Progeny (Hadrian)

[Trente]

35th of Fall, 512

Distant voices floated as if a distant mirage along the edges of his psyche, far beyond what one might call awareness. Dreams passed, but not the type that inhabit one's nightly dreams, butt he ones that inhabit one's darkest corners, that which they never utter to another. Fear permeated him, and with it anger. Still, his body lay placid. unable to respond to the perpetual terror he he undulated up and down with the waves, as he was pulled from the ship and deposited to a small shack just beyond the docks, housing for decades now an abusive man and his skilled physician of a slave.

"Here he is, Matilis," the Konti women said with an almost hushed tone, uncertain of what this sickly man could truly offer the gifted boy.

"He is sleeping." The boy said clearly as he moved with slow steps to the form set half nude within piled blankets upon the floor, lantern hung flickering above him.

"He will wake. Rak'keli shall see to that." The words came softly through the darkness, though not as reassuring as one might have expected, her piousness tested by the long trip, by the unsettling wait in Sunberth. Still, Avalis had promised, had called, and here the promise lay before him, in need as foretold.

"Will you heal him?" Matilis asked.

"Yes, with your help." She had seen it in the darkness of night, set upon ivory backdrop in Mura, as the vision water shown moonlight in rippled across her own home. What was her home before the call. "Set your hands on his cheeks."

Distantly something cold came from the haze, dry but soft upon him. A white hot pain flowed through him as more hands clasped him, again with the distant whispers this time a women like the light of Rak'keli which he had witnessed once before. The light, the hands, took lightly hold of him and guides him upward, through the impenetrable haze, and finally out into what seemed like fresh air. His eyes fluttered open, and above him as if the reflection of a flawless pool of water lay his own eyes, brilliant blue swimming with Laviku's vastness, and Morwen's striking gift. Surrounding those familiar eyes was no reflection though, a field of freckles, and long unending eyelashes of black. Attractively trimmed hair adorned the wide face of the child staring down at him.

"He is awake." The child said with wonder in his voice, bordering with awe, not at the magic of Rak'keli's touch which the Konti has administered so skillfully, but the handsome face of his father, growing flush with life once more. He had not imagined a man so full of youth.

Trente's eyes scanned the dank single room apartment around him, full of blankets and strong smelling herbs hanging from strings. The owners of the room where nowhere in sight. His stomach ached for food and his throat burned for water. Wrenmae's presence had pushed Trente's sickness farther than anyone could anticipate. Just when Trente had thought he was feeling better it had hit him at the most inopportune time, leaving him in alternating state of sickly fever and unconsciousness for days upon the boat from Zeltiva.

"Sir," the women's voice came clearly soothingly, and he looked to her as if she were an angel radiating with healing light. "My name is Trashava and I have been tasked with delivering this young man to you."

Matilis could not fight the smile that found itself to his face, as Trente's eyes slid from reverence of the Konti to blank observation of the child. Soon the blank expression turned to confusion. What use did he have for a young boy, and why were the boy's eyes fluctuating with Laviku's light, why did the shift like Trente's own?

"I am afraid I do not understand, Trashava..." The words came scratchy, and Matilis delivered a porcelain mug to his lips in a matter of moment, offered with a persisting smile.

"Sir, this is Matilis. Your son."

A sudden sinking sensation caught Trente in the gut, and he found himself fighting the slow slip back into unconsciousness.

"Sorry?" He managed to choke in confusion, looking at the boy with alarmed disbelief.

Moments later Trente has heard enough, having stood and searching the piles of fabric for his Ravokian styled clothing. "Where are my clothes?"

The Konti frowned with clear disapproval. Upon seeing this Trente stopped and looked to her, then the child, then back to her.

"Trashava, I think you and Rak'keli whole heartedly for your sacrifices this day, for the time and energy you gave to likely save my life. You have my word that the next injured more women or child I see I will deliver directly to one of Rak'keli's own so that the favor may be repaid. I will not, however, take this child. I confess that it would do me nor this child any favors. Ah-" He exclaimed softly as he spotted his clothing, reaching for them and hastily pulling them on.

