![[Verified by Torchlight]](./images/checkmark.png "[Verified by Torchlight]")
-Physical Information-
Race: Human
Birthday: 64 Fall 488
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Physical Description:
Styn is of average height with a buff frame sliding to softness from inactivity. He retains a portion of his hardness, the order is far from soft, but this is a fraction of the physical prowess he once possessed a mere four years ago. Close cropped fair hair, dark seeming in its shortness, bleeds into sideburns that march halfway to the tips of his lobeless ears. A wide forehead caps a 'U' shaped face. Flat cheekbones define a soft jaw leading to a pointed chin just shy of jutting and stronger for it. Being clean shaven of facial hair is a matter of discipline not lack of need, although there are good lines available if he were to go for a well groomed but rugged handsomeness. Light, too pale skin displays the marked lack of sun that goes beyond that of those who spend a great portion of time indoors. His way of carrying himself can make others assume that he is shorter then he really is. He is often found with a slight slump, as if standing up straight is just too much work. Styn still walks with the grace of countless kata but watered down, sometimes stilted, like an athlete recovering from a long term convalescence.
-Character Concept-
Personality:
Styn is like a man rediscovering himself. Many know how receiving pain can change a man, but few think of how dealing that pain can bring changes of their own. Styn is usually very deferential, the potential for leadership dimmed to a glimmer of its once beacon worthy luster. If any word were used to describe him now it would be, passionless. Truly rare the man who enjoys life so little, a man who seems to have no drive or ambition beyond whatever command he currently carries out. Briefly there may be flickers of the man he once was and could be again, a melancholy rising to the surface before the monsters of deep drag him back to thrash in the rushes. Most likely, Styn would be happier had his mind snapped years ago. Sadly he remains offensively sane. Keen intelligence still endures, faith may be lacking but efficiency is ever the model of the day. If it doesn't have to be done don't do it, if it must be done make it quick.
Ethics:
Styn's current morality is very adolescent in its structure. Obey the laws because they are the laws. Follow orders because they are orders. If a man steals to feed his family that man is punished as if he stole for pure pleasure with no remorse or further investigation needed. This regression of expanded personal responsibility seems a retreat to avoid thinking of the horrors unleashed upon his psyche in the last four years. When pressed he will always unthinkingly make a choice with the harshest interpretation of a rule with the strictest punishment acted out with expedience. Styn is a hard worker but tends to weight his own contributions heavier then others, even if someone else happens to be pulling more of the work load.
Character History :
Styn comes from a large family uncommon in the trying times of post Valterrian society. With one older sister seven younger sisters and a single younger brother the Judicars are well on the way to founding their own dynasty. Extended family rounds out with a few uncles and aunts and a slew of cousins from both sides of his family. Of course this size came at a high cost in lives. Styn's father Gaius is on his fourth wife, having buried three women through the strains of childbearing. Styn lost his own mother and unborn baby brother at the tender age of 6 years old. As if this trauma wasn't enough it was shortly after this that Gaius began preparing him for his entry into the ranks of Ebonstryfe.
Gaius Judicar is a rising star in the Ebonstryfe's ranks. A veritable paragon of ruthless, cunning efficiency. He had his own ideas about the exacting standards that initiates undergo in preparation for apprenticeship and eventual admittance into the order. These ideas, when implemented in the one year he was allowed to take over youngling training, resulted in the loss of half the existing crop of young potentials. Suffice it to say that Styn did not enjoy his childhood. Fortunately he was naturally gifted intellectually as well physically. Gaius himself was a well rounded specimen and was particularly picky with his first wife, wishing to make the best possible offspring while not neglecting the connections of a well placed marriage.
The standard age for a young initiate entering Ebonstryfe's training can range from twelve to eighteen depending how early they being to display the sort of potential that catches recruiter's eyes. Gaius made Styn's life a living hell for ten full years, barely getting him into a class at the age of eighteen by pulling some strings. At that point the head of the Judicar family had already risen to the illustrious rank of Master. Few things are denied a man of such importance. If others thought that the coddling of his eldest son odd, it was only to admire the cunning involved in the extra preparation to ensure that a potentially weak offspring would not bring dishonor. Few would guess that if Gaius had his way Styn never would have been sent as an initiate in the first place. Despite several requests for special dispensation he was forced with grit teeth to relinquish his pawn to the tender ministrations of the order's finest instructors.
The unrealistic and horrible stresses that forged Styn should have left him a broken reed. Ten years of toil and hardship should have turned him into the perfect tool. His will should have been ground into dust. Logic and reason sharpened to razors, body sculpted by a master artist of flesh and bone. Instead what could not be changed was endured. What would not break, bent and was made stronger in doing so. Watered on hate, sheltered in cruelty he somehow clung to his soul by a finger. Could he be ruthless? Of course but it was a ruthlessness tempered by practicality. He was strong like white water rapids are strong, guided by its banks, not bound as stagnant water in the earth. Someone had got to him first. Ten brutal years could not crush a mother's love.
Born Jeane Con'Ormdan, Styn's mother was the sort of woman who comes along once in a generation. Intelligent and driven, the daughter of a respected Master in the Ebonstryfe. She was well on her way to a successful career in the black sun as an ambassador to other cities. In reality she was a capable covert operative. It's not that Jeane didn't know of the darker aspects of the god she served it was just that in her mind the good outweighed the bad. For all the order's tenants lauded the spread of chaos and destruction, the truth was that the Black Sun ran a tight ship. The closer one got to the inner circle of governing, the more structured the goals and tasks set to accomplish Rhysol's will in the world. She approached espionage like a trained courtesan flirting with a wealthy mark. Jeane stalked directives of the priesthood with unfeigned enthusiasm and peerless skill. After all, the pain inflicted by her schemes would all be worth it when Mizahar bowed down to its rightful master. She was a spinner of a thousand steel webs until she was snared in turn by Gaius Judicar.
From what little Styn can piece together the first years were happy for his budding family. It wasn't until his mother's first miscarriage that things began to darken. Gaius was working hard at making Paladin and already plotting how he would use his offspring to advantage. With a strong son and two daughters he was looking forward to adding a spare heir into the mix. He used the event to slowly tighten down his control over Jeane's life. Things became even worse when she conceived again a year later. By the end of her pregnancy she was a member of the Black Sun in name only. It wasn't much time for a young boy to know his mother, but almost as if she had a premonition of her impending doom their last year together was packed with advice and learning to last a life time. One particular haunting memory of a beautiful face, aged before its time. A steam of blood trickling down a too pale cheek. Sky blue eyes and the reek of burnt flesh. And words spoken at the end of two fists gripping like bands of iron.
You arent HIS, you aren't mine. You are yours Styn, yours and yours alone.
Words like flame across a starless night. Simple words buried deep. The day Styn departed for initiation he was given strict guidance in how he was expected to perform. Detailed descriptions of which trainees were to be manipulated, which were to be made examples up. What day he was expected to make his first kill. If Gaius couldn't excise the perceived weakness out of the younglings his legacy would do it for him. His reports already gave him a good idea of who was dead weight to be cut apart and which dim sparks should be cultivated to a brilliant blaze. Every year sees losses in training, a few extra would be nothing to remark upon. Instead something amazing happened. Against his father's express wishes Styn...shone. He moved boldly forward into positions of leadership rather then where he was to expected to pull strings from the shadows. Instead of crushing the weak he nurtured them, all to the greater good of Rhysol. All of this was accomplished without breaking a single rule, or going against the letter of any tradition. His personal performance was flawless and the Ebonstryfe had never had a class so skilled. Styn so upset the established regime that they were forced to graduate him early least his example set an unwelcome standard, or at least that's one version of events.
There was only one loss in training in these two years. Styn was not the only seeded young man to enter the Blackstryfe that year. At Gaius' instruction Lucio Salvos was to be Styn's right hand man, his strongest ally, an alliance meant to last them their entire lives. Instead, disgusted with Lucio's arrogance, fed up with a life of unrelenting control, his eyes cast forward to the future. He saw a bad end...and changed it. Rather than take the corrupt, tainted hand to his breast, he bit it. Every bit of guile and craft was spent to thwart the great culling that Gaius so desired. For two years the boys battled for the souls of every Ebonstryfe initiate. There were great victories and crushing defeats. It wasn't long till the two young men knew each other as well as they knew themselves. In the knowing of Styn, Lucio finally came up with a plan to destroy him. In the knowing of Lucio, Styn failed them both. The details of the fallout of this final plot are murky and moving quick Gaius covered most of it up. The end result was thus, Styn graduating one year early, Styn banished to the deep dungeons to learn a torturers trade, Lucio dead in the prime of his life.
In a brief meeting between father and son Styn was given new words to haunt him to the end of his days.
You have placed your faith in men. I will show you men to make Rhysol weep.
These were the last words Gaius spoke to Styn for four years. Four years working the dark secret ways of a torturer. A master of pain and blood, bone and sorrow, tears and shame. A brittleness was born in the dark. Strength leeched away, gorged on the suffering of man. A hundred tales to make a mother weep a river of tears. A thousand lives worth of regret, of doubt, missed chances and broken promises. Women with their prideful resistance, men and their shouted denials. Maimed children and wasted oldsters. The blackest work of a god mad with ambition. Against his will he learned though, despite himself he found himself on a path to mastery. In this unholy seventh circle he still surprised himself with wistful daydreams of the good days under Gaius. If feeling especially brave he might remember with golden wonder his initiate days, the best in his life.
Four years can be a long time. Long enough for memories to blur, for higher hands to remember a promising young recruit. Support gathered in quite places. Words exchanged in shadowed alleys. It was almost a surprise when Styn was ushered to his Crucible. Years earlier Gaius had illuminated the smoke and mirrors of what he called Ebonstryfe's grand farce. Mind magics and illusions were a poor way to gauge a man, why weight a sword that you knew to the atom of its metal? Control enough of the shaping, the grinding, the folding of of a blade and such a grandiose facade would be unnecessary. Even forearmed with knowledge and trained from childhood, it took all of Styn's skill to emerge victorious. Rhysol exacted a heavy tole for his blessing, the lives of those closest to him, his very best friends.
Gaius Judicar is a rising star in the Ebonstryfe's ranks. A veritable paragon of ruthless, cunning efficiency. He had his own ideas about the exacting standards that initiates undergo in preparation for apprenticeship and eventual admittance into the order. These ideas, when implemented in the one year he was allowed to take over youngling training, resulted in the loss of half the existing crop of young potentials. Suffice it to say that Styn did not enjoy his childhood. Fortunately he was naturally gifted intellectually as well physically. Gaius himself was a well rounded specimen and was particularly picky with his first wife, wishing to make the best possible offspring while not neglecting the connections of a well placed marriage.
