[Plaza of Dark Delights] Time to Collect (Elias)

[Valien]

39th Day of Spring, 509 AV

The ravosala glided softly across the canal to one of the buildings around the Plaza of Dark Delights, the water lapping gently across the sides of the boat as it approached the platform. Valien hopped nimbly out of the boat as it slowed, passing a few coins to the Ravosalaman that had brought him here. The boat glided away silently, and Valien quickly approached the building, keeping his head down and tugging up the hood of his coat so that no one would be able to see his face if they were watching for him. On the outside, he was calm, smiling even. On the inside, he was as nervous as he always was on collection night.

He shouldn't even have been here. He wasn't a thief, and didn't do any of the work that actually gave Samran's organization money. And as a guard, out in the open, he was damn useless. He was put to better use in the shadows, where he could hide and prepare. But as far as bosses went, Samran was pretty old-fashioned, and he had a rule. Everyone showed up to collection night.

So, he entered the building, grateful that Avenna wouldn't be expecting him back until tomorrow afternoon. As far as his wife was concerned, he was on the shores of Lake Ravok, looking for game. His family believed he was a hunter, and while that wasn't...technically false, the sort of game he hunted wasn't the sort that people could eat.

Samran's organization occupied the second floor of what, to all eyes, was nothing more than an dilapidated old building, clinging to the edges of the Plaza of Dark Delights. The first floor maintained that facade rather well, as did the outside of the building, with its peeling paint and boarded up windows. The first floor of the building had developed a small reputation as a gambling den, and Valien skirted the edge of the small crowd playing card games and throwing dice, making his way to the back room. A pair of enforcers he recognized gave him nods as he passed, letting him through. If any of the patrons sitting out front noticed this, they didn't show it. The Ravokians that lived in the Docks had long learned the art of being selectively blind and deaf.

He had no doubt that when the Ebonstryfe showed up, the first floor would mysteriously empty. But that wasn't something for him to worry about. He made his way up the staircase in the back room, emerging on the second floor of the building and into another world.

Samran, like most crime bosses in Ravok, liked to affect class. Behind boarded up windows, the second floor was tastefully decorated and surprisingly well-lit. The meeting room was mostly an open space, with couches and other seats lining the walls. The upholstery was black mostly, accented with red, and dark curtains hung over the windows to hide the boards from sight. A painting hung over one wall, a trophy taken from a particularly exciting theft long before Valien had joined the organization. Other walls bore weapon racks, mostly for display, but Valien knew for a fact that the edges of the weapons displayed were still sharp. The place was packed tonight, though, and all the tasteful decorating in the world couldn't quite break the rough aura that came from having so many undesirables in one place. The air smelled of smoke, alcohol, and unwashed human, just like any other criminal den in the city when it was packed like this. There was no carpet. Valien took note of this with a frown, pushing down the hood of his cloak as he walked across the wooden floor.

No carpet meant that Samran was worried about blood.

He made his way through the throng of thugs, lowlifes, and cutthroats, the lowest-ranked members of Samran's organization. The crowd mostly parted for him as they saw him, a few of them casting him nasty looks. Valien ignored them. He was well aware that they regarded him with nearly as much contempt and fear as they regarded the people who would be coming by in a bit. That was what it meant to be an enforcer, especially one who operated the way he did. He was loyal to Samran. He didn't need their love. He walked through the crowd, approaching the crime boss himself.

Samran Kayir was sitting one of the couches, accompanied by the rest of his inner circle, a small selection of highly-ranked members who dressed better, spoke better, and acted better than the rest, but were still crooks at heart. The boss was an older man, in his fifties, dressed in black with one of his hands closed around a black wooden cane. His hair was long and had gone gray over the past ten years, tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of leather. His eyes were a piercing gray, and those eyes turned towards Valien as he approached, regarding him calmly. Valien stood still, and bore the inspection with the grace of someone who had spent long years in that person's service. Like Samran, he was dressed a little more smartly than the rest of the rabble, and was dressed mostly in black, the only color coming from the red scarf he wore around his neck to hide his Cheva's mark, a silvery pattern on the left side of his neck like coiling smoke. While he was sure the Ebonstryfe would have easy access to the records that said he was married, he didn't want that fact displayed where everyone could see it, and some of these crooks were not people he wanted privy to his personal life.

You didn't rise through the ranks of an organization like this without making a few enemies.

