Vandal Valiance (solo)

[Mathias]

Well. It used to say,

"Reliable. Honorable. Virtuous.
The City Guard.
Join Today!"

But that was before Mathias got to it. The rope was snug around his waist, and, after testing the line's stability, he lowered himself in front of the giant sign. As his feet touched the ledge of the bilboard, he carefully found his balance. "I'll show you some propaganda," he muttered under his breath. By mere starlight, he raised a simplistic looking wand to the message. The stick itself was made of plain oak and ended in a diamond-shaped point. When tapped, it sounded hollow, but then again, illusion was one of main ingredients in magic. Whatever enchantment had been placed upon it, one couldn't tell from a mere glance. Although it was not a hefty boon, the simple fact remained that plenty of damage could be rendered from the Vandalwand.

Feeling the energy between his hand and the wand activate, Mathias began to spray out the letters, covering them with a thick, black paint. Before long, reliable, honorable, and virtuous disappeared under a coat of ebony. Replacing them, in the same, large-lettered white caligraphy, were the words, "Lazy, dishonest, and pompous."

Math chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he mused over his own wit. In the corner of the sign, he made a few quick strokes, adding his signature - "Do the Math."

As he finished dotting the sentence, a light swept under his feet. The slick sound of steel ringing forth from a sheath sounded against the walls in echoes. A voice, rough and authoritative, called out from below the boy. "Halt there! Cease your vandalism and come down peacably. If you fail to comply, then I will be forced to take action." Of course, Mathias thought, he'd be forced. It wasn't like he was going to lay down and let himself be cuffed so easily. Taking care not to smudge his artwork, he kicked off from the ledge and let himself fall, his rope feeding through the rig he'd hooked up, until he came to an abrupt stop. He unfastened the belt that attached him to the rope and immediately fell to the ground. The man let out what sounded like a sigh of relief and began to sheathe his sword. As he did so, Mathias sprung to his feet, flashing the watchman a white, toothy grin, and turned, dashing down the street.

Stunned for a moment, the guard blinked. The boy turned had already turned a corner into an alleyway before he had gathered his wits enough to give chase. Rounding into the avenue, the officer broke into a rough sprint. His boots clonked noisly as he trudged through the street, whereas the boy, garbed in all black cloth, padded against the ground almost silently. By the time the watchman had turned the next corner, back into one of the main streets, he realized he had come to the Old District, and along with this revelation, came the next; His quarry had slipped out of sight and the chase could not continue.

Grumbling and flustered, the guard stomped back to his patrol route.

~

Everyone was sitting on the three couches surrounding a medium-sized, round maple table. As the door swung open rather violently, all the heads turned to face the source, rather nonchalantly. Mathias appeared, out of breath and smiling like a devil. "Hey, Vandal," came a scattered greeting. Shutting the door and taking a step forward, Math situated himself between a girl and the arm of the closest couch.

"Hey Cleric. Hey Fingers - hey there, Knuckles. What's up, Matches?" he said, greeting everyone in turn. He looked around, taking stock of everyone. He'd only been gone for a little under two hours, but it seemed like an eternity. And as the adrenaline began to subside from exploding through his veins, he felt the urge to look at everyone and reaffirm his reality once more.

Cleric was a pretty lass. She couldn't have been much older than Mathias was. Her skin was pale and her face was a sort of mouse-like cute. She had rounded cheeks and thin lips that were always bent into a kind smile. She had her chestnut brown hair pulled up into a bun pretty much all the time. She was usually enshrouded in her over-sized black jacket which held most of the vials and pouches and other stuff that she used to patch up the crew whenever one of them fell ill or got injured.

Her older sister, Matches, was rather different. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with a deep, flame-red hair that curled and bounced about her shoulders and down to her upper back. She had freckles, but they obscured nothing and were nicely spaced; not blotchy or anything. She showed off her well-rounded body a bit too much for Math's tastes, though. (Not that it, in any capacity, offended or disgusted him. As a matter of fact, he owed the reason for his dislike to the sheer magnitude to which it distracted him. And he hated being distracted.) She was a bit of a firecracker; her temper was equally unpredictable. She was the absolute contrast to her caring and docile little sister.

Fingers and Knuckles, although they weren't brothers (and you could definitely tell), were two peas in a pod. Fingers was a sly, short young man with weasel eyes and a weasel nose. He had small buck teeth and looked like a skittish rodent. Not to mention, he had a mustache that probably would never thicken or darken, no matter how many times he shaved and grew it back. As per his namesake, he was an extremely deft individual. Lockpicking, picklocking, pickpocketing, pocketpicking. He could do anything, so long as it involved picking and/or pocking of some sort. But Knuckles, unlike his counterpart, wasn't quite as blessed with the agility, intelligence, or charisma that Fingers was. On the absolute other end of the spectrum, Knuckles stood a daunting six feet, five inches tall and had a massive, lumbering frame. From this golem-esque body, hung a whole lot of meat. Whether it was mostly muscle, or fat, or a combination of both - that didn't quite matter. The simple fact of it was, was that when he hit you, you moved. You weren't going to worry about the science of it, or his bodily composition.

"So, Vandal," Cleric said, suddenly, her little squeaky voice piping up out of the soft silence. "How'd it go?"

[Mathias]

It had been almost a month and a half since Mathias had turned up in the Zirnden, fresh off the boat. Scrappy, scrawny, and in absolutely no way scary, he was good pickings for an easy bet. His first match, he remember, was against a burly man that hit like a charging elephant. In the same capacity, however, he had just as much grace as one. Outmanuevering him, Math had managed to wear him down, avoiding most of his blows and trading back his own. Although his fists usually slammed in futile effort on the padded mass of muscle and meat, time took its course and the larger man ran out of energy. Taking advantage of this fatigue, Mathias had rolled behind him, kicked out one of his knees and dropped him to the ground, coming up and grappling him into a strangehold. In the span of a five second eternity, his opponent tapped out and he'd won.

