Solo [Job Thread] The Price Paid

[Elias Caldera]

29th Day of Winter, 515 AV

A lone rider and his steed slowly ambled their way up the road west of Nyka, the overly proud city with its gleaming red walls fading into a smudge on the horizon behind them with every mile cleared. The wildlands rose up on either side of the road fiercer and wilder the further they went until the foliage was so thick it obscured vision past only a few feet. It was unnerving to say the least, it always was, but the rider could do little about the anxiety he felt but grip his horse's rein with one hand and keep his other on the hilt of his blade.

A course and rough cloak covered his body, pulled tight against the plummeting temperature that seemed to be dropping day by day in a steady attempt to test his will. Elias had decided quite fervently that it would have to try harder; this Caldera did not break easily.

No noise emanated from the Ravokian save the uninterrupted clopping of hooves over the muddy ground. The road he traveled was not the stone and cobblestone affair of the city he had left a few bells earlier, merely something hacked out of the grass at one point long ago and then covered with gravel and salt to stop it returning. Now so much of it had been flung to one side or washed away that the bare dirt was starting to show again. Birds chirped and called to one another all around him, and every so often something barked and hissed from the shadows, but nothing came near the road. They knew, in that primal way, that the road meant men, and men meant iron and fire and death. They stayed well clear of it, and thinking about as he had been, Elias wondered if he should have taken heed of their example too.

The rider's ears perked up all of a sudden, his senses honing in on what he thought was the sound of metal striking metal being carried by the wind. It wasn’t long after that the mage began to take notice of a very distinct landmark fast approaching. He watched as the spiraling stone in the distance got closer and closer, coming into sharper relief. He struggled and strained his eyes to catch details of the things hanging from the rock, but it wasn’t until he was much closer did he realize what he was looking at; a warning of flesh and metal all tied haphazardly around the stone. Manacles and chains of all kind, most so old they were rusted red and creaked as they swung in the breeze. Then there were the poor creatures still strapped to some of them. Elias doubted any of them were still alive as none so much as stirred when he drew near, but it was the smell the wind wafted his way that finally served to confirm his thoughts. He wrinkled his nose at the dead slaves and turned his attention to the fork in the road. One path was broader, better kept and would lead him west, deeper into the sea of green. The other was narrower, tufts of dead trodden grass poking up through the ground. This one lead towards the red hills of Nyka’s quarries.

The reimancer could see smoke rising from the hills and he smiled. Turns out he was on the right trail after all.

[Elias Caldera]

Since his arrival a few weeks prior, Elias had been doing some digging around, mostly for the group of knights he had been placed here to do away with like the one that had fallen to him during the thunderstorm, but also for more personal matters when he could find the time. The name Valion Thrace had come up more than once in his investigation and had since become the target of the Caldera’s focus when he wasn’t working for his own cause. Though not in any dire straits, Nyka was still a city that demanded more from someone like him -him being a foreigner- than he was comfortable with. He needed money, and with the monks locking down magic between their greedy, grubby little monk fingers, there was few other jobs the mage considered himself truly good at.

It took him several days and a great deal of persuasion, but eventually he had gotten the details on the man and the right people pointing him in the right direction. Unfortunately those directions had been more akin to “eh, somewhere over there, I guess.” So it hadn’t been all that helpful, but as for the man himself, it turns out Valion was a slaver and a killer who led other killers on the occasional odd job.

A mercenary basically.

The only thing that distinguished a mercenary from a soldier was the cause they served, and Elias was good at being a soldier. He had been one most of his life. He could wear the hat of a merc for a season or so, no big deal… he hoped.

The mage steered his horse down the overgrown path, his mount steady and certain as always. Elias kept one eye on the ground, wary of creatures or holes, but mostly he scanned the trees and growing number of dead winter foliage around him. “I don't suppose you remember what I named you, would you?” Elias abruptly inquired out of the blue. His question had of course been directed to his horse and current companion, but being a horse and a gentleman, the animal thought better than to share its opinion on the matter out loud and merely snorted. “Yup… I should get on that then.”