"You're late," said Samran.

"I got held up," said Valien. "That other thing you asked me to do." He glanced back at the crowd, then at the man in front of him. "Our friends aren't here yet, are they?"

"No," said Samran, with the air of a man who wasn't in the mood for conversation. "Go take your place."

Valien's place, for this night, was leaning against the wall by one of the boarded up windows, his arms folded with an air of nonchalance. It was out of the way enough to keep up appearances, visible enough that anyone who looked would know that he was watching. Some of the men shot him dirty looks, understanding the truth of things. Valien wasn't there to watch out for the Ebonstryfe. If the 'stryfe wanted to cause trouble, there was nothing stopping them.

No. He was there to watch the men.

A woman took up the position beside him, her hands in her pockets as she watched the scene. She was young, about his age, with blond hair held against the back of her head with a wooden black hair clip. Her garb was mostly black, with accents in silver, and she wore a sword belted at her side. Valien gave her a casual glance before looking over the room and doing a quick head count.

"No Jasel," he said, glancing at the woman.

She shrugged. "He hasn't come in," she said.

"Don't you know where he is?" asked Valien, brows raising. He wouldn't have thought that Jasel could be anywhere in Ravok without Liall knowing where he was. But the woman shrugged again, her brown eyes fixed on the crowd.

"Probably running late," she said. "He'll be here in a bit."

He knew her well enough by now to know that she didn't truly believe that. But there was no time to ask questions. If the sudden silence coming from downstairs was any indication, the Ebonstryfe had arrived.

[Elias Caldera]

Elias Back Then

They marched with purpose that night, strides as long and lean as they were grim with portentous. All three Stryfers knew what was expected of them, but it seemed only Elias dared show any hints of concern anymore. The air chilled his harried breath as he near ran to keep pace with his restless commander. The thud and rattle of his cuirass echoed across the barren canals and cobble streets, dimmed only by his own divided focus upon what was soon to come. Perhaps it was just his way to frown and grumble when trouble was afoot, and for his commander, perhaps the older man simply worked his apprehensions through anxious bouts of double time that seemed to come and go as randomly as they pleased. Elias had never known commander Shawl to show any inclinations of worry before, but then again, the two of them had hardly had the distinction of serving with one another for very long. The silver emblem and chain upon his dark breast was relatively new, barely minted and pressed by the time he had earned it. The girl to his right, much to his chagrin, bared the same glistening symbol upon her blackened armor as well. It was the mark of more than a mere apprentice, it announced to all the world that they were deemed worthy of taking the Crucible and soon they would either be dead, or they would be true soldiers of the cause.

Carliya threw him a renegade glance as they marched, her green eyes fierce with a sickly kind of excitement that Elias had come to know all too well during their training together. She was an apprentice, just like him, best in her class, just like him, and she loved to inflict pain, took pleasure from it even. A trait she no doubt adopted for her rumored Galatos heritage. That was where Elias found himself differing these days however. If tonight was going to be the kind of night he expected, this wouldn't be the first time he would be ordered to take a life. No, he was no stranger to blood, no apprentice worth his salt was, but the longsword that hung at his waste was still practically wet from his first kill that had come not five weeks and three days ago. It just hadn't been as... rewarding as he had expected, and it was then that something had changed in him. Something that Carliya hadn't failed to take notice of. She had always been better, faster, and crueler, but now as their fated day of challenge approached, she had grown almost unbearable. The whore had dislocated yet another finger only two days prior during one of their bouts, and as Elias was the only one left even remotely near her level, he was constantly expected to accept the challenge of spar time and time again. Often time he felt himself struggling just to survive her assault, and oftentimes he only did so at the grace of their instructor's mercy.

His eyes fell to the small, glaring bruise under her high right cheek. He blew a kiss at it, a mocking gesture that immediately struck home, turning her cocky grin into a blaring sneer. He smiled, remembering how she had earned it not two nights ago. Like the bitch she was, the lithe queen of agony was prone to going out late at night with the other apprentices to celebrate, but as always, Carliya's pleasure came not from drink or the thought of imminent and glorious acceptance into the ranks, no, she was looking for a fight, like always. Well one had found her instead at Silver Sliver Tavern that night, when some drunken fool had lobbed a perfectly fine mug of mulled wine through the air and across the tavern, the contents of which somehow found their way entirely upon the dark, knotted braid of a certain apprentice's head. Of course, the fact that the mug had also struck across the face on its way down hadn't helped soothe matters. When she finally found the source of ruckus laughter that had proceeded the incident, the vile girl had descended upon the unfortunate petcher her eagle eyes had pinpointed. Some motley crew of men, disheveled and drunk, the small man at their head whose testicular fortitude was particularly potent that day had decided to not only continue laughing at her soaked visage, but also went so far as to spit a few incoherent, yet entertainingly lewd comments in her face.

