The Blue and the Dirty (solo)

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:02 am

ooc :

24th of Summer 512 AV

It had not originally been his intention to follow Tock back to her home. His body still ached with the agonies inflicted on him the other day, but of those who had helped him, it was this red haired Sunberthian, so keen to deny her own nature, that caught the brunt of his interest. The better part of the day had been moving with his injuries, wheezing breath after breath as he slunk through the back-winds of alleys. Luckily, Tock was the sort of straight-forward girl who made no illusion to her travel. All that care and caution of Sunberth had been replaced with her blatant and brazen attitude. That, and that alone, allowed Shroud the place he had now, perched outside her home. As day grew toward night, shadows crept from unseen cracks and hollow places, filling his face with umbra and hiding his body from the casual onlooker. Half the day and more he’s spent here, hours staked out and waiting for the gadgeteer to return. Really, he didn’t know what he aimed to accomplish. Did he assault her? Kiss her? Tear her little animated abomination apart in front of her? Apologize? The manacle on his wrist thrummed, reminding him of the inexorable feeling associated with this accursed artifact. Rhysol, that arrogant shyke, he aimed to repair the damage done to Wrenmae’s mind with this bit of metal and godly magic.

Worse than that…it was working.

Hissing under his breath, the murderer slid back against the stone wall and stared up at the sky. Was he frightened? Yes. More than anything, he feared the loss of self. Perhaps the rest of Wrenmae’s fragments would gleefully flow back together, repair a psyche broken by arrogant misuse of magic…but what would it mean for him? He was the only reason Wrenmae still drew breath, the defense he needed in Sunberth. It was his ingenuity that brought the fool here, it was his craft and strategies that kept him in an upward spiral toward dominance…but what would happen when he was gone?

Simple.

What fate awaits a being without a soul? No afterlife, no continuity of consciousness. Life and all its great mysteries didn’t apply to wounds. Shroud was born of damage and magic, and now magic would be his undoing. What then? Why waste time watching Tock? At this point, he was beyond caring. Emotions were the tattered maybes of personalities all converging on each other. Soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a season, there would be a conflict. Each shard would rise for dominance and, in the end, become a part of something else, something whole.

Wrenmae, Weaver, Egyptus, him…they were all dead. All of them sat with their neck against a blade. When this object finished its work, there would be nothing left.

“Might be for the best,” Zan murmured helpfully, “I mean, Wren won’t be such a craven, you won’t be such an ass, and Weaver won’t be so crazy. You’ll all be for the better.”

“Or the worse,” Shroud reminded, “What if we only take the weaknesses from our respective selves? Who can know what happens when you try to force pieces together? With all our experiences, all our memories and thoughts, can any of those pieces fit any longer?”

“Of course they can!” Zan assured, “I mean, I think so.”

“Optimistic, but hardly what I’d call a thorough observation.”

“You’re just mad you won’t be in control.”

“Precisely. Wouldn’t you?”

A silence. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You never do. But I’ll deal with the convergence when I need to. For now…I don’t know. I’m here for a reason.”

“Too long without sex?”

Shroud laughed, despite himself, shaking his head, “She certainly is the fiery one. I’ll bet she’s a biter between the sheets.”

“You fleshy things and your weird mating rituals,” Zan sighed, “I’ll never understand you.”

“A regrettable downfall to your species, Zan, you certainly have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Dunno, I saw you have sex with that fishy girl, can’t be all that exciting.”

Shroud waved away the familiar with a rueful grin. Ah yes, Liandra. He’d almost forgotten about her. Almost. What man can easily forget the naked blue woman who seduced him on an open beach? Even now, the story felt surreal. A dream perhaps? It certainly wouldn’t surprise him.

