Vandal Valiance (solo)

[Mathias]

Something about it made him sick.

He didn't want to kill good men. There was just... something about it.

He had killed thugs and ruffians and slavers and thieves and robbers and rapists and murderers and drug dealers. He was one of the romantic rogues that he often wished himself to be; He was a chaotic force of good - dealing out the justice that Law was unable to dish itself and taking a slight bit of reward for himself on the side. He didn't delve into the unforgivable crimes - meaningless slaughter for sadistic pleasure, or taking advantage of maidens, claiming their maidenhead. He didn't try to take the gold from a farmer who'd only walked into the bazaar for a new head on his plow. He hated to think that he was a detriment to the state of health of Althanas.

He didn't want to be a leech or a scourge. He simply wanted to do things his way.

And killing a noble, just, well-respected and generous baron of Scara Brae was definitely not his idea of his way.

Mathias had stolen into Baron Aeric Eauruta's manor in the middle of the night, cloaked under the cover of darkness. He snuck through the halls as silently as he could, checking on any open doors to see if there may be someone inside. He'd been given a description of his two targets, and he'd yet to find them.

His search continued through the somewhat winding pathways of the mansion's well-decorated interior. He couldn't help but marvel, out of the corner of his eyes, at the splendor of the beautiful busts of the Ethereal Mother, V'dralla, or the golden and silver swords crossing eachother, or the tapestries woven with silky golden strands and littered with tiny diamonds, depicting the coat of arms of the Eauruta lineage.

Mathias passed a door, feeling himself drawn to it with an inexplicable hunch. He entered it, finding himself swallowed by a labyrinth of bookshelves and tables, littered with papers and texts. He cautiously carried himself about the study, hoping to find the Baron up, late at night, almost half-dead already from sleep deprevation. To no avail, however, did his search yield anything. However, from beyond a thin wall at the back of the library, he heard voices, muffled by the barrier between them and the planeswalker.

His body began to fade from the physical plane. His soul moved into a halfway world between the Firmament and the Anti, travelling through the meaningless and useless blockade of wood that no longer inhibited him. He saw two men louning in front of a fireplace, sitting and talking in hushed tones. Their faces and details were obscured by the hazy mist that seperated him from their physical existence.

The vandal brought himself, slowly, back to the world, and began to materialize in front of the two guards. Immediately, one took notice and shouted in alarm, springing to his feet and grabbing for his sword. Mathias reacted, attempting to yell, "Stop!" out of instinct - deep down, in his heart, he wished to avoid bloodshed, although he knew his continued survival at the hands of his masters demanded that blood, in fact, be shed.

He called Lysander from its pocket plane, bringing it up to deflect the guard's blow. He pushed against the oncoming blade and batted it away, kicking out as he did so to put some distance between himself and his adversary. He continued the arc and cut the other one across the collarbone, slicing a good part of his neck and down his chest. The man fell to the floor, tumbling out of his seat in a haphazard manner. He let out a gurgling rattle as blood bubbled from his lips and his eyes rolled around, unfocused.

Mathias ducked, collapsing his weight and falling backwards as the first guard lashed out. It swiped across his chest, leaving a large gash in his left pectoral. It only flayed through the muscle and had not connected with his ribs, however. The assassin allowed himself no moment of relief, not bothering to dwell on the luck... or generosity that fate had bestowed upon him. He landed, holding himself up with his arm. He pushed forward and thrust his blade forward, catching his opponent as he'd finished the arc of his swing. Lysander bit through, piercing the man's flesh. Math ran the blade as far forward as he could, puncturing skin, veins, muscle, and organs. Spurts and splats of blood shot at him, covering him in a crimson veil.

He then retracted his sword, moving aside as the man fell to the ground, now a corpse instead of a guard.

He looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling of Aeric Eauruta's manor and took in a deep breath, blood dripping off his chin and down onto the ground. He tilted his head backwards and felt a morbid satisfaction in indulging the violent whims that were hidden deep within him. It terrified him as he realized he had an unknown capacity for evil... and even worse, he had the ability to enjoy it. Perhaps that was the most sickening part of it all.

The door to the guards' room opened, and there stood a man clad in studded leather, a long, thick moustache curling with the lips as Ferrian Zalinhar gasped and then snarled with surprise. Math looked him over, his eyes cold and callous. The high of his adrenaline made everything perfectly, absolutely crystal clear.

As the noble moved to unleash his sword, slashing towards Mathias, time began to slow down. The youth's perception saw everything in slow motion... the hand reaching for the hilt, the steel sliding from the sheath... all of it seemed like a practiced pantomime that had been choreographed a hundred thousand times. He knew and anticipated every move...

It hurt him, however, to tear himself through the cosmos. He planeswalked once more, unable to recall the last time he'd had to do so in such quick succession. His soul screamed in agony as it was ripped across the thresholds between planes, thrown back into the ethereal state he'd thought he'd become so comfortable with.

Then, a voice spoke through his mind with the volume of a thousand thunderstorms. "Don't even think of running, my pet."

"Don't even think of escaping... You have your goals...

Would you let him escape, even though he's tried to kill you? Even though they didn't even listen to your plea? Come, now, child. Indulge... please. Let it all go...

just kill them," Morian said. His words echoed through the vast, empty plains of the ethereal world. The only ears there to hear them were Math's, and he felt a part of his conscience fade as his mind ceased thinking and his instincts took over. Everything became so suddenly clear.

His Master... was right. He should just kill them... all of them.

