Solo All The Pieces

[Elias Caldera]

88th Day of Spring, 515 AV

Steel clashed against steel and the reverberations of fury behind each blade rippled silently across the black, murky waters of the long neglected fountain standing sentinel nearby.

Icy blue eyes settled calmly on a panicked pair of hazel, both hues illuminated fiercely by the firelight of the torches that surrounded the two men like a burning arena. Just beyond their flickering boundaries, hidden and obscured in the haze of night, spectated a cabal of shadowy figures cloaked in ambiguity and darkness. Though their features were lost to the black of night, it was clear each and every one of them was looking in from the outside, transfixed by the blood being spilled for what they no doubt assumed was their entertainment alone.

Elias continued to ignore them. What he could see were arms quaking, veins bulging, sweat beading, it painted a picture of dire strain and desperation. His foe was struggling to keep his blade locked in place against the mage’s that now pressed down upon him. The Caldera knew that wasn’t fatigue he smelled in the air, it was fear… and he reveled in it.

The telltale rippling of muscles beneath flesh and the gritting of teeth warned him of another attack soon to come, and as predicted, the guardsman growled and shifted his weight. Elias answered him with disinterested silence as the two broke contact.

They both knew this was already over.

The man lunged forward again, swinging his blade wildly about him with a roar. Such a change of pace from the warrior he had been earlier, calm and collected and surrounded by his comrades. Funny how imminent defeat made strong men weak. Then again, the Ravokian knew all about that, didn’t he... Elias quelled the dark thought as he stepped to the side with a grace that belied his impatience, blade swung lazily skyward to catch the wrist of his careening foe. Edge met flesh and a blood curdling scream echoed out across the courtyard in answer, sword and sword hand both sent flying through the air before landing with an unceremonious ‘plop’ in the stagnate fountain waters.

The faceless, nameless goon fell to the ground, gripping at his bloody stump as he howled in equal parts horror and disbelief. A hard boot to the side of his head a tick later ended his nightmare however, and left him unconscious on the floor, bereft of anymore pain and agony, at least for moment. Elias felt no pity for the man, nor the ring of his battered friends lying next to him. He had warned them all, giving the fools that courtesy he knew full well they would have thrown back in his face with a jeer, but he had warned them none the less. Four total they had been, all so confident and full of bluster with their posh uniforms of gold and blue, they were plainly more accustomed to carrying trays filled with expensive wines than they were carrying swords. The fight had ended almost as soon as it had begun, and now many of them squirmed and moaned in puddles of their own blood at his feet, broken and bested… but alive.

They were just slaves after all, undeserving of something so final as death despite Elias’s sneering. They suffered for their owner’s arrogance because they had to, like any good slave would, for they had no choice in the matter. No, despite their arrogance, they avoided Dira’s grasp that night because they hadn’t been his target, just an annoyance and a stepping stone along the way to his true prize.

“Ah, mister Caldera.”

The sound of imperious clapping reached him, and Elias looked up from the pile of bodies to find the one responsible. The one they called master.

“Welcome home.”

[Elias Caldera]

“Marvelous. Truly marvelous.”

The nasally, cooing voice ground against Elias’s nerves the moment it slithered into his ears. “Von Carstein.” Elias growled, turning to face the man, sword still wet and dripping with the blood of slaves.

A smile of radiant gold greeted him from above.

As expected of anyone who used the word ‘marvelous’ in any serious context, Hollister Von Carstein was a pruned and preening little shyke of a man -nay, a boy really- whose father’s money and mother’s connections had allowed the pristinely spoiled petch to get away with far too much in this youth. It was hardly any surprise then to discover that the little whoreson had set himself up on a ‘throne’ at the top of staircase that led from the gardens of the courtyard to the main entrance of the mansion…

Elias’s mansion!

“You know, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now. I think-”

“Oh Rhysol, spare me from this again.”

Hollister’s diminutive, gleaming smirk twisted into a scowl as he was interrupted, something he was clearly not accustomed to in the company of whimpering slaves or the kind of people attending the little banquet he was throwing on Elias’s front lawn. The Caldera couldn’t have cared less, he had no more patience for what was about to come, no more composure to endure it, no more tolerance to spare. He was tired of this, so petching tired, and now it all culminated into one exasperated moment he could no longer hold back for courtesy's sake.

