One Step Away [Ugnir,Rook,Clyde,Elias,Sevris]

by **Prophet** on April 11th, 2018, 9:10 pm

Samara fumed from her tiny desk in the dim light of the candles. This post was bullshyke. Her exile here was bullshyke. The idiots given for her to command only made it worse and the next bath coming up didn’t look to be a whole lot better. Jessica Lazarin was not making much progress and the woman in charge was starting to regret picking her longtime ally as a commander. The development of the resources was all but non-existent and her lover no longer satisfied her at night because he was too petching drunk. That wasn’t so terrible- the paladin returned the unkindness by having a subordinate pleasure her with his tongue all over the slave’s bed then had the Eypharian chained to it so he was forced to wallow in her scent.

It was one of the little things that brought a slight curve to the red lips these days. There were others but there was always a cost to every action, each favor and all of the decisions. The woman sighed and tossed her hair forward so that it concealed her entire face from the world. With no small amount of irritation in her tone, the commanding officer over the North Ravok Outpost addressed a shadow in her room.

“What do you want, Vladislov?”

The darkness hidden away from the flickering fires of the wicks shifted and a hood was cast back revealing bone white skin, long, straggly alabaster hair, a smile that dripped of blood with sharpened teeth and set of eyes that made everyone who saw them shudder. One was perfectly black like a night with no stars and the other was milky white- brighter than the surrounding skin and hair. His pale pink tongue escaped from behind the fangs to lick at the parched petals of a mouth and catch the last few drops of vitae as he threatened to run down his chin. His voice was quiet like a whisper and bore an uneven, yet light tone. “I see the weight of your duties continues to grind away at your beautiful-- character.” He moved slowly and intentionally making sure to give the woman a wide berth. Vladislov was a member of the Black Sun but those placed above him in the pecking order were made away of the red handprint on the back of his right hand; that he was a vexed individual.

“Finish your slurping early?” Samara asked. She lifted her face to follow him and gracefully ushered the heavy brown curls behind her ears. Nimble hands worked quickly to twist and loop the mess of hair into a loose bun that pushed the side curls out just enough to accent her faint jawline and high cheekbones. With a coy wiggle to her nose that created a very brief wrinkle, the woman locked eyes with her agent in a glance that teased more than it told. “Are you so ravenous that you require my soup as well?”

The Symmenestra flashed his smile again, his eyes seeming to soak up and reflect all of the light that touched his face which created a dizzying sort of illusion that he was always shifting sideways. The marked hand came forward and reached across the desk for one of the paladin’s own but she pulled away casually. “I would show you to to truly feel, my lady.”

Samara laughed and threw her head back then stood up quickly, hand instinctively finding the hilt of her kris in the presence of the clawed villain. “What do you want, Agent?” He stood off of the corner of her desk and stared at the being who remained very calm. His actions were so calculated that it seemed like he was repeating the movements of a long dance routine.

“I’ve been told of a place near hear that may be of value to us. I want a squadron to assist me.” He bowed his head in politeness to the superior of whom he’d just made a request. “There’s a place a day or so’s walk through the trees that opens up into some kind of valley mired in fog. I’m told it smells of fruit.” He looked as confident as ever with his unblinking expression.

Samara stared for a moment but had to look away. Black and white marbles left one ill if she stayed caught in the gaze too long. “How do you know this, agent?” her voice was not rude but lacked any hospitality- all business.

“I know a kelvic who likes to spread her wings. She said the fruit smelled delicious and pungent but refused to land since she could not see through the fog.” Vlad waited- he could watch the wheels turning in the woman’s head. “The kelvic is also an aurist who claims there a powerful presence there...similar to that of a Druvin’s.” Hook. Line. Sinker.

Samara looked back at him and grinned revealing her very delicious looking smile. “You’ve just managed to get yourself a field trip, Vladislov.” She jotted something down on a piece of parchment then dripped wax from one of her candles upon it. Before the wax could harden, she pressed her ring into it then passed the orders along. “This should suit your purpose…” She offered the note then snatched it back from his clawed fingers and waited for eye contact. “Don’t! Fail me, creep...I grow tired of games.”

++++++

63rd of Spring, 518 AV
6th Bell

“Commander Sullins! Commander Lazarin! Report!” The quartermaster boomed from his high desk within the barracks. It was his job to see that all were given their assignments. When Jessica arrived first, she was dispatched to find her kelvic slave- the one known for rummaging through the compost heap and preparing him for a journey in which he would assist a squad of Ebonstryfe as a squire of sorts. Clyde would be given a brief dispatch to rally his unit and meet near the sea gates at the eight bell ready to depart on an excursion that could last for several days. They would be on foot and expected to maintain every normal facet of their duties.