Then, at the edge of the thicket, his nostrils began to tingle. Smoke, tobacco… sweat definitely, plus some stale beer and dried blood to top of the myriad of life he was suddenly sensing. He steeled himself wordlessly and continued into the forest, road weaving and winding as it led ever inwards. Crunches and scrapes that could only be footfalls caught his attention from either side of the road a chime later. He was not alone, and he got the impression he was being carefully watched as he approached the domain of one of Nyka's biggest slave masters. The sight beyond sight came to him with a mere thought, and using his auristics Elias began to pick out the auras of the creeping, quiet audience he had now acquired. He ignored them for now. What else could he do?

Chimes later, the noise became ever more prominent. Voices primarily, so many and so far away that they were garbled beyond recognition, but constantly growing in distinction. The smell of oil and burning wood, the source of the wisps he had seen before, now curling and rising thicker and blacker than before. Good, he thought, he was nearly-

"Hold up there."

He obeyed, much as it galled him to be spoken to so roughly. Elias bit his tongue and simply reminded himself he wasn’t in Ravok anymore. This was Thrace’s domain, and his rule was law out here, not the monks nor the ebonstryfe. As the figures emerged from behind trees to stand and encircle him, he saw that hired blades were Thrace’s enforcement of choice. Five of them in total formed the ring around the Caldera as he tried in vain to settle himself calmly into the saddle. Only a couple wore any semblance of matching attire, and what they did have was cheaply made at that. Dinged swords mostly, a crossbow for one, and a spear held by another. There was no sense of uniform or code at all. At least they were all human though, he could work with that much. The mage held up a placating hand and waited for the voice to speak again.

"You lost?"

"Looking for Thrace." He directed those words to the man in the center, a hard faced Nykan with a rough beard and ink work covering the entirety of his thick neck. "Looking for work." The leader took his time glancing at the clothes, the scars, and most importantly, the weapons piled onto the stranger who had come stumbling into his yard. His response was a cocked eyebrow. "You’re… not the new barber are you?"

"That some coy way of saying mercenaries these day?"

The group of armed thugs around him all out once let out a chorus of choked gasps and deep chuckles. The kind of reaction one expected when you saw another man get kicked in balls or something. Elias had no idea what it was doing here then, but he tried not to let it befuddle the placid disguise he was wearing. The leader had similarly flinched back at the word, showing a mouth positively shining with golden teeth.

"Mercenaries are savages, friend. Ain’t none of their kind around these parts. Here we just like to use the term ‘entrepreneurs.’”

Elias shrugged, annoyed at whatever inside joke he had unwittingly tumbled into and uninterested in being dragged into some verbal sparring contest. He slid off his horse and stood before the man, careful to keep his hands in sight at all times. "I fight. That’s what I do and it’s what I’m good at it. As long I as get paid for that fighting, you can call it whatever you want." He waited for a response to favor him. Of course he wanted nothing more than to start hurting these men and order those who could still stand when he was done to take him to their master, but Syna was already on her way out, her darkening decline obvious even through the sparse trees overhead. Elias had no intention of taking that road back to Nyka in the damn dark. Not alone. So he called upon his magic, blue eyes cool and steady, his still unnamed horse snuffling gently behind him. The djed began to build. Thoughts and and ideas that weren't quite hiw own yet were began to tangle and twist themselves deep into the mind of the entrepreneur. His mind was quite thoroughly invaded by Elias's djed as he forced idea after idea into the warrior's brain. 'Let him in,' they said. 'Could prove useful. Whats the harm?' The words were poison, but oh so sweet.

'Whats the harm?'

Eventually, the leader gave in to his better judgement and jerked his head behind him, towards the camp.

"Come along then."

[Elias Caldera]

They shepherded the newcomer through the winding trail that led down to Thrace’s domain. It was almost gratifying, Elias thought as he began to take tally of all the wary eyes making note of him. So many hands were on weapons, it was as if they knew something he didn’t. He lowered his head and smiled to himself, killing the time by wondering how he'd kill them. A little magic here, a little magic there, and maybe some sick swordplay to round things off nicely. It would be tricky, sure, so many of them at once, but any fight worth fighting was like that.

Before he'd finished his daydreaming, the trees thinned, parted, and all at once the camp was laid bare before them. It oozed across the hillside, hemmed in by the twisted trees and red rock at its back, yet not at all confined by them. The clearing had been hacked and burned out from the heart of this forest, and what replaced it was a monument to human resourcefulness... and its desecration. Where once there were trees and hedges, filthy tents and cobbled together towers stood instead. Where there used to be untamed grass and rich soil, now there was just endless tracks of mud, filth, and trenches gouged into the ground with dirty water pooling at their depths.

