Reversed Delivery

by **Brandon Blackwing** on August 2nd, 2014, 10:45 am

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The 57th of Summer 514AV

“Well Brandon, did you succeed in what I asked of you?” Mr. Black asked a little impatient, now having been inside the small and largely unfurnished house the bat called his own for a bit longer than five chimes, a period of time the merchant found to be way to long for a simple inquiry. A frown rippled over his forehead and his hands were moved to the sides, palms turned upward in an questioning gesture. Five chimes of useless small talk the obnoxious merchant had had to put up with before he could get Brandon to get to the point.

If only Bragha and Dragha had been with him, things would have been a whole lot different. It was quite obvious that Brandon feared the tall, muscular Akalak brothers, but alas the thief had requested to leave them outside and guard the door. Kriegsfelt hadn’t seen any problems with that, Brandon wouldn’t do anything stupid, he was certain of that. Like all others Solomon Kriegsfelt had employed during his many years as a shady trader, all of them had had to give in to him, all of them had eventually given up on their defiance, had come to understand that there was nothing they could do and had all become obedient employees. So had Brandon. It was a bit disappointing actually, the thief had been so insolent and mocking at first, denying whatever the merchant had said, until of course he had played his trump card.

Blackmail was one of the easiest things to control his subjects with. Some people were more than willing to work for him, in need of money or other things, but as soon as they found they had enough, that they did not need Kriegsfelt anymore, they wanted to discard him, and then he made them aware of the shackles he had placed on their wrists and feet whilst they were lulled into a false sense of security when they received what they had needed.

Brandon however had been different, he had been content with his life up till the day he had met the merchant, while not having a lot of wealth, he did not seem to care. Kriegsfelt had come to understand that Brandon did not always steal out of necessity, but more often than not for the fun of it, because he loved doing it. There were but few of those. The thief was in it for the thrill, not to acquire wealth, Kriegsfelt had noticed –he had commanded Dimitri to do some investigating before he died- that everyone who had been stolen from by Brandon hadn't lost much.

Lhavit was a safe city, a place with very low crime stats compared to other cities. The few burglars that were active were easy to track down for one in the milieu, but none was so … audacious as Brandon. At first he had always entered through the front door -though now he had become a little more careful- a method that stood out and was easily linked to the person Kriegsfelt had manipulated a year ago. He had given him a little push and then the thief had started running down the path of larceny uncontrollably, his acts of crime becoming more and more frequent. Still, he never took much with him when he broke in, a few kina, a couple of items, but not too much, nothing they couldn’t do without, nothing that would financially impede them.

Yes, he was special, this thief. But like many others he was not able to withstand the power of the blackmailing technique. For his big mouth had been shut up by the knowledge that what was dear to the thief was located in the palm of Kriegsfelt’s hand and all he had to do was clench a fist to crush it. No one was able to stand up to him when the merchant could destroy the person which they cared for on a whim, not even the bravest of men. The nature of the human heart was a weakness, caring for someone was a weakness that could become one’s doom, a weakness that Kriegsfelt did not possess, and for that he was proud. People should care for themselves, not for others. Those who cared only for themselves were the strong ones, the ones that would survive. They were not hindered by love for people that only slowed them down, they had no weak spots that could be used against them, they were the strongest of all. Indeed, Kriegsfelt was one of those.

Everyone knew that the strong preyed on the weak, that was how things worked. The strong used the weak to do their bidding, they had control, they manipulated and threatened to get what they wanted, so did Kriegsfelt. He despised the weak, they could not even fend for themselves, how in Mizahar could they believe that they could protect others? How could they bring themselves to attach themselves to others, to care for them and to think that nothing could ever harm them? How could they be so naïve to think that there would be no-one who would use the love one had for the other to their advantage? Pheh, weaklings. They thought that if they were with others they would become strong too. Wrong! The strong ones did not need the help of others to become strong, they did not need to ask for help either. They took what they wanted and if that was out of reach then they used tools to close the gap. The tools of the strong were the weak. Lives that did not matter, lives that could be lost and which could be discarded at a moment’s notice. Kriegsfelt and all the others that were the elite, the strong used people and abused people. They spotted the weak points of the weak and used it against them, they made them despair and threaten them. Some of the weak had the talent to become one of the strong, but, they needed to get rid of their weakness first. They should learn to forget about others, to transcend their boundaries.

