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.