Courage that Elias might have found applaudable had he and his friends not taken notice of her Ebonstryfe badge a moment later. Carliya wasted no time in demonstrating her power, and it wasn't long before a sullen line was assembled tasked solely with groveling at her feet and licking her heel. Well one chose not to, low and behold, it had been the small one. He hadn't seen a drunk man run so fast in his life, but after shoving an apprentice like her down to escape, part of him was glad he did run. Elias was certain whoever he was, he was the only one that had seen the Elias gleefully toss the mug himself, the bandages around his injured finger flying free of their bindings as he did so.

As they neared the run down hovel of a hideout, Shawl paused before entering, dark, wary eyes surveying the dilapidated building that tarnished the ordered serenity of the street. Shabby, seedy things like this were rarely ever found in Ravok unless the served some purpose, and even then they were restricted solely to the less scrupulous corners of the outer docks where no one important need pay the any mind. The pride of Ravok was everything to a citizen, but even more to its caretakers. Scratching his rust belt of a beard, Shawl turned to the two apprentices. He noticed both of them with a hand on the respective hilts of their weapons and grimaced. "Calm, recruits, this isn't the battlefield, and it will not turn into one as long I'm here. Understood?" Elias was the only one to reply. He also shot forward to open the door first, presenting himself as the first target to whatever laid within.

The thick odor of liquor and smoke and filth hit him like a brick wall. His eyes began to water almost immediately at the overpowering odor, not that it was foul, just... pungent. Carliya wrinkled her nose, Elias winced, but Shawl simply smiled. There was a part of the apprentice that was certain the old man had been a part of this shabby life once upon a time, and it would have explained why he had, for so long and so successfully, held unto the position of handler across the districts. The fight he had reportedly put up when the masters had threatened to send in Terrick, the one eyed butcher from Noble, to deal with any scum who would dare to strike an apprentice, was reportedly a colossal one. Clearly he had won out with whatever argument he had used -likely money- but while Shawl seemed comfortable relying on his good report with the man upstairs, Elias still deemed it necessary to hold tight to his longsword. Carliya did the same with her pair of daggers, but the expression on her features was one of barely contained blood lust. Something told him she would have it sated by the time this night was through.

The three Stryfers walked with a calmness that belied the tension in their muscles. Smoldering cigars and half finished glasses of ale still littered many of the tables they passed while making their way to the stairs. With his bobbing, streaked topknot taking the lead, the commander began to exude a confidence that quickly spread to Elias as well. He kept his expression placid and deadly as they topped the gaudily decorated stairwell and took a first look at what awaited them atop it. Samran, leader of the rabble whose eyes all fell upon the trio as they approached, rose from his couch, a smile that could have almost passed as genuine rushing to his lips. For a long while however, the only sound that could be heard was the beat of heavy, steel tipped boots upon the bare wooden floor. A sense of power flowed from such hushed reverence, even as Elias stared daringly into the eyes of all those he passed. Many kept their gazes down, but by the time the small procession in black had reached the end of their abrupt tour, the apprentice had lost count of how many defiant glares he had received. Finally a jovial chuckle broke the stillness and Elias and Carliya watched in silence as Shawl grasped the brocaded forearm of the ostentatiously garbed crime lord.

"Kayir." the stryfer growled heartily. "It has been too long, old friend."

"Truer words never spoken, Sander. I think you still owe me money, you old bastard." Elias watched with indifference as the two laughed at one another like old friends, but he caught sight of Carliya stiffening rigidly and had to hide his frown. His eyes mostly darted among the two rough rows of cutthroats and purse snatchers that surrounded them. Perhaps when the witch could be bothered to pull her head out of her ass, she would finally take notice of the hostility they had just sauntered into. None of this was right, they were never this brazen with their looks when he had come before.

"Of course it had to be the business of you tearing me away from my hard earned coin that has you finally come back to us. I can't say I'm all too broken up about them sending you though, that Loraine one I usually deal with, no sense of humor to her."