The standard age for a young initiate entering Ebonstryfe's training can range from twelve to eighteen depending how early they being to display the sort of potential that catches recruiter's eyes. Gaius made Styn's life a living hell for ten full years, barely getting him into a class at the age of eighteen by pulling some strings. At that point the head of the Judicar family had already risen to the illustrious rank of Master. Few things are denied a man of such importance. If others thought that the coddling of his eldest son odd, it was only to admire the cunning involved in the extra preparation to ensure that a potentially weak offspring would not bring dishonor. Few would guess that if Gaius had his way Styn never would have been sent as an initiate in the first place. Despite several requests for special dispensation he was forced with grit teeth to relinquish his pawn to the tender ministrations of the order's finest instructors.
The unrealistic and horrible stresses that forged Styn should have left him a broken reed. Ten years of toil and hardship should have turned him into the perfect tool. His will should have been ground into dust. Logic and reason sharpened to razors, body sculpted by a master artist of flesh and bone. Instead what could not be changed was endured. What would not break, bent and was made stronger in doing so. Watered on hate, sheltered in cruelty he somehow clung to his soul by a finger. Could he be ruthless? Of course but it was a ruthlessness tempered by practicality. He was strong like white water rapids are strong, guided by its banks, not bound as stagnant water in the earth. Someone had got to him first. Ten brutal years could not crush a mother's love.
Born Jeane Con'Ormdan, Styn's mother was the sort of woman who comes along once in a generation. Intelligent and driven, the daughter of a respected Master in the Ebonstryfe. She was well on her way to a successful career in the black sun as an ambassador to other cities. In reality she was a capable covert operative. It's not that Jeane didn't know of the darker aspects of the god she served it was just that in her mind the good outweighed the bad. For all the order's tenants lauded the spread of chaos and destruction, the truth was that the Black Sun ran a tight ship. The closer one got to the inner circle of governing, the more structured the goals and tasks set to accomplish Rhysol's will in the world. She approached espionage like a trained courtesan flirting with a wealthy mark. Jeane stalked directives of the priesthood with unfeigned enthusiasm and peerless skill. After all, the pain inflicted by her schemes would all be worth it when Mizahar bowed down to its rightful master. She was a spinner of a thousand steel webs until she was snared in turn by Gaius Judicar.
From what little Styn can piece together the first years were happy for his budding family. It wasn't until his mother's first miscarriage that things began to darken. Gaius was working hard at making Paladin and already plotting how he would use his offspring to advantage. With a strong son and two daughters he was looking forward to adding a spare heir into the mix. He used the event to slowly tighten down his control over Jeane's life. Things became even worse when she conceived again a year later. By the end of her pregnancy she was a member of the Black Sun in name only. It wasn't much time for a young boy to know his mother, but almost as if she had a premonition of her impending doom their last year together was packed with advice and learning to last a life time. One particular haunting memory of a beautiful face, aged before its time. A steam of blood trickling down a too pale cheek. Sky blue eyes and the reek of burnt flesh. And words spoken at the end of two fists gripping like bands of iron.
You arent HIS, you aren't mine. You are yours Styn, yours and yours alone.
Words like flame across a starless night. Simple words buried deep. The day Styn departed for initiation he was given strict guidance in how he was expected to perform. Detailed descriptions of which trainees were to be manipulated, which were to be made examples up. What day he was expected to make his first kill. If Gaius couldn't excise the perceived weakness out of the younglings his legacy would do it for him. His reports already gave him a good idea of who was dead weight to be cut apart and which dim sparks should be cultivated to a brilliant blaze. Every year sees losses in training, a few extra would be nothing to remark upon. Instead something amazing happened. Against his father's express wishes Styn...shone. He moved boldly forward into positions of leadership rather then where he was to expected to pull strings from the shadows. Instead of crushing the weak he nurtured them, all to the greater good of Rhysol. All of this was accomplished without breaking a single rule, or going against the letter of any tradition. His personal performance was flawless and the Ebonstryfe had never had a class so skilled. Styn so upset the established regime that they were forced to graduate him early least his example set an unwelcome standard, or at least that's one version of events.
There was only one loss in training in these two years. Styn was not the only seeded young man to enter the Blackstryfe that year. At Gaius' instruction Lucio Salvos was to be Styn's right hand man, his strongest ally, an alliance meant to last them their entire lives. Instead, disgusted with Lucio's arrogance, fed up with a life of unrelenting control, his eyes cast forward to the future. He saw a bad end...and changed it. Rather than take the corrupt, tainted hand to his breast, he bit it. Every bit of guile and craft was spent to thwart the great culling that Gaius so desired. For two years the boys battled for the souls of every Ebonstryfe initiate. There were great victories and crushing defeats. It wasn't long till the two young men knew each other as well as they knew themselves. In the knowing of Styn, Lucio finally came up with a plan to destroy him. In the knowing of Lucio, Styn failed them both. The details of the fallout of this final plot are murky and moving quick Gaius covered most of it up. The end result was thus, Styn graduating one year early, Styn banished to the deep dungeons to learn a torturers trade, Lucio dead in the prime of his life.
In a brief meeting between father and son Styn was given new words to haunt him to the end of his days.
You have placed your faith in men. I will show you men to make Rhysol weep.
These were the last words Gaius spoke to Styn for four years. Four years working the dark secret ways of a torturer. A master of pain and blood, bone and sorrow, tears and shame. A brittleness was born in the dark. Strength leeched away, gorged on the suffering of man. A hundred tales to make a mother weep a river of tears. A thousand lives worth of regret, of doubt, missed chances and broken promises. Women with their prideful resistance, men and their shouted denials. Maimed children and wasted oldsters. The blackest work of a god mad with ambition. Against his will he learned though, despite himself he found himself on a path to mastery. In this unholy seventh circle he still surprised himself with wistful daydreams of the good days under Gaius. If feeling especially brave he might remember with golden wonder his initiate days, the best in his life.
Four years can be a long time. Long enough for memories to blur, for higher hands to remember a promising young recruit. Support gathered in quite places. Words exchanged in shadowed alleys. It was almost a surprise when Styn was ushered to his Crucible. Years earlier Gaius had illuminated the smoke and mirrors of what he called Ebonstryfe's grand farce. Mind magics and illusions were a poor way to gauge a man, why weight a sword that you knew to the atom of its metal? Control enough of the shaping, the grinding, the folding of of a blade and such a grandiose facade would be unnecessary. Even forearmed with knowledge and trained from childhood, it took all of Styn's skill to emerge victorious. Rhysol exacted a heavy tole for his blessing, the lives of those closest to him, his very best friends.
Gnosis Story :
Styn's eyes snapped open, awareness surging through his body in a rush. Blue orbs staring into the space of an empty, cold black room. He was flat on his back, resting in what passed for a bed in the small chambers he was given within the prison where he spent his bells in service to pain. It had been one thousand four hundred and twelve days since he had been cast into hell. Before black memories could surface he was in motion, smooth with long standing routine he prepared himself to greet the day.
The chambers were tiny, barely more then a cramped cell. It was large enough for his small cot, a tiny three door chest for clothing and personal effects, and a stand big enough for a candle and book. The stand was next to the bed, well within reach and across from the clothes chest. Calm practiced motions soon had a small flame burning, casting the room suddenly into dim light and dancing shadows. On top of the three door chest was a washbasin, filled with water he had fetched the night before. There was a mustiness to the air from being underground, a dankness to the walls that wasn't even something that reached a conscious level of perception any longer. Awake now, Styn readied himself to face the day.
A few short minutes later saw his face scrubbed, his uniform donned, his accumulated facial hair removed and his mind already going over the trials for the day. Before he could get much farther in contemplation, his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Three quick authoritative raps and then the door was swinging open. A moment only was spent in question before the young man quickly dropped into a loose fighting crouch. It was a standing kata, distributing the weight equally between feet, knees bent slightly to lower his center of gravity. Fists continued to stay at his sides, if the wrong person were to enter it wouldn't go well for him to look ready for a fight. This kata was for standing, for being ready. Mere moments later it seemed that his caution paid off as the open door framed Pagil.
Pagil was fat. He wasn't plump, big boned, or round, the man was flat out obese. Rolls of blubber stretched skin fit to breaking, tightening his eyes into a piggy glare. The man was one of the Black Sun's interrogators. He was very good at his job and he was Styn's boss.
Pagil gave a amused snort at Styn's stance, arching both eyebrows in a way the disgusting pig thought made him look knowing. Instead it pulled a squashed face apart like a sow giving birth. Still Styn kept his peace, under those rolls of fat were muscles enough to man handle him into submission. Getting himself beat would be acceptable, being put back to the bottom of the apprentice torturers was not. Nodding as if Styn had passed some test, the interrogator jerked a hand over his shoulder. "You're wanted topside today princess, if you start running now you should just make it," Pagil rasped out huskily. Someone had stabbed him in the throat years ago, no doubt the lard somehow kept him from bleeding out.
Styn ran.
The candle by his bed and the flickering torchlight lining the dank stone corridors didn't even come close to preparing him for actual sunlight. Brilliant stabs of florescence pierced blue eyes, triggering an immediate sneeze. Taking a moment to enjoy a nice sneeze is one of the simple joys in life, having three in a row while at a dead sprint can be rather distracting. It was barely dawn and the only people in sight were slaves, dull copper collars gleaming at their necks. They were quick to get out of the young mans way, and better off for it. His stumbling mad dash finally came to a halt at the entrance to the main courtyard. Most of the major ceremonies took place on these grounds, it seemed that Rhysol had noticed him in spite of his father after all. The thought brought a brief grimace over Styn's face and slightly out of breath, face inside the crook of elbow he entered the courtyard. A brief murmur of voices went quite.
Styn blinked away tears and raised aching blue eyes to examine the scene before him. Five faces from the past all wore identical expressions of shock. It was all he could do to keep his own surprise from splashing across his face. Each name struck his soul like a blow. Kaedin, Doni, Balkon, Solt and of course Trinna. Styn's gaze flickered past each face but held on Trinna's the longest. A living symbol of his father's anger, he was surprised she still lived. Completely amazed that Gaius hadn't found some way to snuff her out after all his raging about the weakness allowed to enter Ebonstryfe.
The five youths were arranged in a rough circle. As soon as the commander noticed Styn's entrance he snapped to the position of attention, feet together and canted forty five degrees out, back straight and eyes forward. "Fall in," he roared with a sergeant's battle voice. The apprentices jogged into formation before their commander without a moments hesitation and Styn followed suit They definitely were men serving under this leader. There was a distinct light of pride in the man's eyes as he watched the five assemble, clearly the five were favored although Styn didn't recognize their commander. That probably meant the commander was favored as well.
The first squad leader position at the upper right of the formation was left open intentionally. Second squad filled in behind first, three rows deep meaning that Styn would have to take his place at the front with first squad. Without missing a beat or showing any sort of facial expression Styn stopped well before that empty spot placing himself at the end of first squad instead of at its head. With a puzzled shake of his head Kaedin took a quick side step right as did Balkon followed by Styn, closing ranks smoothly. The commander scowled at each of his apprentices and Trinna even went as far as to issue a self conscious sounding cough.