[Mathias]

Reality washed over him as he stood once more in the physical plane. He stood behind Duke Zalinhar, his blade raised and his eyes glazed. A mist clouded them as they flickered between a violent emerald to a deep ocean, his emotions whirling around like a maelstrom inside of him. It was inevitable however; both the instinct of survival, and the influence of his Master, had long since won this fight. His blade drove forward, entering the back of Ferrian's neck with a smooth, sickening slide. A clarity overtook Mathias - a perfect moment where he was no longer disgusted with himself. He was, instead, disgusting with everything else in the world, and something... something terrible inside of him told him that it was his right... his prerogative to murder.

However, his conscience overtook this epiphany in a mere moment - it may have subsided soon after, but for that one perfect second, his heart cried out as he realized what he'd done. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The words were involuntary, but they were sincere. They came from a depth in the assassin that he was unable to express in conscious thought.

The first target, Duke Ferrian Zalinhar.

Dead, now. The first objective was complete.

Vernanon's superiors, the only two men that were in his way. Neither had legitimate heirs for they'd taken no wives in either of their years. Both were middle-aged, yet to leave the cusp of their prime. They still had time to settle down, although rumors persisted they never would; their families would die with the two, for they had eyes for eachother.

Count Merix, however, could not wait for that to pass. Action had to be taken now. Mathias was merely a tool - an instrument in the ascension of the petty, avaricious noble whose sole purpose was to spread misfortune, lies, and evil across the lengths of the barony. His entire whim was to indulge his short-sighed ambitions, and the planeswalker had enabled the first part of the chain to collapse.

A voice of reason came through him as he stood there for a long minute, watching the blood pool from the three corpses, still twitching from their fresh deaths. "Not that I'm rather anxious for the next one, but I think it would be wise to start moving again," Lysander said. Silently, the boy agreed. He needn't say anything for the blade to know what would be said.

He closed the door to the room and started to pad down the hallway, looking for a flight of stairs. The library had yielded no results, and it was the lesser of his choices, although the first in his path. He'd decided that, should the Baron still be awake, he'd be in his study. If not, the next place he could logically be was his chambers. As Math rounded a corner, a hall to his left showed him the way to a spiral staircase leading up into a tower. With no other options apparent, he made his way to it, and cautiously ascended it, attempting to muffle his footsteps as best he could. Soft patters echoed through the hollowed tower, although no more than the creaks of the wood, or the wind outside.

As he reached the top floor, he found himself in a singular hallway with only one door at the end. A golden knocker hung on it, admist ornate carvings in the blackened-brown mahogany. Blood began to flow through Mathias in anticipation - he could feel his veins heat up and his mind buzz. His eyes twitched, looking from side to side, taking in every detail. He caught himself breathing heavily and attempted to pacify his anxiety, coaxing himself to a calm and clear state. Closing his eyes, he summoned his strength, trying to ease his way across the planes so he could step through the door silently.

The muscles of his soul ached. When he planeswalked, it became a physical entity - it was a manifestation of himself on another world where he was a foreign body. Even attempting to stabilize himself upon an alien realm took strength, stamina, and concentration. Three times in one night... not even five minutes apart from one another. He was going to be sore for the next week. He was going to ache as if he'd ran across the entire breadth of Corone in an hour... he didn't envy himself the days to follow. He'd be hustled about, regardless of his condition.

Mathias let out a sigh. It was the last motion he could make while in the ethereal plane. Quickly, he reverted back to the Firmament and the room appeared around him, registering every detail in his mind as he began to perceive physical existence once more.

A large bed lay in the corner of the room, in front of Math and to his left. Beside it was a man, his back turned to the planeswalker. He sat huddled over a desk, writing with a large quill on pieces of parchment, illuminated only by a small candle on the head of the desk. The vandal took a step forward and cleared his throat, causing Aeric Earutua to almost jump out of his skin. Immediately, he grabbed for a sword which was sheathed and laying against the bedframe.

"Who are you?" the baron demanded, his voice strong, deep, and calm. It was the kind of voice that a benevolent, but cautious authority should have, and it befit the noble in every single way. His large steel gray eyes scanned the assassin and his hand gripped his weapon instinctively. "I see. So it's that time, is it?" he asked rhetorically, his eyes locked on Lysander.

"I'm sorry, sir," Mathias said, his eyes full of sorrow. They conveyed a further, much deeper apology that he could not convey with the imperfect medium of language.

"I know you are, my boy. I am, too," replied the lord in a grave tone. He took in a deep breath, and let it out, and the two ran towards one another, bringing their blades crashing together, the grind of steel against steel filling the solemn, cold air.

[Mathias]

Mathias grunted as he pushed his weight forward, attempting to knock Aeric off-balance. He succeeded, but not as well as he'd hoped. The baron let himself move backwards, sidestepping as he did so. The assassin was able to turn around in time to bat away the oncoming sword. He backpeddled, swiping a horizontal arc out in front of him to keep distance between them. His back hit the wall, and he held up Lysander in a defensive stance, eyeing the elder man warily.

"He's good... really good. Better than you, probably," the magical blade commented. No shit, Mathias replied bitterly.

As Aeric moved forward, his longsword levelled perpindicular to his chest, Math brought his sword crashing down. The noble blocked it with expert precision. The boy's right arm flung backwards from the recoil of their clashing steel, and this left him wide open for his enemy's blade to bite into him.

