Where Heroes go to Die. (Solo)

[Tobias Stalt]

Oily and thick with plumes of putrid smoke, the port bustled with a liveliness that seemed blissfully unaware of its conditions. The grim march from the boat evoked Tobias' gag reflex immediately, but the swift kick in his arse coaxed him forward with little incident. Coughing aside, the discomfort created by the tight bindings about his wrist made the last stretch of his adventure into Alerar the absolute worst. He had heard it was far from anything he had ever experienced, but the Shadow of doubt had finally been abolished.

"I want a refund," the thief muttered, attempting to numb his pain with humor. "The lady at the ticket counter promised a lovely aesthetic." The blunt impact to the back of his head sent him sprawling forward, and Tobias promptly emptied his stomach on the ground.

"Quiet, you," the dark elven female assigned to deliver him hissed, "Use that tongue without permission again and I'll cut it out. They don't need you to speak, just to take orders." At her less than favorable response, and with the ringing in his head, Tobias bit back a flavorful and suggestive retort. With bound hands and relieved of his dirk, he was in no position to question the command.

Struggling to regain his footing, Tobias skimmed the skyline with fleeting interest, fascinated by towers that touched the sky, as well as the self-imposed bleakness that the people here had condemned themselves to. He reflected that in Salvar, while the conditions were unfavorable in different ways, but at least nature had gone unmolested. In this technological hell, he had yet to see even one flower.

The forced march began anew, but he now felt as if hot breath settled on his neck with every step. Irritated, Tobias chewed on his lip to assuage some of his disdain, but remained compliant. He had gotten the impression from several of the dark elves that they had a streak of elitism, and this woman had been quick to assert her authority over him, which cemented his belief that they were full of themselves. The long knife at the guard's side deterred him from thoughts of guile, so he opted to acclimate to his new world.

Each breath still felt like a losing battle. Whereas in civilized parts of the world, the air felt clean and refreshing, Alerar had an atmosphere like poison. Since he had come off the boat, his eyes had been stinging and watering, and his appreciation for the culture and artifice had been dimmed. So when they stepped into a quaint building (relative to the size of the behemoths he had been gawking at) and the air felt almost normal, he blinked in confusion. His breathing ceased to be labored and he looked around as if the world had suddenly transformed. "Air purification," explained a strong, masculine voice to Tobias' left. Instinctively, the thief shot a glance in that direction... and then downward, tilting his head as he beheld a stocky man with a long beard. Immediately, he recalled another man with these features, and he knew the speaker to be a Dwarf. "Just one of the many wonders of technology, lad. Tell me, what's your name?"

With all the skepticism of a pauper in high society, Tobias arched a brow at the Dwarf and turned completely to face him, bound hands resting in plain sight. "Aye, there's that," the Dwarf admitted, gesturing toward Tobias with a wave of his hand. The Dark Elf stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and moved toward the bindings. After several moments and a strange glance in his direction- markedly, one Tobias recognized as a silent threat- his hands were freed. "We're not in a habit of conscription, but from what I hear, you would be pretty well dead if we'd left you to the gallows."

For a stint there was a silence between them that felt almost menacing, until Tobias spoke up. "So you're saying I should be thanking you, for slapping irons on me and dragging me across the ruddy ocean. For forcing me into this country I know nothing about save from stories and being made to breathe this toxic air? Oh, please, the next thing you'll expect is for me to ask the Queen of blunt force trauma back there to geld me and smile as she does it."

"Don't give her any ideas," the Dwarf muttered immediately, turning away from Tobias to sit himself in an elevated chair. Placing a tiny pair of bifocals in front of his eyes, the man read something on his desk before looking back up. "Mr. Stalt, your appreciation, or lack thereof, is not my concern. What I do ask for is your cooperation from this point forward." He stopped, pointedly staring at Tobias, who had begun picking at his nose, and stopped when he realized the Dwarf was studying him. "My name is Furyaxe. Sargent Furyaxe, and from here on, your superior officer. I've heard tell you were a thief with a superior skill for getting what you want. And I'd like to make that into an asset, rather than a pain in my ass."

Mouth ajar, Tobias was uncertain how to take anything the man was saying; apparently, the military of Alerar had done some serious homework on him, and they thought he had some sort of skill that would be beneficial to them. However... "Wait, so, I'm not sure I'm clear on this. You want me to steal something for you? Because I've got no martial training, and I'm not exactly the disciplined sort."

"Rest assured, boy, you won't need to worry about any of that." Patting a stack of papers on his desk, the Dwarf gave a quick glance to the elven woman, who saluted, then promptly took the papers and left the building. "The paperwork is all done, and you will start your training at sunrise."

"I assume I don't have a choice in any of this." Tobias stated glumly, his eyes narrowing with annoyance.

"You do, in fact!" Furyaxe replied, far too candidly and upbeat for the thief's liking, "join the ranks of the finest military in the world, or we'll export you back to Salvar for the Sway's brand of justice. I hear they have an especially magnificent killing method for those who escape death the first time around."

Tobias was about to offer a snide comment in response when a beautiful, golden haired angel of a woman appeared from a door just behind the Sargeant. "Camille, this is Tobias. He's come to us all the way from Salvar, and he's to be your charge, until such a time as he is properly trained and ready to serve actively."

Camille, with a kind smile and a salute that set her bosoms to jiggling, turned to face Tobias and bowed slightly. "Hello, Tobias," she said cheerfully, "It's been some years since I last visited Salvar. How is it there?"

"Fucking cold, and fucking awful," he said in a cheery voice as poisonous as the air outside. "Let's never talk about it again." As Tobias turned toward the door, Furyaxe and Camille exchanged confused glances, and Tobias reached into his pocket to adjust himself. 'That's right, you stubby bastard, set the busty blonde on the man who hasn't had any ass in months,' Tobias thought to himself, "are you coming, Camille?" He glanced back and grabbed hold of the doorknob, "or am I to be trusted to find the barracks myself? I've no quarrel with that."

