[BoC] A Game of Shadows

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Closed to Storm Veritas. Continues from the events in The Fall of Sir Edwin Francis (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?30525-The-Fall-of-Sir-Edwin-Francis&p=263641#post263641). The Castigars and Arius Mephisto ("Executor ISOS" pronounced "Egg-sec-you-tor eye-sos") used with permission from Visla Eraclaire, their creator.
The clouds hung low over Radasanth, cooling down a city at the centre of many troubles. The cobblestone streets were slick with moisture, soaked by the rain that would keep them cool for long after the sun went down. The large buildings that comprised the city centre loomed agelessly over the rest of the governmental architecture that lay just slightly to the west, leaving that portion of the city enveloped in gloomy shadow.

As with that section of town, the people of Radasanth too were in darkness. For the second time in as many months, another member of the Imperial Senate had been murdered in cold blood. The first time had been Senator Franklin Woodheight, a mid-tier politician with the republic. This time it had been Sir Edwin Francis, a much more prominent figure in the imperial hierarchy and someone with a great deal of influence in the senate. Whilst the people of Radasanth mourned their losses with dignity, there were less tactile opportunists waiting like snakes in the grass for their chance to usurp further power from the imperials.

One of them was from a very unlikely source indeed.

A streak of water ran down the grotty glass of the fifth story windowpane, carving the cityscape in half and breaking Shinsou Vaan Osiris’s gaze over Radasanth. He rocked back and forth on his polished shoe heels as he waited in the small, cold room for his meeting with republican chairman Sir Augustus Bannon. His gaze returning to the streets below, Shinsou watched the members of the senate make their way to a special session of Parliament before flicking through the sheets of paper he was holding. He checked once more to confirm that his and his employer’s candidate’s credentials were in order.

Mr Thomas Moorcroft is hereby appointed agent and representative for councillor Oliver Kadar and is authorised by the latter to engage with the senate of the Republic of Corone in any matters that may arise as such.

“Mr Thomas Moorcroft…” Shinsou muttered to himself. He would have to get used to his new identity. It was a name that screamed “wealthy imperialist elite” and one that suited him ill. It mattered not, though. All he had to do was keep up the façade, as he’d been instructed.

His thinking was interrupted by the echoes of footsteps in the corridor outside. The footsteps accompanied a parade of armed guards that strolled through the Radasanthian senate offices alongside their charge, Sir Augustus. Large metal shields scraped along the floor as the burly men kept file, passing an armed guard posted every hundred feet along the hallway to ensure that no unauthorised personnel got anywhere near another senator. Dressed in a monotone suit that fit snugly around his rotund figure and with greying hair combed over a bald patch, the unshaven chairman Sir Augustus fit the stereotype his position projected perfectly. As he entered the room, he motioned to his guards to stay outside and met eyes with Shinsou, who was ready and returned a nod before giving a firm handshake.

“Mr Moorcroft I presume? Please accept my apologies for being late,” boomed Sir Augustus as he returned the gesture, “As you can appreciate, the extra security is weighing heavily on us. Please..."

A fat arm motioned to the door, presumably in the direction of Bannon's office.

"...follow me.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The village that Oliver Kadar had been raised in, and had now been summoned to by his employers, had been a quaint little place. Whitevale had more than its fair share of land in geographical terms, but as he remembered it the population had barely ever made a dent in the green expanse. Even now, most of those present were seasonal migrants working the farms that provided for almost all of the village’s faltering economy. Isolated as it was and surrounded by so much barren wilderness, this small time settlement really was the perfect place for someone of Oliver’s apparent status to wander un-noticed and unhindered. It also made for an excellent place to stick a headquarters for an up-and-coming political organisation of the Brotherhood’s ilk – an insurrection of pre-imperial powers that would mainly be ignored or overlooked it was so small; the ancestors of people who in older times kept a vision in their hearts of a united Althanas and strove for unification of all people under one banner – the now forgotten Castigar’s flag - at any cost.

That Whitevale had almost an entire native population of people still embued with the taint of the Castigar’s vision didn't hurt either.

The Whitevale that Oliver grew up in was a sprawling expanse of houses dominated by a village square that used to include a mayor's office, a dainty chapel that was merged with limited academic facilities and the Whitevale ranger’s office, a single tavern and a village marketplace. There was also a disused bunker left over from the Castigar War that was mostly built underground; the place where all the Castigar officers, even Arius Mephisto, “Executor ISOS” himself, were required to retreat to in the event of failure in Corone. It was all very quaint and slightly eerie, with plenty of room for children to play in the snow and with each other but with very few actual people in sight. There had been a few trees in those days, and Oliver still fondly remembered carving his allegiance to his Castigar ancestors into the base of one.

The Whitevale that Oliver Kadar called home was a place that was rustic and curious. The people were mostly all descended from the core of frontiersmen and religious pioneer at the heart of the Castigar efforts, and it showed in everything from the slogans etched into tree trunks to vaguely religious sermons that took place after morning prayers at the church. Even the priests wore clothes that very nearly resembled the colours Arius Mephisto had hoisted as the Castigars announced themselves to the world. Everyone knew each other by family name at the least, and there were always stories to be told about what really happened to the great Executor ISOS.

"What on-?"

Tonight, Oliver Kadar, candidate for the Radasanthian senate, returned to find that the Whitevale of his childhood was gone. From the crest of a hilltop on the edge of a surrounding forest, he studied its replacement with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

The hard-packed snow-and-dirt roads had gone, replaced now with cold stone streets of the industrial age that Oliver had grown up with in Radasanth. There were three-floor houses replacing the old wooden shacks that he remembered, and there were just so many of them now that you could no longer see any expanse of grass at all. Of the old town square, only the chapel remained close to what he remembered. The ranger's office was replaced by some sort of hall, and, more strikingly, the old bunker was replaced by some sort of building similar in architecture to the parliament buildings in Radasanth’s political district. There was now large, guarded city wall standing twenty foot tall and wide enough for men to comfortably pass each other by on patrols. The whole town was lit by street-lantern.

It was then he saw the flag. Oliver’s brown eyes tried to take in what he saw and absorb the meaning of it, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Atop the hall, the red and black colours of the ancient Castigar insignia flapped in the wind, the beating of the fabric echoing through the night.

He wondered what on earth had happened in his absence.

[Storm Veritas]

Storm moved smoothly through the streets of Radasanth, dressed to the nines underneath a simple treated-leather cloak. The rain wore his hair a bit closer to his head, but he enjoyed the smell of the rain, and the way it seemed to press down the horrible odors of the streets of Radasanth. It also went without saying that the addition of water to his hair made the whole grey-flecked smattering look a good deal darker, and introduce a bit more natural youth to his look. As he strode from stop to stop, the furtiveness of eyes and glazed stupidity of patrolling guards was truly spectacular.

A few simple disguises, and these idiots don’t remember me slaughtering their precious Fat Frankie Woodheight in broad f*cking daylight. Then the whole deal with Francis…What’s a man got to do to get a reputation in this shithole?

He smirked, but his amusement wasn’t unreasonable. People were trained to be nervous of the wealthy in Radasanth, largely because everyone was cheating the House of Commons in one form or another. Short tax payments, petty warrants, unpaid citations, or just the pattern of the wealthy abusing their privilege were all sufficient reasons for an overdressed man to not earn a long look from anyone too close.

The door chimes made a tinny clinking sound when he pulled open the heavy oaken entrance, quickly hopping through the orifice to the Post Exchange front door before scrubbing the wet soles of his feet on a furry doormat. Shaking his hands free of water and smiling widely, the wizard looked about the office building for a happy face which was not within his eyesight. Clearly, a rainy day at the message center was not exactly a great time to be alive.

Put on a happy face you dour sons of bitches! It’s not every day you get a mass murderer in your midst! Or maybe it is… screw it.

The tall, elegant Veritas strode confidently to the front desk, an empty line perhaps not surprising given it being late morning. Still showing a salesman’s grin of ivory white and shine, he smacked his palms swiftly on the countertop. The sixty-something woman behind the large granite divider jumped back in her seat, her eyes popping open as though she saw a ghost.

“Good afternoon, sunshine! How are you today, my dear?” Storm looked deep into the eyes of the (no doubt) miserable shrew of a woman, who scowled despite his efforts and scratched mindlessly at her shoulder as she resettled herself.

“Yes, yes… quite the fan-f*cking tastic afternoon. Steady rain and cold. Wild and wonderful. How can I help you, young man?” Being forced to cater to the snake-oil salesman she perceived before her appeared to cause her physical pain.