"That's Commander Loraine-" The other apprentice snapped, but a gold trimmed gauntlet halted her from saying anything further.

"If Loraine's apprentices seem agitated, its for good reason, Samran. I'm afraid I'm here not because of coincidence. This a favor to you my old friend. There is a grave issue between us, and it needs resolving. Tonight."

[Valien]

OOCSorry for the lateness, been at a conference.

The second the Ebonstryfe members entered the room, Valien felt as though something was wrong. There wasn't any one thing he could point to that explained that uneasy feeling, no single sign or tell that told him to stand up a little straighter, to watch a little closer. It was more an overall feeling, more the source of instinct that allowed someone to stay alive in a job like this, the instinct that many Ravokians seemed to have in some form or another. The ability to scent trouble in the air, and the desire to be nowhere near it when it erupted.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that the Ebonstryfe apprentices seemed out for blood. Or maybe it was the fact that a few of their own organization seemed to be willing to oblige. Whatever it was, Valien felt himself tense as the commander of the three approached Samran. He didn't move, but his hand did drop, straying dangerously close to where he kept one of his hidden knives. It was a small casual movement, the sort that would escape notice if one didn't know that Valien kept knives hidden on his person, but from beside him, Liall shot him a look that was part disbelief and part warning.

The commander, Shawl, however, only seemed interested in clasping arms with Samran, making Valien relax. He didn't relax completely though, still tense as he watched the scene in front of him.

Things were definitely more tense than they needed to be, he thought, his eyes moving over one of the apprentice's, a pretty girl with a bruise on her cheek. A few of the men surrounding them eyed both apprentices with undisguised content.

Oh, yes, he thought, listening to Samran's tone as he spoke to Shawl. Something was definitely wrong. At Shawl's mention of trouble, the ripple of tension that ran through the men could almost be seen, starting from the center of the conversation and ending, strangely enough, with Liall. His fellow enforcer had gone completely still at Shawl's word, her eyes fixed on the crowd like that of a deer that had been caught in a bright light.

Rhysol, don't let them do anything stupid... Valien found himself thinking, folding his arms as his eyes roved over the men.

He couldn't say anything, though, not while the others were speaking, so all he could do was hope that this was the sort of problem Samran could fix with words. Although he had a feeling it wouldn't be.

The levity in Samran's eyes disappeared the moment Shawl mentioned an issue, the old crook staring at the Ebonstryfe man as if he had known all along that this was why they were really here.

"An issue?" he asked, his tone carefully guarded. "And what sort of issue might that be?"

Samran's shift in tone was Valien's cue to straighten up, facing Samran as he took a step forward away from the wall. Beside him, he saw Liall doing the same thing, her hands falling loosely to her sides. Across the room, Valien saw another pair of Samran's enforcers doing the same thing. They kept their eyes on Samran, but more and more, Valien found his attention drawn to the undercurrent of discontent moving through the crowd.

He wasn't sure who was more dangerous here at this point, the Ebonstryfe, or the crowd.

[Elias Caldera]

The armor was his father's gift to him the day he become apprenticed. A thing a midnight leather and steel, pretentiously commissioned and ostentatious in design. It was something in which the son had reveled in wearing for the longest time. Torian had ordered its crafted weeks before his only son was even officially accepted into the rank, but being a Marshall within the order, he was doubtlessly privy to a great many secrets, his son's life and future just being one of them. Being so young, the thing would need constant upkeep and re-measurement as he grew into his full height. Tall even as he was now for his age, the young man was constantly being told how big he was getting, not by doting old ladies or kindly neighbors who had nothing else nice to say about him however, but by praising instructors who eyed him like a slab of meat they were violently tenderizing into perfection. Being a father however, and a man of unwavering pride, it had been a decision without need of consideration; his son was going to be ebonstryfe, that was simply fact. As the heir of Torian, that meant dressing the part to impress as well it seemed.

It was mostly tightly gripping leather, especially around the neck where it served as a surprisingly comfortable gorget in which he could stave off any glancing blows aimed at the throat. There was a steel in there however, past the coarse dire wolf fur upon his shoulder and the black and sliver gown flowing off his buckles and belts. Gauntlets of ebon black and greaves of equally sturdiness. His breastplate had apparently been isurian steel in construct, but Elias knew that to be a blatant lie now. Perhaps his father simply enjoyed the idea of everyone else thinking that none the less. Point was, Elias only wore it on days where he felt its showy flair was important to get the message across -like today- and times when he felt a powerful inclination to not get himself killed... like today.