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:05 am

The arrival of Montaine caught him by surprise, especially when the panting youth paused outside her door, nearly keeling over his cane. The pale of his face only darkened the hair above it, a contrast drawn in revelation. Montaine was sick, perhaps badly. Interested, Shroud observed the young man catching his breath and wiping perspiration from his brow. Had the Blight done so much in so little time? The last he’d seen the glassmaker was in the Library with Erudite, a girl who had all but lost interest in Wrenmae when her studies began piling up. Of the experience, Shroud was divided about the young man. He certainly seemed to mean well, a Zeltivan local, a glassmaker at that. Certainly, though, that could not be all there was…could it? Erudite had never given the impression of keeping uninteresting company before and so the arrival of the glassmaker, especially in such a state, only further reinforced the assumption that there was something special about him. He knocked a few times than settled down against the door in a tired slump. In that moment his weakness was paramount, as though his entire body had lost its vibrancy. He sort of…collapsed in on himself. Shroud found himself plagued with a stab of guilt, alien in his mind, and resisted the urge to shatter the manacle on his arm. He would NOT be subject to such weaknesses. He was not Wrenmae. He was Shroud. Wrenmae needed HIM to be the strong one, to resist pandering to the weak or the sickly. It was sympathy which had gotten him dragged away and tortured to begin with. The murderer would be damned if it happened again.

Tock arrived shortly thereafter, flanked, as always, by her menagerie of junk-children. Animated tools, moving abominations, she was both the doting mother and the unhealthily obsessed. What caught his interest MORE was the way she treated Montaine, storming by him with scarcely a word, her every stride speaking of fury. The door slammed behind her, but the façade of her temper faded when muted cries slunk dejectedly from the cracks between door and door frame. In an alley across the street, Shroud played witness only.

Montaine spoke, his words an earnest reminder of the man Wrenmae had wanted to be. So easily the glassmaker clung to his civility, confident in spite of his weakness. No. Not in spite of. He had accepted his limitations and yet claimed independence from the limits his body shouted, screamed to the Blighter’s eyes. No God would take him from the earth? Really…so confident. Would that he could know sickness itself emanated from just across the road where he spoke. Montaine was weak, a shaking corpse on its last legs. So much of the murderer wanted to step the few strides it would take to draw his dagger and plant it between the boy’s shoulder blades. His hand trembled. Why did he hate him so? What was it about his weakness that angered Shroud so completely?

“He’s gonna live longer than you.”

Shroud’s gut reaction was to fury, to summon out the little speaking weasel and pummel it till nothing but droplets remain. Damn the consequences, damn the oath, damn it all! How dare he-

But even before the thought had finished, he knew the truth of it. Zan was correct, a rare moment of insight for the oblivious familiar. Such profound weakness and yet…he would still last longer. There was no magic item clamped around his wrist, sucking the personality away, pushing minds back together. He didn’t face oblivion. Even in death, Montaine would be remembered, he would have a soul, he would be himself.

Shroud…Shroud? What was he but the imaginary friend of a sick, sick wizard?

“We could always kill him.”

Shroud waved it off, watching as the door opened and Tock pulled Montaine inside. A moment of red hair, fire in the late afternoon. “No, it wouldn’t prove anything.” Shroud muttered, “And there is no point in murdering for the sake of murder. No, if I am to do anything, it must be done with guile and tact. I must shatter their bond, I must poison her confidence. Would Vayt look at me with favor if I allowed such brazen confidence to continue?”

He looked down at his hands, clenching them. He remembered the darkness, remembered the pit, remembered Breaker and his leering torture. “No. She is Sunberthian. How can I maintain the lessons learned in that damn city and yet she repulses them here? Zeltiva is only cleaner, only more ordered. The law does nothing.” The Wave Guards, navy blue and cheered, lauded. “They’re only gangs with more authority.”

What was it they had said? Recruits were welcome? Yes…if a mere Trident Champion was not enough to effect change, certainly a Wave Guard would be. Access, authority, and infallibility…all the trappings the common gave to their superiors, the imagined differences between men.

Honestly, he wouldn’t admit that he was spiraling. Half his thoughts weren’t really his thoughts. A lot of his misgivings and ill intentions were forced. Shroud wanted to be Shroud, but the longer the manacle worked its magic, the more he lost of himself. Sometimes…sometimes it felt like he was playing a caricature of himself, some hollow echo of the man he’d used to be. The door opened with a thud, Tock and Montaine stepping out and down the road, bleeding with the light of the setting sun. Tock closed and locked the door as she stepped out, Montaine wobbling uncertainly in his awkward animated crutches. For a moment he almost stepped out to join them, checking himself only by the logic of necessity. He let them go, likely somewhere to treat the glassmaker his terminal disposition. Pointless, and he’d deal with that one later. For now, a rare opportunity had presented itself.