"If you embarrass me in front of the Ebonlord, so help you all," The man grunted out of the corner of his mouth, trailing off ominously. Confident boot steps echoed in the courtyard as a presence washed over the gathered individuals. A prickling of neck hairs, a stirring of otherworldly aetheric forces. Styn's body seemed to ooze sweat out of every pore, a flush coming to his pale cheeks. It was half gibbering terror and half rush of excitement. One of Rhysol's chosen walked among them. The feeling was especially pronounced after so long living as the shadow of his former self, Styn felt alive again.
The commander quickly turned the formation over to Gru'tral, exchanging salutes before making his way behind the formation. The Ebonlord surveyed the gathered apprentices and spoke words with a ring of long standing ceremony."Today you begin your Crucible, as all Ebonstryfe before you. Rhysol has chosen you. Do not fail him. Earn your place among the order, earn your mark, and make Rhysol proud!" The words rolled imperiously over the trainees. Styn mastering himself slowly, found himself vastly impressed with the man but a bit underwhelmed with the words. Then again his father had said that every promotion a commander received made him talk twice as much till he was on top, then he said less then a rawbones commander freshly minted to command.
After the commander had control of the formation again he waited for Gru'tral to exit the courtyard before roughly barking, "At ease!"
Styn and other others shifted as a single unit, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind their backs, head no longer locked forward but instead facing toward the commander.
"All right so here is the breakdown. There is a known grouping of those Rising Dawn fools conducting training operations in the woods nearby..."
Styn listened.
The midday sun shone over head, and Styn finally felt like he was getting used to it again. The air was filled with the scent of living things, a fragrance long missed. Up ahead Trinna raised a fist and their small company came to a halt, a light tension seeming to settle over the apprentices. Styn fingered an arrow in his quiver and waited. Tucking their map into her pack, Trinna made another hand signal unfamiliar to Styn and abruptly the tension melted out of the other group members. Behind him Solt chuckled, "I thought you were going to crap your breeches Styn," the quite spoken young man said as he passed him by, moving to were the others were gathering. "It's time to eat, it won't be time for the other till later, if at all."
If at all? Styn thought with a glimmer of confusion, followed by a rush of suspicion.
Balkon laughed brashly, lowing his pack to the ground and digging out a wrapped packet of dried food stuffs. "You shame the man you used to be with your girlish panting," the hulking figure husked good-naturedly. Still it must have been too close to what the others were thinking as a stillness settled over the group. They turned eyes toward Styn as if watching a strange animal. All except for Kaedin who leveled a quick glare at Solt and made a subtle hand gesture, another of the band's personal signs it would seem.
So whatever it is, Kaedin is in on it too, Styn mused and then realized that he had left the silence to go on too long. An awkwardness fell over the group, attention flickering away with discomfort. Not for themselves he realized abruptly, but for him, their former leader brought low by the cruel dice of fate. At least that might be how they saw it. Styn knew all too well that his current state could be laid at the feet of one man, Gaius Con'Judicar.
He hadn't been any more tense then the others, he hadn't wasn't any more out of breath then the others, but this was their way. It could even be said that this was Styn's way. A light taunting banter that had marked their days together as initiates. These five had been his lieutenants, they had formed the core of his little army. The apprentice torturer felt like a dead man at his own funeral, but forced his face into the semblance of a warm smile that never reached his eyes. "It's doubtful they could hear my breathing over your boorish stomps. Anything close enough is no doubt waiting in ambush beyond that next bend. It's good that we brought food as my bow won't be claiming any game while traveling with you," Styn said in a rush. Too slow to respond, too fast in his presentation. It was like trying to wear a coat two sizes too small, that skin just didn't fit anymore.
Balkon nodded slowly and then let out a whoosh of breath as Trinna fisted him in the short ribs. Even a tiny thing like Trinna could make a man as large as Balkon feel it there. They turned toward each other and began a low voiced argument, but not before Trinna flashed him a grin. It was enough for now, it would have to be.
Styn's thoughts weren't really on food though, but rather Solt's cryptic words and Kaedin's odd demeanor. The two didn't seem to be distanced in any way from the rest of the group at all. Rhysol save, its all of them, Styn thought with a growing sense of despair. Whatever madness this is, its got them all.
Opening his pack he pulled out his small poisoner's pack and began preparing his arrows to have something to do with his hands. Of course that’s what he told himself he was doing, but it wasn't long before he nicked himself. It could have happened on accident, and with his poor practical application experience it often had in the past. Does my own body betray me? Styn though looking over toward Kaedin with a rueful grin. Mind and body completely out of synch ."Hey you still carry my antidote right?"
"What already?" Kaedin said with a laugh. "You always fail at applying it and you always forget to bring your own antidote. I can't believe you aren't any better after four years!" Reaching into his pack while chewing down another mouthful of dry travelers bread Kaedin tossed him a small wrapped bundle. Metal flasks clinked together and Styn fished out a bottle of antidote. The poison would only be good for about twelve bells, which was why he hadn't put any on earlier. Still if the map was right they would reach the camp in another few bells. Either way it was slow enough acting that he felt no great rush of discomfort even as a stab pain followed by a cool rushing numbness spread down his arm. Knocking back one of the flasks, he poked around in the healer's bundle.
Kaedin was the group medic, it was something Styn was pretty insistent on back in their initiate days. It looked like the young man had kept at it and even added to his repartee of known cures and maladies. He found an assortment of useful things ranging from thread and needle and stacks of neatly rolled bandages, to antidotes of several well known and used poisons. The labels were fortunately Ebonstryfe standard and had not been modified, like much of the groups hand signals. Kaedin was already back to eating and Styn finished the last of his arrows before returning the bundle with a nod of thanks and a slightly soiled feeling staining his soul.
A few minutes later they were moving again.
Styn slid on a pair of thin leather gloves and fingered the fetching of an arrow, lowering his hand to the recently restrung longbow and pulling back on it lightly. The sun was a dull orange orb in the east, the days heat beginning to leach from the land. Trinna was scouting the last few bits and would be back to let them know if the camp was where Black Sun spies had placed it. From their briefing it should be a small company sized element. Mostly untrained men who would panic at the first whiff of battle. It would hardly be a challenge for a well disciplined group of Ebonstryfe, even if they were apprentices. It didn't hurt that five of the six worked with the seamlessness of long years together.
A bird call's whistle filled the air and was repeated two more times in sequence. Trinna was coming back and had not been followed. A few moments later she walked around a bush to where they were gathered. "It's done," she said solemnly. Nodding the others started to gather their packs.
"Wait," Styn said with confusion tempered by growing anger. "Leave the packs, they'll just weigh us down in the fight. How many of them were there? How many trained arms men? How many peasants?" The torturers breath began to come faster the last question almost incomprehensible.
The others exchanged looks not stopping the synching of their packs. "The camp is empty," Trinna finally said.
"Let's go take a look then," Doni said with a sigh.
Styn grabbed up his own pack and followed.
After a few chimes of walking they stepped into a clearing of three structures facing a large stone circle campfire. It looked like a hunter's lodge, although any who would be willing to live outside the safety of a city in these post Valterrian days would deserve the messy deaths they got. Styn wasn't much of a tracker himself but he could see signs that the previous occupants had packed up quickly, a low burning fire was lit as if in preparation for the evening meal. He even thought he smelled cooked meat which would have meant that they had missed the Rising Dawn by little more then a bell, it was insanity, impossible.
Please Rhysol, have I not given you enough? I can't bear this too, Styn thought with despair. All eyes were on him. Doni with his spear held loosely in both hands, not grounded. Balkon with his great maul gripped fit to crack wood, the heavy stone head of the weapon over his shoulder. Kaedin fingered his wrist where Styn knew the man kept a hidden knife. Solt was actually behind Styn and a craned neck saw the man the most aggressive of all, with hand clasped to sword hilt as if on the point of drawing. Trinna didn't meet his look, her long bow resting on the ground as she watched the sun set.
"How long have you been members of the Rising Dawn?" Styn forced out bitterly, eyes challenging them one at a time. Each of his former lieutenants met his gaze proudly, but no one daring to speak.
"I've been a member from the beginning," Trinna said softly. "We didn't even have a name back then, but there is a darkness in that city and I will fight it. The others came around eventually, the training was part of it. That vile black institute would wish that every member was as tainted as Lucio. Seeing how you were treated helped even the most skeptical of the rest," She said with a nod toward Solt. "If we could have gotten to you we would have but you were like a prisoner yourself in those depths."
The others nodded in confirmation. Styn searched out their faces, their stances, looking for any hint or sign that one of these men had been waiting for just this moment to strike a blow for Rhysol. He had spent four years looking into the hearts of broken men, men who had lost the ability to lie, the will to do anything accept please their jailers. There was no hesitation, no remorse, these men were committed.
"What is your decision then?" Solt inquired with deadly intent.
One man doesn't fight five and win, Styn thought coldly.
"Fighting you would accomplish nothing accept my death, I suppose that makes me your prisoner or a sack of meat standing in your way," Styn said somberly. He might hate his father, he might at times doubt the plan that Rhysol laid before him but he would serve still. He had not ended his devotion when he had fallen from grace. Four years of self loathing and abominable suffering may have dulled the savor of life but Styn endured. This though was hard for him to stomach. Rhysol's grace were the only reason they weren't all savages living in caves still. The sanctuary of Ravok, Rhysol's plan, Styn's place was nothing compared to that grand design.
"Captive then," Trinna said softly before walking away.
Balkon came forward to bind his hands, and then his feet and lastly binding the two together before carrying him to the fire. Solt, hefting the quiver and longbow, joined them at the blaze. The others gathered close ringing the fire and began to speak. First one at a time, then briefly together they implored and pleaded, trying to sway the man they had once respected to the rightness of their cause.
Styn waited.
Styn's eyes snapped open and awareness flooded his senses. He was flat on his back and staring up at a star filled sky, not a cloud in sight. The scent of faint ashy soot played cloyingly in the air as the fire burned low. An owl hooted in the distance, but the forest seemed otherwise quite. The former blaze offered little more light then a few candles. It was enough to illuminate Trinna's face staring him straight in the eyes as Styn tilted his head slightly to get a better look at his surroundings. She seemed lost in thought at first, staring through him rather that at him.
Styn had had alot of time to think before they left him to sleep. His decision was made, it was only a matter of acting on it now.
"I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life," she said suddenly.
What is this now? Styn thought curiously.
"It was more to spite my father then because you were worth saving," Styn replied with a shrug of one shoulder. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and allowed his scrutiny to slide over the area. The others seemed to have retreated to the cabins, probably to comfortable beds with blankets. One guard? He truly had fallen if they felt that he didn't need more attention.