Elias took it all in as they led him onward, deeper into the camp where some fresh activity was stirring. Mostly it was just more men dressed and armed like his escort, supervising those who distinctively did not look like his escort. Cook fires were being lit all over ad there was a lazy buzz about the camp as the day began to wind down. The apprentice turned away from it all only when a mass of movement teased the corner of his eyes. A gaggle of slaves were being run around the edge of the camp to some task elsewhere, a loose ring of guards keeping pace with them as they were marched. The sight made him wonder just what it was that keeping them from fleeing, and after a bit of peering into the tree line, he found his answer. Archers and crossbowmen to a number he could not count, most of which were perched on the branches like vultures. Stern men with cold, sharp eyes who seemed to be just waiting for a chance to put a bolt in your back was as good a deterrent as there ever was he imagined. Elias couldn’t help but unconsciously nod his approval. This man Thrace ran a tight ship.

They led him north, through the haze of tents, to what turned out to be an entrance to a mine. He noticed it wasn’t the only one too. Dozens of tunnels hammered and cut out of the rock by the hands of slaves, and now probably worked by the decedents of those same slaves day and night. There were rails on the ground, disappearing into the dimly lit darkness that not even his eagle eye could pierce. He'd heard the Nykans enjoyed the bounty of plentiful harvests and rich mineral hills to boot, but he had never grown curious enough to see what that actually looked like up close. He wondered what kind of jewels and gemstones had been ripped from the bedrock of this tinted hillside in the past.

A clutch of men waited for them around the tunnel entrance. All of them standing apart from the rest of the rabble they resembled for the sole reason that they actually stood at attention like real guards. These men were better armed, better armored, and had that cold, intense composure of proven warriors about them. The tick Elias and his escort approached, the tunnel guard straightened even further. A stout, hawk nosed man with a head full of intricate braids hair and a full beard took it upon himself to step forward and look them over. "Who be this then?"

The man with the tattoos answered. "A new prospect."

"I gathered as much." the bearded man replied with a roll of his eyes, a tone of exasperation harsh upon his thick Nykan accent. "I asked who." There's was a short and uncomfortable pause as they looked about awkwardly, Elias included. "He... didn't say." The exasperation was back, and it was palpable now. "So didn't know his name, but you felt obliged to lead this stranger right into the middle of our camp?"

"Well shyke Cole, I figure when a fella comes all the way out here just to tell me he wants to work for Mr. Thrace, I do the polite thing and at least let him in for his troubles."

Braids and tattoos glared at one another for a good long while before the shorter of the two finally broke off their silent war in order to plant his gaze squarely on Elias next. The mage wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he was blatantly being scrutinized, so he just tried not to squirm around as the mercenary’s eyes combed over the new ‘prospect.’ "And you’re sure this isn’t the new barber?"

Elias had to crush a groan when he heard that. What was with this barber thing! "No i'm not. My name is Elias and I heard there was work here." He kept his words as calm as his he could while he explained. His words belied the flurry of djed pouring out from his form and into the other's skull. With hypnotism at work, he maneuvered ideas of calm and... curiosity? Yes, curiosity would suit him here. He pushed those thoughts unto the mercenary and forced them to take root where they would do the most influence. The man with the braids took his time internally debating something, but eventually he reached a decision, much to the mage’s annoyed relief. He nodded and turned his back on the Ravokian, taking huge strides that belied his smaller stature into the shadows of the tunnel. He hadn’t said a word before his sudden departure, just kind of vanished into the blackness, traces of his breast plate reflecting the light as he walked by the torches that dotted the tunnel walls. Elias watched him disappear before turning to tattoos with an expectant and confused look. The man made a gesture of patience and so the prospect bit back a sigh and did as he was told.

They waited. The tattooed man and his little band of misfits fidgeted and murmured lowly among themselves. The mine guards on the other hand, stayed quiet. Watchful. Ready. Elias had already gathered that these were a cut above the other sellswords watching the perimeter. These men were seasoned mercenaries, professionals who had likely survived many contracts and battles in their time, not just thugs who were in the trade for the buzz or enough mizas to whore and drink themselves stupid every season. These were the kind you hired to protect both person and prosperity, and since he hadn't seen any of the latter lying about the camp, he assumed all of it was squirreled away somewhere in those tunnels.