Near the common area of the outpost where the civilians and mercenaries camped, Samara picked her way along until she came across a face she’d seen doing some of the menial work around camp. He was a crass little arsehat but he seemed to have a good notion of self-preservation and an inkling towards backhanded tactics- something she found useful. While being of the order, Samara was not above a little bit of cheating to tip things in her favor- a trick she learned from her gambling-addicted lover. A booted foot came up and tapped the man’s tent flap to find it open. She snuck inside and stood above him before tapping on his codpiece with her other boot.

“Einar- that is your name, yes? Wake up and get ready. I have a job for you that could get you into better standing and heavier purses.” She turned and stepped out then headed over towards a hitching post for horses that sat twenty yards south of the sea gates. She waited perfectly impatient. This ruffian would either be a pawn or a bishop but he would play her game regardless. How effective he was would play directly into the next sequence but for now, she needed him to prove himself as useful.

Players :

by **Clyde Sullins** on April 12th, 2018, 12:06 am

63 Spring, 518 -6th Bell

Clyde was meditating sitting on his bunk, Cha laid across his lap, when he heard his name called. He'd woken a bit early having gone to bed early as well, and after getting into uniform had decided to start the day with some cleansing breathing. In and out, letting the candle flicker in his mind as he focused on his distractions and disturbances and one by one let them flow outward. Each one was an exhale, and each one fluttered the flames of the candle sitting within a sea of darkness.

After a moment to take in a breath he opened his eyes with the exhale and headed to the Quartermaster for his orders.

It seemed he and his unit would be leaving the Outpost, going out deeper into the wilds for some reason or other. Unsurprisingly the details were a bit vague, he supposed out of a feeling from his superiors... His higher ups, that he didn't need to know to do the assigned task.

A journey several days long out of the outpost... Clyde spent a few moments pondering these orders, wondering where they might be going as he went through his things collecting possible items he might need. A pack, camping gear, the dagger he'd been given in the Well of Madness on his belt, and a hammer buried in among his things in his back. Cha, of course, resting in his hand.

He told one of his apprentices on wake duty to take Rye for a walk, feed and water him, and bring him along with some easy to pack and carry food for the hound to the sea gate a quarter till 8th bell. The apprentice wouldn't be going, not on an unknown mission, but Clyde had other things to do besides prepare Rye and he'd feel better with the guard dog at his side and his red eyes gazing into the unknown.

He made the rounds and told his unit one by one the same thing, or in groups where they were bunked close enough. Bea, Dan, Eliza, Sevris, and Elias.

“Up, we're heading out this morning. Be in uniform and at the sea gates at a quarter till 8th bell. Pack light, we'll be going it on foot and traveling for several days at least. We move out at 8th bell for our mission.”

Once everyone was aware Clyde headed off to make his morning ablutions, swinging by to pick up his pack, and heading to the gate 5 chimes before he'd ordered his unit to be there, which was 15 chimes before they left.

by **Rook** on April 12th, 2018, 7:15 pm

Rook lay stomach first on the bed in his sleeping quarters, quietly wallowing in a mire of misery. The kelvic missed his bondmate fiercely, and the new emotions and sensations and rationalizations that had gradually started trickling into his conscious had honed his skills of observation to a fine point. Rook had always been good at noticing things, but now those things that he noticed carried a weight of meaning to them that he had never noticed or cared about before. People were laughing at him. Not just the Ebonstryfe soldiers, but his fellow slaves as well. Rook, the kelvic who played in a compost heap.

Rook groaned and rolled onto his back. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t have this damnable collar around his neck. The kelvic was used to sleeping in his wolf form, and since being collared he’d had trouble sleeping at night. He slid two fingers between the rough metal of the collar and his neck, pulling the uncomfortable object off the tender skin. He was slowly, achingly slowly, building up callouses where the metal rubbed against him, but for the most part his entire neck was raw and uncomfortable. It was, yet again, another thing to get used to.

Rook missed Shiress. That was the one point he always seemed to round back to during his nightly monologues. Rook had had barely any time to get used to his bond before he’d been whisked away to the NRO. The kelvic found himself struggling with the emotions buffeting him. Was he hungry or was Shiress? Had he pulled a muscle on that long hike, or had Shiress injured herself? Was he feeling lonely and depressed, or was that his bondmate? Or was it both of them? To further complicate things, the wolf boy was having to do his very best to appear as though he was still unbonded and unchanged. And he felt different. Very different. He felt like an entirely new being, and hiding it was proving a challenge. Well, at least his master hadn’t noticed anything so far.