Before he had walked through those grimy door, Elias had pessimistically hoped that this night would end with only a small amount of someone else's blood being spilled, but now, as he eyed the crowd around him, eyed their sharpened weapons and the armor puncturing daggers, he was certain he'd be breaking in his fancy gift before all was said and done. Silently Elias cursed the fraudulent blacksmith who had confessed to his work's deceitfulness. Even while then he had smiled and laughed while his father's men broke the naive smith's fingers upon his own anvil, now he had only wished the fool has held out and persevered through the questioning. It would have been nice to still be thinking he was wearing the best armor in the world. It would have been nice not having to know the truth.

Samran spoke and movement within the gathering of thugs and cutthroats quietly replied. The apprentice reacted without hesitation or haste. He took a single, purposeful step forward towards the gang of murderers and thieves. One hand on his sword, one hand held at his chest and waving a solitary, warning finger back and forth as he caught the attention of the two that dared to move. A man and a woman, brunette and blonde respectively, the two of them had shifted with a subtle grace about them that bellowed the tell tale signs of someone who knew what they were about when it came to using the blades holstered at their waists. Unfortunately, theirs wasn't the only eyes he drew upon himself, and practically every man and woman before him tensed and let their hands brazenly drift towards the jagged, deadly tools of their trade. Combat didn't intimidate Elias, nor did overwhelming odds. Ravok was not a gentle or peaceful city, and dealing with the angry crowd, the riot, the mob, these were things ingrained into a Ravokian soldier from day one. He may not have not wanted to be there, but by Rhysol, if another alleyway guttershyke had the audacity to take one more petching step towards his commander, he swore he'd answer their arrogance with blood and bitter steel.

Carlyia had faced the same opposition on her side of the room, and had mimicked her fellow apprentice in much the same fashion, though the mockery and obvious taunting she did with her sharp toothed smile, while hidden from Elias's point of view as she faced the row of thugs, the effects of which were potently reflected in the reactions of the thugs who were glaring at her. The arrogance of these vile canal scum had flared to new, flagrant heights, and it only continued to infuriate the young soldier. He was less angry at their boldness, and more so at commander Loraine. She was a stupid woman, short of fuse and even shorter in her foresight. She been assigned this district after challenging her predecessor to a duel to settle a dispute she had conveniently concocted on the spot. The man had died easily enough at her hands, but the transfer of power had not gone so smoothly. Loraine was not fit for this kind of work. Greedy without reason, and boorish in the manner she openly treated her wards, with each passing visit they had made to Samran's little house of vices, things had progressively grown worse and worse between lawbreaker and law enforcer. Now, as all her bullshyke came culminating into this bloody storm of tension Elias now found himself caught up in, Loraine was no doubt back at the Vitrax, relaxing in some comfy chair somewhere, sipping on some tasty drink. Shawl, for all his despicable and unbefitting history before joining the order, had just earned a small measure of respect from Elias. Coming here and cleaning up someone else's mess took a great deal of conviction, even if was at the benefit of a long time friend.

Shawl decidedly chose to ignore the nervous uneasiness frothing up around him, and instead focused entirely on Samran as if the two of them were the only ones in the room. While the apprentice did not know him well, he knew enough that this particular crime lord was as cunning and dangerous as he was pliable. A good trait for any criminal in Ravok lest they enjoyed the sight of their own feet dangling from the gallows. The man seemed calm, cool and collected. A unsettling demeanor that nearly troubled him as much as his men's. No one had failed to notice his subtle change in tone.

"One of your men." Shawl spoke, his voicing raising a little as he did so for everyone's convenience. "Publicly assaulted an apprentice at the Silver Sliver inn last night. An apprentice preparing to undergo the crucible no less. This man then fled her dispensation of rightful recompense for the unlawful act. An act, I remind you, is punishable by death. Samran, I need you to hand him over to me, just so I can have him apologize and we can put this matter behind us." There was a suddenly and abrupt chortle from Carliya, and even Elias knew that was a lie. Gods forbid the evil bitch could lower herself to actually pretending to play along. Shawl made to turn and glare at her, but the apprentice stepped up and beside the older veteran before he had a chance to reign her in. "Come on out you little coward." She spat, twisting about with a playful grin as she surveyed the unnerving crowd. "Jasel!"

