really a thinly veiled discrimination program, but Aghves had learned to get along with it. His father had instilled the particular wisdom of adaptability from an early age. Aghves was thankful for that, as the lessons learned from his village's warrior training had been instrumental in his high status among the military despite his birthplace. As far as Aghves knew, he was the only non-Shroudhelm palace guard in the organization.
It did not take long for Aghves to reach for personal quarters, in the noncommissioned officer's wing of the palace bunks. It was a small room containing only a few living arrangements. A bed was tucked away in the left corner by a desk with a chairs that served as Aghves's work table. On it lay several scrolls of parchment alongside a book titled "History of the Shroudhelm Wars" On the opposite side of the room was a wardrobe, bookcase, and a series of chests stacked against the wall. A window was across the room from the door, which offered a view towards a court below. Overall, it was a small, comfortable dwelling, that offered both privacy and ease of organization. With less things, Aghves could keep his room neater.
Aghves didn't stop to admire his neatly-cleaned quarters, but instead went straight to his wardrobe and began removing his plated armor. Once his steel platings were in a pile on the floor, he went to withdraw his everyday clothing to make the trip down to Raven's Crag more comfortable. Once he had finished this, he gathered his armor and placed it in a satchel bag that he slung over his shoulder. It was about twenty-five pounds, but Aghves could manage. Once this was all finished, he went to his arms chest to find his crossbow and sword. As he went down to the small wooden chest on the ground, Aghves took the key out of a pouch on his belt and jammed it into the lock, which opened with a click. Inside lay Aghves's steel shortsword and scabbard, as well as his crossbow. He took both, clipping the sword to his waist and holding the crossbow with one hand while he reached for his quarrel pouch. He clipped that to his belt as well, and proceeded to the stables.
Because that was his personal equipment, he could access it whenever he pleased. But while he did "own" a horse, the administration required him to fill out a form whenever he wanted to use it. That, and he had to fill out requisitions for provisions such as food and water. While Aghves had never seen any of the native guards do this, he followed the procedure without a word, although he silently resented it. So after he had gone to his horse and gotten everything he needed, he suffered through the necessary paperwork for the gleeful amusement of the portly administration members. And after that, he could finally leave. It was an hour or so after nightfall, but Aghves rode out of the gate, down the slowly degrading roads that eventually led to rocky dirt mountain passes, and towards Raven's Crag.
But then night made it's slow conquest over the sky, thus concluding the day for Hartham. Yet this time he paid the entire room cost, and went to his tavern room. The life of a mercenary can usually be sluggish, yet they always find a way to get through it. But in Hartham's current situation, winter will come soon and he cannot afford to just wait around and "collect dust". Yet trying to go out in the world by himself, would be the same as tripping on his own sword. So now he is between a rock and a hard place. Will he try the near suicidal chance of possible exploration of ruins? Will he stay in the tavern in hope of a job? Will he take the agonizing job of a guard? Or has he just not thought of anything that can work better? Either way, he will need rest if he plans on doing any of the three. So he put his armor away and went to sleep to face the mystery that's known as, a dream.
"So, what are you planning to do next?" Marco was taken aback, not quite expecting the question. Stopping for a moment to collect his thoughts, he voiced his answer. "I...I don't know. To be honest, I don't really know if I can just pick up and go Dragon hunting." A puff of smoke from the old man's pipe signaled the conclusion of the conversation. "Obviously, you can't. Frankly, I don't care if a goddess or a queen ordered you on a wild goose chase, or in this case, a wild dragon chase, but you can't just, as you so eloquently put it, pick up and go dragon hunting. No, you let go of this folly this instant. Besides, you've got to run today. Someone attempted to destroy our cellar. They were good too. A team of three, according to the twins. They drove them away, but they might be back."
Marcheim, Lower District.
Thus started Marco's travel around the city of Marcheim. At first he opted going by rooftop, as the city was well connected and it was much easier to traverse it that way, and it gave a clear view of the estate. As he was observing, he was piecing together a path which the vandals could have possibly taken. As he walked through the run down alleys of the city, he found that far too many eyes have been trailing him since he left the villa. I shouldn't have left alone, it seems. As he kept a wary eye around and about, he felt a cobblestone depress under his step. It took merely two clicks from the ground for him to realize what was happening. Eyes widening, Marco jumped up as high as he can, propelling himself with additional power from his right hand gauntlet, matching the power of the explosive trap laid out beneath him.
Rooftop Garden, Marcheim.
"Is he dead?" A cloaked man whispered, nudging his partner beside him. "I don't know, but from what I saw, the blast caught up with him." The partner replied. "Shut up, both of you!" An irritable feminine voice commanded, turning at the two. Through the darkened cowls, the two men could see cold, hard glares that silenced them both. As she turned around once more, she took a few cautious steps, when a cloak carried by the updraft from the blast fell in front of her. "This is all the evidence we'd need, and we shall be paid handsomely by the new Dragon herself for this. Shame that the runes have been destroyed, it would have sold for a nice price." Three shadows melted among the streets of Marcheim, vanishing with a shimmering black and silver cloak.
Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
The first hour. Lots of drinking, cursing, and laughing. Balthazar, his nose now a happy shade of red, decided EVERYONE would get drink! Sadly, there were only about 4 other people in the tavern. Still, they at least appreciated it, and moved their chairs to Balthazar's and Jone's corner. They seemed nice fellows, though they were rather shifty eyed when asked about their proffession. They said they were "farmers". Seemed fine, at the time... All of them were wearing rather shabby rags, though they certainly had a lot of pouches on them. They were also all very tanned, and had dark brown hair. The only real distinguishing
Then of course, in the second hour, Balthazar was getting nervous. He kept leaning over, and asking Jone "When're we going? When're we going?" Of course, Jone would just smile and whisper back, "When the rest of these guys go." Of course, the process was agonizingly slow. Still, Balthazar decided to make light conversatoin. Eventually, one of them, left, leaving three strangers.
"Sho, how do y'guysh feel about the politicsh in th- Hic!- city! Heh..."
The last three exchanged glances. "It could be... Better." They all nodded, satisfied with this answer.
"Tell me 'bout it! All these "lawds" and "ladies" 'r just a coupleva peasants in ruffles!" Balthazar's eyes widened. "Er... Offense. Gah! No offense.."
Of course, the men didn't seem to mind this, actually, the room echoed with raccous laughter. "Heh... You're a funny guy. I'm going to regret doing this."
Balthazar felt curious. "Do what?"
Then the bag went onto his head.
"MMMPHHH!! MMMMPH!!! JONE! JONE!" Balthazar flailed around, knocking the table over. One of the men cursed, but didn't let go. Two sharp blows later, the count was slumped over and, to the relief of the men, much quieter.
It was a good decision for Ives to keep the sword. He was definitely going to need it. Up ahead, loud voices laughed and shouted around a bright light.
Ives tried to ride around all the commotion, but it seemed like one of the men noticed him. " Oi! Where da ya think yer goin'?"
The man was clearly drunk. Ives could smell his breath from a mile away. He quickly stepped off his horse, noticing that the bonfire was actually a wagon fire. He could just barely see a pair of feet being dragged into the darkness. " I was headed to Marcheim, who's askin'?" Ives replied, his tone firm; he also had a hand on the blade attached to his left thigh. He knew something was off, but he just didn't know what. A voice boomed over the rest.
" I'm askin'." It was Red, Ives's boss. ' Ya think you can just get up and walk off like that, without any fore warning?"
"N- no sir," Ives was breathing heavily. But then he noticed what was wrong. He had left Wound not even an hour ago. It should still be daylight. Why was it so dark? A mage was helping them...
" I would like it very much, sir, if yer mage would step outta the trees, I hate the dark." Ives told the boss firmly. Red was probably using this to his advantage. It was going to be a long fight.
Ives knew he wasn't any stronger than Red, he wasn't even as strong...
"I trust you've rid me of my adversary, hmm?" A fat man with an upcurled, well kept moustache queried the three shady looking individuals before him. With a slight hint of disgust, the woman threw the cloak on the floor. "There. His cloak. He never leaves without it. I guess that'd be proof enough." The man surveyed the cloak, rounding it a few times. "Bah, whatever." Pulling a bag of coins out of one of the drawers, the balding man tossed it over to the woman. Turning around to grab a bottle of wine, he asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't want to join me celebrate my victory?" However, his offer fell on deaf ears, or rather, no ears at all. "Ach, well. Your loss." He waved as he addressed the empty room, knowing full well that the guild had time for work and work alone.
The trio were up in the rooftops once more, in the very same garden. A smiling man met them there. "So, he's dead then." The three look startled, but gathered their composure quite quickly. "Uh, yes boss." The other two nodded dumbly, as this was completely out of the norm. However, upon seeing their faces through the hood's shade, he waved at them. "Calm down. I'm not exactly what you'd call on duty today. Good job handling the rooks, Mari." A venomous glare was all that the man got in return.
"Stop playing games. What are you doing here?" The man laughed, asking, "Really now, Ma-" Faster than he could blink, she was t his throat, blade at ready. "Say my name again and those would be your very last words."
The man laughed yet again, with nary a care whther his life was at stake. "Took you long enough to start flirting back at me." She grumbled in frustration, and turned away to leave imnediately. "Alright, I give. I droppedby because I thought ou should know. Marco Azhek is not dead."
Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
Easily the largest and most influential town outside of Shroudhelm, Raven's Crag sat at the end of its eponymous geographical feature, defended by two story high stone walls and innumerable barricades alongside the road. Banditry was a massive problem on Lazarus Road, with thieves stealing travelers' items day and night. The overworked and understaffed guards were also prone to corruption, and thus, many of these events were payed off and went unnoticed by the "official" guards in Shroudhelm. But Aghves wasn't here to enforce the anti-corruption laws, nor solve the banditry problem as a whole. He was simply looking for the most expensive bandit posse, while allowing the others to slip past. Naturally, this was a massive frustration for the guard, but he did as he was told. Aghves approached the gates of Raven's Crag and went through without incident during the dawn of a new week.
Aghves's first course of action was to park his horse at the stables. He performed this task effortlessly as well, indifferently paying the exorbitant fee with the government-issued money in his coinpurse. The people around Raven's Crag eagerly exploited outsiders: this seemed to be second-nature for the townspeople. But Aghves went along his way, neither caring nor taking action. He milled about the town square for a few hours, ogling the local women from afar and buying a loaf of sweetened cornmeal bread for breakfast, and then went to the local bar for lunch. He entered in his civilian attire to avoid confrontation, and started searching the tavern for any potential persons of interest. After a few seconds idly standing by the door, Aghves had made a mental checklist: tavern owner, barmaid, and custodian. They would know about the goings-on in town, if only because they had to live up to that stereotype for the travelers.