He threw his head back again and howled at the cloudless sky.

“Spare me the mewling! Spare me the indignation, the threats, the slander, God I beg of thee, spare your loyal son the ceaseless rantings and diatribes of men who face fate and refuse to accept it quietly. What is it about me darkening their doorstep, drenched in the blood of their underlings and the shattered remnants of their ‘clever’ plots that elicits such vomitings of hopeless bullshyke upon your humble servant?”

“Your father-”

“My father was a cuckold and a cunt!”

The words wrested a string of gasps and guffaws from the crowd, and Hollister in particular went wide eyed with shock upon his little golden dais. “He was a bastard without equal, and this world is an unquestionably better place without him, I agree.” The mage was quite fed up at this point, his body more tense and rigid that it had been even during the entire fight with the boy’s bodyguards earlier. “Unlike you, Von Carstein, when your father died, all you inherited was his wealth. When Dira did us all a favor and finally claimed mine, all I apparently inherited was the ill will and contempt of every petching person my old man had ever wronged. For weeks now I have been dealing with scorn filled curs just like you, and just like you they’ve all tried to use Torian’s sins against them to justify the theft of my family’s pride, property and worst of all, my petching patience!”

The admittedly beautiful golden mess of curls sitting atop Hollister’s primped and prissy little head bristled with such fervent fury Elias was sure the petite punk was going to pop right in front of him. Eyes of emerald elegance twitched and quivered in unspeakable animus, no doubt unprecedented in the young shyke stain’s life before today -before Elias. The pale mage took pleasure in that thought, even as those same eyes glowered down at him with sheer hatred and a loudly unspoken promise of pain. As if to complete the image of impotence he portrayed so exceptionally, a golden goblet rattled in his forgotten grip, knuckles white with rage as they clung to the intricately engraved cup. Elias knew just how to make things all the sweeter for himself however, and slowly, subtly, he let his gaze drift to the side, to the rows of torches and the dozens of eyes looking back at them both expectantly.

Hollister was helpless to do anything but follow his gaze, and right on cue, the shame and embarrassment of realizing just how many were watching his inept humiliation struck him like a hammer. They were his guests after all, the least he could do was keep them entertained, Elias mused, particularly pleased with his own wickedness. He used the momentary hesitation and all the attention it had garnered to finish his speech.

“When you purchased my home for the pittance it was offered at, you did so under the false notion that the Caldera clan had been wiped out.” The black clad swordsman spoke, his voice carrying across the courtyard for all the fools in attendance to hear. “You were wrong, and the warning in the letters I sent you were clear; as the rightful heir to the Caldera Estate, you will return my family’s manor to me, or you will suffer the consequences. Those consequences stand before you now, blade in hand. There will be no more hiding, Hollister, no more words. I challenge you now to a duel. Draw your sword or die with it sheathed, either way, this night ends with the deed to my home returned to its rightful place.”

[Elias Caldera]

He had been dreaming of this moment for weeks. Dealing with one aggrieved and vengeful foe after the other, each were felled before him like the weaklings they were of course, but with each petty victory Elias had been drained more and more of his patience. It had been this fight –this moment- that had preoccupied all of Ravokian's thoughts for each and every day he’d trudged through enemies both great and small alike. It had been... intolerable to say the least. His home, his birthright was on the line and in the hands of a sissified milksop if ever he’d seen one. The idea of it made him sick to his stomach, and the smells of sweetened meats and spiced wines that wafted from the immaculate dining tables that had been dragged out into the yard did little to quell that nauseousness. Yet, the Caldera held his ground and his belly’s contents where they belonged, emboldened by the fact that he was about rectify a mistake that had been allowed to fester for far too long.

Hollister had thrown down his goblet and now began descending the stairs to finally face what was inevitable. He’d finally accepted his duel, and now the fool had done so in front of too many witnesses to ever back down or runaway again.

Finally, it was happening.

It wasn’t long before they were circling each other like feuding tigers on the trampled grass, watching carefully for form and faults. Despite what he thought about the boy, Elias reassured himself that he was not going to underestimate his opponent, even as haughty and riled up as he was now. Hollister may have been a fool, but he was a rich one, and that convenience in life had afforded him the attention of masters both in elegance and execution. That made him annoying and dangerous, and the prize that he guarded like a dragon its horde was far too important to let arrogance and ego threaten its attainment.

