Sword Searching (Clyde)

[Rezren]

1st of Summer - 512 AV The sky on the horizon exploded into an array of warm reds and yellows as the sun touched the horizon. Rezren had forgotten momentarily, consumed by the view from the city’s edge, whether the sun was rising or setting, but as the darkness thickened, the confusion thinned. It was a truly astounding sight for the first sunset of the season, one that the mercenary hoped would be a good omen for the coming weeks. He wondered solemnly if some deeper, symbolic meaning existed between him and the sunset. If the transition from light into darkness resonated with the very core of his being, perhaps Rezren was destined to succumb to his moral crisis. The sunset allows for the sun to rise once again though. Maybe the crisis would give way to a righteous life, an ethical dawn of sorts. The philosophical thoughts were a daily ritual for him. A life without purpose occupies much of its time trying to find a direction after all. Rezren muttered to himself, “I will rebuild... myself.” His adaptation of the Syliran Oath rung oddly in his ears. After the sun had set and the last bits of color from its glorious departure had faded into black, he moved towards the city’s center. Rezren hadn’t left the safety and comfort of his home to enjoy summer’s first day. He had been robbed a few nights earlier. The manner with which his pride had been stolen stung as badly as the item’s absence itself. Three men had leaped from the shadows and removed his short sword from its sheath before he had time to react. Rezren had scolded himself for being so careless, and the missing sword left him feeling bitter and naked. The mercenary tried to console himself, reasoning that the loss had left him stronger and more prepared for the future. Such consolations failed to remove the sour taste from his mouth though. Rezren needed that sword back. Strength would be garnered from the loss only if he could not retrieve it. He hadn’t been able to fight back effectively with his sword taken from him before the brawl even started, but Rezren had put his other abilities to use. While fending off serious damage using his limited hand-to-hand combat knowledge, he soaked in every detail he could about his assailants. Their voices, clothing, faces, and even their smell were imprinted into his mind. Small things like accents, posture, and gait were noticed and remembered. Rezren lasted a minute, two at most, before collapsing. He had a bit more fight left in him but prolonging the ordeal could have elicited lethal force from the gang. The sword was likely sold in some shady back alley deal, but the mercenary had searched for it at every vendor and merchant, legitimate or shady, he had access to. The sword’s absence from these places gave him hope that he could still find it. “I could just buy another...” He muttered bitterly to himself, but the idea had already been posed and rejected many times since the incident. The retrieval of his cold iron sword from the hands of the thieves would mend his heart in addition to filling the empty sheath on his hip. His attempts to leave distinguishing bruises on their face or arms had probably failed so Rezren was left with the details he had ascertained during the blur of conflict.

[Rezren]

His shoes sent delicate echoes down uncrowded streets as he weaved through Ravok. Rezren usually savored such small experiences, but this night was not one to be savored. He was focusing too intently on the goal ahead to notice the seemingly frivolous occurrences like the sound of his steps, the caress of a small breeze, or the fragrance of a nearby plant. Noticing the smaller things was part of what he should be doing though. Rezren acknowledged solemnly that his frustration was interfering with his training and better judgement, but he couldn’t find the fortitude to slow down. A series of sleepless nights analyzing and theorizing about his targets had left him with a handful of likely areas, but doubt began to cast snickering shadows on his conclusions. He had trouble distinguishing facts from theories. What had he truly observed the night he was attacked? What had he fabricated to fill gaps or forgotten details? What had he added out of an educated assumption? The thoughts swelled up like a wave and consumed his attention to the point where the three men could have probably walked past him without him noticing. Rezren observed that he had stopped walking. The veracity of his thoughts had brought his walking to a halt. He gave a tired chuckle upon realizing how he was defeating himself. The mercenary had done similar tasks before, but this time he was gathering info and acting upon it for himself. He never realized how badly the personal nature of this job would affect him. He wasn’t hunting down intelligence for a stranger or his own curiosity. Rezren was searching for his own sword, his own pride, and one of the last remnants of childhood dreams. After a moment of thought, he decided that separating his emotions from a job like this would be impossible. He had been foolish to try. Turning his wounds into determination instead of self-pity and doubt would pave a road to success. Rezren had gone in knowing he would need to control himself in order to succeed but had clearly failed in doing so. Such an optimistic upheaval took time though and he allowed himself to mope a bit longer as he scoured through streets. The streets were striped at this time of night, the darkness interrupted periodically by illuminated windows and open doors. Moving in and out of the light never gave his eyes a chance to adjust properly. The occasional stranger he encountered walking in the opposite direction would disappear into the shadows momentarily before reappearing almost instantly by a light source. Rezren mused that he must look the same and found a sort of temporary kinship with the other travelers. The lonely mercenary made his way to the only part of the city left to search given the information he derived from his data. The men had been wearing dirty and worn clothing, but the clothes themselves seemed nicer and more expensive than street urchins could afford. The almost ankle deep mud caked on their boots marked them as possible new arrivals to Ravok. Rezren, after checking all the places that scum and degenerates would frequent, realized the state of their clothing may have been from travel rather than poverty. Such an option had been considered but avoided. The fact that foreign merchants or mercenaries had bested him so easily in the city where he spent half of his life in had blinded his judgement. He slowed his pace as his destination neared. Tarsin provided temporary boarding to an assortment of individuals. If the newcomer theory was correct, there was a good, or perhaps good enough, possibility that Rezren would find what, or who, he was looking for there.

