Solo The Red Hand

[Elias Caldera]

88th Day of Winter, 517 AV

‘Easy money’

That was how Thorin had convinced him to agree to this. Easy. Petching. Money. The kind that came with no hassle or hubbub, just cold hard mizas in your pocket and none of the inconvenience of actually having to work for it for a change. Elias liked that, even if he didn’t believe for one second it would be so simple. Few things in his life ever were these days, but he was willing to give it a shot -give Thorin a shot- because why the hell not. He needed the gold anyway. The mansion’s repairs were proving to be quite the coin sucking void he’d been promised the endeavor wouldn’t turn into. He’d already sunk thousands into the estate’s grand rejuvenation and had actually been on his way back from the University with a thousand more mizas ready to sacrifice to the project when Thorin had run into him.

A few bells later and here he was, standing in the depths of Fort Chrystone, ogling some frizzy haired girl through the bars of her prison cell and wondering to himself just how in the world this dimwitted slave was supposed to make him rich?

This had all started just a few bells ago when the Ebonstryfe soldier had quite by accident stumbled upon the Caldera dispassionately trying to find the answers to his troubles at the bottom of a dirty mug. Elias had just finished selling the last of his mage crafting ingredients to the Institute of Higher Learning, and in doing so had uncaged more than a few troubling emotions in the process. Magecrafting had been his pride and joy in times gone by you see, but with his recent return to Ravok and the responsibilities that entailed, he felt the great arcane art could no longer be accommodated as it deserved. There was simply no time, no patience, and worst of all, no will left in him to take up the hammer once more. The drive to forge steel into legend, to weave the arcane into the mundane and through their union give rise to history made manifest… that passion that had sparked his journey into sorcery had not just simply waned, it was gone. Lost in the maelstrom of his hectic new life like so much else of the old Elias. It was sad -mortifying really- but over time the mage felt he had come to terms with things as they were. That, or his distractions were so now grand and all-encompassing that he just didn’t have that time to even worry about it anymore. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Needless to say, when Thorin had offered to join him, the mage had been hesitant to put it politely. When the young man had then offered to pay for the next round however, Elias suddenly couldn’t quite bring himself to turn away a comrade in arms. The need for something to numb his agonized thoughts was a desperate one, and it wasn’t long before the black clad duo had gone through three or four servings of the piss water the small tavern was trying to pass for ale.

That was when the slave had entered the story and began all this.

“See, right here!” Thorin exclaimed, giving the poster another tussle in his hands. “Its as clear as day.” With an exasperated grunt, Elias tore his gaze from the forlorn form of the slave girl and rested it instead upon the poster his comrade was incessantly shaking at him. ‘Greetings Mizaharans…’ it began, and by the time the pale swordsman was done, he was more flabbergasted by the idea that three gods had actually gotten together to pen a pamphlet than he was by all the incredible things he’d gleaned from their message. Cold eyes drifted from the parchment and back to the woman with a dubious expression. After a tick, he turned to Thorin and merely shrugged.

“Look, I’ll show you.” The sharp nosed soldier sighed, taking a step backwards. Without warning, he turned around and screamed into the cell, causing not only the woman within it to practically jump out of her tan skin, but Elias as well. “What the petch is wrong… with… you…” His angry bark faded as he followed a smiling Thorin’s finger to where it pointed.

The girl’s startled eyes, despite her best attempts to hide them…

They had changed color.

[Elias Caldera]

“We found her master in his home, his throat slit from ear to ear.”

Now three sets of eyes were studying the young woman, her explosion of curly brown hair bouncing in trepidation as she tried her best to hide herself in the creases of the cell’s corners. She was clearly afraid, but there was more going on here, he could smell it.

“He must have been hiding her this whole time, the cheeky bastard…” Thorin speculated out loud, his hands resting on the bars as he turned to the other man who’d spoken. Commandant Katarn was a squat and balding man, his pudgy belly and impressively twirly mustache making him particularly easy to judge from first glance, but despite unfortunate appearances, the guard captain was no fool -or so at least Thorin claimed. Apparently the two had worked with one another many times in the past, in similar ventures even, though Elias doubted such a prize had ever found its way so… willingly into their grasps before. “The rest of the slaves we found stuffed in the pantry. According to our records, she’s the only one left.”