The boy’s weapon of choice was a rapier -of course- thin and deadly, its pommel and hilt were somehow even more gaudily decorated than the embellished purple attire the young Von Carstein had adorned himself in for tonight festivities. The golden needle swayed slowly as he held it, a minor distraction but not as diverting as he probably hoped. Surprisingly however, the boy said nothing as they danced, eyes fixated upon his opponent as the two shifted from one stance to another, each hoping to catch the other off guard as they compensated for the sudden changes. It seemed he was earnest in accepting this duel and seeing it to its bitter conclusion. The Caldera had given him little choice in the matter after all.

Finally, without word or warning, Elias jerked forwards, sword swinging hard and to the left in an attempt to end the tedium, only for Hollister to sway to his right, blade whipping past him while he in turn answered with the rapier’s point. Shyke Elias jerked backwards with a sneer, the apex of the needle barely missing his face as he stumbled back from the brief but explosive clash.

Von Carstein cracked an evil smile and Elias felt his blood boil as he glared into the blinding reflection of the boy’s teeth. The mage had wondered for quite some time why so many he talked to in regard to the pompous buffoon would often refer to the Hollister as the “Golden Boy.” With a crescent moon of glistening golden teeth now grinning at him, he now understood why.

“A gift from your father. Do you like it?”

Hollister declared, broadening his toothy countenance and waving a flourished hand across the resplendent row of mizas that made up his yapper. “I had not the evidence to accuse your father for his crimes against my family after what he did, but I accused him none the less, and publicly so. He needed to feel the shame of his cowardice reflected back at him in the eyes of all those he yearned and demanded the respect of. Of course, for a house as uncivilized and inbred as the Calderas, I learned shame means little to you fiends. He had his men hold me down right there in the middle of the square as they took their time ripping each and every tooth out of my head while he watched and…

Smiled!”

The golden boy swung his weapon wildly, the words heralding his fury filled swipe. Elias ducked under it, knees bent as the sword sailed over his head. Not to be outdone, the pale mage responded with his own sword thrusted vengefully towards the boy’s gut. Hollister jerked to one side, turning away from the abrupt attack, but not fast enough. The Von Carstein heir grunted as the sword’s razor edge carved a thin red stripe across his stomach, blood quickly seeping from the wound and staining his lovely dining regalia an unfamiliar shade. Jaw clenched, Elias straightened back up and charged forwards, sword raised, eager to end it then and there-

-only for the lithe little bastard to sidestep his assault and slam a fist into his stomach.

Air fled from Elias's lungs in one great exodus, emptying his body and threatening to crack something on the way out. He didn't know how he managed to keep a grip on his blade, but he did, even as he doubled over and collapsed to the ground with a huff. In his stupor he barely recognized the shadow towered over him like Dira herself, snarling in fury as he raised his weapon again.

Flux!

It had to be. The thin blade struck the ground in quick succession, each one just shy of its mark as Hollister relentlessly pursued a hastily rolling Elias. This little shit knows magic, there’s no way he can deliver a blow with such power! By the fourth strike, the rapier had dug deep into the ground where the Ravokian had been, frustration burying each successive stab deeper and deeper until at last it went too far for Hollister to free it in time. Elias's halted his escape and instead attacked, kicking out and landing a boot square in the middle of Von Carstein’s stupidly posh and sophisticated face. Panting, coughing and trying to force air back into his lungs, the mage managed to get up to one knee before the snarling little bastard was back on his feet and stomping back towards him, rapier poised to kill.

“He killed them!”

Hollister roared, a tendril of blood trailing from his dirtied nose where he’d been kicked. The pale soldier barely had enough to time to raise a defense, to ward off the first flurry of stabs and slashes that came at him with such expert precision Elias recognized it as Ebonstryfe in nature. The boy had been training with some dangerous people it seemed. “My mother and father defied his petty whims, stood against his insane demands, and for it he killed them both without hesitation!” Training for just this moment...

“When you slew him, you stole from me my vengeance!”

