League A (Interdivision): Agent 492 vs Good for nothing captain

[Solar Haven]

Quest at your own pace. This thread must be completed by January 12th, 2014 at 12:00 AM EST. If you finish early, please submit it for judging per usual.

[Lucius]

Prologue

“I’m worried, Lillith.” Duffy said, gingerly prodding his dinner.

The canteen of the Prima Vista was quiet. The crew busy with repairs pre-departure for Eluriand 5. The ship’s engineer, Lillith Kazumi, stared at the agent across the table. She sipped a tumbler of whiskey, trying to find the words of encouragement he sought.

“You know it’s safe, right?” she said softly. “They wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t.”

“Into a wormhole?” he moaned. He put a potato into his mouth, chewed it twice, and swallowed it painfully. Anything to do away with the sense of sadness, anything to feel alive. “There must be other agents suitable for this sort of assignment.”

There was not. Duffy had to jump through the tear in space and time because of his peculiar nature. He emptied his mouth, cut a runner bean in half, and followed the potato with bean and gravy chaser.

“None are immortal, and none live here, and then, and certainly not in both.” She pursed her lips. “Duffy…you’re getting the chance to look back through time.” She sipped her drink. “Back through your time line, at that.”

When the ship reached the devastated world of Eluriand 5, it would dock with the Administrate vessel Atomos. Once they briefed, Duffy would travel, in a drop pod, through the wormhole. Reports indicated that it lead directly to a planet sharing identical geologic markers to the progenitor world, Althanas. Three thousand years ago, at the start of the rise of the solar empires, Althanas’s instability caused its implosion.

“I’ll send you a postcard…,” he said, trying to find humour in a dark time.

There was every risk the wormhole would close, he might meet his old self, or that the temptation to be shot of a war-torn galaxy would get the better of him. There was also every risk he could cause a paradox, his A.R.I.A system alone would, if discovered, accelerate technological growth at unsatisfactory levels. There was every chance this mission to ‘explore’ could in turn destroy.

“As long as it’s not from Alerar,” she pursed her lips. “If the history books are true,” she added. She finished her drink, smacked her lips, and pointed over Duffy’s shoulder to the canteen doors. They were open. Sei Orlouge stood in the portal, eyes narrowed, and hands full of dossiers and documents.

“He’s here, isn’t he…,” Duffy asked wearily. He sighed. He set down his fork. He pushed the plate away. “Well, I’ll be back in a while.” He pushed himself up from the table, nodded politely, and turned to meet his superior officer. “Captain Orlouge, I see you’ve taken to your new station in fine form.” He tried to smile, but as he crossed the polished steel floor, he was distinctly aware of shot daggers from both sides.

“If my being here offends you, Agent 492, file a complaint with the Administrate. For now, I’m too brief you on the reasons for our mission, and then you’re going to tell me a thousand times how you won’t…under any circumstances, do anything to change history.”

Duffy shrugged with a cheeky grin. “Why the hell would I want to see what your ancestors looked like?” he clucked. The thought, on the hand, of meeting Sei’s ‘heroic’ kin had been on his mind ever since he had spied the M class planet through the glistening tear in space.

“They’ll shoot you, just like I did,” came the reply.

The two men departed, leaving Lillith worried, half-cut, and unblemished by the implications of sending the galaxy’s most dangerous man back in time to the world’s most dangerous age.

“A world with two Duffy,” she said with a shudder. “Law save us all…”

[Good for Nothing Captain]

And hark said the space dweller, for all thine ends are not for thee to see. For thy works be done, no bounty will thee see, in thy kingdom of stars. Tis we, 'Star Chaser's' that divine thy fate and guard thy-

Dust shot out from the book like water from a geyser as its pages closed. A dull thump echoed ,a signal to the librarian, who sent a sharp 'shush' in the red-eyed man's direction. Victor Valentine 'shushed' at the man to his right, letting gravity bring the chair down off its hind legs. The elder gentleman only shrugged and apologized, diving deeper into the book he had been reading. Victor stood, taking the book with him to a shelf.