It seemed odd; Having found a home and friends and some sort of stability, since then. And now, here he was, coming back to fight a match in simple celebration of his victory over the city guard. Funny, still, how his first victory here earned him that home and those friends and all the comforts he now took pleasure indulging. It was in the locker rooms that he had met Chapter - the leader of a small cell of the Scara Scourge. Offered the proposition of a free home and boarding, he simply had to fight with the Scourge's approval and do a slight bit of advertising - which, honestly, Mathias still could not figure out how he did. Really, it was Chapter who'd done all the work.

After losing only two bouts out of the five that he'd done in that first week, he was invited into their headquarters. He had then met Cleric, Matches, Fingers, and Knuckles. At first, they were mistrusting; of course, they were thieves, rogues, and scoundrels. There wasn't much else they could be to a new face. They quickly warmed up to him, Cleric being the first and foremost of them all. She took special care while tending the wounds that whatever shift was working the Zirnden couldn't fix up - she made sure, if not for Math's sake, that he was in tip-top shape for his next match.

But he'd stopped having to earn his keep in the fight club some three weeks ago, when the orders came from "Up." They were to start mobilizing their smear campaign against the City Guard, do some high-profile robbings, vandalizations, and skirmishes, across the city and, if they could, spread into some of the surrounding Baronies. Chapter's cell didn't have any specific designation ; after all, they had an arsonist, an enforcer, a picker, and a medic. With Mathias's addition to the team, they had a scrapper - and recently, they'd discovered, a vandal. His original nickname had, in fact, been Scrapper, until Chapter had told him given him the Vandalwand, in order to go blot out some wanted posters. Then, they'd all found out he'd had a bit of a penchant for graffiti.

All of this happened over the past month and a half. The realization of how fast life was moving hit Math in the face like a brick. A brick covered in spikes. And coated with oil. On fire.

He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from his thoughts. His attention moved back to the Zirnden and the comfortable irony of coming back here. Dannian, the barkeep, waved the group towards the island, where the six of them each took up a stool and sat down. "Well, if it ain't Scrapper. Where've ye been the past couple of weeks, kiddo? Ye can't raise a big stink about ye, and then just disappear after ye made a li'l splash!"

Before Mathias even had time to answer, a mug had been placed before him, and then down the line, for all his mates. Dannian was one of the best damn 'tenders he'd ever seen. Gabbing aside, he was always keeping track of how many drinks someone had taken, how many they'd had, what they were probably going to order next. It was like a calculator of alcohol inside his head.

"We've been preoccupied with business, Danny. You know how it is," Chapter spoke up, interrupting the Vandal as he cleared his throat to speak.

Chapter was a tall, slim individual with sunken eyes, big and brown. Splitting them was a hawk-like nose, bent and crooked in the middle of the bridge. He had slicked back black hair and very nice posture. Tonight, he had on his signature "business suit," which consisted of a black vlince jacket, black shorts, and black boots and gloves. Mathias mused, often (and very privately), that he looked like an aristocratic hitman. Which is to say, a hitman with a hint of aristocracy, rather than a hitman OF the aristocracy. But either way, it would fit Chapter well.

Dannian laughed a deep, gruff laugh which caused his plump belly to wobble and jiggle and waver a bit. He scratched his beard and leaned forward over the bar, eyeing up the assembled crew as he began pouring drinks. "I hear Leader's going to start moving in on the foreign syndicates. What are ye guys up for the next few days?"

Chapter leaned forward and whispered something into Danny's ear, inaudible to Mathias despite his strained attempt to listen in. The crowd that huddled around the center of the room, where a cage match was being held, roared. Nobody could've heard the loud curse that Dannian threw out into the thick air as the pitcher of ale dropped onto the table. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack. He shook his head and tried to collect himself. "Ye're all batshit insane, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't, Danny, but thanks for your opinion anyway," replied Chapter, a wicked and mischeivous grin spreading across his thin lips.

[Mathias]

"Come on, man. Tell me. What's about to go down? It sounds pretty heavy," Mathias said, breaking the dead silence of the two men. The locker rooms suddenly sprung around both of them as their attention turned to eachother. Both were wrapping their hands in bandages and stuffing their shirts and shoes into their assigned cabinets. As they began their warm ups, an odd tension had fallen, and Mathias had decided to test it.

"I don't want to talk about it," Chapter said in a sober reply.

"Oh, give it up, Chap. I have to know. Are we really going to start moving in on the new organizations cropping up? I know that the Bartholo Gang's been gathering up some firepower lately..."

Chapter turned, his eyes a fierce blaze that hushed Mathias before he could continue. "I said I don't want to talk about it."

A million questions invaded the vandal's mind. Danny had said the foreigners. If that were true, were they going up against one of the bigger groups? Bigger than the simple street gangs and district outfits? He'd heard a lot of talk about the "Blackhood Syndicate," and that they were supposedly some sort of big-wig criminal collection from across the seas. The word that was spreading was that they had a few politicians in their pocket in Radasanth, and even some connections with the elven nations. He couldn't imagine going toe-to-toe with them if they had been importing Alerarian tech and had some of Raiaera's master-crafted weapons.

"You seemed all happy and shit when you told Danny. Why can you tell some fat-fuck bartender, and not someone who's a part of your crew?" Mathias said, his voice cracking a bit as his frustration grew.

"I'm going to say this, and this alone, Van," Chapter said as he walked towards the door leading back out to the fight club. "The whole double-damned world is going down in a whirlpool, and this is about staying above water. Not about making a difference. Now shut up and get ready."

Math's brows furrowed in thought as he tried to roll the meaning of his superior's words around in his head. It wasn't working very well.

~

"Fuck him up!"
"Come on, hit him in the face!"
"LET'S SEE SOME BLOOD!"

The world was speaking in tongues; it was beyond words and comprehension. It was all about feeling - emotions that you could only grasp if you were there, in the moment, with the hundred and a half other people surrounding the cage where Vandal and Chapter were duking it out. Everyone had their own two coppers to add to the shouting, the urging and egging, and the degradation of whichever contestant was losing at that particular moment. Fighters, however, learned to neglect anything that was said - even if it was a cheer for them. It became background noise, everyone speaking some sort of mantra that became a physical, sustained thread of emotion that worked its way through every body and soul in the room.