As a second volley of lightning fast attacks rained down upon him, Elias was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t have just crept into his room and killed Hollister while he slept instead of bothering with the pomp and circumstance of a public duel. A duel that was now quickly becoming a bothersomely one sided affair with each step backwards the swordsman was forced to take.

“Took from me my justice!”

Another strike, this one far too close for comfort.

“I had thought all that was left to me was the pleasure of tearing down this hovel you call a home. I was going break its boards and shatter its foundation, burning all the pieces left over. But then the prodigal son returned, and now I get to enjoy to sight of you burning along with it!”

This was absurd, Elias groaned mentally, embarrassed at his performance as he deigned to put an end to this ridiculous turn of events before it went on any longer. He could tell with ease the attacks being hoisted upon the uninspired bulwark his long sword had been reduced to were unnatural in their speed and intensity. Hollister was still using the Flux beyond his initial gut punch earlier, but eyes trained to find and exploit the flaws in men found one in the young boy’s as glaring as the sun in the sky. With each step the vein and pretentious deliverer of vengeance took towards Elias, the more his legs wobbled under the strain. He was a novice at the magical art best, or simply careless in his fervent desire to see justice brought upon the last remaining Caldera alive, either way, he’d pay for it. Rage, sorrow and a hint of the arcane might have powered Hollister then and there, but Elias had purpose on his side, and that was stronger than any blade, any magic… but sometimes magic could be useful too, and it wasn’t as if the Ravokian was going to let his enemy get away with using it while he played the bigger man.

Breath. Focus. Push aside the flesh and see the strength beneath... The power at your fingertips

The mage smiled wickedly when he felt that raw surge swelling under his skin in eager response to his beck and call. Only the thrill of the kill could ever compare to that... empowerment. To that something beyond the mundane flesh of the world. The excitement showed in his gaze as it fell upon the feverish green of his opponents, and amidst the storm of stabbing, needling strikes meant to skewer and sever, the two met eye to eye for a just an instant.

“Let me show you...”

Time seemed to freeze as a djed enhanced arm hurtled through the air, cloak billowing in its wake. It moved with inhuman speed, powered by the flux and aimed with the skill and experience of a warrior who had fought far too many battles to be bested by anyone he considered his lesser. The aggrieved heir went wide eyed as he felt his strike, his pristine and perfect attack, stopped dead in its tracks, a gauntleted hand holding fast to his rapier and denying it the blue eye it was mere inches away from puncturing.

Elias had caught Hollister’s sword mid swing… and then he broke it like a toy between his fingers.

The golden snarl faded and was replaced with shock as Von Carstein stared, dumbfounded at the shattered blade in his hand. So transfixed and confused was he, the boy didn’t even notice the Caldera falling to one knee before him, didn’t even hear the roar from the fluxer’s lips as he reeled back his arm, but he sure as hell felt the sundered point of his own rapier pierce his leg a moment later.

Hollister screamed in pain as tendons were sliced and muscle ruined. The broken remnants of his weapon fell from his grip, all but forgotten as manicured hands jerked down in reflex to the wound. Face contorted with unimaginable glee, Elias merely twisted the blade deeper.

“...how its done.”

[Elias Caldera]

"Bastard!"

The pale killer stalked across the courtyard with a level of calmness and severity in his gait that boded ill for the one he haunted. His enemy, his victim, scowled up at him from his back, elbows propping up his shuddering frame as he tried to drag his battered and bleeding form away. Where he was hoping to go, Elias did not know. There was no reprieve here for the young Hollister, no matter how much he squirmed and screamed.

With a growl and a grunt, the golden haired boy tried to find his feet again as the swordsman neared, but his efforts were rewarded with a boot across his chest that sent him back down to ground with a painful thud. Hollister gasped, and Elias was upon him before the breath even had a chance to settle. He owed this little bitch something special, and by Rhysol, he was going to deliver.