They all turned back to the bloodied slave, and the girl shriveled under their scrutiny. The mage thought back to how they had first come across the Vantha, or rather, how the Vantha had come across them…

Usually drinking was a somber and pathetically isolated pastime for the pale soldier. He was not accustomed to sharing the occasion with others, let alone with one of his fellow brothers in black, but Elias always did things for a reason, or at least so he liked to let others believe. That day however, it was true, he did indeed have a goal, and it wasn’t just getting shyke faced on his day off. His place within Rhysol’s holy order was a tenuous one at the best of times, and that was putting it mildly. This was something he’d grown accustomed to over the seasons, and duels with his peers were a near daily routine he had to endure. Or at least, they had been. The fact that he was still alive meant that since his return to glory, Elias had bested enough righteous fools seeking his demise that now the rest wisely chose to give him a wide berth while they spat their contempt from a safe and comfortable distance. It was a pleasant change of pace considering the incessant rain of gauntlets being thrown at his feet day in and day out, and that was just by those who cared for the order’s traditions. There had been many more who could not be bothered to limit their despise of him to a mere duel’s decision.Countless were the means to kill a man in Ravok, and the Caldera had been learning the hard way how to survive each and every one of them over the past few months. He'd grown more that petching tired of that.

He may have weathered the storm well enough, but now came time to turn the tide.

That started with drinks…

And ended with new friends.

Friends like Thorin Crane, who found themselves allied to the ex exile either thanks to his natural charm and winning personality… or as was most often the case, a bit of hypnotism. Regardless of how or why they came to him, they came all the same, and the Ravokian made sure to sink his claws as deep as he could once they were his. There weren't many, but his numbers were growing steadily enough to place most of his enemies within the order on edge. That was exactly where he wanted them, and that was exactly what he was thinking the moment the slave girl had come bursting into the tavern.

“Help!” She whimpered, bloodied hands reaching for her face as she stared at the patrons in wide eyed and hopeless desperation. They all ignored her of course, the stryfers included, though Elias and Thorin in particular went out of their way to shift a little lower in their seats in hopes she wouldn’t notice them. Perhaps they'd get one more round in before- “My lords, help me, I beg of you!”

“Petch.” The two men groaned in drunken sync.

“I require sanctuary, my lord. Please!” She’d run the length bar and was by Thorin’s side in a dizzying instant, immediately going so far as to set her hands on the disheveled man and pulling at his cape in her panicked plea. If the Caldera were a sober man at that point, he would have gladly backhanded the branded bitch and reminded her of her place right then and there, but as was, drink had dulled not just his senses, but also his Ravokian sense of decency. Even Thorin seemed to let the issue go as the soldier merely groaned and growled at her nagging. “Please. Please! My master- he is- there was a man- the others! He had no fa-”

“Ah petch off, slave!” Thorin snapped, shoving her aside with brutish efficiency. Being so lithe and slender, she stood no chance of keeping her feet and was sent tumbling into a nearby bar stool before falling to the floor with an undignified clatter. “Go find some bloody cherry out there to sort you out slave, I’m a busy man. A busy man on his busy day off! Just… just keep screamin’ and waving your hands around and the city guard will find you eventually. Now bugger off.” The hook nosed drunk turned back to nursing his cup, side eyeing Elias as he waited for the pale man to give him a sign she’d had indeed given up and left. Instead the mage found himself locking eyes with the slave as she stared up in disbelief at him. The poor girl was looking for answers and hope in all the wrong places. The scarred solider simply shook his head, grumbled something slurred under his breath, and went back to his drink as well, the slave all but forgotten already as he downed the remnants of his cup.

“Petch, everyday with this shyke. Anyway, like I was saying, my new commander is a petching idiot, always trying to impress the paladins with his- Oi!”

Thorin’s anecdote ended abruptly as something cold and wet was poured over his head. Elias knew it to be brandy in an instant, and not because he had a fine eye for liquor, but because he too had been doused in the same petching thing as well! The two of them spun around on their chairs, hands on their hilts as they readied themselves for a chase after whatever daft fool had just signed his death warrant, only to find the slave girl standing her ground right there in front them, two emptied mugs in her hands and a tight-lipped scowl on her face.

“I demand you arrest me!”

[Elias Caldera]

The little fool was lucky that was all they did to her in the end, though not for a lack of trying. Thorin, for his part, had immediately tried to cuff the bitch upside her dainty head, only to go stumbling off to the side in his light headed stupor and crash into a table, leaving the apparently more sober Elias to take care of things. Maybe it was because she was pretty, or maybe it was because he didn’t want to embarrass himself like his partner had in a similar attempt, but the Caldera had stayed his hand, taking comfort in the fact that someone else would likely do a good enough job of putting her in her place for him later.

As fate would have it though, it seemed hers was to be his to decided after all.

“Yes, well. Now that were all up to speed. I’ve located the priests who will be offering the reward and-"

“And!” Thorin cut in excitedly, “a thousand gold split three ways is nearly three hundred between the three of us! Now that’s a neat little winter bonus I’d say.” The soldier chuckled in delight.

“Three hundred and thirty three, to be precise.” Katarn chimed in gruffly. The commandant was their means out of the fort without notice or suspicion. He’d have the girl released and moved without incident, or such was the plan, and if that was all they had needed, Elias doubted his good friend and trusted business partner Thorin would have been invited to the party at all. With the city guard’s rigid command structure being what it was however, there was no way a lowly commandant would be able to sell his quarry without some superior taking notice and trying claim the spoils for himself. That was where the Ebonstryfe stepped in, and as far as it seemed Katarn and Thorin were concerned, a third of the prize was far better than a pat on the back and a crisp salute for a job well done.