He didn't feel it as immediate as he thought he might. It was a clean cut until it hit the dense meat and muscle of his shoulder. It cut into some of his upper left chest, and was lodged there for a moment. A cry of agony escaped his lips involuntarily and a haze began to gleam over his eyes, obscuring his cognative thought with a blood-red mist. He fought through the pain and drove Lysander forward with a thrust. He felt the resistance of skin, and then the sickeningly satisfying slip of it, breaking through the tender, yet tough web of flesh. The nauseating sound of a blade, flaying skin along its edges, reached Math's ears. It almsot drowned out the whisper, until the vandal caught it as the cobwebs of his bloodlust were immediately set aside.

"Good show... boy. Go... to my desk. The note. You'll... need it," the noble said.

The baron fell down and Mathias's grip on Lysander was loosened. He let go and backed away, letting the man fall to the ground and rasp out a harsh, heavy breathing. He rolled over, grasping the hilt of the sword and pulling it out with an intense grimace on his worn, elderly visage. Math did the same, taking the blade that was wedged into the his left shoulder out. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as he did so. He gasped and wheezed, almost to the point of hyper-ventilation.

He set the baron's sword down and reached for his own. With Lysander in hand, he raised it above his head and struck a killing, merciful blow to the suffering Aeric. As he cut through his neck and the metal hit the wooden floor, Math stumbled forward and collapsed onto the ground, crashing against the chair and curling up into a ball. His breath came out in ragged sobs, and he drew his knees up to his chest. "Why didn't you stop me?" he asked.

"Ssh... calm down, old sport," responded a voice. "I'm a part of you. Whatever you do, so do I. And you couldn't have avoided this. It's the way it happened. Ssh... stop it, kid. Get yourself together. Even he knew this was going to happen. Get up and get gathered. We're not done yet."

Lysander wasn't often a soothing part of Math's conscience. This was a rare moment that it had ever showed true, heartfelt empathy towards the planeswalker. Usually, it was jovial, but sarcastic. Happy, but cynic. But now... he realized that it was right. He couldn't undo what had happened. All the events of the past few months lead up to this point. And this moment would lead to the next. It was an unstoppable flow of time and fate that he was unable to prevent from overtaking him.

He choked down gulps of air in between sniffles, and slowly, but surely, he composed and drew himself up to his feet. He used the chair for support, and when he was standing, he surveyed the scene... the carnage that he had caused.

He kneeled down and picked up his blade, using the very last of his stamina to call forth its sheath. He strapped it to his back and slipped Lysander into its hard leather casing. He couldn't afford to keep calling it to and from the pcoket planes. Especially now that he had no energy left. He'd used all his strength, and his body hurt more than if he'd spent three days straight at the Zirnden. He shook the cobwebs from his head, trying to stabilize his vision and get his thoughts flowing through his mind once more.

His eyes wandered for a moment, until they became locked on the desk beside him. The desk... the freshly penned note that the Baron had been working on lay upon it, the ink having now dried to become solid, permanent letters. The boy picked it up, scanning across the hastily penned, albeit legible note.

If you're reading this, you killed me. It's okay.

It would've been someone else, if it wasn't you.

Read this carefully:

Concord. Seek them out.

Sorry this was so brie

The final letter looked something like an "f," although it had been trailed off and a slip of ink was streaked down the rest of the paper. That must have been where he'd entered the room. Had he arrived five minutes later... he might have a more detailed set of instructions.

The last moment lead to this one... this one to the next.

He took in a deep breath, letting it out through a sigh. He folded the parchment and slipped it inside a pocket on his coat.

It was time for him to leave. He couldn't afford to be spotted again. Nor could he even fathom trying to fend off any more guards.

Luckily, the night still draped the town, and it was be much easier to leave than it was to enter. However, Mathias knew that he was going to find no comfort when he reached his... for lack of a better word... his "home."

[Mathias]

The wagon hit a rock, and Mathias jumped with the short, upwards momentum that followed. His rear slammed against the wood, hard, and he grimaced as he fell to his side. His bracers were stuck together, initiated by a wand that the Master had bestowed upon Vernanon. They couldn't deal with him escaping during an unobserved period of time. How, exactly, they were able to keep track of him during the assassinations, as well as any other time, he couldn't quite explain. Yet, the necromancer was still taking precautions against the planeswalker's escape.

And that was certainly on his mind.

Concord. What the fuck does that mean? What am I even supposed to be seeking out? he thought to himself out of frustration. He couldn't even summon Lysander - the bracerse held his power in place, disrupted his focus and concentration, rendering him unable to control the essences and threads of reality. It was some form of counter-measure that the Master had installed.. activated when necessary. However, the questions that plagued Mathias would only be answered by his return to Morian, and thus, he had no reason to escape. The oppertunity would arise some day, he was sure. But not until he knew what he was... why he was... and above all, what the hell was going on with the Syndicate, the Master, and this "Concord."

He attempted to recap the events that had occured... starting from when he'd been captured during the raid on the Blackhood slavers. He'd been taken captive by a powerful wizard... experimented on and honed to become an assassin. But, more than that, his powers were being examined and dissected, learned from by Morian. He was trying to improve upon the basic control that the planeswalker was able to exert... trying to mold him into a weapon that used the core of reality itself.

I'm... the Tap. I am a piece of the Eternal Tap and yet... I can't even fight against this simple spell holding me here. How double-damn worthless can I be? By the sweet Sway, why can't I do anything?

In response, Mathias suddenly felt his momentum force him forward, sliding him against the back of the wagon. It had halted completely, and shouts suddenly filled the air. He could only help but sit in bewilderment, whether from what seemed like the success his will had exerted, or from the chaos that had suddenly engulfed the atmosphere, one could not quite discern. Blades rung out, steel clashing on steel. A few grunts came from behind Math, presumably the drivers or their enemies.

