Flashback Another Glorious Day Under the Sun

[Elias Caldera]

10th Day of Spring, 509 AV

His wrist hurt. A lot. He knew better than to keep rubbing at it so much, but that hadn’t stopped him from scratching at the fresh bandages wrapped around it or trying and roll it around every once in a while. Each time he even so much as looked at the blasted thing though, it lashed out at him with a fresh new jolt of pain that made him hiss and wince all at once.

He cursed.

Elias glared up at the despicable face of the bastard who had wounded him not ten chimes ago, a shyke eating grinning splitting the boy's face from ear to ear as he silently gloated down at the apprentice. A sword nearly took his head off a split tick later, and Elias held his breath in delightful anticipation for the briefest of moments, but even with his attention divided between the heated sparring match he was currently in the midst of, and the consistent mockery he insisted upon showering down on his former training partner, still Talon could not be caught unaware. The young man ducked under the long arching swing with ease and already, both Talon and even Elias could see where his opponent had gone wrong. Left wide open by no doubt leaning too heavily on the self-made assurances that a distracted Talon would certainly have no hope of avoiding her strike, the girl was in trouble. “Shield!” Elias shouted, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. He had forgotten the girl’s name, Tera or Talia, or something like that -It didn’t particularly matter- whoever she was, Elias wasn’t going to let Talon score another easy point so long as he could help it. He owed the son of a bitch that much for nearly taking off his hand in their last bout.

The girl however, wasn't so accommodating, and she flinched noticeably at either the unexpected shouting or Talon's lunging for her within the same breath. By then, it was already too late. If he had had the energy left to grimace before it was all over, Elias would have, but by the time his mind was working around what the fool blonde should have done next, she was already down, brought low to one knee with a pathetic squeak as the dulled blade glanced across her mid section with exceptional grace. But then again, all of Talon strikes were exceptional. Petching Talon...

"Yet another bested, by our hero." The tall, brown haired apprentice boasted with an overly robust announcer's voice as he spun about, arms victoriously thrown up in the air. "Can anyone defeat the gallant and unstoppable, Talon Altos? Will his reign of greatness never end?" No one answered. "What's that you say, adoring fans? No it won't? Well I guess that's that, then." Elias smiled and grumbled something under his breath despite himself. "Are you done, oh magnificent jackass?" He asked, raising himself off the crate he had been spectating the match from. By then Talon had sauntered over to where his defeated partner still knelt, tenderly clutching at her side, and had offered his hand to her. "That depends on you two." He countered with a smile, helping the young, pretty apprentice to her feet with ease as he wiped what was probably the first droplets of sweat from his forehead he had shed all morning with his other hand. There had been nearly ten fights between them so far, and even resting, Elias was still more beleaguered than the man standing in front of him, and the bastard had fought in each and every one. Whats worse, he had won them all too. "I can keep this up all day, what do you say, Kara?" Kara, dammit. I wasn't even close. The other apprentice practically beamed up at him with her dewy eyes, her hand still unsurprisingly held in his. "I don't know, Talon, I still need a lot of practice." Was that a giggle he heard? Was there not a single damn woman at the Vitrax who wasn't completely enamored when it came to Talon! What did they all see in him, and more importantly, why didn't they ever bother to look at Elias that way once in a while?

Well the apprentice got his wish as Kara craned her gaze his way, but it wasn't with the kind of giddy and lustful leer he had hoped for. Instead, he found himself shivering a little when the girl's rueful glare fell upon him. "But if someone hadn't distracted me, I'm sure I could have gotten you in at the end there." The Caldera guffawed with such flabbergasted astonishment he nearly tipped himself over. "I said shield, you didn't shield! I was trying to help you, woman!"

"Your mewling shriek caught me off guard, Caldera! I thought I was being attacked by a cat."

"At least with a cat you'd have a chance, you cow! You sure it wasn't Talon's stunning brown locks and baby blue eyes that that threw you off instead, huh? Go on, take another long look and make sure." Kara's infuriated eyes deflated after that. She spared a quick, dismayed looked at Talon, then to Elias, then back to Talon and promptly blushed herself out of the argument right then and there. "To be fair, Elias, my locks are quite stunning." The apprentice replied with an exasperated "Shut up." aimed at Talon while Kara in turn made a noise that he had to assume was her excusing herself, before subtly fleeing the seen, her eyes firmly glued to the floor as she ran. Talon shouted his farewells, waving and chuckling cheerfully while Elias simply made a face. She did finally manage to peel her abashed attention away from the ground and out from under her hair long enough to wave back at one of them, and it wasn't hard to guess which it was. "God, that one's got an ass on her... Anyhoo, do you want to go again? You're the only one here that can even last a chime against me, and I could use the practice."

"I can't." Elias sighed, moving off towards the weapon racks with the intention of putting away his training blades. Talon followed suite, a gleefully pitying look on his stupid face. "Aw, don't tell me I hurt you that bad?" Elias shoved the sword into its slots, but for a brief tick contemplated pulling it back out again while the other boy wasn't ready. Then he realized the unfortunate fact that he had put the weapon away with his left hand, not his injured right, and there was good reason for that. Plus it would be terribly awkward if he actually missed in the end. "No, asshole, I have the thing today and I need to get ready." Talon slipped his twin pair of blades in after Elias's and leaned himself up against one of the pillars that supported the great hall they were in. There was no time of day where the hum and drum of steel and shield being clashed together didn't fill the grand training hall of the Vitrax, and today was no different. All about the two of them, separated off into their own corners and sections of the massive hall were pairs or squads of other apprentices and petitioners alike, all practicing early and fervently, though there was a clear distinction between the desperation some were putting in to their practices compared to the others. Petitioners were easier to tell apart that way, younger sure, but they also had this uneasy hunger about them as well. A frantic push that made their wides eyes and uncertain steps obvious to pick out from everyone else that belonged here. That was their problem of course, they didn't belong, not really, not until they proved themselves anyway. Those three long years were behind people like Elias and Talon however, as they had achieved their rank and place as apprentices. Now they simply came to the halls to train and fire on their very rare days off because it meant everything to stay at the top of your game, even when you were expected to rest. Still, that gap that now divided him from them did not mean he had ever forgotten how he had been much the same not so long ago.

"Ah, right. The thing with your father's friend?"

