Brothers Forever Bound

[Logan]

The three brothers sat perched atop the mountainside as they argued their stance in the debate with one another. “You should know, brothers, that physical strength will always beat out the mind and the heart in war,” the tallest and most stoic of the three started. The rebuttal came as soon as the other had finished, “On the contrary, my brother. It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword, and do you know why?” Before the first brother could answer or the second brother could continue the third, a rather flamboyant man, began his own response, ”But have neither of you heard the proverb that says, ‘Love conquers all’?” The two other brothers could only glare at him.

”What,” the most effeminate of the three questioned curiously, ”it’s the most well known proverb in all the world!” The first, the more brutish brother, spoke up once more, ”Oh poppycock, Mikel. No one truly believes that the heart could possibly win out against pure physical strength or pure mental strength.” The second brother, a thin and frail looking man with a pair of glasses sitting squarely upon his nose, continued, ”Quite right, I would say, Rooney. You see, Mikel, it is a simple thing of nature. Those who have brawn, fight. Those who have brains, command. And well, brother, those who have heart…they tend to die.” Mikel opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The tears, however, spoke all he needed to.

Rooney turned to the second brother and gave him a glare that would cripple any man with a heart of anything other than stone, ”What in the bloody name of Father are you thinking, Owen? You know how sensitive Mykel is!” Owen looked on at Rooney wide-eyed and confused. Just moments before they had been joking with Mykel together and now he was seen as the bad guy for pointing out the obvious? It made no sense. Seeing the current state of affairs Owen mused internally about a possible resolution for the current debate. After a few moments it dawned on him and he explained his idea to the other two, ”What if, brothers, we were to have a battle of sorts?”

Mykel’s sniffles ceased and he seemed to perk up a bit, ”You mean you would give me the chance to battle against you two?” The way he spoke the words one would think he was about to jump out of his skin in pure excitement and elation. Luckily he didn’t. ”Owen, brother, you can’t be serious. You both know I would destroy you in any sort of battle. Not only am I stronger,” Rooney said as he flexed his bicep and smiled, ”but I am quicker, too.” Owen shook his head as he raised his hand to quiet the other two, ”And if you two would let me finish, you would know what I meant.”

The other two shrunk back a bit at his words. They weren’t meant to be biting, but they came across as such. ”I didn’t mean to be so rude, but you two gave me no choice,” the elder brother said apologetically, ”My thought is that we could each choose someone to represent us on the field of battle.” Rooney eyed Owen cautiously as he thought over the idea for a moment, ”And why would I agree to this…this…absurd idea?” Owen smirked as he continued, ”Two reasons. One, we would finally end this damned argument of who is the best out of the three of us—“ Rooney raised his hand, ”I believe THAT point, brother, has already been determined,”

”While, yes, Rooney you are correct. I have proven mental might beats physical might any day, and any where. You should let me finish,” Owen spoke the words half annoyedly, ”I was also going to suggest the winner whose chosen warrior wins over the other two will be granted the brithright to Father’s throne when he elects to pass it on.” Mykel’s eyes grew even wider. He had always dreamed of becoming the heir to his Father’s throne, and even more so, to his Father’s temple and power. Owen shook his head, ”I’m not so sure this is the greatest idea, but I have faith in strength. I am agreed, but where will this battle take place? Some place neutral I suppose?”

Mykel bolted from his position and pointed at a clearing down the mountain a short ways. Circling the clearing were white marble pillars and three statues made of a variety of metals. Within the circle sat a stone foundation inlaid with thousands of glyphs and scripted words and letters. Upon the foundation a raised platform of a darker stone with channels chiseled into it held a solid white marble altar which itself had channels etched into it’s surface. The channels all trailed along in various patterns and directions until they converged into a chiseled ‘bowl’ just beneath the altar. The bowl led into more channels that had been chiseled and led in all three directions toward the statues. ”Father’s Temple,” the youngest brother shouted excitedly, ”We can hold it in Father’s Temple!”