Undeterred, the wizard pushed the wet sleeves back up his arms from the leather cover, showing fine dress satin cuffs extending perfectly beyond his wrist bones. His long fingers tapped gently on the stone as he spoke with an even, smooth tone.

“Here to check for messages, my dear. Veritas. V-E-R-I-T-A-S. Citizenship number 378, 264. Any luck?”

“Three – seven – eight, two-six-four, you said?” She pulled up a thick monocle to examine a ledger before her, checking a long list of numbers that coordinated with citizens receiving letters, documents, and packages.

“Ungh…” The old woman hopped down from her stool with the grace and finesse of a drunken, one-legged RootWalker. Judging by her temperament and disposition, Storm assessed that the old bitch had probably never left Radasanth, let alone made it far into Concordia.

“Here” the crone submitted, tossing a small package onto the counter. The small parcel looked to be little more than enough to carry a letter, but landed with a crunch. “Veritas, you said, right? It’s fragile. Good day.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The first thing that hit him when the Telgradian entered the office of Sir Augustus Bannon and took his seat was the rich scent of fresh wood, which was a very delicious smell indeed. The room was only about twelve foot squared but it was paneled in mahogany, furnished with ivory trinkets and finished with golden leaf detailing around the ceiling. A wooden table, on which a tray of refreshments was set, separated Shinsou from the business end of the room.

Let’s hope that Sir August laps this up. By now, Oliver should be on his way to Whitevale, and by the time he meets with the council there, with any luck, I’ll have Bannon’s nomination. Then-

Shinsou’s train of thought was interrupted by the wheezing of the podgy man sat opposite him. Sir Augustus’s unhealthy figure seemed to be crammed between the back of the chair and the desk with very little room for manoeuvre and, as the senator almost heaved with the symptoms of his ailment, beads of perspiration formed on his rosy skin. With the creases on the senator’s forehead multiplying with every splutter and the puffing from his lungs becoming harsh, the Telgradian could have been forgiven for thinking Radasanth was not far off losing their third politician within a week.

Not before you sign these papers, pal. After that, you can die all you want, as long as you do it quietly.

“Here…” Shinsou said as he poured the Augustus a tall glass of water form a jug on the table, “this should help a little.”

It was easy to cut a strong figure whilst a parade of armed guards flanked you as you strolled through the open streets, but Augustus could barely even gulp the water down. Eventually, he finished the glass, cleared his throat and composed himself. Almost instantly the chairman’s brow relaxed, his eyes steeled and he suddenly he once again looked the part. Gazing across the table, hands clasped in front of him, he met eyes with Shinsou.

“My apologies, Mr Moorcroft. Now, what can I do for you?”

Shinsou flicked through his papers and handed over his credentials, as well as a sheet of paper pertaining to his man’s “political service record”.

“I’m here to represent the interests of Oliver Kadar who, as you may know, is one of the candidates for the vacancy left by the sad passing of Sir Francis. It’s been a terrible time for the city and we believe it’s about time this place had something positive to talk about. As you can see,” Shinsou pointed a thing finger towards Oliver’s record, “Mr Kadar has represented councils on local and regional levels and gained the plaudits of his constituents. We come to you to ask you to consider giving your patronage to his campaign to be appointed Sir Francis’s successor.”

Shinsou felt his heart pound against his chest as Sir August perused the documents he had been handed, bringing the sheet of paper closer to him to aid his failing eyes. Would it work? His employers had taken time and utmost care with their preparations; the Telgradian suspected that the Brotherhood had their far reaching fingers in many sizeable pies and it was easy for an organisation of their influence to falsify a simple service record, so this surely had to work. His brow held back a few nervous drips of sweat. Shinsou placed his hands under his tunic as he waited for Sir Augustus’s response.

It finally came, but it wasn’t what the Telgradian wanted to hear.

“There’s no doubt Mr Kadar has served his constituents well and that he’d be a suitable candidate for the senate, but it would be a major conflict of interest for me, as chairman, to patronise one candidate above all others. I will accept his application to run, but I cannot endorse Mr Kadar personally. I trust you understand my position?”

You fat fucking waste of oxygen.

Shinsou sat for a moment, quietly seething underneath his unfazed visage before internally composing himself. That was the easy part of the plan dead and buried, but it mattered not.

After all, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

“I understand Sir Augustus, thank you for your time. I’ll file the necessaries for Mr Kadar’s application to stand with your office in due course.” Shinsou collected the papers from the desk, and extended a hand. Sir Augustus rose from his desk, his backside knocking the chair against the wall and reciprocated the handshake.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but my hands are tied as I’m sure you understand. I wish you the best of luck in the election.”

Don’t be sorry now, chairman, Shinsou thought as he turned and left the office, there will be plenty of time for you to regret this later, when it’s done.

[Storm Veritas]

Storm knew better than to open the package in front of prying eyes, so he carefully repositioned the parcel under his arm, nodded to the old curmudgeonly bitch, and made his way out of the post office. The rain had lightened a touch, but not enough to scare up the locals to begin sweeping doorways or making their daily rounds.

Unsure of precisely what was in the package, the wizard used his cloak to cover the delivery as he strode swiftly across the cobblestoned square. It wasn’t more than thirty seconds before he arrived at the threshold the hotel, pushing a single crown into the palm of a grateful doorman.

“Afternoon, sir, welcome back.”

Veritas smiled as he strode by, wondering how much of last night’s hedonism the doorman had heard, or at least heard of. The brandy had flowed liberally, and word of whores in any first rate hotel spread like wildfire, so it was unlikely the doorman had not heard or seen the girls leaving this morning at some ungodly hour.

Still have to take my hat off – no stupid smirk this morning. Amnesia is an admirable trait amongst those that have cause to be so judgmental.

Perhaps it was self preservation; the local Radasanthian Royal hadn’t published any formal connection between Storm Veritas and the recent spray of assassinations, but he had built up enough notoriety to warrant caution. There was also the rumor of him killing a man in the mid-day streets with a knife to the neck, but this seemed too implausible for the locals to pay much heed to. Regardless, he had noticed an arms-length strategy from the locals for a few days.

At least arms-length from the locals that I don’t pay for the company of.

His hotel room was naturally a mess; the full size bed cornered to the back right wall was still scattered; the air carried the odors of sex and stale alcohol that belonged more in a brothel than any private establishment. Broken glass dusted the floor near the bed, although Storm would be damned if he could remember why.

Smiling at his own disregard for polite society, the aging magician produced the package as he slowly sat upon the edge of the bed. The package was overtied, but a simple arc of electric heat produced between thumb and forefinger provided a fine heat knife to cleave through the ties. Pulling rapidly at the paper covers, the traveler was confused as the package was far more covering than actual delivery. At the core of the package, a small paperboard box.

What the hell?!

Within the box was a single glass eye, which still held some scarlet stains upon it which spread to the cotton lining of the box. A small note was also scribed into the cap of the box.


You’re not alone. We seek the exceptionally talented. Await further instruction.

Well, good f*cking morning to you, too.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Although the Radasanthian sky was now the pale blue of a summer’s afternoon, without even a wisp of the clouds that had smothered Corone earlier, the ground was still sopping. Puddles filled stretches of the cobblestone street outside of Sir Augustus’s offices, soaking Shinsou's trousers up to the shins as he marched away from the building. It was impossible to find a dry stretch of pavement to walk down and the growing crowds outside parliament had stopped trying to find dry terrain to stand on, instead resigning their shoes to soak in the water welling up around their ankles. As the Telgradian purposefully strode past them, his boots churned up the mud and spattered it both up his own suit and the legs of those he passed.

Shinsou’s irritation at the failure of Sir Augustus to deliver his patronage for Oliver was somewhat dampened by the fact that he had planned for such an event well in advance. However, it now meant he had to get his hands dirty, and that was something his employers would have been keen to avoid given the interest that people were taking in current events in Radasanth.

It is what it is. Time to make contact.

As Shinsou approached an intersection of road, he checked twice for prying eyes and then swerved left, diving into the subtle opening of yet another of the labyrinthine corridors of Radasanth’s alleyways. Quickly the Telgradian trotted forward to ensure his form wasn’t caught loitering by any witnesses, and it wasn’t long before the alleyway twisted into another left turn before ending abruptly at the behest of a building’s south wall. It was a perfect place to communicate with his employers, away from the roads and with no-one around to snoop into business that wasn’t theirs. Shinsou brushed away the strands of brown hair from his face as he signed a pentagram on the floor, finishing the rune with two fingers touched to his forehead. The lines on the floor burned with a glowing orange hue as he launched into the appropriate incantation.