Aghves made his move to the tavern owner first, a burly, peasant-like man in his mid-forties. He had his sleeves rolled up to his biceps, exposing his strong forearms as he wiped down a mug of ale in the lull between customers. Almost immediately, his keen senses detected Aghves, and his head shot up to make eye contact. "Yeh?" he asked. "Wha'cha want 'ere?"
The local farmer's accent was undeniably strong, and he looked ready to snap Aghves in two. But the guard pushed past this for a reply: "I'm here to investigate a series of robberies along Lazarus Road. Is there anyone you can direct me to?"
"Heh! Look 'ere a' this city-boy, now," the owner scoffed. "Prim 'an propa'. But'cha dun sound like no city boy I eva seen. Where ya from?"
"Me? I'm not from Shroudhelm, no. I come from farther north."
"North, eh? Out in 'dem dere mountains?" he asked, pointing lamely out the window. Aghves nodded.
"Yes. I emigrated when I was sixteen."
"Heh. I ain't seen none of your kind b'fore. Why you lookin' for dem robberies? There be more than I can count."
Aghves nodded, but internally wondered if the man could even count past ten. "I'm looking for a string of Lyrium robberies. The Shroudhelm Lyrium Company's caravans."
"Eh. Heh," the owner chucked. "Dem boys be gettin' hit hard, they is. Ev'ry time they 'round the bend ova he', bandits 'n black; black hoods 'n cloaks come from dem mountains to take it. Dey hir'd some sellswords, but it ain't workin'. The bandits be usin' magic."
"What kind?" Aghves asked. The owner shrugged.
"I dunno. Ask one of them there caravaners. De blue armband means the Shr'dhelm Lyrium Comp'ny."
"Alright," Aghves said with a final nod. "Thanks."
"Take care, now. An' if you be needin' any beverages, talk ta Enya over there," he advised as he swept his arm over to point at an attractive young twenty-something near casks of alcoholic beverages. Aghves followed his point, and his eyes immediately fell upon her cleavage.
"Alright," Aghves repeated, as he waved his hand goodbye and went to wander towards the room where the patrons sat and nursed their ale. The room was roughly a square, with windows facing outwards and a fireplace on the wall to the left. About a dozen tables were scattered across the room, with only four occupied by lunch-drinkers. At the other end of the room was Enya's stand, where she stood with her arms crossed on top of the counter. Aghves directed himself first to the solitary caravaner in the dark corner away from the fireplace, because he had to finish business before pleasure.
"Good afternoon," Aghves greeted suddenly as he approached the man. The caravaner looked out of the shadows and replied angrily: "What?"
Now, there was only a few problems left until he can survive the winter without starving, and one of those problems, was to build up the will to actually join the guard. For if he went through on being a guard, he would have to do such boring tasks, such as filling paperwork, and standing in one area watching for crime that may, or may not come. Then there was the case of if the city of Shroudhelm, would even trust a mercenary, who spends most of his time in the tavern, but then again, that would be describing most mercenaries. Yet until then, when he solidifies his decision, Hartham followed his morning routine and waited in the tavern to see if there could be one last job..........
"GET BACK HERE LEANDRO!" Mari shouted over the din of the market, the sight of several people crossing streets through the rooftops an uncommon, but not an unwelcome sight to the citizens of the lower districts. A shadow passed over, his silhouette unmistakably that of a male. Three more soon followed, their fluttering cloaks keeping them completely anonymous to bystanders. "Oh, you've got to be a lot faster than that, Mari." As if on cue, he made a heel face turn, flashing them a smile, before dropping down into the street below, out of view. Mari skidded over the rooftop's edge, crouched, and looked down. "Ugh, lost him." A chuckle echoed behind her, tutting at her. "So quick to give up now, Mari? Really, what happened to your usual perseverance?" Swiftly turning back with a glare, she loosed several knives at him, only to have them all pass right through as he momentarily dissolved into shadow. "Fine, fine. No more games. Come, follow me."
After a long walk(and hike) up the tower of the library...
"And there he is, Mari." Leandro gestured towards a man with a white-and-gold robe. As he turned around, he took off the hood, revealing a man with snow-white hair and sharp, golden eyes. "Hello, murderer of mine." Mari flinched, surprised at his words, but even more, his looks. "You...how...you died! I saw it happen. The explosion was too great, and even with the counter you set up, the explosion would have only allowed half of you to remain." The man nodded, pursing his lips. "Yes, I believe that is very right, unless of course, an unforeseeable variable had come into play, such as, oh, maybe an enchanted cloak soaking up half of the damage?" The killer shook her head in reply. "It was accounted for. Everything possible you could have done, to be honest." The man nodded once more. "So, even if I change the explosion into something more in tune with my natural magic affinity and conducted it elsewhere? Or if I created a loop shield that used the energy of the explosion itself to power it? Or maybe...if I had the protection of a certain goddess?" The woman nodded, and nodded once more, and was about to nod again before checking herself. "Uh, what."