Rooney and Owen moved over to where Mykel was and looked down at the Temple and both nodded in unison. ”I do believe that could work, Mykel,” Rooney said as he raised a hand onto Mykel’s shoulder. ”Mykel, that’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” the eldest brother said not realizing how horribly mean the comment really was. Lucky for him, Mykel hadn’t been listening. ”Then we are all agreed. The battle will take place in one week’s time. Have your combatant there by midday,” his last words trickled out as he turned and left the scene. The other brothers stayed looking over the chosen battlefield for a few minutes longer before Rooney turned and left. Mykel just stayed there in deep thought. He had to choose well, and he knew of the perfect person for the task.

[A Nony Mouse]

Sturgis and Sons: Your Neighborhood Apothecary

“Excellent,” Travis said under his breath as he saw the sign hanging not too far away. “Exactly what I was looking for.” He weaved his way through the small crowd on the street and pushed open the oaken door.

Immediately his nostrils were greeted by the strange smells one typically finds in a potions shop. The traveler recognized several herbs and roots from his time spent in the woods around Althanas. Rosemary, ginger, sage, and lemongrass all swirled through the air of the small store. Travis walked towards the counter and rang the small bell.

“I’ll be right there,” came a voice from the back. As Travis waited, he scanned the shelves, hoping to spy the item he was searching for and cut down on his time in the shop. After several minutes of browsing the sundry items in the store, he peered toward the back room, searching for whoever was supposed to be serving him.

“Excuse me?” he called tentatively toward the divider separating the two rooms.

He heard a crash followed by a low string of curses before a tall, lanky fellow emerged from the back. “Sorry,” he apologized, wiping some sort of cream from his shirt. “I was stocking and…” Seeing Travis standing there staring at him, he stopped his story and cleared his throat. “But that doesn’t matter. Welcome to Sturgis and Sons, what can I ‘goo’ for you today!” He paused, waiting for a response from his customer. “Goo? Get it? Ah, nevermind.”

What is his deal? Travis wondered before shaking his head and beginning his order. “I’ve been looking for some more powerful medical…”

The world jerked away and Travis found himself flying through a tunnel of light as it twisted and turned through the very fabric of the world. Seconds, minutes, or hours later, the world slammed back into focus. Only, it was an entirely different world that greeted him.

“…salves. What the…?” the red-haired adventurer found himself facing a statue a little taller than himself carved from solid white marble. The details were exquisite, the carving depicted the likeness of a man in the prime of his life standing tall and roguishly staring off into the distance. His sculpted clothes seemed a bit garish to Travis, but the overall feeling he got was of a compassionate figure that lived life with no regrets.

The base of the statue was crafted from a dark green metal, mysterious runes and inscriptions etched along the bottom. His eyes strained to make out what they said, but apparently it was a long forgotten language. The symbols held no meaning for the warrior. Above and behind the statue was an area in the form of an altar. To what gods, he did not know, but the resemblance was unmistakable. The altar was raised slightly from the surrounding stone, blood channels leading away from it across the ground.

Slowly turning to take in the rest, Travis saw stone pillars enclosing the circular area and prevalida runes set into the stonework. The blue metal contrasted beautifully with the white stone and the traveler took a moment to soak it in. Completing his observation, his mind returned to the matter at hand; how had he come to be here?

“Hello?” he called boldly into the silence. His voice carried far; the altar and surrounding monument was set atop a plateau with little else around it. However, no answer returned to him and he began to wonder if there were other forces at work.

Moving away from the statue, he crept toward one of the stone pillars set with a blue rune in the vague shape of a leaf. Whatever was about to happen, he surely did not want to be vulnerable out in the open. Pressing his back up against the cool stone, he watched the altar and waited.

[Canen Darkflight]

Syrion Darkflight burst into his room in the newly renovated Rosya Hotel, tossed his key on the dresser, and ran into the bathroom. On the way, he stooped and grabbed two pieces of curled paper that had fallen from the bundle of notes he had brought with him.

This was the part of his task he hated most. Not the danger of what he was doing, which was at times considerable, not the protracted hours of sitting in libraries looking for information that didn't exist, which was typical, and not the long weeks of being away from Rouisa, which were most frustrating of all.

What he hated most was that he realised he was changing.

