The Auction House

[Letho]

After listening to the exchange between the vendor and the interested buyers, it didn't take Letho much to come to a conclusion regarding the blade. It was a cursed object, with a potential to be downright vile if it got in the wrong hands, and these things always managed to get to someone who liked to kill men by the dozens. The blade wasn't something that should be used, not even stowed away, but melted down, it's sentience destroyed.

"Eight hundred!" It was a small price to pay for the safety of some poor soul that could wind up being sacrificed to satisfy the cursed blade.

[Lord Anglekos]

He could almost taste the power oozing from the dark blade in the auctioneer's hands. He could also taste the disdain the sentience within the weapon held for him; despite being calmed, it still held a grudge towards the young man whom had insulted it so casually. That suited Anglekos just fine; it was kindred to the dark rage Lorenor had infected him with. A door had been opened within the swordsman that day he'd struck a deal with the devil, and it couldn't be closed now; he'd gone too far, and sacrificed too much, to go back on his word now.

If he ever wanted to see Amalia again, his only bet was power. It didn't matter, truly, how he attained it; he was already tainted with the blood of innocents. It was only right that he should be the wielder of such a dark weapon, that demanded even more blood; he would do anything to see her again, alive and smiling.

It called to him, eager to feast upon his life-force, and he called silently back. This Blade of Death would be his.

A deep voice off to his right, however, broke Anglekos's thoughts, and the youth's clear, azure eyes snapped forth to the owner of the voice. A man stood there; familiar to the warrior. Very familiar. With widened eyes, Eric realized it was the very man that he had slain not a month ago, upon first coming to Radasanth to prove his might in the Citadel. He'd been greeted, instead, by a creature; a blood beast, that shapeshifted into the forms of several warriors.

The man standing before him had been the first, and Eric had put two arrows of lightning into the creature's head. Rage flowed through his veins, bidden forth by the fact that this man with graying hair and calm, piercing eyes would dare to try and take what was his. Reason fled as his hand went for the blade at his side, ready to draw forth Pardolaes and once more cut the stranger down. He'd done so once before, he convinced himself silently; he could do it again.

Before his fingers could wrap around the wire-covered hilt of the Elven blade, however, they briefly touched something far softer, and his glowing eyes darted down to find them entangled in the hair of Amalia, tied around the blade that was her namesake. Tied like a tassel to the hilt of the steel sword, he paused as the rage fled him as quickly as it had come, momentarily retreating as a sort of sad calm washed over him. Yes, he had slain this man before, but that had only been with the element of surprise; he'd forgotten the creature had also almost taken his head as well. Before the actual warrior standing there, Eric was an ant to a dragon. He would wait; the stranger had not bidden too high. He could still do this.

The hand dropped, now hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, and Eric took to simply staring at the older warrior who now was his competition. "Nine hundred." He spoke, only loud enough to be barely heard by the auctioneer and the old man before him.

[Letho]

Young folk... Always so hungry for more power.

Not that Letho blamed them. Back in the day when his hair wasn't gray and he didn't have more than his sword and the clothes on his back, he too coveted such items. It was a race with an invisible opponent, always trying to become better, faster, stronger, always looking for that edge that he could use against the belligerent world around him. It was a fool's errand of course, and one that blinded you to the most obvious things, but he didn't know it then just like this young man probably didn't know it now. Because that's what youth does. It makes you bold. Makes you foolish. And if you're not lucky, it makes you dead in a hurry.

"Let us make it an even thousand," Letho said, his eyes unrelenting under the young man's glare. There was audacity in that gaze, but it was the same kind of boldness that the Marshal saw countless times before. Young folk with illusions of grandeur usually had it when they rushed headlong into their death.

"You should let it go, boy," he said to his competitor for the blade. "This thing is bound to bring naught but woe."

[Lord Anglekos]

Still his opponent would not give. The price was rising, but it was nothing compared to the price of his soul; money could be regained. His life, however, could not. Eric met the other man's gaze with the sort of youthful fierceness that men his age were often associated with, defying the fact that the other buyer was far more experienced and knowledgeable than he. But the stranger was not him. He didn't know what Anglekos had to sacrifice to get where he was, didn't know just whom he'd made deals with just to bring back a flicker of hope.

"I raise it to one thousand, two hundred." He spoke to the auctioneer out of sight, whom was looking upon the pair with interest; after all, this relative kid was challenging the theoretical might of the great Letho Ravenheart, even though Eric knew nothing about him. It was still quite the spectacle, as the crowd had moved away from the almost tangible antagonism emanating from the swordsman's body, creating a clearing about the two warriors, old and young.