Dakuatsu 54: Kaze Sasayakimasu

The Telgradian could feel the power of his magic reverberating through his body, down his arm and into the rune on the floor. The beginnings of a portal through which he could communicate over vast distances started to come together as the sky immediately above him changed into the colours of an aurora. The layout of the dancing lights imploded into a contorting, twisting wall of chaos; colours brightly sifting through each other before stabilising and converging to form a screen with an oil-like shimmer.

At its heart lay an empty calm through which the silhouettes of five faces could be seen. Shinsou stared at the council of the Brotherhood breathlessly before bowing at the waist slightly.

“Brothers of Arius, I convey my respects and wish to report my progress.”

The five faces spread to the true ends of Shinsou’s field of vision, each one standing as tall and imposing as a mountain. Behind them, in the translucent screen through which the Radasanthian sun shone, hung a banner which although impossible to comprehend due to the glare of the sun was the emblem that Shinsou knew to be that of the Brotherhood of the Castigars.

The middle face, in his guise as the Brotherhood’s voice, leaned forward slightly to reveal an ageing face. Framed by wisps of white hair, his features were creased and worn, but his blue eyes were sharp and focused and the man held a determined expression as he gazed back into the portal at Shinsou. An aide dressed in scarlet red robes hovered next to him, standing so tall as to dwarf the spokesman.

“Proceed, our brother.”

Shinsou's gaze shifted from the first face to the floor as he knelt on one knee before his comrades and his stomach fell somewhere in between his knees as he began to attend to his debrief.

“I visited Sir Augustus this morning to obtain his patronage for Oliver Kadar. Unfortunately, Bannon found himself unable to provide it owing to a duty of care towards all candidates.”

There was an awkward pause. An audible, irritated sigh came from one of the faces, but the Telgradian was always thinking, always grasping, always trying to stay ahead of the game.

“However, I have a number of contingencies. My next course of action will be to direct a smear campaign from the shadows to discredit the opposing candidates and keep as little attention as possible away from the Brotherhood and Kadar. I believe this can be done easily enough.”

Another moment of silence followed. The first face leaned forward again, a thin smile creeping across his cracked lips.

“Your inability to deliver the patronage is disappointing, Osiris. However, you have ensured that there are other avenues open to us, and for that we commend you. There is another like you in Radasanth; a sleeper with a decision to make, so to speak. When he has made his choice, we will contact you and arrange for you to meet.”

Humbled on a faux-pas, Shinsou mumbled his gratitude, looking away from the faces and turning his attention to the glass eyeball in his palm. It had been in his pocket all this time, a message from the Brotherhood that he was one of the chosen few. The world went green and violent as the portal shattered into a million tiny fragments in front of him, ending all communication.

Another like me, huh?

[Storm Veritas]

Unsure of what the hell else he should do with such a totem, the thick-livered wizard pocketed the glass eye in the silk pocket of his trousers and spied out over the town square from the safety of his hotel room. Although he had paid a small fortune for the room, it felt precisely juvenile to live in such squalor. Despite the appearances that Storm Veritas kept up, and the fact that he had several significant deposits and holdings around Althanas, any semblance of real wealth had evaded him.

You don’t make it easy on yourself, you dumb shit. Kind of hard to move funds around when you’re constantly on the run for… you know… MURDER.

A smirk danced across his face as long eyes studied the cobblestones below, happy to see that apparently the rain had broken at last. He opened his windows, allowing the scent of several nefarious, rum-rich gases to escape and be replaced with the wonderful, ozone-rich thick air that was so plentiful after rainfall. It was a scent he adored; it reminded him of his own successes, as it also came most bountifully after lightning storms.

The air filled his lungs and cleansed him, slowly eroding the tobacco-stained air that was harbored inside his soft tissue. He watched as children below came out to run about the square, stumbling about like the clumsy newborn giraffes that kids were apt to appear as while running on the irregular, stony surface. The cobbled streets of Radasanth had devoured more flesh in the form of scraped knees than the Citadel could ever hope to garner in total injuries.

As more people flocked into view, Storm’s eyes were averted from the stupid, playful children and towards the corners of streets. Despite the incredible delivery he had received, his eyes were always thirsty to drink in the offerings of the mid-afternoon’s first batch of whores. What stole his eye this afternoon was ultimately even more captivating.

…

…

No, can’t be…

His eyes had caught a frame of a man skillfully darting in and out of shadows quickly, careful to move out of clear light. He wasn’t particularly large, nor looming, and didn’t carry anything that made him particularly noteworthy. The noteworthy component, as Storm caught the rugged outline of his face, was not what, but whom the man who sought anonymity was.

The man, undeniably, was Shinsou Van Osiris. The same Shinsou Van Osiris that had been unceremoniously slain before Storm’s very eyes in the midst of incredible combat only weeks before. The same man that had damned near killed the elder magician in the process.

Whispering under his breath, the electromancer inquired about the Telgradian as he watched him disappear once more.

“How are you still here, and what are you doing here, Shinsou? Here to finish the job? Back from the other side to haunt the living?”

F*ck this. If he wants to find you, you haven’t covered your tracks. Left a booze-crumbed trail to your door; you only forgot the big signs and advertisements.

Shin isn’t the type to send glass eyes. He’s here to take your head, if you’re dumb enough to wait for him to come get it.

Street level was out of the question, so the slim old bastard climbed out to his fire escape. All of Radasanth had them, and they were of finely rusted metal. His clothes tautly prepped and satchel tucked firmly under his arm, he confidently strode upon the top of the railing, kicking leaden paint away to secure a more sure footing. A single pulse of electromagnetic energy to the structure was all it took to propel him gracefully sailing silently in the air, leaving only a single loud creak of slightly-deformed iron in his wake.

Landing with the grace of a hawk upon the shale-tiled roof of the adjacent shop, Storm Veritas peered a path of rooftops that would secure him exodus from this god-forsaken city.

If the glass-eye stalkers want to come find me, let them. I’m not waiting around in my hotel room to get f*cking waxed.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou could feel the little bit of warmth remaining in his body slowly seeping away as he trudged back through the alleyways of muck and grime towards the business end of Radasanth. For now there wasn’t a lot he could do with the information about the new sleeper and, as and when the Brotherhood wanted him to know something, the Telgradian reasoned that they would surely be in touch. For now, Shinsou had more pressing matters to attend to. Looming on the horizon of his mind’s eye, dominating his thoughts, was the new plan he would now set into motion to get Oliver Kadar into office.

Next stop; Soap

Shinsou's contact, Soap, got his name for one reason and one reason alone; he hated getting involved in criminal activity if it meant getting his own hands dirty. He was proud of his job as a bartender and even more proud that it was legal. For a man of such high “moral fibre”, though, Soap had ironically made it his business that he had every single finger in every pie in Radasanth. Stolen goods, protection rackets and extortion were his game and, if you paid the right amount of coin, there wasn’t much you couldn’t get hold of. That wasn’t what Shinsou was interested in today though. The clientele Soap served in his uptown bar were influential, all part of the same social circle, all heavy drinkers and almost all in parliament.

On an average day, the bar’s turnout was impressive; but tonight, after congress, it would be packed.

A night of free flowing ale and loose tongues will do more damage than anything I can do in a week. Time to pay a visit and see if a bit of gold can oil up the rumour mill for Oliver’s competition…

The cold wind had slacked off a bit, but it was still drizzling a little and the clouds were still menacing overhead. On his way back through the streets of Radasanth, the Telgradian’s spirits were now a little higher and his body was a little warmer as he wrapped his white greatcoat tighter around him.

Suddenly, he stopped, his golden eyes dilating as a jolt shot through his very being.

Wait, what was that?

A nagging throb began to pound at the back of Shinsou's occupied mind as his stomach suddenly churned. Shaking his head in disbelief, Shinsou ground his teeth together as an all too familiar power tingled in the pit of his belly. What he sensed was faint, seeming to soar over his head behind him before disappearing. It was impossible to get a good view of the source; the building was too wide to see around the corners and too tall to see what was happening above with any clarity, but he knew the taint of that magic well to the point of the owner being unmistakeable.

…Storm Veritas…

As fleeting a feeling as it was, it felt like Veritas’s energy bore down on the Telgradian. An aura of mistrust and even a little fear started to fill him. It was not exactly reassuring that Storm was suddenly so close to him out of nowhere, especially considering their last encounter ended in a bloody brawl in the centre of Radasanth’s streets with both men heavily wounded despite Shinsou’s initial reluctance to fight. Was he here for revenge for that? Nodding slowly, as if to confirm it to himself, Shinsou knew that had to be the reason. It was too big a co-incidence they were both here, and Storm’s reputation preceded him. If so, that meant…

I’ve been followed from the start. What a hurricane of piss. One minute it was the safest job in the world, and the next it’s turned into a bad day in Eiskalt.