"Oh!" Camille blurted, looking to Furyaxe, who nodded his approval, "right! I'll lead the way!" The woman, slightly shorter and only a bit meatier than Tobias, brushed past him and smiled as if unaware of the stiff feeling against her hip, looking warmly into Tobias' eyes. "They tell me you were some sort of criminal," she told him as they were out the door, completely taking him off guard. Was this supposed to be common knowledge? "So, they chose me to make sure you wouldn't run off during the night, or something sneaky like that. I used to be a whore, see, before I joined the military. You might say I've got some skill for keeping a man where I want him."

"Also makes sense why you rubbed up on my cock. Should have known better than to think you had a crush." Tobias groaned, almost deflated by the crushing news.

"Well now, who says I don't?" she said with a wink, bidding him to follow with a finger. Blinking rapidly, Tobias shook his head to dispel the confusion.

"Damn, she's good." Without any hesitation, Tobias struck off in Camille's wake, finally excited about at least one aspect of his trip to Alerar. He almost forgot that it was hard to breathe, watching her hips sway suggestively as she walked. The dark colors she wore muted her features a bit, which helped her to blend in with her surroundings, but she was no less an intoxicating woman. Tobias knew, he was going to need to keep his wits about him with this one.

By the time they reached the barracks, the dinner bell had rang, and the bedrooms had empties out for the time being. Kicking off his boots as he found his assigned bed, Tobias dropped his trousers and his shirt, and he sprawled out across the uncomfortable mattress as if it were down laden with silk. The trip had taken a world from him, and he showed it with how tired he was.

This marked the last normal night of sleep Tobias would have for a very long time.

[Tobias Stalt]

The morning came more quickly than he would have liked. While they had found it permissible to allow him to sleep early the night before, Tobias woke precisely when the rest of his initiate brothers got the call. The collective groan was silenced by a loud, irritating voice that boomed throughout the room and nearly shattered Tobias' eardrums. "Teeeeeeeeeen-shun!"

Looking around as the others flocked in a panic to form the semblance of a line, all clad in their skivvies and socks, Tobias watched with a vacant look from where he sat on the edge of his bunk. His stare met with the gaze of the officer barking orders, and immediately Tobias sensed he was not going to enjoy what came next. "Private! What is your name, boy?"

The massive human male was hulking over him within seconds, and Tobias had barely gotten himself into a halfway comfortable sitting position from which to take verbal abuse. Naturally, the offensive speech came before the youth could render a sufficient answer. "Are you deaf, son?"

"Might be after listening to you talk, sir," Tobias snorted. He remained undaunted by the rank of the man before him. He also seemed unafraid of the threat of disciplinary action.

"A comedian! Perfect!" His new friend sent a punch directly to his gut, and Tobias doubled over with wide eyes. "I know your type, boy. Ain't a lick of regard for authority in you; no amount of shit scrubbing or polishing is going to get through to you. But listen here- you can make all the jokes you want, but on a battlefield, the only one laughing is the one who isn't dead."

His first lesson in soldiering was a markedly painful one, because Tobias promptly slumped to the floor and began to vomit, nausea roiling through him in waves. He had never taken a full on blow to the gut before, and the impact had stunned him at first, then sent his intestines for a roller coaster ride. It was several minutes before he recovered enough to stand, and the voice of the drill Sargent was gone from the blur that was his consciousness.

He had some respect for the man now, a man with the wisdom to see through the boy immediately and take action, but Tobias still could not bring himself to like the guy. Still, next time, he would at least give a decent answer. No more gut punches.

Rubbing his sore stomach softly, Tobias wandered toward his bed, complete with a cleaned and pressed uniform. His button up shirt was black in color, denoting a lack of rank and a utilitarian design that could be easily mass produced. The pants were baggy, unlike the general pleated pants that he was accustomed to thinking of when it came to militaristic garb. Uncharacteristic of his normal style, the clothes felt alien sliding onto Tobias' body. When he buttoned the pants, he tested his range of motion by kicking his leg out to either side, then straight upward. To their credit, the pants allowed him a versatile flexibility, a fact that had likely been factored into their design.

Nothing about this seemed under thought, and to Tobias, it was perfectly awe inspiring. As the sleeve crawled along his left arm, then the other on his right, the former thief felt a measure of pride swell in his chest. In spite of the gaping chance they had left for him to bolt, he was staying of his own volition; each button slid through its corresponding hole until the shirt was fastened, and he neatly tucked the hem into his pants. "You almost look like a real soldier," Camille's voice crooned from behind him, and Tobias jolted slightly, but did not turn.

"You mean I'm not a soldier?" He asked, as though he were uncertain. In the mirror, everything about his image oozed difference, from his clean cut look right down to the uniform itself. Tobias strained as she ran her hands over his chest and stomach, taunting him and silently picking at his lack of self control and poise.

"Looking like something does not make you that thing," the woman whispered in his ear, sliding out from behind him to reveal her own uniform, her hair neatly braided atop her head. The blue eyes she decorated only enough to highlight shone like the moon reflected on water, and Tobias ripped his gaze away to consider himself once more. "But, you will be a soldier, Stalt. I've seen worse than you recover from their baser instincts."

Staring at her with a pointed look, Tobias folded his arms. "I'll bet you say that to all the conscripts." To this, she replied only with a knowing smile and a slight shrug, then headed down the hallway. Tobias watched her leave before turning back to his bed, where lay a strange metallic object, which shimmered faintly in the artificial lighting. Scooping it up, Tobias immediately recognized it as a scabbard. Inside, there was a sword.

Slowly drawing the weapon from its resting place with a mild hiss, Tobias eyed the edge with an appraising glance. The blade had been blunted. Weight like this was foreign to him; the dirk was light and concealable, and not at all meant for straightforward battle. A sword meant attack and defense in the traditional sense, where a man was directly in harm's way, naught to defend him but his own skill.

