The Reluctant: Vla'toros

[Letho]

Given the weather-worn exterior and the fact that their fight was supposed to be a mere pretense, Letho expected a rather mellow strike from Roscar. That was probably the reason why the punch caught him completely off guard and unprepared, the muscles of his abdomen rather loose instead flexed in order to dampen the impact. So while the attack itself was rather harmless, the element of surprise was genuine and in a flash the Corone Marshal was sprawled in the dry dirt. Myrhia screamed at this outcome, her wide-eyed concern playing an essential part in the whole charade as she bounded to Letho’s fallen form.

“Oh my god! Letho, are you alright?” she asked, trying to help him up. Roscar’s victorious bawl came like insult to injury, and while Letho appreciated the acting, the fact that Myrhia was addressed as a whore nearly made him give the old man a taste of real battle. There was no vileness behind those words, of course, but there was a difference between playing a role and an overkill. So when he got up and dusted of – the redhead’s tiny hands aiding him in this process – the frown on his face was not something he put on just for show. Unluckily for his anger – and luckily for their mission – a pair of workers was eager to give a helping hand at dealing with Roscar, capturing the rebellious man and taking him away. Maybe one of them read Letho’s frown and the emotions behind it because the demon punched the gray-haired man straight in the jaw. Letho grinned. It was a double victory. The insurgents swallowed the bait and Roscar got popped in the jaw.

“Yeah, I’m good. He’s quite spry for a graybeard.” the Marshal said, watching as the two potential saboteurs disappeared behind the corner of a half-built house, dragging Roscar fiercely. “We should get back to the construction site. It’s up to him now.”

“Is he’s going to be alright?” Myrhia asked, seriously worried as they started walking forward and away from the prison complex. It would be too obvious if they just returned the way they came.

“I don’t know. But he’s the only one we could use as a double agent.” Letho spoke, leading the way in a random direction, then taking two right turns and setting them on a route back to their site. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Roscar. He seems like he’s been around the block a couple of times. I think he knows how to handle himself behind enemy lines. He’ll play his part and we have to play ours, which means doing some actual work around here.”

He was serious about the work too. As soon as the pair returned to the unfinished prison, Letho took off first his weapons holster from his back, then his overcoat and his dark green shirt which left him in a sleeveless linen undershirt that hid little of his bulk. He hated having idle hands, even if he was supposed to have just that while being a foreman. But instead of sitting on his ass and shouting orders, the Corone Marshal accepted the manual labor with no scruples whatsoever. Carrying wooden beams, large building stones, working shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the workers and issuing strict orders when orders were due. Needless to say, Myrhia was rather overjoyed by this, seeing her man flex and stretch and sweat, especially once he took off his undershirt and was left in just his pants. He didn’t allow her to laze around and ogle though. Instead, she was the watermaiden, walking around with a large bucket and a spatula, preventing dehydration of the laborers. Still, her eyes seldom left Letho’s imposing figure and she walked with a permanent blush caused by a desire that the two of them get private quarters at the end of the day.

After what seemed like endless hours to Myrhia whose arms and shoulders ached from lumbering the heavy bucket, a sound of a distant bell resounded through the entire city in the making, declaring the end of another day. Despite a rather rough start, it has been a good day. Letho got acquainted with most of the workers, gaining their respect, becoming one of the guys just enough to share a laugh with them, but not so much that they wouldn’t take his orders seriously. However, the construction work was just half of the job that the Marshal did. His eyes were open all the time, singling out individuals that seemed suspicious, catching every glance and gesture that seemed out of place or seemed to have more then one meaning. So in the end, it was a rather fruitful day for Letho Ravenheart.

To Myrhia’s hidden joy, there was a secluded tent that was meant to be used by the foreman. Compared to the large rotund one where the workers slept, it seemed in a significantly better shape, though obviously meant for just one person. Behind it, patched up from what seemed like jagged wooden boards that were extra in the construction, was a makeshift outdoors shower with a tin container above filled with cool water. It was under the calm torrent of artificially created drops that Letho and Myrhia stood, both naked as the day they were born, washing down the sweat of each other’s bodies. Myrhia’s back were turned to the massive Marshal, her tiny form hunched slightly forward as he massaged her shoulders. Each time his fingers passed over the knots below her skin, she whimpered a little bit.

“Oh, that’s good. I forgot how hard it was working the entire day.” she said, closing her eyes and reveling in both the touch of his fingers and the myriad of cold drops.

“I kind of like it. It’s simple and yet fulfilling. Just seeing something growing one brick at the time...” he said, his thumb passing over her shoulder blade, eliciting another audible sigh. He loved her back, loved massaging it, caressing it, loved every scar on her pale skin. At first, she was too coy, too ashamed of this imperfection caused by the whips of her former slave master, but months of Letho’s constant reassuring eased her mind.

“Easy for you.” Myrhia retorted, rinsing her long, mahogany hair that fell over her modest chest. “Unlike you, I can’t like lift a live bull above my head without breaking a sweat.”

“And even if you could, what would you do with a bull?” he teased, nipping at her shoulder with his lips.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” she responded, her lips smiling widely at his intimate touch. She sighed and leant backwards, allowing him to envelop her with his muscular arms. “I wonder how’s Roscar doing.”

[Roscar Palidyne]

Taking a deep breath, and waiting a while after the two demons had left, Roscar emerged himself from the safespot that he and the other two had spoken their words. Roscar wondered where he should go to continue working. Not back to the prison area, he couldn't be seen by Letho or that could compromise his position with them. Suddenly a coarse voice called to him.

"Hey you old dreg! Git your ass over here."

Roscar, warily, proceeds to the man who called him, who happened to be giving him appraising looks. He had seen the scene with him and Letho, and he could see the bruise starting to develop on the chin of Roscar's battle-worn face. This caused a grin to come over the man.