After relaying his story concerning Cyprus and the Dragon to the three assassins, Marco leaned casually on the railing. "It's but a theory, but my survival is a miracle, all things considered. The backlash, however, had caused...well, this." Marco gestured towards his body, as everything had been altered in a manner that made him a complete opposite of what he used to be. "So. I have a counter offer. Infiltrate the house Dragon, learn what you can of its former leader. Where could he possibly go, what he is doing. Keep tabs on Jezebel too, I know she is moving." Mari waved a hand, shaking her head. "Hold it right there mister, you are supposed to be dead. They'd have my head right now for failing such a simple task, if it weren't for this infuriating guild captain, Leandro. Give me a good reason why I should help you." Marco simply smiled, and replied, "You said so yourself. I'm supposed to be dead. Therefore, I shall stay dead. And I shall provide you money too, if only to tip your scales into my favor for the time being."
[[Evan, since you are in PoW, I think it wouldn't be too much to ask of you what the political status of Marcheim would be right now. The influence of the top thirteen houses, starting with Marcheim's matriarch and ending with House Dragon would be nice. I believe there was a list on the old thread but I can't exactly find it, nor do I have the time too. A short rundown would be fine. I don't really do politics :c]]
Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
After a long journey of many days, the dolled up revolutionaries arrived on the duchess' doorstep. Surrounded by high walls, flanked by mountains and emitting an ominous blue glow, the city carried a very mystical air. Eris had never seen anything quite like it, having grown up in the sweaty, grimy city of Wound. He didn't know how he should look or act, what he should say to people, anything at all. Eris hadn't dealt with any of this for a long time. He fell slightly behind the other two as he slowed his horse to a trot, contemplating it.
Aralove whistled back to him. "Keep up. We have to move quickly to put our plan in action." Eris quickly kicked his horse back into a canter as they approached the gates. This whole place had an architectural style completely new to him, with many arches and rounded corners. At the city's back loomed the massive figure of Castle Brave. Eris had only heard stories, but seeing it in its entirety was overwhelming. People thought Louvre's palace was extravagant - it had nothing on this.
Somewhere in there, Eris thought, the duchess sat. Dealing with taxes and petty thievery, completely unaware to the fact that they might kill her tomorrow night. The thought made him feel ill. What had he become? A killer? Ana Marie did not deserve what came to her. She was innocent. Who was to say that Lazarus was any different? The walls seemed to grow as they approached the gate, or perhaps it was Eris who seemed to shrink. His drive, his sense of purpose seeped out of his soul as they drew closer to their mark.
He shook the thoughts out of head. He had to. There was no time to worry, no room for error. It was just as Aralove had said, once the duchess was dead there would be change. The world would be a better place. Eris kept telling himself that as Jace withdrew a banner from his pack, and waved it to the guards at the gate. On it were two crossed swords surrounding an iron wolf's head. House Wolf, the Tharin family. One of Eris' old drinking buddies always went on about being related to Lady Adelaide Tharin, being disowned, and so on. He was very familiar with the sigil.
The barriers were let down for a split second while the party was let through. They dashed into the city with haste, and the magic wall was re-sealed behind them. The tremendous gates seemed to shake the earth as they opened to allow them through. On the other side waited some guards and a stately noble to greet and identify the strangers. Aralove quickly got off her horse as she approached, and the two men followed suit. She curtsied to the noble, extending her hand as he bowed to kiss it.
"How do you do," she greeted, "Lady Maria Tharin, of House Wolf. These are my bannermen." The noble, as old bald man, smiled warmly. "It is a pleasure, Lady Maria. Your father told us to expect you at this time. It is a pity we were unable to meet at the congress in Azberth, but better late than never, I suppose." Aralove raised an eyebrow in thought. "That would make you Lord Aaron." The man nodded, shaking her hand. "Pleased to finally meet you." she said courteously.
"Shall I make arrangements with your parents at the castle?" Aaron asked, to which Aralove shook her head. "I'm afraid I must leave very soon. I have come to wish the duchess well at her party tomorrow night. Afterwards I must return to Marcheim - family matters beckon." The man released her hand, nodding. "Very well. I hope to see you again tomorrow night, then." Aralove smiled widely. "Absolutely." she said as they parted ways.
The three of them took their steeds towards a nearby stable. "Ara, what the hell was that?" Jace asked as they walked. "Even I wasn't expecting that." She shrugged. "I had our mutual friend in Marcheim make sure Maria Tharin would... be late. She shouldn't get here till long after Lazarus' party." Jace nodded, understanding, but Eris did not. "What mutual friend? I had assumed it was just the two of you working on this." Aralove chuckled. "Gods, no. We have a few friends here and there. One of them will be helping us at the party tomorrow."
They stabled their horses, and headed to one of the small houses in the residential district. It looked similar to the one in Wound - a few beds, a kitchen, and a small table with some chairs. Not really somewhere that would be nice to live in, but great as a safehouse for a few days. Dropping off their belongings, they sat down around the table with a few mugs of ale. The warm alcohol felt good in Eris' stomach after being absent for so long.
"We can't kick our feet up yet, boys. There's still a lot to do before tomorrow." Aralove pointed her mug at Eris. "Are you still experiencing lyrium withdrawal?" He grimaced, as the memories of clutching his stomach in the cold, empty cell, unable to sleep from the pain, came rushing back. "No. My week in prison took care of that pretty nicely." He downed the rest of his ale - it was things like that he drank to forget. But he was not expecting Aralove's next question.