A single practice swing told Tobias everything he needed to know: this would take a great deal of time. The technique behind his swing was evident in its nonexistence, arc shaky and off center; and when Tobias completed the motion, he had to jerk against his momentum to keep the blade under some semblance of control. Following the first attempt, Tobias executed a thrust, slowly pressing the tip of the blade out to the apex of his reach.

Watching his arm shake violently, Tobias was visibly unnerved by his lack of skill, sweat already beginning to bead at the back of his neck. He withdrew the weapon quickly and slammed it back into the sheath, clambering back to his bed to affix the weapon to his belt. Once the weapon was hanging at his side, Tobias began to roll his shoulder out, relieving some of the tension that had been created by wielding the blade.

Several minutes passed before the recruit hurried put of the barracks and into a rain of screams and clattering. "How good of you to join us, Private!" Tobias did not need to look to ascertain the owner of the voice; the Drill Sargeant had a voice you could only dream of forgetting. "I see you managed to get dressed this morning. Bloody brilliant, son. Now, join your fellows on the grounds, if you would!"

"Yes, sir!" Tobias found himself responding almost mechanically, as though the garb he wore had mystically turned his attitude around. Through his wavering salute, the youth glanced over at his officer uncertainly, which the man answered with only a nod of approval. Not waiting to be given the command a second time, Tobias rushed out into the mass of recruits waving their swords about like madmen, and he began looking around vacantly.

One of the men jumped at the opportunity. Tobias yelped out in pain as the lengthy metal slammed into his chest, and his compatriot smirked triumphantly. "Oh, right, hit the unarmed opponent," Tobias scowled, rubbing his quickly forming bruise.

"There is only one type of unarmed opponent, recruit," the Drill Sargeant called out to him, "and that's a dead one. Now get your damn sword out and we'll get you using it for something other than shaving your ass hairs."

Tobias unsheathed his sword without retort, slowly learning that words were more trouble than they were worth in the thick of it. Certainly, the art of wordplay had its place, but in the heat of battle it could be made useless. That was why he needed this training, but it was only one of the reasons.

Discipline allowed a man many things. Tobias learned the first when he steadied his blade and warded off a powerful swing from another recruit. The impact, compounded by Tobias' embarrassingly horrific technique, sent a powerful shiver through Tobias, and he almost let go of his weapon completely. "Plant your feet, boy!" The Drill Sargeant was pointing directly at Tobias now, so there was no mistaking who he meant. Tobias felt small as an ant, but he dug in with both feet to steady himself, knees bending almost reflexively. "Hold your blade tight enough to keep your grip, but loose enough so that your blood circulates. Too lose, and you can be easily disarmed. Too tight, and a well placed blow can numb your hands, or worse."

Tobias felt out the advice with the grip of his sword, trying to determine what position felt right to him. The weapon felt lighter after absorbing the brunt of that first blow, as if he were somehow adjusting to it. When he tightened his grip, the sword seemed to respond by becoming rigid and adhering more strictly to his movements. When he loosened, the blade had a slightly more erratic condition, and it felt a bit more unwieldy to boot.

After Tobias seemed to find his comfort zone, he turned to face the boy who had struck him. He was a Dark Elf, probably one of the less impressively sized Tobias had come into contact with, but his attitude was almost the same. The Elf surged forward again, but this time, Tobias met him head on with a more confident and firmly gripped weapon.

The song of their blades clashing rang out above the barking of commands, and the others turned slowly to observe what had happened. Time stood still in that instant, Tobias in disbelief that he had managed to halt the blow, the Elf equally surprised that the boy had managed it. Fortunately, they both recovered quickly, backing off from the first exchange to regroup and strike again.

Tobias stalked to the right, his opponent mirroring him in a low crouch. Neither man seemed too eager to jump back in, but they closed in spite of it. Beneath his boots, Tobias listened to the crunch of sand, and he let it pull his mind away from the plethora of overwhelming thoughts threatening to distract him from his purpose.

With a vicious lunge, Tobias made the first move. Searing through air, his blade rushed toward the meaty portion of his opponent's ribs. Clang! The Elf leveled his blade in the path of Tobias' slash, stopping the weapon midair, and he shunted the strike to his left.

Bringing his blade up in a controlled arc, Tobias went over the shunting blade, and the tip of his sword ripped toward the Dark Elf's face. Backing up- giving ground- his fellow recruit quickly pulled back on the blade, relying on it to save his face.

Tobias brought his leg up swiftly, and in a single motion, put it to bed in the elf's gonads. Letting out a howl, the Elf dropped his sword and fell to his knees, clutching at his balls as Tobias placed the edge of his weapon gently to the man's neck. "The only unarmed man is a dead one, aye?"

Reaching out his free hand to the Elf, Tobias nodded and helped him to his feet. "We are even, human," he told Tobias, grasping his hand firmly, "one strike to one."

Tobias smirked. "Call me Tobias," he replied, "and I'm not a human. I'm a soldier."

[Tobias Stalt]

"Not a human, but a soldier? What kind of fuckhead are you, Stalt?" Camille swatted at the back of his head, at which Tobias let out a yelp. "The whole bloody platoon heard you spew that shit, you know. Kicking an Elf in his pisser is a good play, I grant you that, but it doesn't make you a swordsman!"

With a winning smirk, Tobias shrugged and looked over at the blonde woman. She was clearly unsettled, prodding at the gunk that passed for dinner food on her plate. "Just mad you didn't think of it?"

Glaring at him, Camille turned her body to fully face Tobias. She considered him for a moment. "Were you born an idiot, Tobias? Or is this just a heat of the moment thing?" His smirk faded quickly, replaced by a very tight frown. Clearly he had been expecting praise. "Being a soldier isn't about glory or honors, or people thinking you're a damn hero, Toby. It's about being just good enough to survive in the face of death. And maybe, if you're lucky, you'll live to be a veteran. The best soldiers in all of Alerar were men who checked their egos at enlistment and worked their arses off to get where they are. Beginner's luck doesn't make you a goddamn Sei Orlogue."