Math felt his head explode as Chapter's fist slammed into it. He wobbled as he tried to strife and put some distance, but to no avail. Several more blows came in quick succession, one to his cheek, his chest, and then his lower ribs. As the younger man began to double over, the assault stopped, with the refined, yet savage male correcting his own posture and standing high above him, in a victorious sort of stance.

Mathias moved up, attempting to take advantage of the split-second reprieve he'd been granted. His arm swung forth, aiming an uppercut for Chap's chin. With amazing speed and such fluid grace, he stepped backwards, reached out and caught the planeswalker's arm. Before he could even realize, his commander had positioned his leg behind and in between his own. Within a moment's breadth, the scrapper was laying on the ground, looking up at the dimly lit ceiling of the Zirnden.

A fist slammed down. Crack!

Blood gushed from Math's nose and he instinctively licked his lips, tasting it. He coughed and spit out of reflex, spraying blood across Chapter's face. With the last few moments of consciousness left in him, he tapped out. As his eyes, ears, and mind all closed at once, the last words to reach him was the sound of Danny's voice, amplified by a speaking-spell to resound across the room. "Aaand the winner is our very own, Cruz, the Tornado, crushing the potential that, surely, we all saw in our up-and-coming young Scrapper!"


A single thought bubbled up in his mind, popping loudly to the forefront of his dwindling consciousness. Huh. I didn't know his name was Cruz...

And then the world turned black.

[Mathias]

"I know it's how you break in the newbies, but come ON, Chapter! That was not you. That was a fucking monster. The kid is good for it, and you know it! Why did you have to do that? By the Sway..." came a familiar, feminine voice.

"Don't you berate me, Matches. I don't give two shits and a shake if he's 'good for it.' He's got questions, and I can't have questions. Not right now. You're the only other one in this crew who's been up on the Syndicate since they came here. What if, I'm not saying he is, but what IF he just managed to play us for this long?" Chapter retorted back, his voice intense, quickly diminishing from a yell, into a furious whisper.

"And what if he isn't playing us, Chap? What then? You know, last night, three kids, not much older than Vandal, came up to Picker outside the Zirnden? You know who they said they wanted to sponsor them?"

For a long moment, there was silence. Although it was only one word, it was laced with bitterness, venom, and even a twinge of jealousy. "Who?"

"Math."

Mathias perked up at the mention of his name... more specifically, his graffiti tag. But before his pride could swell, even just a little, a pain ricocheted through his thoughts and he winced, propping himself up on his elbows. Chapter had done a number on him, that was for sure. Gathering his surroundings, he was on his cot, in his own room. On the desk next to him was a dimly lit candle and a box filled with bandages, herbs, vials, and other assortments of first aid tools. Cleric's tools.

Outside, in the hall, Matches and Chapter were arguing... about him. Or, rather, about what the vandal assumed to be this evening's match. Or was it this evening? Did Chapter really knock him out that good?

He opened the ratty curtain above his bed and looked out into the starlit sky. The moon was at it's zenith. It couldn't be more than midnight... he'd probably been unconscious for something like three hours.

The voices outside had stopped. Obviously, they'd heard the rustling and creaking of his mattress. Surely enough, a soft knock rapped against the door, three times. He knew it was Matches. It was her personal tap. He called out to her, half groaning, "Heyyy... come on in." The door slowly swung open and she stepped across the threshold, with Chapter a begrudging step behind her. His eyes weren't fierce anymore, despite Mathias having pictured them being so, especially considering his tone only moments beforehand. Matches's eyes were calm and, remarkably, as compassionate as he'd expect Cleric's to be. Maybe there were some sibling similarities afterall.

"Hey, punk," she said, her sultry voice soft and gentle. She reached out and placed a hand on his head. He recoiled, partly out of the pain that occured from her touching the goose-egg that was forming on his skull, but also, because it was just plain weird to see her something her being "normal," which is to say, soemthing that was completely NOT normal for her to be. "That headache clearing up alright?" she asked him.

He nodded a bit and gave a weak smile. She returned one, albeit, it was much toothier and unforced than his. She turned and walked out, leaving Chapter in the room. He crossed his arms and gave Mathias a look that was something in between genuine regret and bitter, but mild contempt. "I'm sorry about tonight. We've... I've always hazed. It's nothing too big. I just go overboard sometimes," he started to explain. His voice was heavy, sort of choked, and obviously, he was having trouble (if for once in his life) to find the right words to say. "If it's any consolation, it's usually the members with real potential that I test harder...

"But lately, things have been getting to me. There is some crazy shit about to go down," he continued. He leaned in closer to Math, lowering his voice to a total whisper. "You're going to be put to a lot of work in the next week or so. In the meantime, get some rest. And in the nicetime, you might want to do a little research on the Blackhoods."

Math nodded solemnly, looking into Chapter's eyes. His expression had become more concerned, almost brotherly, in the past few moments. He reached out his hand and patted the planeswalker on the shoulder. Then, he snuffed out the candle and turned around to follow after Matches, shutting the door behind him to leave Mathias in the dark. It was time to sleep... after he toyed with the torrential sea of questions and thoughts that had suddenly welled up in his mind.

~

Mathias groaned. His eyes fluttered open and he was staring at the ceiling, lit dimly by the cheap flood of sunlight that was attempting to break through the half-torn, half-rotten curtains that hung over his window. "Good morning, lumpy," Cleric said. The vandal turned to look at her and met her smile with his own. She was wearing a baggy, tattered light blue shirt and over-sized shorts. Even with a belt looped tight around her stickthin waist, it still had a tendency to start falling off her hips.

"Hey, tubby," he replied, trying to muster up some of his own cheer. To hell with that, though, it was too early and he was just waking up. She scoffed lightly and rolled her eyes. He picked on her a lot, for being so small and thin. Then again, it wasn't like any of them could help it. Ever since Math had come to Scara Brae, he'd been living pretty rough. All of his babyfat had disappeared, and his frame and become wirey and scrany - hence, the first nickname he received, "Scrappy."