"My father's friend's kid." Elias corrected, removing his sweat drenched shirt with a delicateness that failed to belie the sharp stinging he still felt in his wrist. He probably should have amended the whole 'friend' part as well while he was at it too. Torian wasn't exactly a man who made buddies with other people, let alone people in the Ebonstryfe, anyone close to him were more like pawns, or if they were especially dear and near, accomplices. "A petitioner, goes by Dicey. You ever meet his old man?" Talon shook his head. "Me either." Elias said, frowning. That wasn't completely true. He had seen the man from afar once or twice when he was speaking with his own father, but had never had the nerve nor the desire to go up and introduce himself. The stryfer had a way about him that spoke volumes to Elias on keeping his distance. Then again, most paladins of the ebonstryfe usually had that effect on people. Still, he didn't like being pawned off for the sake of some negotiation his father was in with this stranger, and the idea that he and this other son was some kind of show of goodwill between them was annoying to say the least. "What are you doing hanging about with a petitioner anyway?" Talon asked. Elias chortled and rebuked immediately as he began to wipe himself down. "What are you doing with all of your petitioners?"

"Well I usually seduce and petch mine, but this guy doesn't really sound your type." They both had a laugh at that, but Elias's died down fairly quickly. Talon's question had only served to remind him of what a dreadful load of shyke he was actually in today. "I'm supposed to help train him or something, give him an edge I guess." Yah, that's not gonna happen The apprentice mused, fretting over the details of the day to come. This prospect, whoever he was, was in for a whole lot more than just another day of training with a dulled down training sword. Elias only hoped the boy could hold up to the challenges ahead for as long as he needed him.

I swear to Rhysol if he's late...

lol, sorryYou can tell I haven't written in a while. First chance I get and I write a whole damn book for an intro post.

[Bartholomew]

Don't beWas the best read I have seen in Mizahar so far.

"And this is the statue of our great Ebonlord, Gru'tral. Magnificent isn't it?"

Bartholomew stood in awe as he went over the statues features. What he saw in front of him was an eight foot giant with heavy muscles. The statue stood far above his head, with a menacing look baring down on him. No irises, heavy beard, wild hair, and immensely intimidating eyes. This large statue that Bartholomew stared at was an actual person, sculpted to match that persons appearance. But this was just a stone carving, and yet Bartholomew couldn't help but want to fall to his knees. If I ever met the real deal, he thought. I will never be able to leave my house again.

"Lord Dicey!" A mans voice called to Bartholomew. His once wide eyes blinked twice before he was back on Mizaharian ground. He looked to his right as he heard the sound again. "Lord Dicey, did you hear me? I said right this way. You don't want to be late for your training do you?"

The man who called to Bartholomew was named Mortheus, Bartholomew's personal slave. He was also a tall man, though not as tall as the statue. Bartholomew could only reach the man's waste. He had an old body and a face that spoke of wisdom and knowledge; but he also looked strong, a heavy scar on his cheek proved that he had seen a fight or two. Although, it was his eyes that made Mortheus seem strong. It was always the eyes.

"Mortheus," Bartholomew said as they walked past the statue of the ebonlord and onto some steps. The man turned down to look at Bartholomew, his eyebrow raised to show that he was listening. "Tell me, is Grutal-"

"Gru'tal," Mortheus corrected.

"Gru'tal," Bartholomew repeated mockingly. "Is he frightening because he is the Ebonlord?"

Mortheus did not look at Bartholomew when he answered. "Well... Sort of. Gru'tal is frightening because of the way he stares into someone, and because of the power he carries. To be ebonlord means to be powerful, you know. If you do not have power then you lose the title."

"So he is very powerful?" Bartholomew asked.

"He was the first Ebonlord ever created. For hundreds of years he has kept his title, defending it from foes who thought themselves stronger than he."

They passed a set of pillars that held the front building up. The structure did not look old, instead it seemed freshly painted and cleaned. Were the ebonstryfe keen on tidiness? Bartholomew would think this place spotless if it were not for the occasional bugs roaming around the ground.

"Why do you ask these questions?" Mortheus wondered as they made their way into the building.

"Because, I wanted to know what makes him so intimidating. Dad is like that too, but I can't be," Bartholomew answered. And at his answer, Mortheus chuckled.

"Ah the youth," he said, but stopped laughing and walking when Bartholomew stopped walking by his side.

"What's so funny?" Bartholomew demanded. His arms were folded and his face was turned into a scowl. He tried to look menacing, but Mortheus laughed even more.

"Nothing lord Dicey, nothing." Mortheus smiled apologetically, but Bartholomew wouldn't accept it. The slave always teased him when they were alone, and although he enjoyed it sometimes, the other times it got very annoying.

"Do not act that way, Lord Dicey," Mortheus said. "It makes you look spoiled."

Bartholomew threw his hands up in frustration, Mortheus continued to laugh. "I will tell you this," Mortheus said after finally controlling his breath. "Gru'tal is intimidating, even in the form of statue, because he is strong and he knows it. When he looks at someone he knows he could crush them, he knows he could kill them within the blink of an eye. And he shows this by staring at them. When someone looks at him they know that he could kill them. His eyes tell them that he is only allowing them to live out of his kindness alone."

"Being intimidating," Mortheus continued, "Is about having power, being strong, and letting everyone else know that you have power and are strong. You do this by showing it in your eyes and stance. However, if you are not stronger than a person, taller, or older, then you will less than likely be able to intimidate them."

Bartholomew sighed. "I will never be intimidating in that case," he said depressingly. In some way this was true. He was incredibly small and a scrawny child. And even though he had some skill, he did not have enough power yet to best some of the petitioners his age. At the rate he was growing, being able to scare someone by his looks seemed a lifetime away.

"That is not necessarily true," Mortheus said, picking up on Bartholomew's sad feelings. "You are only thirteen, and still growing. By the time you get older you will be stronger and scarier. It is in your blood to be intimidating. After all you are your fathers son."

What Mortheus said cheered him up a little bit. His father was very intimidating, at least in his eyes.

He looked towards the Ebonlords statue, which was nothing but a small figure from their distance away. However, even through a glass and a small size, the back of the statue still spoke of power.

"I'm going to be Ebonlord one day," Bartholomew said, and Mortheus stopped suddenly. He grabbed Bartholomew by the arm and squeezed Bartholomew's blood away from his hold.

"Ow, Mortheus, you are hur-" Mortheus was now kneeling before Bartholomew. They both looked into each others eyes. Mortheus had none though; no pupil or even white portion. All he had was a dark void that gave Bartholomew's reflection in the light. Mortheus once told Bartholomew that his eyes where like that because of his race, one he called Chaktawe. He said that it was also the reason for his tan skin.

Even though there was nothing but blackness, Bartholomew could still read Mortheus expression. Fear. Mortheus looked afraid.

"Never say that again, understand me?"

Bartholomew did not understand, but at that moment he would say anything to lessen Mortheus grip. "Yes," he answered. "Yes I understand."

"Good," Mortheus said, then walked through two double doors. Bartholomew stayed behind to flex his sore muscles. That grip was deadly and left a very bad mark on his arm. Good thing he had a black sleeve on to cover it up, or else Mortheus would get into series trouble by his dad if anyone saw it.