[Valien]

The situation was quickly going to hell. Valien watched, uneasy, as the crowd surrounded the three Ebonstryfe, still keeping enough of a distance to be considered respectful, but with open threats in their eyes. His hand fell to his dagger almost automatically and a quick glance at his side told him that Liall had done the same, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Neither of them drew steel. In an environment as tense as this, where one wrong move could start a full on riot, neither of them wanted to anger the crowd further.

In the center of all this barely-contained tension, though, the two commanders were like islands of calm, Shawl and Samran staring each other down as if they were alone in the world. Valien wasn't sure what made him more uneasy, the behavior of the crowd or the behavior of the crime lord. In his years in Samran's service, he had learned to read a crowd, learned to tell when the men he was supposed to watch over were afraid, or angry, or close to a frenzy. But he also knew how to read Samran. The man had taken him in as a child, had taught him everything he knew about how to survive in a place like this. He probably knew Samran Kayir better than anyone here, which was why he was able to say with near-certainty that underneath that calmness, Samran was angry.

And when Samran Kayir was angry, someone usually died.

The murmuring in the crowd hushed as Shawl started to speak, the Ebonstryfe commander's voice washing over the room and punctuated only by the occasional angry mutter or curse. Valien's grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger as he listened to Shawl's story, his eyes scanning the men. No one moved, although more than a few people were looking around as well, eyes darting from person to person as if they, like Valien, were asking the same question. Who? Which one of them would be dumb enough to insult the Ebonstryfe. Who—?

The female apprentice stepped forward, shouting a name into the room, and Valien stared, his eyes widening in open surprise. Beside him, he heard Liall take a sharp breath, her hand falling away from her sword. A thousand memories went through his mind at once—the wide-eyed brown-haired boy who, like him had been a child of the streets, and the sullen, angrier man that he had become.

No... he thought, as the roar of the crowd reached a sudden fever pitch. That's impossible. Not Jasel.

"Quiet!" said Samran over the roar of the crowd, trying to restore order. When the shouting and shoving continued, his eyes narrowed, and he banged his cane on the ground several times, the sound of the cane striking hardwood reverberating throughout the packed hideout. "I said quiet!"

That did it. Silence fell outward from the crime lord like ripples in a pond, most of the men around him falling still and turning to face him. The silence wasn't absolute—in a place like this, it never would be—but it was enough. Samran paused for a minute, turning his gray eyes onto the crowd. His eyes swept over them, as if he was looking at each one individually.

"Where is Jasel?" he finally asked. When no one answered, the group as a whole seeming to shift nervously and avoid his gaze, Samran's tone became harder. "I'll ask again. Where is he?"

"He ain't here," said a voice from the crowd, causing heads to turn. Samran looked up, watching as a big man shouldered his way to the front of the room, turning to face him. The man glared down at Samran, his expression defiant.

"Then, where is he?" asked Samran, meeting the man's eyes.

"All I know," said the man, "is that he ain't here." His eyes moved over the room, landing on the Ebonstryfe members last. "I'll bet he's long gone."

[Elias Caldera]

A raucous roar of indignation tore through the gaggle of back alley cutthroats and conniving purse snatchers. It was their collective response to the accusation leveled by Shawl, the deal that followed, and the name it all rested upon. It seemed this ‘Jasel’ was a popular fellow around these parts. One so popular in fact, men were willing to risk their lives just for the sake of arguing on his behalf it seemed. Had things really gotten this bad? Had it all been corrupted to the point that such bold faced defiance was what the Ebonstryfe were now openly greeted with by such lowly scum? He had lost count of the many obscene gestures and furious curses that had been thrown and spat his way before Samran managed to cull the riot building within his ranks, but by that time, Elias was having some difficulty restraining the sneer that had begun to tug at the corner of his lips. The gall of these men now swarming around him like a kicked hornets’ nest was outrageous, even to an earlier Elias, who moments ago, was actually feeling a hint of pity for their ridiculous plight. Now all he felt was a rage that dared to equal and challenge their own. Who were they to defy the will of the Stryfe! They only existed because the lords in black allowed it, and yet they dared to baulk in protest over one man’s fate. Was it simply time to cleanse this filth from their hovel and start again with another gang who weren’t so cantankerous, or was something else going on that not even the apprentice could yet see.