It were those whose eyes Kriegsfelt decided to forcefully open, people who held promise inside their very being. People with a spark in their eyes, who would defy all, should their power be unleashed. People who could become strong. People like Dimitri or Brandon…

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credit goes to Euthisa

by **Brandon Blackwing** on August 3rd, 2014, 1:32 pm

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But alas, more often than not, the promise of greatness and strength wasn’t enough of a prominent part of their personality to make them transcend to the ranks of the strong. There were several steps in this process, the first was to start caring only for oneself, to forget about others, that was the biggest and hardest step to take. Those who has the talent were usually not aware that they had it, and also did not seem to think like one of the strong, instead making decisions like the weak. When left alone they would never ascend to become one of the greatest people alive.

That was where Solomon Kriegsfelt came in, it wasn’t like he helped or aided those with the talent, no, he merely guided them. Of course, he did not really care about the others, but he found that there were too few of the strong in this world and as such more should be created. People who were strong made excellent leaders and would bring change and prosperity to this realm. To become such leader was obviously Kriegsfelt’s goal, a goal he could not reach by himself, but by using others he could. And that was exactly what he had been doing, not only that, but he had coupled both his goals together, making it one and the same. Instead of using ordinary weaklings to reach his goal and fulfill his purpose, he used those with talent which would along the way –hopefully- become strong as well.

However, while some had displayed their talent multiple times, their defiance and strong will, it had not been enough for the talent to be unleashed. None but one had shown a breakthrough, an advancement, but it still had not been enough. Dimitri… Oh, he could have been so much. So very, very much.

Solomon remembered the day the two of them met like it was yesterday, such an important event was etched into his memory. At first he hadn’t thought the beggar to have been much, but upon further observation, stalking the man for days, he had discovered that there was a fire burning behind the beggar’s eyes, a fire that could consume all, a flame that still had to be nurtured, but could grow to become even larger than the Valterrian. There was a strong will that fueled the flame, a will to survive, a spark that was familiar to Kriegsfelt. After a while he had stepped up and presented himself to Dimitri, offering him a job, the money he needed so desperately to sustain his family.

Still, even though Kriegsfelt absolutely disliked that caring aspect of his new employee, he also was content, those with the most weaknesses would eventually become the strongest of all. So he gave Dimitri work, asked things of him, first simple things, then the gradually became harder and less legal. Testing his limits, where would he stop, when would he decide it had been enough? When would he find that his code of honor had more value than his family, thus that he did not need the money? Soon, it seemed, but there had been one thing that Solomon hadn’t told Dimitri yet, the fact that one word of him could mean the end of the line for one of his loved ones. Kriegsfelt had associations with a few assassins, trained professionals who could kill without blinking an eye. One of those he had assigned to Dimitri’s family, though they were not her only target. An exchange of messages was all it took for Solomon to have someone murdered. That and a large pouch of Gold Mizas.

When Dimitri had announced his desire to leave Kriegsfelt’s group, Mr. Black had played his hand, sending the former beast tamer into a spiral of despair. Sadly, that revelation was enough to stop the employee in his tracks, and for yet a long time he did not rebel or try to quit again. Until the day that Solomon had asked for a raid on a jewelers store. Dimitri had refused then for real and had defied orders and returned home, much to Mr. Black’s joy. However, upon seeing the gruesome scene Dimitri had fallen back into his weakling state, and this time he did not ever display such acts of strength again. Not even once.

