(Solo) [The Garrison] A little out of the way

[Valien]

20th Day of Summer, 514 AV The problem with honest work, in Valien's opinion, was that it tended to occur during the daytime. The problem with the day was that it was often bloody hot, and the problem with clothes brought over from Ravok was that Ravokians wore entirely too much black to be practical. All of those factors combined meant that Valien was not at his happiest as he walked down the dusty road leading from Syliras to the Mithryn Outpost, a skin of warm water in his hand and a bag with a package tucked inside of it slung over his shoulder. He wore his dagger openly at his side, unwilling to go unarmed outside of the city walls. Aside from the obvious weapon to deter would be thieves and bandits, Valien also had his wrist knives, one hidden in his boot and the other hidden under his shirt. As the day wore on, however, and the sun began to climb in the sky, Valien mused that perhaps the shirt was an unwise hiding place. The urge to strip the offending piece of black fabric off of himself and continue walking rose steadily, but he reminded himself that if he walked shirtless, he would get sunburned, and if he got sunburned, Serah would laugh at him. Then he realized that he was worried about an eight-year-old laughing at him, and that he must be warmer and more delirious than he thought. He took a swig of water, musing that if this was honest work, then there was a reason why it had taken him so long to get around to doing it. It had all started this morning when one of the knights he'd taken to regularly delivering for had asked him to deliver a package to the Garrison at the Mithryn Outpost. An easy enough task, in Valien's mind, especially since the client promised to compensate him for all the other deliveries he would be missing while making the trek out there. That was until he remembered that it was summer, summer was hot, and if you were on foot, the Mithryn Outpost could be annoyingly far away. Still, he reminded himself that not even thirty days ago, he and Serah had been walking through worse conditions, making their way to the safety of Syliras. Surely he hadn't gone soft in the twenty-two days spent within the safety of the walls. That was different, though. That was a desperate flight for their lives. This was work, and work, it appeared, was boring to him. He found himself longing for those days spent in Ravok's underground, roaming the city under the cover of darkness. The night had been his friend, hiding him, letting Valien and the other members of his gang take what they could before the sun rose the next day. And then Avenna was killed. He took another sip of water, his mood soured by the memory. He wondered if all of his good memories of those days would be tainted by that last one, the memory of Avenna being taken away, screaming at Serah to run. He'd loved his city once. He couldn't even think about it anymore. It was a relief when the walls of the Mithryn Outpost rose up in front of him, the Windoak flags flying from each tower. Valien passed through the gates easily after showing the sentries the package and the seal on it, stepping inot the town. The Outpost was much smaller than Syliras, and always busy. He remembered stopping through here to rest the night before entering Syliras, and the place looked much the same as it had then. It didn't take long to find the Garrison. It must have been the largest building there, rising up three stories from the earth. He made his way towards that building, holding the package in the crook of his arm as he walked towards it, making his way towards The Weir. One of the knights on guard stopped him as he approached, and Valien stopped immediately, noticing the wary look the knight was giving him. He supposed he didn't look like much. His clothes were travel-worn and had seen better days, and after walking from Syliras in this heat, he was sweltering. Still, he supposed, he was better off than the knights. At least he wasn't wearing plate armor. "State your business, stranger," said the knight, approaching him. "I'm a courier from Syliras," said Valien, holding out the package to show them. "Package for Ser Bastion, from a Ser Brendan Hoid." The knight frowned, looking over the box in Valien's hand before glancing back at his fellow guard. He looked Valien over once before stepping away. "Straight through, up the stairs, don't stray," said the knight, scowling at him as he waved him through. "And don't let me catch you loitering." "Wouldn't dream of it," said Valien with a smile, stepping past the guards and into the Garrison. The hard part was done. Now to find this Ser Bastion...