"I don't know how many times I wanted to tell you, how many times I almost did," Trinna trailed off, seeming lost in thought again.
"Best you didn't, just because I'm not my father's slave doesn't make my faith less. You don't have to like a god to serve him well."
"Such a good little soldier," Trinna spat bitterly.
"And you're not? Better a soldier then a spy," Styn said flippantly. "You mock because you don't like my views not because you don't respect me, don't insult yourself."
"Get up," Trinna said suddenly.
"Yeah I'll get right on that," Styn said, shaking his bound hands at the woman.
With a sigh she got up and drew her small belt knife approaching casually. Styn was instantly on alert, watching her body for signs that this was a precursor to attack. Trinna's body language was all wrong for any kind of fight, and her expression was blank, but sort of soft looking. The apprentice torturer remembered that she had always been a bit anxious when it came time for violence. Four years was a long time to hold onto a bad habit but Styn just didn't feel like he was about to get stabbed.
In fact, he found himself suddenly freed, ropes binding feet and feet to hands cut cleanly. This is an interesting turn, Styn thought musingly. The ropes tying his hands together were left and with a jerk of her head Trinna stepped back, gesturing for him to rise.
Well well, Styn thought as he rose to his feet. He was taller then Trinna by a noticeable amount. Her bow stood propped out of easy reach, leaning on a rock ringing the fire. His own was next to it unstrung, and two full quivers were laid out between them. Trinna's eyes flickered down his body, judging his stance a trace, of worry in her eyes. He had automatically stood with a rising kata, quick efficient motions designed to stand and be balanced. It could look graceful when done by a master but even Styn looked ready to do battle. He more then looked it actually, he was ready to fight, and he wouldn't get many chances as good as this.
Trinna threw up her hands defensively getting a feel for his mood. "Look, just go," She said in a rush. "You don't know anything the Rising Dawn needs to know. You've been living in a prison for four years. You'll never pass your crucible without wiping out the camp here anyway and you'll never find out where they've gone. We can only stay undercover if we kill you and we've already decided not to do that. We're beyond Rhysol's lies and corruption now. Just go, live out the rest of your life however you please, we're even now," She finished almost breathless having spoken so fast.
The great thing about someone else returning a favor, Styn thought with a small inward smile, is that you don't feel as bad for betraying them. After all you've gotten your investment back.
The time for grief and shock was over. When Styn realized his former lieutenant's were turned, they had died in his mind. It had been a mental blow to be sure, he thought all of them would have had a bright future serving Rhysol. It was the reason he had invested as much energy into them during their initiation. This day had shown him how little they had changed in other ways though. He had loved them once and in doing so had been close them, had desired an understanding that could not come without devotion. And he had achieved that understanding. Of all those present to be in this situation, at this time, in this place, Trinna was the most inferior. They never should have left his freeing to her.
Bound hands dropped low and planted feet pushed forward. Styn's whole body shifted forward as he charged the short two steps between them, leading with his head. This was a horrible way to attack someone. Lowing his head would restrict his vision and expose him to counter attack. The posture would throw off his center of gravity and allow him to be easily turned or flipped. Trinna was also one of the worst hand to hand combatants that the order had ever seen.
She yelped, already raised hands landing to both sides of Styn's head. A slight shrug shifted her hands before she gripped widening the space between her arms. The inches difference meant that when Trinna gripped and twisted inward in a collar choke it wouldn't put any pressure on his neck at all. No pressure meant that his blood wasn't being cut off from his brain. As Trinna wasted time locking in a useless hold, Styn's hands darted up, feather soft and lightning quick, to paw at her face. She bore down with her hands wrenching, and jerked her head back. Styn thrust hard with his feet and suddenly she was falling backwards.
Hands tracing a jaw became hands gripping a jaw. There was just enough slack in bound appendages for Styn to curl his fingers around Trinna's face and jam both thumbs into her skull sockets. This was important. She was not just the best tracker the group had. She was one of the only ones who could read sign in a forest like this, period. Styn had to make sure that the group couldn't follow him, and he didn't have much time, that yelp would already have the others running.
Trinna's breath left her in a blast and her yelp became a gut bursting bellow of agony as all of Styn's forward momentum gouged her eyeballs deeply. It was a crippling strike. He lacked the dexterity to make it a killing blow with both hands tied as they were. Rolling off the woman Styn came up running, grabbing his quiver of arrows and his bow awkwardly. Not sparing a look back, he dashed off into the forest. He was just out of the circle of light provided by the fire when Doni stumbled out of one of the cabins rushing to the edge of the clearing, head tilted, trying to catch a sound. It was worthless though, Trinna's screams were turning to loud wracking sobs which weren't much quieter. With a curse the slim man turned back toward the camp as the rest of the band made their way toward their fallen comrade.
The newly escaped apprentice kept his pace to a light jog, his mind racing.
Styn planned.
It was about an hour past dawn, perhaps one of the coldest seeming times in a day if only because the mind thought that it should be warmer with an hour of sun beating on the land. In reality it wouldn't even start to come close to warming up for at least another hour or so. For a native Ravokian it was even colder. Rhysol's touch was light on the air this far out of the city proper. All his life Styn had lived in the safety bubble of the choas lord's influence, it was a damn cold fall this year on top of it.
He had picked his terrain carefully. Hours ago it became apparent that the group below was making their way back toward the city, the road below was their most likely route. The forest to both sides of the road had been cleared for at least twenty feet in both directions to preserve its structural integrity. Beyond the cleared ground, on the side opposite Styn, was a relatively flat section of forest. The chilled apprentice stood warming his hands with pants of breath behind a large maple tree, leaves golden with the seasons turn.
The bowman perched, looking down from the top of a natural cliff face that extended one way for several hundred yards, and ended suddenly after a short five or six going the other way. It was important that the band making their way into his ambush could clearly see that the area to his right jutted over the area below it, providing perfect cover from arrows as Styn would be unable to shoot through the ground. The cliff was not nearly as deep as it was long. the area behind Styn slopped steeply, but was easily navigable. Someone could bravely hug the cliff face to the right, being relatively safe from shots. They had Trinna's bow to provide cover fire so Styn wouldn't be able to wait at the top without exposing himself to shots from below. This was fine, he wanted them to think that he was running scared, he needed them to think that they were outsmarting him.
A brief flicker caught his attention as the group made their way forward. Balkon led the line, they moved in a wedge formation spanning the entire road. to Basher's left and several steps back was Kaedin holding fast to Trinna's arm. They seemed to be conversing softly although the distance was too great for Styn to make out what they were saying. Left was the closest to the cliff which was mildly irritating since the apprentice would be aiming that much farther to hit his mark. To Balkon's right and several steps back was Solt, to Solt's right and several steps back was Doni.
The sun was neither ahead nor behind Styn, it would not silhouette him to watching eyes. The tree cover at the top of the cliff was surprisingly good allowing him to place his shot from the shadows.
Styn brought his bow up smoothly lining up on his chosen target. He had given alot of thought on who would be his first mark. He liked to loose his shots at the apex of his exhale. As the apprentice pulled the black dyed arrow back to his ear, he inhaled deeply. With full lungs he released and was already pulling another arrow free from his quiver as the first stuck the ground behind Solt. His next caught the man high in the chest. It wasn't a killing shot, at least not immediately. This was Ebonstryfe though, their reactions were trained. Balkon immediately pointed him out and fell back to haul Solt into the cover on the other side of the road. Kaedin ushered Trinna to hug the cliff face directly below Styn.
All of Styn's focus was on Doni. The spearman's slim body was already rushing toward the cover of the jutting cliff to the right. An arrow was loosed upward from Kaedin who was carrying Trinna's bow and quiver. Styn was well back from the edge of the cliff however. He had time for one shot on Doni and he doubted he would make it. Back in training Doni had been the fastest sprinter Styn had ever seen. The man's mad dash had already eaten up too much ground. Styn judged where he though his former friend was going to be and loosed. The arrow slid deep into the soft packed earth a foot too soon, the sprinter having slowed his pace to throw off an archers aim.
Clever bastard, Styn though as he rushed down the back of the hill. Near the bottom he dropped his bow, heard a curse, and smiled. The ridge that Styn had fired down from was an unnatural rock formation. Most likely the remnant of some event during the Valterrian. It was several yards high and ended in another cliff face that ran perpendicular to the first. At the bottom of this structure was a path that hugged the raised rock, which Doni would be running on. On the other side of this path was a deep ravine making the path narrow but not obviously dangerous. At the end of the path Styn had piled a large amount of sticks and medium sized rocks. From the distance it would seem like hasty cover setup for an archer, perfect target for a spearman's charge. The path from the road canted upward though. The keystone of the pile was attached to a rope which Doni was no doubt close enough to see now, a rope that was now in Styn's hands.
Pulling sharply on the rope displaced the rock, and the entire mess fell toward the spearman. Of course he would have plenty of time to see it fall toward him. He would think that he had avoided some trap. His already brash nature would be in full swing. The merchant's son had always liked to think of himself as more clever the his fellows.
Styn wasn't good enough at making traps to craft something that could incapacitate someone, but he was good enough at manipulation. He crouched, evenly distributing his weight in a simple standing kata. As soon as Doni leaped over the now useless grouping of random forest trash Styn pushed him off the cliff. The expression of stunned disbelief was worth the solid hour of preparation.
The fall was long, Doni wouldn't be walking away from that particular drop any time soon. Picking up his bow Styn drew an arrow, notched it to string, and waited. He kept his breathing to deep steady breaths, making an attempt at calming his nerves. Before too much longer he heard Balkon's heavy tread. "Doni, did you catch him?" The giant bellowed from about the half way point. The steps halted suddenly, he must have noticed the man lying at the bottom of the ravine, maybe Doni was still moving. The spearman wasn't talking that was for sure. It was one of the weaker parts of his plan. If Doni had warned Balkon away things could have gotten more complicated.
Stepping out into view, Styn aimed center mass. The motion caught Balkon's eye and the big man turned, face still frozen in shock and grief at seeing Doni's broken body. The Ebonstryfe war bow had a one hundred pound draw. This close Styn wasn't likely to miss and could launch an arrow hard enough to punch through plate mail like it was paper. His target was large, stunned, immobile, and close enough to hit with a thrown stone. The first arrow took Balkon in the stomach. The man was built like an Isur though, he grunted, tightened his grip on his war maul, and started toward Styn. The second arrow hit him high on the right shoulder and the hammer clattered to the ground tumbling into the ravine from a now nerveless grip. The third arrow was finally enough to drive the giant to his knees, breath wheezing as his left lung filled with blood. He opened his mouth, a final line, a last word, spitting defiance with his gasping breath. Styn shot the fourth arrow into his throat, surprising himself as much as Balkon with the precision of the shot.