“I’ll see you hanged, Caldera! I’ll see every last drop of your family’s wretchedblood spilled into the lake for what you've done. You bastard! You petching-”

In silent response, Elias moved around the fool, kicking him forwards and onto his stomach before planting a knee in his back that held him pinned to the ground. With one hand he gripped the sweaty locks of blonde hair that shook and struggled beneath his grip, pulling it back while the other dove unabated between the boy’s screaming lips. Dainty, dirty hands scraped, slapped and clawed at those that violated so cruelly, helpless against the violent, uncaring force that guided their wicked will deeper and deeper. When the fight seemed hopeless however, those same dainty hands surrendered their resistance and instead went searching for a means of surcease elsewhere. At first Elias suspected a hidden dagger or some other vile weapon was the boy's answer, but when instead Hollister tore free a scroll from his pocket, his wordless babbling cries turning into something that sounded more like bargaining than it did pleading, the mage realized he was looking at the deed to his home being waved about in his face like some worm at the end of a hook. The paper fell forgotten on the dead grass as the Caldera continued his wretched business, indifferent and unwavering in the face of Hollister's renewed shrieking. Driven by the flux and his own unrelenting malice, the heir to the Caldera legacy brazenly let his fingers search around the maw of his squealing captive until he found something hard and shiny within.

Hollister was conscious when he felt Elias tear out the first tooth, and by Rhysol’s grace, he made sure the boy stayed that way to see him take the last.


Him, and everyone else.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



When Elias’s bloody work was finally done, he turned to those still standing dumbstruck and aghast amidst the firelight. Res had begun to circle the sorcerer as he faced them, pouring from every facet of his body like water from a storm, and it wasn’t long before great gouts of fire and lighting spewed from the very air around him. A halo of death and decimation encircled the reimancer as eyes of icey cold murder peered into the souls of those who could do little but stare back in horror.

He held aloft his hand, wet and dripping, and let a torrent of golden specs fall from his grip.

“Sink or swim, either way, get the petch off my lawn.”

The magic roared in response around him, a demonstration of arcane emphasis that saw the night sky filled with streaks of lashing lightning and spires of frenzied fire. The winds howled and the very platform the mansion stood upon seemed to tremble as the waters below began their seething. It was the only warning he gave them, and it was the only one they needed.

They pushed and shoved and scrambled to get away after that, and even the ruined remains of the pathetic thing that was Hollister Von Carstein had managed to crawl itself to the docks before all the boats had left him behind, sobbing and mewling the whole grueling way to the water’s edge. His whimpering served as the perfect chorus to Elias’s victory, and the pale mage basked blissfully in the bawling ballad as he made his way back to the front door of the house he had once called his own.

[Elias Caldera]

Gone!

Frantic, desperate eyes searched in vain amidst the dust and darkness, seething and seeking in hopeless urgency. Gone. Gone. Gone! He’s taken it. He’s stolen it and poured it out into the canals like yesterday’s chamber pot! Where is it?! I’ll kill him… I’ll petching kill every last one of them!

Regret danced across the river of blinding rage that flowed through the Caldera like a thick morning fog as gloved hands fumbled across the fireplace mantle in search of something that clearly wasn’t there anymore. He shouldn’t have let them leave like he had, the swordsman realized resentfully, that had been a mercy they did not deserve and now it would take gods only knew how long to track them all down again.

“Gods damnit!” he screamed into the creaking void that was the abandoned Caldera mansion. No soul stirred in response, no life or love came rushing to his side like they would have once long ago. Only the dust swirled about him now as he dropped to his knees, tears welling within bloodshot eyes.

He’d lost her…

After everything, he’s lost his mother again.

The urn she’d once rested in was gone, her ashes -the same ashes he’d gathered up from the pyre he himself had built with bruised and broken hands after the storm- were gone. It was all just… gone. This had been the place he and Torian had first met after the exile’s return, and he remembered the words they shared vividly even today. The two had spoken within these decrepit walls of the old mansion with a tenseness between them that almost as choking as the stagnate air. Even back then, the family that had once lived and thrived under this roof had long since been shattered by the spitefulness of fate and Ravok’s own treacherous machinations. His home was a dilapidated and derelict old shadow of its former self, abandoned even before his family’s utter ruination, no slave nor master had walked these grounds save for the ones who had intruded its sanctuary for the sole sake of revenge. Cobwebs and painful memories clouded every shadowy corner and overturned piece of furniture. Nothing had been tended to or cared for in too long a time, and now this place resembled more the setting of a horror novel and less a home. It was the same haunting and disheartening welcome he’d received three years ago when he’d first stepped foot in Ravok after so long away and forced himself to confront the man who once dared to call himself his father.