This was a headache the Telgradian didn’t need. Following Storm towards the fringes of town would mean unwanted confrontation and distraction from the mission, but potentially letting him get away with the Brotherhood’s whole plot in his grasp could be far worse for him in all sorts of unpleasant ways. Shinsou had to assume Storm now knew too much – and a vengeful soul like him would ruin everything if he so much as willed it.

I have no choice, do I? Soap will have to wait

[Storm Veritas]

Adventurers in general tended to be a bit of a nuisance, and Storm Veritas was certainly no exception. He hopped with an unnatural lightness from rooftop to rooftop, his superior strength and athleticism giving him a sensation of near flight as he leapt. There was a freeing confidence in his jumps, knowing full well there was no danger of him missing his mark, falling, or being accosted. The hazard to Storm was his increased visibility as an out-of-place silhouette against the gray skyline; the hazard to everyone else was Storm. He noticed by his third rooftop that the tiles he stepped upon were poorly secured, often breaking free, leaving the slate tiles to crash and explode upon the ground or unsuspecting pedestrians.

So much for a subtle egress. Might as well leave a trail of goddamned breadcrumbs in your wake. Get low, dummy.

An open window on the second story of the next sequential rowhouse was a perfect exit plan to confuse nearby travelers. Storm leapt towards the window frame, using a simple magnetic field to cling like a small monkey to the iron frame above the aperture. He kicked his feet freely through the orifice, tumbling into the tenement structure like a trapeze artist. The rolling sound kicked up a great set of squeaks and creaks from protesting floorboards, the wizard rising swiftly to his feet and walking towards a stairway in the back of the room. Shocked, a napping child woke in his crib and cried softly, a pathetic whimper which ceased as Veritas smiled at the tot. The cry was displaced with a confused tilt of a tiny bald head, muted by the popping of a miniature thumb into his mouth.

“Good morning, handsome, back to sleep now!” Storm whispered with a surprising pleasantness to the little one. Even the assassin refused to be crass to infants, particularly ones that didn’t affect a hangover.

Storm emerged a touch over three seconds later down the stairs of the small home, a mother ceasing her tending to of a larger child to moan as he nodded and smiled, making for the door. It was a gurgling, terrified sound, as though she thought death itself had come from her boy’s bedroom. It wasn’t a hospitable welcome, but then he had come down through the baby’s room. Storm stopped, standing proudly and running fingers through his hair to gather his demeanor before speaking.

“Relax, sweetheart, junior’s fine. Just needed to detour, my apologies for the interruption.” With a smile, he burst through the door, heading further east for the port exit of the city.

The sun had begun to break through the cloud cover, and the side street was a bit busier than even center square had been in the rain. People had catching up to do. In the bustle of the day, the well dressed, average sized human looked perfectly ordinary, and fit in like any other proud citizen. The corners of eyes seemed to hang on him longer than usual, a fact which wasn’t lost on the magician.

Stop being paranoid. None of these mouth-breathing halfwits know who you are, or who might be after you.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Fuck, he’s gained some ground on me. There’s no way I’ll catch him if he’s using those rooftops, even if I used Enpera Hitsugi. There are too many bastard people in the way to just make a sprint of it.

The conundrum of how Shinsou would ever catch up to the fleet footed mage was a frustrating one. As the Telgradian bobbed and weaved through chunks of Radasanth’s population, the vast majority of whom had been emptied from their nearby houses and were now starting to meander the streets to attend to their daily business, the stretches of cobblestone that had been clear ahead of him began to succumb to the sheer volume of people. Watching the citizens fill the road was like watching an oil spillage consume the surface of the sea.

It was time to find another option.

Still running, his white greatcoat buffeting in the breeze behind him, Shinsou flicked his eyes all around the dirty street. The nondescript faces that filled the streets flashed by him whilst the crashing of timber and iron chains from a passing cart drowned out any background noise and the shouts of nearby market traders. It was impossible to think straight with all of these faces and noises assaulting his senses, never mind the thumping power throbbing away in his gut, so Shisnou allowed himself to slow to a jog for a few moments.

Wait a minute. Carts…

Shinsou, as he jogged, watched with curiosity as one of the covered carts that had passed him carved a path through the sticky street mud and the milling Radasanthian population. The warped oaken wheels of the vehicle churned up the mixture of grime and rainwater into an almost frothy mixture, spraying it in all directions and sending nearby Radasanthians scurrying for cover.

Not as quick as Enpera Hitsugi, but faster than being caught in the crowd. I’ll take whatever I can get.

Shinsou ducked between two tall men burdened with sacks of grain and made a run for the rear of the wagon. Stepping off of the curb quickly, the Telgradian ran behind the cart, the only area clear of people that would allow him a run-up, and leapt from his right heel to grab an iron rung that hung from the wooden frame of the vehicle. He swung momentarily as his new wooden steed clattered over some uneven cobbles before stabilising himself on the edge of the cart; well out of sight of the driver.

Shinsou brushed aside a sweaty bang of hair from his face before sitting himself on a thin wooden lip, his eyes darting back and forth between the numerous faces of the crowd he was leaving behind. None of them seemed to care that he was hitching a ride, and no one had bothered to alert the oblivious driver to his presence.

Good. There’s only one main road out of here, and from what I can tell Storm is slowing down. Wait…he’s back on the ground, I think, slightly east. Even better for me.

The main stretch of road opened up to a wide boulevard that seemed to be really more of an elongated courtyard with a network of smaller side-passages. On either side of it were buildings that housed more prosperous elements of Radasanth’s markets, some of them filled with rare and impressive magical wares and all sorts of fine dress silks. However, the most important aspect of the area was that it was so upmarket it was sparsely populated. Even in a city such as this, the prices for items that were being peddled about here stretched the purse strings of the ordinary working folk a little too much.

As the cart drew closer to its destination at the other end of the city, an open stretch of cobblestone leading eastwards to the next sequential side road became aligned perfectly with the Telgradian. He could feel Storm’s magical signature pulsate within him, growing ever thicker with each meter gained on the crass mage. With a mighty huff, Shinsou leapt from the frame of the cart, his hitch-hiking now having served its purpose and pressed his feet into the rough surface of the stones beneath him.

“Enpera Hitsugi!”

The signature white mist that the agility-enhancing spell exuded barely had time to settle as the Brotherhood’s new enforcer kicked off from the face of a cobble and began his blurry sprint across the road, gracefully dashing into the side-street like an athlete in competition. As he swerved left and dived into the maw of yet another of the grimy corridors that connected this city, the Telgradian felt that energy grow ever closer. It was then, and only then, Shinsou really started to contemplate what he was actually going to do or say once the bastard was in front of him.

What am I going to do? I'm making a lot of assumptions about the reason for him being nearby, should I trust my judgment and just attack him whilst he isn’t expecting it? Should I try and talk to him and ask what the fuck he was playing at back in Radasanth?

Shaking his head, the Telgradian trotted forward, gaining on his charge. It wasn’t long before the alleyway twisted again. The feeling was a lot stronger now, so much so that the next wave of power sent a ripple of nausea into his stomach that provoked the Telgradian into slowing his jog before bowing slightly to ease the pain.

As he looked up, he recoiled.

Storm Veritas was standing right in front of him.

The Telgradian hesitated. His wrist had flicked out, ready to conjure the dreaded dark matter that the lightning mage had suffered before, but nothing came. Visions of the pair working together to defeat Sunwing clashed with the memory of their most recent encounter. Conflicting emotions collided within him.

The hand dropped an inch, fingers curled inwards.

No. I want answers first.

"Why are you here?" Shinsou enquired hesitantly, his guard only slightly lowered, "It can't be a co-incidence after our last meeting. It's been a shitty week and I need answers. We worked together on Sunwing and then the next time I see you, you drag me into some streetfight with that dumb bag of bones. What gives, Veritas? What's your game?"

[Storm Veritas]

It had become clear after enough dashing, darting, and leaping that the black-clad Osiris really was out to get him. Storm had run for long enough; if he could lead him into seclusion and confront the warrior, it would end the madness.

Worst case, he starts yapping up one of those silly-assed incantations to bring on a spell and I get the hell out of town.

Storm moved through the streets, gliding with a speed and grace that looked like a messenger. He tried not to look too conspicuous to the passerby, but this was easier said than done. After all, a man dashing through the street amongst people who labored their way to work was a true ant in the rice bowl.

