Closed Hunter or Hunted[Loken]

[Clyde Sullins]

52 Fall 514: Shortly after eleventh bell, just outside of Ravok Today was a rare day for Clyde, one in which he actually had reason to wear his armor of station, that as a member of the Ebonstryfe. Usually his duties tended more towards the cerebral, scholarly, or magical. Today though his mission was all about brute force, a display of the might of the Ebonstryfe meant to leave a lasting impression, and to people certain peoples in their place. Normally for such a duty a full unit would be sent, with all of the manpower such a group implied, but in this case Clyde was enough. Clyde however was uncertain if this marked trust in him and his skills by those higher up, or simply some bureaucrats method of being more cost effective in only sending one man, instead of the cost and risk involved in an entire unit. Either way, Clyde did not plan to fail, and did not have much fear, even knowing the full reported size of those he was to "instruct." Honestly, the actual fight would undoubtedly be boring, and he would need to find some manner of keeping himself interested through the encounter. One downside to his skills, facing any normal foe was by comparison to his abilities boring. On the other hand foes that did strain him could likely wipe out an entire company of normal soldiers through one mean or another, so perhaps it was better that he had little to fear in this case. Today he was fully outfitted in his black Ebonstryfe Brigandine armor, with their symbol emblazoned on the front. It was a bit odd wearing them, and he was still shifting about oddly in its weight, the steel plates riveted in place between the sheets of thick cloth shifting about as the armor bent and flexed when he moved. It was lighter and more flexible than full solid armor, but heavier than the normal robes he wore. Still though, it would be a good test of his endurance, particularly with the walk from Ravok before him. For arms he inevitably kept Cha in one hand, the blue wooden staff clutched tightly in his right. Along with that Clyde had a pair of light hammers, one tucked into his belt on either side. But of the hammers and staff, the staff was the deadlier and more important of the two, as it was a work of Magecrafting, a fully functional Magic Staff and thus a conduit for his magic. It also didn't hurt that it was more or less invulnerable to harm, mundane blades and such unable to so much as scratch it. Heading off of the ferry after the long ride out of Ravok, Clyde took a moment to gain his bearings. While on the boat his emblazoned armor had garnered more than one glance, and even a few lacks of a glance, surely the more telling of the two. Likely it meant the latter case was a person with something to hide. Clyde might have looked into it, but it was less important than the mission at hand. On the ferry it had been quiet, standing or sitting about with the same people, himself not talking, and few colorful tales being told due to the presence of a member of the Stryfe being so near. That was one reason Stryfe didn't always wear their armor, unless on a specific mission. It ruled out stealth, and made to many people close their lips. This was made more clear to Clyde by the somewhat awkward and quiet ride to shore. Other rides Clyde had without his armor on had been full of a good bit more talk. Minus the few people who made a show of having nothing to hide, who likely either did have something to hide, or where trying to prove their loyalty after having been caught before. Now that Clyde was off the ferry though, the various people about were going there own ways, off to do whatever job or errand they were on. Clyde's orders had given him a location, roughly a bells walk south of Ravok, along a well used path. Picking out the correct path, Clyde set forth upon it, doing his best to keep his breathing even, and endure through the exercise. Within ten chimes of leaving the ferry more or less everyone who had been on the ferry was gone and had split off from him, and Clyde found a burning stitch forming in his side, like a pressure stabbing in. He also found himself relying more and more on Cha to walk, even though the staff was not really meant as a walking aid.

[Loken]

52nd Day of Fall, 514
Eleventh bell, just outside of Ravok

Contrary to the description of his profession as a mercenary, Loken had little interest in violence. It was gratifying to the instincts that he occasionally gave over to, and it was an effective tool to deal with those that overstepped their bounds, but it held no appeal to his better rooted, intellectual aspects. As with all things, the ephemeral had its place, so in the here and now all he wanted to do was get his job completed.

Loken sat on a wooden bench outside of Malfasar's Beer Hut, the small shack of a business just outside of Ravok, contemplating his role in the designs of the bandit troubled merchant who hired him.

Locate and eliminate the bandits.

It seemed easy enough a task, however the merchants vague information on the bandits was irksome. He thought back to his training under the watchful gaze of the Pon's who instructed him at the Librum, they were always on his mind, their condescending, cold, and callous voices echoed within his skull, always reminding him to think before he acted, constantly reminding him to control himself when in the midst of chaos.

When news of the ferry's arrival began to spread through the crowd, it caused many at the Beer Hut to quickly leave for the Southern Trading Post. Loken slowly stood to his feet, rolling his shoulders to adjust the breastplate of his Leather armor, as his hands moved to instinctively touch each of the tools he would use to defend himself. A finger grazing against the dagger sharp hilt of the Tiger Hook Sword that hung from its harness on his back, then reaching into the pouch on his belt to touch one of his Shuriken.

With everything in order, he made his way over to where he had hitched his Eyktolian Desertbred. For all of his logical ways, the horse was an oddity in Loken's life. While the creature had transported him from place to place for as long as he could remember, he had yet to name the horse. Always referring to him as Eyk, an abbreviation of the horse's breed. It was a long running joke in his own mind that he would eventually give it a name.

Loken placed one foot in the stirrup, lifting himself enough to swing his other leg over the saddle. He was slow to mount up, careful not to fall, letting his other foot catch the stirrup before moving. With a faint tug of the reins and clutch of the stirrups, Loken got Eyk to turn south. It was more out of comfort that the horse listened to him, or maybe he focused the creatures wanderlust. Either way, they were off in the right direction.

As he rode down the path he found himself riding behind a lone man with a walking stick. His voice reached out with a heavy baritone to catch the mans attention. "My friend, I should warn you that bandits plague this path. It would be wise to return to the city." With a pull of the reins, Eyk drifted to the side of the path. Loken's head cocked, eyes absently turning when the horse pulled alongside the traveler.

[Clyde Sullins]

As Clyde felt the burning stitch forming in his side, Clyde heard a voice from behind him. Strangely enough it was a person warning him off, telling him to return to the city, lest he should run into bandits. This was of course interesting to Clyde, since he was at this moment seeking out said bandits. "My friend, I should warn you that bandits plague this path. It would be wise to return to the city." As the man on the horse moved to come up alongside him, Clyde grinned back at him, turning so that the front of his armor would show, know clearing making visible the sign of the Ebonstryfe emblazoned on it, since it apparently had not been visible from behind.Though Clyde would have thought that the black armor of the Ebonstryfe would have been distinctive enough even from behind to mark it as what it was. Logically, this meant the man was not a Ravok native, nor likely a citizen, as they would know all to well even from a ways away the distinctive black armor worn by the Stryfe. “Oh, and what is it you know of these bandits then? And why is it that while directing me away from them, you in turn are going the same way as I was? Apparently you think you yourself are safe from said bandits, but that I an Ebonstryfe are not... Curious... I might wonder then why you feel so safe, while you fear for my own safety?... Curious indeed. I'd also point out your over sense of familiarity. I do not call you a friend, after all we are strangers. Who are you to call me your friend.” Turning back away from the man, Clyde continued on walking in the same direction. He did not however tell the man to leave, and left him open to respond to Clyde's words, even if he did not turn and give him his full attention, or even bother looking at him. But then, listening did not require you to be facing the person that spoke, even if most considered it good manners. But then, Clyde had no real need to be overly civil. More stranger than him knowing of the bandits, likely the same ones Clyde was out seeking, was the fact that the man warned Clyde off. Surely there was more to this story than was being told.