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:10 am

“Zan,” the hypnotist murmured, “I’d like you to do me a favor.”

“Something besides digesting?”

“Charming. Yes. I need you to be my eyes.”

“Alright, but what are you gonna do with the ones you have?”

“Not literally! I mean I want you to seep into Tock’s house and tell me what you see inside. I need to gather information about her and I haven’t the skill to open the door without making it obvious.”

“And once more we come to the disadvantages of a solid state,” Zan smugly quipped, rolling up Shroud’s throat, “You fleshlings take your bones and your finite limbs. I’ll stick with infinite utility.”

Shroud gagged, coughing up the familiar that bobbed in the air like an uncertain sun, glimmering in the afternoon glare. “Crawl beneath the door and tell me what you see,” Shroud commanded, “Take your time. With that sickly wretch weighing her down, Tock is unlikely to return here soon.”

“As you wish, maaaaaster,” Zan chuckled, spinning through the air on invisible jets of Djed toward the doorway. Like most doors in Zeltiva, Tock’s was well made. He’d expected nothing less of such a skilled craftsman, but really he doubted she’d anticipated intelligent water seeping into her home. Zan was gone in a moment, slipping beneath the obstacle and into the home.

Shroud crossed the street after him, standing with his back against the wall. Regrettably, their relationship had not yet reached a point of real collaboration. They were really two souls in one body. Zan had mentioned that it was possible to strengthen their bond, at least to the point of seeing through…what passed as Zan’s eyes and feeling what he felt. Personally, Shroud couldn’t imagine the sensation of being water. An expert morpher, he still held issues with changing his shape in such significant ways. Zan represented a pinnacle of shape shifting that Shroud was not altogether interested in achieving. In a state of constant flux, always something else and yet the same. No, no, he’d let his companion his boneless body. He would stick with what he had.

It was what he knew, and he was loathe to discover otherwise.

What do you see?

A house. The inside of a house. You should see it, remarkable.

What’s remarkable?

Everything! I think they call this contraption a bed, oh, oh, oh! And this is a door frame. Gods…I don’t believe this. There’s a window, Shroud, a window. How will we ever overcome her when she has a window on her side?

Smug little petcher, aren’t you?

Hey, if you don’t like my scouting, you can do it yourself.

Fine. Besides the obvious, what do you see?

Well, I’m going to explore beneath her bed, maybe find some sort of-GODS AND ALL THAT EXISTS, WHAT IS THAT?!

Zan?

Shroud! She animated a bloody hammer! A BLOODY HAMMER! Gods! It’s going to end me!

Fly you stupid vagik, fly! You can gods damned fly!

I can? I mean. Right! I can! That’s a relief. Wow, imagine that, forgetting how to fly. Almost got killed there. Wow, how strange would that be, right? Your dead body outside the house when she got back? Man oh man, what an experience!

Titillating. Keep away from her things and tell me what you see.

Well, now there’s a crazed hammer thing zooming around beneath me. It think a few others are around as well. There’s an axe…thing, and I think I saw something else crawl under the bed.

Charming, she animates her toolset. Anything of use?

Not so much, no, a little scribbly of a little girl and an old fellow, I think. Hard to make it out when you don’t care.

A woman of little paper and ink then, it may make this a little more difficult.

Why not just hypnotize her into telling you things? It always seemed to work before.

I need her to trust me before I can extract information. I simply don’t have the presence of self to do that at current. Those sorts of manipulations require time and effort.

Threaten her with a dagger?

Of little grace and poise, Zan, and it defeats the purpose of this being crafty.

Also gets things done faster.

And sloppier. Too many loose ends with such a heavy handed assault. I prefer it if she doesn’t know, less variables to control.

You do things slowly. You do everything slowly. Just DO something for once rather than talk about it.

Have a little patience.

Physiologically impossible!

Deal with it, then. Your discomfort is not my concern.

It will be one day.