[Rezren]

The night was still young so he decided to take things slowly and wait outside the boarding home. There were faster, more direct ways to potentially find what he was looking for. Rezren could go pay Tarsin or knock on a few doors, but the time it would take to stake out Tarsin’s for a bit would allow him to sort himself out. If all three men traveled together, it would be challenging to face all of them without a weapon. He still had his shield, but that would hardly be enough. The familiar weight of the steel on his back pulled him out of his thoughts. He removed it and put it down gingerly on the street side opposite of Tarsin’s. Rezren waited and watched. He soaked in some peripheral details about the people entering and exiting, but no one matched his memories. A man with his face concealed exited the building quickly and hurried off down the way Rezren had come. The way he walked seemed familiar. The sound of his footsteps brought him back to the fateful night. Rezren followed, almost forgetting his shield on the ground. Justice and retribution flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t tell which of the three men he was potentially following and the man didn’t have his sword, but it was probably better that way. Catching, subduing, and interrogating an unarmed opponent could potentially yield his sword with minimal conflict compared to alternative scenarios. The man had slowed a little but still moved fast enough to attract to the gaze of some weary people. Rezren tried to move more slowly, but he was too excited. The man was just yards away. A few moments later, he was feet away. Before Rezren even realized, he was inches away. The stranger made a turn into an alley and was no sooner tackled by the desperate mercenary. The tight walls echoed the short scuffle into the night. With a shaking hand, Rezren tore off the cloth covering half the man’s face. A small squeal escaped from the man’s thin, pale lips. Rezren just sighed. It was the wrong man. The man in question began to whimper and his eyes grew wet with unshed tears. The mercenary cursed, apologized, and left the confused and innocent man to regain composure in the darkness. On the way back to Tarsin’s, the guilt turned into indifference to the man he had accidentally tackled. The man would be more cautious now. Perhaps Rezren had even saved him from future danger by making him paranoid. Soon, he found himself back at Tarsin’s. He took a seat in the exact location and manner which he had before. The idea that the three may have left while he went chasing an innocent man bothered him, but Rezren decided to cling to the hope that he may catch them on the way back. The night progressed uneventfully until one of the three exited Tarsin’s. This time there was no hunch or assumptions in his identification. The man stood by a lamp, giving a clear view of his appearance, for a good minute as if to taunt Rezren before stumbling down the street. The drunk man walked many minutes, obviously lost. Periodically, he would rudely grab a passerby and ask them for directions to some location Rezren couldn’t quite discern from such a distance. Eventually, the mercenary stopped a woman that had talked to the drunk and learned he was trying to find a nearby tavern. The tavern was close by and his best chance to catch the drunk would be before the drunk got there.