"Woe? Don't be a fool." Eric snarled slightly at Letho, the anger that he'd been infected with arising once again slightly to touch his vocal cords. "That is all a blade is for; to bring woe. To cut, to slice, to kill." Openly, he laid one hand upon the hilt of not his better mythril blade, but instead Amalia, wrapping the tassel of hair around his hand. "Anyone knows that well enough; I, you, even him!" Anglekos sharply extended one hand out to the crowd, unaware he'd pointed directly at the tall, silent form of Dan Lag'ratham, who was watching this exchange with his one gray eye and one blue eye with devious interest.

Dropping his hand, he stared furiously at the man who would so belittle his rush for power. He could see in those eyes a sort of pity, as if the stranger knew him, knew where he was going with this. The man knew nothing. "You're the one who should let it go, old-timer. Your time has come and gone; what are you going to do with the darkness within that blade? Would you be so noble and store it away into a place where no one can find it? Or would you seek to tame that power for your own?" Subtly, he shifted one foot backwards, his stance unconsciously one of a tense defensive.

"I am no fool. I know exactly what I am getting into." Eric glared slightly, and from his left eye smoke began to arise; blue, clear smoke that dissipated upon hitting the oxygen. "Do you?"

[Letho]

So headstrong and cocksure... reminds me of a lad I used to know.

The young man was making a show out of it, rising the price even further and adding a fair share of acid through his words. And the crowd was drinking it all up the way they always did, eager to sit on the sidelines while people exchanged words. Or punches. Didn't really matter as long as they were getting their money's worth. Now their eyes were on the aging swordsman, expectant of his response to this verbal challenge.

Back propped against the shanty wall, Letho's face was calm, unfazed. He was on the fence regarding this little affair, trying to decide between giving the lad a clout behind the ear, continue with this ultimately meaningless bidding, or just shrug it all off and walk away. But Letho Ravenheart was too old for pointless fights and too proud to bow down.

"Blades are tools; they choose not what they bring into this world. But this one has something vile sleeping inside of it. And I plan to destroy it," the Marshal calmly spoke, still unmoving. The staring contest between him and the fiery young man continued, Letho unsure whether it was anger on the other side or just youthful sulking. In the end it didn't matter.

"I almost like you, kid. You got steel in you. But this thing is bad news and frankly I do not trust you to wield it." And to the auctioneer he said: "One thousand, four hundred."

[Slayer of the Rot]

"Good god. Are you serious? You're going to drop all that gold down on the thing and then just destroy it?! And here I thought you could appreciate a good weapon like I can." Dan was unable to keep silent anymore, and walked into the widening gap between the young swordsman and the marshall, wiping blood off his cheek. He had been a little surprised at the accuracy of the kid's claims, as well as when he'd point him out amongst all of the others in the Auction House. Letho, however, was right as well - this blade was special, not a mere tool, but to simply destroy it made Dan sick to his stomach with the mere thought. Destroying it alone could be reckless as it was - it didn't take much research to know Letho wasn't some cleric capable of exorcisms. Melting or breaking the thing could just release the spirit of vengeance inside of it into the world, creating worst problems than a blade that wanted to stab the shit out of everyone in the surrounding mile radius.

"You can't possibly be that arrogant to think that you can just...destroy something like that. What the blade needs is a master with some balls. Someone with enough strength to dominate the bastard." He grinned widely at the marshall, a bit of wonder growing inside of his mind. 'Is this what it looks like when humans age?' It had been some time since the frenzied melee on the ziggurate trapped in black nothing. Perhaps it was because he did not age, something of a disinterest or apathy. He didn't remember the man's hair being so gray. Nor he could he recall those lines beneath the dark brown eyes...even if Letho tried to tame the blade instead of destroying it, Dan didn't think he had the virility to wrestle such a stubborn thing into submission anymore.

"Don't worry Letho, ol' Sei Orlouge made me join the Pussycat Dolls - er, Ixian Knights. I just kill the bad guys now. Scout's honor, sugarbritches." Dan turned his head towards Travis just as his sliced eyelid sowed itself shut shut. He sighed happily, and blinked, then threw an arm up.

"Fifteen hundred. Hmm..." He looked down at the boy who'd been bidding against Letho, and cocked his head slightly to the side. "You know...I'm feeling downright jolly since I won this eye. It's just beautiful. So...feeling as generous as I am...maybe we can work something out. What's your name, kid?"

[Lord Anglekos]

Anger still flowed within the swordsman's veins; especially now that he'd been out-bid so easily. But even he had to play by the rules of the game, and this battle couldn't be won by blade or other steel. So he let his hand drop from the hilt of his sword, and prepared to turn, when a new voice entered the fray, causing him to give pause.