"Enjoy your beatin', ya old bastard?"

Roscar doesn't say anything. Even though it was a charade, the whole blasted thing, it still didn't do much to save his pride.

"Well we won't have none of that insubordination crap here. One pipe outta you and we'll have the guards run ya through, get me gramps? Now grab those stones. You're our new liftin' boy."

What followed was a long and tedious day of blistering menial labor, ear-aching orders from a overzealous foreman, and harrowing glares from his work crew. Not a one of them said anything to him, but he didn't have to watch them to feel the prickly stares and the cold comments that his coworkers threw at him behind his back. Roscar could only imagine that these men had respect for Letho Ravenheart, and Roscar had pushed the wrong buttons. He wasn't against hard work, but he was against social walls being put up against him, especially when it wasn't his direct choices which caused it. The situation was frustrating, but he guessed this was the world of being a spy: carefully setting up a lie and accepting the given consequences.

As night finally and thankfully fell, Roscar's old and aching body only wanted to reach the comfort of his single bed amongst the cramped workmen's quarters. But his mission had to come before his weariness, and instead of exiting the cave when the work whistle blew he inconspicuously made his way towards the branched off caves. The spaces got more narrow as he proceeded further in, and there existed more forks and turns in the path to further confuse and dismay those unlucky enough to not have a map. This space would definitely make a good secret hide-out for a guerilla group, this was certain.

Many minutes of navigating the twisted crimson-filmed caverns finally leads to a new area. This one was obviously special because of the crates and barrels, not to mention the men who were sifting through them. Most of the people were demons, but there were some humans and elves as well, sifting through the storage items and making marks to checklists. Roscar was in the midst of some organized project, though what their plans were was uncertain. In the back of the room, Roscar could vaguely make out the shapes of the same demons he had encountered earlier that day. One other demon was with them, conversing about something, and as Roscar came closer he began to make out the words moving from their mouths.

"......So that's how much we've gathered."

"Excellent. Soon we will make it happen. Great work, gentlemen."

The one who Roscar didn't know lifts his head as he notices Roscar, gauging the old man. Without a word, he looks back at the two demon "workers", who turn to Roscar and nod back to the other demon. He smiles and walks over to Roscar, who had stopped in his tracks as soon as he was noticed. There was a confidence about this demon. His voice was somewhat raspy, but the quality and projection of his voice was the quality of a smooth talking leader. This very well was the brain of this organization. His eyes meet Roscar's as if a challenge was being made.

"Race Baron, right? One of your hobbies is knocking out famed warriors like the ranger Letho Ravenheart, or so I've heard. But you seem a little too far gone for such acts."

Alright, don't wanna mess this up. Be the man who knocked out Letho.

Roscar meets the demon's thrown gauntlet with his own flash of self-assurance and a grin to match it. He cracks his knuckles, looking reminiscent of the said events with a look of slight nostalgia.

"The young little punk is just a bunch of hot air, in my opinion. Mere seconds was all it took for him to be eating the dirt my boots had just tread on. It was a good thing those two interfered in time," Roscar extends his finger to the two familiar demons who were watching from the back, "Otherwise, we might not have had a Ravenheart to talk about."

This caused the demon to laugh heartily, his raspy guffaws echoing through the entirety of the cave section. The other two in the back snickered a little. Roscar maintained a slight chuckle to go along with the mood, but otherwise stayed stand-offish and cocky. Once the charismatic demon leader had regained his senses, his slitted yellow eyes looked straight into Roscar's with his hand extended, which is accepted with a firm, stiff shake.

"Oh, I think you'll fit in fine, Race. Just fine. I am Duros vlor' Sharack, and I am the overseer of everything you see before you. Do you know what we are?"

Roscar didn't know. However, he was not about to relay that, but at the same time he did not want to say he did, just in case he got caught in his own lie. By the passionate gleam that was starting to develop in Duros's eyes, it was clear that the demon leader was working himself up to a long-winded speech, and Roscar wasn't about to stop him. So, in response, Roscar maintained his silence, only slightly nodding.

"Visionaries. Revolutionaries. Prophets. We are dreamers, Race, but we're the kind of dreamers who are willing to get out of their beds and make that portrait a reality. What we see is a bright future for the demon race. Not one deep below the earth, shamefully hidden under countless miles of earth. No, we want one where our the peaks of our towers reach high into the sky, shadowing the rest of the world under its glory!"

His words were full of impassioned gestures and movements. He wasn't lying....and if he was, he was fooling himself too. It would take a lot of alcohol in Roscar's system to call Duros a fool or a liar. Roscar continued listening.

"But to do this, we must wipe the slate clean. We must forget about the rest of our history. We must accept that we have been driven from the place we used to call home. In fact, I think it was a blessing, the dwarven invasion. But it's thoughts like these that shower constant criticism over me, a constant torrent of resentment over my idealisms because of close-minded ignorant pigs. Why anyone would ever want to live in that red-glazed prison Haidia is beyond me, but that's over now. The only sensical step is to move on. Or, so you'd think."

Duro's eyes move to look around the very walls that surrounded him. A slight disgust roams over his visage, and his fists clench.

"However, these.....fools won't let go of the past. Vla'toros is dead, and yet they scrounge to revive it. It's pathetic. Why can't they see? The demons must unite together, not separate themselves into "old" and "new". So that's where we come in, Race. We're going to save the demon race, and you're going to help us. And don't worry.....you will be compensated for your work. We have many connections."

With this, Duros stops and turns back to Roscar. It seemed he was awaiting some sort of confirmation. Roscar obliged as soon as he realized, smiling as if the sound of "compensation" was a revitalizing sentiment.

"Sounds good."

With this, another laugh erupts out of Duros. Even without the long-winded speech of an insane life pursuit, the laughs alone could give off that this Duros was an absolutely insane individual. He wondered why wackos could never laugh at things that were supposed to be laughable.