He escaped the streets, dashing into alleys populated by the overdrunk travelers rather than the well-traveled main streets. He’d happily trade the rank odor of hot piss and vomit for the population, because Shinsou had proven that subtlety wasn’t a distinct strength. Pivoting, the wizard waiting behind a stack of crates as Shin approached. Hands slicked his hair back tautly against his head, and deep breaths helped steady his heart rate. The deep breaths drew in the acrid air amidst the hot sun, giving the magician the same blend of sensations as a hangover.

If I have to feel this shitty, I should have at least enjoyed a few quarts of wine last night. These soldier types are a pain in the balls.

Storm found himself gathered, smooth, and composed again as he leapt out well before the Telgradian. It was always ideal to look as relaxed as possible before launching into negotiations. As he finally confronted the sword-fighter, Veritas maintained an even balance, trying not to seem aggressive nor weak. Delicacy was the order of the day.

“My game? I suppose you’re about to pretend you weren’t chasing me around like a hound on the fox scent.”

A moment of exasperation crossed the samurai; Storm’s blades were short but tongue was sharp. He wouldn’t pause before going in at Shin again.

“In case you forgot, you and that big bag of bones were also the ones that damned-near killed me and Rayse when we were just trying to hit the seas. You don’t get to team up with Captain Cartilage before ambushing me again, dickhead.”

Tall and thin, Storm peeked down a long, aquiline nose at the shorter swordsman, crossing his arms as he awaited a reply. Filled with nervous energy, his hidden left hand began gathering a small orb of white-blue energy. He wouldn’t be caught off guard today.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The Radasanthian sky was turning dark, with cumbersome rain clouds that had rolled over the cityscape threatening to deposit their contents over the population. As dark as the world above was, though, the mood below was comparatively as black as an abyss.

Shinsou could feel a chill in the air, but this time not as a result of the terrible weather; instead he felt the icy words of his slender counterpart churning up the air as the lightning mage uttered his grievances. The chestnut haired Shinsou, who had stopped under an awning at the back of a ramshackle building forming a section of the alley, shook his head dismissively as he listened to Storm, a single pale hand rested on the hilt of the sheathed Enpera in habit alone. His black and silver belt flashed for a moment under his white greatcoat, rushed by the constant breeze that swept through the alleyway.

“Is that what you think, that we ambushed you?” Shinsou piped up, an ironic smirk adorning his face, “While you were busy throwing assorted debris at each other in the middle of a crowded street, I was on my way to a meeting. I had to intervene because I needed that stupid sack of shit Elite Optic in one piece. You’re a clever guy, Storm, so if you needed to get somewhere quick why didn’t you run? You’ve got the speed, right? It would have saved a whole lot of shit. But no, you and your partner had to go and attack a battle-hungry behemoth with a one track mind.”

It was then he remembered Rayse Valentino.

"Speaking of which…" Shinsou tacked on to his statement, shoving a hand against Storm’s chest. “…if I see Rayse Valentino again, he’s a fucking dead man.”

As Storm stumbled backwards slightly, his lean frame easy enough to move with a simple push, there was a clink. The alleyway fell eerily quiet; the only sound being a feint breeze brushing past the cracks in the corner bricks of the corridor’s mouth. As Veritas recovered his balance from Shinsou’s aggression and prepared for righteous retribution, he found himself looking up at a polished glass eye that had fallen from his pocket, pinched between Shinsou’s thumb and forefinger.

You have got to be joking.

All of a sudden the tension sucked from Shinsou’s gut, replaced by a concoction of complete surprise and curiosity. A moment passed before he rummaged around his own pocket for the identical trinket and with the other hand held the two items up together, side by side, so Storm could understand the connection. He didn’t turn his face towards him, but rather kept his gold eyes firmly locked on to the strange artefact that his assailant had dropped. Something about the eye, with its almost otherworldly design, drew his gaze towards it, as if it were calling to the very depths of his subconscious.

“The Eye of Arius; sent to the chosen few.” Shinsou explained, “My chosen few. The Brotherhood's marked men.”

A brief warmth returned to the atmosphere as the Telgradian tossed back the eye. Storm, bemused, could have said any manner of things but chose patience, waiting for the Telgradian to hit him with a punchline after the sudden change of demeanor.

“Before all this, I was on my way to a bar uptown. Now might be a good opportunity for some reconciliation and explanation. Do you drink?”

[Storm Veritas]

Everything happened too quickly for the wizard to make heads or tails of. The second eye held with it the answer Storm had sought, but he wouldn’t be able to connect the dots so extraneously linked with real-time speed. That both of them had been marked by some other society could be no coincidence, but what did the marking mean, and why had two wildly different characters been given the same totems?

I’m glad that Shin seems to think that everything is lining up perfectly, but I’d much rather just get crooked.

A smile crawled across the tall man’s face at the mention of a drink. To ask Storm Veritas was an exercise in formality; the long night behind him likely still lingered through his pores in form of double-blanched brandy. He tried not to raise his eyebrows too quickly at the offer; the magician knew not to look too eager at the opportunity to leave the conscious plane.

“A drink, sure, what the hell. I’ve been known to tip a glass or two.”

When he gently pushed the saloon doors open to enter the High Tap, a tall, sober old man named Seamus waved to Storm as he sat up from his post, leaning against a thick oaken support structure at the center of the pub. The dark-wood bar was surprisingly dark in the mid-day, with the sun pounding down directly on the roof without spilling in much through the windows. The two patrons sitting at the bar returned their gaze to large tumblers of whiskey, swishing the drinks around within them as though trying to read tea leaves. Ostensibly, the whiskey did not respond.

“Ne’er e’en half-one, Mister Stevens! Must have been a helluva morning! Who’s yer friend!”

The pseudonym didn’t phase Storm; he’d grown used to adopting names as with his travels came rap sheets, warrants, and newspaper headlines. If Storm Veritas was an evil wizard with incredible power and an avarice for death and gore, then Storm Veritas would have a hell of a hard time getting a cold drink on his own. He turned to shoot a wink at Osiris, who seemed amused by the whole charade.

Well, at least Seamus isn’t diming me out for being in here this early. I bet he knows the tip is coming back his way as long as he plays it cool.

”Thunk! Shhhhhhh….” The short glass of gently bubbled honey mead slid across the bar to its familiar position by the knuckles of the electromancer. So much for subtlety, as the old barkeep handed over “the usual” in a poor effort to curry favor.

Shit.

“This character here is a rich man, so be sure to treat him well because he is more than capable of tipping like a double-masted schooner. His name is Jefferson.”

Jefferson? Any port in a storm, I suppose. Now what will this silly son of a bitch drink?

Reminded of the insane chanting Osiris was wont to partake in before unleashing his magic, Veritas was inspired. Another devilish smile danced across the aristocrat’s face as he interrupted Shinsou before he could start.

“He’s a big ‘Sake’ guy, I believe. You have any hot sake, Seamus?”

The old, leather-skinned barkeep stared at the mage as he continued polishing a tumbler, mouth agape for a moment before collecting himself.

“Beg ‘er pardon, Mister Stevens… is that a whiskey or a beer now?”

The honey mead seemed to rub his tobacco scorched throat as it slid down into his belly, the satisfaction of the first drink on a warm day wholly palpable.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou grunted at his new companion’s choice of drink for him. It wasn’t exactly an odd stereotype to make, given his outlandish looks and even more unusual abilities, but anyone who knew Osiris knew that when it came to drinking there was only one pleasure for him. Anything else was just an unsuitable alternative. Luckily for him, Sake wasn’t on the menu in a dark, back-alley inn like this, which suited him fine.

Noting the bartender’s confusion, Shinsou interjected.

“Don’t worry if you haven’t got any. Just whatever whisky you have will be fine,” Shinsou remarked, being sure not to insult either the barkeeper’s lacklustre but sensible inventory or Storm’s unsuccessful, but appreciated, gesture, “It’s not exactly an inner city drink”.

The Telgradian reached over and grabbed his tumbler, sliding it back towards him. He drank half the golden brown liquid, savouring the strength and bitterness of it as it warmed his throat. He could see Storm enjoying his own poison of choice from the corner of his eye, drinking in silence, pointedly ignoring the Telgradian until his glass was nearly empty. Satisfied, Shinsou pushed his half away for a moment and turned just in time to have met Storm’s gaze.

"That eye, the Eye of Arius," he said as the barkeeper took his empty glass. "It’s given to those whom my employers deem to be the best. Enforcers, smugglers…assassins," Shinsou flashed him a knowing smile with the practiced grace of someone who knew more than they should do, “…all people with a certain talent. It’s lucrative work, but it’s dangerous. I don’t believe too much in destiny or any of that fate bullshit, but I also don’t believe in co-incidences either, Storm. In fact,” Shinsou mused, “I believe that the Brotherhood somehow manipulated me and you into fighting back in Radasanth. Funny, isn’t it, how a second senator gets murdered in the space of a couple of days and somehow, curiously, you were trying to flee the scene at the same time?”