Bartholomew did not understand why his protection slave decided to hurt him, but it definitely had something to do with what he said. Was it really so bad to want to be Ebonlord that it would frighten Mortheus?

After a brief moment of reflection Bartholomew walked through the double doors. He heard sharp clanging of metals. In every corner of the room there was someone trying to beat a weapon into someone else. Some looked as old as Mortheus, others looked as young as Bartholomew.

Mortheus was in front of him, searching from someone in the mass that was body sweating human combat. The slaves eyes suddenly fixed on someone, and with a smile he moved to that person's location. Bartholomew followed behind, holding the minor injury that Mortheus had made.

When he finally stopped, the two were standing in front of two boys. Mortheus payed no attention to one, but stared only at the other. This kid was a little taller than Bartholomew was and had brown eyes that were darker than Bartholomew's hazel eyes.

"Lord Elias Caldera," Mortheus said with a bow. "I am Mortheus Lanook. This is Lord Bartholomew Dicey." Mortheus motioned to the boy who stood beside him. Bartholomew did as Mortheus did and bowed.

"As you may know," Mortheus continued. "Your parents have agreed that you will train Bartholomew into being fit for apprenticeship. On behalf of his father, I thank you for giving Bartholomew your aid. You are expected to teach him the basic strategies of combat and..." Mortheus paused to take a look at Bartholomew, then back at Elias. "Teach him about intimidation while you are at it."

When Mortheus was done speaking he gave another bow and left the room. Bartholomew didn't follow, but watched his slave leave. When the doors closed behind Mortheus, Bartholomew looked towards Elias and said, "So... What's first?"

[Elias Caldera]

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?"

The sudden change in tone was enough to shake Elias from his stupor and look up from lacing his boots. He saw Talon, who had been boring him slowly into Dira's bleak embrace with what was probably the fourth or fifth consecutive tale of his latest, sweaty conquest, staring curiously off towards the main doors of the training hall. Quizzically, Elias craned his neck and searched for what had been so interesting it could have interrupted Talon from his regaling stories. What Elias eventually found among the thunderous sea of clashing steel and and bodies was a towering slave and his young master; a particularly wide eyed and innocuous youth who practically clung to his servant's coat tails as he was led about the training grounds. The way the boy held himself, one hand holding his arm, spoke volumes about the child's tepidness and pitiful uncertainty, which was enough for Elias to immediately lose interest and go back to securing his armor while he waited. Talon, on the other hand, seemed fixated. "You think that's your boy there?"

Elias didn't bother taking another gander as he buckled down his final adjustments to his dark cuirass. "No, can't be. He's a son of a paladin remember." He would be more than at home in house of warfare like this, and definitely not publicly seen trailing behind some slave. "Well it looks like they're looking for someone." Talon prattled on. Had the message he'd received mentioned something about a slave escorting the new recruit? Elias struggled to recall the words precisely, and it wasn't helping him any that his belt was simply refusing to fastened properly. "Oh, I think he's spotted us. Yep, they're coming this way. This is exciting." Elias's only reply to Talon's growing giddiness was a raised eyebrow. He was just kidding, he had to be. It wasn't as if the apprentice was expecting much, but he at least expected more than-

"Lord Elias Caldera."

The teenager turned, rising out of his seat to face the dark, void like eyes of the slave suddenly addressing him. Elias didn't bat an eyelash when those two dead, cold orbs fixed on him with an aged smile. The man's brazen differences from the average Ravokian were an easy give away as to what his status he likely was in a city like Ravok, but when that wasn't enough to assure certainty, the half sun tattoo branded or inked onto flesh of every slave was also quite the dead ringer. Elias didn't bother looking for it on this one however, his attention having sharply shifted to the boy standing next to him; young, weak, and completely green. The slave, the name of which he had simply decided not to pay attention to, introduced the lad as Bartholomew Dicey and went on to explain what was 'expected' of him in their time to come together. Elias smiled courteously and nodded in tandem with the southerner's words, but in his mind he was forced to keep reminding himself of the fact that slaves were not just tools, they were extensions of their masters, and so to backhand an insolent slave for having the impudence to tell an apprentice what was 'expected' of him, may as well have been like slapping Paladin Dicey himself. Being that Elias felt it was a bit too early to be drawn and quartered just yet, he decided against it and instead restrained himself and his hands to somewhere safely behind his back.

As the dark skinned man came to a close, his odd request at the end not lost on either Talon or Elias, the latter deepened his affable expression and responded. "Return to you master and assure him that young lord Dicey here is in good, capable hands with the Calderas" With that, the slave bowed and made his leave. The apprentice stared at his back as he departed, the smile still plastered on his face. When Bartholomew turned back around after watching his slave leave, he would find Elias's smile was no where to be found. "We can start by wiping that stupid look off your face, master Dicey." The entire thing was said with dripping resentment, but it had been the last words that would have stung the most. Talon finally let loose with the laugh he must have been holding in the entire, brief introduction. Elias ignored him. "You've wandered into a nest of hungry vipers, boy, the least you could do is not go around parading the fact that you're fresh meat." He sneered. A quick scan of the hall easily revealed more than a few malicious eyes lingering on the trio, Elias and his new protege for the day in particular. They may not have been legion, but even one was one too many in this merciless place.

"Oh don't say that, Elias, were really quite pleasant people when you get to know us. Hello there, young master, my name is Talon Altos. Nice to finally make your acquaintance." Talon extended his hand cordially to go along with the naturally pleasing smile Elias often had to force his face to painfully mimic when speaking to other people. Talon was always too nice that way. Too charming and too amiable with instructors and petitioners alike. Elias may have enjoyed his company, or even secretly stood in awe of his skill with the sword, but he knew enough to understand that before their apprenticeship was done, Talon would be dead, or worse, driven from the order for some failure and left to live his life incomplete and broken knowing his pointless niceties and jarringly pleasant demeanor were what kept him from making the right call or dealing the final blow when ordered. The Ebonstryfe didn't look to the nice ones when it came time to enforce the will of the Defiler and the Black Sun. They looked to soldiers like Elias, men who were more than willing to step over his fool friends if it meant climbing higher and serving their god better.

The simmering apprentice disregarded the two as they introduced themselves, butting in when he saw fit. "You didn't bring a weapon." The question was not so much a question per say, but more of an accusation. A second one soon followed. "And you're pale as a ghost, you've got no color to you."