The platoon of slaves made an appearance again, walking now, panting and sweating even in the chilly air. Their watchdogs stayed close to them, but didn't ever go so far as to bellow or bully. They ordered the slaves into two lines and marched them past both Elias and the guards alike. Glassy, lost, and hopeless eyes glanced his way, but only occasionally. Most were too broken to do anything but look dumbly ahead, easily led as cattle, resigned and defeated. Men, women and even children. The hypnotist blinked, and found that he did in fact pity them. Not because of their wretched conditions or the manacles they were forced to wear around blistered wrists, but because those manacles weren’t Ravokian. Better a slave of Ravok than a king of Nyka he had always thought. Gods how he despised that city.

Elias saw a new man emerge from the tunnel a little later, coming out as his goods went back in. Elias knew they were his simply by the way the man inspected each one as they passed like possessions and not as a guard keeping tally of their numbers. He was tall, plain, and with eyes so green and frigid they were more like marbles than anything else. He came to a halt at the entrance of the tunnel and looked over each shackled dog as they passed him. Elias knew a slaver when he saw one. They were always so... clinical. Like a man observing his herd being bought back into the stables. Hell, how many slaves had the Caldera himself captured, herded and sold in his day. Too many to count that was for sure, and too many to care either. He understood that detached look all too well.

Content with what he saw, the master strode out into the open to address the group waiting there for him. What sun there was reflected dully off his bald head, and that bored, deadpan face stopped a dozen feet from the mage. He looked Elias up and down, hands clasped behind his back. He couldn't hear him breath. Didn't see his chest move up and down. He blinked quickly, like a lizard, and when he spoke, that was the animal that sprang to Elias's mind.

"Elias was it. Tell me something; why should I bother hiring you?"

[Elias Caldera]

"I’m a good fighter, real good, and I’ve got no qualms against killing."

Valion looked behind about himself then shrugged. "Look around, I’ve got more fighters and killers than I know what to do with. Why should I pay for another?"

"Because I'm better."

Valion didn't hesitate, and while they should have, his words held no hint of malice or scorn, just fact. "You'd be as unimpressed as I was if you knew how often I hear that same drivel everyday." Elias straightened, eyes glinting a little as he realized how quickly this had been maneuvered just the way he had planned. "Then test me." The djed rallied to his call and flung themselves upon his words as they left the hypnotists lips. Thrace raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "I should give this one a chance." Was what hit Vallion first courtesy of Elias's magical leverage. More thoughts like it soon followed, but just by looking at the slaver the mage could tell nothing seemed to be sticking. "Against my own men? Men who have already cost me money? You either have too high an opinion of yourself, Elias, or you don't know how a man protects his investments." The mage felt his jaws clench, suddenly not liking the way this was going at all. He thought it would be simpler. He knew his abilities were not flawless, but by the looks of the men around him, they were finer honed than the jumped up bar thugs that made up most of Valion's private army. Yet for every statement he made, there was a counter. For every rhetorical lunge, a block and retaliation.

Elias considered, if only for the briefest of ticks, whether he should reveal his arcane nature as a tool for bargaining. Thankfully he knew enough to immediately throw that idea away as soon as it popped into his head. Unfortunately that left Valion without a response from the Ravokian, and the slaver had stopped talking altogether now, leaving Elias quietly confused. He didn't know what he was meant to do if he couldn’t act. Thinking swiftly, he managed to clear his throat and sallied forth into the verbal fray again.

"I’d be loyal to you. Follow your orders without question."

"That goes without saying: I'll be the one paying you."

"A man in your position is sure to have enemies and more competition than anything else. You’ll need them dealt with, quick and quiet. I can do that."

"You may be right..." Valion turned as a trio of men approached them. Two of his guards flanking and following a third man dressed just like them. The only differences was that he was unarmed, and visibly pale with fear because of it. Elias watched the slaver’s face for some indication of what this meant, but the bald business man revealed so little it only served to further put the Ravokian on edge. When the group stopped before him, Valion's words were as calm and pedantic as ever.