Styn moved past his former friend cautiously, but the fight was driven from him. Balkon seemed to be crying, or maybe it was laughing. Regardless it wouldn't be long now. Looking down into the ravine Styn spotted Doni twitching weakly. It was a tough shot but he should have more then enough arrows to finish the job and get back to where he knew the others would be waiting.
Styn killed
It had taken five arrows to finish Doni. Styn made his way unhurriedly into the cover of trees across from the cliff face. They were waiting there like he knew they would be. Kaedin was kneeling on the ground next to Solt. The swordsman was prone, his head limp and turned toward the road. Styn rounded a tree that partially obscured his view, footsteps loud in the utter silence. Coming around the maple he stopped, still a good fifteen paces away. The swordsman's mouth hung open, his jaw slack and drool pooling the forest floor. The liquid was tinged green with bile and on closer inspection the drool looked more like vomit. Styn brought his bow up aiming at Kaedin's back.
"When did you do it?" the medic asked dully, emotion leached from his voice. He seemed to be staring down at his hands, but Styn couldn't get a clear view of what he seemed to be gripping. He could guess.
Solt was by far the band's best fighter. He was also dangerously paranoid and a bit of a baby. Styn knew that if he could just hit him one time with an arrow the man would demand the antidote to the poison that Styn normally laced his arrows with. The antidote that Styn had replaced with poison earlier in the day on a hunch. It wasn't like the group would be likely to need the cure to the exact toxin that Styn used anyway. The gamble had more then paid off. The victory was two fold. He could avoid having to face their deadliest fighter and destroy the medic's will to fight all in one fell swoop.
The silence stretched for a moment, and then another. Abruptly Kaedin gave out a shout, half roaring rage, half helpless madness, and started to twist. A fine boned hand holding one of his signature throwing knives raised above the medic's head.
Styn calmly shot him in the back.
Kaedin's breath escaped in a sob and he crumbled over Solt, as if to shield the body from Styn's blue unblinking orbs. Just to be safe the apprentice bowman drew another arrow and loosed into the slumped form hearing a low almost inaudible groan as the man's life slipped onto the careless, cold autumn soil. Only then did he allow his eyes to rise, settling on Trinna's still frame. She stared off into the air in his general direction, her gaze off by more then a pace to the left. She had a proud unflinching face, set below a bandage wrapped around her eyes, and idly Styn wondered how long she would keep it.
"What now?" she asked in a voice only quavering slightly.
Styn ignored the question. It took him a few chimes to find a cloth wrapped bundle in one of the packs. They would have cannibalized his things, bringing the valuables, leaving the excess so as not to be slowed down. Throughout the process he kept his bow on hand, one eye on his prisoner. Not responding to her questions as they grew more and more frantic. They were even now after all. His life for hers had already been traded. Still there were things he needed to know. Bringing back news to the order that he had eliminated five traitors would be good, bringing back that news with anything he could get about the Rising Dawn would be glorious.
His fingers were trembling as he laid open the tools of his trade. Pins and needles of varying lengths and sizes. Knives and scalpels fit for a surgeons table. There would be no going back from this. He was glad that Trinna was blind now, it would shame him if she could see the tears in his eyes.
Styn went to work.
It had been messy. The sun was now well overhead and Styn stared off into the distance, toying with one of Kaedin's knives. He was completely exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and just plain tired. Trinna's unmoving form was covered beneath a blanket behind him. He had slipped near the end, fingers clumsy with fatigue, mind unable to guide digits numb with dread. She hadn't died well. Then again after four years Styn wondered if there was a good way to die. Death was so...final. The sounds of footsteps started to register and the apprentice torturer realized that someone was making their way toward his location in the forest. Not from the the road, but from deeper in the clustered trees, he thought he heard humming.
It was the lowest moment in Styn's life.
Intense heat washed over the impromptu camp as a figure of flame stalked into view. Sweat immediately soaked Styn like a downpour of rain. A torrent of emotion exploded through his scarred psyche, each flavor lasting an instant, a mere taste, a moment of fantasy. It left him even more hollowed out then before. He dropped the knife and lowered his face, grime still streaked by tears. Both legs were smoothly folded into the kata of abasement, the first kata a child learns, sometimes the only kata a citizen of Ravok learned. Hands palm down on the browned grass and dirt touched at the tips just as Styn's forehead touched the backs of them. The heat grew ever more intense, sweat evaporating off his body faster then he could cool himself. Lips already chapped from exposure and dehydration cracked.
The humming that he had heard before was coming from the flame shadowed man shape. It was no tune that Styn could put a name to and if he were to describe it to anyone he would only call it...madness. The song sung in his blood long after the invoked feelings had bored out a space in his soul. It evoked a strong desire to destroy, to befoul, and was frightening in its singular mind numbing drive. There was a temptation to let the song take him, to fall into himself and be no more. Styn's muscles seemed to twitch and writhe in eagerness to do that, only a flicker of his will holding back a physical change that would paint that melody into his very flesh and bone. No, he thought defiantly. This is not for me, I am chaos chained to Rhysol's service. I am the hand that directs, the mind that strikes.
The flames flickered and were gone. The noise cut out and left dead silence in its wake. The normal sounds of the forest were conspicuously absent. Styn kept his position, eyes open with only the ground in sight waiting for judgment’s sword to fall.
“I do enjoy a good crucible,” a melodious voice stated. The harmonics of the song of madness twisted through the god's words an ever present reminder that Rhysol was the lord of chaos. “You may gaze upon me,” Rhysol continued. “I'm feeling generous today.”
Styn lifted his eyes hesitantly and beheld his God. Rhysol appeared before him in the guise of a tall young seeming man, clothed in the uniform of Ebonstryfe. Pale skin provided the pristine canvas of painted perfection. The dark hair and milky white eyes were always mentioned, if in hushed whispers only. Few remarked on the utter perfection of face and form. Although Styn's preferences laid in other directions entirely, even he felt a the stirring of desire. Almost as if he could read his young servant's mind Rhysol's lips curled into a cruel smile. “Do you love me?” The god taunted.
“Yes Great Lord,” Styn stated simply before thinking of who he addressed. This was the lord of lies, the father of deceit himself. The blow that threw him onto his back wasn't something mortal perception was meant to track. One moment Rhysol stood staring down at him the next Styn was looking up as if through a dark tunnel, awareness of the world almost slipping with the intensity of the strike.
Rhysol's booted foot pushed insistently down on his jaw. “You honor me and dishonor yourself little liar,” the god said with a laugh. “Still I won't allow it to happen again.” Styn's blue orbs were drawn to a sudden drop of red hovering at the end of an outstretched finger. With an almost disdainful flick the ruby droplet was caste into the apprentice's now open mouth. It landed with a quite splash to stain his tongue. “This I claim,” Rhysol said already walking away, “I might be back for the rest another day.”
A dull throb went through Styn's tongue. This pressure quickly spread throughout his whole body. He had heard about the blessing, Gaius had spoken of it with rapture although there was more then a hint of horror in his voice. He knew what was coming next. The ache became the stabbing pain of a thousand needles, the slashing cuts of a thousand blades. Styn had lived as an apprentice torturer for four years, he knew how hard it was to hurt some parts of the body. Not a single inch was spared. He burned as lit from within by a fire and was consumed. It seemed to go on forever, agony unending. There was a shifting feeling from within, something changed forever. It was almost more then he could bear, and then the pain got serious.
After an amount of time impossible to estimate, the agony was suddenly gone. The mere absence of such an intense torture would feel like the strongest aphrodisiac known to man. What Styn received was far worse. Where the pain had build to a crescendo that seemed to spiral into infinity, the pleasure was like a house falling over him. The shock of it was enough to drive him mad. He gloried in his insanity in the embrace of chaos, the kiss of million lives, a feeling of glorious empowerment, of invincibility. It was the bliss of an entire lifetime in an instant. It was the pride of your father, and his father, all the way back to the beginning of time washing over you. It was more then a mortal mind was meant to hold and with a groan of disappointment Styn knew no more.
Styn was reborn.
The chambers were tiny, barely more then a cramped cell. It was large enough for his small cot, a tiny three door chest for clothing and personal effects, and a stand big enough for a candle and book. The stand was next to the bed, well within reach and across from the clothes chest. Calm practiced motions soon had a small flame burning, casting the room suddenly into dim light and dancing shadows. On top of the three door chest was a washbasin, filled with water he had fetched the night before. There was a mustiness to the air from being underground, a dankness to the walls that wasn't even something that reached a conscious level of perception any longer. Awake now, Styn readied himself to face the day.
A few short minutes later saw his face scrubbed, his uniform donned, his accumulated facial hair removed and his mind already going over the trials for the day. Before he could get much farther in contemplation, his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Three quick authoritative raps and then the door was swinging open. A moment only was spent in question before the young man quickly dropped into a loose fighting crouch. It was a standing kata, distributing the weight equally between feet, knees bent slightly to lower his center of gravity. Fists continued to stay at his sides, if the wrong person were to enter it wouldn't go well for him to look ready for a fight. This kata was for standing, for being ready. Mere moments later it seemed that his caution paid off as the open door framed Pagil.
Pagil was fat. He wasn't plump, big boned, or round, the man was flat out obese. Rolls of blubber stretched skin fit to breaking, tightening his eyes into a piggy glare. The man was one of the Black Sun's interrogators. He was very good at his job and he was Styn's boss.
Pagil gave a amused snort at Styn's stance, arching both eyebrows in a way the disgusting pig thought made him look knowing. Instead it pulled a squashed face apart like a sow giving birth. Still Styn kept his peace, under those rolls of fat were muscles enough to man handle him into submission. Getting himself beat would be acceptable, being put back to the bottom of the apprentice torturers was not. Nodding as if Styn had passed some test, the interrogator jerked a hand over his shoulder. "You're wanted topside today princess, if you start running now you should just make it," Pagil rasped out huskily. Someone had stabbed him in the throat years ago, no doubt the lard somehow kept him from bleeding out.
Styn ran.
The candle by his bed and the flickering torchlight lining the dank stone corridors didn't even come close to preparing him for actual sunlight. Brilliant stabs of florescence pierced blue eyes, triggering an immediate sneeze. Taking a moment to enjoy a nice sneeze is one of the simple joys in life, having three in a row while at a dead sprint can be rather distracting. It was barely dawn and the only people in sight were slaves, dull copper collars gleaming at their necks. They were quick to get out of the young mans way, and better off for it. His stumbling mad dash finally came to a halt at the entrance to the main courtyard. Most of the major ceremonies took place on these grounds, it seemed that Rhysol had noticed him in spite of his father after all. The thought brought a brief grimace over Styn's face and slightly out of breath, face inside the crook of elbow he entered the courtyard. A brief murmur of voices went quite.