"He means you're severely lacking in Ebonstryfe-like regalia. Which usually means black. Lots and lots of a black." Talon kindly interjected, explaining the common term used by apprentices while not so subtly directing Dicey's attention to Elias's own get up. The black clad apprentice grimaced, already realizing how much he was going to have to have the boy catch up on during their short time together. Maybe it was better if he did this on his own after all, he mused. He would just be putting this prospect in harms way if he forced him to tag along and- no, no he couldn't just abandon him. Their fathers had placed Dicey in his care, a few bumps and bruises and a hard lesson or two learned was a preferable outcome to Torian berating him for not keeping his word and making them both look bad. "You'll just have to pay a visit to the armory before you take off is all." Altos said, coming to the rescue again. Elias was noticing, much to his chagrin, that the other apprentice kept giving the boy reassuring nods and jovial looks while Elias was doing his damnedest to the put the fear of Rhysol into him with each snarling indictment. It hadn't even been a chime yet and already the young Caldera was beginning to question if he could tolerate this Dicey kid, regardless of what he had or had not done or said up until this point.

Talon reached for the weapons rack, putting one finger on his chin as he pretended to study the scrawny petitioner. "Let me guess." He said, fingers dancing over a half a dozen overused hilts that lined the shelves. "Longsword, right? No wait, bastard I'm sure of it!" He proceeded to pluck out a particularly dingy looking thing, scrounged around for its scabbard and holstering belt, and tossed the awkward collection into Dicey's hands. "Just a training sword mind you, so the edges are dull as a dravlak, but I don't think you'll be needing to stab anyone today."

"Least of all me." Elias finished. He hoped the boy at least knew how to use one of those, or any armor he planned to drape him in was going to need to be doubly thick. His own armor and weapon were securely in place already, two things of exceptional beauty and craftsmanship, and two things he had learned to cherish more than life itself at times. "Well, what are you standing around dawdling for, petitioner. Get a damn move on, we've got to get you at least looking the part." Elias stormed off past the young boy and made his way towards the exit, the dire wolf shawl about his shoulders and the loose fabric of his ebony armor bouncing and swaying with each pounding step. He didn't even bother looking back to see if Dicey was following or not.

"Have Fun." Came the cry of Talon as he bid them both a boisterously embarrassing farewell.

NoteIf you wanna get an image of what Elias and his armor was back then, the picture in the history section of his CS will help.

[Bartholomew]

Elias didn't enjoy Bartholomew, that was evident by the attitude he radiated. At first he seemed fine, charming even; however when Bartholomew's slave left and only he, Bartholomew, and his friend remained, Elias began to manifest his true nature. If there was one word Bartholomew could use to describe the attitude that Elias began to give that word would be mean- if two then indisputably mean. Elias insulted, he cringed from annoyance, and mostly gave off an aura that meant that he did not want Bartholomew in his presence. All this made Bartholomew confused, for he did not know how to react. Should he get angry, storm up to Elias face and challenge him to a dual? Should he make a comeback, insult Elias' pride worse than Elias insulted his? Or should he react in a positive way- smile through the insults his tutor made and tell his father later of his tutors' rude behavior?

It was hard for a boy of little social life to decide- for he had not developed his own special characteristic yet- so he decided to remain timid and shrink in the midst of Elias words. Luckily, the rest did not sting as much as the first. "We can start by wiping that stupid look off your face, master Dicey." Bartholomew had been so flabbergasted that he had tilted his head and taken a step back. It was as though Elias words had punched him in the face with such rapid speed that he could not dodge nor prepare himself for the impact. All he could do was accept it and stand dumbfounded. Elias' cohort began to laugh, and Bartholomew felt a strange array of hot fury develop upon his cheeks. He puffed in embarrassment.

Bartholomew's moment of flushed embarrassment ended when Elias began to point out the area around him. Apparently, Bartholomew had entered a nest festering with people looking to hunt him down. It was like the days of school for him- where one would pick on the other simply because of their fragile personality. No one ever messed with Bartholomew though, unless they wanted to deal with a Paladin. However, here Bartholomew was the Paladin's son and a petitioner for the Ebonstryfe; these people around him were the Ebonstryfe. Dealing with a Paladin may not place much fear in their hearts than it did with the little kids. If Bartholomew wasn't fit for the Ebonstryfe, the people around him would certainly see to his failure.

Elias' friend laughed again."Oh don't say that, Elias," he said in a charming tone. This kids words were much more pleasant to the ears than Elias's, however he led Bartholomew to wonder if he was just being his regular self or putting on an act. He introduced himself as Talon Altos and extended his hand halfway for Bartholomew to shake. Cautiously, Bartholomew accepted the gesture of kindness with his own then reintroduced himself. "Bartholomew Dicey... Nice to make your acquaintance. " They made their presence known to each other quite well before Elias had spoken again.

Bartholomew's new tutor mentioned how Bartholomew didn't have a weapon and that he was pale as a ghost. He looked at his skin then felt his face to see if he had a hint of horror on it. He understood what Elias meant by how he was weaponless, a swine would understand that, but it took an explanation from Talon to understand what Elias meant about him being pale. He didn't represent the Ebonstryfe attire. For a while Bartholomew forgot that he even needed an attire. When he looked closely at all the other sturdy build, mean looking, sweaty members in the training hall, he noticed that some, if not all, had on the same getup. All Bartholomew had was a black sleeves shirt and black pants. These would have to do until he could go home and ask his father to make a wear his size.

It was Talon who proposed another scenario for Bartholomew to attain his gear- mentioning that a quick stop to the armory would solve his pale problem. "Where is the armory?" Bartholomew questioned mostly to Talon, forgetting for a moment that Elias was around. Even though Talon seemed too nice to be believable, he was way nicer than Elias who grimaced at Bartholomew every time their eyes met. The question of who Bartholomew favored the most at the moment would be no secret, and should cause no confusion.

Talon made way to the weapons section to hand Bartholomew one for the many training weapons within the training hall. The minute Talon mentioned the bastard sword Bartholomew swayed his head up and down. The bastard sword was a weapon his father mastered and taught him to master in the future. Although, the techniques that he was mostly taught were how to stand, how to block, and how to switch handling styles while using the sword. How to attack was a lesson his father had the slaves teach him during sparring sessions.

Talon handed Bartholomew that sword and told him of its fruitless purpose of actually hurting someone due to its dullness. Bartholomew felt the edge of the metal blade and found that he would not get cut. Out of curiosity he applied more pressure to the tip of the sword with his forefinger. Just like before, no cut formed upon his skin and no blood seeped out of his finger. So no matter how hard he would hit someone they would not be very damaged. Bartholomew would need to tell his slave of this sword and replace the wooden ones with these.

Bartholomew's attention was suddenly pulled back to the conscious world when Elias had ordered him to follow. Obediently Bartholomew came to Elias' side, feeling a rush of sad emotions when discovering that Talon wasn't going to follow. Although, he wouldn't let Elias see those emotions- for he dreaded what his new tutor might think of him when he noticed such a weakness. A new mission was put forth before Bartholomew. Other than acquire new strength and learning the trade to become an excellent soldier, fighter, and server of Rhysol's will; Bartholomew was to prove himself worthy of Elias' respect and kindness. He promised himself that he would not fail either task.