With the backdrop of ruffling fabrics Matilis fell into a deafening catatonia of his own. The words that poured from his father's lips were so callous, and he feared what this might mean. After months of searching, of waiting, of facing the worst treatment he thought man kind capable of he may find himself yet again without a Father, without a mother. And possibly, if the Konti would not take him back, without a home.

"This is Avalis' will. You must take your son, he has been waiting for you."

"You are mistaken, ma'am." Trente said with a hurried voice, heading for the door, away from the child on the verge of tears. "This child can not be mine. Please take him back to Mura, a women of your stature and a child should be somewhere safe." Thought he wasn't quite sure where he was, he could tell it wasn't Mura. He finished his warning then dashed around the corner, with significantly less grace than he usually commanded. A mistake. Standing just outside the door, around the corner, was Hadrian, they collided and Trente forced quick footwork to avoid falling, shifting his weight with the fall and moving with it, giving a glare to Hadrian, the first sign of true emotion Trente had revealed to the man since their employment had begun.

The Konti poured from the room after him with forceful steps, the door slamming behind her to shield the child from the harmful words that Trente may speak, and a more forceful voice followed. "Marsha walked out on that boy, and now his father too? He doesn't even know your name, at least give him that." She tried for time, certain the man would grow fond of the child if he just took the time to speak with him.

The name struck Trente like a blade and his near stumbling balance faltered instantly. His right knee hit the wooden floorboards below, as he fell palm bracing into the next door of the shack. A long moment stretched out before he rose, reeling his emotions inward and turned, a malevolent look in his eyes.

"Where is my sword?" His words were directed toward Hadrian, bit his eye pierced threateningly into the gorgeous Konti women.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian had recovered from the illness he was sure he had caught from Trente, or at least he presumed he had. There had been no terrible relapses since that day and night spent in a feverish coma, but now Trente was comatose, he had begun to worry after his own health. When they reached Sunberth, Hadrian had acted on behalf of his employee. Body buffed with Fluxed djed he carried his own goods and Trente's into the city, eventually finding a physician with a capable and (relatively) honest reputation, who had sent him in search of a Konti healer. The woman had come with her young ward, explaining much, if not all, to Hadrian. His eyes could see some of the rest for themselves in the boy. There was something in him that almost required he aid her, though he had gone above and beyond the call of duty in helping Trente already. He had waited outside while the healers did their work, hearing perhaps too much through the thin walls. Trente nearly bowled him over in his attempt to escape, but Hadrian managed to keep afoot. He had their things stacked neatly beside him, not trusting even foul-tempered Adrasteios to protect it from the thieves of Sunberth. In fact, he hoped his Bloodbane was not stolen while he waited. "I have all your things here," he said calmly, "but I cannot let you harm them." Perhaps it was Avalis' vision water still within him that moved him so, or his Syliran ethics coming to the fore. "If you do not wish to take custody of your son, that is your prerogative. Violence is not." He was adamant about this, and while he hoped Trente would not break their agreement, there were some things more important in life.

[Trente]

Trente gave a baleful look toward Hadrian. "I'm not going to murder them, Professor." He announced indignantly as he stepped forward and grabbed his belonging from the ground, his muscles still sore from the time of inactivity despite Rak'keli's grace.

He was relieved to hear that Hadrian would not stop him from leaving without the child, he had enough to worry about without the young Professor slinging magic toward him, tying to sway his thoughts. It all made so very little sense, the child. He was old, old enough that even if he hadn't ages like Trente, if he ages like a human he would still be a toddler. It seemed like so much longer than just a few years since he had seen Marsha.

"Thank you for tending to me, Hadrian. How much do I owe you for the services? What has become of the fleet? Where are we?" He had so many questions, and wondered if he couldn't answer one himself.

He reached back down to short hallway and pushed the door ajar just enough to catch a glimpse of matted dirty streets through blinding light, the small of rancid crime festering in the streets. Sunberth, Trente knew it in a heartbeat. The door was pulled shut in a moment, and Trente's eyes looked back toward the Konti who had risked coming there of all places.

"Sunberth..." He knew what happened to Konti in Sunberth, what happened to children.