“An unfortunately awkward number I would be more than happy to amend with by taking a nice and even four hundred as my share.”

Thorin choked on his laughter and Elias grimaced, but the guardsman was not dissuaded. “I did most of the work. I’m taking most of the risk here!” He bristled, mustache trembling with indignation as the two men in black dismissed him out of hand. “Bullshyke!” Thorin spat. “I’ve suffered more hardship than you in this, and all I got was a cup dumped over my head. You don’t hear me whining for a bigger cut to help with my laundry bill, now do you?”

Katarn’s puffy cheeks wobbled furiously in his huff. “I had just purchased an entire afternoon at the House of the Immortal Pleasures when I got your message. An entire afternoon! You know what they don’t give at whorehouses, Thorin? Refunds! I should be compensated.”

“You can petch her before we sell her if you’re so put out. I don’t mind waiting a few ticks for you to get your jollies off, old man, but I’ll be damned before you take my coin because of it!”

Their argument went on like that for some time, and Elias had quickly grown tired their squabbling before long, focusing instead on the slave cowering in the cell. He wondered what kind of regret must have been bubbling up inside her belly right then, hearing these wicked men she'd come to for aid speak of her in such a way. Being a slave, he assumed she was accustomed to it, but this was no negotiation over a mere purchase of her person. They were speaking of rape and murder as casually as one would the cost of the day's catch down at the local market. He took a step closer as the shouting between the two men intensified, and she noticed right away, hugging her still red hands around herself tighter as if to shield from his prying gaze. The blood had dried and begun to peel on her knuckles, but he knew all too well what an effort it would be to wash it off completely. His cold glare never faltered as he drew nearer and nearer, and by the time his face was mere inches from the bars, her own amber eyes were locked on his, unable to escape. She was scared, and she had every right to be, yet something pulled at the stryfer that made him doubt…

“Who killed your master, girl?”

She stirred with surprise, shifting eyes changing to a shocking blue. She looked away an instant later though, fixating her ever changing hues on the floor instead of the pale swordsman accosting her with his question. “I…” she began, licking her lips as she struggled for the words. “I don’t know what it was.” She closed her eyes and gulped. “But it wore their faces…”

The door to the prison swung open without warning, a panting, scraggly young man standing in the entryway as he stared at the room full of conspirators. “Commandant.” He spoke hastily.

“Damn it, Heren, I told you to watch the door and mind your damn business, boy!”

Heren raised a hand in hurried apology. “I’m sorry sir, but its Commissioner Gaston, he’s come for a surprise inspection! He demands all the guard are to attend him in the main hall immediately.”

Katarn stiffened as if struck by lightning, then promptly began to twirl his mustache furiously in contemplation. A preposterous force of habit, Elias assumed. “What does this mean for us?” The sorcerer inquired darkly. One way or another, he was getting his cut, surprise inspection and commissioners be damned. “Nothing,” Katarn answered quickly, clearly ruffled as he straightened his pristine uniform and began making his way towards the exit and his underling standing there, “the split will be the same as we agreed, three ways even, but you’ll need to take her out the back way if-” The commandant hesitated for a second, his words trailing into silence and his stare going abruptly distant, as if something had just dawned on him. “Wait. Gaston left for the shoreline almost two bells ago. Heren, what are you on abou-”

Before the question had a chance to leave his lips, the wiry underling was upon his superior. Elias hadn’t even noticed the blade in the boy’s hand until it was cleaving through Katarn’s throat.

The slave screamed as a fountain of blood gushed from the commandant’s ruined neck, and the man died gurgling amidst a torrent of crimson that poured forth. Elias cursed, his hand on his weapon even as the first droplets of red splashed across his face. Heren wasn’t done with just Katarn though, and the boy, suddenly moving with incredible speed, shoved past the officer still clinging at his wound and dashed towards his next and nearest target; Thorin. The other soldier wasn’t fast enough to stop the attack in time, not nearly, and knife came hurtling towards the warrior's face, aiming to do to him what had just been done to his friend.

Thorin may not have been fast enough, but Elias was, and he caught the wrist of the guard as it came in for the killing blow, twisting it aside with an unnatural strength before shoving both the arm and the bastard it was attached to back with such force the killer went flying. Power had flowed from his legs and back into the arm he’d used for the disarming move, his flux taking control and redirecting the course of his strength to and fro as he saw fit. With such might, he had expected the guard to go reeling backward unto his ass, but instead, wrapped in his guardsman attire as he was, Heren turned what should have been a catapulting throw into a series of back flips and spins that landed him on his feet near the exit, no worse for wear than a few wrinkles on his tunic.