And when the day comes that I take orders from talking water, we can reexamine your misgivings with procedure.

Well. Fine. Is there anything else I need to do here?

No, that will be enough. We have work to do.

Real work, or your kind of talky work?

Your grasp of my personality is refreshingly accurate.

Bleh.

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:15 am

Zan seeped out of Tock’s door, floating over to Shroud’s outstretched hand. Slithering up along his arm, the Sarawanki vanished down the mage’s throat, safely taking its place of residence in his stomach once more. Shivering, always uncomfortable with the process, Shroud left the home of his intended victim and took to the roads again, limp after limp. What was it that Tock represented to him? Was it a challenge? Was it her nature that so stalwartly blocked his path? No. His ambitions could easily navigate around her presence and she certainly didn’t go out of her way to oppose him. No, it was simpler. The girl thought herself better than he, and it was that arrogance which grew the fires within him. Had she simply hated him, that alone would be enough for him to ignore her. But when he saw her, read the disgust written in lines across her face, he felt as if she looked at him like some sort of repulsive insect.

Petch her then. He’d see to it that she’d suffer.

It was the work of a few questions to locate the headquarters of the Waveguard, the same pristine, soaring edifice the great ‘Maria’ worked out of. Pausing to smooth out his hair, Shroud strode inside just as two men with navy blue uniforms were preparing to shut the doors for the evening.

“Can we help you, citizen?” One asked, giving a lazy salute and a tired smile, “Caught us just at day’s end.”

“Wait a moment,” The other said, leaning in close to Wrenmae’s bruised face and then withdrawing quickly, “Shyke! Trident Champion Wrenmae! Are you alright?”

The first saluted much more crisply, both giving the minimum in necessary respect for one of Maria’s chosen. Shroud held out his hand and laughed, motioning for them to let their hands fall. “Now, now, just Wrenmae will do.” The name grated against his tongue like stones, but he held his warming smile. “I’m afraid I ran afoul of some sailors near the docks, lost a fair bit of money for the trouble.”

“Where?” Said one

“When?” said the other at the same time.

“Yesterday, and I’d wager they are long gone. Four of them came upon me while I was alone, but I left them souvenirs to remember their trouble.” Shroud didn’t elaborate. Technically, Tock and the others had left the physical marks of revenge. His punishment had been far crueler. “But I was struck by the lack of Waveguard assistance at the time. Not,” he held up his hand, cutting off their reply, “to say that you are shirking your duties, but simply to remark that there does not seem to be enough of you.”

“Aye, recruitment has always been a problem.”

“Dangerous work, and most of the citizens already have their crafts and trade.”

“Good luck getting students to volunteer,” one scoffed, “Vagiks only want to bury themselves in books and hide behind a shield when the fighting starts.”

His companion hit him on the shoulder, but said nothing, frowning. This must be an opinion shared by many of them then, but not the sort of thing you’d want to say to a Trident Champion…and a student at that.

Shroud chuckled, shaking his head, “I understand entirely, in fact, it’s my intention to volunteer for the Waveguard if you’ll have me.”

“You?” The first asked, looking him up and down, “A bit scrawny, not to offend.”

“None taken,” Shroud laughed, “But I’m more skilled than you think.” The two guards shifted uneasily, neither wanting to point out the state Wrenmae’s body was currently in. Shroud could feel his composure slipping. Hypnotism wasn’t what he wanted to use on these two, but he was prepared to bend his will if necessary.

“Enough,” A gruff shout echoed across the marble hall, prompting them all to turn, “Daggith, Mar, where are your manners? Two weeks since we’ve seen a new recruit and you want to turn him away because he’s a little torn around the edges?” The speaker was a grey-maned, wide shouldered Vantha, his eyes flashing from dusky red to a sky blue as he stomped across the room toward them. One leg was gone, replaced by a hunk of weathered wood, and a cutlass and rapier rang from his belt. A sailor’s long coat hung off his shoulders, the sleeves removed to exhibit knotted and scarred arms. Despite his disability, the fellow moved with a deliberate sort of speed, the practiced gait of someone who had made peace with the loss of his leg a long time ago. Both men saluted, rigidly at attention.