When he came to the Citadel once a month, Syrion always stayed at the Rosya, just east of the Citadel building itself, and tore through his notes when he wasn't competing. It gave him time to write up his experiences, read his workings from front to back just to see if anything, just anything he had learned about Canen Darkflight, his father, had made any sense. But nothing. Every sentence, every transcript that may have made sense at the time, when recalled, just seemed to retract back to note form once his room door closed and the mighty engine that was the Darkflight brain kicked in. It was broken and fragmented and almost entirely useless.

Syrion burst out of the bathroom again in a hurry, the two pages of notes making about as much sense as before, and threw them onto the dresser, taking a moment to dump himself on the edge of the bed towards the window, where an almost watercolour blue stretch of sky hung above the Citadel's hulk in a pictuesque view of Radasanth's most important building.

"I don't understand it..." Syrion moaned. "Canen...he has some connection to the Citadel. Every time I go there something new crops up, a detail I missed, a fact that got overlooked. Why is this place so important, why is the Citadel trying to make a connection with me?"

After pondering on his words and thoughts for another two or so minutes, he packed his battle gear, his tobacco pouch and a few other personal items into a shoulder bag, unhooked his halberd from a wall stand, hurried to the lobby and began his walk two miles northeast.

-The Citadel -

"Right this way, Mr Darkflight, sir..." A red faced monk dressed in a brightly hued orange robe gestured towards one of the all too familiar Citadel mirror-portals. They always seemed odd, their glass like surface rippling in liquid fashion. The strangest feeling of all was walking through it, the body prepared for contact with a hard surface but none came, only the sensation of a light breeze bristling past your skin, and that was something the brain could never be prepared for and likely something that would make a man hurl the first couple of times he tried it.

Syrion was no exception. As reality as he knew jerked back and forth between shards of light and darkness, his stomach heaved and he crumbled to his knees, hurling matter almost a yard with every rock. He hated it, and couldn't get used to it, but it was a required evil.

Suddenly, without warning, the hazy world of light around him receeded and his surroundings sucked him back into real-time.

Syrion opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a marvelous marble statuette with some sort of inscription, perhaps an ancient rune, and depictions of a man, maybe a hunter, wielding a spear, having pierced what would appear to be a wolf's heart. Very wild images of this scene flew around Syrion's imagination, and he tried to observe the statue further.

The statue was tinted a dark copper, perhaps made of a sort of metal, all sorts of mysterious characters and symbols carved along the bottom. His eyes could not make any more sense of the runes than his mind could. Above and behind this strange statue was an altar, atop a stepped podium that also seemed to be crafted from a magnificant marble. Strange channels lead away from the altar towards "his" statue, and two others, one tinted a dark copper green and the other a pale blue hue. What these channels were meant to do, or were there for, he couldn't guess. Sometimes the little details in an arena were symbolic or metaphoric for other things, sometimes it was just a case of "what you see is what you get".

He saw a figure of another man creeping towards the blue statue, and waited. Readying his halberd, Syrion smiled to himself, preparing himself. He wouldn't pounce just yet, not until he had further assessed the situation and the capabilities of the man it would appear he was up against. But from a distance, he would watch and wait for an opening, for an advantage. He reminded himself why he was really here, to discover this connection, for the Citadel to open up some channels to him. There would be no point in being too hasty. He had all the time in the world.

"Game on, Syrion..."

[Logan]

Sorry for the extreme delay guys, but you both know what happened. I do apologize, and here goes nothing. Let's get this rolling! WOO!


The psion leaned back in his leather chair as he eyed Leonardo cautiously. "Leo, old friend, we've known each other for how long now," he queried. Leonardo stood from his seat directly across the Liviol desk where Logan sat, "Damnit, Logan, you know how long. Why must you play these games with me?" The psion smiled as he raised his hand in a show of non-confrontation, "Please, sit Leo, bud. I mean absolutely no disrespect. It just feels like it's been ages since you've come to me with a problem of this nature." Leonardo shook his head as he sat down without much of an argument.