Towering shelves looked down on the guests of the library. The red-eyed man brought the book back to its home, sliding it in between its brothers. Sliding a hand along soft leather, lifting dust and leaving behind a trail, he walked.

Victor had always loved books, since the days of his youth, and a happier time. Reading was always a means for him to return to that time. Not every town had a library, but on the rare occasion the red-eyed man found one, he spent all day there. Kicking the door open, hands in his pockets, Victor let the night air wash over him. The lands in that, uncertain latitude had a tendency for crisp night air, that refreshed the body better than any meal or drink or reprieve.

Victor reveled in the cool air, walking slowly down the cobblestone boulevard. Footsteps echoed in the night air, even after the red-eyed man stopped. His stare was locked on the large hanging moon, still caught in the sky. Victor cleaned the inside of his nose with an index finger, staring at the hanging goddess in the sky.

Big bad mama, Victor thought, staring at the full moon.

From the corner of his eye, a shifting light blazed a trail towards the horizon. Victor turned a red eye towards the trail, following it down to earth.

"Now wouldn't that be a thing," he sighed, "space-man coming down to us mortals. . ."

The nightlife was abuzz with music, nature took its place in the symphony. The red-eyed man made a point to avoid the medley, sticking to dark corners and empty streets. Only the lonely and heartbroken found themselves in the streets. Like ghosts making their way through the world, lost souls wandered. Forlorn and aimless, not one of the many people still outside in the dark nightlife had what might be called a purpose. Like clouds in the sky, they were set adrift.

His worn dusty boots pushed open a heavy door, a load thud silencing any conversation. Dozens of eyes locked unto the stranger, who stood proud in the doorway. His red eyes stared back with indifference, with no care for any hostility which found its way towards him.

Making his way through the crowded bar, through whispers and murmurs was a hassle. One Victor was well versed in. He moved around those not in his way, and pushed past any who stood to confront the stranger.

Many towns had such folk, those who took unkindly to strangers. Out in the savage wilds of the world of Althanas, peace was hard to find, and most were suspicious of any who might disturb that fragile balance. The seat was hard, made of wood, and Victor found a familiar solace in it. He turned a red eye to the bartender, nodding for a drink.

Both he and the man next to him reeked of a similar longing. That hope for some condolence, for some assurance that there might be some safety in the world. That the path they chose was the right one; that the loss they suffered was for something. Both men sat at the bar, nurturing a drink and a sad tale.

"You look like a special kind of hell," the red-eyed man sighed, looking sideways at his fellow drinker.

[Lucius]

A.R.I.A uplink instigated.
Chronology: Year 34 of the 5^th Age
Location: Latitude: 51.610283 | Longitude: -2.956269
Life signs: Stable

Aria, commence bi-lateral synaptic uplink, Duffy thought to himself. Buried in his drink, the neural thought ways connecting his mind to the cybernetic systems in his body sparked with electricity.

Cannot comply, the machine replied. Her voice, shrill and judgemental, sent shivers down Duffy’s spine. He snarled. Fortunately, nobody saw.

Why not? He enquired, sarcasm seeping into his mind.

Audio Feedback compromised. The energy pack on Duffy’s hip, fortunately concealed beneath a hirsute travel cloak, glowed brightly for a moment. The expenditure of a charge heightened Duffy’s senses, and coursed the cheap bourbon through his veins expediently.

He tried to remember what the response meant. Since his arrival on Althanas, he had done all he could to conceal his identity, as well as the extent of his bioorganic composition from the general populous. Sei had warned him, in fact, outright threatened him to do nothing to compromise the Administrate technology.

Oh shit, he exclaimed, remembering Audio Feedback meant he was hearing something, or someone.

“Hey, I said…,” the speaker repeated, having waited far too long for a reply over his liquor. The smoky bar teethed with tension.

“Been there, got the t-shirt,” Duffy replied, non-chalant. His eyes widened, his back straightened, and he cleared his throat. The connection to the systems of the Atomos faded, returning him his full faculties. “I mean,” He mumbled, “it takes a special kind of man to still look this good.”