"Are you feeling better? Sis told me you were pretty groggy when you came-to last night."

The vandal shrugged. "Eh. Probably as good as I can be. Thanks in no small part to you. How'd you clear up my nose and all that?" he asked, sniffing. He felt nothing inside and, when he pinched or touched it, there was no pain. There was a bend in it - something like what Chapter had. Well, atleast Mathias knew where he'd gotten that. But, usually after he'd been in a fight, he'd have a sore throat from the blood that he'd accidently swallow. And to boot, if he'd gotten a bloody nose, it would be encrusted along the insides. However, there was none of that.

"Oh... it wasn't much. It was this vaporizing balm I put on your upper lip and your neck. It cleared up all the blood. Eased the pain. There's only a small fracture in your nose... nothing shattered or cracked too hard." She smiled and let out a nervous giggle. She was an odd sort of prodigy, shy and introverted.

"You're something double-damn amazing, you know that?"

Again, a shy and anxious giggle. One of those silence-filling habits that allowed someone the satisfaction of a response without actually having to craft one. Usually, it was an annoying part of conversation. It was oddly appealing, though, when it came from someone like Cleric. "I'm nothing special... I just... I just know a few things. It's not a lot. Not like everyone else knows things. Like you, and your music and art and weird thoughts... or Sis with her... stuff... or even Fingers."

Math shook his head, grinning. "Whatever you say," he said quietly.

[Mathias]

Mathias put his violin to its favorite spot along his shoulder. Tilting his head to hold it in place with his chin, his fingers slid into the right places along the strings. His right hand held his bow and gently slid it along, his offhand sliding along single notes to reverberate them. Cleric sat attentatively on his bed, her hands folded in her lap. She smiled, closing her eyes every once in a while as she was lulled by his song.

After it's conclusion, they sat there, quiet for a lingering moment. The silence lay unbroken, the two neglecting to make any eye contact. Mathias set to putting away his instrument and, while turned away from her, he asked her a question that had been worming around in his skull for a while, now. "So, how did you and Matches come to join the Scourge?" he asked, trying to pass it off as an idle question, meant to spark conversation.

"Well," she began to say. Her voice was choked and kind of hesitant, although Math knew she was ready to come out of her shell. She just had yet to realize it, herself. "I didn't know my dad. He left when I was real little... Matches, she knew him. She's about ten years older than me, so she was already grown-up when Mom died when I was six... We lived in the streets for a long time, until Chapter found us. They fell for eachother pretty quickly, and we moved in here. Back then, there was an older crew, but they all eventually moved into other outfits, and then we got Fingers and Knuckles... and now you."

He turned to look at her. His brows quirked as he regarded her, asking, "And this... this sort of life. Is it what you want to do for the rest of it?"

She shrugged. "It's all I can do, really. I mean, it's nice - everyone. We're not bad or mean or evil folks... and I mean, I help out a lot. It makes me happy, helping others and making them happy. I just... I do want something more, but I don't know what to do, or what I can do. I always kind of wanted to work at the Hospital... but it'd be hard on Matches to try to afford the schooling for me."

"Bullshit," Math said. "You don't need to go to some fancy, avant-garde university for anything. You can already patch us up from all the fights we get into... I mean, a simple balm, and you can clear up my sinuses, even though they were caked with blood."

Cleric giggled nervously and looked away. The vandal seated himself next to her and reclined a bit, resting his head against the wall. "What is your real name?" he asked her. It was a common practice among even the smallest splinters of the Scourge to withold their names from eachother. It was a sign of trust and brotherhood to be told someone's true name. Even the leaders didn't know their subordinates names, until they knew they could be relied upon. Mathias only knew Chapter's name because the Zirnden had messed up last night...

She turned, her eyes staring deep into his own. "Your eyes are like emeralds today..."

"Hey. Don't change the subject," he said, smirking and nudging her with his shoulder.

"Well... what's yours?"

He looked at her, as a serious, but calm, expression took to his face. "Mathias. Just... Mathias. I don't have a surname. And if I did, I don't know it."

Cleric nodded, smiling. She reached out and clasped his hand with her own. "Nice to meet you, Mathias. I'm... Saralynn," she replied, her voice quiet and hushed. He smiled back, nodding to her. "Nice to meet you, too."

A moment came and went, when suddenly they both realized they were staring at eachother in the midst of an awkward silence. Cleric piped up first, breaking the ice. "So... why did you join the Scourge?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I really don't know. I don't have a history. I can't explain it... I don't remember much. But I don't think it's not because I can't remember... it's just because there isn't anything there. Like, everything up until arriving in this city was erased. The only things I knew were about me were my name, how to play my 'lin, and..." He trailed off, unsure of what to tell her next. Or rather, usnure of if he should tell her what came next.

"And what?"

He clasped her hand tightly. "Believe in me," he said, a look of concern washing away all prior fixations. Anxiety and, to a small extent, fear, began to grip Cleric as the world started to slip away. The bed and walls and room melted from sight, being replaced by a colorless nothingness. At first glance, existence seemed black. Covered by an indiscernable shadow. But, looking closer revealed that it was true darkness. Absolute and utter emptiness.

The only other thing in this place was Mathias, standing beside her with his hand gripping hers, firmly. Just as quickly as they'd entered here, they left. The blackness was wiped from view, the inexplicable ground changing to empty air. The two of them began to tumble towards a bottom they could not see; the two of them in a sky that had no end.

"What are you doing?!" she screamed over the sound of the wind rushing towards them as they plummeted.

Then, time seemed to slow down and their bodies came to a tedious, but eventual halt. Before she could blink, they fell into the soft comfort of Mathias's mattress, bouncing up and down as their momentum left them. She looked him again, breathless. "What... was that?!" she shrieked.

He smiled. "That's... what I can do. I can... move to other worlds.. Other places with rules and laws different to what we know. I can take you to a place where you fall up and jump down, where you walk faster than you can run, or where you can only see when your eyes are closed. I can take you to a world filled with shades of colors you never thought existed, or a place where you can look down and see the tiny lights of a million stars scattered below you. I don't know what it really is, or why I can do it... but... I just can... And I've never really told anybody about it."