The sound of footsteps approaching rapidly caused the kelvic to rapidly launch himself off the bed and to his feet. Rook flung an arm over his eyes and blinked the sparks away as his door was flung open, throwing away the darkness like a curtain. Standing before Rook was, of course, his master Jessica Lazarin in her cold and lusterless glory. The woman dropped a rucksack to the ground at her feet and stared at Rook with a stoic, kindless grimace.

“You’ll be accompanying an Ebonstryfe Unit on an excursion. It could be several days long. You’re to assist them in whatever way they ask. Understand slave?“

Rook felt his heart wearily drop into his stomach. Rook wasn’t entirely sure what would be required of him, but it was safe to say he’d be ordered around a lot. The Ebonstryfe weren’t exactly known for their compassion. Underneath the weariness, Rook felt a familiar flash of resentment and buried anger, fueled by pride. It took a great deal of restraint for the kelvic to keep his expression blank.

“Yes Master, ” Rook replied. Rarely, if ever, did the kelvic say anything else to the Lady Lazarin.

Cautiously, and under his master’s intimidating gaze, Rook opened up the rucksack and looked through it. The kelvic had been provided with what, to his untrained eye, appeared to be survival gear and rations. The kelvic didn’t really know how to use most of it, but that was more of the usual for him. He’d figure it out by watching others, or he’d do without.

“Slave,” Jessica said, and Rook glanced up to see his master holding something out to him. With a start, Rook recognized it. When Rook had been given to Jessica, she had taken nearly everything he held, including a cold iron knife Rook had been given by his previous master. He had assumed it sold, or otherwise gone, and had thought little of it. Rook took the knife carefully and examined his master’s cold, emotionless face.

“I didn’t buy you to die, slave,” Jessica clipped, and without a word turned and headed back out the door. Hastily, Rook threw the rucksack over his shoulder, then started after his master, hastily strapping the knife in its holster to his waist as he trotted after her.

The pair made their way through the encampment, finally halting at the Sea Gates. Rook looked around warily, noting the Ebonstryfe soldiers that would be his companions for the venture. The people gathered brought him little comfort.

Rook

by **Belugnir** on April 13th, 2018, 9:54 am

Now the first instinct of any a man when woken up by a boot pressing against his sack would be to either grab for an obvious pair of tits that might dwell nearby, or to reach for the first sharp object available for the sake of chucking it at the offender of a man's stones.

Luckily, Einar was already awake and seated before his tent, tending to the crude edge of his weapon when the woman came to pay him a brisk visit. He rose a frowning brow at what she had to say. It was perhaps the most rushed offer for a job he'd gotten in recent memory, but it certainly beats sitting on your arse throughout the morning doing bugger all. She ordained him to get ready... hell if he knew what that encompasses, but judging by the gathering of soldiers some ways off within the camp, he could fashion a reasonable guess... which made this one either an overly adventurous merchant or an apparent officer among the black ones... if he had to guess, and knowing his luck, he'd go with the latter. He did notice a recent stirr in the camp guard with whispers of an expedition somewhere to the nearby woods as of late, and figured this one wanted to shove him into having something to do with the excursion.

The assumption that this woman had to do with the ebon-clads also delivered his tongue from producing any witty remarks on her account as he shoved his belongings into their respective bags and went to begin loading them onto Finnard. The grey mountain pony had was reasonably fed and watered throughout the course of Einar's dealings about Ravok, and the animal had grown accustomed to the weight of the shyke its newest owner ordained for it to haul about, just as it had grown accustomed to following his pace as he walked beside it.

Within several minutes, Einar would have had dismantled and packed up his tent and found his way to Samara's side near the sea gates. In his full set of banded mail, poleaxe in hand and daggers strapped across the chest, carrying a couple rations of food and some of his equipment within a pack on his own back, for he was no lazy prick who'd simply dunk everything he had on an animal's back to let himself walk more easily. A groggy expression that bore its batch of questions was sewn on his face, assuming the woman was still by the horse posts once he got there.

''What is it I got ready for, might I ask?'', though it was obvious by the occasiona glances he gave the nearby gate and the men who were likely assembling to pass through it soon that he had a reasonably good idea.

by **Elias Caldera** on April 14th, 2018, 3:28 am

Stirred from his morning prayers by a curt and clarion command cutting its way through his contemplation, the Caldera rose from his place on the floor of his humble tent and began to make ready. Back to the grind then. Which meant back to the bugs, back the bad weather, and back to the gods forsaken wilds.