He remained seated in a bar he vaguely remembered. Two day prior, his drop pod careened into the snowy peaks some three leagues north of their current location. His uplink, surprisingly intact, told him he was standing forlorn in Salvar. It was as cold as he remembered. Its people were as ignorant and unwelcoming.

“What sort of hell dragged you backwards through Knife’s Edge?” he replied curtly.

As the man talked, he casually glanced at him, scrutinising his well-worn clothing and beleaguered expression. He had red eyes, though Duffy assumed fatigue, and not debauchery. He had a solemnity around him, though Duffy presumed good morals, and not piety. Most importantly, he had wit about him, though Duffy assumed street born, and not classroom bound. This man, contrary to the rugged barbarians and witch hunters that surrounded them, was clearly not like his relatives. He liked him already.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Less of a hell, and more of a demon," Victor shook his head, taking a drink in hand. Heavy brown liquid swirled in the short glass as the crimson-eyed man watched its movement. Holding his breath he let a swig enter his mouth. The warmth was welcomed in his cold body, as Victor let out a satisfied sigh. The strange man, much like Victor seemed out of place in the cold bar. A curious expression crossed the man's face and Victor obliged.

"Not an actual demon, more of a. . . devil woman. . ." Victor sighed.

"Got that t-shirt too," the man nodded in acknowledgement.

"Drown her?" Victor asked.

"What?" the man turned, confused.

Victor only raised his glass, and the two toasted, and they drank. The unlikely pair received many unwelcoming stares as they spoke and drank. The entire bar, like a beehive, buzzed with hostility and distrust; as though a collective xenophobia took hold of place. Whispers, like a schemes and plots shot through the silence.

"Victor," the drifter started once again, offering his hand.

"Duffy," the man replied, taking Victor's hand to shake.

The Bastard hung from Victor's waist, a remnant of the civil war he had fought in. It occasionally stopped the whispers when it clanged against his stool. Two burly men approached the red-eyed stranger, one sitting on Victor's left, and the other stood behind him

"Don't like'em eyes of yers," the seated man slurring, obviously drunk.

"I do," Victor replied, not turning, keeping an uncaring expression, "I got them from my mommy."

Victor and Duffy exchanged glances, wondering if they could rely on each other.

"My friend don't like'em either," he slurred again, eliciting a low growl from his buddy.

"Well that's a shame," the red-eyed man sighed, taking another drink, "maybe you two should stop staring longingly into them."

"Maybe you and your friend should find another place to drink," the standing man replied, seemingly less drunk than his friend.

"I suppose that's one option. . ." Victor nodded, "or you two can go find some other strangers to harass. . ."

The bartender shook his head, hoping a brawl could be avoided.

"Or we can make ya go," the drunken man slurred.

"I just want a quiet drink," Victor sighed, "can't we just ignore each other till we go away?"

Just as the drunkard started to respond a woman's voice boomed throughout the room. The stout, lightly dressed brunette stood in the doorway of the bar. Her hair was frizzled, and the expression on her face sent shivers through every man in the room.

"And just what in the frozen blue hell are you doing!?" she yelled, storming towards the bar. "You've got children at home and a job in the morning! And you're drunk ass is here!?"

"B-but," the drunkard began, looking to his friend for support. But the standing man was no longer there, making for the door. A slap echoed, as the fleeing man fell to the floor.

"And don't think I've forgotten about you! Ya damned no good brother of mine!" she scolded, "Coming here every night and pickin' fights! The two of you should be ashamed!"

"Hey-" the floored man protested, rubbing his face but was interrupted by the housewife's booming voice.

"[b]Home. Now.[/i]" her gaze was deadly and the men complied. The pair flew from the bar like terrified dogs, with reckless abandon.

"Sorry for the trouble," she sighed, looking to the bartender, "their next drinks are on my idiot husband." He nodded and poured two drinks. Victor watched the woman leave, with a mix of admiration and fear.

"Never mess with a housewife, I guess," the red-eyed man turned to Duffy, "so what brings you to the coldest place on Althanas?"