There was a pause. If Shinsou was looking for a reaction from the electromancer, he would have been disappointed. Veritas was listening and his facial expression was keeping the shop shut.

"Sorian, the man I was going to meet, worked for them. My guess is that the Brotherhood, whether indirectly or directly, contracted you to kill that fat fucker. I've got to admit, if this was their way to test us out, it was well planned." Shinsou admitted, looking for any change of expression on Storm’s face, anything even fleeting.

"Alright," The Telgradian finally said. "I'll tell you something…"

At that moment, a gentleman behind them leaned back and propped his boots on a nearby chair. He took a sip from his ale and then began talking to another man who had sauntered in through the front entrance. The conversation was mostly dull, before a third man entered hurridly and seated himself next to the two other gentlemen by the window.

"Have you heard?" The third man, wearing a long coat and fedora hat, paused and heaved. "There’s been another murder. Sir Augustus this time!”

“Good,” Retorted the second man gruffly, who barely looked up from his beer, “The fat fucker probably deserved it!”

“No, listen!” The third man insisted, “Turns out that he was killed by being crushed in some metal cage. No-one has any idea how someone could have gotten into his office, but the police think they know who did it! What’s more, they think he offed the other two as well! They’re saying it’s a guy called Storm Veritas, that he’s the only one who could have manipulated the metal the way they found it! What’s more, they found a glass eye at the scene…”

The rest of the conversation dulled into unintelligible slurs as Shinsou tried to absorb the impact of it.

What?! Shinsou thought, exchanging horrified looks with Storm. But that can’t be true! He’s been here with me since I left his office!

It then dawned on him, slowly, what the implications of this would be. Shinsou was the last one seen at that office, and god forbid a porter or a guard giving the authorities his description. What’s more, Augustus was dead, and that was really going to hamper Kadar’s election bid.

Fuck it all to hell!

"Come with me, right now. We’ve got to get to Soap." Shinsou finished off his drink in a single gulp. “He owns a bar uptown and it’ll be the only safe place for the moment. We need to figure out what to do; this is a problem for both of us.”

Shinsou looked pointedly at the accused electromancer as he said the last, judging his reaction.

Today was really not going to plan.

[Storm Veritas]

Is it possible to hear the sound of ones own eyes rolling in their head? Such thoughts clutched the electromancer around the throat as Shinsou’s careless explanations rang through the tavern, hearing the Telgradian refer to him clearly as “Storm”. The minutiae around the Brotherhood rattled down to the ground like broken chimes about him in the midst of his explanation. Had Van Osiris not heard the barkeep refer to the wizard as “Mr. Stevens”? Had Veritas not taken enough care to safeguard his identity in the eyes of his peer?

Gods almighty, Shin. Next time I’ll stomp on your f*cking foot three times and say ‘Hello, I’m Mr. Stevens’; maybe you can just smile and nod. F*CK!

The angling of heads towards their should-be-private conversation was quickly exacerbated by the loud-mouthed, would-be politico. The gentlemen interrupted their conversation with the timing of a lead balloon. The explanation that a guy “called Storm Veritas” had just committed some heinous, magic-riddled murder came moments after Shin had foolishly referred to the lightning mage as “Storm”. With a name every bit as common as “Fellatiato” in downtown Radasanth, Veritas knew that his secret was out. Quickly, the once-discrete bartender reached beneath the bar for a still unseen weapon, moving with a slow, unflinching deliberation.

“Yes, very good. Soap. Got it. Let’s go.” Storm deftly pressed a handful of shiny, golden crowns into the bar, hoping the gross overpayment for a few drinks would buy the duo the benefit of the doubt. Quick and decisive action brought him safely away from the bartender, the foolish bigmouth, and a few patrons who found discretion to be the better part of valor. Naturally, since God hates Storm Veritas, two patrons decided to confront him before he could lead Shin through the front door.

Like pillars of muscle, two massive stacks of denim and horsehide wrapped human pressed themselves together, towering before the door with arms crossed. The one on the right spoke first, pulling his straw colored hair back beneath a well-fit grey flat cap. His bright green eyes peered with heavy judgment in a harsh squint.

“Easy, there, fella. I heard the little fellow call you ‘Storm’, and tuxedo over there explained what just happened to Sir Augustus.” His voice wasn’t the jostled, drunken slobber the wizard was hoping for; Storm found the stranger to be disquietingly articulate and sharp.

“I heard it too, terrible thing. It’s a shame, really, but I’ve got nothing to do with it. Pardon us, we’ll be on our way.” Humility poured from his lips like liquid metal; it burned to have to bite his tongue and let discretion be the better part of valor. He moved to step about the tandem.

As though pre-destined, the six and a half feet of flesh pressed his hand against the door, stepping once again in front of Storm Veritas. “Sorry, friend. I voted Augustus. I knew Augustus. Good man. A true civil servant and a man of the people. Let’s go down-town like gentlemen, and let the court sort it out. It’s best for everyone this way.

Best for everyone? “Tuxedo” over there already convicted me, and I didn’t do dick this time. Sorry, Big Country, not to-f*cking-day.

The wizard’s eyes flashed briefly with rage, a wildfire he wished to repress. Storm’s eyes glanced at the hand pressed against the door, a slab of ham was the size of his entire head. A thick steel wedding band confirmed what the adventurer had expected; he was dealing with a decent man. A family man, probably stopping in for a quick pop over his lunch break. The ring would end the fight quickly, but probably save his life.

“Like I said…” he began, channeling his electromagnetic focus on the ring. “Nothing to do with this.” The ring was collapsed gruesomely about the man’s left hand, blood instantly pouring from the periphery of the band. Storm pushed a field to move the hand before the tall man’s face, and once more pushed the ring some ten feet through the bar, sending the man sprawling in a heap of pain. The ring would likely need to be cut off, and the titan may actually lose the finger, but he’d make it home tonight. Instantly, Storm shot a glare at the partner in pious, the second man horrified by his swift justice.

“Don’t get cute. I haven’t done shit, and I’m letting your buddy off with what I’d consider a warning. Tell his wife it got hit with a hammer, or pinched in a press. Whatever.”

Several patrons had already rushed to the big fellow’s side, checking on a bizarre injury and checking for other wounds.

“Any of you sons of bitches follow us, or make a stink, or say so much as a f*cking WORD to the town guards… you should know my memory is long and temper short.”

Moments later, Storm and Shin stepped tenderly back into the sunlight, the gentle jingle of the tavern door a sharp contrast from the macabre scene inside. Turning to his brilliant partner, his words were biting.

“Take me to Soap. Next time, let me do the goddamned talking.”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The Silver Stocks was much more of a cliquey pub these days despite its reputation for being more of a social establishment. Keen to keep the right kind of punters between the sticks for as long as possible, the scrawny but shrewd landlord Jason Eve (also known as affectionately as Soap) had spared no expense to do just that. Fine new furniture, a bandstand, shiny new brass oil lanterns, some actual entertainment and the best Radasanthian ales all formed part of the package a drinker in the Stocks could expect to sign up to when they strode in from the cold. It was a stark contrast from the saloon-like High Tap, which presented to its clientele the economy deal of awfully sticky floors and shit (but strong) ale.

It also differed in that the inn served as a Brotherhood safehouse; it didn’t attract the attentions of lawmakers or lawkeepers that weren’t already intensely vetted or on the take.

An alert and vulnerable Storm Veritas looked on over Shinsou's shoulder as the Telgradian led him through the ground floor, past the an area known as the vault and then the main bar before turning left to go up the stairs. A burly looking bouncer, with hands the size of anvils, momentarily moved to block their passage but then seemed to recognise Osris’s face and stepped back. His keen eyes followed their forms as the pair disappeared into one of the rooms in the section reserved for living accommodation before returning to his post on the stairwell, his attention now taken by the band on the stage that were now churning out merry tunes with their various woodwind and stringed instruments.

“Stay here,” Shinsou commanded his counterpart, who was still visibly annoyed with the Telgradian for his loose tongue back in the High Tap. If he was looking for an apology, it would have to wait. “I’m going to speak to my contact. You’ll be safe here, so long as you stay upstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

There wasn’t much in the way of a protest from the electromancer, so Shinsou closed and locked the door behind him as he left. The guard looked up the stairs at Osiris, who gave him a nod.

“No-one gets in or out. Clear?”

“Crystal.” Grunted the big fellow, his gigantic arms folded. “Soap’s in the back.”