"Well Race, I don't want to take up too much of your time. You look tired and beat anyway, and we'll need all our men one hundred percent. Go on, get your rest, old warrior. We'll have a job for you to do tomorrow."

Roscar turns without a word to start his way back through the winding tunnels, but a last remark by Duros stops Roscar in his tracks and sends a slight shiver down his spine. He just hoped it didn't show.

"Oh, and don't try anything. I like you, and I like your spunk for an old guy, but that doesn't mean I fully trust you either. Just a friendly warning, Race."

Roscar whips back around with an evil grin.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to tell my good friend and foreman Letho about ya."

The sounds of demons cracking up in laughter is the last sound that Roscar hears echo through the cave as he makes his way out of the "visionary" hideout. By the time he got out to breathe full fresh night air, it had to be at least midnight. Dragging his body, weary from work and from the stress that spying was having on him, Roscar makes his way through the tents, his eyes laying upon a single tent. It was big for a single lodging, so it could very well be where Letho was staying. Roscar could make his way in, shove out a few key words, and be out within the span of a couple minutes, and surely nobody could be the wiser. Surely. Roscar looks around the starlit blackness around him, and isn't able to make out any figures among the countless rows of tents. Roscar sighs, and with some effort finds his way to the cramped crews quarters instead. He wasn't willing to risk it all yet. He didn't know enough to stop these guys, not really. He wasn't even truly sure of what they were up to. An early morning was awaiting for Roscar's sore body. He would just have to see what the next day brought, and what "work" they'd have him do.

[Letho]

Even though under the showers Myrhia seemed to be in the mood for fooling around, when she was finally freshly bathed, massaged and cuddled in Letho’s arms, she fell asleep in a matter of minutes. Heavy manual labor was not something she was equipped for – and something she shouldn’t be doing anyways – with her scrawny constitution so when they finally called it a day, her aching muscles felt like they were cooling down after the work got them red hot. Letho didn’t mind. Even though all the hoisting and carrying and bending was a mere light workout for him, he didn’t fail to notice how much she tried during the entire day to do her utmost. The redhead was doing her share the best she could and she deserved a sound slumber. Besides, a half-open tent in the middle of a construction yard wasn’t exactly a proper location for some rolling in the hay.

***

It was hard to determine when the night ended and the morning occurred this deep in the caves. The scarlet illumination that the crystal of the Haidia cave still emanated was a constant and the cave entrance was faced westwards which meant that the first rays of sun penetrated the dimness of the cave only in the afternoon. This turned a regular day in Vla’toros a rather peculiar event, where during the first half the scarlet color dominated the scenery only to get some real, natural opposition after the sun passed its zenith and started dipping towards the west, peeking inside the cave mouth. That was why a large bell was installed in the center of the future city, large enough for its sound to resound through the entire site.

Letho was up before the bell though. He had an internal watch, honed unto him by years of wandering, and it was correct even while he resided in the bowels of the earth. So when the bell rang and echoed in the gigantic cave, the Corone Marshal was already fully clothed and on his feet, carrying a tray with some scrambled eggs and milk back to the tent where Myrhia stubbornly refused to get up at the bell call. Her tiny body rolled over, her hands clutching the pillow and pulling in it over her ears as she grunted in discontent. This always made the grumpy swordsman smile, this desire of hers for five more minutes that made him regret that he wasn’t in the sack with her. But it was a new workday and it wasn’t keen on catering to her sleeping habits.

“Myri, time to get up.” he said, squatting in front of the tent and moving the flap away with the tray balanced in his free hand. At first she didn’t seem like she heard him, static with the covers snuggled close. He decided to give her another wake up call. Tucking the flap over the top of the tent side, he moved his hand to the sole of her foot, passing over it as gently as she could. Her toes wriggled at first, but when his caress continued she abruptly pulled foot back. From the pillow that covered her face a giggle could be heard.

“Stop that! You know I’m ticklish.” she finally said, pulling the pillow away from her face and propping herself on her elbows, her sleepy eyes looking at him.

“I had to wake you up somehow.” Letho said, extending his laden hand and offering her the breakfast he procured from the mess hall. “Here, I brought you some breakfast. I have to go and talk with Dera, but when I get back, I want to see you fully clothed.”

“When you say it like that, I’ll start to think you don’t like what’s below those clothes.” she jested, taking the tray and placing it on her lap. He didn’t reply with words, but rather just pinched one of her toes, nearly making her spill the contents of the tray, before he stood up and walked away.

Vla’toros in the making was waking up lethargically, like a bear after the winter hibernation period. It wasn’t a surprising occurrence given the work that was being done. Regardless of how used you were to construction work, muscles and joints ached and felt reluctant to obey in the morning. Most chased this feeling away with a splash of coffee, some opted for something with a little bit more kick, some just needed some time to get the momentum. But generally, after the breakfast was done, the usual clamor was prominent and everybody seemed to be in the right mood to earn some money.

Dera’s tent was so luxurious and tastily furnished that Letho could almost swear that it wasn’t actually a tent and that somehow, against the laws of physics, it was larger on the inside then it was from the outside. The first room in the large tent was where he found the elf, sitting behind a lacquered wooden table carved with multiple motifs, sipping on what seemed like tea and looking over some documents. There were several shelves filled with books and tomes carefully lined up by size, another several on the other side with furled blueprints and what seemed like a large chalkboard. Everything spic-and-span, of course.

“Marshal Ravenheart.” Dera said without taking his eyes off the documents as Letho entered. “You’re certainly an early starter.”

“I wanted to talk to you before you get too busy, master elf. It’s about these ‘accidents’ that keep happening in the prison construction site.” the Marshal started, approaching the table and taking a seat. “I don’t think they are accidents at all. I think there is something bigger going on and that these minor sabotages are just a diversion to keep us busy.”