[Lucius]

“If I knew that I’d tell you,” Duffy chuckled. He flagged the barman down for another drink, choosing him over the feisty broad with a penchant for shouting. “I sort of…ended up here.”

A heavy tankard appeared in front of him a few awkward moments later. It sloshed its head over the counter, another layer of grime on the well-stained oak. Blood, guts, and puke gave it a polished veneer, marking the tavern as one of Salvar’s grimier, but more respected establishments. Duffy reached for the handle, turned it, and put the steel to his lips.

“I hear that a lot,” Victor said with a grin.

Duffy took a long, overly eager gulp. The foam rolled down his chin in a torrent, sloshing onto his lap and nearly frying his nautili pack. He set the tankard down, wiped the mess away, and checked the small, glowing pouch for damage. If he lost a power pack this early on, he would have to cut the mission short. If he had to do that, then there were worse things awaiting him through the wormhole than whatever lurked in the darker corners of the bar.

“Well, that’s not entirely true…,” Duffy continued, as an afterthought. “I’m looking for someone.” He turned to the red-eyed pugilist. “Do you happen to know of one Duffy Brandybuck?”

The question was simple enough. Duffy had tried to locate signs of the date in the streets of Salvar. He knew what age, and roughly what period, due to the still ruined state of Knife’s Edge. Beyond that, he could find no obvious tells as to why the wormhole had opened to here and now. Unless Victor Valentine just so happened to be somebody special, revolutionary, and magnificent, Agent 492 was at a loss.

“He sort of looks like me, but with a cane,” he added, for descriptive aid. Though he was breaking protocol, Duffy arrived at the conclusion that two heads were better than one, and if Victor turned out to keep being all right, then three would definitely solve this riddle.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Well I've never seen you before either, so I guess not. . ." Victor drank from his own mug, making sure not to make as much of a mess as his new friend, "but I'm the boss of an Jack-of-all-trades company so, I'm here to help."

"You must be doing well for yourself," the man pointed out, "what's it called?"

"The company? umm. . . Yeah, I guess I should name it. . ." the red-eyed man scratched his head, considering the possibilities.

The bar grew noisy again, as patrons filed in from outside. Roused from his thoughts, Victor replied at last, " Victor's Odd-jobs."

"Good name," Duffy laughed, asking for another drink.

"Hey, old man," the red-eyed jack-of-all-trades called to the bartender, "you ever heard of Duffy Brandybuck? He looks like this guy, only with a cane."

The barkeep scowled, replacing Duffy's empty mug with a full one. "Don't think so, 'specially not for a stranger."

"Well," Victor replied, ruffling through his coat, "you might not know me, but I think you know my friends."

"And who're they?"

"Jason, Phil and Sir Sebastian Rottingham," the red-eyed man pulled three silver coins from his coat.

"What the hell kinda name that last one, wh-" he stopped, spotting the coins, "oh. Right, he's my best customer."

"Thought you might," Victor smiled, winking at his new friend. The barkeep took the silvers and hid them in a pocket.

"Nope, never seen'im" the man shrugged and went back to cleaning.

"What?!" Victor turned, "then give me my coins back!"

"Don't think so," the bartender didn't budge, "besides, what? do you think all bartenders, everywhere, just send each other descriptions of the people that go into their bars? How naive! you should go back to your mothers teat! this is no place for a child."

Wearing an off-put look of shock, Victor turned to Duffy, "where the hell did that come from?"

"I think maybe we should try somewhere else. . ." Duffy suggested between gulps of his amber drink.

"Yeah. . . maybe," Victor stared, squinting at the bartender, "what else can you tell me about him?"

[Lucius]

Duffy tried to think of an appropriate fact or two to impart. Whatever he said, he did not want to sound arrogant. Even though Victor would likely never know his identity, the directorate forbade any ‘spoilers’ hinting at Althanas’ long, turbulent, and chaotic future. For once, the gift of hindsight was starting to become a burden.