Whatever it was, it would have to wait for the moment. The audacity of the crowd around him translated into the violence it could potentially erupt into at any given moment. He would be ready of course… for the first couple of thugs anyway, as he knew he had the skill to take at least a few of them out once it came down to it. If they chose to all rush in at once in and exact whatever growling vengeance they wanted however, that would likely put a damper on the desired outcome Elias wanted for tonight. I should have warned Shawl of what Loraine had done to these petchers, I should have convinced him to bring more men…

Silence born of Samran’s commanding presence quickly flooded throughout the crowd, ushering in a moment of calm Elias only felt made the coming storm all the more worse. Hardened brown eyes boiled like the bubbling pools of adrenaline now bursting all across Elias’s body. Bloodshed was imminent, the young man could taste it in the air, past the heavy cigar smoke and acrid tinge of liquor, it was there, and now no longer able to hide itself, it instead swelled with blatant contempt and arrogance until the ominous shadow of combat overshadowed everything else. The sight of a man approaching the small group, massive in scope and insolence, barely even registered itself as anything other than a threat to be cut down as the apprentice warily watched him draw near. Jasel was gone, the man revealed, his tone of defiance resonating with the crowd he stood out against, and no one knew where he was. The Caldera boy saw the look he gave them, Shawl and himself included, and if it hadn’t have been for Carliya eagerly beating him to punch, it would have been Elias who would have descended first. Like flash shadow of leather and biting steel, the apprentice was on the brute in a second, daggers free and bear to the world as she swept the giant’s leg out from under him with a brutally placed kick to the knee that sent him toppling like a felled tree. The trained soldier didn’t waste any time planting a handle gripped fist into his throat a moment later once he had shown the courtesy of lowering himself down to her level. Stunned by her speed and shocked by the pain of his leg, the blow met little resistance save for a desperate gasp of air that struggled to share a home alongside the engraved edge of the dagger Carliya instantly had pressed against the bruised flesh of his neck.

So suddenly and unexpectedly had the attack come, Elias didn’t even bother with drawing his sword first, he simply charged, his target already fixed on the bearded face of a man in the crowd who had reacted poorly to seeing his comrade go down so violently. A dark gauntlet caught the unsuspecting thief across the jaw as Elias darted around Carliya and her prey to surprise the charging brigand from the side. He stumbled and dropped, the momentum of his faulty step forward working against him all the way until he crashed into the hardwood floor with a loud groan.

“Either I get who I came for…” Carliya hissed with venomous anger and disregard at the captured brute she now coiled around with dagger and bloodlust. “Or I take the next best thing! Who is he close to?!” The question was uttered to the music of Elias unsheathing his sword and swinging it wide and wild to push back the thugs while he took up position to protect his fellow apprentice. This had all gone to shyke so fast, he barely had time to think anymore. If he did, he would have realized how much of a bad and poorly executed petching plan this was. “Who!?” The girl screamed amidst the noise of the room, her dagger digging deeper into the man’s throat until a trickle of blood slithered down his nape. Dazed and watering eyes soon unwillingly wandered over to someone in the crowd. A woman, as Elias followed the brute’s regretful gaze to the prize, and a woman he recognized even among the dissidents she tried to hide among. Her blonde hair and dangerous form had almost immediately caught his attention earlier, but now it seemed she was destined for more than just a stern glaring at. Elias leveled his blade toward her, motioning her forward to the dire bark of Carliya.

[Nemesis]

Elias Caldera

Skills	*	*
Endurance	*	+1
Intimidation	*	+1
Weapon: Longsword	*	+1
Observation	*	+2
Seduction	*	+1
Unarmed Combat	*	+1

Lores

*Demanding Retribution

*Ebonstryfe: Teamwork

*

*

*

*

*
*
Consequences, Injuries, Expenses, and More!

• None

Valien Altare

Skills	*	*
???	*	+??
???	*	+??
???	*	+??

Lores

*???

*???

*???

*
*
Consequences, Injuries, Expenses, and More!

• ???

__________

• Valien, if you return, please send me a PM and I will post your grade.
• Elias, the second Lore is based around the reason you are there.. if you would like this rephrased, let me know.
• This was such a cleverly designed thread... wish I could have seen more of it.
• Elias... would love you forever if you could split up your paragraphs a little more. The blocks of white text mean I read lines repeatedly, or skip them..