This was no simple cherry...

The man, whoever he was, straightened slowly from the crouch he'd fallen into until his curious gaze latched unto Elias's. The two looked at each other, a tinge of surprise on the swordsman's expression, and mild annoyance on the assassin's as they studied their foes with newfound understanding.

"Petch me!" Thorin swore as he steadied himself. The attack had left him staggered and the ravokian could hardly blame the newly minted soldier. If it hadn't been for the flux pushing his counter attack to its fullest speed, he doubted he could have stopped the blade in time. "You good?" Elias inquired flatly as the two of them drew their blades and began to spread apart across the cramped room. The assassin had done the same, though his was a much shorter weapon than the longswords the Ebonstryfe wielded, yet thing looked twice as deadly in his grip for some reason. None of them had taken their eyes of the other since this had begun, even as they began to take their places. "Are you kidding me, I'm great!" The Caldera gave his partner a wary sideways glance as 'Heren' cautiously moved over to the door and began to close it behind him. "A thousand gold split two ways, brother." Thorin chuckled, readying his weapon.

'Thud!' the sound of the bar sliding into place across the prison door, sealing it shut behind the killer as he locked the three of them in. Four, as the stryfer was reminded when he noticed the man's eyes shadily dart over to the slave girl trembling in her cell.

'Easy money'... I should have known better.

With a roar, Elias and Thorin charged!

[Elias Caldera]

Steel and malice flowed forth in raging union as the Ebonstryfe charged, their billowing black capes dancing wildly as they hurtled towards their foe. Unimpressed, ‘Heren’ abandoned the door and met the two halfway, silent and decisive as he cleared the space between them with deft footing and deadly intent. The bastard showed no sign of regret or even hesitance as he advanced, sliding into place between the two warriors with a level of finesse to his movements that once again reminded Elias not to take this unknown foe too lightly lest he be his last.

Regardless of the man’s grace or annoyingly unflinching demeanor, the fact of the matter was no one stood a chance against the might of Ravok’s military machine when it was in action. Though Thorin and Caldera were not trained in the same unit, their years of combat discipline and endless hours of drill had honed them both to a degree of destructive and wordless harmony that this city had been perfecting for generations. They were born and bred for battle, to fight as brothers not bound by blood, but by the black they had earned the right to wear. This was their design, one chosen and finely crafted for the singular purpose of bringing down the likes of Syliran knights twice this boy’s size and three times his better! By all that was holy, they were Ebonstryfe! They were war and wrath personified. They were excellence without equal. They were what their god demanded of them.

The assassin didn’t care.

Propelled by his confidence and his greed, Elias went high with his swing while Thorin attacked fast and low with his. It should have ended right then there, but Heren’s response was… well, to make spectacle out their efforts and show them exactly what he thought about their ‘Stryfer excellence.’ As if it were mere child’s play for him, the killer leapt between the two blades in a single bound, spinning himself in a tight, horizontal sweep that saw the son of a bitch gliding between the swords as if their attack were just part of his acrobatics performance. Thorin cursed, and his pale counterpart hissed in equal parts annoyance and surprise as Heren landed behind the stunned duo. The only sound he ever made was the whir of his blades as he started slashing.

The soldiers were forced to spin around and readjust lest he take both their backs in a single move, and Elias noted grimly that the guard still held the knife he’d sliced open the commandant with earlier. Regardless of their demure length, a blade was a blade, and now the assassin had one for each hand that they needed to worry about. And worry about immediately!

Both of the short edged weapons came for them with alarming speed, Elias barely managing to knock aside the sword aimed at his tendons while Thorin, again amidst a flurry of particularly inventive swears and cusses, rolled out of the way only just in the nick of time. Neither of them needed another invitation to take this threat any more seriously, and as the guard took up his lax, if not mockingly shallow stance, as if waiting for his guests to attend him, the two obliged without wasting a word. What was there to say? ‘Who sent you, what do you want?’ Meaningless drivel in the moment, especially against an opponent like this. One side would triumph and the other would crumble, and if the latter just so happened to have enough life left in them to reveal their motives before the end, so be it. All Elias needed to know was that this motherpetcher had the balls to pick a fight in the middle of the city guard’s headquarters and had yet to even bat an eyelash amidst the absurdity of it all! That kind of stupid didn’t need reasoning, let alone a voice to try and give it credence or meaning.

It just needed to die!

A storm of hard and heavy swings was the answer, brutal and furious, each strike was meant to find purchase in flesh and charge a heavy fee when it finally did so. Elias took the lead and Thorin eagerly fell in behind him, the two working in tandem to undo their foolish foe. Left, left, right, high! The swings came with an expert’s precision and a veteran’s savagery, and when each of Elias’s combos came to a close, Thorin was there to place the finishing touches on the assault, swooping in to add his own flurry of finishers and capitalize on the gaps his partner had created. It was perfect, the two of them lashing out in startling and unspoken unity just like brother’s in arms were meant to. It should have been like watching art in motion, like seeing perfection played out…

The assassin didn’t care.