"Joric. You’ve been a busy boy lately haven’t you?" It wasn’t a question really, but the long haired human still tried to talk his way out of it, confused and spittle riddled words spewing from desperate lips. "I don’t know what those bitches have been telling you-"

“Three of my girls…” Valion cut him off with tempered ferocity snapping at his tongue, it was enough to silence the other man instantly. "My property. Pregnant! Do you know what you may have cost me? Those slave are due for auction in a few weeks. What do you think they’re going to say to me when I bring them three ‘exotic virgins from distant lands’ and every damned one of them has got a baby bump and a black eye to match?” The answer was silence, fearful and cowed. "Answer me.”

"I’m sorry.”

“Hundreds of mizas lost because Joric-petching-Halfhand couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.” Valion didn't roar or shout. He just looked at one of the men flanking Joric and nodded. Without pause the man turned and punched the younger sellsword in the gut, doubling him over and knocking the wind out of him. Joric moaned and coughed as he sank to his knees into the mud.

"It’s my fault really. For some reason I believed that after the first beating I gave you, you’d come to understand. I thought it had mended your… problem. Apparently, it did not. Well here we are, and you know my rules, Joric. No more chances." Elias furrowed his brow as the sound of low, desperate weeping floated up from the young mercenary. One would have thought that to even be a sellsword, one would leave such weakness behind. Was this an example of those Valion hired? He hoped it was an exception. The boy raised his head, hands beseeching, face smeared with dirt and tears. "Please... Please, Valion. My father worked for you for years, you loved him like a brother. Please!"

The slaver turned to Elias. "You’re in luck. It seems a position has just opened up." The slaver raised his voice slightly and started rapping off orders. “Cole, give Joric a sword. The rest of you, make room."

His orders were followed instantly. The group that bought Elias in stepped backwards with hurried enthusiasm, not wanting to either get hit or miss the show. Valion's own elites did likewise, but stayed closer to their master, weapons drawn just in case. The squat once called Cole finished the arrangements when he dropped a bastard sword on the ground by the shaking youth. Joric looked at it in bewilderment, then at Valion. "I won’t let your father’s memory see you walk away unscathed from this again, Joric. You were right though, I did love your father and I owed him my life once. Kill Elias here, and I will allow you to leave and never return."

That was it then. While Valion spoke the Caldera heir unbuttoned his cloak and draped it over his horse’s back, the creature backing away with the tattooed man holding his reigns. He drew his sword and flexed to life his every muscle from shin to shoulder, cracking his neck like a signal of his preparedness. Joric was still on his knees, and with perhaps what was the first sign of agitation from him, Valion rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Either on his feet or on his knees, you will kill Joric. Understood?" The mage nodded.

"Do it."

[Elias Caldera]

The boy knew what was at stake, even in his fear addled state, and realized he had little other choice but to snatch up the sword before Elias could get too close. Truth be told, the mage was grateful for that, he didn’t want anyone walking away from this not witnessing his skill. This was an audition after all, and for a man who clearly prized efficiency over showmanship. He needed the blubbering boy to put up a fight accordingly.

Joric scrambled to his feet with the bastard sword held in both hands, bladed edge held at the ready. Elias gripped his own sword and circled him silently, eyes taking in the entirety of his impromptu foe. The mercenaries around them, and there were now quite a few, watched in dreary silence. Joric was one of them mere chimes ago, but among sellswords, that was an entire lifetime.

Finally the boy struck out first, bringing back the sword and aiming a diagonal slash at Elias's shoulder. The mage sidestepped to his left, swaying his body as he did, and attack hit nothing but air. Joric no fool as much as the mistakes that led him to his current predicament would lead some to believe, and though the power of the sweeping slice spun him, he allowed it to, twisting around and away from any retaliation Elias could make to his exposed flank before righting himself and facing the Ravokian again in quick succession. The younger man licked his lips, eyes wide, weapon held in a bone white anticipation and quivering ever slightly. Elias's expression did not change as he lunged.

Joric jerked the sword down, blocking the thrust and knocking it away from his body. He tried to bring the bottom of the blade, near the hilt, upwards towards Elias's face, but the ex-apprentice leaned back and away from it, his free hand striking the boy in the hard in the kidney as he did so. Joric yelped in pain, which left enough time for Elias put some distance between them once more. He clutched at his side in more frustration than agony, and when his desperate eyes saw no empathy in that of Valion’s he reluctantly let go, both hands back on the weapon he was going to have to rely upon entirely.

His grip was shaking even harder now.