Footsteps rounded the corner and the flap covering Math's only view of the outside world opened up. A slim figure appeared, pulling himself onto the flatbed. "Fuck me running... I don't even believe my eyes. Is that you, Vandal?"

Mathias jerked his head upwards, squinting as he stared at the stranger... No. That was wrong. He wasn't foreign or unfamiliar. He was... "Toadie?" Math asked.

The boy's comrade immediately moved to examine him. Toadie had changed in the past few months. His cheeks no longer held the slight puff that they'd retained when he first arrived at their hideout. He was much more worn and gaunt, his skin stretched tight over his face. He looked fatigued... tired... battleworn. Math couldn't imagine the hell that must've erupted after the battle had ended that night. If the Blackhoods had won, then that would've proved a devastating loss. The combined efforts of the strongest underworld powers in Scara Brae should've been a thing to fear. But if they were defeated, then that would ultimately prove that the rookie syndicate wasn't just fucking around.

Toadie inspected him, seeing the scars that the planeswalker had accrued from his experiments at the hands of Morian, the wounds he'd suffered from his battles in the short span of servitude to Vernanon, and above all, the same tiredness that he, himself, had been feeling.

"It looks like you're going to get rescued," Toadie said, grinning slyly. He hoisted Math up, who grunted as he tried to protest.

An influx of confused emotions boiled up from the pit of his stomach. He took immediate comfort in the idea of being relieved of the horrors he would've suffered at the hands of the necromancer. Contrasting that, though, was the insatiable curiosity and disappointment that the answers he was seeking would be lost to the circumstances. He had been preparing himself for his return, training his mind to block out the pain he anticipated. He was ready to be put through torture... so long as he was able to obtain the knowledge that he knew, with every fiber of his soul, would lead him one step closer to his self-manufactured escape, as well as the assumption of control over his own destiny.

All I ever do... is get rescued... or kidnapped... he thought to himself.

Out in the open, Mathias saw the familiar faces of his crew, as well as those of the Kintzing Boys. Nobody had come out unscathed, but the bodies of the guards and escort led to the implication that they were easily overwhelmed by the gangs' superior numbers. Knuckles, seeing that Toadie carrying a body, came over and examined it. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw Math's face. "By the Thanes... VANDAL?!"

Immediately, everyone perked up and gathered around him. Toadie set the dazed planeswalker upon the ground, and the crowd leaned over, peering at him. All of their faces, however, dimmed out into the indiscernible mass of peripheral as he focused on one in particular - someone who now kneeled over him and examined his wounds.

All of the misgivings he'd had, all of the questions that burned through him, and all of the answers he may never find; all of them suddenly ceased as he saw Cleric's face smiling down at him.

[Mathias]

The planeswalker awoke in a room that was completely alien to him, and although unnerved, he found himself looking into a pair of enormous, glittering green eyes that calmed him down immediately. He sat up, and Limali took a hold of his hands, chanting out in an eloquent tongue that the vandal could only assume was Elvish.

Mathias rubbed his wrists as the shackles around them came off. "By the Sway, you sure are something," he said to her. "Gods... I can't even believe you're the same girl I rescued back then... Everyone's changed so much. You all seem... battle-hardened... rough and callous, like bandits and shit," he stuttered over his words. He was nervous in the presence of this graceful creature who'd come into her own since he'd last seen her, fleshing out and coming back up to health. She was beautiful - there was no way to truly describe it. "So, how exactly were you able to remove those shackles?"

"Look. I know who he is. The Master, he's called," she said. "You might know him as Morian Fleshbane, the arch-lich of Antioch. Those bracers were woven together using Elvish magic. It was a very haughty mistake of his, to assume that you, or rather, nobody close to you, couldn't possibly know about song magic. He didn't put a great deal of effort into forging those manacles. I only know a little bit, but it was enough to dispel the enchantments on them. And you couldn't, because most Humans can only touch part of the Tap, and Elvish Magic is entirely separate from the Tap in and of itself."

Little did she know that it was only recently that Mathias found that he literally was the Tap... or atleast a shard of it. He was a manifestation of magic and reality... and that was the reason he was able to do the things he could. "So that means that Morian's an elf?"

"Half elf, actually... He was a part of the forbidden school of Istien University... and he was exiled after that school was closed and condemned. This is how he ended up in Corone... and subsequently, Antioch. And that's how he's now made his way here. I still haven't been able to figure out what... aside from that he's looking for magic... magic that comes from the Tap, and very rare, obscure pieces that most people haven't been able to tap into for generations... But that's all I know."

"That sure is a hell of a lot of information, either way... You've really become like one of us, haven't you? You're a true asset... a true friend," Mathias observed.

"They gave me the name Lady," she told him. She smiled, and he returned the gesture. In the Scara Scourge, it was an act of official acceptance into their folds for them to give you a title. It was your function and your identity - it was only a sign of absolute trust, and even then, only in the most extreme circumstances, for anyone in the Scourge to reveal their true name to another person. "After that raid, we all relocated to the countryside. The sudden assassination of the Duke got us extremely suspicious. We decided to check it out... and we happened to be lucky enough to stumble upon your caravan."

"So wait, wait... what happened after the raid?" Mathias asked.