Every. Petching. Slice and stab and rage filled stroke missed its mark without fail. Crashing through nothing but thin air time and time again, their swords may as well have been harsh words whispered from afar for all the harm they did. Heren toyed with them endlessly as he ducked and dove out of the way of their increasingly impudent offense with preposterous ease. Like the wind itself, he danced among the two of them, his expressionless face only adding to the notion of how inconsequential both Caldera and Thorin’s hunt for his head seemed to him. The bout lasted only chimes in the mad excitement, but each passing moment only stoked the flames of irritation and doubt. Like nats buzzing about his head, the bastard couldn’t even be bothered to swat them aside, and the humiliation of being reduced to something so pathetically akin to mere apprentices pawing at their instructor made the mage’s blood boil.

The frustration of watching everything they could throw at him flounder and fail had gotten to Elias almost instantly. Not just because the assassin seemed to go out of his way to make a mockery of them, but because he knew this tactic well enough to recognize it when he saw it in play. Sweat beaded on the swordsman’s forehead -it was practically pouring in rivulets off of Thorin’s blonde scalp- and both of them were trying their best to hide how heavy their breathing had become. This impromptu fight had only lasted mere moments in the grand scheme of things, but such was the reality of true combat. All men grew tired swinging around so much metal and bloodlust, even the best of them, and it seemed Heren knew that all too well.

Katarn’s killer had tested the waters earlier with his first little cocky attack, realized the temperature wasnt quite to his liking just yet, and decided to instead bide his time until just the right opportunity presented itself, so that when he dipped his toes in next time, his foes would be too weak and exhausted to stop him from thoroughly enjoying himself as he bathed in their blood.

It was quite the imaginative analogy, but a troublingly apt one none the less.

That was when they first heard it. The loud, violent sound of restless banging against wood reverberated around the cramped prison, bouncing off stone and eclipsing the clatter of steel and shuffling chainmail for a brief instant.

It was the guard. They had come.

“Oh, thank Rhysol.” Thorin guffawed under his exasperated breath.

Something seemed to gleam in the killer’s eye as the ravokian’s distress broke through to the surface and Elias didn’t have to see his expression change to know what Heren was thinking... what he was sensing.

Desperation.

Weakness.

Now… it was his turn.

[Elias Caldera]

Elias felt his eyes bulge and his arm nearly give as the first blow landed.

Heren had surged forward like a lightning strike, unleashing an impossibly fast stab against the stryfer’s midsection that he could tell was meant to dive up and under his armor if it had found its mark. Luckily, he met the attack with his longsword before it had a chance, if only just barely. Another followed immediately after however, this time forcing Heren’s black clad adversary to hastily deflect the fatal maneuver with the blades of his gauntlet. He had hoped to catch the sword in between the teeth of his armor there. It would have made his hassles a great deal easier if he had managed to snap the damn thing in two, but Heren shifted his strike knowingly, angling his arm and the weapon out of the way for a third and fourth thrust that sent Elias stumbling backwards with a growl.

Thank the Defiler Thorin came when he did.

The blonde haired soldier swung hard and fast, arching his whole body into it as he came at the assassin. Heren had been so enthralled in his hunt for Elias’s demise that he hadn’t noticed the other man sneaking up behind him with much the same intent. “Eat shyke!” Thorin howled between gritted teeth, and the other soldier could hear himself humming in fervent agreement as he watched the blade careen towards its target. At that angle and speed, it would have made it impossible to avoid, even for one as fast as the traitor guardsman. Thorin had chosen his moment perfectl-

“What…”

It was difficult to describe exactly what both men lay witness to next, let alone believe, and yet as if in spite of their skepticism, it had happened none the less. Heren had… twisted out of the way. Not like any man would duck and move, but instead Elias watched in utter horror and awe as the guardsman’s bones seemed to snap and contort in just the right manner for him to escape the decapitating blow meant to slay him. Like a snake, his body bent and curled, dashing past the sword and then above it all, leaving his feet planted on the ground where he’d left them while the rest of him just kept going. His torso was hovering at nearly twice the Ravokian’s height when, like a spring, his boots snapped upwards, spinning in their accent as they lashed out. The swordsman hadn’t even realized he’d been struck in the face until he hit the floor a moment later, his jaw freshly set aflame. Thorin had been dealt a dumbfounding blow as well, though he had managed to save himself from collapse only to crash into the bars of the prison cell behind him.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, he had heard the slave screaming again, and Elias found he would have joined her if he had the wherewithal to find his voice. The world was a abuzz, spinning in every which way and relentless in its nauseating torment. He could hear the dull sound of pounding against the door again now, though it was as if it were far in the distance somewhere instead of right next to him where he knew it should have been. The bangs sounded more uniform now, and less spastic, as if they had finally organized themselves behind the task. Elias knew that thing was designed to hold against a riot, but he wished they’d petching hurry up already.