Rhysol preserve him, how he despised the wilderness in all its wretched glory, and no amount familiarity with the outdoors over the years had ever seemed to diminish that intense loathing he always felt when trapped in its itchy, crawling, sweltering embrace. The only reprieve had been found in prayer and solitude, but in his escape, Elias had found himself bombarded with the kind of thoughts that, if allowed to fester for too long, could drivee a man mad. He’d been out here for weeks now, stewing in his inaction and detachment, almost completely cut off from his people back in the city. Trying to get a message out of the outpost without notice was one thing. Getting anything in had proven even more difficult, and every day he went without word of his operations or plans back in Ravok was another day they could all come crashing down into ruin. Faith was not something a man like Elias held for any save his god, and trust was in even shorter supply still, yet they were his only options thus far when it came to those he’d entrusted with his vision, lest he go absolutely insane from the gnawing concerns that gripped him day and night.

His purpose may not have lay out amidst the trees and the rocks and the rivers of the untamed country, but his duty did, and the Ravokian was not one to so quickly shirk his responsibilities to lord and country, even if it was for a greater cause. Ravok would still be there when he got back, for better or for worse. In mean time, if there was work to be done out here, he’d do it, though if any expected a smile from the soldier as he toiled so far from home, then they would be sorely disappointed.

His preparations came to a close as the sound of steel being slid into leather heralded his exit from the tent and into the bright northern morning. With his blade secured and his daggers fastened, the pale warrior made for the gates as instructed. It wasn’t long before his eyes happened upon the distinctive and familiar red hair of Rook nearby however. As usual, the slave hovered uneasily in the wake of his domineering master, a woman whose face seemed perpetually locked in an unfortunate scowl, and in general was trying far too hard in everything she did, even if it was as mundane as walking across the yard. He ignored the commander, and instead gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to her meek kelvic plaything before making his way over to the rest of his unit.

“Commander.” Elias grunted decorously, greeting the mage as he arrayed himself with the other soldiers under Clyde’s command. He was sure they all had questions just as he did, just as he was sure someone was going to answer them, one way or another.

by **Prophet** on April 19th, 2018, 2:14 am

A hooded figure watched everything occur inside the walls of the outpost. Scurrying about like insects played particularly well into the mind of the agent as he did his best to hide a grin. Shadows were his friend and the recent cold, though taxing, seemed to be keeping everyone else more focused on other things leaving the man to his bidding. Samara had been gracious but not generous. The manipulator in the entire event was slightly saddened as only a single unit arrived along with a few strays for the endeavor. Five soldiers, a sickly little slave and a man of unknown allegiances and heavy gear stood near the thick wooden posts that mark the way to the shore.

Samara and the Lazarin bitch were there , too, but that must’ve been formality. The horses would only get them so far- which is why he instructed that sassy minx to tell her stooges to not bring them but this would be there issue later; not his. The ranking officer of the northern settlement stood and looked around to each member of the group and briefly counted their sins. Some looked relieved, others tense and some were indifferent but each and every one of them had been chosen by fate to undertake this quest. She prayed to Rhysol that they succeeded for it would mean a great deal to her and the entire outpost. Her visual inspection over, Samara began to talk in her silky tone that only hinted at the devastation she was capable of unleashing upon her foes.

“This man is Vladislov. He is a member of the Black Sun and your captain on this excursion. Travel fast. Work together and achieve your goal then get your arses back here.” She looked to Einar and then Rook, a gentle nod to Jessica made in the exchange. “Commander Sullins’ unit was handpicked for this as was the mercenary standing here.” She thumped the chest of his armor with her fist. “He serves me just as you serve Rhysol so count him among your own.” She dismissed the slave and took the key to Rook’s collar from the female commander. She turned and handed it to the man she’d just named as her proxy. She gave him a knowing glance then stood just in front of Einar as the hooded figure emerged and stepped into the center of the group.

“As Samara said, I am Vladislov.” He cast back his hood so that his ashen skin, solid black and solid white eyes could be seen clearly as well as the pointy-toothed grin. “We’re after an item that has recently come into our attention. Scouts from my order discovered it while flying and made note of the potency of its aura as well as its general location. I’ve been given details to the route and expect a timely arrival provided all of you can keep up.” He gave a grin and started down the beach heading north. His pace was quick but maintainable. He carried very little on his person from what one could see but the robe billowed in such a manner that the Symmensestra could have hidden a thin pack against his body and one would not know.

Jessica gave Rook one very stern look that might have shown just a flash of compassion or care for her slave. If it did exist, it was fleeting but certainly worth speculating over. Her hand flashed out and snatched him by his flaming locks of hair, fingers twisting to tighten her grip and bring him close to her face where the heat from her skin could be felt by the kelvic. “Don’t die out there, dog.” She shoved him away and that flicker of affection passed behind her gaze again. “If you do, i’ll find your corpse and offer you to Uldr!” She watched him walk after the soldiers for achime then went back to her duties.