It was a long story, and one that the vandal hadn't quite been prepared to hear. It turns out that Fingers, was in fact, on their side the entire time. The Bartholo Gang, as well, had been the only ones to trust him. Chapter had betrayed the entire established criminal underworld, putting all of his chips down on the Blackhood Syndicate. The entire assault was an ambush, and it single-handedly crushed the influence of so many organizations. With the crippling blows that were dealt to them, the remnants of the Scara Scourge, some of the crime families, the Bartholo Gang and the Kintzing Boys, all banded together and scattered themselves across the baronies, until they could regroup and find a way to counterattack the Syndicate. Not only that, but due to Chapter's betrayal, Matches had died during the battle.

Unable to comprehend the full scope of what he'd just been told, Mathias started to shake and quiver, not quite bursting into tears, but very much on the verge of doing so. Lady wrapped her arms around him, cradling him to her breast. "I trusted him... he loved her, didn't he? How could he do that? How could he let her die? How could he leave any of us to die?" he questioned, over and over again. Limali merely hushed him, running her hand through his hair.

"We all trusted him," she said, trying to comfort him. "But, we still have everyone else... we still have a chance."

"I swear to all the double-damned gods," Mathias said, sucking in his breath and steadying himself. His voice was sober, serious, and had a chill to it that ran a shiver up and down Lady's spine. With venom in his voice and fire in his eyes, he finished his vow, "He won't."

[Mathias]

Toadie snickered as he plastered paint all over the walls. When he was finished, he and Mathias took a step back and admired their work. In Math's signature bubble lettering, was written "We're Still Here." Below that, Toadie had drawn a very intricate picture of two interweaving letter S's, with smaller lettering for each of them, so that it spelled out "Scara Scourge." Their target had been chosen due to its close proximity to the Guard barracks of Elvaline, and that made it the best place to announce their return.

The group had looked to Mathias for advice, after he had been nursed to health and was allowed to orient himself with his surroundings. He suggested that they go back to leaving messages, that all of them return to showing the world that they weren't going to back down from the fight, even though they'd suffered such a loss. They were going to start fighting the battle on their terms, and everyone agreed unanimously. Fingers, Knuckles, Cleric, Toadie, and Lady... they were all together once again. They allowed Math a little time to grieve for Matches, although there was a consensus that she would want them to fight on without stopping - that there were things that were far more important. She had died for something - they couldn't let her sacrifice be wasted.

"It's time to strike back," Mathias announced. And tonight was the first night in a campaign that he had planned in his head. And that was what had led them here.

With the whole town under martial law, and with Vernanon having ascended the position of Duke now that Zalinhar was dead, the Blackhood Syndicate would have no problem finding a base of operations in the countryside. Not only that, but with his influence, Vernanon would be able to steer the guard and Syndicate clear of any and all confrontation. That would mean that the Scara Scourge and their allies would have to fight both of them - rather than having it be a massive free for all.

Tonight was only a small step - a spit in the face of the Syndicate, the Master, and the new Duke. And with a little bit of their vandalism, of course there had to be violence.

The guard house in Elvaline was notorious for accepting whores as bribes. It was a pathetic practice, especially for the rural knight-wannabes. It was also whispered that the local bordello had been supplied with slaves brought in from some of the Syndicate's shipments. Tonight was a particularly special night - the guards were holding a celebration amongst themselves. The subject in question of the festivity was the promotion of the Count Vernanon Merix to the title of Duke, and his generosity in giving the guards this free night's worth of fun.

Two of the guards drunkenly stumbled outside of the barracks for a moment's fresh air. The sounds of merriment trailed out the door behind them - explosive laughter and exquisite moans, the clanking of tankards and the rolling of dice, and many other such noises that a party of ignorant, backwater guards would generate during their self-indulgence. The duo's course took them across the street, where through their haze they looked up to see Toadie dropping down from the scaffolding that they'd set up. Their eyes were drawn to the massive mark of graffiti that he'd left behind. "What the hell," one of them started to say, before Mathias phased into existence behind one, with Lysander in hand, piercing him through the stomach.

The other one was an easy target for Toadie. The man could barely fight back in his inebriated stupor as the lad began to pommel him with his spiked gloves. With their message written and the sacrifice having been completed, Mathias took a step back to survey the scene. "This will be enough to rile them up," he stated, matter-of-factly.

"Shit, man, aren't you sort of scared? I mean, even after everything that's happened... we're taking this a step further than anyone else has ever before. This isn't just a raid, or a heist," Toadie said.

"You're right. This is going to be war."

[Mathias]

"Hey! Toadie and Vandal are back!" announced Fingers, as the mentioned pair walked through the threshold of the doorway into their hideout. They were a bit roughed up, and looked tired, but their expressions held an enormous sense of pride and accomplishment.

There was a sense of security among everyone - the sort of secrecy that they'd been accustomed to had since dwindled. Maybe it had something to do with the atmosphere of the old house that they'd occupied on the edge of Elvaline, or perhaps it was the true bond of camaraderie that they'd developed... it was hard to say. But the tension between them had disappeared since they'd left the city. The house, too, seemed to reflect that. It wasn't as dark and silent as the hideout that they'd had in the middle of Scara Brae's slums. It was much more lively, and candles and lanterns were often lit to illuminate every square inch.

"Well, first off," Mathias began to explain as everybody made their way into the parlor of the house. "You shouldn't be calling him Toadie anymore. The kid's gone up and graduated... from here-on out, it's official. We're going to call him Logo."