Morphing… the mage warily determined, piecing the thought together slowly as he began to rise. It had to be. How else could one explain what he’d just seen. Though if that was the case, then in all his life the sorcerer had never before laid eyes on the swiftness nor uncanny control he’d just born witness to in any morpher before. Was Heren human? Was Heren even Heren? Rhysol preserve him, what were they bloody fighting? In his desperation for answers, the warrior’s hand searched for the pommel of his discarded blade as the other went to his head in a futile effort to clear out the cobwebs. Come on! Come on He screamed at himself, impatience and dread rising in equal measure as he struggled to get his bearings again. He needed to rally with Thorin, to get back to back with his brother and- Another fresh scream tore across the prison, and Elias cast his eyes upwards with a terrible strain to find the Vantha girl, wide eyed and terror stricken as she crawled backwards into the corner of her cell, helpless to escape or look away.

He followed the trail of her fearful amber gaze, and found Thorin laying at the end of it, his mouth agape in a silent scream of agony.

Heren was upon him, his blade nestled deep in the stryfer’s gut as he leaned in over his victim, and for the first time since Elias could remember… the monster was smiling.

[Elias Caldera]

There was a choice to be made here and now. One that was going to decide how this day ended for Elias, whether that was in a bag, or back in his bed. It was time to choose.

Heren had already made his.

He watched the thing now from his spot on the floor across the room as it slowly killed his comrade, slicing away at the man time and time again with a look of pure ecstasy stretching its features into a crooked smile that was just too wide to be human. It was enjoying tearing into Thorin, reveling even in the stryfer’s pain and suffering as he died.

It could have been Elias in his place right now, he realized. The assassin could have just as easily descended upon the mage in his stunned and stupefied state, and like that, it would have been the end of things. Instead, for whatever reason, it had chosen the other soldier, mayhap because he saw him as a bigger threat, or just an easier target, either way it didn’t really matter now. In that moment, Elias had a choice; to go for the door, and perhaps together with the guard they could undo this vile abomination together, or…

Elias launched himself at the monster, charging headlong back into the fight. He knew he had a choice, but he also knew a man like him would always choose wrong if given the chance. Sentiment, or something else just as ridiculous powered his step as he rushed forward.

This fight was his, and his alone now.

Heren was waiting for him of course, even caught up in the throws of euphoria as he was playing with Thorin’s broken and battered form, he had not failed to notice Elias’s approach. As the warrior drew near, the blade used to take his blonde comrade’s life was ripped free from its crimson sheath and swung at the Caldera’s head, the morpher not even bothering to look up at the man as he lashed out to sever neck from shoulder in one fell swoop.

Arrogance… good, he was going to enjoy shoving that down its throat.

The blade found its mark just as intended, just not the one Heren had expected. Surprise took the creature as its head whipped around to find the sword caught between the teeth of the ravokian’s bladed gauntlet, Elias’s arm raised high and tight against the side of his face to catch it. The morpher tried to retrieve the blade, to dash away and pry the steel free before-

Snap!

Time seemed to stagger to a snail’s pace as the sundered steel went spinning between them. Like a stone mask, Heren’s face had never changed, but the mage could feel his foe’s apprehension bubbling beneath the façade. More than that, he could taste his doubt, his panic! Elias wanted more!

His other hand struck out fast, not to punch or reach for his weapon, but instead to grab the broken edge free-falling in the space between the two adversaries. Gripped between strong and calloused finger, the swordsman wielded what was left of Heren’s blade like a dagger as he snatched it out of the air, driving the sharpened point deep into the creature’s chest without a moment's hesitation.

Elias had wanted more, and by god he would have it!

It screamed.

A terrible, inhuman sound that shook Elias to his core, but could not deter his hand as he drove the weapon deeper and deeper still. The stryfer wrenched free the knife, and Heren moved to stop him from stabbing it in yet again, only to have his efforts fall flat as a fist caught the monster right across the bridge of its nose. Elias had felt the snap of something under his gauntleted knuckles, and knew it would not be the last time he felt bone give way before his might. Not when he was now using the flux. Power and might had been shifted like coursing rivers, directed squarely into his arm as the blow connected, and such was the force that Heren went sprawling backwards, barely keeping his feet as he slammed hard into the stone wall waiting to catch him. The mage was on him again in an instant, unrelenting as he delivered a second punch right where the last one had left off. This time though, something felt off. He didn’t care, he had to keep going, seizing the initiative with both hands now that he finally found it. The fury raging within was unleashed, boiling over to a froth and fueled by the flux as the sorcerer channeled more and more energy into his strikes. Another, and another, and another still, the fists kept flying as the stunned killer reeled against the onslaught.