Was this a coincidence? How did this happen? The last he was her he had been in Sunberth, when she swore to him he would never see her again, whens he left him. No, he literally shook his head in a moment of lackluster bearing. "The fleet was to leave from Sunberth." The words came distracted as he caught himself up with his own thoughts before looking back with focus to Hadrian, "Can we still catch it, or are we stranded here?" There was notable distaste in his voice toward the latter possibility as he drew the sword around his waist and hiked the back over his back.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian ignored the callous request for an invoice, knowing Trente must be in emotional turmoil if he was actually showing his anger. Normally he was cool as a cucumber. "Sunberth," he agreed. "We only just arrived. You fell into a coma a day or so before we got here. I brought you for medical attention, and was told to find Mistress Trashava, who has been waiting here for weeks to see you." This was all relayed clinically, not attempting to shame him into taking his son in. They were, after all, on an important mission. "The knights said it would take some time to organize the trip over the channel. Weather, logistics, whatever. We don't have a thing to do but sit on our hands and wait." He kept an eye on Trente, knowing that even with a true Healer, a man could still pass out from the aftereffects, his body trying to find its new equilibrium. But he turned to the Konti and her ward. "Mistress, I have drunk the vision water of Silver Lake. I can feel Avalis' will at work here. If Trente will not claim his son, I will take him back to Zeltiva with me and be sure he is raised in safety in thanks for Her gift. The only problem is we are on a mission to Sahova now and I would not take a child to the isle of the undead. He would not be safe."

[Trente]

The Konti's brow knitted with confusion, her mission growing more and more complex at the point in which she hoped it would do the opposite. Was this truly what her deity requested of her, to deliver a gifted child into unwanting hands?

She was at an utter loss of words, she agreed of course that Sahova was no place for a child, not as all the warriors and thieves of the world descended upon it like hungry vultures. Still, it must be Trente to take the child, his father, she was certain of it.

Trente spoke first. "Well let us flatten our hands somewhere else then. She has to tend to her child, and make preparations to leave now that they know that they have wasted their time here. We do not wish to be a further nuisance."

The delicate looking women bristled at the neglectful father's apathetic words, carelessly thrown to Hadrian, not even bothering to speak directly to her.

"Avalis-" Her words made it no further.

"Avalis is not my patron nor my master." Trente snapped with nothing short of a vacuous tone handing dryly and unmoving in the air.

The Konti showed no patience for Trente's disregard. "Then do you stand for nothing? Even this man who has no responsibility to your son offers his help, not just to you but Matilis. Rak'keli has gifted herself to you so you may take another gift from the womb of your lover-"

Trente's hand moved to the hilt of his blade, "She-" He cut himself short, refusing to give into rage, pulling his hand reluctantly from the cool metal, giving a lucid and silent resignation to Hadrian in the form of a flattened palm.

The silence hung for only a moment before the Konti realized the protection Hadrian's presence lended her. "You can change, you can overcome your past misdeeds by taking this child. He is not his mother, Trente."

It was plain to see by both the men who had spent time in Mura that the Konti had begun to enlist her blessing of Avalis as much as she had her mark of Rak'keli earlier that morning. She refused to fail her calling.

Hadrian felt the light pressure of a small presence pressing itself against the opposite side of the closed door, listening through from the opposite side as the encounter stretched on.

"I strongly advise you to drop this, Konti. Avalis is more than adapt at handing her followers bait to lure, but a hook she does no provide." With a threatening glare, and through a constricting jaw he threatened with a poorly feigned calm, "You do not speak her name again, and you do not speak mine until I give it, witch. Or we shall set out to discover what the fair citizens of Sunberth think of your precious sight."

[Hadrian]

Hadrian realized that he didn't know Trente well enough to say what would change his mind, or whether it was possible to change his mind. That he ought to get the boy back to Zeltiva where it was largely safer than Sahova or Sunberth was obvious, even if he didn't intend to raise him. There was the Farson Home for that and he would be well tended to, but to leave him here... "This isn't honorable," he said before he realized he was saying it. He frowned through his embarrassment, though. He had spent so much time in Zeltiva and abroad, but his Syliran roots were showing. When he continued, it was in a softer voice, knowing the poor child in the other room was listening to his father, his hope, cruelly rebuff him. Was this fair to Trente? Probably not, though Hadrian doubted the woman in question had forced him to enter her and irresponsibly sow his seed within. Trente had been in a state of feverish disarray when he found him comatose, clothing half torn off. It was only then he saw the negative marks, not from gods, but from Svefra and Ravok. He supposed the stories that went along with those marks might explain this hard-heartedness. But he knew Trente would mock him for citing him for dishonor. "The goddess wants him to follow you. So quarter them here until we return to Zeltiva and take him back with you. If you won't keep him, there's the Farson Home. There are no better places for orphans. Do him that small kindness before washing your hands of him. Please."