Styn blinked away tears and raised aching blue eyes to examine the scene before him. Five faces from the past all wore identical expressions of shock. It was all he could do to keep his own surprise from splashing across his face. Each name struck his soul like a blow. Kaedin, Doni, Balkon, Solt and of course Trinna. Styn's gaze flickered past each face but held on Trinna's the longest. A living symbol of his father's anger, he was surprised she still lived. Completely amazed that Gaius hadn't found some way to snuff her out after all his raging about the weakness allowed to enter Ebonstryfe.
The five youths were arranged in a rough circle. As soon as the commander noticed Styn's entrance he snapped to the position of attention, feet together and canted forty five degrees out, back straight and eyes forward. "Fall in," he roared with a sergeant's battle voice. The apprentices jogged into formation before their commander without a moments hesitation and Styn followed suit They definitely were men serving under this leader. There was a distinct light of pride in the man's eyes as he watched the five assemble, clearly the five were favored although Styn didn't recognize their commander. That probably meant the commander was favored as well.
The first squad leader position at the upper right of the formation was left open intentionally. Second squad filled in behind first, three rows deep meaning that Styn would have to take his place at the front with first squad. Without missing a beat or showing any sort of facial expression Styn stopped well before that empty spot placing himself at the end of first squad instead of at its head. With a puzzled shake of his head Kaedin took a quick side step right as did Balkon followed by Styn, closing ranks smoothly. The commander scowled at each of his apprentices and Trinna even went as far as to issue a self conscious sounding cough.
"If you embarrass me in front of the Ebonlord, so help you all," The man grunted out of the corner of his mouth, trailing off ominously. Confident boot steps echoed in the courtyard as a presence washed over the gathered individuals. A prickling of neck hairs, a stirring of otherworldly aetheric forces. Styn's body seemed to ooze sweat out of every pore, a flush coming to his pale cheeks. It was half gibbering terror and half rush of excitement. One of Rhysol's chosen walked among them. The feeling was especially pronounced after so long living as the shadow of his former self, Styn felt alive again.
The commander quickly turned the formation over to Gru'tral, exchanging salutes before making his way behind the formation. The Ebonlord surveyed the gathered apprentices and spoke words with a ring of long standing ceremony."Today you begin your Crucible, as all Ebonstryfe before you. Rhysol has chosen you. Do not fail him. Earn your place among the order, earn your mark, and make Rhysol proud!" The words rolled imperiously over the trainees. Styn mastering himself slowly, found himself vastly impressed with the man but a bit underwhelmed with the words. Then again his father had said that every promotion a commander received made him talk twice as much till he was on top, then he said less then a rawbones commander freshly minted to command.
After the commander had control of the formation again he waited for Gru'tral to exit the courtyard before roughly barking, "At ease!"
Styn and other others shifted as a single unit, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind their backs, head no longer locked forward but instead facing toward the commander.
"All right so here is the breakdown. There is a known grouping of those Rising Dawn fools conducting training operations in the woods nearby..."
Styn listened.
The midday sun shone over head, and Styn finally felt like he was getting used to it again. The air was filled with the scent of living things, a fragrance long missed. Up ahead Trinna raised a fist and their small company came to a halt, a light tension seeming to settle over the apprentices. Styn fingered an arrow in his quiver and waited. Tucking their map into her pack, Trinna made another hand signal unfamiliar to Styn and abruptly the tension melted out of the other group members. Behind him Solt chuckled, "I thought you were going to crap your breeches Styn," the quite spoken young man said as he passed him by, moving to were the others were gathering. "It's time to eat, it won't be time for the other till later, if at all."
If at all? Styn thought with a glimmer of confusion, followed by a rush of suspicion.
Balkon laughed brashly, lowing his pack to the ground and digging out a wrapped packet of dried food stuffs. "You shame the man you used to be with your girlish panting," the hulking figure husked good-naturedly. Still it must have been too close to what the others were thinking as a stillness settled over the group. They turned eyes toward Styn as if watching a strange animal. All except for Kaedin who leveled a quick glare at Solt and made a subtle hand gesture, another of the band's personal signs it would seem.
So whatever it is, Kaedin is in on it too, Styn mused and then realized that he had left the silence to go on too long. An awkwardness fell over the group, attention flickering away with discomfort. Not for themselves he realized abruptly, but for him, their former leader brought low by the cruel dice of fate. At least that might be how they saw it. Styn knew all too well that his current state could be laid at the feet of one man, Gaius Con'Judicar.
He hadn't been any more tense then the others, he hadn't wasn't any more out of breath then the others, but this was their way. It could even be said that this was Styn's way. A light taunting banter that had marked their days together as initiates. These five had been his lieutenants, they had formed the core of his little army. The apprentice torturer felt like a dead man at his own funeral, but forced his face into the semblance of a warm smile that never reached his eyes. "It's doubtful they could hear my breathing over your boorish stomps. Anything close enough is no doubt waiting in ambush beyond that next bend. It's good that we brought food as my bow won't be claiming any game while traveling with you," Styn said in a rush. Too slow to respond, too fast in his presentation. It was like trying to wear a coat two sizes too small, that skin just didn't fit anymore.
Balkon nodded slowly and then let out a whoosh of breath as Trinna fisted him in the short ribs. Even a tiny thing like Trinna could make a man as large as Balkon feel it there. They turned toward each other and began a low voiced argument, but not before Trinna flashed him a grin. It was enough for now, it would have to be.
Styn's thoughts weren't really on food though, but rather Solt's cryptic words and Kaedin's odd demeanor. The two didn't seem to be distanced in any way from the rest of the group at all. Rhysol save, its all of them, Styn thought with a growing sense of despair. Whatever madness this is, its got them all.
Opening his pack he pulled out his small poisoner's pack and began preparing his arrows to have something to do with his hands. Of course that’s what he told himself he was doing, but it wasn't long before he nicked himself. It could have happened on accident, and with his poor practical application experience it often had in the past. Does my own body betray me? Styn though looking over toward Kaedin with a rueful grin. Mind and body completely out of synch ."Hey you still carry my antidote right?"
"What already?" Kaedin said with a laugh. "You always fail at applying it and you always forget to bring your own antidote. I can't believe you aren't any better after four years!" Reaching into his pack while chewing down another mouthful of dry travelers bread Kaedin tossed him a small wrapped bundle. Metal flasks clinked together and Styn fished out a bottle of antidote. The poison would only be good for about twelve bells, which was why he hadn't put any on earlier. Still if the map was right they would reach the camp in another few bells. Either way it was slow enough acting that he felt no great rush of discomfort even as a stab pain followed by a cool rushing numbness spread down his arm. Knocking back one of the flasks, he poked around in the healer's bundle.
Kaedin was the group medic, it was something Styn was pretty insistent on back in their initiate days. It looked like the young man had kept at it and even added to his repartee of known cures and maladies. He found an assortment of useful things ranging from thread and needle and stacks of neatly rolled bandages, to antidotes of several well known and used poisons. The labels were fortunately Ebonstryfe standard and had not been modified, like much of the groups hand signals. Kaedin was already back to eating and Styn finished the last of his arrows before returning the bundle with a nod of thanks and a slightly soiled feeling staining his soul.
A few minutes later they were moving again.
Styn slid on a pair of thin leather gloves and fingered the fetching of an arrow, lowering his hand to the recently restrung longbow and pulling back on it lightly. The sun was a dull orange orb in the east, the days heat beginning to leach from the land. Trinna was scouting the last few bits and would be back to let them know if the camp was where Black Sun spies had placed it. From their briefing it should be a small company sized element. Mostly untrained men who would panic at the first whiff of battle. It would hardly be a challenge for a well disciplined group of Ebonstryfe, even if they were apprentices. It didn't hurt that five of the six worked with the seamlessness of long years together.
A bird call's whistle filled the air and was repeated two more times in sequence. Trinna was coming back and had not been followed. A few moments later she walked around a bush to where they were gathered. "It's done," she said solemnly. Nodding the others started to gather their packs.
"Wait," Styn said with confusion tempered by growing anger. "Leave the packs, they'll just weigh us down in the fight. How many of them were there? How many trained arms men? How many peasants?" The torturers breath began to come faster the last question almost incomprehensible.
The others exchanged looks not stopping the synching of their packs. "The camp is empty," Trinna finally said.
"Let's go take a look then," Doni said with a sigh.
Styn grabbed up his own pack and followed.
After a few chimes of walking they stepped into a clearing of three structures facing a large stone circle campfire. It looked like a hunter's lodge, although any who would be willing to live outside the safety of a city in these post Valterrian days would deserve the messy deaths they got. Styn wasn't much of a tracker himself but he could see signs that the previous occupants had packed up quickly, a low burning fire was lit as if in preparation for the evening meal. He even thought he smelled cooked meat which would have meant that they had missed the Rising Dawn by little more then a bell, it was insanity, impossible.
Please Rhysol, have I not given you enough? I can't bear this too, Styn thought with despair. All eyes were on him. Doni with his spear held loosely in both hands, not grounded. Balkon with his great maul gripped fit to crack wood, the heavy stone head of the weapon over his shoulder. Kaedin fingered his wrist where Styn knew the man kept a hidden knife. Solt was actually behind Styn and a craned neck saw the man the most aggressive of all, with hand clasped to sword hilt as if on the point of drawing. Trinna didn't meet his look, her long bow resting on the ground as she watched the sun set.
"How long have you been members of the Rising Dawn?" Styn forced out bitterly, eyes challenging them one at a time. Each of his former lieutenants met his gaze proudly, but no one daring to speak.
"I've been a member from the beginning," Trinna said softly. "We didn't even have a name back then, but there is a darkness in that city and I will fight it. The others came around eventually, the training was part of it. That vile black institute would wish that every member was as tainted as Lucio. Seeing how you were treated helped even the most skeptical of the rest," She said with a nod toward Solt. "If we could have gotten to you we would have but you were like a prisoner yourself in those depths."
The others nodded in confirmation. Styn searched out their faces, their stances, looking for any hint or sign that one of these men had been waiting for just this moment to strike a blow for Rhysol. He had spent four years looking into the hearts of broken men, men who had lost the ability to lie, the will to do anything accept please their jailers. There was no hesitation, no remorse, these men were committed.
"What is your decision then?" Solt inquired with deadly intent.
One man doesn't fight five and win, Styn thought coldly.
"Fighting you would accomplish nothing accept my death, I suppose that makes me your prisoner or a sack of meat standing in your way," Styn said somberly. He might hate his father, he might at times doubt the plan that Rhysol laid before him but he would serve still. He had not ended his devotion when he had fallen from grace. Four years of self loathing and abominable suffering may have dulled the savor of life but Styn endured. This though was hard for him to stomach. Rhysol's grace were the only reason they weren't all savages living in caves still. The sanctuary of Ravok, Rhysol's plan, Styn's place was nothing compared to that grand design.
"Captive then," Trinna said softly before walking away.