Finally, Elias understood why the blows weren’t having the same satisfying crunch behind them anymore as Heren raised his face under the shower of fists and their eyes locked… or should have locked if the man had had any. Like a fermenting pot, the skin that used to be the guardsman’s face bubbled and roiled, shifting like waves across the blank canvas of empty flesh that had replaced his eyes, nose and mouth. There was nothing there save for a squirming nightmare, but Elias did not let it stop him. It only made him angrier.

With a cry as full of shock as it was furor, one final punch doubled the assassin over. With it, came an opportunity for Elias to end this once and for all.

The stryfer drew his dagger from his belt without a word… and buried it up to the hilt in the petcher’s gut.

[Elias Caldera]

Once, twice, three times, he did not and would not stop himself from plunging the blade over and over again into the wretched thing. The wet crunch of cloth and leather and muscle giving way to his knife as it ripped into Heren was as satisfying as the man’s spasms each time it punctured his body. That was for Thorin! he thought as he stabbed hard and deep once more. For… Katarn. Why not? For petching Heren! The lad, whoever he had been before, was almost certainly dead, stuffed in a cupboard somewhere while his killer pranced around wearing his likeness. After that, Elias couldn’t think of anymore names to avenge, not that he truly needed an excuse. It just felt good to have a driving force behind his arm as he gutted this freak over and over and-

He stopped suddenly.

Not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. His blade refused to move. With a grunt, he tried prying it free of where he had left it in Heren’s side, but it just wouldn’t. Bloody. Ugh! Budge!

Oh shyke... Heren was beginning to stir.

The beats was moving, shifting his weight from a hunched position, and all of a sudden Elias was starting to feel something creep up his spine. Something he should have been feeling since this whole debacle started if he’d been smart. A feeling he’d denied himself and wrestled under control, as he’d been taught to -as he’d been expected to- but now that feeling was back, and its icy grip around his heart tightened with every unnatural shuffle and squirming mass dancing beneath Heren’s clothing.

Slowly, painfully, the creature began to rise. Elias’s tugging on his blade became more frantic, desperate even. Why wouldn’t this god damn thing move! Pushing his flux to its maximum, he tried again to rip it free of whatever prison had ensnared it. Nothing! No give, just the scraping sound of… He looked down, seeing for the fist time the knife in his hand protruding from Heren’s side. All around it, where there should have been skin and blood, instead Elias found himself looking at a carapace of bone. Bone not hacked and clawed away, but instead grasping the knife like a vice and locking it in place!

There was that feeling again, its chill renewed and palpable. He could feel his heart betraying him, pounding against his chest to a maddening rhythm as his breath caught in his ragged throat.

Terror.

That feeling was terror, and as he slowly, unwillingly craned his gaze back up to meet Heren's, he saw the face of it staring back at him with hollow eyes and a mouth of dripping, melted flesh.

In that instant, Elias felt something thump against his shoulder, nearly knocking him over had he not been holding unto the knife’s handle with such a death grip. When he looked down to see what it had been, eyes shaking with trepidation, he realized he’d had every right to be afraid.

With a scream of anguish, Elias drew back, his shoulder numb and burning from a pain so instantaneously intense all he could do was suffer. The flesh colored appendage shifted around inside of him, causing another guttural cry of agony to burst from his lips before the bug like stinger ripped itself free in a spray of blood that sent the Caldera reeling backwards. He barely noticed the other three arms sprouting from Heren’s back like the first as they lunged at him, just missing their mark as the stryfer collapsed to the floor in a convulsing heap. He’d banged his head hard against the metal bars of the cell, but that hadn’t even registered to the young man. The pain he felt where the morpher had stabbed him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It made words impossible. Thoughts inconceivable. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was writhe and scream until at last he could simply die and it would just be over.

His voice grew horse and rasping as he howled, kicking and thrashing like a madman possessed. What in the name of god was this? Magic? Poison? How did he make it stop?!

Through the tears, Elias could see the monster growing closer, its shuffling gate and twitching body a mockery of man’s form now as it discarded all pretenses and shaped its shambling body into something less suited for disguise, and one more defined by killing. Its fingers were now an array of long, gnarled talons, much like its feet as they clicked against the cobblestone towards him. His back had sprouted four of what the Caldera, even in his haze, could only describe as barbed insect arms, though the things looked more suited for punching holes through armor and bone than they were for pestering. It was its face though that would be thing that would haunt him for the rest of whatever few moments of life he still had left. There was no definition of anything, no wrinkles or scars, just a dead, empty eye, slotted into place like a piece of a jiggsaw puzzle as it drooped over a mouth as cavernous as it was horrifying. There were no teeth, nor a tongue or any sort like that, just simply an empty black void gaping at him. Tendrils of oozing flesh dripped like slithering stitches from top to bottom, and as the abomination drew ever nearer, Elias could see that maw slowly curving into a grin.