[Rezren]

Waiting for the opportune time seemed daunting but ended up being remarkably simple. The assailant he was following moved into a dark and empty side street to throw up a bit. Rezren removed his shield and swung it at the man’s back with both hands. The steel sent the man sprawling against a wall. The drunk threw a sloppy punch in retaliation, but his fist only made contact with the wall of steel between him and his enemy. Before the man could scream, Rezren lunged forward and struck him square in the stomach with the mass of metal. Hardly able to the breath, the drunk attempted to crawl away, but Rezren brought down the shield in a large arc, slamming the shield edge into the side of the writhing drunk. An unexpected kick to the knee from his opponent brought the mercenary to the ground, but any more will to fight was taken from the unfortunate man when Rezren struck him square in the jaw with the steel corner of his shield. The man let out a few quiet wheezing sobs before recognizing Rezren. Any sort of pity that the mercenary felt was lost in a sea of excitement. He could almost feel the sword back on his hip. The man was about to speak, but instead rolled over to vomit the rest of his stomach contents on the street. A woman absentmindedly walked towards them before assessing the scene and calmly doubling back. Before Rezren could ask a question, words spilled out of the downed drunk. Apologies, promises, and prayers all fought to escape his scrawny body until the mercenary raised the shield menacingly. All the nonsensical words faded into pitiful gasps. Rezren squatted down to look the man more closely in the eyes. His lips parted to ask the question he had tried to pose multiple times in the preceding minutes, but the drunk interrupted him again. “Y-you... Your sword is what you want? You ca... can find it with- I mean on- I mean carried by Gerts. We was gonna sell it, but Gerts wanted to keep it saying it was good luck and all. I said how could it be good luck if its last owner got it robbed from him? You know? Well I guess you gotta know. He just wants it so he can be the leader of our crew. We don’t got proper weapons yet, well we sort of had them stolen from us on the road here, and a nice sword like that... well no one is gonna be questioning his decisions for a while you know? Anyways, if you let me live... I’ll tell you that they are going to be at the docks tonight!” The man shouted before realizing he had let slip the only piece of information Rezren could possibly want. The mercenary gave the drunk one last kick and walked off towards the docks. The drunk shouted many thanks in his direction and repeated that his sword would be at the docks in order to fulfill his half-witted promise. The docks were the first place Rezren had looked for the three and it was reassuring that his intuition wasn’t totally off. The night had progressed now and the mercenary was growing tired as the adrenaline faded. The docks themselves were still fairly alive at night, but if the two remaining assailants were around, they would be easy enough to find. People traveling in pairs of two caught his eye and he moved into locations that offered the largest views. It took him longer to find the people he was looking for due to the darkness, but after a few false leads, he managed to spot Gerts and the still unnamed third thief. He felt fulfilled and free. For the first time in a long time, his life had direction and purpose. Retrieving the sword, though an insignificant task in the grand scope of life, gave a goal for his heart to follow. He was given momentary identity in his quest for his trusted blade. Rezren followed them into a shady and seemingly empty part of the docks. His two targets made abrupt and sudden twists and turns, but the mercenary was comfortable that his presence had remained concealed. Fighting the men would be no easy task, but Rezren felt empowered by the purpose injected into his life. He felt confident that the two men would pose no threat. His confidence faded as his two enemies slinked off into a dark area between two large buildings. There were two more men there. Panic struck at the foundation of fearlessness he had built up in order to take care of the two men who had robbed him. Rezren decided he would wait. The people in the alley didn’t talk for long and he decided that he would ambush the two thieves once they were alone, but the four men began to walk towards the city center together! Rezren, faced with the prospect of never seeing his short sword again, decided against his safety and health.