"So..." He said to Elias once they exited the room and were alone. Although what he said next he did not need to know entirely, Bartholomew would do anything to kill what he thought would be a silent walk. "Where are we going, exactly...?"

[Elias Caldera]

Storming out of the massive, dark doors of the revered Training Hall, Elias dove headfirst into the bustling courtyard of the Vitrax without so much as another peep to spare for his bumbling compatriot. As the the veritable beating heart of the Ebonstryfe in Ravok, the most prestigious headquarters of the hallowed order was constantly abuzz with activity day and night, but today was a particularly special event. Men and women wrapped in handsome black uniforms scurried across the marble stone pathways in a curiously orderly form of chaos that only the military fist of Rhysol could pull off so well. Rushing in every which direction, apprentices and soldiers alike careened and darted around one another to reach their destinations as quickly as possible. The base was awash with drowning noise as phalanxes and formations of warriors clad in magnificent onyx steel armor paraded across the grounds, while commanders and paladins roared orders along with threats of punishment should those same orders not be met to their highest standards.

Elias had little choice but to crash his way through the throngs of people, navigating a precariously hostile path through the commotion with Dicey still hopefully hot on his trail. He paused for the boy to catch up as he found a clearing in which to breath among the hustling mob of people, turning back to the younger boy to answer his earlier question. "To work." he said matter-of-factly, before swiveling back around to scrutinize the crowd before him. There was a very important occasion soon to happen and they had been unfortunate enough to be caught up in the preparations; In a few bells there would be an address to the entire force by the Ebonlord himself. Elias had heard tale of all, if not many of the Druvin being called to attendance as well, which as one could expect, was a significant affair. For the Caldera however, it just made his already difficult day even more troublesome.

His commander had assigned him -or rather had assigned someone else, who in turn had assigned him- the duty of collection this fine morning. Something which he normally would do with at least two or three other apprentices at his side, and with an entire week or so of leeway to work with. Instead, all of his real comrades had been relieved of such a duty to complete last second jobs of their own in preparation for the great lord's grand speech. That left Elias shyke out of luck and stuck babysitting some greenhorn petitioner, devoid of back up, and desperate for time he simply didn't have. In essence, he was basically up shyke's creek, but with little other choice, the unfortunate apprentice could do nothing else but hurry and pray to the Defiler he simply made it on time. The last thing he wanted was a lashing for failing on such an auspicious ceremony as this one.

With a growl he shoved his way clear of the riot and unto the streets outside, his feet coming to a stop dangerously close to the edge of the flowing canal as he surveyed the water for a ride. Traffic was absurdly heavy and ravosala's swarmed the watery roadways in droves, yet not a single one of them that he could see was empty and prepared to go anytime soon. The apprentice cursed under his breath before wordlessly signaling for Bartholomew to hurry up in case the newborn petitioner had fallen behind. Despite times like these driving the young man to pulling his hair out with stress, there were still a number of indisputable advantages to being part of the dark order that one could take full advantage of.

As he raised his hand to bring a halt to one of the passing ravosala's, Elias began to put one of those advantages into play.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Your papers of citizenship, if you please." The man steering the vessel ended his oaring and let his raft come to a crawl alongside the sidwalk as the occupants aboard his small gondola, without question or hesitation, pulled out their papers and displayed them for the apprentice to see. Leaning in with a facade of a smile stretching his face ever so politely, Elias proceeded to examine each one of the heavily folded parchments for a tick, before eventually bowing his head just slightly and waving the boat on its way. "All is in order. Please, enjoy your day." The two men nodded and bowed themselves offhandedly before disappearing into the blur of other rowboats. Elias grimaced visibly as they departed, turning to Dicey as he did so, but still keeping one eye on the canal at the same time.

"You and I are going on a collection run, master Dicey, so I'm afraid if you were hoping to have your hand held as I took you on a tour of our wonderful facilities here at the Vitrax, you're going to be sorely disappointed. We have a number of places to reach and not a lot of time-" The sound of the distant bell tower interrupted the boy before he could finish. The clanging served to turn Elias's already ghastly expression into something even more wretched as the bells toiled. He shook his head at the tones as the bells rung out across the lake city, sighing into palm as the last one finished its gonging. "...and now even less time to see it done. It looks like were going to have to take a rain check on that gear." He eventually concluded. This morning was turning into a real damn problem. He knew he wouldn't make it on foot, not there and back again in time at least. They needed a ride, and they needed it now! Another ravosala was hastily flagged down.

"Papers, please." He asked once more, his tone never sliding into something akin to a crude order, yet remaining in that gray area of authority between demand and request lest the young stryfer give the false impression that his appeal for their forms of identification was anything less than mandatory under pain of imprisonment. It was just a little talent one learned to pick up when in a city where anyone could be more important than you, or have better, bigger connections, but still required that, as one of its sacred enforcers, you appear cordial yet commanding.

Much to an ever impatient Elias's relief, he thought he finally found what he was looking for on his third attempt when he spotted a ridiculous feathered cap among the crowd of passengers. "And good morning to you as well, young master." The finely dressed fellow practically crooned in greeting. The jovial flourish he gave as he awkwardly rose to his feet in the boat gave Elias hope he had truly located his man. "What a wonderful day were having, isn't it?" He continued, his lack of experience dealing with ravosalas painfully evident by the way he continued to rock the boat. "Ah, as for my 'papers' as you say, I'm terribly sorry to admit that I cannot give you what you seek unfortunately, as you see, I am merely a humble visitor to your glorious city on this finest of days and have yet to acquire such a docume-" The flamboyant merchant's polite ramblings were abruptly cut short as the leathery sole of a boot unexpectedly collided squarely against his nose. With a flatulent like grunt at the sudden intrusion, he reeled backwards and over the side of the ravolsala, plunging unceremoniously into the water as Elias shoved him overboard.

"Well, what are you waiting for, initiate? Get on." The apprentice grumbled as he hurried Dicey unto the now unoccupied boat. He clambered unto the raft after the boy and nonchalantly took his seat. There was an audible, throaty groan from the driver before Elias could even begin to relax into the plush cushions, and the Caldera knew he recognized it before he even turned to look. "Ugh, not you again, Caldera." The old, dark skinned man sighed. The young ravokian chortled at the realization of whose craft he had just boarded, and gave the veteran driver a hearty greeting.

"Ah, I didn't see there Gavin. How are you, old timer?"

"He hadn't paid me yet, Caldera..." The ravosalamen continued, ignoring the question with his sulking, expressionless demeanor remaining unperturbed while he studied both boys, oar in hand.