[Trente]

Trrente was utterly caught off guard by the statement. It had been years since he had heard the word "honorable" even spoken, and in the definite ring of a Syliran accent none the less. His mouth was suddenly dry, he felt as if some innate authority were speaking down to him. The sensation he had when his mother spoke to him, and to make it even that much more impactful he was polite, as she always was, he even pleased with "please." Trente was just beyond suspecting magic, no this was something worse, guilt.

The Konti had stopped staring into Trente. Trente knew because she did not stop glaring accusingly at him as he fell apart inside. There had been a time that he let Konti wisdom guide him, a time when he let honor guide him. He knew the right choice was to do as Hadrian advised, to do as the Konti instructed. He knew how easy it would be to concede to what quickly began feeling like fate, yet there was still resistance. His hearth throbbed, and he thought of her, Matilis' mother? Was it true? And how? None of these questions really seemed to matter, suddenly, as he foudn the seed of his hurt, of his confusion.

With a dubious look, a pointless attempt to remain apathetic Trente looked to Trashava. "Is," a long pause stretched out before he summons the courage to continue, "Marsha dead?" He knew how harsh the world could be, how rash that women could be, and most of all he could how deadly the djed storm had been. He had thought of Marsha, as he lay locked beneath the college sharing heat with that young Svefra girl. He thought of her whenever he touched the flesh of women, now. He could not know what he would feel if the Konti had answered yes, nor would he find out.

The Konti's eyes softened slightly as the tension int he room lessened, and with a partly confused but mostly concerned look she shook her head noncommittally. "She left unannounced before the storm. I do not know what became of the vessel she boarded. I'm sorry." She paused following her answer, unsure of what to say, seeing the pain crashing in Trente's ever shifting eyes, even as his brow held firm in a distant numbness.

After a moment she softly continued, and surprisingly she was not met with aggression. Hadrian's words had disarmed the father for the moment.

"A boy can only take so much loss in his life. First his mother, now he has his father in his grasp. I beg you, don't take that away from him."

Trente remembered vividly the pain he experienced as he left his mother in Sylira, knowing what it meant to grow up without a father, to have to sacrifice everything to protect his mother, to live (if one could call it living) completely alone because he had no father there to fix it all.

Trente's eyes looked warmer as redness stretched out from him, and he blinked against tears trying to form. With a resolute expression he looked toward them both. "My head aches too much for this. I require my rest. And, that child will have a better life without me." He then turned toward the door again, but stopped after a step.

"So, when he dies because I can not look after him the blood is on yours and Avalis' hands, not mine.

Get his stuff together, then, I will be waiting at the docks." His begrudging acceptance given he quickly opened the door and left, walking the streets of Sunberth yet again dreading what he had just done truly meant. Was he really a father. With careful deliberation he counted years and decided that no, it really made no sense. Still, he care the child's eyes. He knew the moment he saw them. They were the same, Trente was no longer alone.

Trashava gave a gargantuan sigh of relief after a long silence following Trente's departure. All of her work, her toil had paid off, and something in her released. She felt so much pride it overwhelmed her, Avalis smiled, and she knew that her call had been answered. She had done what must be done, despite all of the pain all of the trials. Taken by her emotions she turned and embraced Hadrian without warning, without thought, a firm hug of joy, then diminished worry. Quietly, still holding to Hadrian, granted he allowed, she asks at a near whistle. "Will he be ok?" It was unclear if she meant Trente or Matilis. At that point it no logner truly mattered, their fates were intertwined, irreversibly.