"Can you recreate it? The early part, I mean." He was taken aback, leaning back in his seat. "I could try. Honestly, now that I've been through it all, the beginning part was just like a little stomachache. It hurt at the time, but I had no idea what it entailed." Jace grinned. "We can use that. It's time for us to go speak to Wilhelm. Just act like you have that stomachache, say you've heard it gets a lot worse, something like that. And we'll get what we came for."
Eris reluctantly agreed as they made their way towards the doctor's house. The sun peeked over the city's high walls as it settled to rest for the night. However, the walk was not long, and they arrived at their destination before nightfall. Aralove knocked on the door softly, and they heard quick footsteps indoors. The door opened to reveal a man dressed in rags, short in stature, who appeared to be in his late 40s. "Oh my, I really wasn't expecting company. How may I assist you?"
"Thank you for seeing us so late, doctor. Maria Tharin." she quickly said, rushing in and clasping his hand. "My banner has been struggling with chest pains the entire journey from Marcheim. He was addicted to lyrium, and I fear he is withdrawing." Wilhelm paled. "Oh my. Lyrium is a powerful substance, if used correctly. Otherwise, it hurts more than it helps. Please." he said, ushering Eris onto a nearby bed. He frantically ran about, opening cupboards and looking through herbs, and the other two observed as he did so.
"Ah, here it is!" Wilhelm exclaimed, pulling a purplish leaf from his stores. He crushed it with a mortar and pestle, and tossed the pieces into a glass of water, stirring furiously. He hurried the glass to Eris, pressing it into his hands. "Duskleaf. Drink up. It's foul tasting, but it should reduce the effects of the withdrawal." Drinking it down, he looked at Jace in the back of the room, who shook his head. Eris didn't know what that meant, but he continued with the ruse.
"I'm sorry, I don't feel anything. Are you sure it works?" he asked, handing the glass back to Wilhelm with one hand, and grasping his stomach with the other. "Well, it should make the withdrawal go by easier. It'll still hurt, however. Oh!" He jumped up and began rifling through the shelves again. He pulled down a small bottle of white liquid. "Poppy milk! It should numb the pain for tonight at least, giving the Duskleaf time to take effect. Don't drink too much, you won't wake for days."
Eris looked back again. This time, Jace nodded, and he took that as a sign to conclude the distraction. "Thank you so much." he said, taking a sip of the liquid. It warmed his stomach and made him feel happy and sleepy. Shaking Wilhelm's hand, Eris slowly got up and walked towards the door. Aralove turned and thanked the doctor again. "I'll be sure and tell the duchess of your good deeds tomorrow night." He shook his head. "I'm a humble man, my lady. There's no need."
She nodded understandingly, and they departed back to the safehouse. When they returned, Eris fell down on the bed. He was very sleepy from the poppy milk, since he felt no actual pain. Jace withdrew a greenish-white, almost translucent flower from his pocket. "The mountain folk call it Vix's Veil. And for a good reason." He laid the plant gently in the middle of the kitchen table. "Its essence is a deadly, clear poison. If we can get it into the duchess water, she'll have no idea what hit her."
Aralove twirled the flower in her hand, her eyes twinkling and a smile playing across her face. "Sleep, Eris." she said. "You'll need it for tomorrow."
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Ives had finally made it. He had that struggling fight with Red, who's combat skill were a little outdated, and just a few bandits along the way. The fight went down like so:
Ives was jumped from behind when it all started. Red's thieves were pretty much all there. Ives broke them off and sliced at their stomachs. He started for Red when the mage shot a fireball at him, Ives jumped back, but Red just kept coming. He seemed to have just walked straight through it. Ives had cleaned off his sword and stabbed Red in the arm before his two front teeth ran away from Ives's mouth. He was bleeding like mad out of his mouth due to the missing teeth, and Red was still walking. He grabbed Ives by the throat and threw him across the ground.
Ives got up and dusted off his clothes. He tackled Red and grabbed for his shiny dagger. Red twisted Ives's hand and broke it. He used his other hand to break Red's nose. And reach for his sword, which was successfully used to gut Red. He ran off before the mage could do any more damage.
Now his first stop, to see his brother. He was quite more fortunate then Ives, wealth -from Ives's point of view- beyond anyone else. Bu then again, Ives was only a petty thief. And plus, according to the letters they had written each other a few years ago, his brother's house was the greatest, the best he would ever see. " Probably not true.." He muttered under his breath. Ives saw a few merchants and traders, and a lot of guards, but the street was mostly empty.
He wondered around for about half an hour, before coming upon his brother's house. He had the letters in his pocket, and was reading off the description, when the house just... appeared. Ives hadn't noticed it while reading off the paper. He walked up to the green oak wood door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. So Ives just opened the door. He took a glance around the place. It was pretty small and it had no basement. Ives yelled his brother's name three or four times. On the letters, it had said that his brother was here during this time. 'When the sun is at it's highest.' He yelled again,
" Balthazar?"
Suddenly, the sack over Balthazar's head was yanked off, a torch only a foot away from his face. He tried to close his eyes, but suddenly his hair was clenched, and his head slammed against a stone wall. "Urg!" Everything went black for a split second, and then his vision returned. Blearily, he looked up. The man was in a hood. How cliche. He leaned down and leered at Balthazar, or at least Balthazar thought he was leering. Again, the hood thing.