“Interesting theory. Also, quite possibly true, Marshal.” the elf said, lowering the cup to the small porcelain plate and eyeing his visitor. “There have been reports of missing gunpowder and explosives from the main warehouse.”

“Explosives? Why do you even keep those?”

“With careful, calculated usage of explosives, we can carve holes in stone faster then a throng of stonemasons.”

“You can also collapse a building if you place them in the right spot.” Letho added, more to himself then to Dera. “Do you have any clues as to who is stealing these explosives?”

“No, not really. The warehouse sentries all said it didn’t happen during their watch, but I don’t think they’re all trustworthy. I made the guards sweep all the buildings during the night, but they found nothing but a handful of vagrants squatting in the basement of the Royal Palace.” Dera said, his voice as indifferent as ever, as if they didn’t speak of substances that could bring down whole buildings.

“I’ll take a closer look into this.” Letho said, lifting himself up from the comfy chair and making a move towards the exit.

“Fine. But remember that you’re not the official law enforcer here, Marshal. Don’t neglect your real job. This could be the work of some rogues trying to earn some extra currency by selling the explosives in the black market.” the elf said, dropping his eyes back to the papers and picking up the teacup.

“Yeah. And then again, it could be some rogues trying to crash this place down before it’s even built.”

[Roscar Palidyne]

As another morning comes around to bring Althanas to another glorious beginning, Roscar was not among those privelaged few. His bones ached more than ever and all of his shoulder and back muscles were so stiff that to lift his arms over his head was a chore in itself. Naturally, getting up from bed was not something Roscar was looking forward to, but he was at least getting one step closer to their goal. The road to it, however, seemed to be a twisted one veiled by the intentions of madmen bent in revolutionary ideals. What these men would have Roscar do now was uncertain, but he hoped it wouldn't end in him being killed by the wrong side or his cover being blown and being killed by the enemies he was posing among.

Stepping outside the tent, the sound of grumpy loud men in the morning trailed behind him. The mess area of the cave was alive and clattering with workers of all types, builds, and personalities. Standing in an extremely long and loud line was all it took for Roscar to get his piece of bread, water, and some mystery meat to go with it. Looking around, Roscar saw a pair of hands that seemed to be waving him over. As he passed the many rows of tables, all which consisted of a box with a slab of board on top of it and boxes for seats, Roscar began to notice that those hands actually belonged to those same two demons who had accosted him. Roscar took a seat across from them, watching them and their constant grins with a slight indignancy. It wasn't an act either, their smiles were getting on his nerves. He felt like they were constantly reliving the moment they were bashing his face in, and Roscar had planned on returning the favor sometime.

"Race. Good sleep?"

Roscar rolls his shoulder, slightly wincing. "Yeah, sure. Putting aside the snores and the coughs and the occasional guy mumbling about crab cakes.......I'm totally refreshed."

"That's great. The boss's got you a great task today. You'll be with us today, the boss arranged that we'll be workin' the prison sector."

"What's so great about that? Don't tell me it's more scaffolding sabot-"

But before he has a chance to finish his sentence a demon hand is shoved into his face, covering his mouth. The demons melt their grins away for the first time.

"Watch it. We've come too far to mess up now."

The other one jumps in the conversation, making sure that no one really noticed the excursion. "No, we're working there because the warehouse is right past it."

Warehouse? Petty theft of materials? Doesn't sound like something that crazy revolutionaries would be interested in.....

"Don't worry about it, Race. Just do what you're told, alright? Now hurry up and eat, the shift's starting."

The slightly unsatisfying meal was enough to fuel Roscar for the day's work ahead of him. This time the work was hard, but not nearly as degrading. Inversely to the day previous, he was actually among company who was all part of the revolutionaries, and they had all heard of Roscar's exploits by word of mouth. Some were slightly skeptical, especially with Letho's prestige and Roscar's age both factors, but otherwise he was treated rather well, and jokes went back and forth to make the time pass pretty quick. Letho, who mainly worked on the opposite side of the prison section, was more than likely fairly oblivious to Roscar's presence, but Roscar was able to glance at him occasionally, doing loads and loads of work among his workers. One would think he wasn't a foreman at all, doing his share like that instead of standing back and barking commands. He was truly sorry he had hit him earlier. Not out of fear of his rippling muscles or his reputation, but out of honest respect.

As time passes and the end of the day drew near, the two demons, who were named Servlak and Uthos tapped Roscar on the shoulder, who turns and sees them beckoning him towards the warehouse area. Roscar lays down his board and follows closely, looking as inconspicuous as the other two. However, as they went ahead, Roscar tended to slow his pace, looking towards Letho. For a breif second, he catches the Coronian's eyes, and Roscar signals his eyes over to the demon duo, a gesture hoping to get the ranger to follow them. Perhaps he could stop this theft, he thinks, as he briskly walks to catch up to the demons

Once they travel down a slightly tunneled passage, they arrive at a single guard at an entrance to another part of the cave, assumedly the warehouse. Roscar stops, wondering what Servlak and Uthos were going to do, but they don't stop for a wink. They turn to Roscar, motioning him to continue with their cocky grins. The guard sees them and brings his halberd down from attention, smiling to them.

"Uthos, Servlak! Just in time. The day's just about over, so hurry up and get the last bit we need."

The guard hastily moves out of their way, and they walk past him. Roscar had certainly underestimated the power of this group, and it had not occurred to him that they had guys inside the guard too. Previously only a little worried about these wackos, now Roscar knew that they were a force to be reckoned with. He hoped Letho would hurry, but he would certainly be stalled by that guard.