Now Elias sat alone in the dark, arms limp and lifeless at his sides as he whimpered not too dissimilarly from how he had left Hollister mere chimes ago. The irony was lost on him in the wake of his grief. Nothing had changed it seemed, and as he looked up, eyes lost and forlorn as bitter memories grew new fangs with crueler poisons, he knew nothing had deserved to change. He’d sauntered into this dead place tracking blood and mud from his boots onto the floor with all the pomp and gravitas of that pathetic fool he had just kicked out, and just like Hollister, Elias had had no right to any of his bubbling pride or crowning confidence either. This place was where it had all begun, where it at all fallen apart. This was where he'd killed Caiden, where he’d destroyed his kin and set in motion the nightmare that would follow them all to their graves, even his. No, nothing had change and nothing ever…

Wait.

Nothing ever did change, at least not for stubborn and rigid man like Torian... Could he have really?

The world erupted into an inferno of swirling colors and auras around the mage, his eyes rushed into the light of the sight beyond sight that was auristics. As his arcane gaze narrowed, tears hastily wiped away in the process, he saw what he had suspected lying just ahead. With a guffaw, the aurist scrambled to his feet, nearly colliding with the fireplace as he stumbled towards the brick and hurriedly pushed it. It sunk with an audible click, and something began to rumble within the walls. The hearth had always hidden a secret chamber behind it, and Torian had always used it to hide his most foul of secrets and possessions, or at least he had once upon a time. The old soldier was a creature of habit however, one who had a hard time letting go of a thing unless he absolutely had to.

Finally the false wall snapped into place and out of the damned way, revealing what Elias’s secret sight had shown him; the urn, the ashes, the last remnants of his mother, Raina Caldera. He grabbed at the thing with an animalistic ferocity, holding it close to his breast in an hug so emphatic and imperative the son was worried his ravenous indulgence for a family embrace might have actually damaged the thing in his grasp. He released his hold on the urn reluctantly, holding it aloft in front of him to check its condition. With eyes as magically charged as they were, and his attention utterly focused on the silver jar, Elias saw everything there was to see within those swirling hues that made up his mother’s faded aura. As it had since her passing, it stung just to look at them, to be reminded of what he’d so cruelly lost, but the pain of having relinquished them here in the first place had been far worse, and it had been one that had plagued him every day since… until now.

The arcane influence faded from the mage’s gaze as he released the djed gathering behind his eyes. When the world returned to its mundane and dingy old self, Elias noticed for the first time what else had been left behind in the secret space behind the fireplace. “A journal?”

He picked up the red leather-bound book with a cautiousness he had failed to show with the urn. Almost nothing had remained of the mansion’s library after Torian had moved himself to his living quarters at the Vitrax, which meant whatever dark words filled these pages were likely the kind one didn’t want in the hands snooping burglars and ransacking thieves. The fact that it had belonged to the despicable man however was warrant enough to simply set the thing ablaze then and there and leave it to burn unopened, but curiosity and a fresh wave of jubilation at the rediscovery of Raina left Elias light headed and uninterested in the lingering hate he had for an old, pathetic man he had seen slain seasons past.

That said, it still took him a chime or two to work up the courage and actually open the thing.

When he at last pried open the parched pages, the Ravokian was understandably confused at first, then ultimately awed. As his eyes worked tirelessly to delve and decipher, secrets upon secrets poured from the pages with each one turned and its layer of dust blown away. Every enemy and every friend with a debt had been listed, along with a near incalculable number of details that included a whole host of crimes, not all of which were even Torian's. Extortions, murders and plans breathtakingly bold in their ambition and scale, the little red book seemed to contain everything and anything a clandestine fool might ever need. Elias closed the journal shut with a puff, tempted to cast it aside once more. Only idiots took to pen and paper with their secrets, let alone every single one of them and in such ludicrous detail, but to think Torian Caldera, of all people, would be so stupid was literally inconceivable to one who had grown up knowing the man as Elias had. The wicked old bastard was many things, most of which weren’t repeatable in pleasant company, but careless wasn’t one of them.