"Well, no worries, I'll probably pay you this time."

"You said that-"

"I say, sir! What. The. Petch!?" Came a shrill squawk of indignation from behind them just now barely catching his breath after flailing his way back to the surface.

"You said that last time, Caldera, and the time before that."

"This- This is an outrage!"

"Alright, alright, Gavin, sheesh. I promise you'll be fairly compensated for your efforts. You can be so unreasonable sometimes." Elias said, finally giving in to the old man's unreasonable demands. Gavin merely grumbled something under his breath, his placid and emotionless eyes never so much as looking back before he began to push off! What followed were number of unintelligible sputterings of exacerbation and utter confusion from the drenched outsider as the ravosala sailed away with its two new passengers.

"Welcome to Ravok, asshole." Elias chuckled, waving goodbye to the fool and his irate splashing. He hadn't enjoyed himself like that in a long time, he realized much to his own amusement.

It's the little things...

[Bartholomew]

The entire Vitrax was cramped. From every-which-way came an Ebonstryfe soldier, commander, or Paladin pushing against one another to reach a destination on different sides. Bartholomew, who had not yet reached his full height by this year, was trying to forcibly push himself through while getting pushed back as well. He couldn't count the number of times he was knocked down and nearly trampled on, all the while cursing to himself of how much of a task he had. And if the crowd wasn't bad enough, the mix of sweat and other smells of the Ebonstryfe warriors left Bartholomew without perfect breathable air, meaning that while he was navigating through the mass he was also holding his breath. He may as well have been swimming through lake Ravok.

When Bartholomew noticed Elias cut into a different passageway he hurried to follow his new mentor. As he finally got a chance to breath, Elias had finally thought up the answer to Bartholomew's inquisitive question. "To work," he said, but Bartholomew was too oxygen deprived to remember why he said that. As Elias moved back into the crowd of people, Bartholomew groaned and said under his breath in the language of Tawna- "For, love, Rhysol!"Bartholomew stored a large amount of air inside his lungs then followed Elias begrudgingly, hoping that the training would start after this horrible migration was over.

When Bartholomew could once again breath he realized that he was outside of the Vitrax and in the streets of Ravok. The splashing sound of the lake never seemed so euphoric to him until then. He paused to take in more breaths of fresh air, then he checked to see if the training bastard sword he was given was still in his hand. It was, thankfully. Bartholomew would be in too much trouble if he were to lose a property of the Ebonstryfe.

Elias was to the end of the dock, talking to some person on a ravosala. Bartholomew had lost his mentor's position during the second run through the crowd and had only been moving on pure instinct and a wish to get through the mass. So, seeing Elias in front of him, turning to Bartholomew as though he wished to speak, was a big surprise.

He moved next to Elias and leaned on the training sword. Elias told him about the work that needed to be done and the short time they had to do it, adding his special finesse manner in the beginning of his speech. Bartholomew still did not understand what was going on. He only knew that they had collecting to do and little time to do it. But, what exactly were they collecting?

Elias waved at people in ravosala who then came up to him for small conversation. He asked those who did stop to speak for their papers, in an official officer tone of voice, which made Bartholomew think that they were collecting inventory on who had papers and who didn't. However, when he saw Elias kick someone off their boat, he dismissed that estimate.

"Well, what are you waiting for, initiate?" Elias said more than asked. "Get on!"

Bartholomew followed Elias orders, no longer questioning his mentor's purpose for waiting by the docks, and watched as the man who was kicked off flailed to the nearest thing to him. He was a very nice guy, Bartholomew thought, too bad he met the wrong person. As Elias laughed at the man's gullibility, he made a comment that seemed to describe everything that represented the defilers city. "Welcome to Ravok, asshole," he said, and Bartholomew repeated in tawna, without the enjoyment Elias had however, "welcome, Ravok.."

The ravosala which they hijacked began to move, against the better want of the rower. Bartholommew relaxed in his seat, finding that this was the only time which he may be able to. The position of the sun, the chirping of birds, and the energetic activity of everyone within the streets of Ravok told Bartholomew that it was still a very early time of day. So, what was it that was making Elias rush so much? Bartholomew thought about everything interesting that would happen today, but little came to mind.

"Is something happening today?" He asked Elias when he was done engaging in conversation with the ravosalaman. "There is too much activity going on within the ebonstryfe."

Bartholomew and Elias rode the ravasala for a good couple of ticks before it stopped near one of the docks of Ravok. The location of where they were was familiar to Bartholomew. His father had brought him to this specific spot whenever a new family slave were to be bought. The slave market should have been right around the corner from where they were.

Bartholomew exited the Ravosala first, allowing Elias to make more banter with the ravosalaman before saying- "I'm guessing that our collection has something to do with slaves?"

[Elias Caldera]

A grunt of acknowledgement was all Light received at first as the apprentice took his time sinking into the luxurious pillows that adorned the well worn seats of the fine vessel. Luxurious might have been a strong word truth be told, but they could be, in a sense that as long as you did your best to ignore the mystery stains and queer smells, they were at least more comfortable that sitting on the hard floor. So Elias did ignore it, and instead went about making a nest for himself in the lap of comfort while he still had a chance to. In the mean time, he left Bartholomew to his own devices

Eventually the Caldera did return his attention to Dicey, the younger boy receiving a few side long glances that, by the look of the stryfer's curled lip, were easy to discern weren't the appraising kind. It hadn't been lost on Elias that the kid had been muttering some kind of gibberish earlier, a fact which Elias had concluded meant the poor sod was likely touched in the head. The way he so nonchalantly hopped back to common later on only served to confuse and annoy the apprentice even further. He suppressed such feelings though, if only because in light of the fact the ulcer this day was already giving him didn't need anymore help than it already had. Instead he decided to simply explain the situation for the sake of the paladin's heir. He briefly elucidated on the importance of the ceremony, the ebonlord's speech, and the subsequent flurry of activity that had spurred out of everyone, including his commander who, not unlike the others, demanded all her business and affairs be tidily attended to before the day was through, lest she be found lacking in any sense among her peers, or worst yet, her superiors.

The ravosala rounded another corner as the journey through familiar city canals drifted on. At the sight of the bustle and tumult of the slave market growing closer and closer, Elias began to stir and in turn Dicey was prompted by another question. Begrudgingly, the Caldera roused himself from his rest, tossing a few coins Gavin's way before disembarking the craft and taking to solid ground once more. "Just with one who deals in them." The apprentice muttered, pointing a dark gloved finger through the crowds of slaves and citizens to specify the man they were after. He wasn't particularly difficult to find among the throngs of people with his deep violet robes and pompous turban making him stick out of the crowd of unwashed wretches he surrounded himself with. What was interesting to note however, was the almost equally purple creature he was standing next to. Intrigued, but undaunted, Elias tore his curious gaze off the both of them and turned to Dicey. "Don't speak, don't do anything stupid, watch my back, and for the love of Rhysol try and look a little bit more... less like a child whose just been given a toy sword. You're a petitioner now, carry yourself like one." Honestly, it was the best Elias could think of. He wasn't sure what else he could truly say to make the boy understand, and he knew full well hasty words alone weren't going to shape the lad into a lean, mean soldiering machine just like that. Dicey would just have to live and learn, and should anything actually go wrong, which Elias sincerely doubted considering his cordial relationship with the slaver, then at least the resulting brouhaha would prove a fitting test for the young petitioner's resolve and training thus far.