Cleric stared at him in awe for a moment, before she slowly replied with a question. "Why not? It's... it's incredible! That was the most amazing experience of my life..."

He shrugged, frowning. "I don't know. I did try to do it to someone, once... during a fight at the Zirnden. Grabbed their arm, took them to a place I thought I would have the upper hand. But, I felt them... disbelieve. I can't explain what that's like, but I could comprehend, almost in a physical sense, their inability to grasp what was happening. We returned to the cage, as if nothing had happened, but my mind was on fire. It was intense pain... And the guy got out of the grapple and beat me to a pulp while I was weak. Since then, I kind of just haven't done it around people."

Not knowing what else to say, Cleric put a hand on his shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "Well.. it's safe with me." And almost as an afterthought, she asked, "Can we do it again?"

He smiled, squeezing her hand and nodding.

[Mathias]

It was incredible to see Fingers at work. His dexterity was simply amazing, and the sheer magnitude to which people either ignored his existance, or even merely did not notice him; You would think he was the invisible man. Every time Mathias bumped into someone, he would apologize profusely while his partner crept up from behind and slipped his hands into their coats and pockets. Then, they'd remove themselves out of the crowd and into an alleyway and count their earnings.

The market was alive and busy with people, bustling from stall to stall. It was endweek, so everyone was picking up fresh food for the next two days, as well as bring some trinkets home to their families. The sun was approaching its zenith, so it couldn't be much past or before noon. The day had been good to the mischeivous pair, so far, but their luck wasn't bound to last. They had made up to roughly one hundred gold pieces, rather impressive, considering the area of the bazaar, the time of day, and other minor factors. However, Fingers had been determined to break his old record of two hundred and fifty, which had been a whole day's worth of pickings. Therefore, he was working vigorously to cut, swipe, kife, pocket, and otherwise steal from whoever looked like they'd have a fat purse on them.

"Oh, shit," Fingers said, his tone denoting excitement rather than apprehension. "No way. No bloody way! Ha! Check it out, Van, check it out!" He was giddy, jumping up and down. He could barely even reach Math's height at the vertex of his hopping, which, coupled with the already comical appearance of him, made the vandal extremely amused. But, he followed the path that Fingers' finger was pointing, and saw three burly-looking men shoving their way through the throng of people.

"Oh shit. The Bartholo Gang," Mathias groaned. Before he could even blink, Fingers was scampering off through the crowd, racing to get up behind Granite, the largest, most intimidating of the trio. Coincidentally, he was also their leader. "Fingers, you're fucking crazy," he mumbled under his breath. He tried to get closer, but before he could even find an opening in the crowd, Fingers busted out through, running wildly down the alleyway, carrying a clanking bag of gold. Mathias turned to follow, only to see three angry figures emerge from the traffic.

"That little bitch! HEY! You're the fuckface who tried to tag our turf last week!" Granite said, recognizing Mathias from before. He swore at himself, having gotten spotted by them a week ago while trying to spray up, outside of their hideout at Bartholo Street, "The Scourge Always Wins - Do The Math." Before, however, he was lucky enough to have gotten away without having to fight them.

"Oh, shit, son! They're part of that little Scourge crew! Let's show 'em some of our hospit.. hopistal... ity...ism... Let's fuck him up," Killer said, or atleast, tried to say. He was the one to Math's right - an albino man with extremely blonde hair, pale skin, and pink eyes. If it weren't for the fact that he was a mountain of muscle, anyone could have been baffled as to why he'd been nicknamed, "Killer."

The one on the left was Murder, and he was a tall drink of mutt - had the face of one of the sandscummers out of Fallien, with the crispy tan skin of a Berevian. Granite was, for a "gangsta," as they were proclaimed, the most eloquent and refined of them all. He was a barrel-chested man with a chocolate complexion, but he didn't wear the cut-off clothes like his bretheren. His clothing was intact and actually looked a bit more expensive than what most of the slumrats wore.

But despite the "civil," looking garb, he was anything but. And almost as if acting as to prove that, he charged forward and aimed a hook at Math's face. Reacting quickly, he ducked and launched forward an uppercut, spearing him right in the gut with his fist. Granite let out a pained exhalation of all the wind in his lungs and stumbled forward as the scrapper spun to the side, against the wall. Killer aimed his own punch, only to have Math dodge to the side. He grunted in pain as his hand collided with the brick wall. Mathias brought up his knee, hitting him in the privates and bringing down his elbow onto his neck as he bent forward, doubled over in pain.

Murder came out of the peripheral and landed a well-placed punch on the vandal's cheek, sending him sprawling backwards against the wall. Cornering him, he unleashed a flurry of blows, pummeling Math's face. Instinctively, he cried out and in the blink of an eye, had vanished, to leave a confused Murder landed several blows on the wall, his fists smacking painfully against the hard, rough surface.

Mathias tore through the planes, his essence barely clinging together in one mass. When he was able to control himself, in his entirety, he moved a few steps forward, and began to descend back to the Firmament, where he appeared directly behind Murder. With a quick kick to the knee, the larger man forfeited to a kneeling position, where his opponent had the upper hand - demonstrated by a quick blow to the neck that caused him to crumple, unconscious.

Granite lay on the ground, sitting against the wall, watching as his two mates got demolished in seconds. Mathias looked at him, his face bloody, and smiled a wicked grin - genuinely enjoying himself. His features looked wolfish, predatory, and... for one instance... devillish.

Mathias left the alley as quickly as he could, leaving the Bartholo Gang to their agony. As he made his way through the streets, he started to think up a storm, becoming more pissed off with each passing moment. Fingers had left him there to get his ass kicked. Fingers, whom Math was protecting, didn't give two shits or a shake about what happened to his own comrade.

The little, rat-faced man was sitting on the front steps of their hideout - a small, shack-like house with two stories. Although, its roof was stunted, so it looked more like one and a half.