"So then, you wanna live? Well, you'll definitely have a rough time with that, the way events are scheduled..." The man turned away, and grabbed some keys from his belt. He unlocked an iron door that Balthazar didn't notice before, and grabbed him by the collar. Suddenly, his world lurched, and Baltharzar was thrown in... His last sight was his slightly curling hand, on the filthy floor.
He awoke, but had no idea what time it was. The guard, he guessed that was what he was, had a piece of iron, and was clanking it on the bars of the door. Balthazar let out a little groan, and suddenly the guard looked at him, surprised. "Awake already? Took you long enough... Still, guess it's time to feed ya." He sauntered over to the other end of the room, and picked up a plate. He slid it under the door, through a small gap, surprisingly gentle... Then he leaned up against the wall, staring at the prone Balthazar.
"Urg... Please... Just don't kill me!" Brave to the end. The man shrugged. "Don't talk to me, I'm not the executioner. Still, I've definitely got a lot in store for this.... A lot of people are sick of people like you, scum of society you are. No amount of money or flashy clothes can hide what you are..." The man seemed to get angrier and angrier as he talked. "A rat! You're just vermin! Something to be disgusted, gotten rid of!" He took a few steps to the door, but suddenly stopped, nearly shuddering. "No... No. You'll get your due..." He glared at Balthazar, as if blaming him for his outburst.
"What crime has he committed?" Drake asks the villager. "No matter, I have a punishment for him," He says, before the villager could speak. He then grabs a device shaped like a pear, with a screw on the top, and Drake places it in the wound. He starts turning the screw, which makes the 'pear' open, causing the wound to become wider, painfully. The criminal screams, and thrashes around, therefore Drake ties him to the table. He takes some leeches from a jar, and drops them in the now large wound, and sits down to read a book for a while. After a few minutes, Drake gets up, and gets all the leeches back into the jar, and looks at the criminal.
"He bled out... It's a shame I never got to use my hatchet," Drake mutters as he unties the criminal from the table. He drags the criminal out, and pulls the corpse over to a nearby forest, and heads back.
He then says "These were successful tests," as he picks up the pear and the leeches. He then starts his trek from Wound to Marcheim.
Few days have passed, consisting of waiting, waiting to get one more possible adventure, hopefully consisting of bandits. Yet it was as if everyday was going to be filled with the constant boredom. To Hartham, this was a torture, a torture that makes filing paperwork seem like a fun job. Yet, if anyone came in for almost anything, he would do the job with the fury of a storm, and the satisfaction of a predator catching their prey. Yet, this is assuming that he can get hired in the first place. But then, something changed from a thought, into an action, the torment of waiting, would be replaced by the moderate annoyance of paperwork. Hartham would join the guard, today, so thus began a short journey to the nearest recruiter.
Hartham got up from the chair, that only occasionally leaned to the left, and had only a few splinters, and simply left into the chilling town. Then minutes passed, and the doors opened to let in Hartham, one who just realized that iron, was not the best clothing to wear in cold weather. This, was followed by Hartham warming up near the fire, then heading back out, this time moving much faster to shorten the time in the cold.
The city was surprisingly, quite busy. With people working in the fields to harvest their crops before the eventual blanket of snow, to merchants seeing if they can rip off a few more people before they leave. Hartham, of course ignored this, favoring to find a poster for where to get recruited over staying in the chilling roads and plazas. Then he saw it, next to the southern wall, a poster that showed the typical “inspiring” motto, with words that suggest that joining the guards is a good choice. Yet this was a waste of ink to Hartham, for all he cared about was finding the location of a recruiter. To his luck he found where the registration area was, then that is where luck decides to betray him, like a friend who is in it only for the bitter end, and the registration area is near the central plaza. That would mean that Hartham would travel through the cold through halfway across the city just to file paperwork. Thus, a journey to get a job to feed himself through the ever chilling air began.
Raven's Crag, Shroudhelm
24th of Rest
Aghves nestled himself into the corner by the booth that the caravaner was sitting in, and leaned up against the oak wood paneled wall nonchalantly. The caravaner eyed him with moderate suspicion, still nursing his oversized mug of ale. The man's face was harsh and chiseled: a man of rugged Shroudhelm build and experience. His bright green eyes shined with the flickering light of the nearby torch, providing an eery contrast to his dirtied face. Around his body was draped a dull-grey shawl to protect against the cold and the mountain winds, which were known to fling small rocks and pebbles at unwary travelers. Underneath that was an equally drab wool coat, shirt, and leggings characteristic of caravaners. While Aghves could not see them, a pair of muddy boots protected his feet against the elements. His attire appeared to be torn and caked in mud, along with what appeared to be a dark splotch of blood on his lower left side. Obviously something had happened to him, and Aghves intended to find out what. But the caravaner didn't seem to want to talk to anyone. As Aghves examined him briefly, he just sat and stared into his ale. He might not even say anything at all.
"My name is Aghves," the guard said politely. "I'm investigating the disappearance of a Lyrium caravan nearby."
A moment's hesitation. "You the tax man?" the caravaner bluntly asked.
"No," Aghves answered reassuringly. "I'm just a guard."