Samara gave them all Rhysol’s blessing as they marched out after their appointed captain but she refused to let the mercenary out from behind her body until the rest were at least ten yards ahead of them. Certain no one would hear, the woman spun around and drew very near to the man she’d chosen for this task. “Serve me well, my smelly warrior, and I’ll see that you’re well cared for in this place.” The smile on her face was genuine but then something changed in her eyes. The white eye, courtesy of Rhysol’s love, darkened and the normal one caught fire. “I have a great need for men of talent. Sadly, they always turn out to be disappointments.” Pressing her body against his armor like a feather resting atop a still pond, she pressed her mouth near his cheek. “Don’t squander my faith.” Then she, too, left for other matters.

******

The group marched for five bells before the robed agent stopped. He had found a small recess in the beach where rocks and sand met with a small trail leading up to a rise where there were some trees and a stream. The path was some kind of animal run or simply a drainage line for the higher ground. Vlad suggested they take a short break in the shade of the rocks, refill their canteens and rest their boots and backs. He moved over towards Clyde and drew him away from the others for a brief word. “Commander, before you speak at all, just know that I have no desire to be a captain.” He stared at the mage- having a full knowledge of who was in the group then smiled. “Think of me more as a compass...than a man moving pieces across a map.”

Vlad was tall and lanky and his robes made him appear larger than he really was but what was undeniable was the monstrous appearance of his race and the size of his aura. He was marked by the divine, thrice over, and knew a bit of magic so his presence was easily noticed if one had the means. “Introduce me to your company, Commander, and tell me what they’re good at.” The strange gaze floated to the two outliers. “You two, as well… names and abilities.”

Posting OrderFor now, posting order is open. Sevris is no longer invited to particpate since he couldn't post or make contact in a week.

by **Clyde Sullins** on April 20th, 2018, 1:02 am

It wasn't long before his unit was present and ready, nor long before the others arrived and it was nearing time to go.

He noted Samara, a woman he'd met before... Before she'd been in charge of the outpost, before he'd set out with the group who had eventually broke ground on said outpost. Before he'd joined the Stryfe in the position he was in now.

Her visage brought up memories, watched in his mind numbly from afar as he exhaled their soreness away. Death, killing, by him and around him. Another stretch of the wilds, though far less civilized than this outpost.

A name he wouldn't remember, V or Vlad maybe?, Clyde pondered to himself as a suitable substitute.

He listened as Samara spouted off a speech, filled with many formalities and words of conviction, but which didn't convince Clyde. Not that he wouldn't do it, nor that he'd be affected one way or the other, but simply that he didn't fully believe what she'd said.

Clyde of all the Stryfe didn't care about ranks and names. He didn't fear Samara, nor few others except perhaps the Druvin. He cared about his work, getting the job done, and not who's name shined due to it.

He watched as a key was passed from her to their "captain", and noted the collared one.

Then it was V's turn to speak. When he cast back his hood Clyde didn't flinch. Just as he was not one to care about titles, he didn't much care about race one way or the other. He'd met humans who were a waste of space and life, and those of other races of far more interest. He didn't begrudge non-humans, and had even had a non-human lover in the not too distant past. Getting the job done, whatever it was, that was what mattered.

Scouts... Flying... The word peaked his interest, as did the mention of an item with a potent aura... How were they flying? Kelvic's? Otherwise? What was this item? His mind went back to the not-star he'd gathered a bit of. Something similar? Or unrelated?

When he started moving Clyde waved for his unit to follow, and focused on keeping the pace. He wasn't in the best shape of them all, not in general a physical fighter, though he'd slowly been gaining some abilities even in that regard.

Soon enough they were out of sight of the outpost, and went on without pause for several bells before anything changed. He supposed it made sense that the captain would wait to speak of some things till away from prying eyes and ears. Or perhaps it was something of the landscape, as Clyde noted the non-human noting their surroundings and the change in terrain.

While he was out of breath Clyde did his best to keep his breathing even and calm, using a common meditative technique to both keep his air flow even while also keeping calm and neutral.

When Vlad pulled him away Rye followed at a short distance, his red eyes searching about and at times settling on the man with his master. The hound didn't growl audibly, but almost seemed to do so with his glare.

His first words were meant to put Clyde at ease, and might have with another member of the Ebonstryfe. Clyde responded in kind with an calm and low tone, meant only for the others ears.

“We all have our skills V, I mine and you yours. And to be clear, unlike most Ravokians, I don't care whether or not your human. So long as it doesn't interfere or hinder with our mission, you could be pink with purple polka dots and a beak. I'm here to get a job done, that's all, and prefer to avoid useless biases and assumptions based on generalizations or stereotypes.”

Returning to a more normal tone, Clyde glanced about at his unit before continuing. While he'd been talking he'd, more by instinct, reached out with his aura sight through Cha and onto Vlad. He quickly enough noticed his somewhat stronger than normal aura, though didn't at that moment focus too deeply or pry to far within. Later perhaps, but not just then.