"After all, Leo, the Strom of Midkiff isn't going to just be waiting out in the open for us to just walk up and grab it. Our sources have informed that the artifact is buried with Midkiff," each word was spoken with intent and purpose, planned to a point. Leonardo slammed his fist on the desk, "Then what in the hell is the problem? Let's go get it!" Logan raised his hand once more to settle Leonardo down a little. "My friend, my friend. Vice does not go on wild goose chase's. As soon as we have verified our information, we will weigh the option of going to dig up the remains of Midkiff," the psion responded with haste.

Leonardo shook his head, "Of course that would be the wise thing to do, Logan, but of course, you don't have the information I have." Logan's eyes pierced Leonardo's. "What information do you have that I don't, Leo," the words were spoken with an intrigued emotion.

"Isn't this an interesting situation we find ourselves in, Logan? It seems like the tables have been turned. The master is the apprentice, and the apprentice now the master," Leonardo's words made Logan grin. The grin, however, was more evil than show. "Leonardo, old friend, tell me what you know, or I will just go inside and find out for myself what you know," his words made Leonardo chuckle. "You know me better than that, Logan," Leo said, "What I know is...that the Strom of Midkiff has been spotted in the Citadel, and I was informed that there is a monk there who will lead you to it's location." Logan's eyes grew wide. Could Leo be serious? Logan had no choice. "Leonardo, if you'll excuse me, I need to head to the Citadel."

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As Logan entered through the Archway that led into the Citadel's hallways, a monk greeted him promptly. A large, burly man with a staff made of Liviol wood spoke quietly in almost a whisper, "Logan McCloud, this way." He made no introductions and quite frankly the psion could've cared less.

After twisting and turning down a few hallways the monk pointed ahead to a solid looking door that was marked with a symbol Logan didn't recognize. "Just enter through here and you will find the Strom of Midkiff inside," the monk said matter-of-factly. As Logan stepped through he turned to thank the monk, but the monk had transformed into a sly-looking older man with a long white beard and a pair of glasses. SHIT, he thought to himself as the portal ushered him inward and into the arena.

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As he opened his eyes the view of a blue-colored statue of the man he'd just seen came into view. He shook his head in an attempt to rid the cobwebs that always seemed to follow once he arrived in his arena. To his right and left a few yards away rested another statue copper in color and another with a greenish tint. All along the ground were inlaid metallic markings and glyphs, and chiseled channels no more than an inch or two wide and deep sloped toward an altar that sat upon a slightly raised platform. The psion smirked. At least it was a place worth looking at.

[Canen Darkflight]

Syrion scanned the stretch of the arena that lay ahead of him once more, where he had seen movement a few minutes ago, but now everything seemed to be completely still. The figure of his opponent had stopped, waiting, probably, for him. Syrion lowered his halberd to minimise his own visibility and crept forward ten, then twenty yards, just a couple of metres away from his target. Somewhere to the left he felt certain he heard a noise, and paused, listening harder, finding cover just behind the copper green statue. A footstep? He glanced nervously in the direction the sound had come from, finding nothing, and pressed forward again once he was sure.

In this sort of fight, if you can stab the fuckers in the back, that's as good a place as any.

Keeping low to the ground with his back bent double, he inched forward again and pressed his back against the statuette seperating him and his intended victim. His breathing became deeper, his heart pounding away to get blood to all of the organs, the tension rising in his body quickly.

This is who I am, and what I'm born to do.

Syrion sometimes wished he had kept a knife on his person for these moments, but usually, the halberd had sufficed in most situations.

The Khaian spun off the rock surface of the statue, rolling to the left and appearing behind the man who had entered the arena before him. Swiftly moving to bring the spiked edge of his halberd blade level with the man's spinal column, Syrion flicked his wrist, swivelling the point and blade to a horizontal plane, and thrust the jaded edge at his opponent's back in a quick and concise movement.

He didn't know if he had been spotted on the way over, but all Syrion knew
was that right here, right now, he would have the edge.

[A Nony Mouse]

Breathing. That’s what alerted the red-haired warrior to another’s presence. He hadn’t seen anyone enter the arena, but judging by his own miraculous entrance, that didn’t mean much. His fingers silently found the grip of his dehlar short sword and he inched away from the stone ever so slowly. The other fighter’s footsteps felt as though they shook the ground, so intent was Travis on sensing his opponent’s movements.