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credit goes to Euthisa

by **Brandon Blackwing** on August 6th, 2014, 1:35 pm

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It couldn’t be helped, it took a lot more than talent alone to become one of the chosen few, one had to get through several hardships before one could truly become strong. Hardships that took all kinds of forms and shapes, they could be anything and could come anytime, but they had one thing in common: they had a devastating effect on the person involved. It was maybe not the choice of the people inflicting the devastation to open the affected’s eyes, no, it was Fate’s. To all of the strong, Fate was the greatest and most powerful of all. Indeed, Fate did not care about anything or anyone, maybe not even about itself. It just had a goal to reach and it would use all means possible to make it there.

Possibly, the creation of the strong was just a means to an end, to create pawns who would in turn create pawns to aid Fate’s cause. Perhaps the goal of Fate was just to create the strong, to lean back and watch the show, mayhap it just did what it did to provide its own entertainment. It mattered not, Kriegsfelt couldn’t fathom what drove a force so ancient and powerful, nor could he understand its motives, but he was grateful to it. For guiding him towards the path he now walked, for shaping and molding him.

Even though it had caused him so much suffering, pain and mental agony.

T

It all started with a young boy aged five or six years, named Kaspar Rauffe. An ordinary child, albeit a bit bigger than his peers, even though his family wasn’t wealthy at all. It wasn’t something he could do anything about, even if he didn’t eat he still stayed chubby, but it never bothered him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was proud being fleshier than his peers, than his family even, it told the world he was well-fed, that his family could manage feeding themselves better than the rest of the civilians that lived in the slums. Even if it was just a bluff and a farce, it was something he learned to take pride in, a physical trait that he started to love most about himself as years passed.

We are getting ahead of ourselves here though, the point of interest right now is the five and a half years old Kaspar, who one day returned home with a blackbird in his cupped hands, an avian creature he had managed to save from certain death by cat. While the cat certainly wasn’t planning on giving up on its prey, the boy succeeded in chasing it off, however bleeding out of several medium-deep gashes the claws had left on his body. The bird however was in worse condition, its wing was broken and it too was wounded pretty badly, though not lethally. Kaspar’s mother knew a thing or two about treating wounds, both Kaspar’s and the bird’s. She, motivated by her son’s pleas, patched up the bird –which Kaspar had named Whisper- though it would never be able to fly again, its wing could not be repaired, not even when the mother of the boy did her utmost best.

Whisper, unable to fly and thus unable to survive in the wild, stayed with the family as a pet bird, Kaspar was dedicated in taking care of him. Gathering food and cleaning up the mess the bird made, it was no problem at all. As it happens, Whisper started trusting both the boy and his family, becoming very docile and got over its natural shy and flighty demeanor.

For a couple of years the family struggled but managed to survive, but all changed suddenly, as an outbreak of disease drastically decreased the population of the slums. No-one ever saw the connection between the mysterious man that had taken residence in an empty shack in the slums just days prior and the sudden outbreak of unknown illnesses that killed hundreds of people. And nor did anyone bother wondering why the sickly man disappeared with a grim and saddened look on his face; it was evident. Still, that was but the only reason they could know of, the spreading of a disease wasn’t pleasant for anyone, yet no-one ever noticed the green diamond tattooed on the nape of his neck, for it was always covered with a scarf.

That outbreak of illnesses struck many, lots of people died, families were reduced to being composed of lesser numbers of people than before, or they disappeared as a whole. Kaspar’s family also lost a member, the boy’s mother, being the local medic, couldn’t sit idly and lock herself up at home like many did during the ordeal. Instead she visited families with sick people and treated them, to no avail, until she too succumbed to the sickness and eventually passed away. Three days and many deaths later it suddenly stopped, the ones that had not caught anything yet did not catch anything and even those who had fallen prey to the disease looked a bit healthier, yet, their recovery took a lot more time than anyone had needed before. Still, they lived while others had died.