[Valien]

Valien climbed the stairs towards the Armory, mindful of the knight's warning to not wander around. He knew that the Garrison was normally restricted to members of the Order, and had no wish to make an enemy of another city just after fleeing Ravok. At least it wasn't too long of a walk. The stairs from the gate quickly led up to a large, expansive room, one that smelled strongly of steel and weapon polish. Even without catching sight of the various arms and armor mounted on the walls, the smell alone would have been enough of a giveaway. He gave the weapons rack an appreciative glance as he passed them, resisting the urge to let out a low whistle. He had to hand it to the Syliran Knights. They were well-stocked. It had been a long while since Valien had seen so much steel in one place and obviously well-maintained too. He kept moving, making his way through the shelves and searching for the knight he was supposed to deliver to. As the guard downstairs predicted, it wasn't hard to find Ser Bastion. The old knight was examining a dented breastplate, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. Valien glanced down at the armor, slightly curious as to what had caused the dent. It was near where the sternum would be, if a knight was wearing it, and it didn't quite look like what Valien would expect a dent from a sword to look like. A hammer, maybe? Well, it wasn't his place to speculate, so he cleared his throat, stepping forward from among the shelves. He made sure to adjust his footsteps, letting his feet make noise as he approached the knight. Stealth might be a tactic he had once made his living by, but he knew from personal experience that most people did not like to be sneaked up on, and he supposed that went double for old knights. "Excuse me, ser?" he asked. Delivery for you, from Syliras." Ser Bastion's response was to raise his head, giving Valien a quick once-over. The knight's eyes lingered a little overlong at the dagger belted to Valien's side, before traveling back up to his face. He grunted once, his expression unfriendly, and gestured at the table in front of him. "Set it down there," he said. Because I didn't come all this way in the heat or anything, Valien thought to himself, frowning at Ser Bastion's brusque manner as he stepped forward and set the package down on the table. It hit with a dull thunk, heavier than might be expected for its size. The knight looked up at the sound of it, reaching out a hand for the package and pulling it closer to him, and Valien took that as his cue to go. He gave the knight a nod, turning away. "Well, if you excuse me, ser," he said, eager to start off on the trip back to Syliras. If he hurried, he might make it before the day was through. He'd gotten a few feet away from Ser Bastion when he heard the old knight start talking. "From Brendan, eh?" he muttered, as if talking to himself. Valien paused, glancing back over his shoulder in case the man had any questions for him, but Ser Bastion seemed to be engrossed in unwrapping the package. "Didn't know he was back in town...What does that little runt have for me? Aha—!" He lifted the lid off the box, peering inside. At once, his entire demeanor changed, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he studied whatever was inside the package. "Look at that," he said. "Boy, do you know what that is?" Valien blinked, wondering whether or not Ser Bastion was talking to him. When it was clear that there was no one else in the room, he stepped forward, bristling a little at being called 'boy' (he was almost thirty years old, for gods' sakes) and looked into the package. Inside was the strangest knife Valien had ever seen. It was thin, slightly curved, with some sort of woven wrapping on the handle in blue cloth and a circular metal guard. Its sheath looked to be made of lacquered wood instead of leather. Realizing that Ser Valien was waiting for an answer, Valien cleared his throat, taking a step back. "Uh...it looks like a dagger, ser," he said. "Dagger." Ser Bastion