Whirling about with his blade vertical and aimed low, the combatant spun to face his attacker. His sword struck the metal tip of a halberd, glancing off harmlessly but still diverting the blade enough so that it avoided hitting him.

“Who are you?” he questioned as he brought his sword back to bear in front of him. The mysterious manner in which he had arrived unnerved him; his enemy surely had answers. “Why did you bring me here?” The man’s striking blue eyes held only malice, but Travis knew he would soon have a different attitude. Circling to his right to put the stone pillar at his back once again, the red-haired warrior waited for a response.

[Logan]

It didn't take Logan long to realize the predicament he was in. In a normal battle on a normal day under normal circumstances there would only be one opponent to slay. This had been nowhere near a normal day, and it clearly appeared to the experienced fighter than this was to be nothing close to a normal battle. Months had past since his last true battle. All the work he'd been doing with Vice had kept him so tied up that he just nary had the chance. In a way he missed the rigors of the battlefield, the bumps and bruises of combat. There was no missing the feeling of cold metal slicing through muscle and bone, however.

As his eyes began to fully absorb the place of expected battle the sight of the second combatant came into view. Luckily for Logan neither of his opponents seemed to notice his existence within the arena, which was certainly to his advantage. He eyed the one who appeared significantly more battle-ready and even battle-worn as they slinked around the statue to another and began an assault upon the slightly unsuspecting clearly less battle-ready opponent. Somewhere deep inside the psion felt a pang of heartlessness for not jumping to the noticeably less experienced one's aide, but he also knew all too well that doing so could jeopardize the advantage he had somehow stumbled into.

So instead he waited patiently, listening under fully concentrated ears and fully concentrated eyes. His senses absorbed all the sounds, the smells, and the sight of the warriors and arena. Taking a page out of an old friend's book, he remained fully trained on the combatants, not truly giving away his presence or position, but also not ever losing sight of them. There was a sense of betrayal that belied him in those moments, but he shook it off as easily as it came. He wasn't going to lose this one. Not this time.

[Canen Darkflight]

The man was quick, having parried the blade of the Khaian's halberd away and circled around him with an almost mechanical speed, and was now nothing more than a shadow in front of Syrion as the only source of light in the arena disappeared behind the statuette. He didn't have to refer to the guideposts of his experience to understand his opponent had as much idea of what was happening as he did, but didn't feel the need to introduce himself either. This was a Citadel battle, not the Corone Travellers Association general meeting. Surely the man must have know what he was getting into as he had walked through the portal to get here like everyone else?

Withdrawing the head of the halberd back a metre or so, enough to keep a leash on his enemy but indicate a level of momentary truce, Syrion paused, and sneered, in the obnoxious way only he knew how.

"Who am I? What does it matter? This is the Citadel, mate. Where else did you think you were or think you were doing when you walked in? Going out for a romantic meal in Radasanth?"

Syrion's sarcasm appeared lost on the man. In the Citadel, everyone was serious, everyone had a sad story, or an agenda. No-one came here just for a fight anymore, and that annoyed him.

It's all about the bloody tragedies and the bleeding hearts...

"Ok. I'm interested. Where do you think you are, and why do you think I had anything to do with it. Surely you came here of free will, to fight, right?"

[A Nony Mouse]

“I was in the Bazaar,” Travis explained, confusion apparent on his features. Although their quarrel was momentarily forgotten, the adventurer kept his short sword ready. “I had no intentions of entering the Citadel today,” he spat angrily. He wasn’t sure why he was venting his aggressions on this man, but he had little else to serve as a target. Being plucked from a shop to suddenly battle for your life gave one a mild sense of frustration.

He wondered just why he had been chosen to come here to fight this man. Were their fates somehow intertwined? He scowled and took a quick glance around. No other surprises seemed apparent, but then he hadn’t really seen the last one coming, had he? Despite his obvious malice toward the current situation, Travis’ calm eyes gathered as much information as they could. His opponent had come here to battle and the red-haired adventurer knew that’s what they would end up doing. Any information on his arena would be priceless.

Still, before he locked blades again, he wanted to know why. “Are you saying that you didn’t bring me here?” he questioned, turning his full attention back to his adversary.