“This is my unit, Bea, Dan, Eliza, and Elias. Bea is our ranged weapons specialist, everything from daggers and arrows to the bigger stuff. Dan is our wilderness expert, he knows a bit of everything when it comes to navigating and surviving in the wilds. Eliza, close and weaponless combat is her focus. Elias is our back up mage, with a focus on Reimancy. For myself, mage, main focus Reimancy and Auristics. You did note the object had a strong aura didn't you?”

by **Belugnir** on April 20th, 2018, 3:59 am

The sight of their apparent guide whose name seemed like someone’s overdone witticism at putting together an unpronounceable word gave him quite the setback to the image of a certain Sahovan sorcerer whom Einar had a particular lack of fondness for. What little enthusiasm there was to his expression and mannerism quickly faded at the memory of his dealings with one Azhak Taldat… and more so at the recalled image of the beast he had to hunt down on the gnarled bastard’s behalf. So with a rather sour face, Einar would hear on about flying scouts and some discovery of theirs. Thing was probably either a hot mess of some mage or a hotter yet heap of dung some witty deity figured to go and dump into the woods for silly mortals to fawn over and provide it with a good chuckle.

When presented with the key to the apparent slave boy’s shackles, Einar quirked a brow, though he took the thing without a fuss and pocketed it. While he hadn’t objected and hadn’t been dragged into this ordeal in an orthodox, forcible fashion, he felt like his consent was hardly a point of consideration. Either he’d help the black ones and earn something for it, or he’d end up with a whole heap of shyke on his hands that he probably couldn’t afford and didn’t care for. Now, Ein was hardly daft. Being given charge of the group’s untitled errand boy who happened to be some wealthy pair of tits’ slave was probably an additional test to see if he’d be worth investing into if the matter of future tasks came about in case the current errand was a success. He didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind being a pawn, so long as the conditions weren’t outright inhumane… The parting his apparent patron gave him only served to further his assumptions, to lightly arouse him, and to give him an odd urge to shove the woman away. An easily restrained habit of bygone childhood trauma.

This one had a… what would a minstrel twat dub it… poetic and mysterious underline to her offers and promises, alluring, true. Then again, it only made sense, if he proved useful with this errand, it’d only be reasonable for an officer to try converting him under their command and investing into him. The thought of not falling asleep hungry and possibly having a barracks bed entitled to him was appealing, certainly beats having to either steal food or boil down and chew into tree bark to keep his belly full on a jobless winter’s week.

Yet he couldn’t help but find a thematic resemblance in the manner in which the slave lad was dismissed with what Samara had to say to him… and comparing himself to this scrawny redhead with a collar around their neck made Einar feel his most recent meal clawing at the back of his gullet as he entered a light jog to catch up with the group. Having one of his unintroduced colleagues point out that the task ahead will be ill-suited for the presence of horses prior to departing, Ein ended up leaving Finnard and some of his excessive gear behind in the care of a stable hand, bringing along a lantern, his tent and bedroll, a hatchet, and a handful of other tools which he could afford to carry within his rucksack or stick into his belt with relative convenience. Part of him preferred leaving the pony behind, for he wasn’t the best with animals as things stood and he preferred not having to worry about an additional two pairs of legs that he’d need to make sure could outrun any major trouble once met with it. To boot, this endeavor was seemingly expected to be finished in a timely fashion. Either way the act of leaving his hauling pony behind cost him the group having made it almost halfway out of view of the camp by the time he set out after them, so his jog was reasonably lengthy, but ended up received as a welcome, brief rehearsal on the matters of footing and proper breath coordination.

A good, lengthy half a day’s light away, they would come to make their first stop. Ein would have gone silent throughout the journey unless asked a question. Since he figured the black ones weren’t all too fond of gritty mercenary humor, and he didn’t care much to acknowledge, let alone break words with the redhead if the need was not outright dire. He was just through splashing a handful of water across his face to chase away the crusty sensation that slowly built stale sweat left in its wake when they were asked to state their names and what they were good for… right after their guide and the uncannily familiar Stryfer seemed to be through with their little ounce of conspiring.