Kaspar was left with just his drunkard of a father and Whisper, who had miraculously pulled through as well. But it was no time to be happy, the dead were gathered and burned, the ashes picked up and scattered by the wind, mourning took over the slums, grief everywhere. During those times, and many after that one, Whisper was Kaspar’s only friend, the only one he could talk to. The boy’s friends, most of them anyway, had been taken by the illness and his father was even more useless than before, his consumption of alcohol multiplied by two, it was rare to see the man sober. He couldn’t be blamed though, the loss of his love had crushed him and booze was the only way he could think of to find relief. And yet, it did not aid him at all, whether he managed to forget or not is to be discussed, but relief was not what he found. It was addiction and a short temper that alcohol gifted him with, not relief. In more ways than one, Kaspar’s father had become a pathetic reflection of his former self, a reflection that bullied his son into going to beg for money so he could go buy even more alcohol to become less than he once was.

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credit goes to Euthisa

by **Brandon Blackwing** on August 6th, 2014, 8:00 pm

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Short-tempered and violent was what Kaspar’s father had become, and during the rare occurrences that he was actually sober, the man stared off into the distance without seeing a thing, grieving, mourning, but making no sound. He did not speak, and often didn’t move much either, he just stared with tears silently streaming over his cheeks. That was all that was left of the man once called Johann Rauffe, the father that had died along with his wife.

Yet, drunk and violent as he was, Johann was still the only family member Kaspar had left, the only human that still cared about him, even if the drunk beat him for no reason at all daily. Even if he insulted his son and called him names too painful for the boy to hear flowing from his father’s lips. The man still loved him, that was what Kaspar believed. What a foolish thought when the man he once called father was already dead.

The second great despair was almost upon young Kaspar, a few years after his mother’s passing another great loss struck him, another happening that stripped him of something he held dear.

It was just a day like any other, a day spent wandering with Whisper perched on his shoulder, doing nothing, talking to the bird, coming home to an empty house. There was dinner to be made for he would soon return as well, but there was nothing on the shelves or in the cupboards, nothing at all. Kaspar couldn’t produce anything without ingredients… and the money he had begged for had vanished as well, taken away by his father no doubt who would use it to buy liquor, or had already... Either way, it was bad news, a beating would follow, that was certain, but he could handle it, no matter how severe it was.

Oh, what a fool he had been!

At the same time as always, the front door slammed open and shut, loud steps echoed from the hall, and a voice called out to young Kaspar. As per usual, Johann had been kicked out the pub at the exact same time, a time they had agreed on to throw him out. The pub-owner tolerated his presence by day, but when evening descended Johann had to leave, for the owner of the pub did not want him to bother the clients. By day it was fine, there weren’t that much patrons present then anyway.

Stumbling, the large man made his way to the main room that was used for virtually anything; eating, sleeping, living. There he found the child with the bird on his shoulder, but there was no food on the small table, there wasn’t even a scent of cookery hanging in the air, nothing! No food while he was hungry, when he had been out for a day? The nerve of this kid! He was at home all day long or wasting his time outside otherwise, it wasn’t that much of a deal to make food now was it? There was no point in asking why there wasn’t anything to eat, the kid would only offer a lame excuse, blame it on him anyway. ‘But there was no money to buy anything with’ he would surely say. THEN GO BEG! But no, he hadn’t done that either! Rage flooded all other things, hands clenched into fists as large as the boy’s head while he angrily stepped towards his son, the fact that Kaspar just stood there, didn’t bother to try and run only made things worse. With the sound of a boulder falling down, the fist struck the face of the boy, the impact sending him stumbling sideways, but Kaspar did not fall

It was far from over though, again and again the fist hit the boys tender face, the other hand grabbing the boys shoulder to pull him in when he staggered, so he could hit him again faster. On that same shoulder sat Whisper, who had hopped aside of that hand and smelled an opportunity to aid his friend who suffered so badly. Whisper had befriended Kaspar only, not anyone else, he tolerated them, but he wouldn’t let them harm his friend. He was but a bird, there wasn’t much he could do, except giving Kaspar a little time to run, to create an opening the boy could use to flee and carry them both away from this threat. And so Whisper pecked into the hand with his sharp and sturdy beak, not wounding the man, but hurting him quite a bit. Sadly, that first act of loyalty would also become his last.