[Rezren]

He held the sword’s metal scabbard in his hand like a sword and donned the heavy, steel shield. His breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to beat uncontrollably, but Rezren rushed forward. The distance between him and his foes seemed like miles, but an odd combination of desperation, courage, and confidence pushed him forward. If he could take one out immediately, he would only need to deal with three. If he could take out Gerts and get his sword back, he felt victory would be certain. Rezren was feet away when one of them decided to turn around. It was the third unnamed person who had robbed him. The mercenary swung the scabbard towards the man’s head. The sturdy metal object made a loud sound as it connected with his ear. The others spun around, but not before a second blow had been delivered to the man’s jaw. The Gerts and one of the strangers drew swords while the third loaded a small crossbow. Rezren cursed to himself. It would seem that he had taken out the only unarmed man of the four. Half of his mind was telling him to flee, but the sight of his sword merely feet away kept him grounded. One man lunged forward, sword extended, but the blade slid harmlessly off Rezren’s raised shield. He felt like a knight fighting off the forces of darkness and thought bolstered his spirits. The rush prompted him to swing the scabbard at Gerts. Rezren’s short sword bit into the scabbard as Gerts raised it to defend himself. The two men pulled momentarily until the scabbard and blade split, but the the sword-wielding stranger was already setting up his next attack. Rezren raised the scabbard but quickly pulled it back after realizing how damaged it was from the previous blow, taking the blow to his shield instead. The mercenary swung out with the scabbard and dealt a glancing blow to the stranger's face. The crossbow fired a small bolt that glanced Rezren’s arm and caused him to back up. Gerts and the stranger advanced as the crossbowman reloaded again. The man Rezren had downed at the start got up on his feet as well. They were saying words, but he couldn’t tell whether they were to each other or to him. His heart was pounding too fast and mind racing to quickly for him to make sense of their words. Gerts and the swordsman struck at Rezren unsuccessfully. The mercenary managed to return a few sturdy blows, but his scabbard would only leave bruises. The crossbow fired again. This time, the bolt missed narrowly, but he knew that he couldn’t last much longer. The man who he had attacked first had found a sturdy piece of lumber to use as a weapon. As he approached to join Gerts and the swordsman, Rezren knew he had lost. The men were much more capable than he remembered and their two friends made things so much worse. He continued to deflect blows with the shield and strike back with the scabbard whenever he saw an opening. Gerts brought the short sword down hard on the scabbard after Rezren had misjudged an opening. The scabbard split and bent so badly that the mercenary had no choice but to toss it aside. Rezren, armed only with a shield, spotted a stranger a few yards away and tried his hand at a last desperate bluff. “I’m afraid the tables have turned... Now that my friend has found me, you stand no chance. Do you think I would take on you four without some backup?” Rezren tried to sound confident as he spoke, but he could feel his voice shaking. The stranger in question wasn’t even armed... The four still glanced nervously over at the silhouette a few buildings down. Gerts yelled something back at the crossbowman who hesitated before taking aim at the distant stranger. The mercenary prepared to run now that his knightly courage had melted.

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde had been minding his own business really... He had been out late that day, meditating, trying to find a bit of peace, outside of Ravok, were it tended to be a bit harder to. Trying to look deeper within himself, and get a deeper connection and understanding of himself and the magic that flowed through him. So, since he had stayed out late, he ended up getting back later than usual. He usually tried to get back home around dark, but instead found himself leaving the docks then. Or at least he would have left, if something had not interceded... He was just minding his own business, when a bolt from a crossbow came slicing through the air, a foot wide. Luckily, either the person manning it had bad aim... Or maybe, what was more likely, it was hard to hit a moving target with one, from that distance, when they were not heading right at you... Clyde had tossed enough fireballs to know that was true... Stationary targets, or ones coming at you were much easier. As soon as Clyde saw that bolt narrowly miss, he dropped down lower, and spun slowly on the spot, trying to both make himself a smaller and harder to hit target, and to see who had shot at him. Soon enough, Clyde spotted it, a bunch of men, all gathered together, one of which clearly holding a crossbow, and quickly trying to reload it. Clyde immediately headed toward them, billowing gaseous res off of himself, and with minimal conscious effort, collecting it into a ball in front of him. He could taste the sweat flavor in his mouth, as he loosed his res, the sweat taste and joy of using magic... As he collected his res, and prepared it, the joy slowly grew... Clutching at the familiar texture of the staff in his hand, and moving his other hand in a swirling pattern, he collected a portion of the res into a cone at the center, having it suck in and concentrate air, letting the other bits circle around it pulling in more... It appeared the man was nearly ready to fire again, and the boom of a shock wave would knock aside the bolt before it hit him. As he saw the man prepare to fire, he readied his magics, thrusting forward and aiming the cone of res and its collected air... As soon as the bolt fired, Clyde thrust his hand holding the staff forward, and a booming crack went off. Something these mundane men had likely never heard before, except in lightning. The boom did its job, as the shockwave progressed, knocking right into the bolt, and sending it far wide, to go who knew were. But it went no were near Clyde. But he was not done yet, and he gathered the rest of the whisps of res he had produced, and lit the outside with flame... He was close enough now, to use a fireball with good accuracy. He tossed it, lighting the core just before it struck, smashing the fireball right into his crossbow and chest, setting the wood ablaze, along with the clothes on his chest and shirt. If he did not want to go completely up in flames, he would have to dive into the waters, but his string would be ruined already, and he would not be firing any more. "Now, who has the death wish, and had the bright idea to try and shoot me?" Clyde said, anger and rage clear in his face and tone. He was still a bit away from the men, but he was close enough for this to be clear... He was petching mad. All the while, Clyde was working on a second ball of res, collecting it in front of him in a ball, with a portion of his mind not being used to stare these men down.