[Letho]

His prospecting for clues turned out to be an utterly fruitless endeavor. He spent most of the forenoon striding from one construction site to the other, asking questions and getting either cold or shrugged shoulders from workers and foremen alike. Some didn’t have a clue what he spoke of while others simply didn’t want to trouble themselves with anything aside the work assigned to them. The handful of genuinely suspicious was the most polite of the bunch, answering with false kindness and fraudulent smiles that stood like a mask on their faces, deceitful and unbreakable. The warehouse sentries were a story of their own. Sticking to some honor code that prevented them from ratting on their colleagues, the good and the bad and the treacherous all gave him the same uninterested I-didn’t-see-anything ballyhoo. They all had their eyes open and they were all blind for one reason or the next. Sometimes it was apathy that he saw in their eyes. Sometimes it was fear. Sometimes it was that wretched gleam that reminded Letho of a hawker that just sold you a shoddy weapon for the price of the adamantine one. Whoever ran this hoax had eyes and ears and helping hands everywhere, all masked in the casualty of blue-collar society.

So when the Marshal returned to the prison complex – where the workers did their jobs under the temporary foremanship of Leridien and Myrhia sat on a huge block of smooth stone with her legs and water bucket tangling over the edge – his frustration was prominently shaped into a thick, ominous frown. Nothing irked him more then a puzzle that stood within arms reach, and yet he just couldn’t make the pieces fit into a complete picture. Those that knew something, wouldn’t talk. Those that didn’t know anything, didn’t care. He hoped that Roscar was doing a better job behind enemy lines. Unless they saw through his guise and walled him up in one of the ramparts.

A quick survey of the site he was supposed to ordinate at least chased away that doubt. The old geezer was there, working and fraternizing with the rest of the construction squad, including the pair that was so eager to “take care of him” yesterday. That was good news, but it failed to change his brooding expression as he approached Myrhia. She greeted him with a smile, as she always did, slipping down from her sitting position and lowering the half-empty bucket. “Whoa, look at that frown! I bet you found something you didn’t like a whole lot during your inspection.” she said, cocking her head minutely and looking into his strict eyes.

“On the contrary.” Letho replied, leaving Roscar to his gang and diverting his eyes to the timid redhead. “Everything seems to be going perfect in the entire town. Too perfect.” He proceeded to take off his cumbersome overcoat before removing his shirt and throwing them on the piece of stone that they generally used as everything from a table to a sitting bench.

“Maybe there’s nothing to be found. Maybe they’re just trying to make their mark with these petty sabotages.” Myrhia asked, picking up the discarded cloth and folding it diligently.

“No, there’s something. I can feel it in...”

“...your gut? Maybe you should visit a cleric about that gut. It could be just indigestion.” she said, half in jest, slipping a smile underneath his radar just subtle enough to crack his serious face ever so slightly. He shook his head in surrender.

“I hope so, Myri. I hope so.”

But it wasn’t just indigestion. Letho gut wasn’t the most precise instrument that ever foresaw the future, but it had some limited insight into what went on around the corners. And the more he observed the workers that moved around him and worked with him, the more he could see a pattern on their faces, involuntary giveaways that they tried to make inconspicuous on their faces when they made eye contact with their comrades. He kept his observing subtle, cordial even, but his gloomy gaze was like a survey of a hawk, seeing all that occurred in his little realm. And it culminated near the end of the shift. Most of the workers were too tired to care, biding their time until the bell rang again, doing some less physical work like polishing the stone or putting some finishing touches on the iron gates. But there was a trio that moved with a different purpose. It wasn’t unusual for the workers to retrieve the supplies from the warehouses, but when Roscar shot him with one of those elderly glances, the Marshal knew something was going down.

Letho didn’t follow immediately. If he intervened now, he could apprehend two of the insurgents red-handed and the chances were that they were mere errand boys. True, he could question them and question them hard, but whatever they knew was bound to be only a portion of the master plan. However, if he played dumb and oblivious to whatever happened in the warehouse and then tail them after they came out, he was bound to stumble upon some big fishes.

“Letho, is something going on?” Myrhia asked, but before she could take a peek at whatever captured his attention, his hand caught her by the elbow and turned her away from the trio that disappeared in one of the tunnels that led towards the storage area.

“I think the warehouse is getting mugged.” he whispered, keeping a corner of his eye on the passageway in which Roscar and his escort entered.

“Are you going to arrest them?”

“No. I’ll let them think everything is running smoothly. And when they exit and make way to their headquarters, I’ll follow.” Letho replied, keeping a suspicious eye on the workers that passed by them.

“Well, that won’t work.” the redhead said, her hands on her slim hips and her face trying to capture his attention. “Everybody knows you, Letho. You’re not exactly Sir Inconspicuous.” Her hand moved to tap on his bulky chest as if to prove her point. “You can’t send a bear on a stealth trek, but you can send a lark.”

He knew what she was referring to. To the public she was Myrhia and he was Letho, but behind closed door she was the Lark and he was the Oak. And the Bear. And several other names that made it clear just how much of a bludgeoner he was. But he shook his head even as she subtly offered to help. “No.” he said curtly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not dangerous. How can it be dangerous if they don’t notice me?”

“And if they notice you?”

“Then I’ll run back to the brooding bear.” the redhead said with a teasing smile. The swordsman wasn’t in jesting mood. “It’s not like you have a choice anyways. You can either get the two of them or all of them. So what’s it going to be?”

This was why he didn’t want to bring her along, why he avoided taking her on any of his official missions. When he was alone he could push the envelope, take risks without putting in danger somebody as innocent as her, put his own life on the line and no one else’s. But she was right; he was running out of options. When it came to stealth, he was as invisible as a banana in a barrel of apples.

“Fine.” Letho finally gave up. “But as soon as you see something amiss, you run like the wind. I’ll keep myself busy here.”

[Roscar Palidyne]

Boxes stacked upon boxes and still more boxes. The warehouse was a hap-hazard job, materials basically flung into whatever position they landed in. Lumber, ropes, hammers, wheels, pullies, and who knows what else lay inside this isolated cave, sprawled all over the cavern floor and boxes all around With the building of Vla'toros, no one really had time to organize these supplies, which proved for a difficult process for the two demons to sift through. Roscar helped by moving some crates here and there, but beyond that was no use. They hadn't even told him what they were there for yet. Roscar was just going along with the motions, but he felt now would be the best time to ask.