The timing was less than perfect, the bird pecked just when the fist pounded the boys’s features once more, and while the man retracted his hand and roared in pain and rage, Kaspar swayed to the side, beaten and hurt. The time it took for Johann to recover and pinpoint his rage on a different target was way less than the time Kaspar needed to remember how to use his unwilling legs. Johann’s hand shot out -gigantic and clawed- and snatched the blackbird off the boy’s shoulder in an instant, one huge hand wrapped around its tiny, avian body. The other hand came up as well, Whisper probably felt what was about to happen and pecked desperately while fingers caged his tiny skull. Kaspar yelled when he saw too what would come next, but stood powerlessly, shaking as Whisper locked eyes with him, fear and desperation gleaming in its black, beady eyes. And then, with a simple twist of Johann’s wrist, the light vanished from the bird’s eyes, the body stopped moving and the grip of the hand was loosened. A bundle of ruffled feathers fell to the ground, a crying Kaspar shouted the bird’s name over and over before screaming to his father and then he ran, out of the house, out of the slums, away from home, away from his dead friend.

It would be hours later, in the early morning when Johann would wake up and stare at the ceiling, sober once more. Slowly he hauled himself out of his futon and sat on a stool, wondering why his son wasn’t lying in the room, why there was no trace of him at all. That was when he noticed a black bundle of feathers on the ground, dead black eyes stared at him accusingly and the man realized what he had done. Whisper... Kaspar, he's gone ... That can only mean one thing... Staring at his upwards turned palms, his mouth fell open in shock and terror, before they cupped his eyes and he screamed in agony while salty pearls rolled down his cheeks.

Later that day, Kaspar returned home, thinking everything was safe and deducting that his father would be in the pub like usual. As expected the house was silent, no sounds could be hear except the ones he produced himself. The main room was where he needed to be, the boy wanted to fetch the body of his dead friend, of Whisper who had stood up for him. Instead of one corpse, he found two. A small one on the floor, and a giant one with its feet dangling above the ground.

For the second time that day, a scream of agony tore the silence to shreds.

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credit goes to Euthisa

by **Brandon Blackwing** on August 8th, 2014, 8:07 pm

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“Well Brandon, did you succeed in what I asked of you?” Mr. Black questioned, getting a little impatient, the bat saw it clearly, and he heard the irritation in the man’s voice too. If anything could be said about Solomon Kriegsfelt, it was that he did not approved of beating around the bush, except when he did it himself, Brandon had noticed. Talk about hypocrisy. Well, the bat had been avoiding the subject intentionally, choosing to ask about Kriegsfelt’s daily life instead, chat a bit, annoy the man. One could say that the thief was testing how far he could go, but that would be a half-truth, such thoughts only came afterwards.

“As a matter of fact I did,” the Kelvic stated a little proud, “It wasn’t that much of a deal. The Shinya guarding the gates were incompetent, the walls… well, everyonecould have climbed those and the windows were unlocked. The only thing that could have been a problem were the echoing hallways, but I never was detected.” A light nonchalant shrug highlighted his words, the fact that the Councilor drugged herself and thus wouldn’t even have noticed Lhavit slipping off the summit of the peaks, let alone Brandon’s practically inaudible step.

“Hm, is that so? I suppose I’ll have to adjust my opinion of you…”
“… er …”
“Regardless of that, do you have the document with you? I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”
“Ouch, that hurts! Are you doubting me, boss?” the Kelvic thief sarcastically queried, a little bit offended, but he wouldn’t show it of course, instead he grinned and chuckled but cursed internally. Pretending, pretending! He hated pretending, but if he didn’t… It was necessary, if Mr. Black believed Brandon had given up and had succumbed to the merchant’s will, maybe he could trick the man into thinking that Brandon wouldn’t undertake any action, that he could be trusted. And that moment would be the time to strike, to stab the obnoxious vendor in the back and twist the blade!