[Rezren]

The crossbowman’s aim was wide and Rezren thanked the gods that the stranger had lived. The guilt would have been most disagreeable to deal with, but the thanks turned into prayers as he prepared to run. He knew he would need to be swift if he were to escape unharmed. He discerned the safest route of escape based on the position of the four foe and began to move. The muscles of his legs tightened, his fists clenched tightly, and his breath quickened. He made half a step’s distance before stopping dead in his tracks. The stranger hadn’t run upon being missed by the bolt. Instead, he was approaching! His hesitation had robbed him of the opportunity to escape and the three enemies surrounding him moved in for the kill. Rezren was too focused on the three men to see the crossbow fire, but he heard the shot and his heart jumped instinctively. The bolt could have very well been in his chest but apparently had been aimed at the approaching stranger. Soon after the distinct sound of a releasing crossbow, the sound of thunder pierced the silent night air. Everyone jumped in surprise and turned to look at the source of the titanic sound. The moment they looked over, the crossbowman burst into flames after being hit by a flaming projectile. The flames’ light pierced the suffocating darkness and illuminated the battlefield. As smoldering shards from the crossbow rained down upon the stunned combatants, the mage asked in an angry tone who was responsible for his involvement. The swordsman yelled an indistinguishable name and went to try and save his burning friend. As the two remaining adversaries stood paralyzed by what they had witnessed, Rezren tossed his shield into the still unnamed thief’s face before tackling Gerts. He tried to desperately tear the sword out of his enemy’s hands as they rolled on the docks. The mercenary’s proximity to death brought out more feral instincts and he proceeded to bite viciously at Gerts’s fingers. Rezren tasted blood and heard a painful cry as he broke through the calloused skin. Gerts tried to free himself with wild shouting and twisting, but eventually his hands opened and the sword fell to the floor. Rezren’s hand darted out like a mad viper and gripped the sword... his sword... It felt familiar and empowering to have the weight in his hands. The man who Rezren had thrown a shield at swung the piece of lumber clumsily. The short sword raised to block the blow, but instead cut through the wood and sent a large piece hurtling towards his face. Rezren doubled over in pain as the wood block hit him square in the eye. He knew what black eyes felt like and he knew that he now had one... bad. The momentary blinding pain was momentarily suppressed, or more accurately ignored, as his mind refocused on the battle. The wood-wielding criminal turned to run, but the cold steel short sword darted out and cut into the back of his leg. Gerts struck out and hit Rezren in the stomach. In an instinctive response of rage and contempt, the mercenary swung the short sword down into Gerts’s throat. Killing was something that the Rezren still wasn’t comfortable with despite having done it a handful of time in his life, but he had never come so close to death before. Morality and ethics had been erased by unaccustomed amounts of both fear and adrenaline. The swordsman tried to support the remaining thief, who Rezren had crippled, until he realized that the mage had another spell ready. He tried to run, but the hamstrung man cried out in panic and wouldn’t let go of his ally. Rezren looked over to the reimancer and pointed over with his sword to the two trying to escape, “These four men attacked me and it looks like they wouldn’t have minded taking you out too. Thieves it would seem...” He was shaking. He was alive. Accepting death, or accepting its inevitability in a given situation, had robbed him of any endurance or vitality that he still had after the skirmish.