Applause broke out among the rogues, and the vandal turned to his apprentice and grinned wolfishly. He reached out and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, who was standing in disbelief and looked as though he might fall over from the surprise he'd been given. A smile spread across his lips, and he looked up at Math with genuine admiration. The planeswalker's heart twitched for a second. I guess that's how I always looked up to Chapter, he thought to himself. With that revelation, he made a solemn vow, in the cleared state of his conscience, that he would never betray anybody like Chapter had betrayed them.

"I also have something that I'd like to say," Cleric said, standing up and ushering the two boys to sit down. She took the floor, and everyone immediately silenced themselves. It was uncharacteristic of Cleric to speak up, and to do so with such conviction. Her eyes had a strong determination in them, and it was obvious that she was evoking a passion that was borne of absolute inspiration.

"We live a hard-knock life, but that's the way we chose it, right? But the events that have happened over the past few months... I can't imagine that they could've... or would've happened to us. And I know there's a lot of things heating up all over the world - you've all been hearing about it, I know... even the Sway's Church here in Elvaline has shut down and has been silent for weeks... and to top off that, the leader of our outfit betrayed all of us to the Blackhood Syndicate.

"But out of all of us, Vandal has gone through the most shit - things that I can't even possibly imagine, no matter how much he's tried to describe it to us. And out of all of us, I've been here the longest... with Chapter and my sister... I don't know if I really have a right to, but between all of us, Vandal's the one with the plan. I'd like to... to nominate him. To be the next Chapter, and to be the one we all look up to."

For a long moment after she ended her speech, there was silence. Mathias was shocked, both honored and confused. He hadn't seen them in so long, and he'd only recently been back with them. Everything he'd asked of them so far was off instinct and impulse alone - trying to get back at the Master and the damned Count who'd usurped his betters.

Fingers stood up next, and clapped for a second. "I remember the conviction he had when he and I ran into trouble with the Bartholo Gang... Honestly, I thought, then, that he lived for nothing other than violence. But I've started to see that... he fights for us. That's what it was..." With that, he seated himself.

Knuckles rose, and simply grunted, "Yeah. I think so, too," before sitting down.

Lady took the floor, and looked directly at Mathias. "I was so scared the first time I saw you... but you were there to calm me down. You made me feel at ease, and safe. I can't ever thank you enough, and I've been glad that I was able to help you, in the same way... I'm glad that all of us were able to save you, then."

As she sat down, Logo stood up and looked down at Mathias, who he had been sitting next to. "Hell... I... to be honest, Math... Vandal... he's the whole reason I joined up with the Scourge. I couldn't believe it, at first, that I'd even made it to the same organization as him, let alone the same outfit. It's been a complete honor, and that I get to be alongside you... shit, I mean... even if it's just among us, you've been using more words than fists, and that makes you a legend. I knew a ton of hoodrats that hated you, because you were able to do more with your graffiti than they could with their muscle. And man, if you were.. if you were leading us? What do you think that would make us capable of?"

Mathias looked up at Logo, and smiled. As he did so, the corners of his eyes creased in a wrinkle that broke the barrier he'd been holding up. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he tried to laugh through it, only to end up in a sob. He hated it when he cried - he felt so weak. He couldn't control his emotions, and he couldn't keep up that aura of command and strength and valor that Chapter had... that had inspired him. It was something that Chapter would never do...

Something that Chapter would never do... That's actually... that would actually be a good thing, wouldn't it? he thought to himself.

Gathering his breath, he stayed his emotions... his happiness and his frustration, his anxiety and his fears... setting them aside for a moment, he stood up and scanned everybody's faces, directly looking them in the eyes with a serious smile. "Well, I... if that's what all of you want... if everybody agrees... I'll... I'll definitely do this. I'll be here for all of you, always... but I have one condition..."

Everybody looked up at him expectantly. "Let's tell each other our real names."

[Mathias]

I pity the sorry bastard who coined the phrase, "Honor among thieves." That poor fool probably never saw the knife in his back coming. ~ Jasmine the Poison

"My real name is Mathias," he announced to the room, full of his companions and friends - people he felt, that after all the things that had transpired against them, that they could be trusted. Everyone muttered, and Logo seemed to have a revelation, apparent by the flickering of his eyes.

"Shit, man. I thought it was Matthew or something. Like, do the Math. It makes sense, now, though, I guess," he said, chuckling.

"I uh. I'm starting... I've been starting to remember things from the past, the stuff that's been buried since I first washed up in Scara Brae. I was... a part of the navy of Larapool, in Antioch... and before that, I was one of the two Rogue Brothers who led the Black Sails Armada. That's about as far back as I can go, though, so far," Mathias explained, the brief summary that poured from his lips washing over everyone, giving them a sense of awe at the level of security and comfort with which their leader had to be blessed with in order to grace them with an actual and intimate knowledge of who he was.

"My name's Saralynn," said Cleric, taking the torch. "The first Chapter... he found me and my sister on the streets. Since then, I've been with the Scourge."

"The name is Travis Vehajo," Logo said, taking a deep bow. "My family's aristocracy, but I couldn't deal with that shit. I preferred adventure and trouble... and I found plenty in the Scourge."

And so on, the circle went. Lady was really Limali, of Raiaera - noble, and graceful, but now fallen and tainted by the unclean hands of poverty. Never to be accepted back by her family, she had stayed with those who had grown the same bonds with her. And after her, was Fingers, whose name was Eddy, and he was the son of a halfling man and human woman. Mother had died, and his father had been in and out of jail too many times to count. He took up the trade of his paternal lineage, using his dexterity for thievery of all kinds. He'd met up with Knuckles, whose name was Bruno. His father was an engineer, who'd been working on steamboat models for Scara Brae. He was too unintelligent to get a real education, and ended up leaving his house.