"Thanks for the fucking help," Mathias said, walking past him, opening the door, and slamming it before Fingers could even respond.

[Mathias]

"No shit... all three of them?" Matches said, her eyes illuminated and her voice light. "By the Sway! What a shot to the proverbial nuts, eh? Three burly guys like that, getting demolished by a scrawny little runt like you!" She laughed, russling up Mathias's blonde hair. He grinned, blushing a bit. He looked away, at Cleric, who was smiling at him.

Chapter sat at the table, his arms crossed. A half filled mug was in front of him, the contents having long settled and left to become flat. He was staring off into space, when the vibrant redhead came over and tapped him on his shoulder. He snapped out of his trance, looking up at her. "What?" he asked, matter of factly. She let out an over-dramatic sigh and kissed him on his forehead. "Aren't you going to congratulate the kid, Chap? Come on!"

He shrugged and looked at Mathias. He nodded, once, and let out an affirmative grunt. "I'll talk to Fingers later," he said.

Supper consisted of potatoes, biscuits, and gravy, along with several chicken breasts that Fingers had kifed for them. Chapter and Fingers excused themselves to talk, midway through the meal. After they both had left, the tension eased from over the table, and the group began to chatter lightly. They talked mostly of some gossip they'd been hearing, or what tomorrow's plans were, and who from what gang was having sex with who from another.

After they'd finished, Fingers came back out and reclined in a sofa, somewhat content with himself. Knuckles went over and sat across from him. Matches and Cleric resigned to cleaning up, and Math was called back to Chapter's room. As he entered, he took a seat in the chair next to the nightstand and stared at his superior, who was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, staring over documents and reports and such.

"I've got a mission for you, mate."

~

Bartholo Can't Borrow No Pride
Do The Math. The Scourge Wins.

Good double god damn, Mathias loved his work. In giant yellow bubble letters, across the dark blue background he'd coated the wall with, lay his message. It'd take him all of half an hour, and he was just about out of paint, for now. The vandalwand would need a good rest before the next time he used it.

It hadn't been terrifically hard to sneak into the place - there was a firewalk along the side of the building. Just because it was in a back alley didn't mean that Mathias wasn't going to be able to find it. He'd climbed it up and entered through an already-smashed window. Carefully tip-toeing through the dead silence of the rundown apartment complex, he'd made his way to the main lobby where the Bartholo Gang usually hid out. After securing a spot behind a couch with a few blankets over some boxes, he'd had a good spot to hide in case anyone would come walking down for a late-night munch, or to stretch their legs.

Luckily, he hadn't heard anything, nor seen any candle or lantern light shine near him. He was able to complete his work in peace, and, though his message was short, but sweet, it had taken him a while to get the eloquence of his lettering right. And it was just so, that the moment he finished, a piece of glass crunched from the top of the stairs, and a muffled "Shit!" echoed down the hall.

Mathias dove for cover underneath the little fort that he'd made himself. Covering himself up, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible, he lay in wait. Granite came lumbering down the stairs, a lantern in his hand. He was talking to someone, but their voices were hushed, and the vandal couldn't quite make out was being said. It wasn't long until the pair had reached the bottom of the stairs and passed in front of the well-hidden Mathias.

That cheap little ratty motherfucker! his mind screamed in fury, as he saw that Granite's companion was Fingers.

"I appreciate this," Math was able to hear Granite say. "We definitely like this information about the Syndicate. Especially with what your punk ass Chapter is planning. Consider today's lift your payment. I won't hold that against you."

Fingers thanked him and went out the door. As it closed, Granite turned around and the lantern flashed across the fresh artwork that Mathias had left for him to find. The leader of the Bartholo Gang let out a deep howl of utter rage, which caused several men to awaken and scrabble along the floor, stumbling as they tried to descend the stairs and see what was the matter.

All of them cursed and muttered their affirmations of how "that little crew," was going to be dead before the week's end. As the crowd eventually dispersed and everyone went back to sleep, Mathias made his escape, quietly and quickly, slipping out the front door and running back home, where he snuck in and hoped that Fingers didn't hear him arrive.

[Mathias]

People have come to justify crime. Romanticize it. They made up stories about good thieves, stealing from those who didn't deserve their fortunes and giving it to those who did. Bandits who fell in love with maidens, rather than rape and then leave them with child. Being a criminal myself, I find it absolutely offensive. People murder, rape, and steal, and none of the reasons for it don't change it. That is the simple fucking truth of it, and everyone needs to stop dressing it up. Shit is what it is. Now, can I please get on with my hanging?

-The Last Speech of a Radasanthian Rogue

"Now, I know we aren't the most upstanding citizens of Scara Brae. But we do things the right way. There is respect, there are rules, and there's even a bit of honor, among us. It's not like we steal from honest farmers and bakers and the working class, and it's not like we murder and rape for fun. We are rogues, thieves, scoundrels, bandits, and misfits, but we are not the worst of our lot.

"There are evil, vile fucking men who have encroached upon us. To us, they've become known as the Blackhood Syndicate. Their influence reaches far and their resources are many. They deal in things that we'd never even dare. They have no respect for any code that any normal thief may. They deal in slavery, in the deadly narcotics and opiates from Raiaera, Alerar, and Fallien, and they run brothels filled with girls younger than even Cleric, here, taken from their families in the dead of night.

To me, that seems evil. We steal from the City Guard, we defile a few buildings and monuments, we get into fights and sometimes kill rival outfit or organization members. We might assassinate a few fat ass pompous nobles, and we frequent whore houses of the lowest kind, and we enjoy getting piss faced drunk and stumble our way home. But we are saints compared to these bastards. And for the future of the Scourge, of our livelihoods, for the respect of all decent scoundrels like us everywhere, we have to make a strike against them."

Silence settled over the room as Chapter finished his speech and put his hands on the table, supporting himself. He drew in a few breaths, the anger on his face apparent. His eyes were filled with fire, bloodshot and bulging. Mathias was reminded of the other night at the Zirnden - this was the same exact expression, explicitly stating his dissatisfaction that was, in and of itself, a whole other level beyond fury.