[Clyde Sullins]

As Clyde asked his question, a scuffle broke out between some of the men. One man went to help the man who had been caught aflame by his fireball... He was not sure what made the crossbow explode like that... Maybe he had recently oiled it, or the mechanism had ripped loose when the tension cord snapped in the heat... Regardless, he was fairly certain the man who had went to help the burning man was on the crossbowmens side... Then a man attacked the other two remaining men, knocking one in the face with his shield, and tackling the other, attacking him like crazy like a feral dog. He supposed that meant the two men this one had attacked were on the same team... Though he did not know, were the two men with the crossbowmen and the man saving him? Or was the one man with them? Hard to say... As the man went to run off though... Surely that meant he was on the side of the crossbowmen? Otherwise he would have been keen to take Clyde's aid, knowing he was against the crossbowmen who had attacked him... Or perhaps there was more going on than he knew... Then he spun his tale, of which Clyde did not know if it was truth, or lies... “These four men attacked me and it looks like they wouldn’t have minded taking you out too. Thieves it would seem...” "Let them go. They have learned there lesson, and wont attack me again. Not if they wish to live... If you wish to go after them, that is your business. Though, if they were already fighting you, why did they attack me? I had nothing to do with it, it seems foolish to do so in the middle of a fight..." Clearly there were some flaws in the mans tale, which did not sum things up... Even if what he said was the truth, he was clearly leaving out some fact, which would explain things. Since no thief was fool enough to randomly attack a man midst battle. "Regardless, considering you were taking on four men alone, a fool move to make, it seems you owe me your life. If I had not interceded, they would have won, and killed you. So what great thanks do you have for this deed I have done?" Ever since the man had given his version of what had happened, however incomplete, Clyde had stopped generating res... He had enough, and gathered it into another ball before him. Enough for throwing another fireball at someone, should they attack him. But it seemed the fighting was over, quick as it had been... He was not surprised, considering the caliber of his enemy, and himself, there was a clear gap in skill, and he would have been having a pretty off day if winning such a skirmish had not been easy. Clyde turned to check on the man who had been caught aflame, to see neither of them. Apparently during there talking, the two men, one on fire, and one trying to help, had jumped into the waters of the lake. Or perhaps they had fell in, or one had pushed another. Regardless, they were both in there, one sporting several burns, and tattered remnants of cloth on his body... He especially had learned his lesson... The other had started swimming away, dragging along his friend.

[Rezren]