[Hadrian]

It hadn't occurred to Hadrian to use magic in this; had he known Trente thought it possible, he might have been offended. To be sure, he would use hypnotism to calm a room to prevent violence, and he had been more indiscriminate in its use to keep his friends and himself safe during their sojourn in Ravok while seeking out those who had done wrong by Kendall Saarinen. But it was a magic he tried always to use ethically, not just to give himself an advantage over someone else. But oddly, his knee-jerk call to honor seemed to have worked, and his role in this seemed, for the moment, to be over. He nodded to Trente's demand as the man quit the place, wishing he would have waited so Hadrian could be there if his legs failed him. The hug took him by surprise, but he didn't pull away. Perhaps he blushed slightly, always having had a bit of an admiration for her comely race. "I will see to it," he said, nodding. When she extricated herself, they burdened themselves with her few things and Matilis'. Thankfully, she was aware of her danger here and they had brought all their things with them. It was strangely quiet as Hadrian slung Matilis' bag over his shoulder, but they would soon find out why. After stepping outside, both he and Trashava took the young boy's hands and began to walk toward the harbor. But it quickly became apparent that despite her hood, she had been recognized. A glance over his shoulder saw the selfsame man who suggested he seek out the Konti standing in the door of the little healer hut watching them with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug expression. "Sunberth," he explained, and the Konti seemed to follow his meaning. Fluxing djed down his limbs to increase strength, speed, and durability for the extra abuse his body would face, he lifted Matilis up as if he were a feather, and slung him across his back, shoving the boy's bag aside. "Hold on," he said through grit teeth against the tremoring of his expectant muscles. The boy had the sense to do so, and this pleased Hadrian. The last thing they needed was a recalcitrant boy when life and liberty were at stake. "Move." They picked up the pace, not quite making a full-out run for fear of a few mobsters becoming a herd of people looking to make a quick pile of gold at their expense.

[Trente]

Something was wrong, and Hadrian could feel it in his bones. The situation just did not add up, they ran with fair speed but the mobsters should have been able to push them faster, they didn't. The brave mage and his wards were being herded. It took only a moment with his superior senses to see the block ahead, they were positioned well, and were attempting to cut off his escape to the docks. It was either farther into the city, abandoned his wards to attempt a better cloaked route, or gather his strength for the stand. Being the virtuous and confident (perhaps overly so) mage he was Hadrian began to gather his powers and observing the threat to come.

The main street had already been cleared of people save for the force set on capturing the Konti.

A row of six footmen with assorted weapons they seemed more than confident in, strung from one building to the next just shy of the docks by a block or two as a fleshy armed and armored barricade, getting to help might be impossible.

The extremely narrow alleys one on each side were guarded two men each, with another foot soldier likely the weakest fighters on the far side to watch for unexpected intruders.

It wasn't till the Aurist drew much closer he realized the second level of areal assailants armed with crossbows, two on on each of the two roofs surrounding the ambush point then one on each of the two roofs before it.

Added to this were the six men herding Hadrian and his wards through the streets, quick runners (several Kelvic) without armor and only armed with single handed weapons heading him off at any turn that did not lead straight for the ambush point. Runners that would fall in from behind after he met with the first stand, blocking his retreat.

These people were organized, and loyal within themselves, none trying to be the hero over another, like a well oiled machine. Clearly a gang that had a lot of experience with one another.

Hadrian could see plain as day that they all felt invincible hunting together as a viscous pack of wolves, which lead him to spot the leader, stronger and exuding an air of authority and protection over them all, waiting at the ambush site. Hadrian knew they wouldn't attack till the leader called the shot.

_______

Trente realized the commotion before Hadrian even got close. Men lined the street and encouraged him off toward the docks at spear point. He gave no objections and moved along, trapping himself on the far side. His first instinct was to leave the situation to those involved and leave, but he wasn't enough of a fool to believe he wasn't involved. He knew Sunberth well enough, and he knew that this many men only gathered for three reasons, a gang feud escalated too far, a big heist, or the hunting of a mage. Two out of three seemed two too much to ignore.

The men were loud with anticipation, and focused more on their goal then passerbies, some people gathered to watch from a relatively safe place, most moved along. Trente checked his blades, making sure they pulled in and out with ease then looped around through the scattered people watching, and he did what he did best, listened. Nearly three chimes passed and more than a few dubious glares from various members of the ambush before Trente finally caught a loud exclamation from one of the men.