Radasanth was a fast-moving city with a pace of life unlike that of anywhere else on Althanas, but one thing that was a constant was a young, scrawny man called Soap. His ilk was a dying breed in this city; a man with old-school connections who had the law at arms length and the underworld by the scrotum. He was quite clearly here to get all twenty fingers and toes into every single stolen and underhanded pie in Corone. Jason also wasn’t afraid to do what he needed to do to accomplish that goal. Much to Shinsou’s surprise, Soap, who had been stood at the bar, either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared about what had just happened. The Brotherhood’s snoop sipped some tea from his cup, nodding his head in time with the happy jig being played by the band in a false sense of responsibility to the atmosphere of the tavern and boggled intelligently at Shinsou.

“Business or pleasure?” he asked

“Do I look like I’m here for fucking pleasure?” asked Shinsou sarcastically, “Get us somewhere we can talk. I’ve already dropped a bollock once today and once is quite enough.”

“Business it is, then.” Soap mumbled, leading the Telgradian into the kitchen area. It wasn’t staffed, but oddly there seemed to be some delicious smells wafting from a number of unattended ovens. “As it happens, I already know why you and your new friend are slouching around town like a pride of mopey zoo lions. Quite a bit of handiwork from Mr Veritas on Augustus, that. Has he considered a career in steel fabrications?”

“You’re not funny, Soap. You’re a scrawny little shit and look as though you should be.” reproofed Shinsou, before frowning in bemusement as he watched Soap lazily bobbing about the kitchen. Instinctively, Shinsou looked in one of the pots, pretending to be interested in the contents.

“OI!” Yelled Soap, pointing the tip of a spoon at the Telgradian. “Keep your hands outta my soup!”

Shinsou slapped the lid back on. “You know what? If I was a lion and you were in a different food chain to me entirely, I would still purposely go out of my way to hunt and kill you." Shinsou joked. “Now, these tasty morsels aren’t the kind of orders I’m looking for. I want to know what the Council are fucking playing at. We agreed we were going to do this my way, which meant getting Kadar into office with subtle and bloodless means. Why have they done this?”

Soap stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “To undermine you. I would have thought that much was obvious?”

Shinsou clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers.

“That’s not it. They’re scared, aren’t they? Of me, of the power I have in the organisation and also the fact their latest chosen one has a bit of previous form for murdering people they need kept alive. This is about forcing Storm onside, isn’t it?”

They stood there, alone in the kitchen and stared each other resolutely in the face. Soap finally relented.

“Augustus was a setup,” he admitted, stirring a nearby pot of vegetables, “Once you reported he wasn’t going to deliver his patronage, they gave orders to his guards to ice him. The ones that weren’t on the take were dealt with first and then the rest fabricated that metal contraption to make it look as if Storm had done it. A name got slipped to the press about Woodheight’s murder, connected that to this and everything went south real quick. It was both a way to bring you down a peg and show Storm what would happen if he chose unwisely to go against the Brotherhood.”

Soap looked over to see the Telgradian’s furious expression and looked back his food.

“That’s not all. They sent orders ahead of time, as they knew you’d end up here.” Jason sighed. “They want you and Storm to assassinate Kadar’s competition outright. No more sneaking around. They’ve threatened to get the law down here if you don’t comply and take you both in. You’ll be killed inside an hour.”

Shinsou’s eyes didn’t waver for a single moment. Instead, understanding the implications of what Soap was saying, he put his hands down firmly on the table. He didn’t, and couldn’t, trust Soap anymore, even if he wasn’t in on this. All he could do was fight back.

“You tell them we’ll do it. I’ll go and make preparations.”

Yeah, some real special preparations…

***

Like a mountaineer negotiating a tricky outcrop, Shinsou sized up the electromancer in front of him, worked out what he was going to say, composed himself and told him everything. Once again, he caught an angry glance from Veritas, but this time he maintained the eye contact and delivered his plan.

“They have to go.” Shinsou hissed under his breath “The whole fucking council, from top to bottom, apart from the chairman. When everyone else is dead, I have something special in mind for him. Something that will turn our fortunes around, put you in the clear and perhaps even get us something out of all this. Soap is going to likely tell them we’ll do it their way, but he might also save his own ass and rat us out if he thinks we’re not sincere. Are you game?”

Everything stopped as Osiris waited for Storm’s answer.

I fucking hope so…

[Storm Veritas]

No matter what he did, no matter how many he conquered, Storm Veritas found himself as a target of public disdain. He was a prisoner in the holding room, waiting with the new slab of human goo foolishly locking him away, like a wild dog in a cage. Despite his mortality, he had managed to live this long, and had grown awfully sick of playing the role of pawn. How much longer would he need to keep proving himself?

Lornius, Serenti, and The Cup, as well as the other pay-to-play run in just a few weeks ago. At some point, it’s time to write my own f*cking story.

Shinsou stood before him, respectable and almost gallant. Van Osiris was very powerful, very lethal, and put together a plan that was altogether reasonable. The magician listened carefully as the Telegradian spoke, however grew distracted by components that adorned the doorway.

Metal hinges, handles, and bolts to brace the frame. I wonder if that pile of stupid outside knew how easily I could have run one through his brain without bothering to get out of bed?

Veritas paced, his dress shoes clicking on the polished marble floor. The sheen, the opulence… the entire basement was an embarrassment of riches. This “Soap” character, whomever the hell he might be, was living higher on the hog than any ten men had a right to while a walking deity like Storm Veritas continued to scratch and claw for enough to hang up his daggers.

“Hrm...” he interrupted, his chin nestled firmly in his pinched right hand as he stood tall and thoughtful. “Well, yes, and no.” He walked to the wall, where marble stacked high and thick with a sheen and glow. Back to the swordsman, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he took a long, deep breath before turning back towards the adventurer.

“Does the Council need to fall outright? Look around you. Golden-goddamned-toilets here, and ruby-crusted cock rings. There’s infrastructure here, a pecking order, and existing cash flows. They work in mystery, a shroud of secrecy, and an air of invincibility.”

Shinsou’s eyes were sharp, his expression unflinching. The warrior wasn’t stupid, and seemed to see where the wizard was going.

“At the top of this incredible pile sits a fool who puts a fat slob of a human by the door to guard me. A HUMAN! We’d carve through the Brotherhood like a hot knife through butter.

“I’ve had enough of the bullshit. The political puppeteering where we’re the ones on strings. Wanted posters with my face on them. MY NAME being dragged through the mud for their use.

“But why destroy what we can capitalize upon? The Brotherhood will serve us, pay us, and work FOR us. We take the head, and let the body die. Why not march in, kill Soap, and allow the rest to fall in line? Establish dominance, take control of the organization, and sleep in piles of gold, whores, and golden whores?

“It’s time to take what should have been ours long ago. I want to be IN the saddle for a change, not under it. Will the Council serve us, or at least bend to our will after we take Soap? What do YOU think?”

His heart raced as Storm considered the magnitude of what he had proposed. There would be dozens, perhaps hundreds that would try to stop them. Dozens of soldiers, all so uniform, so predictable, and so vulnerable. Iron arrows, swords, and armor; they would kneel before him or be crushed where they stood in the suits they had donned for protection.

Justice was overdue.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Storm had cottoned on to Shinsou’s greater plan, or so it seemed. Either way, they were both now singing from the same hymn sheet and it was a page that Osiris had written in his mind a long time ago, before he had even crossed the fashionable and deadly lightning mage.

About fucking time, too.

Of course, Shinsou knew more about what he had in store for the Brotherhood – the ability of his sword, Stygian, would provide the means to control the chairman once the rest were dead which in turn would allow him free reign – and so listening to Storm’s words felt a little bit like impromptu backwards time travel. After all, Shinsou had been plotting the overthrowing of the Brotherhood's council for a long time. The only deviations from his scheme were a shift in timescale and, by the looks of it, the addition of an unlikely partner as a result of the mess that Storm's involvement had caused. But none of that mattered now; all that mattered were the means.

“Soap is nothing but a well connected patsy…” The Telgradian observed as he stood by the respectably dressed Veritas, feeling the powerful throb of his magical signature pulse through him. “If we’re talking infrastructure, it would likely do more harm than good to kill him now. News travels quickly in this organization and Soap going missing will raise more eyebrows and questions than we need in a very short space of time. He may look like a turd in a suit, but he has made it his business to ensure that information from the streets flows through him to the council like a conduit."

Osiris knew this organization well and knew it from top to bottom. Insider knowledge of systems and operations were going to be key if this insurrection was to be successful, so the Telgradian hoped Storm would forgive his reproof and see the logic in Shinsou's thought processes.