"I didn't do it," the caravaner then said.
"I didn't say you did."
"Then why are you here?"
"I just want to know what happened."
"I don't want to tell you."
"If you tell me, I can fix it," Aghves casually pointed out.
"How do I know you can?"
"I'm a palace guard. I can handle any bandit."
The caravaner sighed into his ale and looked up at Aghves. "It was just a routine run," he began, "from the crystal mines just northeast of here. We took the Lyrium from the facility and loaded it onto the carts. We had four carts..." He stopped. A look of worry crossed his face.
"And?" Aghves said, urging him on.
"No sellswords..."
"Why? There has been a chronic banditry problem, no?"
"Y-yes... But I was assured this particular route would be clear."
"That was the road that had been experiencing the banditry problems."
"I didn't realize it at the time. I just took my orders and hoped to make it to Shroudhelm within two days."
"Indeed."
"Well, so we had four carts. I was with a handful of others to make sure the beasts got where they needed to go... and as we passed through Gailard's Pass, back a few miles in the mountains, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. As I went to get a closer look, there was nothing there. But then I turned around to see a dozen hooded men charging down the rocky slopes with these strange knives. They... they overpowered my men."
Tears started forming at the corner of the caravaner's eyes, and he started sobbing. "I was the only one left. I was in the cliffs, and I just watched as they butchered my men and took them away. Why did they have to take the corpses?"
Aghves frowned as well, looking momentarily up at the ceiling. "I've never heard of bandits doing that."
"Neither... neither have I... I just... I don't know... Have you heard enough? Go away."
The caravaner looked back to his drink, and immediately took a large sip. He sighed and placed his head in his hands on the table.
"I've heard enough. Gailard's Pass. Thank you."
"Go away," the caravaner repeated sadly. Aghves nodded, and pushed off from the wall. The guard hesitated for a moment, before he walked away with a furrowed brow. The ambushes came at Gailard's Pass, which made sense. Any novice tactician would choose there, seeing as it was a narrow pass with steep cliffs for archers. That was nothing out of the ordinary. But black cloaks and snatching bodies? That was new. Aghves had never heard of that. What could they possibly need with the bodies? For a brief moment, a dark thought passed through his mind: what if they were cannibals? But Aghves ignored it. It was far too unlikely, seeing as the region wasn't undergoing a famine. He would continue to mull over this, at least until he wandered towards the other side of the room and the barmaid caught his eye again.
"Would you like anything, sir?" she asked in a beautiful voice. Aghves considered it, but then refused. The story the caravaner told was far too disturbing. He had to get to the bottom of it that evening. He had to stop the bandits.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?!” The twins flinched, an enraged, aged giant bellowing in their ears. He was not in a good mood. “This cannot go unpunished! Trace the bomb! Round up all rune-makers here. Take them all to trial! Heads must roll.” Tears built up in the old man’s weary eyes as he turned his back towards his audience, a veil of silence falling upon the room. “Old man,” the elder of the two addressed the forlorn giant, “calm down. We will get to the bottom of this. It pains us so, to lose him as well, but we must save face.” The old man turned once more, the fire in his eyes flaring, but dying down a moment later. With a controlled voice, he spoke. “You are right, Lohac. No one knows he’s gone yet.” A rustle of wind entered the room as a window opened. The moonlight fell through, revealing a glowing, golden silhoutte. “That’s right, because he isn’t, Anglo.”
“You caused me undue worry, Marco.” The old man, sighed, smoking his pipe once more. The aroma of the tobacco filled the room, and right now, Marco didn’t mind, thinking it more as a comfort than a nuisance. “Yes, I believe I did. I don’t like the physical change though. I feel marked.” Walking over to a nearby vanity mirror, Marco inspected himself once more, seeing his eyes still golden, and his hair still white as snow. Closing his eyes, he mentally checked himself, and even though he can’t feel it, he knows he is more powerful than before, almost as though he were reborn. “Oh, but you are. Not very obvious, but it’s certainly Cyprus’ mark on you. It was bound to happen, anyway.” Interest sparking in his eyes, Marco turned, raising an eyebrow. “Go on, Anglo.”
“You know how long the Sovereign Lands have existed. Of course, wars would have to have been fought. The gods themselves too, participated. Nobody wanted it, but everyone deemed it necessary. It was the land that was at stake, after all. So the gods struck a deal, no longer would they themselves participate in the wars themselves, but they would rather choose champions to fight for them. Great warriors, the wisest of wizards, the keenest of archers, the fastest of hunters. Blessed in one way or another by the god that chose them. You, I believe, are now one of them.”
Sometimes I wonder if it's all too easy.
Lying, cheating, stealing your way to victory.
Though just how far would you fall for a dream?
He grabbed the back of his head, and tried to squeeze the pain out, but that just made it worse. Soon his clothes were(more) filthy, as he was rolling around on the ground, fighting the urge to cry. Suddenly, he heard a creaking sound as the door to the other room, which he had yet to see, opened. There were low sounds, and the sound of his gate being opened. "Up with you, then!" The rough voice of his guard thoroughly convinced him that the pain wasn't that bad... Yet.