“He ran interference against the church a few months back,” he said glibly. He was not remotely sure if the dates were correct. “Witches and wagons, caravans and churches, that sort of thing.” He had not remembered he had ever been in Salvar until, just like that, his silicone-soled boots had set foot on the snowdrifts.

Victor narrowed his eyes, trying to remember if anything he had heard sounded like their man. Things had been, troubling in Salvar, to say the least. So much bad stuff happened to good men, and good stuff to bad, the fine line was becoming finer still in Denebriel’s absence.

“What was the outcome?” The captain continued to depart the tavern for safer territory Duffy followed him with languishing strides. “I mean, did he survive?”

“Would I be looking for him if he did not?” Duffy chuckled. Victor rolled his eyes. “Or is that not what you meant?”

As they stepped out into the frigid cold, their breath condensed, and their eyes glazed. Fortunately, for Duffy, the musculature augmentations that formed his A.R.I.A system fought off the numbing and draining temperature. Unfortunately, for Victor Valentine, his wool and cloth did not.

“Prison is not quite dead, but here, as well as.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Duffy did not remember suffering an arrest. He was certain he would recall a century or so buried beneath a border chapel. He would almost certainly remember torture by the ecclesiasts every second of his ‘sentence’. “No, he is free, as far as the rumour-mill goes.” He pulled up the schematics of the plains where he had been with Aurelianus Drak’Shal around the same time. Nothing was amiss between history and time passing before their eyes.

“Well then,” Victor said gruffly. He buried his hands into his pockets and stared ahead into the twilight. “That means he is laying low, because ‘freedom fighters’ and atheists do not tend to run around a church state waving their discontent on a flag.”

Duffy smirked. He would have loved to have the balls to do just that. There was, however, a time and place for sowing dissent. Tromping the domains with a stranger was not it.

“You seem the sort to know about these things,” the agent quipped. He pointed to a small alehouse opposite the rowdy tavern. It seemed suited to clandestine chatter. When Victor shook his head and gestured east, Duffy frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

“The Resistance,” was all the debonair man said with steaming breath. He hunched his shoulders, trudged away, and left Duffy with more questions than the man’s answers provided.

With a glimmer of holographic light around his wrists, which disconnected the uplink to his ship, he followed. The last time he had heard that word, was shortly before war once again came to the snowy wastes, and the freethinking people of Salvar fought, and finally gained their freedom from theocratic idolatry.

Creative license fully taken. Please PM Mordelain if there any discrepancies/enquiries.

[Good for Nothing Captain]

"Still fucking cold though," Victor muttered under his breath. His arms, crossing in front of his chest, worked furiously to keep his body warm. Bored eyes led the way for Duffy, as Victor trudged through the newly fallen snow.

Their trek took them to the edge of town, then passed the tree-line. Victor looked back, noticing how easily the man walked through the snow. Thinking it odd that, though they both seemed equally unprepared for the cold, Duffy was almost immune to chill. The red-eyed man moved begrudgingly through the white sheet. His disdain grew as he watched Duffy roll a snowball and effortlessly hit a squirrel in a tree; an act he would normally have found hilarious.

Victor's pace increased with frustration, stretching out his strides to their max. Victor stopped abruptly, sending snow flying around him. Duffy barely dodged, dancing around the red-eyed man and stopped to face him. Dead-eyed and grim faced, red-eyes stared from under a knitted brow.

"I should probably ask; are you a spy?" Victor inquired through a sigh.

Duffy stared, absently, unsure how to reply. Then he settled on a response, ". . . probably the farthest thing from it. . ."

"Damn," Victor cursed, starting his hurried long strides once again. Offering no explanation he led the way, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Wait," Duffy started, picking up his pace to keep up, "what do you mean?"

"Nothing, it's just. . ." Victor sighed, letting the questioning man catch up, "the leader is really annoying. . . It would've been nice to knock him down a few pegs."

"How do you mean?" Duffy asked, trying to remember who it might be.

"You'll see. . ." Victor shuddered.