He motioned for the other boy to follow and the two descended into the loud, sweaty mass that was the slave market at its peak bells. They found their man a tick later, Elias having shoved his way through those foolish enough to be in his. The sight of the black sent most people, regardless of the indignation of being pushed aside, scurrying out of sight either out of respect or fear. By the end, a path had opened up before them leading directly to the slave merchant himself. Zarick spotted the two youngsters approaching easily enough, Elias's hard snarl leading the way with Dicey following close behind... hopefully. Though the grizzled old, white haired merchant had spied the two drawing near, he hadn't turned to address either of them, instead merely raising a quieting finger in the apprentice's direction before the teenager could speak. A lingering and overpowering interest got the better of Elias and he found himself hesitating, his eyes following that of the merchant's and falling upon the tall, purple woman the slaver was currently inspecting intently.

"Uh, like I was saying." The grimy, hunched fellow who held her chains spoke up, his eyes dancing nervously between Zarick and the newly introduced Ebonstryfe. "She's a rarity like no other, see. You'll never find something like this anywhere else. You'd be a fool- uh... I mean you'd never forgive yourself if you missed out on an opportunity of a life time like this. I came to you first out of respect, but you'd better make an offer soon while you still have a chance. I've got dozens of other buyers chomping at the bit already" Zarick spared a glance at the slaver, his company of guards doing the same as they divided their attention between the crowd, the two stryfers, and the slaver with his purple woman. The girl herself was half a head taller than almost everyone around her, and her strangely hued skin did little to detract one's attention from the beauty of her other features, most of which were barely left to the imagination thanks to the lack of clothing she was afforded. "True enough." Zarick finally responded, his hand falling away from his bearded chin. "I understand the Akalak peoples are a race of males and males alone, so to have one of their mythical female counterparts added to my collection would indeed be an opportunity one would be 'foolish' to not seize... If you speak the truth that is."

Without another word, the world wary old merchant licked his thumb and reached for the slave. Her shackles clattered quietly as she anxiously reared back, large, round eyes widening frightfully at the tan finger coming her way. Before she could escape out of reach however, the Zarick's thumb reached her cheek, and in one smooth motion, smeared the coloring upon her skin to reveal the dark, very much human flesh hidden underneath. He frowned, and with a disappointing flick of his wrist, the menagerie of angry looking bodyguards at his back rushed forward to envelope both of them before the man's terrified babbling could take the form of anything other than a gargled scream.

With his unfortunate business done, Zarick turned cheerfully to Elias, bowing ever so slightly as he did so. "Caldera, I'd say it was good to see you again, but as it is likely you've come to take my money away from me, such words would not entirely ring true. You've seen how I distaste lying." He nodded his head towards the savage beating happening not a few yards away from their conversation. Having seen the entire thing transpire first hand, the apprentice simply shrugged, not at all inclined to help the wretched fool escape the punishment he justly deserved. "A shame that." He said, looking over to where the painted slave lay on the ground, cowering next to her bloodied master. Her purple skin was now a mess of bright red bruises and smudged coloring. "I can only imagine the envy you'd have garnered had she lived up to her promise."

"Yes, well-" Zarrick's deepening frown fractured the calm, practice smile Elias was so accustomed to dealing with when it came to usually composed older man. Before the slave lord could finish his thought however, a shout rung out from somewhere off to their right, cutting through the noise of crowds and catching both of their attentions in an instant. Elias's eyes soon honed in on the sprinting form of a young man pushing his way through the throngs of ravokians as he recklessly rushed passed and through slave and master alike. The apprentice didn't need to hear what the shouting said to recognize what the sight of a slave making his escape looked like.

"Rhysol!" Zarick cursed, his eyes squinting profusely at the ruckus. "That's one of mine!" The old merchant spun around, roaring and yelling at his men to stop what they were doing and get back to work, but both he and the apprentice could clearly see none of them would be able to untangle themselves from the fray quick enough to chase down the slave in time. Zarick turned to Elias, fire in his haggard green eyes, but Elias was looking to Dicey before the man had a chance to make his plea. He already knew what had to be done.

"Time to prove your worth, petitioner. Catch that slave!"

Ugh...Shyke post is shyke, sorry.

[Bartholomew]

"Just with one who deals in them," Elias answered Bartholomew in a low mumble. Every time this kid talked, Bartholomew could continue to sense the irritation in his voice. Now, Bartholomew was deciding whether it would be even wise to say anything at all or keep all thoughts to himself. He was also contemplating how much he could get away with it if he began yelling at Elias. Would Elias start a fight if Bartholomew did? Could Bartholomew take Elias if a fight between the two happened? Was Bartholomew strong enough?

In the end, Bartholomew just decided to go with the quiet approach and did as Elias suggested. He would earn Elias's respect soon by action anyway.

Before Elias and Bartholomew walked into another crowd of people, Bartholomew decided to use his shirt as a scabbard for his practice sword. He placed the blade tip of he sword in the back of his collar, then ripped a hole in his shirt so that the blade tip of the sword could stick out. That would hold for now, and keep his hands free for other vigorous activities to come.

As petitioner and the ebonstryfe soldier walked through the crowd, Elias had begun shoving people out of his way. Bartholomew knew that following Elias would lead to less strain on his part, since his trainer was making a clear path for him. However, soon- out of respect or fright- people were making their own path for Bartholomew and Elias to follow. The younger of the two boys was secretly smiling at how these people quickly made way for him and his trainer. It gave him a feeling of power which he rarely ever had.

As they headed towards what looked to be a slave selling, a man with a white beard quickly shushed Elias before he could say a word. Bartholomew stayed behind Elias while he watched the auction happen.

A man was standing next to a woman with purple coloring. Chains bounded both the woman's hands and feet. She looked utterly terrified, but the man who was in the process of selling her looked even more so. He spoke of how foolish the white haired man would be for not buying a woman of this rarity. Bartholomew could tell that her skin was most indeed exotic, but he saw no other rarity among this woman. He wondered if the color alone was enough to make her worth something grand.