Balkon came forward to bind his hands, and then his feet and lastly binding the two together before carrying him to the fire. Solt, hefting the quiver and longbow, joined them at the blaze. The others gathered close ringing the fire and began to speak. First one at a time, then briefly together they implored and pleaded, trying to sway the man they had once respected to the rightness of their cause.
Styn waited.
Styn's eyes snapped open and awareness flooded his senses. He was flat on his back and staring up at a star filled sky, not a cloud in sight. The scent of faint ashy soot played cloyingly in the air as the fire burned low. An owl hooted in the distance, but the forest seemed otherwise quite. The former blaze offered little more light then a few candles. It was enough to illuminate Trinna's face staring him straight in the eyes as Styn tilted his head slightly to get a better look at his surroundings. She seemed lost in thought at first, staring through him rather that at him.
Styn had had alot of time to think before they left him to sleep. His decision was made, it was only a matter of acting on it now.
"I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life," she said suddenly.
What is this now? Styn thought curiously.
"It was more to spite my father then because you were worth saving," Styn replied with a shrug of one shoulder. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and allowed his scrutiny to slide over the area. The others seemed to have retreated to the cabins, probably to comfortable beds with blankets. One guard? He truly had fallen if they felt that he didn't need more attention.
"I don't know how many times I wanted to tell you, how many times I almost did," Trinna trailed off, seeming lost in thought again.
"Best you didn't, just because I'm not my father's slave doesn't make my faith less. You don't have to like a god to serve him well."
"Such a good little soldier," Trinna spat bitterly.
"And you're not? Better a soldier then a spy," Styn said flippantly. "You mock because you don't like my views not because you don't respect me, don't insult yourself."
"Get up," Trinna said suddenly.
"Yeah I'll get right on that," Styn said, shaking his bound hands at the woman.
With a sigh she got up and drew her small belt knife approaching casually. Styn was instantly on alert, watching her body for signs that this was a precursor to attack. Trinna's body language was all wrong for any kind of fight, and her expression was blank, but sort of soft looking. The apprentice torturer remembered that she had always been a bit anxious when it came time for violence. Four years was a long time to hold onto a bad habit but Styn just didn't feel like he was about to get stabbed.
In fact, he found himself suddenly freed, ropes binding feet and feet to hands cut cleanly. This is an interesting turn, Styn thought musingly. The ropes tying his hands together were left and with a jerk of her head Trinna stepped back, gesturing for him to rise.
Well well, Styn thought as he rose to his feet. He was taller then Trinna by a noticeable amount. Her bow stood propped out of easy reach, leaning on a rock ringing the fire. His own was next to it unstrung, and two full quivers were laid out between them. Trinna's eyes flickered down his body, judging his stance a trace, of worry in her eyes. He had automatically stood with a rising kata, quick efficient motions designed to stand and be balanced. It could look graceful when done by a master but even Styn looked ready to do battle. He more then looked it actually, he was ready to fight, and he wouldn't get many chances as good as this.
Trinna threw up her hands defensively getting a feel for his mood. "Look, just go," She said in a rush. "You don't know anything the Rising Dawn needs to know. You've been living in a prison for four years. You'll never pass your crucible without wiping out the camp here anyway and you'll never find out where they've gone. We can only stay undercover if we kill you and we've already decided not to do that. We're beyond Rhysol's lies and corruption now. Just go, live out the rest of your life however you please, we're even now," She finished almost breathless having spoken so fast.
The great thing about someone else returning a favor, Styn thought with a small inward smile, is that you don't feel as bad for betraying them. After all you've gotten your investment back.
The time for grief and shock was over. When Styn realized his former lieutenant's were turned, they had died in his mind. It had been a mental blow to be sure, he thought all of them would have had a bright future serving Rhysol. It was the reason he had invested as much energy into them during their initiation. This day had shown him how little they had changed in other ways though. He had loved them once and in doing so had been close them, had desired an understanding that could not come without devotion. And he had achieved that understanding. Of all those present to be in this situation, at this time, in this place, Trinna was the most inferior. They never should have left his freeing to her.
Bound hands dropped low and planted feet pushed forward. Styn's whole body shifted forward as he charged the short two steps between them, leading with his head. This was a horrible way to attack someone. Lowing his head would restrict his vision and expose him to counter attack. The posture would throw off his center of gravity and allow him to be easily turned or flipped. Trinna was also one of the worst hand to hand combatants that the order had ever seen.
She yelped, already raised hands landing to both sides of Styn's head. A slight shrug shifted her hands before she gripped widening the space between her arms. The inches difference meant that when Trinna gripped and twisted inward in a collar choke it wouldn't put any pressure on his neck at all. No pressure meant that his blood wasn't being cut off from his brain. As Trinna wasted time locking in a useless hold, Styn's hands darted up, feather soft and lightning quick, to paw at her face. She bore down with her hands wrenching, and jerked her head back. Styn thrust hard with his feet and suddenly she was falling backwards.
Hands tracing a jaw became hands gripping a jaw. There was just enough slack in bound appendages for Styn to curl his fingers around Trinna's face and jam both thumbs into her skull sockets. This was important. She was not just the best tracker the group had. She was one of the only ones who could read sign in a forest like this, period. Styn had to make sure that the group couldn't follow him, and he didn't have much time, that yelp would already have the others running.
Trinna's breath left her in a blast and her yelp became a gut bursting bellow of agony as all of Styn's forward momentum gouged her eyeballs deeply. It was a crippling strike. He lacked the dexterity to make it a killing blow with both hands tied as they were. Rolling off the woman Styn came up running, grabbing his quiver of arrows and his bow awkwardly. Not sparing a look back, he dashed off into the forest. He was just out of the circle of light provided by the fire when Doni stumbled out of one of the cabins rushing to the edge of the clearing, head tilted, trying to catch a sound. It was worthless though, Trinna's screams were turning to loud wracking sobs which weren't much quieter. With a curse the slim man turned back toward the camp as the rest of the band made their way toward their fallen comrade.
The newly escaped apprentice kept his pace to a light jog, his mind racing.
Styn planned.
It was about an hour past dawn, perhaps one of the coldest seeming times in a day if only because the mind thought that it should be warmer with an hour of sun beating on the land. In reality it wouldn't even start to come close to warming up for at least another hour or so. For a native Ravokian it was even colder. Rhysol's touch was light on the air this far out of the city proper. All his life Styn had lived in the safety bubble of the choas lord's influence, it was a damn cold fall this year on top of it.
He had picked his terrain carefully. Hours ago it became apparent that the group below was making their way back toward the city, the road below was their most likely route. The forest to both sides of the road had been cleared for at least twenty feet in both directions to preserve its structural integrity. Beyond the cleared ground, on the side opposite Styn, was a relatively flat section of forest. The chilled apprentice stood warming his hands with pants of breath behind a large maple tree, leaves golden with the seasons turn.
The bowman perched, looking down from the top of a natural cliff face that extended one way for several hundred yards, and ended suddenly after a short five or six going the other way. It was important that the band making their way into his ambush could clearly see that the area to his right jutted over the area below it, providing perfect cover from arrows as Styn would be unable to shoot through the ground. The cliff was not nearly as deep as it was long. the area behind Styn slopped steeply, but was easily navigable. Someone could bravely hug the cliff face to the right, being relatively safe from shots. They had Trinna's bow to provide cover fire so Styn wouldn't be able to wait at the top without exposing himself to shots from below. This was fine, he wanted them to think that he was running scared, he needed them to think that they were outsmarting him.
A brief flicker caught his attention as the group made their way forward. Balkon led the line, they moved in a wedge formation spanning the entire road. to Basher's left and several steps back was Kaedin holding fast to Trinna's arm. They seemed to be conversing softly although the distance was too great for Styn to make out what they were saying. Left was the closest to the cliff which was mildly irritating since the apprentice would be aiming that much farther to hit his mark. To Balkon's right and several steps back was Solt, to Solt's right and several steps back was Doni.
The sun was neither ahead nor behind Styn, it would not silhouette him to watching eyes. The tree cover at the top of the cliff was surprisingly good allowing him to place his shot from the shadows.
Styn brought his bow up smoothly lining up on his chosen target. He had given alot of thought on who would be his first mark. He liked to loose his shots at the apex of his exhale. As the apprentice pulled the black dyed arrow back to his ear, he inhaled deeply. With full lungs he released and was already pulling another arrow free from his quiver as the first stuck the ground behind Solt. His next caught the man high in the chest. It wasn't a killing shot, at least not immediately. This was Ebonstryfe though, their reactions were trained. Balkon immediately pointed him out and fell back to haul Solt into the cover on the other side of the road. Kaedin ushered Trinna to hug the cliff face directly below Styn.
All of Styn's focus was on Doni. The spearman's slim body was already rushing toward the cover of the jutting cliff to the right. An arrow was loosed upward from Kaedin who was carrying Trinna's bow and quiver. Styn was well back from the edge of the cliff however. He had time for one shot on Doni and he doubted he would make it. Back in training Doni had been the fastest sprinter Styn had ever seen. The man's mad dash had already eaten up too much ground. Styn judged where he though his former friend was going to be and loosed. The arrow slid deep into the soft packed earth a foot too soon, the sprinter having slowed his pace to throw off an archers aim.
Clever bastard, Styn though as he rushed down the back of the hill. Near the bottom he dropped his bow, heard a curse, and smiled. The ridge that Styn had fired down from was an unnatural rock formation. Most likely the remnant of some event during the Valterrian. It was several yards high and ended in another cliff face that ran perpendicular to the first. At the bottom of this structure was a path that hugged the raised rock, which Doni would be running on. On the other side of this path was a deep ravine making the path narrow but not obviously dangerous. At the end of the path Styn had piled a large amount of sticks and medium sized rocks. From the distance it would seem like hasty cover setup for an archer, perfect target for a spearman's charge. The path from the road canted upward though. The keystone of the pile was attached to a rope which Doni was no doubt close enough to see now, a rope that was now in Styn's hands.
Pulling sharply on the rope displaced the rock, and the entire mess fell toward the spearman. Of course he would have plenty of time to see it fall toward him. He would think that he had avoided some trap. His already brash nature would be in full swing. The merchant's son had always liked to think of himself as more clever the his fellows.
Styn wasn't good enough at making traps to craft something that could incapacitate someone, but he was good enough at manipulation. He crouched, evenly distributing his weight in a simple standing kata. As soon as Doni leaped over the now useless grouping of random forest trash Styn pushed him off the cliff. The expression of stunned disbelief was worth the solid hour of preparation.
The fall was long, Doni wouldn't be walking away from that particular drop any time soon. Picking up his bow Styn drew an arrow, notched it to string, and waited. He kept his breathing to deep steady breaths, making an attempt at calming his nerves. Before too much longer he heard Balkon's heavy tread. "Doni, did you catch him?" The giant bellowed from about the half way point. The steps halted suddenly, he must have noticed the man lying at the bottom of the ravine, maybe Doni was still moving. The spearman wasn't talking that was for sure. It was one of the weaker parts of his plan. If Doni had warned Balkon away things could have gotten more complicated.