"We going to snatch ourselves some fish for tonight, ye?!"

Trente couldn't say he was particularly surprised. And he knew before he saw Hadrian and the two shorter forms that Hadrian was going to champion their cause. He hated to admit it, but Trente's employer Hadrian deserved some assistance, not to mention it would even the score between he and the Konti. As for the child, it was probably going to die in the crossfire weather he helped or not. Not much to do about that.

Trente used the layout he had managed to figure in the chimes he spent observing to crack out a plan. It wasn't a good one, and unless Professor Aelius had something impressive up his Ravokian sleeves they were all going to die. Luckily, Trente was fairly certain Hadrian had some surprising in store.

He walked along the side of the building bordering the ambush site as Hadrian approached up the boy on his shoulders and Konti in tow. Trente took a moment to stare Hadrian in the eyes before walking out of view, possibly looking like he was leaving them to face the threat alone. He circled the building till he found the single man posted at the end of the alley. Armed men unabashedly strolled near to sentry, though the weaker walked wide. The boy must have been not a day older than fourteen, wisps of a beard still struggling to extend from his chin, but he was armed, with a short sword drawn.

Trente silently pulled the dagger from his sheathe, winning more than a single intimidating glare from the more observant near by, the guard boy not being one of them. Trente glared back, tucking the cool blade close to his forearm, letting the ruffles of his loose sleeves conceal the metallic surface for him. He would have preferred to use his rapier but an open fight would draw attention, likely enough to get Trente killed by the archers he had glimpsed peering from the rooftop down at the crowd.

His heart pumped with excitement as he walked closer to the boy. The boy looked at him with a snarl unbefitting of such a young man, and Trente returned with a cool stare, his eyes fluctuating with blue hues at an alarming rate. This disarmed the boy a moment and he cocked his head in momentary confusion as he tried to piece out what illusion worked in his stalker's eyes. A moment too long.

Trente gripped his blade, admittedly improperly, but it would do. The boy didn't even see the flash of light as Trente's second hand came up and gripped the boy's sword arm, holding in place, and he stepped with a great force straight into his witless advisory. Blood gushed and the blade wrenched in a tight circle to widen the wound, the boy falling back away from Trente into the alley. The knife stuck in him as the boy's mouth sucked in air to yelp. Trente's bloody hand clasped over it with force, pushing him around the corner and into the wall. The struggle carried on for several ticks, blood gushing out onto their clothing before Trente finally resorted to bashing the young man's head against the stone wall of the building sending him bloodied form unconscious with the lack of blood and excessive blunt trauma. It wasn't clean, but it was quiet enough.

Trente knelled down and pulled the stuck blade from the boy's chest, unsure what it had caught on but making a mental note not to stab someone there again. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the sensation of extracting the knife and he struggled against getting sick as he looked around. The two at the end of the alley seemed more than preoccupied watching whatever was happening within the ambush zone. Trente assumed just talking at this point.

In his opposite side was a few observers, most notably one of the men who had glared at him from before. He got up and started toward Trente, and he didn't seem happy. He silently stopped right before the mutt, looked down the hallway, then at the boy's fresh corpse. Before he opened his mouth Trente reached for the light coin purse tied securely on the corpse's hip, cut it loose with his dagger and tossed it up at the man who snatched it from the air glared at everyone around, who quickly moved off, then walked off himself. Trente forgot how predictable Sunberth could be when one didn't let greed rule them.

Without another look to the boy Trente continued as light footed as he could down the alleyway, hoping that the men wouldn't turn to spot him. Upon reaching the center of the narrow alley he found his way to the darkly finished wooden ladder heading to the roof, starting half way up the wall. beneath it had been placed a large barrel on it's flat side, likely used for the archers to mount the building. Without pause Trente stepped up onto the barrel which wobbled dangerously beneath him. Empty.