The new kid sat in a corner, collapsing in on himself and trying to seem smaller, more insignificant. He was huddling into his lap with his hands clasped together tightly, his face drawn down to the candle at the center of the table. He didn't look at Chapter, although it was clear he was listening and was afraid.

"The toadie, Vandal, and Knuckles are going to break the meeting. Cleric and Fingers will be on standby, clearing the perimeter. Matches and myself are going to kill two birds with one stone. While you are all completing your job, we'll be attracting the attention of the City Guard. We'll be doing a little bit of everything, tonight, it seems; Some crime, some vengeance, and a little bit of justice."

There were some scattered chuckles from around the table. The fresh meat, "the toadie," sat silent, taking in deep breaths in futile attempts to calm his beating heart that everyone probably heard. Second day in the crew, and he was already on one of the most important missions any of them would ever undertake. Mathias thought that he was getting an easy break - he was a lucky little bastard. Joining the right side at the right time. All he needed to do were the right things, and he might get pretty far in very little time...

~

"I can't even b'lieve it," the toadie said. "You're Math, aren't you? Man, you're a flickin' idol! S'like, seriously, you're famous everywhere around here! Can't go two streets without seeing your work." His eyes were a dark green, although the depths of them were unable to restrain the twinkle that emitted from them. They were big and bright, staring over Mathias in utter disbelief.

Knuckles shoved the kid forward, trying to keep the group moving. Mathias reprimanded him in a harsh, sharp whisper. "Shut. the fuck. up. We need to be quiet."

The boy nodded enthusiastically and made a zipping motion across his lips. He turned around and crept forward along the wall, ducking under the window that was adjacent to them. Knuckles, and then Mathias, followed suit, and they rounded the corner of the large, white warehouse. There were no other buildings on this side, and the vandal couldn't help but look out across the streets leading out from the Warehouse District, down into the Docks.

The moon was hoisted up into the sky, over them, and its light beamed down and made the seawater glisten and sparkle. A steady wind picked up, calm and casual. It sweeped past Mathias, and as he took in a deep breath, he could smell the salty breath of the ocean. It was odd, he thought to himself, that the world was so tranquil, when so much shit was just about to hit the fan.

[Mathias]

The sword felt heavy and clunky in Mathias's hands. He would've preferred to have been equipped with metal claws or atleast brass knuckles. He was so used to using just his body; he'd learned to control his muscles, become intimate with every tendon and joint and thread of sinew and bone. He had learned to wield himself better than most scrappers, which is saying something for someone so self-trained. But, against actual weapons, the vandal had yet to learn the proper techniques. Thus, Chapter had given him his own katana, made out of delyn. The outer edges of it were a solid black, like a sort of doom-bequeathed razor. The inside and fuller were a steely gray - so in complete darkness, it looked like a large, metal batting stick, rather than an implement of laceration.

Math was starting to grow used to its weight, though, as the battle raged on. He dodged to the side, avoiding one of the Syndicate members' attempts to shank him. His katana flew outwards in a horizontal arc, making a clean, keen swipe through half of the criminal's neck. He let out a gargled choke and fell to the floor with blood pooling out around him.

Toadie suddenly jumped from out of the planeswalker's peripheral vision, moving right past him and lunging forward with his short sword. He pierced one of the Blackhoods in the stomach and Mathias couldn't help but grin. The right things, alright. Like saving my double-damned life.

Knuckles bashed two noticeably shorter men than him in the heads with both of his studded clubs. The crumpled to the ground with little resistance.

The last man of the Syndicate stood with his sword raised in a defensive stance, huddling right in front of a medium sized chest. It was ornately decorated, and from Math's guess, probably had some precious cargo in there. Incriminating, daming cargo, at that.

He charged forward, stopping just as the enemy lashed out, the tip of his longsword making a cut through the planeswalker's jacket and vest, and even across his pectorals. Taking the split second to use the criminal's recoil to his advantage, Mathias leapt forward and plunged his katana right through the man's stomach. Through the pain and blood swelling up at his lips, gushing down his chin, he attempted to bring his sword up and bash Math in the temple with the pommel.

He reached out and grabbed him at the forearm and reached forward, crashing his head into his adversary's. The man let out a groan and Math gripped his sword tighter, sticking it further in. With a fluid motion, he twisted it, then yanked it out - a spray of blood erupting and then quickly subsiding. The man's shoulders sagged, and as Mathias got out of the way, he fell to the floor like a hunk of meat.

He traced the wound at his chest. It didn't feel too deep, but he wasn't going to trust his gut against his own wounds. He'd have to find Cleric and get patched up immediately.

"Good job, guys," Mathias said, surveying the scene. Aside from a few wounds, they'd pretty much demolished the place. The Syndicate hadn't even seen them coming. It had been perfect ; the surprise on their face, the panic in their voice. It was a glorious massacre.

"Well, boys... let's see what our loot is." They approached the chest, after looking about and seeing that all the other crates and such belonged to whomever legitimately owned the warehouse - some sort of fishing conglomerate or another, judging by the gigantic bass logo on each one. The trunk, however, was completely out of place, and Mathias could only guess as to its contents.

Well, he wouldn't be guessing in the next moment. He kneeled down and looked at the combination lock attached. "Shit. Let's see if any of them have a slip of paper on them, or something," he ordered. All three of them rooted through the corpses, looking through jackets and pockets and pouches, pocketing whatever gold they'd had on them. After searching every last one, they all three let out a uniform curse.

As if almost on cue, a loud explosion rocked the world, and the party could almost feel the concrete below them shake. That meant Matches and Chapter had just completed their half of the mission. Which meant, they didn't have long to open the chest and see what was inside, before someone came along and found them in the middle of a gore-stained scene.

[Mathias]

Chapter and Matches arrived only moments after the charge had been detonated. Breathless, they crashed in through the doors, weapons and magic at the ready. As the carnage-ridden scene greeted them, they lowered their guard and approached the three men huddled around the chest. "Shit. Where's Fingers?" asked the leader. Everyone shrugged. He grunted and turned around, rushing back out of the warehouse, calling out behind him as he did. "I'm going to go send him and Cleric in. I'll be back in a moment!"