"So, what's the plan, anyway? What're we going through this hellhole for?"

The two demons, still searching, ignore him for the moment until one of them finally finds the section they had toiled for. Uthos lifts the box up, that cocky grin on his face, and shows it to Servlak, apparently both of them confirming their find with widening eyes. They both turn to Roscar before placing it back on the ground so Roscar could see the top of it in full view. Roscar bends himself over to get a better look at the text implanted on the box. In big, bright letters, he read "Explosives".

A feeling of alarm spreads over Roscar, an ice-cold fear sends a shiver to his spine. Sudden realization begins to settle in, questions begin to come together. All this while, Roscar had been wondering what this little group had been after. They hadn't told him much, only what he needed to know at the time he needed to know it, and nothing further. Roscar had spent all of the walk home last night trying to piece together all the puzzles. It all seemed too elaborate for a heist, and too organized to be black-market work, but it didn't seem like some kind of plans for invasion, either. But now he knew how absolutely insane these men were, and to what extent they would go to prove their point that the past was dead and gone.

They were going to blow up Vla'toros.

"That's right. Great plan, ain't it?" Uthos replies. To Roscar's utter surprise, he realizes that he had actually said those last three words out loud. "The boss has the entire plan mapped out, which he's going to give to us tonight." "This last bit we didn't actually NEED, per say," Servlak intervenes, carrying two boxes in front of him, "All the other explosive is already in place, all around the outer caves, and right now, only HE knows where it all is."

Those thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a tussling going on outside. As Roscar began to approach the entrance to the warehouse, a few feminine grunts are heard like a kind of wild wrestling. Through the warehouse entrance, Roscar could see what he thought was red hair thrashing about, and his heart began to race as he prayed what he saw was not what he thought it was.

But it was Myrhia, trying to escape the grip of the much stronger demon 'guard', but to no avail. "Let me go!" She screams loudly with bitter defiance, driving her foot into the demon's, making him whelp in pain somewhat. She might have followed up with another maneuver, but the sight of Roscar makes her freeze with surprise, costing her that extra second that might have been spent dodging the demon's gauntleted fist. The attack smacks her right in the side of the head, just above her temple, and sends her fragile frame collapsing to the ground. She no longer moved.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Roscar roars frantically at the demon guard, bending down to check Myrhia, laying his hand to her neck. He could still feel a pulse, so she was surely still alive. He sighed with relief, but soon realized what position he had just put himself in by showing her compassion. Standing up, he recomposed himself and looked back at the guard, who was gazing at Roscar rather suspiciously now. "What I meant was," Roscar clarifies, "is that she is no use to us dead. That's Letho's girl, see?"

The other two demons, boxes in hand, had arrived out to wonder about the commotion, and both put down their boxes to get a better look at the girl. "Well, well, Race's right! Looks like we have ourselves a bargaining chip, boys!" Uthos exclaims. "Yevlid, get her. Oh, but be gentle," Uthos says with a snide smile aiming right at Roscar.

As if things hadn't gotten complicated enough, the insertion of Myrhia as a hostage wasn't going to make things any easier. Roscar wanted to save her, but he couldn't. Not yet. He couldn't risk his position because too many other lives depended on it. But he had a feeling Letho wouldn't see it that way. In his shoes, Roscar probably wouldn't see it that way either. That last scream of Myrhia's was very loud, loud enough to perhaps echo to the prison sector. Letho might come running at any moment, which meant they had to get out of there. Now.

The "guard", a lot less gentle than Roscar would have been, lifts Myrhia's limp body and lugs her over his shoulder. "Heh, little girl thought she could hide behind some of those rocks over there. This nose never lies," Yevlid says triumphantly, tapping his huge sniffer with his free hand. With that, he takes himself and Myrhia down a small little tunnel, a detour that wasn't large enough to accompany their crates but enough to fit one person, or at least, one person and a body. Yevlid and Myrhia disappear as they make a turn in the tunnel.

Roscar couldn't help but notice the pale crimson light of the cave. It seemed to be getting more red, as red as blood even. Maybe this was a precursor, an omen of the many lives that would have to be shed before this was all over. He just hoped, dearly, that the fragile young redhead was not going to be one of the casualties.

[Letho]

Letho tried to keep busy with rearranging some of the material on the site – doing what his old mentor Lothirgan liked to call pouring from one empty cup into another and then back again – but he wound up doing more damage then good. He was too tense, too annoyed by all these shadow games, too disturbed by the gut that keep churning like a millstone. And above all, he was too concerned for Myrhia’s wellbeing. She was his lark, but he took her beneath his wing and turned the ex-slave redhead into everything that mattered to him. Countless times the Marshal promised both himself and the frail redhead that he wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her. And yet now once again he put her in harm’s way. The fact that he did so only after she insisted failed to ease his mind. He could’ve insisted as well, and if that didn’t work, he could’ve put up an ultimatum. But instead he opted for a compromise – her way – and it made his gut go haywire.

“LET ME GO!!!”

Letho’s head snatched in the direction of an outcry like a head of a carnal beast that caught a misstep of the prey. He hated when his gut was right, especially in situations where he knew that he should’ve decided differently. And now that he thought about it, he realized how much of a nitwit he was for yielding to her request. He maybe wasn't Sir Inconspicuous as she teasingly put it, but a redhead on a site packed with burly male workers wasn’t exactly Miss Invisibility either. In fact, chances were that most of these lonely sods remembered her sweet smiles and cute little behind just as much as his frowning mug. And yet, at the same time, Myrhia was right; he didn’t have a choice. And not only because he would be recognized faster then a Lavinian in a thief lineup, but because of the look she gave him when she asked to do this. It was the look of longing that he learned to know by now, the look that begged him to cut her some slack and let her prove herself to him. They were a tandem, that was true, but in that due Letho was the brawn, he was the one that took all the risks, he was the hero and she was the sidekick. And even though she was content with that role, sometimes the lark liked to fly. Unfortunately, it seemed that her timing was always the worst possible.