‘’Einar Belugnir.’’, he would speak in his own turn. ‘’I can keep myself from starving in the wild and track my way through it reasonably enough. I am decent with my poleaxe and know the first thing about Flux magic.’’, his tone was stoic. Being humble was a submissive twat’s way of going about things. Boasting was a dimwit’s way of compensating for a prick they likely considered ought to have been bestowed with greater stature. Einar was neither of those. Yet he did give in to the temptation of pointing out his bare-teeth-competence with a school of magic with an undernote of pride for what might have been the first time in his life. Sunberth felt a lifetime away, and those folks openly spoke of their familiarity with sorcery as though it were an everyday occurrence. He might as well add his coin to the hoard with which they plan to buy their success. Ein would have little to ask the leader, the fact that they were a party of mostly combat-proficient individuals did enough to chase the only pressing concern he had of whether or not they were expected to engage in combat on this errand. So until spoken to again he would opt to finding himself a seat and feeding his prejudices until they were bidden to move on.

by **Rook** on April 22nd, 2018, 2:09 am

As the soldiers gathered around them, Rook took time to silently observe each and every one of them with his enquiring copper eyes. Samara Rook knew by sight as his Master’s superior. He had never spoken to the woman, which Rook supposed had served him well considering her frightening countenance. Commander Sullins, as he was introduced, Rook watched with an edge of nervousness. Rook was not overly fond of anyone in a position of power, and the man set the kelvic at unease. The man given no name but introduced as a mercenary intrigued Rook. He was the gruffest, grizzliest person Rook had ever seen in his two years of life. Rook wouldn’t have been surprised if he was told that the man had simply emerged, fully made, from the wilds of Mizahar. Rook’s uneasy heart lightened somewhat when Elias caught his eye and gave him a nod. The wolf boy had no idea what to think of most of these individuals, but Rook knew that Elias was reliable, and having someone familiar here quelched the kelvic’s nerves.

Samara’s introduction to Vladislov caused Rook’s eyes to fall on the strange creature who would be guiding them on this mission. Aside from other kelvics, most of whom had been unpleasant encounters back in the KRI, Rook had never seen a non human before. He knew they existed of course, mostly by their vile reputation, but Ravok typically did not treat those who were different kindly and whispered rumors were all the wolf boy had to go on. Seeing that this non human was a man of rank was very interesting. What made Vladislov different from any of the other non-humans chained to a master? What made him different from Rook? It was a matter to be closely observed and analyzed.

Samara’s eyes went to both Rook and the mercenary, then Rook watched with vested interest as Samara took the key from Jessica and handed it to the mercenary. The man quirked his brow and pocketed the key. Without thought, Rook reached up to his collar and put two fingers between the collar and his skin, dry calloused skin scraping against his nails. Rook had no read on the man aside from an apparent wildness, and he was slightly unsettled to have his fate be in this man’s hands. Well, there was no one more worse to have charge of his fate in this company. Better a mercenary than an Ebonstryfe. Aside from maybe Elias. Rook met the man’s eye briefly but said nothing to him. It was not in his nature to talk much, and he still had to try to pretend to be unbonded. Discretion was the better part of valor after all.

Rook listened as Vladislov spoke of their goal, and wondered briefly what sort of role he could possibly play in all this. More likely than not he’d be sent scampering about for water or food, or asked to carry things here and there. Typical demeaning slave things. His heart sank a little at the realization that he was the only slave in this company. It took no skill at mathematics to envision his workload.

As the non human started off down the beach in departure, Rook looked to Jessica to confirm he was allowed to leave. He was first startled by the look that flashed across her face; an expression that he might have been able to mistake for compassion, something that a moment ago he had been convinced that his master was incapable of. He was then thoroughly alarmed as the woman reached forward and yanked his head a breath away from her face. The kelvic froze and stared at her wide-eyed, almost forgetting to breathe in his anxiety. Jessica’s words might have been intended as a sort of comfort, one offered by someone who didn’t know how to offer comfort. Being told to stay alive or else his corpse would be offered to a god was not particularly comforting to him. But Rook still offered his master a stoic nod in reply, and as the group turned from the outpost and marched towards the woods, he found himself glancing over his shoulder and found the woman staring at the group as they vanished out of sight. Rook didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe he’d be able to figure it out by the time their mission was complete.

Rook faltered a bit when the mercenary circled back to return his pony, and dragged his feet a little, the thought of his key in the man’s pocket ever present in the forefront of his mind. When the man rejoined the group, Rook kept a close eye on him but didn’t speak. The kelvic had the sense that he and the mercenary were both outliers in this little group of theirs, but that didn’t equal to comradery and Rook did not treat it as such. He wouldn’t have known what to say to him anyways, if it came to it. Small talk was not Rook’s specialty.

When the group paused for a break, Rook watched with interest as Vlad took the Commander aside and despite the distance put between them, Rook had no trouble overhearing their conversation with his keen ears. The wolf boy didn’t know what to make of the man not wishing to be Captain, but it would be something worth speculating over later. For now, Rook instead tensed as attention fell on him, and he was asked a question.