Silence swept over the two as Tobias absently slid gruel into his mouth and chewed. He didn't so much as look at Camille while he ate, though he could feel her eyes on him. He had no response for once in his life. He knew nothing of soldiering, or of swordsmanship, or anything that Camille had shaken him down for. It felt brutal to be that pathetic in the face of the only friend he had in Alerar.

"You don't have a thing to say? What, that tongue of yours finally stopped working? About fucking time." They had chosen to sup in a private setting, mostly to prevent his complete humiliation. The swing Tobias took at Camille, though, made her glad she had chosen the venue. His arm sailed past her head, and she saw it out of the corner of her eye rather than registering it directly. Leaning to the left, she peered at him. "Are you daft-"

Before she could finish slagging him off, she realized his lips were on hers. Before she knew it, he had wrapped her in his arms. Camille was split between horror and excitement; she had hoped for this, but certainly not under these circumstances. Lifetimes sped by in an instant before she could bring herself to respond, letting him kiss her the way she knew she wanted him to. Her arms moved to wrap his waist, and she pulled him closer to her, kissing him deeply in return. Her eyes shut, and she lost her mind for half of a minute before finally shoving him to the floor.

"Y... you have a lot to learn, boy. That was not a bad way to start." Camille shot upright, blushing as she composed herself, then saluted. Tobias watched her in confusion, still unsure of why the kiss had ended with him on the floor. "See you're back in your bed by sundown. Good-bye, Tobias, I will see you tomorrow."

Camille disappeared through the door, and Tobias sat up. "She wants me," he said with a wry smile, picking himself off the floor and grabbing his plate. Discarding the dinnerware in the receptacle marked "dishes," Tobias adjusted his collar and looked at his reflection in the polished metal wall.

He wondered what she had meant, 'not a bad start,' but decided not to pursue it. There were a number of hours before the sun was down, and he wanted to get back to learning his sword. "The blade," he had read in the archives, "is the soldier's life. With it, he can protect himself and his brothers. Without his sword, a soldier is dead."

It had been a very blanket assertion, and Tobias had wanted to respond with "the mind is more important than the sword." But they were two parts of a whole, which he discovered when he drew his blade and began to consider it. Without the mind, the sword does not move. Without the sword, the mind does not engage in swordplay. But there was far more to soldiering that just blades and brains.

Moving through the corridor of the barracks, Tobias stopped short and peered through a partly opened door. Within, he saw a room filled with maps, a small contingent of recruits, and at the center, a glowing ethereal globe. Transfixed, Tobias quietly pushed his way into the room to listen.

"...and so the war effort raged on for several years, almost mindless ferocity from both sides. Looking at their formations through the records, we can easily assume they both used rudimentary tactics; they did not form ranks or lines to fire, and they heavily lacked discipline. Either side could have profited from the knowledge we now employ as a military..."

Tobias listened, tilting his head at the beginner's lesson in tactics and war. His father once read him books about military strategy, saying that a merchant could take much from the ability to learn his opponent. Markedly, Tobias was fully attentive to the large projection in the center of the room. As he moved closer, it seemed to respond to his approach, and it spun rapidly and zoomed in to the scene of a large battle.

The frame froze, bringing up a technical readout of all the visible units and formations, and Tobias looked over them intently. One force, the one depicted closest to Tobias, had formed ranks and begun a slow march. The men were outfitted with swords and armor, and faced with an opponent that had split itself into two smaller groups. It looked simple, as though a press through the middle could divide the forces and route them quickly.

Tobias could see, though, that they were having difficulty advancing. "Something is wrong in the center there," he murmured, not loud enough to be heard. He reached his hand up and tapped the image, prompting it to enlarge that area. When it did, he blinked and blurted, "this is distorted!"

The rest of the room went silent as the lecturer turned to face Tobias. "This is a simulated version of a battle during Salvar's civil war. The force split in two somehow avoided being routed and completely overwhelmed th-"

"It's distorted," Tobias repeated, flicking his finger across the image to turn it in the lecturer's direction. "In Salvar, they use Aeromancy to control the weather patterns, yeah? So, if they applied that same knowledge here, it would be possible to create the illusion of a smaller, separated force, while concealing a larger one in the middle and baiting the opponent to run themselves through against the shield wall."

The lecturer blinked, and nodded. "Yes, that's correct. But no one generally connects those two things."

Tobias waved a hand over the projection and it responded by pulling back the veil, revealing a vast number of armed soldiers, and several Aeromancers concealing them. "That's why you use this to teach knowing the enemy, right?" He glanced over, hopeful that he'd gotten at least somewhere in the proximity of a correct answer.

"Young man, what is your name?" The Dark Elf instructing pulled his glasses off of his eyes and stared thoughtfully at the recruit as he gestured toward the globe, returning it to its original state. "This class is generally for recruits who have shown a great deal of promise toward leadership. I do not recognize you as one of my students, so I am at a loss."

"Stalt, sir," Tobias responded with a proper salute, "conscript from the Pestovo gallows."

"Stalt, is it? Well, Private Stalt, I can certainly appreciate an aspirant tactician. You are welcome in this class, if you like." Smiling, Tobias fell into the ranks with the rest of the students, and he listened intently as the instructor taught. There would be several hours left to focus on swordplay when this was finished.

[Tobias Stalt]

Sunlight leaked through the haze of murky cloud cover, glistening off the perspiration that leaked off of Tobias as he caught his breath. Wiping the hair plastered across his brow from his eyes, the recruit returned his hands to the blade, still growing used the the weight of a real weapon. "Again!" The coarse cry shattered his moment of respite, and Tobias lunged forward in defiance of his aching muscles.