“Aye Sir.” they echoed in unison.

“Shove off for home,” The vantha ordered with a shark-like grin, “I’ll handle the Trident boy.”

Without another word, save a sympathetic look at Shroud, the two strode out of the building and off into the streets. Shroud, the very breath of caution, found his eyebrow raising despite himself. What sort of man was it that commanded the Waveguard? Pulling Djed into his eyes, he attempted to scry something of the larger creature before him. Again, his lack of training proved to be a potent undoing. Smells and colors assaulted the Trident Champion's eyes like lances, burning through his gaze and mind. The smell of sea brine, body odor, the bright blue of his uniform, the vivid shifting colors of his eyes. Untrained and in pain, Wrenmae only blinked, banishing the Djed and smiling weakly. Some introduction.

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:21 am

“Quit your gawking, boy,” he snapped, his eyes diving toward black, “Never seen a peg leg before?”

“I haven’t,” Shroud admitted with a shrug, “But you seem to handle it fairly well.”

“Practice, boy, practice…and dedication. Waveguards are volunteers, but not everyone wears the blue. There are tests to pass, physical and morale, before I’ll let you don a uniform in my beloved Guard. They call me Splinter, or Skipper if you’re lucky enough to serve on my crew. I don’t run the Guard, but I know more about them than most…more about their enemies as well. Takes a dog cut of the same sea-brine to hunt others of its ilk, and I’ll give you, boy, I smuggled from when I was near high enough to my pa’s waist to just about 24 seasons ago.”

“Lost the leg on your last job?”

“Lost? Traded it, boy. My leg for an eye,” Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a glass globe at the end of a corded rope. Inside bobbed a black viscous globe, easily as big as Wrenmae’s fist. “Doomfish, boy, biggest these parts of Zeltiva. Lives out in the deep, it does, off of Matthew’s Bay.”

“Doomfish?”

“Aye, black as coal it is, heralds disaster to see it. Name is Butcher, aint a pretty fish, but he’s been out there for seasons upon seasons now.”

“You mentioned you were cut of the same sea-brine,” Shroud said, changing the topic, “Would that have made you a smuggler before the waveguard?”

“Privateer, boy, no Svefra liked it much, but my trade was in getting goods in and out of Zeltiva without raising much alarm. Spent a long stay in the dungeon for my troubles, might have rotted there if Maria hadn’t given this old soul a chance to right his wrongs.”

“Training the recruits?”

Splinter grinned, but said nothing.

“You’re to assess me then?”

“You got a fancy title, boy, but I’d wager you didn’t earn it in the quay, or boiling seasurf.”

Shroud smiled mirthlessly, exasperated, “Is that where real titles are distilled? From seawater?”

“For Waveguard,” Splinter intoned ominously, “The sea is our beginning and end. Remember that, boy, you will begin your path to the Azure in the sea and you will end in in his embrace.”

Wrenmae shivered. He remembered that feeling, sinking to his death off the docks in Alvadas. Sable had saved him then, but would she again? No…out here he was alone. “What do I have to do?”

Splinter shifted back on his wooden foot, offering only a grim smile before pushing past the young man and out of the building. Only the bob of his shaggy head alerted Shroud he should follow. Sighing, he limped after, doing his best to keep up with the awkward and hasty gait of the Waveguard Skipper.

“Beginning and ending in water,” Zan mused, “Almost dirty if you think about it, I mean, from a human perspective. You fleshlings drowning inside me would be awkward…don’t you think?”

Their path led them down to the quay, to where the wind assaulted the shores and waves beat themselves against the sand with quiet, methodical hatred. Splinter pulled an unlit lantern from inside his cloak, lighting it and placing it on the rise of grass behind them. A lone hump stood unmoving in the night gloom, solitary in its moonlit vigil. Splinter jerked a thumb at it.

“That’s your in, boy. We all start from the water and from the water we take our strength. Swim out to that rock and put something of yours there. Take a stone and bring it back. Even trade. The sea has something of yours and you have something as well.” He grinned, “Sea’s a greedy petcher. So we give him something to gnaw on before he decides to take it.”