That moment passed, and all four of them waited on tense feet, their muscles itching at the slightest noise. A bell tolled in the distance, with several lesser alarms going off. The aquamancers were probably doing whatever they could to stem the fire the Scourge had set off.

"Damn the dead and double the ditches, Matches. What did you do?" Math asked, looking at her with disbelief plastered across his face.

She laughed - it was a wild gesture that instilled a small well of fear inside the young boy. She certainly enjoyed herself, and for that reason alone, he couldn't help but want to distance himself frmo her. She was untamed and dangerous, almost like a tigress, stalking the night. Except, she was a feline armed with a fire-red mane and magics that could destroy single buildings in a giant cloud of combustion. Smiling with sharp, wicked teeth, she flicked her hair back and looked him over, her eyes dancing across his body. "I thought everybody wanted a show," she said, giggling in mock-innocence.

As everybody chortled, the doors opened again and Cleric came, walking at a brisk pace. She was carrying her briefcase full of equipment and set it upon a crate. As she looked everyone over, she asked, "Fingers and Chapter aren't back yet?"

Matches and Mathias muttered a confused, "No," in unison. The younger sister looked up at them, distraught caught on her features. "Fingers said he saw Chap running out of the warehouse. I didn't, though. Before I knew it, he ran off after him. I thought something was wrong, so I came in here to check it out." As she talked, she began to check everyone over, looking at their wounds and applying whatever balms, oils, ointments, and bandages she could manage. Whatever she'd rubbed over Math's chest burned, but after a minute of the sensation rushing through him, he felt a bit more at ease and was able to move with a bit more of his capacity again. Whatever slight crippling he'd received from that blow was already fading, and the cut almost felt like it wasn't even there.

Matches, in the meantime, had walked over to the chest and knocked on it, shaking it a little to see what rustled inside. She turned to the group, her large, fiery red eyes flickering with an intensity that almost caused the vandal to cringe and recoil in fear as he looked into them. She stated, solemnly and quietly, "There's something inside. I think it's a dog... maybe something else."

A silence fell over the group as they heard sobbing come from inside the hollow trunk. At that moment, the doors crashed open, and Chapter came rushing through, wild and frantic. He kept his pace as he ran straight into the general middle of the group, taking only a second to catch his breath. In between the spaces of his gasping, he managed to say, "Fingers... no time... Syndicate... they're on their way... gotta run. Gotta fucking run!"

"Double damnit! Knuckles, Toadie, get the chest! We'll bring it to the hideout," Mathias shouted, pointing to the ornate container between them. They started to protest, Toadie trying to say something about dead weight, but he was immediately silenced by the planeswalker's harsh tone, "I don't fucking care! I'll make you dead weight if you don't hurry up!"

Before he could even finish, however, an arrow whizzed by him and snapped against the floor. His reflexes kicked in and he moved backwards, looking up from where the projectile had come from. An archer, clothed in the same black garb as the corpses on the floor, had another arrow nocked. He let it loose, this one heading straight for Cleric. Everyone had seen it; nobody was fast enough to stop it... except Mathias.

His body suddenly disappeared, and, to his own surprise, he felt his soul being tugged across, to cover the yards between him and her. He materialized in front of Saralynn, taking the arrow through his left shoulder, with not even the splittest second to spare. Chapter screamed out, "Take the trunk and RUN! I'll distract them!" As he gave his order, three more archers appeared from the shadows and let loose their volley.

Everybody reacted instantly, not having time to dwell on the impossibility of the vandal's rescue. Knuckles and Toadie took the chest in their hands and immediately began to charge out of the building. Mathias almost attempted to yank the arrow from his shoulder, when Cleric protested. She grabbed his hand and, as gently as she could be, considering the circumstances, tugged him into following her as she followed their two cohorts. He unsheathed the katana as he did so, and with due course. Another Blackhood emerged to block the doorway, wielding a pair of kukri knives.

Stepping in front of Cleric, Math batted away the dagger that flew at him from his left. He tried to withstand the pain that shot through his torso as he irritated the shaft piercing him. With his right hand, he brought up his blade and cleaved into the assassin's ribcage, then charged forward with his right shoulder and batted him to the ground. Matches showed up beside them, fire twirling about in her hands. She sent two large bolts of elemental fury hurtling through the air towards the first bowman that had appeared, catching him unawares as he aimed for a sprinting Chapter. In a scream of agony and a burst of flame, he was reduced to bone, cinder, and ash.

Continuing outside, they regrouped at the edge of the street and began to run, with the redhead mage in the back, Mathias and Cleric in the vanguard, and Knuckles and Toadie in the middle, hauling their precious cargo.

The group made it out of the warehouse district without much other trouble. Behind them, the pyres of the burning building rose up into the midnight sky and blotted out the stars with their luminescence. Smoke billowed from the flickering tongues of flame, and alarms of all sorts were still being raised. As they rounded a corner into familiar territory, their home street, Maladine Avenue, they slowed their pace down to a brisk jog. They were still on guard, however, as they neared their hideout. Matches took lead, opening the door and checking inside. Making sure it was clear, she signaled the others in, and the two muscles of the crew down the chest in the middle of the den area.

Mathias immediately retreated to Cleric's room, where she was able to remove the arrow, after a careful and potentially hazardous incision was made. She stitched him up and he thanked her, profusely. She blushed, shaking her head. "You save me... I save you. That's how a crew works, right?" she said, smiling at him with her bright, glittering eyes. For a moment, he could've sworn she was going to cry.

As they left her room and went through the hallway, they became aware of the dead silence of the house. As they entered the living area, they saw that Chapter had returned, but was standing alongside the other three, staring at the chest in the center of the room. It had been broken open by, judging from its close proximity, one of Knuckles' maces. Nearing it, Mathias looked into the large hole that had been bashed into it.

Inside was an elvish girl, naked, shivering, and sobbing, curled up into a fetal position within the confines of the wooden trunk.

"No fucking way."