“I’m Rook,” Rook said, simply enough. He didn’t like the attention on him, so he spoke briskly. “I can smell and hear things most humans can’t, even better if I’m a wolf. I can hide and sneak a little, and I know how to use my teeth.”

Rook

by **Elias Caldera** on April 23rd, 2018, 4:52 am

The Black Sun…

He should have known they were ones behind this.

“You have a lot of dealings with the church?” Elias asked discreetly as he saddled up next to Clyde. The group had only just found their pace in the long march to come and already the soldier was feeling antsy. Every once in a while he’d throw a sidelong glance back at the Symenestra Samara had called Vladislov and was forced to restrain a scowl each and every time. Being led by a subhuman was one thing, but the fact that the gangly mutant just so happened to be one of Viratas’s chosen only served to make the whole situation all the more uncomfortable for the Silakrov marked. Elias had studied the morbidly pale creature first with his eyes, watching as the lanky man slinked about in his dark robes, or how how his crimson gaze often lingered too long on one thing or another. They were simply things, but telling none the less. There was much to garner even in a few discreet glances, and even more so from the auristic scrying that inevitably followed. The mage wasted no time in occupying himself with the agent and his aura once it became clear their journey would be a particularly uneventful one, and before long the Caldera had noted the number of magics and their variations coursing within the spy, not to mention a few other interesting tidbits as well.

Now that he was sure he had gleamed everything he could from the man though, Elias had found his way over to Sullins who was in charge of the troops who’d been roped into the agent’s little excursion in order to… ‘voice his concerns’ as it were.

“Well I’ve have had more than my fair share.” The soldier went on in a hushed, sour tone. He’d kept his focus straight ahead as they walked, hoping to avoid notice, and his voice low for the same reason. “And I’ve known his type before.” Elias had been with the army for years and years, and in that time he’d heard a thing or two about the one’s pulling the military’s strings behind the scenes. Ever scheming, ever plotting, the Black Sun was a house of endless betrayals and bitter feuds more cutthroat than even the Stryfe. Within the shadows of the great temple, men and woman jockeyed for position at every opportunity, desperate to ascend the ranks and make themselves known to either their superiors who decided their place, or their god who decided their fate. He could’ve appreciated the deadly hustle, respected it even, had he not known how steep a cost their relentless ambitions often inflicted upon his order.

“Agents are good at one thing and one thing only, and that’s getting Ebonstryfe soldiers killed.” The weak ones, the agents, were worst, because they were the hungriest of them all. When you were at the bottom, all you can see is what’s waiting for you at the top, and it was that kind of blind fixation that often got good soldiers tangled up in their hairbrained bids for power.

“He’ll use us up and discard us without a second thought if it means furthering his agenda. Were just pawns to him, and if he takes control, he’ll walk out of whatever this is with all the glory while he leaves you holding all the broken pieces in his wake. My advice… sir is to be careful, and to remember, out here, there is no church and there is no law, there’s only the will of god and the steel in his servants’ hands.” And with that, Elias left his commander to rejoin the others and ponder his warning. He’d seen enough of his superiors bullied or deceived into catastrophe by the Sun in the past to know that if push came to shove, his life meant more than the some shit-heel agent’s shadowy ambition. He hadn’t believed for an instant this was just some routine reconnaissance mission for a strange item, nor would he believe anything the Symenestra said to the contrary, for his very presence here told Elias that wasn’t the case. Whatever, whatever it truly turned out to be in the end, if it came down to it and the mage had to make a choice, he’d choose his brothers first and foremost, every time. Not because he was loyal or had any love in his heart for these practical strangers whose only bond they could share was the color of the armor they wore, but because spies were treacherous, dangerous and determined individuals. The soldiers of the Ebonstryfe weren’t much better, but at least with soldiers he knew what to expect.

That said…

'…back up mage…'

His ‘brothers’ were now the ones currently snickering at him behind his back.

They had stopped -finally- for a brief respite from their journey along a recess against the rocks. Vladislov had asked for introductions, and Elias had caught part of what the master mage had said, and unfortunately, so had the rest of the company, who now seemed to be taking a great deal of amusement at the commander’s offhanded comment. The Caldera shot them all a sinister scowl, but it only served to make their childish giggling all the more intense. He groaned, shaking his head in bitter defeat and trying his best to ignore them. He could tell already this wasn’t a fight he was going to win, let alone one worth fighting in the first place. It didn't help matters much that before long even the sorcerer himself was having a hard time hiding his own sheepish grin at the comment. It was a rather prestigious title if he thought about. In fact, he could see it as a sign of himself finally coming up in the world. Maybe this is what it felt like when you finally made it big.

'Elias Caldera... Back up mage.'

Quest One Step Away [Ugnir,Rook,Clyde,Elias,Sevris]