This was it then... this was the how-

With a boom, the door to the prison cells burst open, splinters of wood thrown left and right as the city guard came rushing in. The monster paused, as did the men at the door aiming their crossbows and shouting. It was all a blur to Elias through the torment of his wound, but he didn’t need to sense their fear to know it had taken root in them.

Blood and spittle dribbled from his clenched and cracking teeth as he bit down against the pain, but somehow, someway, he found the wherewithal to scream.

“Kill it!”

The mutant roared as the first crossbow bolts bit into its carapace. Men, the bravest kind, charged forward after the first volley, swords and axes in hand as they dared to challenge the horror. The thing spared Elias one last unreadable, nightmarish look, before it surged forward to meet them. It crashed into the clump of armored watchmen like a tidal wave, throwing them left and right with frightening ease as it continued on through the door and out into the fortress. The instant the monster left the room, Elias felt his body slacken, the pain in his shoulder finally dimmed to that of something a mortal man could withstand. He gasped for air, his whole body strained and stressed by the way it had twisted against the agony. It took a long moment just to pry his fingers from his palms in particular, but eventually, he found his senses one more. Getting back to his feet was going to be a whole different story, yet he struggled towards that goal none the less, all the while listening as the screams from down the hallway grew fainter and fainter with distance.

That thing was getting away, tearing a swath through the guard on its way out, and the stryfer knew full well there was nothing in this fort that could stop it.

Two men had rushed to his side after the mayhem, trying to help him to his feet, but he angrily shooed them away. “Go after it, damn you!” He hissed, sounding particularly pathetic after his ordeal as he leaned his head against the bars, but they heeded his commands none the less, dashing from the room to join the chase with their fellows.

When they were gone, Elias realized he was all alone.

All alone, except for- a hand touched his shoulder from behind, and the swordsman stiffened, reaching for Thorin’s discarded sword. “Its only me.” He heard a small, stifled voice whisper.

The slave girl… right.

“Are you…” her voice trailed off as her hand neared the hole in his shoulder.

“No.” Elias answered flatly, still staring forward. He didn’t think he was going to be ‘ok’ for a long time after this. “Do you-” he swallowed, trying to find his voice again “do you know what that was?” As he spoke, something caught his attention from across the blood stained room.

She hesitated at first, noting how he had yet to face her, but then after a while he could hear her leaning in closer until only the metal bars separated them. “My master was a great man. A very brave man. He swore an oath to us keep us safe when Morwen abandoned us, but his enemies were many. One in particular was relentless in its hunt, and so my master dedicated himself to learning everything and anything he could about them. That’s why that one was here. He hunts me not because of what I am, but because of what my master revealed to me. But you,” she went on, something new and dangerous tinging her voice “You stopped it. Even wounded it. My master never told me everything he knew, but together, you and I can uncover his secrets and defeat the-”

Her tirade of hope ended abruptly in a muffled cry, and she looked down to behold the res slithering from Elias’s arm, through the bars, and unto her flesh.

Lightning struck, yet there were no clouds, and the slave fell limp and unconscious with a terrible shudder.

The stryfer never turned around to face her, his eyes locked on something else even as he twisted the sword in his grasp. He couldn’t even be bothered to watch her tumble to the floor. Instead, his focus drifted over to the distant, empty gaze of Thorin laying next him in much the same position as Elias now found himself in. The dead man was staring back at him solemnly.

With a wince, he gave the soldier an apologetic shrug.

“A thousand split one way, brother…”

Cults, secret wars, monsters in the city?

Elias didn't want any part of that. He had enough bloody troubles of his own, and he damn well wanted no part anymore, not if it meant he'd have to face that... thing again. No, this was not his fight, and even a man with as much pride as he was not blind to such a fact.

Thorin had no reply, and slowly, gravely, Elias returned his focus back to the thing he had been staring at across the room, the thing that had arrested his attention so. For upon the wall where he and the assassin had struggled in death's bitter embrace, there remained nothing of their fight save but a single, bloody smear of a red hand.

[Rook]

Your grades are here!

Elias Caldera

Skills

*+4 Socialization
*+2 Unarmed Combat
*+2 Flux
*+3 Weapon: Longsword
*+1 Endurance
*+2 Weapon: Dagger

Lores

*Vantha: Physical Traits
*Vantha: Followers of Morwen
*Morwen: What Her Mark Looks Like
*Unarmed Combat: Using a Gauntlet to Break a Weapon
*Flux: Breaking Bones
*Weapon: Dagger: A Stab to the Gut
*Morphing is Horrifying
*Morphing Can Create Armor From Flesh

Rewards & Penalties

*+1000 gm for Selling Magecrafting Supplies
*+350 gm for Selling Vantha Slave

Creepy thread. Loved it. Don't forget to edit/delete your grading request in the queue, and PM me if you have any questions or concerns!