A thought dawned on the young man as he rose from the fireplace, book still in hand. With a start, he opened it once more, peering into the mysterious treasure trove in search of a date. Not the ones that accompanied lists or names, but those that went along with the few journal entries that were also sparsed out among everything else. Scanning ever so briefly, Elias could tell some were just of passing thoughts or a day’s retelling, but as he searched through the dates, he noticed the first one in the journal was on the 33rd of summer, 514!

Three years ago… the day after Elias had tricked the Rum Hound mercenary company into attacking the Ebonstryfe which kicked off the small week long war in the streets of Ravok that he had ultimately used to kill Torian. The revelation was as surprising as it was baffling. Why had the veteran Stryfer made this thing in the first place, and why had he made the day after someone had broken into this mansion and tried to access this very same hiding place? It made no sense unless… unless he had known.

Unless this journal was meant for Elias.

No. No! Torian was a cunning petch, but he wasn’t precognizant, regardless of what he liked to make his witless enemies believe. There was no way he would have known at the time that his long lost son was plotting his downfall from the shadows, an idea made even more preposterous by the fact that he still ran headlong into the trap Elias had so carefully laid out for him. At best, he would have likely suspected his demise could be near, and perhaps this journal wasn’t meant for Elias at all, but some lackey or underling amidst his ranks to which he had deemed worthy of inheriting his life’s work. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but then again, tricking his son into killing his real father wasn’t something the boy had expected from the wretched old petch either.

The mage sighed, glancing at the book one more time before letting it drop to his side with another exasperated huff. Its existence annoyed him. This moment, though potentially marred with his unraveling earlier at the prospect of losing his mother, was meant to be one of sheer, unmitigated victory. He had reclaimed his home and driven out the would be homewreckers in particularly pleasing and bloody fashion. The reveal of this notebook and all its heinous secrets was as vexingly bewildering as it was unbearably beguiling. Again Torian had outwitted him in some nefarious plot it seemed, but now this time Elias had the displeasure of being fully away of the Stryfer’s wicked machination yet still helpless in his comprehension of them. Even from the grave, the man still managed to torment him still.

Aggravating, to say the least.

He tucked the journal away, anxious to steal another glance at its pages one day, but not this day. Today had to be one of celebration if nothing else. To emphasize his own point, when his hand returned to eye level, it did so with the piece of parchment he'd retrieved from the lawn earlier. The pale swordsman stared keenly at the plain thing, its implications and awesome weight deceptively disguised by its minuscule size and unassuming shape. For all its humble grandiosity however, Elias knew full well just having the deed in his hands was hardly the end of it. While Hollister had been wrong in purchasing the thing for the pittance it had sold at, the powers to be that had put it to auction in the first place would hardly see such an oversight in its repossession and sale as something that was their fault, let alone a problem they were inclined to solve for the mage's sake. No, the Ravokian knew many a hand would need to be greased and wheels made to turn before his home was truly and officially his again, but for now, he had atleast done what he’d come to do.

Elias Caldera, last living son of House Caldera had taken back his home just as he'd promised, and for tonight, that would have to be enough for both the living and the dead.

[Karyk]

 

Elias Caldera

Skills
Weapon (Longsword): 2
Unarmed Combat: 3
Intimidation: 2
Tactics: 1
Flux: 1
Intimidation: 1
Auristics: 1
Detection: 1
Lores
Men who use the word 'marvelous' seriously are not real men
My father did not tolerate false accusers
Men who strike harder than they should be able to must be using flux
Sometimes assassinations are better ideas than duels
Regret: Not destroying those that might have desecrated my mother's ashes
Suspicion: Father knew all along I would be his downfall
Miscellaneous
Torian Caldera's Book of Secrets - To be added to your SS by Prophet. I'll PM him. We may use this for some fun later down the road.

 

Notes and Comments

CS Checkmarked: ✓
CS Reviewed by Me: ✓
Season Request was Submitted for Grade: Summer 517
Season Thread was Started (IC & OOC): Spring 515 & Spring 515
Is that Season's expenses paid?: ✓
Eligible for grade? Yes

What a fun insight to Elias' path. I look forward to seeing more about his devious father as well as more on the woman that can make Elias despair at losing her ashes. Well done. Please mark your post in the Queue as graded.