Yet, he hadn’t found a weapon he could use yet, and neither was he being trusted, he felt. Waiting, he’d have to wait and practice patience, put up with Kriegsfelt and the thought of Engghaen being in danger. A sigh followed, as the bat searched his pockets for the sheet of paper, the document that could have changed Lhavit’s law. With a flat “here,” the Kelvic handed the paper over to Solomon, who’s greedy hand almost snatched the document away and started reading ferociously. The interested gaze skimmed over the paper for a couple of ticks before he returned it to Bran with the muttering “So that’s what she was so passionate about, huh?”

Curiously, the bat blinked, questioning the statement a bit confused. “Ah, nothing really. My contacts had mentioned that the Councilor was quite … excited about changing the law and kept pressuring the Seiza… Impatient Etheafal, she still has much to learn about politics. It is evident that she could be –no, will become the downfall of the city, spread anarchy…. It is none of your concern though.”
“Ah… and… what do I do with this?” he waved the important document up and down a few times, an eyebrow raised quizzically upon hearing the reply.
“Keep it with you. Burn it. Hide it. Eat it for all I care. Whatever you desire, as long as it doesn’t happen to return to the Councilor’s hands again.”

What? What? “And then why did I have to steal this? If you don’t want it, what does it matter?” Brandon did not really get the point of it, well, it wasn’t like he tried to think either, the source of the answers he was looking for sat in front of him. “To take away one of the Councilor’s mental supporting columns. To give her a little shake, to turn her world upside down. She is too naïve.” A short pause was taken to gasp for breath. “That pampered girl has no idea what she has gotten herself into, politics isn’t all fun and games. It is a game of manipulation and keeping up appearances, backstab allies and create nothing but enemies. She does not see that, she thinks she will be liked for her efforts. Possibly she’ll do what she thinks is best for the people, which then will be the blow that crumbles the pillars of Lhavit. She is not fit to rule, that arrogant creature should have stayed out of this!” Kriegsfelt’s head had become a dark red, arms violently signing and chins bubbling as he spoke, a vein pulsing on his forehead.

“That’s why. If we take away her footing she’ll lose balance. When she loses balance she falls. And falling is failing. A politician cannot fail, so if she does fail, everyone will see she isn’t fit for Councillorship.”
“Hm, and what good would it do you? I don’t believe you’d do this because of the kindness in your heart. So, let me guess, you want to be Councilor yourself, no?”
A knowing smirk appeared on the merchant’s pursed lips “Those who know too much … do you know what happens to them Brandon? ” A deadly silence hung between them, as Brandon stared at the floor and Kriegsfelt answered his own question, speaking what was on Bran’s mind. “They are silenced.”

Groaning, Solomon Kriegsfelt lifted himself of the stool and straightened his robes, turned his back on the thief, who was still staring at the floor. As the man’s hand turned the knob and pulled the door open slightly, he spoke again, without looking back. “You’d do well to remember this, Brandon, ‘Dead men tell no tales’.” It couldn’t have been more an obvious threat. The lock clicked as the door closed again and the kelvic thief cursed.

T

Tired, Kriegsfelt stepped into his bedroom, an oil lantern in hand and clothed in his night robes, a nightcap adorning his head. Duskrest already huh? Damn, days became much longer and much more tiring with the years… With a yawn the merchant placed the lantern on his night table, the flickering flame illuminating the edges of the room to twilight level, allow for him to view his possessions stored on cupboards and closets. The tiny flame’s light was reflected in dead black, beady eyes that stared into nothingness, the equally dark feathers were slightly crumpled and one wing seemed to have healed badly after being broken. Solomon smiled briefly at the stuffed bird and blew out the light.

“Goodnight, Whisper….”

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credit goes to Euthisa

by **Kismet** on August 18th, 2014, 1:40 pm

Brandon Blackwing

Brandon Blackwing :

I will do my best to give you what grades you have earned! However, if there is something you feel I missed or anything you have questions on please don't hesitate to PM me and we can talk.

Rhetoric	+1 XP
Interrogation	+1 XP

Solo Reversed Delivery