snorted, turning his back to Valien as he studied his prize. "That, boy, is a genuine Lhavitian tanto, nearly twelve inches of folded steel. Look, you can see the blacksmith's seal burned into the sheath. I'll bet you all the mizas in the treasury that you'll find the same thing on the tang, under the hilt. She's got pedigree, a real blue-blooded woman. Not like that pigsticker you've got there," he added offhandedly, making a dismissive gesture. "Pigsticker?" Valien repeated, placing one hand over his dagger protectively. "I'll have you know, this cost me good money." "Bah! Ravokian make. Gets the job done, I'll give them that, but no soul," Ser Bastion waved his hand, as if he was shooing away a particularly annoying fly, and Valien resisted the inexplicable urge to pull his dagger from his belt and comfort it as though it were an injured puppy. "You'd be better off with a flametongue. Causes more damage, kill quicker, more dignified overall than that sorry mess." "Do I look like I can afford a flametongue?" asked Valien, with all the affronted air of a man who was at that exact moment thinking about how much he wanted a flametongue. "You'll want an Isurian steel flametongue," said Ser Bastion, as if Valien hadn't spoken at all. "Now, that is the sort of dagger you can pass on to your children, boy." "Isurian steel," Valien repeated dryly. "Right. You know, I think I had one of those once, but then the strangest thing happened. I woke up." Ser Bastion went on, ignoring the sarcasm completely and making Valien wonder whether or not he was actually needed for this conversation. He lifted the dagger out of its case as though it were a newborn baby, setting it down on the table and rifling through the box. "I wonder if...oh, yes, clove oil." He held up a glass vial of a yellowish oil triumphantly. "Those Lhavitians clean their blades with it, say it keeps the steel polished. Works well enough, but you know, for these exotic blades, I say you need to take care of them the way they're supposed to be taken care of. Why fix what isn't broken, you hear me?" "I suppose..." Valien began, trying to find the best way to extricate himself from this conversation. "Now, what this blade needs is some stone powder. Hazuya, they call it up there. Comes wrapped up in a little silk ball, like a pastry. They use it to soak up the leftover oil before cleaning. Oil and blood, of course. Guess it was too much to ask for Brendan to send me one of those. No matter. I still have a powder ball tucked away somewhere." "That's very interesting, ser, but I should probably be going—" "I wonder what Brendan broke to send me something like this." Ser Bastion snorted. "Probably that sword of his again. You know, when he was a squire, Brendan was always breaking his swords—could never figure out how he did it. It was the damnedest thing. Every other month or so, he'd be in here. 'Ser Bastion', he'd say to me, 'I need a new sword'. Finally I had to ask him, 'what the bloody hell did you do to offend Izurdin, boy? Because he certainly doesn't like you." Ser Bastion chuckled with the indulgent smile of a man who was amused at his own joke. Valien felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he wouldn't be leaving this armory for a long time. "One time," said Ser Bastion, "Now one time, we had these Benshira merchants come into the town, on their way to Syliras. You ever see Eyktol blades, boy? Ah, probably not, you've got the look of Ravok about you. Well, you're missing half your life. Eyktol blades, now those are really something. One of those Benshira had a scimitar—now, from just the look of it, I could tell that that blade had history. It had life, it had..." Valien sighed inwardly, deciding that if this was going to go on much longer, he should at least get comfortable. With a resigned expression on his face, he started looking around for a chair. OOCFun facts, clove oil, otherwise known as choji oil, is used for the polishing of katana, wakizashi, tanto...what have you. I take swordsmanship and use it for my iaito ^^