The echo of the scream didn’t even evanesce yet and the nearby carpenters and stonemasons only started to turn their heads towards the origin of the scream and Letho Ravenheart was already on the move. He ran as fast as his feet could carry his immense bulk, dodging the perturbed workers and even pushing a few away from his path doggedly. A half-built portion of the prison section stood between him and the warehouse entrance, but the Marshal didn’t go around it. Instead he climbed up the half the flight of stairs that was completed before leaping onto the edge of the outer wall. He paused for only a second, crouched and observing the area below like a panther. Two figures stood next to the warehouse entrance, one a familiar gray-haired one and the other belonging to one of the treacherous demons that tried to do its best to lumber several wooden boxes away as fast as possible.

Letho didn’t care if the king’s jewels were in the crate. However, Myrhia was nowhere in sight and both him and Roscar were bound to know where she was taken. He leapt down with a vehemence of a wolverine, freefalling some twenty feet before landing in a crouch and launching himself in a sprint towards the two. In mid dash his bulk exploded, his advance preceded by a sonic boom that uplifted the dirt and announced the sickly growth of his muscles. Enveloped in an ivory aura with his eyes completely blank, the beast of a man came at the pair at blistering speed, shooting past the old geezer and tacking the demon down.

“Where is she?” the Marshal uttered in a growling voice, holding the demon pinned to he ground with his knee and a hand that seemed eager to squeeze the life out of the bastard, starting with his throat.

“You... You shouldn’t... have sent... a girl... to do a man’s...” and he spoke no more. Letho’s fist slammed against the demon’s face, breaking his nose and rendering him unconscious with a single blow. It took every iota of restraint not to tear the man apart right there, but he needed him alive if Roscar refused to reveal the headquarters of his new chums. Blinded by his worry for Myrhia and completely consumed by rage, Letho stood up from the kayoed demon and came at the overaged man. Marshal’s moves were incredibly fast and in less then a second his hand caught the man by the neck and pinned him to the cave wall.

“Where is she?” he repeated, his blank white eyes ready to scorch the old man with the pure flames. All the respect he had for the elderly, all the thoughts about blowing Roscar’s cover and thus completely jeopardizing their plan faded away, disappeared the moment he heard the scream of that familiar voice.

[Roscar Palidyne]

Never would Roscar underestimate this ranger, Letho. Never.

Even cheetahs would fail in comparison to the speed and ferocity that Letho had as he rushed towards the sound of his dearly beloved's wail. Roscar had barely any time to blink twice before the Coronian had layed out Roscar's demon "compadre" and set his sights upon Roscar's surprised mass. The old sailor barely had any to prepare himself for man, no, the beast that was now Letho. Now a flesh-tingling hand layed upon Roscar's neck, and its grip was ever getting tighter. Those eyes could no longer be human, the feeling of regret, guilt, fear, and yet absolute rage filled Letho's irises and quivering pupils. Couldn't think, all happening too fast, but he had to make of some way to avoid the Marshal's wrath.

"Letho!......she......they....ha.......ggghh...... ."

But reasoning wasn't working. Roscar barely had enough air left in him to make coherent sounds, let alone syllables. Letho wasn't giving him any leeway at all, and Roscar couldn't blame the incensed warrior for it. What an idiot I've been Roscar thought to himself, as his body began to starve for oxygen. So important to stay in character, so necessary to keep up appearances....and for what? Some silly notion that Roscar could perhaps play hero in his little game of being behind enemy lines, relaying information as he could? Because of it, Myhria was now in the hands of these madmen bent on destroying many people's lives for the sake of an ideal. It was Roscar's fault. All his fault. He should have just killed those demons and got her back to safety while still having the ability to protect her. Who knows what they'd do to her.

Maybe....having his trachaea crushed was for the best.....his body was aching for sleep.....an eternal respite.....a long journey of no real goal, no accomplishment, and no hope, finally coming to an end.

Don't be a fool! You don't have the skills to take on three demons by yourself! And you have your eyes on the whole picture, not one singular little girl's life! This was a decision you had to make, and you made the right one, you senile old idiot.

I don't know. Maybe-

No "maybe". YES. Now get off your ass. It was this rage-o-holic's idea in the first place, so you sure as hell aren't gonna die for it. EYES OPEN.

Roscar obeyed. Willpower starting to well up inside him, the will and need and hope and want of staying alive blanketing Roscar's consciousness. His mind was in overdrive now, and now there was a goal: To continue living. But first, to get this maniac off of him.

It was clear that words alone weren't going to stop this juggernaught. Pleas from an old man would fall onto the deaf ears of a soldier scared out of his wits for a love that he very well may lose, so another plan had to be concocted in about 2 seconds. Roscar's desperate gaze fell upon one of the explosives boxes right next to his feet, and within it he saw a way of breathing again. Stretching out one of his legs to the side of the angered Lethos, Roscar is able to get an underpowered kick in on the box. The initial impact of his foot on the box makes it splinter a little, but the landing of it against the partially built prison section behind them was enough friction and impact to ignite the contents of the package.