As he struggled to his knees, Balthazar suddenly saw a slight figure slip behind him. He clenched his teeth, expecting death... But then got a blindfold over the eyes. "AH!" He screamed and flinched a bit when it slipped over his head, causing the hooded guard to laugh at him. "If that scares you, I can't wait for you to see what we have in store for you!" Balthazar whimpered a bit as the stranger behind him forced him off his knees, and blinded shuffled down the hallway.
While walking down, however, he wasn't occupied with what was awaiting him... The hallway smelled filthy! Balthazar wrinkled his nose, a constant mantra of "Ew" went through his head every time he inhaled. And then he started stepping in puddles of something... It was at this point that he was glad he was blindfolded... GAHOWOUCHOW!
Suddenly, a light rushed at him intense and fast that he had to close and clutch his eyes, even under the blind fold. He tried stumbling backwards, but felt the tip of something sharp and cold dig slightly into his back. "Gaaah..." Once again he danced forward, but nearly ran into the hooded man. It took a few seconds for them to restrain him and keep him standing up straight. Balthazar let out an "Ah..." of relief... Then they yanked the blindfold off of his eyes.
He once again tried clutching his eyes, but his captors weren't having any of that. His guard, grabbed his hands, and put them behind his back. Balthazar squinted up at him- Wait, were they outside? No, Balthazar, focus! "W-What are you going to do to me?" The guard didn't talk this time. He just raised a finger towards a platform in the middle of the sandy area.
... Dear gods, he knew all these people! All of them were members of his household, mostly servants of his! All of them were on their knees, with their hands bound and bags over their heads. Balthazar felt a shiver in his stomach. No one probably even knew they were missing.
Trying to fake a noble look on his face, Balthazar walked up to the top of the platform. He looked around in the small arena-like area, what with the open top and sandy floor, he sighed. Balthazar did NOT want to die here! He didn't he didn't he did'n- Well, if he did live it would be hell to get all this oil out of his hair, but.... No! He needed to live!
He desperately tried to dart away from the platform. The guards were clearly surprised, no one had apparently attempted this yet. They nearly dropped their weapons, but then Balthazar tripped on the edge of the platform and fell on his face. His hands weren't bound yet, and he desperately got onto his knees, yet was tackled from the side, in a flurry of dust and scuffling. "Oi! Oi! Get offa me!" Balthazar was still trying to crawl away, but at this point the rest of the guards had caught up to him and were holding him down.
Finally, half dragging and half pushing Balthazar, he finally saw the face of the person who had put the blindfold on his head... It was a woman, surprisingly plain. She had an amused expression on her face, but you could see she was barely containing her irritation.
"You always were a stupid one, Balthazar. We're hardly going to kill you!" She laughed at him. Suddenly, Balthazar's old guard perked up.
"Wait, what do you mean? You said we'd kill him!" He was growled at him, impatient, apparently. The woman sighed, and said, "Listen, are you serious? This was the whole plan... You know, make 'em suffer, watch his household die, blah blah blah. Seriously, have you forgotten this?"
Balthazar perked up here, "Actually, I don't care too much about these guys... Most of them are servants, and if you're just going to let me live, then... By the way, do I know you?"
The woman gives Balthazar a shocked look. "W-wait... Servants!?" She glared at the guards around her. "What is going ON? Is he telling the truth?" A couple of the men looked bashful. "Well... The lord were a bit hard to get to, so we thought that these guys would be fine..."
The woman let out a tiny scream. "COME ON! I planned this for MONTHS, and you guys screwed it up!" Another guard peeps up, "Actually, the plan wasn't that great. We could hardly get in position and put the sacks all over their heads at the same time without being seen..."
Balthazar's old guard that says, "Well then, since he's not invested, and your little psychological torture has failed, can I kill him now?"
The woman gave a sharp look to the guard. "I'm the one paying you! You do what I say!"
Of course, at this, the hooded man drew his blade. "Seriously? I guarded this prissy little idiot for ages, and now you want me to just keep doing it? I'm sick of him, hell, I was sickened at the first sight of him! No, I'm in this so I can see him," He pointed at Balthazar, "Die! And you'll have to stop me yourself!" At this, he lunged at Balthazar with his blade. Then, everything broke up into chaos. Guards loyal to the hooded man started stabbing and slashing at the other guards, despite there being more of them. Soon the guards who were holding Balthazar ran into the fray, leaving Balthazar on the ground.
Soon the fight caused a huge cloud of dust to raise into the air, as Balthazar came to his feet again. As he stumbled to the edge of the arena, a guard made a blind slash at him, which cut right through his shirt and went down the left side of his body. His pathetic whimper was drowned out by the clashing of blades and screaming. However, he was still on unsteady feet, and he managed to walk to the edge of the arena, and go through the first door he saw.
As he closed the wooden door behind him with a click, many of the sounds of conflict were blocked, but he didn't notice that. Instead, he ran down the hallway he found himself in, completely ignoring the prison cells. There, another door ahead! Good luck, finally? As Balthazar ran towards it, he thought that Wouldn't it just be wonderful if it was... Locked. Damn it all!
But Balthazar refused to have his freedom taken away from him by a flimsy wooden door! He threw himself against it... Okay, not that flimsy. But still! It seemed like forever, in that wavering torch light with the moans of guards and prisoners behind him, that Balthazar threw himself against that door. But, eventually, he did it! Balthazar happily ran out into the courtyard... And looked around.
"I have no idea where I am. MOTHER-"