Stepping out into view, Styn aimed center mass. The motion caught Balkon's eye and the big man turned, face still frozen in shock and grief at seeing Doni's broken body. The Ebonstryfe war bow had a one hundred pound draw. This close Styn wasn't likely to miss and could launch an arrow hard enough to punch through plate mail like it was paper. His target was large, stunned, immobile, and close enough to hit with a thrown stone. The first arrow took Balkon in the stomach. The man was built like an Isur though, he grunted, tightened his grip on his war maul, and started toward Styn. The second arrow hit him high on the right shoulder and the hammer clattered to the ground tumbling into the ravine from a now nerveless grip. The third arrow was finally enough to drive the giant to his knees, breath wheezing as his left lung filled with blood. He opened his mouth, a final line, a last word, spitting defiance with his gasping breath. Styn shot the fourth arrow into his throat, surprising himself as much as Balkon with the precision of the shot.
Styn moved past his former friend cautiously, but the fight was driven from him. Balkon seemed to be crying, or maybe it was laughing. Regardless it wouldn't be long now. Looking down into the ravine Styn spotted Doni twitching weakly. It was a tough shot but he should have more then enough arrows to finish the job and get back to where he knew the others would be waiting.
Styn killed
It had taken five arrows to finish Doni. Styn made his way unhurriedly into the cover of trees across from the cliff face. They were waiting there like he knew they would be. Kaedin was kneeling on the ground next to Solt. The swordsman was prone, his head limp and turned toward the road. Styn rounded a tree that partially obscured his view, footsteps loud in the utter silence. Coming around the maple he stopped, still a good fifteen paces away. The swordsman's mouth hung open, his jaw slack and drool pooling the forest floor. The liquid was tinged green with bile and on closer inspection the drool looked more like vomit. Styn brought his bow up aiming at Kaedin's back.
"When did you do it?" the medic asked dully, emotion leached from his voice. He seemed to be staring down at his hands, but Styn couldn't get a clear view of what he seemed to be gripping. He could guess.
Solt was by far the band's best fighter. He was also dangerously paranoid and a bit of a baby. Styn knew that if he could just hit him one time with an arrow the man would demand the antidote to the poison that Styn normally laced his arrows with. The antidote that Styn had replaced with poison earlier in the day on a hunch. It wasn't like the group would be likely to need the cure to the exact toxin that Styn used anyway. The gamble had more then paid off. The victory was two fold. He could avoid having to face their deadliest fighter and destroy the medic's will to fight all in one fell swoop.
The silence stretched for a moment, and then another. Abruptly Kaedin gave out a shout, half roaring rage, half helpless madness, and started to twist. A fine boned hand holding one of his signature throwing knives raised above the medic's head.
Styn calmly shot him in the back.
Kaedin's breath escaped in a sob and he crumbled over Solt, as if to shield the body from Styn's blue unblinking orbs. Just to be safe the apprentice bowman drew another arrow and loosed into the slumped form hearing a low almost inaudible groan as the man's life slipped onto the careless, cold autumn soil. Only then did he allow his eyes to rise, settling on Trinna's still frame. She stared off into the air in his general direction, her gaze off by more then a pace to the left. She had a proud unflinching face, set below a bandage wrapped around her eyes, and idly Styn wondered how long she would keep it.
"What now?" she asked in a voice only quavering slightly.
Styn ignored the question. It took him a few chimes to find a cloth wrapped bundle in one of the packs. They would have cannibalized his things, bringing the valuables, leaving the excess so as not to be slowed down. Throughout the process he kept his bow on hand, one eye on his prisoner. Not responding to her questions as they grew more and more frantic. They were even now after all. His life for hers had already been traded. Still there were things he needed to know. Bringing back news to the order that he had eliminated five traitors would be good, bringing back that news with anything he could get about the Rising Dawn would be glorious.
His fingers were trembling as he laid open the tools of his trade. Pins and needles of varying lengths and sizes. Knives and scalpels fit for a surgeons table. There would be no going back from this. He was glad that Trinna was blind now, it would shame him if she could see the tears in his eyes.
Styn went to work.
It had been messy. The sun was now well overhead and Styn stared off into the distance, toying with one of Kaedin's knives. He was completely exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and just plain tired. Trinna's unmoving form was covered beneath a blanket behind him. He had slipped near the end, fingers clumsy with fatigue, mind unable to guide digits numb with dread. She hadn't died well. Then again after four years Styn wondered if there was a good way to die. Death was so...final. The sounds of footsteps started to register and the apprentice torturer realized that someone was making their way toward his location in the forest. Not from the the road, but from deeper in the clustered trees, he thought he heard humming.
It was the lowest moment in Styn's life.
Intense heat washed over the impromptu camp as a figure of flame stalked into view. Sweat immediately soaked Styn like a downpour of rain. A torrent of emotion exploded through his scarred psyche, each flavor lasting an instant, a mere taste, a moment of fantasy. It left him even more hollowed out then before. He dropped the knife and lowered his face, grime still streaked by tears. Both legs were smoothly folded into the kata of abasement, the first kata a child learns, sometimes the only kata a citizen of Ravok learned. Hands palm down on the browned grass and dirt touched at the tips just as Styn's forehead touched the backs of them. The heat grew ever more intense, sweat evaporating off his body faster then he could cool himself. Lips already chapped from exposure and dehydration cracked.
The humming that he had heard before was coming from the flame shadowed man shape. It was no tune that Styn could put a name to and if he were to describe it to anyone he would only call it...madness. The song sung in his blood long after the invoked feelings had bored out a space in his soul. It evoked a strong desire to destroy, to befoul, and was frightening in its singular mind numbing drive. There was a temptation to let the song take him, to fall into himself and be no more. Styn's muscles seemed to twitch and writhe in eagerness to do that, only a flicker of his will holding back a physical change that would paint that melody into his very flesh and bone. No, he thought defiantly. This is not for me, I am chaos chained to Rhysol's service. I am the hand that directs, the mind that strikes.
The flames flickered and were gone. The noise cut out and left dead silence in its wake. The normal sounds of the forest were conspicuously absent. Styn kept his position, eyes open with only the ground in sight waiting for judgment’s sword to fall.
“I do enjoy a good crucible,” a melodious voice stated. The harmonics of the song of madness twisted through the god's words an ever present reminder that Rhysol was the lord of chaos. “You may gaze upon me,” Rhysol continued. “I'm feeling generous today.”
Styn lifted his eyes hesitantly and beheld his God. Rhysol appeared before him in the guise of a tall young seeming man, clothed in the uniform of Ebonstryfe. Pale skin provided the pristine canvas of painted perfection. The dark hair and milky white eyes were always mentioned, if in hushed whispers only. Few remarked on the utter perfection of face and form. Although Styn's preferences laid in other directions entirely, even he felt a the stirring of desire. Almost as if he could read his young servant's mind Rhysol's lips curled into a cruel smile. “Do you love me?” The god taunted.
“Yes Great Lord,” Styn stated simply before thinking of who he addressed. This was the lord of lies, the father of deceit himself. The blow that threw him onto his back wasn't something mortal perception was meant to track. One moment Rhysol stood staring down at him the next Styn was looking up as if through a dark tunnel, awareness of the world almost slipping with the intensity of the strike.
Rhysol's booted foot pushed insistently down on his jaw. “You honor me and dishonor yourself little liar,” the god said with a laugh. “Still I won't allow it to happen again.” Styn's blue orbs were drawn to a sudden drop of red hovering at the end of an outstretched finger. With an almost disdainful flick the ruby droplet was caste into the apprentice's now open mouth. It landed with a quite splash to stain his tongue. “This I claim,” Rhysol said already walking away, “I might be back for the rest another day.”
A dull throb went through Styn's tongue. This pressure quickly spread throughout his whole body. He had heard about the blessing, Gaius had spoken of it with rapture although there was more then a hint of horror in his voice. He knew what was coming next. The ache became the stabbing pain of a thousand needles, the slashing cuts of a thousand blades. Styn had lived as an apprentice torturer for four years, he knew how hard it was to hurt some parts of the body. Not a single inch was spared. He burned as lit from within by a fire and was consumed. It seemed to go on forever, agony unending. There was a shifting feeling from within, something changed forever. It was almost more then he could bear, and then the pain got serious.
After an amount of time impossible to estimate, the agony was suddenly gone. The mere absence of such an intense torture would feel like the strongest aphrodisiac known to man. What Styn received was far worse. Where the pain had build to a crescendo that seemed to spiral into infinity, the pleasure was like a house falling over him. The shock of it was enough to drive him mad. He gloried in his insanity in the embrace of chaos, the kiss of million lives, a feeling of glorious empowerment, of invincibility. It was the bliss of an entire lifetime in an instant. It was the pride of your father, and his father, all the way back to the beginning of time washing over you. It was more then a mortal mind was meant to hold and with a groan of disappointment Styn knew no more.
Styn was reborn.
Skills
20 Longbow - 20SP
20 Unarmed Combat - 20SP
20 Interrogation - 5SP + 15RB
05 Poison - 5SP
20 Unarmed Combat - 20SP
20 Interrogation - 5SP + 15RB
05 Poison - 5SP
Equipment
Black Ebonstryfe Uniform X 2
Black Ebonstryfe Brigandine Armor
Black Ebonstryfe Longbow
Quiver of arrows (40)
Knife
Water skin X 3
Backpack
Toiletries
Food (1 week)
Eating knife
Flint & Steel
Axe, Carpenter's
Spade, Short
Rope, Hemp (50ft.)
Crowbar
Bedroll
Blanket, Winter
Insect Repellant
Rucksack
Tent, One Person
Dark Tongue Antidote (3 doses)
Black Ebonstryfe Brigandine Armor
Black Ebonstryfe Longbow
Quiver of arrows (40)
Knife
Water skin X 3
Backpack
Toiletries
Food (1 week)
Eating knife
Flint & Steel
Axe, Carpenter's
Spade, Short
Rope, Hemp (50ft.)
Crowbar
Bedroll
Blanket, Winter
Insect Repellant
Rucksack
Tent, One Person
Dark Tongue Antidote (3 doses)
Mizas
519GM, 8SM, 8CM TOTAL
FROM
+100GM (SP)
+500GM (Sale of House)
-80GM, 1SM, 2CM (The Big Bad Wolf)
FROM
+100GM (SP)
+500GM (Sale of House)
-80GM, 1SM, 2CM (The Big Bad Wolf)
Housing
Barracks room in Vitrax.
Lore
Religion - Rhysol
Pressure Points
Pressure Points
Languages
Common = Fluent
Gnosis
Chaon Rank 1
Threads