Rezren began to relax now that the battle was over and the mage seemed to have no intention of killing him. Such tremendous power wielded at a man’s fingertips was a lot to take in for a battle worn and bruised man. His mother had used magic, but her displays were much weaker or perhaps more subtle. The memories of Rezren’s mother brought back bitter thoughts and the fact that he now owed a practitioner of magic soured the taste of survival and victory. He wasn’t about to insult the most powerful man he had ever set on eyes on and reverse his fortunes. As the defeated group dispersed, Rezren took a few moments to size up the man he owed his life to. Despite the darkness, the man was obviously tan and had brown hair. Burn scars on the man’s face would have raised an eyebrow in other circumstances, but the display of fiery wrath didn’t leave many questions. In the end, Rezren couldn’t make any crucial observations... None besides the very unique fact that the man was a skilled at using magic. His saviors question revealed inner suspicions about the bits of information Rezren had divulged, but it would seem that the mercenary would be saved from judgement this night. He was in the middle of thinking about the best way to explain the thieves attacking him when the mage spoke again. This question relieved Rezren as it was much easier to answer. Upon further thought, perhaps it wasn’t easier but at least it was less sensitive. If the man found his answer not to his liking, he could merely raise the stakes rather than redirecting his rage. As the battle’s effects on his body continued to fade, he felt the cool night air on his damp skin. In exhaustion, Rezren sat down and allowed his fingers to take in every inch of the ground as he ran his fingers slowly across. Every sense was a reminder of life, which seemed all the more valuable. He owed the stranger for every sense and experience from this day forward. He picked up his sword again and began to clean it while thoughtfully considering his words, “A fool move indeed. Your... intercession, as you say, was quite crucial for my continued existence! I’m afraid that the coin I could have to offer would be insulting to offer to one of your skill.” Rezren got to his feet with a bit of a wince and sigh before going to retrieve his shield, which he promptly began to clean on his pants while examining the scratches it had accrued over the night. He bit down on his tongue lightly as he pondered his next words. Rezren looked up to make eye contact with the great mage, “I can offer you favors. If you ever would need a sword and board for some reason, I could...” Rezren laughed. “Well I guess you don’t really need a bodyguard, but perhaps a situation will arise in which you’d wish to conserve or hide your magic. I also am... trained, I guess you could say, in intelligence gathering. You seem more than capable so I’m sure you could find derive some use from me, and seeing as you saved my life, I’d say no task would be too large or quantity too many.” Rezren replayed the words in his head and was satisfied with the respect and meaning it conveyed. He looked at the man whose name he didn’t even know and added, “I’m Rezren, by the way. No last name. My parents don’t deserve me adopting it.” He gave an uncomfortable laugh at the half-joke.

[Clyde Sullins]

If Clyde had known what the man was thinking, of the scars he bore on his face, he would have laughed. Well, laughed, and then smited him with a bolt of lightning in the face, but laughed all the same... Really, he often wondered, why had the man burnt his face? Because of it, everyone assumed he was a careless reimancer, or unskilled... But really, he had not even been the one to cause it. He had been incapacitated at the time... But from a fair standpoint, it was a obvious assumption to make... Luckily for the man, he did not mention this, or make a comment on it, simply noting it in his head... Not knowing it was a sore spot with the mage. However as another chime passed, it seemed the battle was unlikely to continue... So instead of keeping out his res, which was slowly degrading over time, he let it come back to him, reabsorbing into his flesh and body... This of course was not completely efficient, as he would have less djed than if he had not emitted and pulled back in this res, but it would still be better than if he had done another spell. He had still done two spells today, in quick succession, even if they were lower than his full capability... He had not overgiven, but still, underneath the pleasant feeling of having done magic, he was beginning to feel tired, like he had just run for 10 chimes, without stopping. A lot for him, considering he was not in the best of shape, not a runner. As the man spoke, it was clear he was trying to be polite, even to Clydes ears. But he let him carry on with his feigned deference, which was probably brought on by fear. He was just a sully mundane human, let him fear what Clyde could do. At least he was not stupid, clearly understanding the fact that he did not have coin to reimburse Clyde for his actions... Though favors... That seemed like it might be useful, to an extent... Possibly... Though the fact that he had to rescue this man, and why, came into mind... Not exactly the best warrior on his hands, even if he owed Clyde his life. "I suppose I could find some use for you... At some point in time... Though I think I would expect you to get a bit better at what you do first. Especially considering the fact that the reason I had to help you, was that you were foolish enough to get robbed, and then go after them single handed. I should hope someone owing me would be a bit more intelligent than that." Clyde simply looked at the man, not completely trusting him... But he did fear Clyde, which would likely make him do as asked, as long as it did not put the swordmans own life in danger. He doubted he could trust him that far... And he could not show weakness... Otherwise he might use it to turn traitor on him, in order to absolve himself of his debt through blood... Clydes... "I am Clyde... I suppose you might be a useful tool at some point... We will see... Though I suppose I need to know were you are to stay, so I can contact you." oocYou dont have to give the specifics, can just say he does tell, since I doubt you have an address for it. Just say he gives the location, and that is enough.