The treated wooden dummy creaked when he struck it, lurching to the side before wobbling and returning to its natural state. Through his blade, Tobias could feel the vibrations caused by his effort; the shiver that ran up his arm almost deadened it. "Balls," he spat, reaching up to coddle the arm.

"You're swinging hard, and trying to break the target. You don't need to put that much power into a stroke to cut," the Elf who he had been sparring with earlier informed him. "The more strength you waste, the more you tax yourself. This exercise is to teach that."

With a sour look in his eye, Tobias gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulder to circulate the blood through his arm. "Good of them to tell us that," he muttered, ignoring the critical look from his comrade as he took another swing at the target. The second blow met with far less resistance, and Tobias glared back over his shoulder at the Elf. "Don't. Say. A. Word."

Ignoring the laugh from the peanut gallery, the aspiring swordsman readied his blade once more. He spat unceremoniously into the sand, uttering some foul curse as he swung anew. Each stroke looked as though he were expressing something painful from deep within, the look on his face a hybrid of anguish and impossible determination. The other recruits had stopped practicing and beginning to watch Tobias, though he was oblivious.

Whispering the hymn of death, the practice sword resonated a morose note at every impact. Each shrill cry melted into the last, and Tobias wove each strike in an intricate pattern. The beauty of battle was in sadness, Tobias had learned. Teardrops entangled with sweat bled from the corners of his eyes as the dirge played in his mind, and he was reminded of his fallen friends. From the time he arrived in Pestovo all the way to his voyage to Etheria, he had been surrounded by pain, confusion, distrust and death. Instead of playing at swordsmanship, Tobias recalled the somber feeling of loss and channeled it into each movement.

Hollow in response to each increasing octave, Tobias became emptier with each movement. On all sides of him, there was mute silence. Tears and choking sounds of pity and of immense sadness swept through the men, and the Drill Sargeant twisted his attention toward the recruits. "What the hell...?"

Tobias' face was a mask of pain as he swung the blade again, anguished fury embedding the blade deeply into the wood he had been wailing at for almost ten minutes. The crack dispelled his trance, and he looked around with a start. "Huh? What are you sods looking at?"

No immediate reply came, and he looked to the Sargeant, who was staring past him to where the sword remained jutting out from the target dummy. Tobias followed his eyes, and when he saw the weapon he blinked. "How did you do that, soldier?"

Turning in silent horror to the Sargeant, Tobias shook his head.

"Grab a sword boy," the man muttered through his messy beard, unsheathed his own weapon. The blade was elegant, yet shone with a honed edge that promised death. "I want to see that a second time."

No one spoke. The officer had never taken a direct part in their training, instead offering advice and hurling commands when necessary. That the man wanted to test Tobias directly with live steel unnerved them all. "Someone give him a sword."

In his mind, Tobias sank into his fear. The darkest vestiges of his heart had crept into prominence, and he gulped down what remained of his better judgment. There was no room for question in this new command. Somewhere beside him, a sword was forced hurriedly into his clutches, and Tobias shivered as he drew the weapon.

Shakily breathing, the recruit pushed the thoughts of who he was facing from his mind. Before him there was always death, and this was nothing new. A plume of steam rose from Tobias' lips as if his body had frozen over, and skeletal digits danced along his spine.

"Fear can be a useful ally in the proper setting," his tactics instructor had said, "but that is true of any emotion. Logic can put your foot into a door, but only your own efforts can see you through it."

His frosty eyes considered the target; the human male was of an impressive size when compared to Tobias, and the blade dwarfed his own. But rational thoughts had begun to ebb away. "He's going to kill me," Tobias thought, "I'm going to die."

Raising his blade into the ready position, the Sargeant brought the blade into a streaming arc toward Tobias' right side. He was forcing the greenhorn swordsman onto the defensive. Above them, the sky had begun to darken, and raindrops pelted their bodies.

His world was frozen. Tobias felt the blood in his veins, the heat of the world contrasted with the frost in his own heart, and he moved on instinct. The creaking moan of the Seargant's steel through the air told Tobias where the blade was. In an instant, he understood; he wasn't seeing the movements, he was feeling the battle.

It made no sense. His borrowed blade bolted up to defect the stroke, Tobias twisting his body to bolster the blade with his weight. The impact jolted through him, but the strike was halted short of his body. In his eyes there was a darkness like the ocean.

Howling a curse, the Sargeant brought his blade up, scathing over the blunted edge of Tobias' weapon. He seemed unused to this lack of... anything. Tobias was nothingness, perfectly still and calm. His motions were labored, but he seemed ignorant to his own pain or struggle. "Wake up, Private!"

He heard the command, but Tobias could not will himself to respond. Terror gripped him; this trance, this overwhelming emotion had stolen his body. When the blade came down to sever him down the middle, Tobias flashed his own weapon upward into the path of the strike.

Crash!

The sound echoed for heartbeats. As the crowd shivered in their disbelief, Tobias blinked and looked around. The fine blade of his opponent had split into two equal pieces, one still in his hand and the other clattering uselessly along the ground. Lowering the weapon in his own hand, Tobias stared blankly at the ground.

When his body began trembling, Tobias let out a whimper. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Without warning, the private collapsed. As he spasmed, Tobias stared through hollowed out eyes toward a sky that answered him with ten thousand tears.

[Tobias Stalt]

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He could hear the distant sound, drumbeats crashing like waves against the shore of his mind. Consciousness was like a distant dream now, and with it life had become a fairy tale. A gentle ray of light through dark clouds brushed over Tobias, but he defied it with the weight of his burdens willing him to rest. "Leave me be," he murmured discontentedly, curling into a fetal ball, "I don't want to go back."

Clouds rolling across the sky splayed tendrils that formed fingers, clutching at the heart of the light and snuffing it out. Blissfully unaware, Tobias stirred when he felt a single droplet against his face. "I died," he said plainly, oddly calm as his eyes slowly opened. "I saw myself die."