The white haired man said, "True enough. I understand the Akalak peoples are a race of males and males alone, so to have one of their mythical female counterparts added to my collection would indeed be an opportunity one would be 'foolish' to not seize.."

Bartholomew studied the word- A-ka-lack? He never heard of it or seen a race that carried that title before; but, apparently it was a race devoid of women. So, did that make this woman one of the most rarest beings in this world? If so, Bartholomew wondered, how did this man go a long time without having someone else or the Akalak's killing him and taking the woman? Bartholomew thought that something was wrong with this picture, but he held his tongue as Elias instructed him to do.

"If you speak the truth that is," the old white haired man finally said. He then licked his thumb and reached over towards the female. She flinched at his touch, but was too slow to avoid it. As soon as the man touched her, a new spot filled with dark skin replaced where purple coloring had been.

That wasn't a smart idea, Bartholomew thought to himself as both the slave seller and the slave were beaten by guards. He would have been happy to see the slave seller take a beating if it were not for the fact that the slave was also being beaten for his stupidity. Bartholomew thought of stopping this and jumping in to fight, but kept himself at bay and behind Elias instead.

That's it Barth. Be a little doggy and listen to the pompous stryfer. Fighting back is my job, a sudden voice inside Bartholomew's head said. It twisted and twirled the world around him, giving him a massive headache as its condescending words landed home. Shadow? Bartholomew wondered while feeling the wind nearly leave his system.

He was in a trance, one that was nearly forcing him to pass out. Nothing else around him was causing him to feel this way, so there had to be something wrong with his inner systems. He shook his head rapidly, even though he was given the effects of a headache. All at once every feeling went away, leaving Bartholomew dazed in confusion while he tried to figure out what went wrong.

His daze was broken by a sudden fit of screams coming from the side of him. Bartholomew turned to see a slave running as fast as he could away from the crowd of people gathered at the slave market. The bearded man who Elias came to meet said-"That's one of mine!" Elias looked at Bartholomew with a devious look, one which he would willingly admit to not liking.

"Time to prove your worth, petitioner. Catch that slave!" Elias ordered, which brought about a sigh to Bartholomew. However, before he could hear Elias deliver another insulting remark, Bartholomew ran forward as though he was chasing this slave because he stoled Bartholomew's money.

His weight was slowed a little due to the fact that he was carrying the giant bastard sword on his back. Even still, he was catching up to this slave very fast. In accounts of speed it appeared that Bartholomew was faster, of course, how could the other be faster when he was starving and shackled? The slave turned to the corner of the next dock streets very quickly, but it appeared to Bartholomew that he was slowly realizing that this place was nothing but a long line of one street. Of course, he could always swim to get away, but then he would need to face the apparent monster that rested underneath the lake. There was also the fact that swimming was a dangerous task when a persons hands were shackled.

The slave who appeared as a skinny starving man ran past many padestrians, knocking some over into the lake. Bartholomew wanted to stop and help them, however, he had a job to do.

As the man looked as though he was getting very tired, he stopped suddenly then ran into an alley. Bartholomew figured that he was finally giving up his run and decided to fight, which was great for Bartholomew because he didn't think that he would survive this run any longer.

As Bartholomew wheeled around the corner, he suddenly saw what looked to be a fist head towards his way. It made contact with him, which made Bartholomew tumble to the ground. He couldn't urge himself to get up for some reason. It was as though Bartholomew had lost all connection to his body. He tried his hardest to focus his eyes on the view in front of him. A few people were watching him, a look of awe splattered on their face. The lake was making heavy sounds as boats and winds disturbed it into wild motions. Bartholomew tried to focus his sight and his hearing, but the light from his eyes faded as quick as the sounds from the world did. Within a few moments, Bartholomew Dicey had fallen unconscious...

...However, something else took over. The body of Bartholomew slowly lifted itself from the ground. It looked around the area, at every face that seemed to stare at it. They sickened it, and it looked upon this sea of moronic imbeciles with disgust and detestation. Although, their stupidity were not the ones that made Bartholomew's body want to puke from just a glimpse.

No... That honor was bestowed upon the dumbarse that sat in the alleyway, catching his breath as though he was safe from a great ordeal of pain that he would have likely experienced had he stayed a slave.

He thought he was safe, but he was far from it. He was about to experience a new sort of hell which no one would ever want to go through.

It is my job to fight back. It is might job to make them hurt, It said under its breath in the language of Tawna.

The slave huffed violently as he looked at the sadistic smile that Bartholomew's lips formed. He rose quickly to meet It, and It took that chance to draw the practice sword from It's shirt. "I prefer my swords to be a little more stabby," It said in a taunting tone, shifting Bartholomew's body into the proper bastard sword stance. "But I think this will be enough to ki- er, mortally wound you."

The slave looked angry. He cracked his knuckles to show that he meant business, stemming a response from Bartholomew's body to say- "Oooooh. Now I'm really scared." The slave wasted no other time, wanting to shut Bartholomew up, and rushed in to give Bartholomew another knock out punch.

Bartholomew's body lightly gripped It's sword and positioned itself into a good rib hitting form. The slave pulled his fist back and prepared for contact. However, before the slave could get his punch in, Bartholomew's body sent the tip of it's bastard blade into the shin of the slave. The punch still carried through; though, it was weaker than before. Bartholomew's body still fell to the wooden ground, but was able to rise with less injury. Unlike the slave, who fell into a fetal position to gently cater his knee.

Bartholomew's body rose up and licked the sweet blood that poured from It's lips. Bartholomew's body began to walk around the cringing slave now. While It did so, it kept repeating the words what to do, what to do, what to do. It did not sound like It was asking an actual question, more like taunting the slave.

It had to make sure that the slave never stood up again. So It aimed for another pressure point within the slaves toes. Bartholomew's body stomped the tip of It's practice blade on the slaves foot, causing the slave to shriek in complete pain and terror. Bartholomew's body enjoyed the sound the slave made. The moans of pain and screams gave It a euphoria that was much stronger than that of an orgasm. If no one interrupted this scene, this slave would begin to experience torture unlike any other.

[Dove Brown]

Your Grades!
Brought to you on the wings of a Dove!

Please remember to edit your grading request. If you have any questions, comments or concerns regarding your grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM.

Name: Elias Caldera
XP Award:

• Medicine 1
• Rhetoric 1
• Socialisation 3
• Observation 4
• Unarmed Combat 1
• Subterfuge 1
• Negotiation 1

Lore:

• Don't rub at wounds
• Slaves are an extension of their master
• Lots of black for the Ebonstryfe
• Dicey: fresh meat in a viper's nest
• The signs of an escaping slave

Notes: Enjoy your grades.


Name: Bartholomew
XP Award:

• Example 1
• Example 2

Lore:

• Example 1
• Example 2

Notes: Grade withheld due to inactivity