The barrel was empty and threatened to capsize under him, spilling him with a raucous into the dirty alleyway smelling of urine and bile (now more than a little of blood.) With a catch of his breath he loosened his body and concentrated on his footing, keeping his eyes even on a knot in the wall before him and head high. The barreled tilted to the right, and threatened to roll his right foot off the side, he hastily shifted his right foot for a flatter touch as quickly as possible and stepped down toe first with his left, far to the left. Quicker than he had anticipated the barrel wavered and swung the opposite way. Tightening his core muscles he crouched, buying himself a moment touching his left palm to the center of the barrel to steady it, and the other against to wall before him to steady himself. A sliver nothing deadly, but it would be annoying if he survived. Still, it paid off, the barrel stilled beneath him after a short moment and the two guards listening to the conversation in the street remained unattuned to the disturbance. From the opposite end several young thieves searched the body and generally took notice of Trente. Where one boy dies other shall profit. Sunberth, the only place in the world it seemed where the laws of the elders apply to the laws of the young.

Focusing on his balance he stretched upward and took hold of the ladder, hoisting himself upward toward the roof, stopping a bit shy and carefully poking his head up to scout. Two on the roof of the building he clung to, one on the other, and a mirrored assembly on the opposite side of the street. He could make the jump across alley but not across street, but with three crossbows at the ready his chances of taking them without a distraction was nearly nill. He used his new found leverage to look out into the street. He would have to bide his time, which gave him a moment to relax his mind, wipe his hands and dagger sheathing it for another time. The next leg of the encounter would use his rapier.

______


The leader stood among the six creating the human barricade, he towered above the rest and stood armored head to toe in shining well maintained suit of plate armor, one that could have easily been lifted from a Syliran knight and stripped of its signatures. Hadrian could tell without a second look that he was superior in Flux, and wasn't shy about using it. Likely his friends didn't know for sure that his fighting prowess was magic. In any case, the giant two handed flail in his hand would more than deadly if he connected, and he would be faster than expected even under such weight.

"This doesn't have'ta end in blood. Give us the Konti and the child and you are free to go back to your ship, Zeltivan." His voice rang with a peculiar tone within his helmet, face covered, making it hard for anybody not near him to decipher what he said, even though the sound carried a good block. He was informed of what part Hadrian belonged to, and this showed he was thoroughly unafraid of the Syliran Knights finding him after all was said and done. They likely had a very well concealed hideout, or just very well fortified. Perhaps, however, they just thought the Knights weak.

Standing/Indisposed/Body Count23/1/1

Thats right 23 left 1 indisposed 1 body count for Trente. I know he's hot shit.

[Hadrian]

With Matilis feather light on his back, he took Trashava's hand as they hurried forward. When his questing senses brought him sufficient information, his mind put two and two together. "Ambush," he murmured. "Matilis, I need you to hold on to me tight, all right? Lady, stay close. It will be easier to shield us if you're close." Indeed, shield energy was already spilling out of him, clinging to his skin as it spread outward under the power of his will. It probably tingled along the skin of the boy and the woman, though they couldn't see it. Adrenaline focused his efforts and nary a photon of light was released due to inefficient casting. He tasked the shield as they hurried along, tasking it to absorb kinetic energy; it ought prevent the thrust of blade or score of arrow or quarrel from blooding them, and magic too would only feed the Shield. When he saw the roadblock with his eyes, he was already running through strategic possibilities. He could hypnotize the leader, but it would take too long and was too subtle a tool for such a situation. The man was a Fluxer, and better at it than Hadrian, as well as a warrior, so the only advantage his own Flux gave him was the ability to carry Matlian and, if necessary, Trashava, with speed if an opening made itself known to him. He could blast him with Fire, fling a whip of the stuff around in a widening arc to take out as many as possible. But there was Trente, which meant, he hoped, that there was help in the shadows. He chose to believe that Trente would help, although he knew the man was not likely to be loyal to him the way, say, Ethan would be. He stopped before the roadblock with some space between him and them and considered the man who spoke. No, they were close enough to the harbor now. Instead, he invoked Ionu's gift and for all those watching, he and his wards disappeared in the sudden appearance of a green shoot growing with impossible speed. It grew and grew high into the air until it was a hundred feet high, branches spreading, leaves fanning out. The Windoak. And it began to burn. He could think of no clearer sign of distress that would call a knight of Syliras to his aid. Not Zeltivan, he thought, but Syliran.