As he sat up, Tobias stared out at a world devoid of color. Fields of white stretched across as far as could be seen. When the bleak, black waves slipped toward him again, Tobias looked down into the murky depths. Matching his gaze were the eyes he gazed at in mirrors, devoid of the light that once dwelt there. "I had... I thought I had a purpose."

The soldier untimely ripped from the world tried to grieve. Tears from the sky wet his cheeks, but his eyes remained dry. "Hello Tobias," the soft, sad voice of a man slipped past him almost unnoticed, but Tobias turned to face it. Clad in gray robes that swathed his whole being, the man smiled with a sadness that moved the recruit's very sole to despair. "Fret not, child. You are not dead; mere sleep has stolen you from the world. The sleep of despair."

Tobias blinked. "Despair is the world, stripped bare of all its beauties," the man went on, walking closer to Tobias, placing a gentle, cold hand against Stalt's cheek, "The absence of hope, the termination of dreams and the acceptance of futility." In this man's eyes, Tobias found torment unending. He moved his lips to scream, but no sound came from them. "You were born without the capacity for Magic," the tragic figure told him, "because you were touched by my hand in the womb."

A choked response died in Tobias' throat. "You were chosen by misery. By the dwindling hope of a broken essence, to bridge the gap between people. With each breath, I infect the world with sadness. Tragedy seeps out from my heart and into the world. You brushed your connection to me, and awoke my blessing within you."

"I'm Godtouched?" Tobias managed, gawking still at the vast, ethereal darkness that dwelt in the eyes of the other man.

"I am no god," the essence responded, "I am called Lament. I am the collective consciousness of all sadness in the world."

Breaking the eye contact that made him want to gouge his eyes out, Tobias stared off toward the sun. When he could not find it, he asked, "what do you need from me?"

"You are my hope, Tobias. My only hope in a sea of inevitability." The statement seemed unfair; unfair to Lament that he was damned to such an existence, and to Tobias for having this weight forced upon him. "Yours was the thread of fate most in mine with mine. I scoured and toiled for countless eons against all possibility, and I found you."

He wanted to ask why, but Tobias could not speak. He listened, straining to comprehend. "I touch all beings some time in their lives. No man is without grief, but no man should be without hope. In you Tobias, I found a man afflicted with inevitability. Predisposed to despair. I had a glimpse into your future, and I saw immense tragedy. So I took you by the hand."

"You gave me a lifetime of pain," Tobias stated softly, accusingly.

"Never that," Lament snapped back as if wounded, tears threatening the edges of his sorrowful gaze. "I held you close through the pain, and I gave you my hope." Embracing the soldier of Alerar, Lament buried his mournful visage in Tobias' shoulder. "You, my beloved son."

Recoiling, Tobias' eyes flew wide with terror. "F... father!?"

Lament bowed his head shamefully, his porcelain features twisting until they took on the refined shape Tobias could never forget. "My son..." the tears in his father's eyes were salty against Tobias' lips as he embraced the man and screwed his eyes shut. "Father... I remember you were always a somber man... but the manifestation of the world's sorrows...?"

Dietrich Stalt, the man you called father, died before you were born. His memories, his body, his very life I assumed with the intention of guiding you to a better purpose than you had been dealt by fate," Lament told him, "he was known as a man who stayed far from trouble, until your mother conceived you. Debtors closed in on his estate, exposing the tax evasion he had become ingenious at spearheading. He was killed in the night, left in an alley to rot."

Lament shook his head gravely, "you were never allowed to know the truth, not in that time. Until now. You are the breach between this world and your world, Tobias. You are my Knight of Tears."

Mouthing the words, Tobias felt the world twisting and saw the image of his father fading into oblivion. Darkness had crept upward, swirling to consume his mind. The waves swallowed him whole, dragging him infinitely down. Screaming, his lungs filled with water and seared with pain.

Minutes passed and emptiness enveloped him, tearing away at his flesh. He felt unmade, barren, and Tobias continued to scream. Cold was all that was left; in the universe where Tobias now existed, he was alone. He stirred when he felt a sudden pressure in the vicinity of his chest, and his eyes snapped open.

"WILL. YOU. STOP. SCREAMING?" Camille held the flailing Tobias down, hands almost on his throat as she stared into his widely open eyes. The woman was a wreck. Her eyes were dabbed with tears, hair unkempt and flowing softly over her shoulders. "You smarmy git, we all thought you were dead!"

"I still have questions," Tobias murmured.

"What?" Camille tilted her head, confused. "You were out for several days, Tobias. I think you're delirious."

Days? Glaring at Camille, Tobias tried to piece things together. "Tobias, your eyes...

"What about them?" He asked, shaking off the unsettling feeling.

"They feel so... empty. Looking into them is like a dagger into my heart. Are you alright?" He stared at her for a long time, mouth gaping. It had not been a dream. "Are you unwell? Did you hit your head harder than we thought?"

"No, it's fine," he replied, sliding himself out from the bed, "I just need some time. Thanks, Camille."

As Tobias left the room in silence, Camille stared at the wall. The perfectly white room reflected the dwindling hope she held on to that Tobias would recover.

[Tobias Stalt]

One, two, three...

Shallow strokes through the air linked in an invisible pattern, Tobias moved his training sword with the expertise several days had given him. In a considerably short amount of time, the former thief had taken to the heavier and more refined sword. Like a painter brushing across canvas, Tobias criticized his own elegance.

The dance of a swordsman was never the same, though all of them practiced the same steps. Larger men learned to heft their weight into strikes, making their assault overwhelming. Those like Tobias with a smaller frame and a weaker disposition learned the necessity of quickness. When it came to the blade though, slash and stab were universal.