And all of them had gathered - the orphans, the abandoned, the forgotten. The unkempt, the unclean... wily and wild. Untamed, as they may be called, and all of them were banded together, making a pact of trust with one another by admitting the knowledge of their names into the open field, and allowing themselves to share with eachother who they truly were, in their hearts.

Mathias sat back, relaxing in his chair. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to take a small amount of pride in being able to allow everyone the medium with which they were able to spread the burden of their pasts across eachother. Everybody shared in everybody else's pain and happiness, and this was the first step in which the planeswalker hoped to be many, that they would grow and bond together. He was content - truly content - for the first time in a long while, with how things were going. And he knew, above all things, that he owed it to the present company.

[Mathias]

Mathias unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor where he stood. He yawned like a lion ready for a nap, and ran his hands through his dirty blond hair. He looked around his room, viewing the only furnishings - thick, dusty oak walls and a simple feather-mattress bed with no headboard, and a small table with a lit candle on top and a three legged stool. He took a seat at the desk and reached over, pulling his knapsack out from under his bed. From it, he withdrew a pen and his journal, and set himself to writing in it by the dim light of the candle.

After a bit of forced scribbling, the ink began to show up on the parchment, and his hand moved vigorously as he wrote at a quick pace. I still have yet to figure out what the Duke's letter meant. Concord... the only thing I can possibly think of is it is shorthand for Concordia... But what does that have to do with him knowing of my impending arrival, and the state of affairs in Scara Brae and Antioch? Only those two are apparent in any connection they have with the state of affairs..

What's happened to me up until this point? How did I get here? What the hell am I even doing? By the Sway, I'm not so sure anymore... of anything, really. I've started to remember so much - it's hard to think about, that I even had a life before now. That I've lost everything from then, and can't get it back from where I am now. I used to be in the Black Sails Armada... I used to be in command of it... how do you forget something like that? I had a brother... a twin, sort of. There were so many things... I can't even begin to think of what's happened to everyone I used to know.

And where am I now? Fighting back against the hands of fate that have, in their unfathomable machinations, put me here in Scara Brae. What do I do? I guess the only answer to that question... will be found in whatever Concord is.

As he finished the dotting of the final sentence, a knock resounded from outside his door. "Come in," he said, blowing on the ink on the page to dry it out a bit quicker. As he closed his journal, Cleric entered his room, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind her quietly. Mathias looked up, his blue-green eyes laden with concern. "What is it, Cleric?" he asked. And then, as an afterthought, he corrected himself. "Sara?"

"Chap... Mathias," she began. She took in a deep breath, and it was clear she was attempting to maintain her emotions at a steady level. "I... I know you might not want to talk about it... but I have to ask. What happened to you? You're... a lot different than you used to be." She approached him with a timid pause in her steps, and sat on the bed beside him.

The planeswalker took in a deep breath, and lowered his forehead into his hands, closing his eyes as he relived the events of the past few months. "You know... my power, right? Well, there's a man who controls every aspect of the Syndicate. A man who comes from Antioch - the arch-lich, Morian. He's been using their slavery business to seek out those with magical potential. He knew about me from when he and I met in Antioch, once. And then, I fell right into his hands, here in Scara Brae."

Cleric put her hands to her mouth, and she moved to Mathias, taking his head into her hands and cradling it to her chest. Instinctively, he leaned against her, finding in her a comfort that only she was able to offer him. "By the Thanes," she murmured. He knew she was attempting to fathom what had happened to him, and was trying, on some level, to empathize with him.

"But it's... it's not that," he said. "I mean... we, as the Scourge... we've never done anything horrible, right? We're misfits... that's what I always thought. But under Morian's command... he gave me over to a Count, in this barony. He turned me into a weapon. I had to kill some men. Good men, who didn't deserve it. Like... the Duke. That was me, Sara. And..."

"And that's why you're after the new Duke?" Cleric said, finishing his sentence. She took his chin in her hands and lifted up to her eyes. For once, in her shining smile and bright brown eyes, he saw a strength and reservation that was so uncharacteristic, so truly hidden, that he couldn't be sure if it was really her. She leaned forward and kissed him, their lips locking together for a moment before she pulled away. "I know you have a plan. And I trust in it," she said, standing up and walked towards the door.

As she passed, she snuffed out the candle on his table, and opened the door. "Good night, Mathias," she called out, before closing the door and enveloping him in the warm embrace of the darkness, as he crawled into his bed. It would be a long while before he would fall asleep, as thoughts ran rampant through his mind. But when that sweet oblivion did overtake him, he would hardly even notice it.

~ To Be Continued in Vandal Violence~

Spoils:
Vandalwand :: Trinket :: [Oak]
Nicely crafted, although simple, this brown, one-foot long wand acts as a spray can, although with a large resevoir of paint - roughly equivalent to a gallon. Aside from its capacity and function, it has two magical abilities. First, it will change the paint to whatever color the wielder wishes. The second is that it refills itself from empty to full within an hour.

Lysander :: Weapon :: [Steel]
Lysander is a beautiful sword of an origin that even Mathias does not know. The blade itself is made of fine steel and the hilt is made of what seems to be gold. In the center of the ornately carved out crossguard is a large emerald sphere.

If one looks into it, they might even see a misty face hidden within it, and if they hold it, it may even speak to them. The sword is an extension of Mathias himself, and the personality that is held within it is a cynical, witty, wise-cracking reflection of Math and his own internal workings.