“Sounds superstitious,” Shroud muttered, crossing his arms, “You send your recruits swimming at night?”

“Just you, Trident Champion,” Splinter growled, “Most recruits are architects, potters, bakers, sailors, they come here with their names and their names only. Nothing to prove. But you come to me and insist I know your title. So, looks like you have something to prove.”

“Clever fellow,” Zan whispered, “You could always make a quip about his leg.”

“Fine,” Shroud conceded, pulling off his shirt and setting it beside the lit lantern, placing his dagger and sword alongside it, “A little swim never killed anyone.”

“You don’t know these waters, boy,” Splinter chuckled in response, “There and back, be quick about it. Not your world out there, and the locals know it. Don’t think cause the Lady looks on you kindly that the same will be extended to the deep. Laviku keeps his own sort of court, and I doubt you’re a listed guest.”

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:25 am

Shroud gave him no answer, slipping a coin from his pouch and slipping into his pocket, leaving the other coins behind with his boots. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salt of sea-air and stepping across the sand to water’s edge. With ginger trepidation, he ventured into the water. It was cold, the effect immediately seizing his body in a rigid grasp. He heard Splinter’s chuckle, and gritting his teeth, waded in to his waist. The dark was complete, water turned to ink around him. He felt the waves move past him, the current suck him slowly off the shelf of sand he clung to. His muscles hurt, his bones creaked, but he wouldn’t give in. No, if the beatings in Sunberth and the cold of Kalea had not killed him, he would not cower before water. Taking a breath, he pushed off the sandy shelf and paddled toward the dark rock jutting in the distance. Having little formal training save what he learned with Sable, his progress was slow and tiring, his arms gangly and mismatched for the water, pulling at keeping him both afloat and moving.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your fatalistic sense of ego?” Zan piped up from his stomach, “No, really, I mean…what fleshling in their right mind subjects themselves to this in your condition? I mean, really? But here you are, defying fate and health just to prove something to a guy who couldn’t even keep track of both legs. Well done, Shroud, well done.”

“Shut ublublub” he tried to retort, but water eagerly leaped into his mouth when it opened and invaded his tongue with its cloying taste. Spitting, spluttering, he pulled himself through the depths amid waves and surf. He was lucky the wind wasn’t up tonight, or almost certainly the swim would have overwhelmed him. But after a moment he grabbed the monolithic rock and pulled his shivering body from the depths. Fishing a coin from his pocket, he laid it in a cleft of the stone, noting the discarded valuables and trinkets left here. He chose a smooth stone and placed it in his pocket, looking out across the sea and into the hidden horizon. The stars were out, glimmering beyond the veil of clouds every now and then, spying on him. Catching his breath, Wren touched the scars on his body with the pads of his fingers, tracing their lines and remembering Breaker. The manacle cuff on his right hand rang quietly, otherwise immobile on his wrist. Spitting, the murderer prepared himself to re-enter the surf.

“What do you want?”

It was Zan, and Shroud paused, sitting back up and against the rough rock with a sigh. “To get to shore and get this whole trial over with.”

“No,” the familiar corrected, “I mean in general. What are we doing here? Why aren’t we traveling like you used to want to?”

“Priorities changed,” he answered shortly, frowning, “Nothing more complicated than that.”

“Poor priorities,” The sarawanki mused, “All they do is hurt people, hurt you. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”

“And do what? Be a traveling storyteller? Make a fool out of myself in every city from here back to Alvadas?”

“Better than dying in pursuit of something that only brings a smile to yourself.”

“Spare me your moral quandaries, Zan, I’m not interested.”

“Why not?” Zan snapped, a hot burning pain lancing through Shroud’s stomach. He grimaced, “Why is it always about you? You, you, you! Well, hey buddy, I’m still here. I’m not just along for the ride. I get a say in this kinda stuff…and my say is that we don’t stay here at season’s end. We can come back, but I want to get out. I want to see more things. I want a little of the old Wren. Give that to me or I’ll burn a hole in your food-bag stomach.”

Shroud hissed, exhaling slowly “You wouldn’t. It would kill us both.”

“So? Aren’t I supposed to be the one that doesn’t think things through? I’m not a slave, boyo, I’m a partner. I’m your petching soulmate. We work together or we terminate this relationship here.”