The haunting eyes of Lament still burned into his mind, and Tobias grappled with his sinking heart through each step. Flowing with elegance across the dirt, Tobias could barely feel the encumbrance of the weapon now. The sword had become part of him, as the soldier's had often told him it would. Part of the thief still refused to believe it. So many things were changing, and in such short time.

One, two three...

The rhythm was a simple one, and the steps were no more difficult. Moving into and out of the beat of his heart, Tobias synchronized himself with each moment that passed; those seconds ebbing away were gone forever. "A warrior," his instructor had genuflected, "prides himself in every motion. Each moment is spent toiling toward perfection. Even if he never attains it." More than a warrior, Tobias was a soldier. Each moment he lived was a blessing, and at any time he might fade. The juxtaposition of a warrior's struggle and a soldier's set a somber expression on his face.

Not far from where Tobias practiced, Camille watched him with morose appreciation. "He's a natural," A stern, hearty voice startled the woman, and she turned to see the warm face of Furyaxe. "But he looks so damn sad about it."

Nodding, Camille turned her gaze back to Tobias. "He makes agony into art," she agreed, "and it's both painful and enchanting." Tobias' blade whipped round his body striking high, low, middle, following a rhythm that as soon as Camille thought she had it figured, shifted into an entirely new tempo. It felt as though the soldier were drawing notes on a scale, and when he got to a new line... the song changed.

But every song was sad. "It's a killing art," Furyaxe reasoned, "but he moves with such remorse. Can he really do it? If it comes to that, will he take a life?"

She nodded. "It's like..." Camille strained, searching herself for the words to describe how she felt. It was difficult at first, because her observation would not only decide how she actually viewed Tobias. It would also affect Furyaxe's final decision regarding the man. "Each step he takes into his new life is a part of what he once was that dies. That can be hard on a man."

"Your last report disturbed me, frankly," the Dwarf muttered, "but I am not altogether displeased with what I see now. Tobias has grown into a capable lad. Several months of proper training will see him in a regiment. We've done all we can for him."

Whipping her head around, Camille gazed at Furyaxe wide eyed. "You're sending him away already?"

A gruff nod. "The boy is a genius. Our own Company Tactician testifies up and down that with the proper guidance, Tobias could easily be the asset Alerar needs in our unending war against Raiera. They've become increasingly hostile of late, you know that."

"But that's throwing him from the heat into Hell ifself!" Camille almost screamed in defiance, but Furyaxe laid a hand on her shoulder. He said nothing. She looked at him watching Tobias, his hard gaze like stone. "This is coming from above you," she recognized quietly, and shivered when he nodded.

Tobias turned to face them as his weapon lowered, his lips pulling up into a soft smile. "Sargeant," he casually saluted.

Extending a gilded envelope toward the former thief, Furyaxe looked hard into the man's eyes. The coldness there was just as described in Camille's report; it looked as if Tobias had gazed on horrors beyond belief and returned to tell of it. "This is your comission, Stalt," he stated, "you're an honest to god soldier now. There's nothing left for you to learn. You're leaving in the morning." It was a command Tobias could not refute, for there was no room for reply.

"S... sir." Tobias responded with hesitation, showing his reticence for the first time since before his strange coma.

"I am sending Corporal Arra with you," the Dwarf continued, at which Camille twisted to stare at him in shock. "She will report on the state of affairs," He intoned, staring sidelong at the girl, "and then, I yield her to command, to reassign as they see fit."

Both Tobias and Camille saluted now, and Furyaxe turned on his heel to leave. "You are both dismissed. And Tobias?"

Tilting his head, the one time rogue asked, "yes?"

"Good luck, son."

Tobias shivered. "Thank you, sir." As the Dwarf disappeared back into the barracks, Tobias slipped his sword back into it's sheath, unstrapped it from his waist, and held it out to Camille. "Corporal Arra," he crooned gently, "I am sorry to have worried you."

Jolting, Camille matched gazes with Tobias and found a warmth that had not been there previously. "I wasn't worried," she snapped, then rushed forward and embraced him. "But if you ever pass out for three days again, you had better not wake up, Stalt."

With a loud laugh, Tobias patted the woman on her back. "No promises."

Together, they left the training yard for the last time.

[Tobias Stalt]

Packing the last of his belongings into the wagon, Tobias glanced sidelong at Camille. "Tell me again why we aren't going the overland route?" The laugh she responded with irritated him, but the Rookie Soldier brushed it off. The shape of a mass slowly growing on the horizon stole his interest every so often, but its slow movement quickly bored him each time. An airship. Not some kind of magical unicorn that galloped across rainbows into the sunset, this was a true wonder of Alerian ingenuity. Tobias had heard bewildering tales of Air Supremacy that featured those titans raining down hell on a battlefield. The prospect of flight inspired a man who's feet had never left the ground to daydreams.

He had accounted for his blade as part of his uniform, though the preparation crew tried to insist he remove it. "Over my dead body or yours," Tobias had said, and no questions had been uttered. Camille silently noted the subtle influence Tobias had when he wanted to, and she wondered if perhaps that was what the old Dark Elf had seen in the boy.

Picking his nose, Tobias absently turned his gaze toward Camille when he realized she was staring. Quickly removing the finger from his nostril, he flicked the refuse off into the dust and smiled uneasily. "Fancy this weather," he mentioned idly, attempting conversation.

"Aye, unclean and ugly as ever," Camille grinned. Tobias chuckled at that.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to Alerian air," he muttered softly, watching the behemoth ship become visible as it seemed to materialize from what had previously been a very small dot. "Ever been to Ettermire?" Not glancing at her, Tobias could feel her wondering gaze on him and he continued, "I'm only wondering. I've never been to Alerar before this... well... you know."

"I was born there," Camille admittedly slowly, which drew Tobias' gaze. "My mother claimed noble parentage. If there is any veracity to her story, I'm some hundredth or thousandth Elven. At any rate, Elves don't much like murkbloods. That is, the offspring of an Elf and an outsider. Racism, that sort of thing."