[Valien]

OOCThe job thread's pretty much done; the rest of this post is just setting up something Radiant and I talked about. It was mid-afternoon by the time Valien managed to slip out of the armory, pleading that he needed to get back to Syliras before dark. As it was, the longer days gave him just enough time to do that, but when Valien finally stepped out of the Garrison, his head was reeling. It didn't help that the same pair of knights were still on guard at the gate when he walked through, and one of them gave him a knowing grin. Valien tucked his hand into his pocket, resisting the urge to give the knight the sort of rude gesture that tended to get honest, hard-working folk in trouble. He started off along the road back through the town, then realized that he couldn't go much farther with his head pounding the way it was, and decided to make a quick stop at the Fool's Errand for a drink. At this time of day, the tavern was still empty, the only people in it a pair of despondent old men seated by the window and one man standing behind the bar. Valien ignored the stares the other two patrons shot him as he walked by, heading straight for the bar and taking a seat in front of it. "Mug of ale," he said, setting a silver miza down on the bar top and propping his head up in his hands. The innkeeper went to fetch it, and in a few moments, Valien heard the distinctive thunk of the drink being set out in front of him, his coin disappearing off the tabletop faster than by magic. He rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes, not yet taking a sip. "Long day?" asked the innkeeper conversationally. "I just came in from Syliras a few hours ago," said Valien, finally straightening up long enough to pick up the mug and take a swig. "Delivery for Ser Bastion." "Ser Bastion, eh?" The innkeeper grinned, wiping his hands on his apron. "Bet you brought him something interesting." "You could say that," said Valien, taking another swig. He looked up at the innkeeper. "You don't seem surprised. He does this often?" "Oh, every now and then," said the innkeeper, shrugging. "Not much of a talker most days, but get him started on weapons and he can't stop. He's a...peculiar fellow." Valien snorted, taking another sip. "He's bloody insane." "There's that," said the innkeeper, grinning. "Say, if you're a courier heading back to Syliras, mind taking a letter for me? I've got some things to talk about with old Aargon at the Stallion." Valien gave the noncommittal shrug of someone who would do it, but for the moment was trying to pretend they weren't working. He took another sip, closing his hands around his mug as the innkeeper left him alone for a moment, presumably to get the letter. Valien watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, followed shortly by the sound of a door opening and closing. Muffled conversation followed from the room behind the bar, and he caught the unmistakable sound of two women arguing. He paused, curious, and titled his head slightly to the side so that he could see through the crack in the door. An older woman seemed to be arguing with a younger one, while the innkeeper stood between them, trying to intervene. At length, the younger woman threw her hands up in the air and stormed past the older one, and the older one shook her head and moved away, out of Valien's field of view. A few moments later, the innkeeper returned, looking embarrassed and with a letter in his hand. He set it down in front of Valien, along with a few coins for payment. "Sorry about that," he said, inclining his head towards the kitchen. "Your wife?" asked Valien picking up the letter. The man smiled, pushing back his hair to reveal the Cheva's mark on the left side of his neck. "Yeah, could you tell? She and my daughter don't always see eye-to-eye. Apparently Mila says her necklace got stolen. Elliana thinks she just lost it." He shrugged, showing that he wanted no part of the argument. "Stolen?" Valien repeated, taking a sip of his ale. "You're having problems with thieves?" "Not usually, no," said the innkeeper, shaking his head. "Not here. But Mila says she left it on her desk this morning, and anyway, she's not the only one. One of the local girls lost a ring another day, and Old Neil, one of the farmers, swears up and down that a couple of his mizas are missing." "Sounds like a bout of petty theft," said Valien, taking another sip. "I don't know what it is," said the innkeeper, scowling. "But I swear, those damn bandits on the Kabrin are getting bolder every year." "Bandits?" asked Valien. "Didn't you say your daughter left the necklace in her room?" "That's what Mila swears," said the innkeeper, "But if it's right, then it's damned peculiar. Her room's on the second floor. Nothing but a small window." The innkeeper shrugged, moving to pick up a mug. "Maybe she did just lose it," he said. "Maybe..." said Valien, noncommittally, taking a sip of his drink. ~*~*~ "...that's the strange part about it," said Valien later that night, seated on the bed in their apartment as he ran a polish cloth over his assassin's dagger. "The girl swears it's missing, but on the way out, I looked up at her room from the outside. That window's tiny. And anyway, for someone to climb up there in the middle of the day, they'd be in full view of the Garrison. It doesn't make any sense..." "Huh. That is strange," said Serah, looking up from where she was drawing on the floor on a sheet of paper. "Do you have any ideas, Papa?" "Maybe," said Valien, frowning as he ran the cloth around the tip of the dagger. "It just doesn't add up, though. It doesn't sound like a simple thief." "You should go out there," said Serah. "Maybe you can help." "Oh, I don't know, honey," said Valien, distractedly. He leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. "It doesn't seem like any of my business." "Papa..." Serah got to her feet, her expression stern as she padded over to him. She climbed up onto the bed, grabbing his ear and forcing Valien to look at her. "Help the lady find her necklace," she said, her eyes narrowing. Valien stared into the little girl's eyes, his own eyes wide, and somehow he knew at that moment that he was going to agree.

[Radiant]

Valien :

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Observation	+3 XP
Socialization	+3 XP
Rhetoric	+2 XP
Land Navigation	+2 XP
Endurance	+1 XP
Interrogation	+1 XP
Investigation	+1 XP

Lores

Lore Earned

Location: Mithryn Outpost

Location; The Garrison

Ser Bastion: Quartermaster Knight of the Garrison

Weapon: Tanto

Weaponry: Clove Oil Is Used To Maintain Exotic Blades

Location: The Fool's Errand

Cheva's Mark: Mark Of Matrimony

Loots

Notes :

Hurray, Valien, for your first completed job thread!

Enjoy your grades!

P.S: I wonder when does Serah going to transform into Cardcaptor Serah?

My radiance is not bright enough?

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, beam me a PM and we can work it out.