“Aren’t we brave?” Shroud growled, gritting he rock hard enough to almost puncture his skin, “You leave me little choice, you know.”

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Maybe I am. Comfortable with that?”

“As much as I need to be.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Despite the circumstance, Shroud smiled. It wasn’t enough to just have a voice in his head…now Zan had decided to take things into his own hands. There was something to respect about that…at least the little thing cared.

by **Wrenmae** on August 6th, 2012, 6:30 am

He only took a few moments to watch the moon rest on a shelf of dark clouds, glimmering tantalizingly across the water, breathing silver life into the placid waves. Beneath, the water roiled with the rigors of fish or darker things. Splashes echoed, beasts hurling themselves from Laviku’s depths only to vanish once more. Shroud was wasting time.

Slipping back into the water, he kicked and pushed away from the rock. Around him, the water mauled him, pulled itself onto his skin and pushed at his entire body. Trying to fight off the waves of panic that crept in the corners of his mind, the young man kicked and pulled himself toward the shore. Nothing attacked him from the depths, no unsightly horror pulled him to an everlasting slumber. Even so, he couldn’t escape the grasp of Laviku fast enough, shaking a spray of droplets from his hair and shoulders like moonlit-blooded gems.

He found Splinter waiting for him, a rapier drawn and his own weapons unceremoniously tossed on the wet sand near his feet. Shroud looked up to the one legged man, raising an eyebrow.

“The swim was not enough?”

“Aint ta be measurin just your swimmin, boy,” Splinter growled, “Just a little duel, tween men, if ya please.”

Scowling, he picked up both blades, drawing the rapier first. The blade felt unfamiliar in his hand, both too light and heavy in different regards. The reach was farther, but the blade was far thinner, a skinny quick weapon. His long dagger was a more deadly up close weapon, practically a gladius, but for this combat he’d at least begin with the Waveguard Blade. Splinter nodded at the choice, drawing out two small shields and tossing one at Wrenmae.

“Pass, and you keep this, It’s a symbol of our order.”

“Rapier and shield?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “Interesting combination. Not pretending to be the Knights are we?”

“Leave them to their horses and peace, boy,” Splinter answered, “We guard the coasts of our home.”

The two men circled each other on the beach, bathed in moonlight and seasalt. Splinter hobbled, his fake leg not as sure on sandy ground. Shroud took it as an opening, prowling around him, smelling blood on the air, seeking his throat. No one would be able to say what had happened out here. They were alone. If he so desired, might he pluck this old Vantha’s life and hurl it into the hungry sea? Would he leave his broken body on the rock? What an offering that would be, none like it before. Splinter lunged, bringing his blade out like an arrow straight at Shroud’s chest. Quickly, the mage bashed the blade away with his own rapier with a desperate clang.

“Too much power, boy,” Splinter spat, moving around him, “A rapier is a mosquito’s mouth. Pierce and leave, taste and withdraw. No broadsword you’re swinging and aint a dagger. Be quick and be skillfull.”

Again the lunge, this time Shroud tried to engage the blade gently, checking his wild motion and tipping the sword up against Splinter’s thrust. The metal shrieked against each other and Shroud desperately pushed the blade away from him, wincing as the edge caught the skin of his shoulder, cut, and withdrew. “That’s a thrust. Lot of places a sword can go, boy. Best learn to defend em.” Again they circled, Splinter baiting Shroud as he tried to keep up with the flourishing movements. Another lunge, a thrust, Shroud stepped back, sinking into the sand as he drew his blade up.

Clang of metal and the edge narrowly avoided his head, but the killer was off-balance, the sand gripping at his own feet with much the same hunger it did his opponent’s. Splinter seemed aware of this, though, stepping easily around the traps of miring himself, seemingly fragile and stumbling, but using that stumble as a maneuver, swaying just unpredictably enough to deny the mage a clear exposed place. Shroud lunged next, sweeping his blade across at Splinter’s head, swiping. Splinter drew his sword up, catching the edge and circumventing a vicious blow, guiding the sword with careful pressure and flourishing it out. Momentarily open, Shroud could only bring his shield up between him and the old man as the Vantha rammed him with a lowered shoulder, throwing the mage from his feet and onto the sand.