He turned, and saw yet another familiar face; a warrior that the beast of blood had also turned into. With one eye blue and another eye gray, the scarred warrior before him towered, imposing, over the youth.

"...Anglekos." Eric spoke sharply to the stranger; for this man claimed to be part of the Ixian Knights, but who knew these days. "Yours?"

[Letho]

"Dan Lagh'ratham" Letho said, allowing a smirk. He wasn't overly familiar with the ill-reputed man, but they had met once in the Citadel and it was a battle that the swordsman could seldom forget. How could he when Dan gave him one of the worst beatings in his life? He was weakened then, sure, but that didn't change the fact that he shot and cut the man (if he even was a man), and still he refused to give in. If he pushed aside this monstrous side of Dan he had met, he could almost respect him.

"So, these Ixian Knights put you right back on the straight and narrow, aye? Just like that?" the Marshal said, unconvinced. Letho heard of these self-proclaimed knights, and even met their leader once. And the fact was that they were not exactly honorable men and certainly not knights, but renegades, operating outside the law and causing as many fires as they extinguish. "In all honesty, I would trust them with this blade no more than I would trust you. It is a risk I do not want to take. So let us stop playing around."

And to the man up front he raised two fingers and said: "Two thousand."

[Lord Anglekos]

The young swordsman glanced over at his 'opponent', blue eyes narrowing in slight disbelief. It was obvious that the old-timer and this "Dan Lag'ratham" knew each; if not under the best of circumstances, they at least did so well enough to sling insults with little care. When "Letho" spoke of his distrust of the Ixian Knights, Eric was honestly unsurprised, and found that he could not blame the warrior, for in fact his very own team was led by a demon of all things; a bloodthirsty monster in all respects. Thus, he did not take offense at the older man's comments of his group, but merely held his tongue in silence while the other rose the bid even higher.

Two thousand, for a knife and a gauntlet. Honestly, it was getting a little ridiculous; even for an enchanted item of great worth such as that dagger, to drop that amount of cash on it was astounding. Still, the dark weapon called to Eric's soul, promising power; power that would allow him to see his Amalia again. He could not let this chance slip away to the hands of a self-proclaimed do-gooder like this Letho.

Once again, Eric glanced up at the other stranger whom stepped up to the plate; the one that Letho had so graciously labeled as "Dan Lag'ratham". It was a long and elegant name, and he briefly thought that it had origins the same as his own. For a few silent moments, Eric studied the man, including what he'd already seen.

When this "Dan" had entered the Bazaar to bid, he'd nearly caused a mass panic. People shuddered at the sight of him, and only his words had caused the guards to stand down. So obviously he was a man of dark reputation. And indeed, furthermore, Anglekos had seen the man rip his own eye out; a bloody act that had startled, Eric thought, even the auctioneer with the sheer uninhibited ferocity of it. Calmly the tall stranger had placed the item he had bought within the eye socket, and now grinned with one glowing blue eye and one clear gray one at the youthful swordsman beneath him.

If this man was a benefactor, Eric thought to himself, he was a dangerous one. But then again, he was used to such dangers, as part of his soul now was owned by the creature Lorenor. So, turning away, he took the initiative once more, without thinking to consult his new....'ally'.

"Two thousand, seven hundred." Eric called out confidently and calmly, sheathing his anger away the same as he would a blade. "A combined bid between myself and this Lag'ratham fellow." Turning his head slightly, the swordsman now spoke to his newfound comrade. "Is that fine with you?"

[Letho]

Only in the world of today do people pay to get their souls doomed. It was a sinister thought, but one that rang true nonetheless. Dark powers were like a magnet, tugging on a person until he or she finally gave in. This Angelkos lad probably wasn't a bad apple (something that Letho couldn't say for Dan), and he probably didn't plan to go on butchering folk just for the fun of it. But chances were that he would end up doing just that with this blade in his hands. And like any good pusher, Dan was that to enable that possibility.

Letho shook his head, both to announce that he would bid no more for this item and to express... was it disappointment? Didn't really matter. He didn't have enough coin on his person to pursue this any further, and if he went home for the rest of his stash, the blade would be long gone. And was there someone to offer to pitch in on his side of the fence? Of course not. Because that's how the world worked. People would rather watch a bad thing happen than move a finger to prevent it. It was an uphill battle against an avalanche that Letho faced every bloody day.

"I reckon it is foolish to hope that you two will split the blade down the middle after the auction?" Letho said, finally pushing away from the wall. His face betrayed the smallest of smirks, barely a crack in his face in the midst of his facial hair. "Figured as much. Well, I wish you luck with it, kid, and I do mean that. Because if that thing turns you, we shall meet again."

Not waiting for a response, he shouldered his way through the gathered spectators and disappeared into the crowd.