The explosives that was in the box didn't amount to much. It was the smallest crate of all the others, but it had enough to make an explosion. Bigger in magnitude than a firecracker, but nothing ever near to a bomb or dynamite. This caused a distraction in the chaos of the moment, almost as time deemed everything to stop upon the boom for a brief few milliseconds, but it was enough for Roscar to clear himself of the grasp of Letho's hand and duck his head down into a tackling position, throwing the both of their bodies away from the cave wall and bashing the cavern floor. Roscar had the advantage now. But the motions didn't stop there. His hand immediately whipped to his belt and grasped a now familiar hilt and pulled his knife out. The knife's edge rushes up to its target and stays itself less than an inch from Letho's vulnerable neck, as Roscar wheezed trying to regain the oxygen he had just been deprived of for that time. It was now his eyes that quivered with unwavering determination, meeting the beast's soul mirrors with no faint heart. The only way to tame the wild is to show you are the crazier. Roscar's words spat out through the gaps that his breathing allowed him, keeping his knife steady and his body bearing down upon the ranger's grounded vessel.

"Calm DOWN! You fool! Yes they have her, yes I know where she's going, but rushing in gung-ho and laying out everyone who gets in your way isn't going to work! These guys are maniacs!! They won't hesitate to kill her if you come close! Is that how you want it all to end?! The fighter braving all odds, smashing his obstacles with reckless abandon, ignoring the facts and disregarding the world aorund him?! Is that what burns inside you?! I'll tell you where that fairytale with end:her blood will be on your hands! Now calm down! Calm the FUCK down or you're not getting up, GET ME????"

Deep down inside, Roscar wanted to say sorry for all this, but there was a fire inside of him ordering him not to, keeping his tongue and his conscience at bay. This was no time for them to be fighting each other like this, that was for certain.

[Letho]

((Terribly sorry about the delay and the rustiness.))

Yes, he wanted to brave all odds. Yes, he wanted to smash all obstacles with reckless abandon. Yes, he wanted to ignore the facts and disregard the world around him. That was his way, head-on collision with a hope that at the end of the ordeal he was the last man standing and all his foes were sprawled at his feet, as lifeless as dead man’s bones. And it could be seen in his eyes. His brown irises were engulfed by the whiteness, giving him the looks of a deranged blind man that saw nothing but the redhead that was in the clutches of his enemies. The knife at his throat, the angered old man towering above him, the words that should’ve broken through blockade that his wrath put up, it was all irrelevant, out of sight and out of mind. But the blood... The blood on his hands. That was what struck the heart.

But not enough to calm the awoken beast completely. “Don’t pull out a weapon if you don’t mean to use it, old man.” Letho spoke almost through his clenched teeth, his empty eyes peering with their nothingness towards Roscar that still struggled with his breathing. He knew that the gray-haired man wouldn’t strike. And even if he would, the Corone Marshal was at the point where he didn’t care. His right hand caught Roscar by the shoulder, pulling him off of him effortlessly, throwing him aside like a weightless nuisance. Respect gave way to anger. Wisdom gave way to anger. Reasoning gave way to anger. And only when he saw the aged man scrambling back to his feet Letho realized that the all-encompassing fury was directed at the wrong target. He gained nothing by crushing Roscar, regardless of whether or not the man could’ve done something to save Myrhia. And while going after the perpetrators of the kidnapping might’ve saved the redhead within minutes, it could’ve also resulted in her death if the old man was right and this lot played hardball.

“Fine.” Letho finally said, his body still unhealthily muscled, his eyes still disturbingly empty as they stood locked on the man that was supposed to be his ally. “We’ll play it your way. But if something happens to Myrhianna, your blood will be on my hands. And a lot of it.”

It was unfair to Roscar. After all, the old man was just trying to do what he thought was best in the situation that had gone sour in a hurry. But Letho needed insurance, something that would keep the man in line, something that would remind him that Myrhia’s wellbeing will reflect on his own. With the threat (promise) spoken, the aura around the swordsman died down like a fire without a fuel, his muscles shrinking to their natural size. The madness in the white eyes was replaced by the stoic firmness in the brown ones that were almost an official seal on everything that was spoken.

“So what have you found out so far? What are they planning to do with all these explosives? Blowing up a bunch of buildings? Do they have a place where they usually meet? Where did they take Myrhia? I need details, Roscar, and I need them as soon as possible.” Letho tried not to sound impatient, but regardless of how much he equalized his voice to make it sound serene, the combination of anger and worry for Myrhia was forced to surface. It betrayed the commotion that tore through his insides like a buzz saw, reminding him each and every second that the frail, timid redhead was in the clutches of a bunch of maniacs that were set on mischief in the name of what they thought was patriotism. And each second he had to subdue the urge to just do what he usually did.

A part of him didn’t even care about Haidia or Haide or whatever the hell they called these lands nowadays anymore. Vla’toros could burn and disappear under tons of rubble. Tular Plains could become nothing but an empty, uninhabited wasteland. But it was the hasty part of him, the instinctive part, the part that acted before it thought. The other part – that contained what little wisdom was left in him – reminded him that there was more then just one life at stake right now. Whatever mischief these people are planning to execute is bound to take its toll in even more innocent lives. And that second part – the knightly part of him – couldn’t sacrifice hundreds, not even to get Myrhia out of captivity.

In the end, it was a gamble. If the insurgents were smart – and all their previous actions supported that conclusion – then they would know that the redhead was a bargaining chip and if they squandered it away, they would have one pissed of hound on their tails. If they weren’t and Myrhia is already dead... He didn’t want to think of that scenario. Because if that was the case, the scarlet crystal that enlightened the interior of the Haidia cave wouldn’t be the only thing spilling the scarlet color over the bare stone.

((So, give Letho some info and get back to wherever the base is to keep Myrhia safe. I’ll post then, getting us through the night, and then in the morning you can get back to Letho with some coherent info. Maybe the insurgents want to trade for Myrhia?))

[Witchblade]

Due to inactivity, this quest willl be closed and put into the Haide Archive. I thank all of you for your participation in Zieg's FQ and though you will not receive full rewards as the quest was not complete, you will be given a small amount of experience for your writing thus far.

Letho receives 300 experience!

Roscar Paladyne receives 300 experience!