Their pace increased, as the red-eyed man's path had them weaving through the woods. Figures moved in the shadows, raising Duffy's alarms. The man readied for battle, hugging a tree for cover. He looked to Victor, checking to see if the man had noticed the same, but the captain seemed not to notice. Duffy made hushed noises to get Victor's attention, but he only kept walking, grumbling bitterly.

Duffy readied to save the oblivious man, when a deep voice boomed through the air.

"DID YOU HONESTLY THINK YOU COULD FOOL ME?!" the voice boomed, following a dark laughter. Both men froze and Victor sighed. "YOU HAVE FINALLY COME TO JOIN THE RESISTANCE!"

The dark elf came from the shadows, a wide grin decorating his lavender features. Duffy stood amazed, unsure what kind of reckless resistance this was.

"I knew you would relent eventually," the dark-elf held out his hand but Victor punched him in the face in response. The drow fell, a thin line of blood streaming from his nose. Duffy stood shocked, wondering if he should be worried or relieved.

"Hey Petey," Victor sighed, rubbing his knuckles.

"It's not Petey, it's Peter," the dark-elf corrected automatically, "I see you've already been let in on our new secret hand-shake." Peter nodded while wiping the blood from his face, trying to regain composure. "Welcome, to the resist- wait, Duffy? Where's your cane?"

Same thing about the whole creative licenses thing

[Lucius]

Duffy’s training was all that kept him from fessing. He narrowed his gaze at ‘Pete’, as though deep in thought, and then looked at the tips of his boots.

“Does it look like I need a cane?” he replied sarcastically.

The dark elf gave it some thought, and then laughed. The agent’s memory was waning, because he had not remembered being so obvious about his involvement with Chronicle, the Resistance, and the efforts to topple the remnants of the Church of the Sway in Salvar’s ruined heart. He made a mental note to be more wary from here on in, but immediately ignored it.

“Unless that’s a threat…,” he added glibly. Victor had been quite correct. The Drow was annoying.

Petey shook his head non-chalant. His entourage, more despicable than he, but half as charismatic, shuffled their feet nervously. All the Drow did to show his bemusement was curl his lips into a smile, point at Victor, and shrug.

“Whenever I threaten somebody blood starts flowing, so please,” he, surprisingly, half-bowed, “take it as a compliment.” He rose. “Duffy has a weight to it around here.”

They started walking east, as a group, and without direction. Duffy tried to disguise the fact he was new to this by sticking like glue to Victor’s left hand side. He kept his gaze to Pete’s nape, trying to work out if these people could have anything to do with the wormhole. He quickly concluded that they were not remotely important enough to tear reality apart. Alternatively…where they?

“Pssst,” he trilled into his newfound companion’s ear.

“I told you,” came the reply. Duffy chuckled. “We’re weeks behind schedule because this oath aggrandises his own ideals over the needs of the many.”

Duffy blinked. That sounded far too familiar for comfort.

“That wasn’t what I…,” he trailed off. They wove through darkness, dankness, double-barrelled checkpoints until the agent gave up on his training, and the tension eased off. Before they knew it, they were at the heart of the resistance headquarters, and Duffy was still clueless as to where they and his ancestor were.

“Weapons, gentlemen!” the Drow said with a clap. He turned on a dainty foot, gestured to a table by the last door before sanctuary proper, and waited.

Luckily, for the Resistance, and for the technological advancement of Althanas, Administrate protocol prohibited Duffy from bringing firearms through the wormhole. His only weapon was his tongue, the shielding inherent to his cybernetic systems, and the occasional well-aimed, but futile punch. He patted himself down to show he was unarmed, and a guard frisked him, just to make sure.

Victor, he noted, was not so foolish to come into a viper’s den without weapons. He begun to unload them amongst a group of like-minded guards. The sound of steel, iron, and wood clanging together filled the room ominously.

“I was just going to ask Victor here about this ‘Duffy’s’ deeds. What is a man with a cane doing at the heart of the rebellion?” Calmly, and coolly, Duffy pressed the matter straight to the Drow. He was running out of time. He needed answers. He needed to avoid meeting himself in such dangerously jittery company.