It has another thread of magic embedded within, but one that only Mathias himself can call upon. It works as an extension of the planeswalker, and as such, he can call it from no matter where it is to his hands, working with the same fundamental principle of planeswalking itself. Also, in the event of being attempted to be wielded against Mathias, it will dissipate and return to a pocket plane, rather than strike down his own master.

Swordsmanship (Skill) - Average
Mathias has found that he is innately skilled with a sword, and with the returning of his memories, has further discovered he was once a very capable swordsman. Remembering all of this, he has refined his style and is capable of holding his own in a swordfight.

[Caden Law]

Quest Judging
Vandal Valiance

Overall, this was a pretty good thread. It had a lot of potential, the shortcuts were understandable...really I was only thrown for a loop once or twice. Admittedly, they were big bloody loops, but still. Good job overall.

STORY

Continuity: 7. Strong, lots of good references to past events. It actually felt like I knew the characters even though this is the first time I've ever read one of your threads.
Setting: 8. One of the better characterizations of Scara Brae that I've seen.
Pacing: 8. Generally good, one or two slip-ups here and there.

CHARACTER22

Dialogue: 7. Overall, dialogue was strong. Weakest parts were probably Needles and Morian.
Action: 8. Generally good, easy to follow, not too confusing.
Persona: 7. This is something I was honestly torn on. While your characterizations were somewhat predictable (see the notes section), they were usually strong and consistent.

WRITING STYLE

Technique: 7.5. Strong overall, but enough gaffs here and there, and you didn't put much effort into describing the scenery at times.
Mechanics: 9. Purple prose early on and some scattered typing errors throughout keep this from a 10.
Clarity: 9. See above.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card: 10. Because of the Vandalwand.

TOTAL: 80.5/100

EXP/GP Rewards

Mathias: 2277 exp, 464 gold

Other Rewards

Mathias: Vandalwand, Swordsmanship (Average) are approved as listed. Lysander will require some revision to include a summon time for Arena battles and so on, but is otherwise approved.

...not even one paragraph in and I approve solely for the Vandalwand. Let's see if he's got more to him than magical prankster. Bit heavy on the prose; it reads like one of those sparkly slow motion sequences in the intro episode to an anime. No, really. Which isn't necessarily bad. The chase had a few wording errors and so on, but it was short enough for me to overlook it. Math's gang is a bit cliché. Bit too much of a five man band with too many archetypes in play: The Not-Quite-Pretty-Enough Boy Doubling As Joe Average With A Mischievous Streak (Math), the Mousy Quiet Girl Who'll Probably Be His Love Interest If She Does Not Die Horribly (Cleric), the Cool Big Sis Who Will Sit There And Look Sexy Before Being Removed From Consideration (Matches), and Those Two Really Ugly Guys Who Will Likely Be Dead Or Maimed, Mangled, Eviscerated, Or Otherwise Incapacitated By Post Three (Fingers and Knuckles).

Description of the Zirnden match is a bit odd. First Math's a Vandal...then he's a pit fighter. But I've seen worse and stranger. And I choose to believe the so-called strangehold was a four-dimensional triangle choke. Your profile does say Planesmagic, after all. The description of the Scourge is refreshingly different from what I've been exposed to so far, but it's a bit odd to see someone supposedly kind and gentle like Cleric involved in that. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume she's actually a poisonous little shrew who murders people with enough arsenic to taste. (Not happening, I know. A sh33p can dream.)

Points for the brick. Because.

Blackhood Syndicate's a nice name. Goes well in opposition to the Scara Scourge. Called it on Twiggy McMedic. For some reason, Gurren Lagann just came to mind. Saralynn. Yep. She's gonna die. Also: Hurray amnesia! With a side of Where's My Romance Theme Music And/Or Bottle Of Sleeping Pills And Tonic? Nice smackdown on the Bartholos, though I'm a bit O_o'd at the blatant ethnic gangery of it all. Even if that is how most gangs work. Vandal deserves the namesake, by the way.

...mmkay, and he didn't tell Chapter about Fingers, why? Also: Splittest? Called it again on Saralynn. Oh dear. Trauma Triangle of Love.

Nitpick: If there are so many families involved, with so much power at stake, why are only five being represented? Including what seems to be a low-level outfit like Chapter's? Meeting seemed a bit rushed as well. Abrupt cliffhanger was also abrupt. And out of place, considering the kind of damage Matches seems capable of. Another round of betrayals, hopefully. I want to be proven wrong on the assumption that these people are Loyal, Noble Thieves.

...epic-level Whut. I have no idea what just happened.

Mmkay, that's suitably random and out of nowhere and kind of a moodkiller. Origin story helps. Still a bit meh on the rapid change of pace and everything. Hate to say it, but this whole segue just...kinda lost me. Score's probably going to take a hit for that.

...yay. Back to, y'know. The actually interesting part. Except that it's interesting months after when it was supposed to be. Yay. Hopefully Math kills everyone. Traitor Chapter? Didn't see that one coming. Good show, would've been better to see firsthand though. Odd to see Math take charge like that, but stranger things etc. Cleric cursing? Shock. Awe. 'Cept not so much, because what little characterization we've seen of her since Math's drop back into The Real World is basically in line with that. Still say she's doomed though.

Nice ending overall.

[Tin Foil Hat]HER LIPS WERE POISONED! THIS THREAD ENDED WITH MATHIAS DYING![/Tin Foil Hat]