Rolling, tasting the abrasive substance in his mouth, Shroud struggled to his feet just as Splinter came down on him. Wildly, the mage swung his small shield, luckily smashing aside the rapier and giving him a chance to pull his back and punch the instructor in the stomach with the hilt. Up came his peg-leg, smacking Shroud across the face and sending him tumbling into the surf. Water slid between his eyes, invaded his mouth, and he struggled to regain his footing.

But there was the tip of something sharp at his throat, tickling the nape of his neck.

“On your feet boy,” the sailor commanded, “Again.”

Up Shroud came, pushing his sword out and keeping the shield close to him. “Better!” Splinter complimented, harrying him out of the water and up the beach, “Now, stop my blade and create and opening.” Again a thrust and Shroud pounded the blade sideways, leaving them both open. Splinter stepped in to close the distance, punching the young man in the sternum and sending him tumbling to the ground. “No, boy, not like you’re waving around a club. Engage me, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Hissing under his breath, the mage obliged, lunging forward and thrusting. Up came Splinter’s blade, catching the sword, holding them locked.

“Now, boy, locked at the blade means two things. You can slide to the hilts and hit em with your shield or you can,” and the old man pushed up and swept down, spinning the sword from Shroud’s hand and hurling it to the sand. Up came the point to intimidate Shroud’s throat again. “Disarm em. Now, again. Show me what I showed you.”

Shroud grabbed the sword he’d bought from the martial association and brought it up, catching Splinter’s again and attempting the same thing. His force was too powerful however and the tricky sailor slipped the lock and spun around the mage. Again they locked, again Shroud was too forceful.

“Breathe, boy, take your time. Be patient and be fast!”

Again, they locked blades, this time, he was careful not to put too much pressure into the disarming move, pushing his blade up and then down in the twirl, forcing Splinter to drop his weapon.

“Good.” The sailor congratulated, picking it up again. “Now, let’s have ourselves a real duel.”

Up came his rapier and away went Shroud’s. Instead he drew his long blade, spinning it over his hand competently and stepping back, keeping the shield up and anticipating. In came Splinter, some slices and thrusts meant to test Shroud’s defenses. Still a novice with the shield, he tried his best to intercept the blade, hurling it back, smashing it away. At this range he was too far to get within blade distance so he pressed forward, always to the sailor falling back. Again and again they danced, Shroud slashing forward with his blade when he had a chance, receiving the flat of the rapier in punishment if he was too far from the mark, and Splinter grinning. “This is all you are, boy? This is it?”

But even as he spoke, sand became cobblestone and Splinter stumbled at the rough terrain change, falling backward for a moment to steady himself. Shroud, waiting for this moment the entire time, dashed forward and brought his shield directly into the Vantha’s chest, pushing it and his whole weight on the uneven stance the sailor had achieved. Cursing, Splinter fell backwards, his sword too long to do much good in such close quarters, and up came Shroud’s dagger, tickling beneath Splinter’s beard.

“All I have?” He grinned fiercely, “Do they train you to underestimate in the Waveguard as well?”

“Well done!” Zan congratulated.

“Well fought, boy,” Splinter congratulated, pushing Shroud off of him and getting to his feet, “I think you’ve more than earned the right to wear the blue. Pick up your uniform on the morrow and prepare yourself for service. You’ve also earned the right to practice with me, if you so desire, I’ll take the chance to beat that smug face in any day.” His eyes were a fierce vibrant green, Shroud leered at him and nodded, getting off the ground and wincing. The bruises and injuries he’d sustained yesterday still limited him. He’d need rest.

“Tomorrow then,” He told Splinter, turning back toward the university. He paused after two steps, turning and giving a short salute, “Skipper.”

by **Cascade** on August 19th, 2012, 4:48 am

Adventurer's Loot

Wrenmae's Loot :

Wren and Tocky, sitting in a tree...

Love this thread. Amazing solo. The way your PC and his familiar speak makes me giggle a lot. If you think I missed out any lores, go ahead and bother me. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!