"I can imagine," Tobias drawled, recalling the treatment he had received upon arriving in Etheria. "I take it that yours was a less than happy childhood?"

Camille nodded, clearly unwilling to expound. The sounds of the airship swimming through the sky became more prominent as it cast a long shadow over them, and Tobias stared upward in awe. Gears churned slowly and loud beneath a sleek metallic exterior that bespoke of Dwarven Engineering, the finest plate to protect Alerar's finest. Ornate in shape and distinctly aerodynamic around the hull, Tobias appreciated the monstrosity with a long whistle.

"Should I be worried about this?" Tobias asked uncertainly, watching as the airship slowly descended. It was like watching a bird of prey swoop down toward him, and he felt powerless to resist. "I feel like I should be worried about this."

"Don't touch anything," Camille ordered, "and if you see any Elves, salute and keep that mouth of yours shut. They might not be magical, but a bullet will still put a hole through you."

His eye twitching, Tobias strode forward toward the ramp that began to lower. "You're a portrait of optimism," he groaned, rubbing at his arm as though he had been wounded. "I should make new friends."

"Tobias, I defy you to name one friend you have," Camille teased, bringing up the rear.

"Well, there was that whore several nights ago..."

"Forget I asked," she barked, leering at him as her shoulder bumped against his. Tobias struggled to catch himself, halfway up the ramp when the impact happened. When Camille did not turn and she disappeared into the belly of the airship, Tobias blinked.

"Was it something I said?" He shrugged and followed her into the ship with a smirk.

[Lye]

Thread Title: Where Heroes go to Die. (Solo) ( http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26648)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Solo – Tobias Stalt



Plot: 19/30

Story- 7/10
The story did not cover a very large expanse of time. Overall, it gave the reader an introduction to Tobias’s story and progress into the Alerarian Military. The main focal points touched on his learning of the blade in combat, and finding purpose in his new role. There were hints of potential romance and a touch of mystery through the back story scene. The weakness of this thread lies in the length of presented content and falls a little short on Tobias’s roots in Salvar. His transition from thief to soldier was quick and without much resistance against habits. In short, the thread proves for a good introduction to the main character and opens up potential story arcs for future threads.

Setting- 6/10
The main focus used in the writing was the Alerarian air. There was a brief mention of the initial building they entered at the start of the thread, but not much else otherwise. Descriptors were used well to describe whatever object Tobias was interacting with. Still, aside from immediate surroundings, the thread lack a sense of Alerar as a whole. Emphasis was placed on the objects and inner conflict where the heart of this thread is. To improve, continue to mention or expand upon the senses that push the reader into the overall atmosphere of the area.

Pacing- 6/10
The story covered a small section of time, but the read was lengthy in certain areas. While the story did have good flow, there were areas of near-run ons and stagnating sentence structure. The emphasis to push literary imagery also detracted from the pacing where less internal description would have sufficed. Overall, the descriptions, speech, and actions held a smooth enough balance to maintain decent reader engagement.



Character: 24/30

Communication- 8/10
This thread excelled at emphasizing the main character. Immediately from the start, Tobias was fleshed out through his speech. This is a perfect example of showing the readers who the main character is without blatantly describing personality traits. Nearly every quip that came from his lips had purpose or meaning, whether that be to further the story, or strengthen the persona. The last few posts detracted from the overall flow, but the situation seemed to fit based on the dream sequence. This then picked up again in the final post.

Action-7/10
Actions carried throughout the thread were well written and thorough. Tobias was further described and fleshed out by what he did and how he did it. The descriptors served to strengthen this cause, but hindered the flow of the writing. Tobias was nearly described in full for such a short thread which could have been forgone in certain areas to allow for reveal down the line. Overall, Tobias’s actions were straightforward and held purpose. The weakness, however, lies in the balance of too much or too little information.

Persona- 9/10
Near perfect. If this thread had one overall strength it would be to showcase Tobias’s personality. The events that occurred were dwarfed by his actions and speech. All the detail provided only strengthened this area.



Prose: 22/30

Mechanics- 7.5/10
Sentence structure grew dry in areas with plenty of compound sentences. Usage of the semicolon was off and should have either been a sentence break or conjunction. Occasional errors in capitalization and missing quotation marks (an easy fix) caused missed points. Very few spelling errors and the occasional error in formatting. If all actions are italicized, expectations are made to maintain consistency. One usage of dialogue (also missing the quotation mark) was italicized when it should have been normal. An easy way to lesson workload is to forgo formatting of actions and speech to differentiate.

Clarity- 7.5/10
Jostled by the near run-ons and occasional error, the read was fairly straight forward. Certain imagery caused confusion in the dream sequence. Other areas of imagery were spoiled by a typo which turned one word into another (middle of Post 5: “Yours was the thread of fate most in mine with mine.”). A few days away from the writing and a read through will rectify missed opportunities in this area.

Technique- 7/10
Imagery abound. It is apparent that the writer’s strength lies in the creative use of words to paint a picture. Vocabulary usage was strong, and the scene where everything held a metaphor to sadness was well orchestrated. The thread was unfortunately too short to allow more complicated techniques, but did well to utilize the simpler ones. Sentence structure would have allowed for a more efficient use of what is present.



Wildcard: 8/10

Impressive. I have mentioned this in prior judgments, but it takes a decent word smith to keep me hooked in a thread. The imagery used in your writing reads poetically. I was able to take a break from the thread from time to time when it became too abound, but overall, I maintained engagement with the story. With a little improvement, I could see your writing becoming “the book you don’t want to put down” quality. Keep up the good work. I anxiously anticipate seeing Tobias in a much longer thread with other players. The writing and his personality dynamic will surely set the bar for other to compete against.



Final Score: 73/100

Tobias Stalt (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?17202) receives:


1,070 EXP!
125 GP!

Congratulations!

[Lye]

EXP & GP added!