Elias had hoped for something flashier and more expedient, but even an inexperienced foe could be dangerous. Without training to fill in the gaps, there came a level of unpredictability that not even the finest swordsmen could counter if left unchecked. So he waited, still circling hungrily and with a growing appetite as the ring of faces hemmed them in even together even tighter.

Joric lunged and drew back his sword at the same time, another overhand strike. Elias felt the blood in his veins burn as he darted forwards, his muddy boots closing gap between them in an instant as the flux flushed through his legs, empowering and igniting them into a level of force unnatural. He shot upwards to block the blow falling blow, swept the stunted attack to the side with practiced finish, and drove an elbow hard into the boy’s nose. The blow stopped him dead, but it was Elias’s next strike that truly would leave him so.

The stryfer plunged his weapon deep into Joric’s stomach and watched as the life began to drain from his startled eyes.

[Elias Caldera]

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few mutterings here and there as mercenaries or entrepreneurs or whatever they called themselves started exchanging criticisms or praise. Joric interrupted all of that when he rudely began coughing up blood. The boy’s soft grasp loosened around his sword as cruor pumped and gushed from the hole in his belly. It flowed unceasingly down his leather breeches and even over the gleaming handle of Elias blade, a thing sharpened every day by a man who understood its priceless value. Part of him enjoyed this moment, but a bigger part was already growing bored of it.

Elias twisted the sword and ripped it free, a putrid tangle of entrails spilling onto the dirt as he unsheathed his weapon from the man’s guts. The gore hissed and steamed in the cold winter air for a moment before the Joric tumbled forwards to his knees, one hand gripping the hole in his stomach, face already the waxy white pallor of death. Shock set in almost immediately as he had yet to realize he was dead he actually was.

Taking his time, Elias stood over the boy, his long hair mattered and sullied with the blood quickly pooling about him, and wordlessly slid the sword through his throat. He didn't bother seeking Valion's approval by looking. He knew his orders. With a final bloody gasp and a jerk, the boy died. As Elias tugged his blade free, what was once Joric ‘petching’ Halfhand toppled forward with a wet and sickly thud. Elias wiped the wet off his sword across the boys leggings before sheathing it and turning to Valion. Valion looked back and him and merely nodded.

"Good work." His reptilian eyes flickered past him to the cooling corpse and he gave the smallest sigh.

“So I work for you then?"

"Yes, you work for me."

Elias nodded in return. Despite his age, he was not so young that he could get easily excited about something like anymore. He knew that for all the mystique and romanticism about sellswords and their adventures ways, much of a warrior's life was hard beds and utter boredom. He doubted this place would be any different. “Now what?”

Valion moved for the first time since the fight started. He walked past Elias, hands still clasped behind his back. Cole took that as a sign and scowled around the still watching mercenaries. "You lot getting paid to stand around and petching look all day? Get back to your posts, now! All of yah!" The ring of metal, leather and flesh broke up almost instantly, leaving only Elias, Valion and his guards.

"First of all." Valion said, standing over Joric's body. "Get rid of this mess. In the woods and somewhere I won’t be smelling him anytime soon.”

"And then?"

The slaver turned from the corpse to his latest recruit. "And then you and I will have a discussion about your place here. I see you understand that you’re a warrior, Elias, not a guard. You'll bore easily and cause trouble if I have you staring at trees or livestock for bells on end. So I’ll find… other uses for you.” The idea that he had to tidy up after himself was beyond absurd, and the way Valion barely seemed to notice even as he spoke to Elias was even more upsetting, but fine. Whatever! He'd make it work.

Thrace gave one final, sorrowful regard for the poor boy, then shook his head and whispered something under his breath before finally turning away. Their business was concluded then…

Now alone, Elias turned to the stiffening Joric and begrudgingly got to work.

[Hwyn]

XP Award!

Name:Elias Caldera XP Award:

• Hypnotism 2
• Flux 1
• Longsword 2
• Diplomacy 3
• Observation 2

Lore:

• Thrace: Needs a barber?
• Entrepreneur, not mercenary
• Novice fighters, Inexperience makes them unpredictable.
• Diplomacy, Hypnotism helps make goo first impressions

Notes: I'd like to see more elaboration on your use of flux. Beyond that check through your text colors to make sure they are right for the people speaking. Anyways Good to read look forward to seeing how your mercenary career goes.