"For now, we need him to convey to the council that we’re taking up their mission. That’ll buy us twenty four hours or so to get to their headquarters in Whitevale before suspicions are aroused. Once we’re installed– and I’ll tell you how that will happen on the way – Soap will work for us. Right now he doesn’t give a shit who pays him, he’s just worried about the Brotherhood mauling his bar so we need to play this right. Discretion is important…” Shinsou paused, rubbing a hand over the smooth hilt of Enpera “…until the moment we strike. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Shinsou walked towards the door with his arms behind his back, his heels scraping the polished marble. Veritas was right – a glance around the room revealed the lavish lifestyle one could hope to live by working for the Brotherhood. However, whilst the Telgradian understood Storm’s need to be well kept and to actually be able to use the wealth he had accumulated, something the electromancer would find difficult being a wanted man, Shinsou had no need or interest for money. His interest lay solely in the military strength and recruiting power of the organization, and thus another thought occurred; a way to best keep his new partner happy. The two men were hardly bound by friendship even if Shinsou respected Veritas’s strength; more currently it was by necessity alone than anything else. What would happen once they were running the Brotherhood side by side? To be united by requirement would be a fragile alliance at best.

”One more thing…” Shinsou mulled as he stood tall and thoughtful, his hands firmly behind his back, “…We need to make sure we have a covenant in place for when we take the reins, something to make sure we are both protected. My suggestion is we go into this as fifty-fifty partners. You, Veritas, can move your considerable but currently untouchable wealth into the existing assets of the Brotherhood. You can live like a fucking king for the rest of your days if you want and do it all as openly or as discreetly as you like. I'm sure that would suit you better than the current 'cash under the mattress' approach you currently employ, right?”

Shinsou continued, unflinching, “As for me, I will handle most of the ‘boots-on-the-ground’ matters, including recruitment and operations. Money? Wealth? I don’t give a shit about that. All I want is control over the living, breathing assets. They’ll keep you rich and in return help me with a little personal matter that has reared its ugly head. If I need money, I’ll come to you. If you need muscle, you’ll come to me. How does that sound? No bullshit, everyone is happy and we’ll have each others backs. We might even learn to like each other; provided you stop ordering fucking sake for me at bars and I stop blowing your cover…”

The two exchanged a wry smile but it was soon back to business. Their eyes were burning, a righteous mixture of fury and desire for the coming coup.

“So, my friend, are you ready?” Shinsou queried his partner, “...because there will be no going back once we head out of here."

The Telgradian slid two cigars out of his sleeve, one for him and one for Storm, and let the end rest on his lips. It was the first time he'd wanted a smoke in a long time and breathed in deeply out of annoyance as he realized he didn't have a light. The scent of dry tobacco wafted through his nostrils as Osiris gestured to the unlit butt.

"Don't suppose you could strike me up? I'd hate to waste this gift from our dear chairman..."

[Storm Veritas]

A rare few moments of quiet introspection overtook Storm Veritas as he considered the sage advice of Shinsou. It was sobering, allowing the logic and strategy to wash over him, but it was also sound. If Soap was indeed little more than a rich marionette for the Brotherhood, then cutting the strings would do little to overtake power. The larger, deeper hole wherein the Brotherhood resided likely offered far more in the way of insulation from public scrutiny. It made sense; laundering huge sums of money and paying out black cash to the proprietors would require a lot of hands, and anonymity at the top of the pyramid must be critical to the success of operations.

Probably half of Radasanth on the goddamned payroll. Cops, guards, politicians… if these guys are moving enough cash to found a place like this, make moves like they’ve done, and do so without being front and center on the “Reader” every morning, they’re greasing a lot of f*cking palms.

Shinsou’s strategy seemed bulletproof, and the swordsman likely undersold his value here. Through narrow eyes, Storm leered at the explaining Telgradian, trying to read the position of power. A fifty-fifty split was more than fair, Veritas presumed, since knowledge was truly a more valuable asset than raw power. The hills of Corone were rich with people that could do magically monstrous things, rendering Storm potentially replaceable. Breathing slowly and coolly through his nostrils, he squatted as he thought for a moment, working hard to keep his cards close to the vest.

Shin held a cigar between his teeth, waiting for a celebratory light. He was ahead of himself.

“Very well, we have a deal. We need your knowledge as much as my abilities; their corrupted recruitment of yours truly will give us a perfect opportunity to access the front door. Working with you will be easy; you’re not a f*cking moron like half of these rubes, and can take care of yourself when shit goes sideways. Granted, you’ll need to learn some subtlety.”

Accepting the cigar, Storm rolled it between his fingers, sensing that they were over-damped with Shin’s sweat and would carry a flavor of salt with the rich taste of oak and earth that dried tobacco so deliciously delivered. It was a necessity of theft.

Guess I can't fault the quick fingers, hopefully I can taste the chairman's tears on that beautiful brown bastard.

“So this will work, but it’s far from time for cigars.”

Van Osiris’s eyes softened a bit, the cigar drooping between his lips like manhood following too much whiskey. He seemed intent to speak, but the magician continued thinking out loud.

“After all, I’m sure we’ll only meet with more figureheads. How do we get the real names, when following the money only leads us through other go-betweens with conveniently poor memories? I can get a man to tell me damned near anything., but we lose that element of surprise, and it’s OVER.”

His own time-honed guile was beginning to show itself. There was a time, before his powers had fully surfaced, when Storm Veritas had been forced to rely almost exclusively on a quick tongue and intuition. In those days, he would never miss an opportunity to maximize an opportunity like this, or miss an angle to penetrate the government.

Of course, he’d also have never skipped an opportunity to smoke a free cigar.

Biting through the closed edge of the cigar, a knowing smile spread across his face. Storm’s fingers snapped and a light blue spark leapt across his fingertips, bursting the open edge of wrapped leaves into a wild, glowing orange. Extending his pinched fingers across to the stem of Shin’s cigar, he spoke expertly around a mouthful of rich smoke.

“So we celebrate the partnership now, and we take our time over a bottle when we bring the council down. Consider this the appetizer.”

[Rayleigh]

Thread: A Game of Shadows
[b]Participants: Shinsou Vaan Osiris & Storm Veritas
Type: Full Judgment



Plot: 23/30

Story: 7

This was a very well-written piece. Various elements were incorporated, such as the chase scene, the interactions of two enemies, the forging of an alliance, and the hatching of a plan. I have seen similar attempts to weave these themes together, but few have done so quite as artfully. I was also impressed by your ability to tell two distinctly different tales in the opening posts. Often, this approach results in confusion, or boredom, as the pieces do not seem to fit together. Both of you spun such a captivating story that I was neither confused or bored. Your ultimate tie-in of the two individual journeys was excellent, which helped as well.

I did have two concerns regarding story. The first involved references to the events of the previous thread, such as those in the third post. Your nods to Fat Frankie Woodheight and Francis went entirely unappreciated, as I have not read the thread that precedes this one. In fact, they confused me as a reader, as I felt I was missing something significant. Had they been elaborated on slightly, or left out entirely, I would not have found myself in such a position. When I say "elaborated on," please understand that I am not suggesting you re-write the entire first thread. On the contrary, a simple sentence or two of reflection would be sufficient. You might have amended the following sentence, which begins with "He smirked" - "He smirked, recalling the time when he did xyz." Of course, it could be phrased much better, but that quick reflection gives the reader a more solid starting point. Internal monologues are an excellent device, but be sure that you are not leaving your reader without enough information!

My second suggestion can also be attributed to pacing, but it is worth noting here, as it did affect the story. I felt that your story lacked a clear pattern of mounting and waning tension. Rather, the thread felt a bit like a sprint, and I still cannot point to a definite climax. I had suspected it was when Shinsou converses with Soap in post sixteen, but that did not carry the punch I had expected. This resulted in my being unsure of what elements of the story were the most important. I might recommend that you two determine the most important parts of your story, and be sure to write up to them. If you already did this, perhaps you might build up the tension a bit more in your next piece. I find that this is vital in such a complex, political piece such as this, especially one split into multiple parts!

Setting: 9

Setting was, undoubtedly, one of your greatest strengths. You both do an exceptional job of describing your character's surroundings, allowing me to experience the action along-side them. Well done on that front! Even more impressive is how well you incorporated setting into other elements of your storytelling. Shin, in your first post, you draw parallels between the darkness of the city and the darkness of the people who live there. That is such clever use of the setting! In your second post, you use the Shin's surroundings to note his history, and his reactions to those changes reflect the sort of person he is. Storm, you also demonstrate this same mastery in post five, showing the reader the sort of person Storm is through a description of his hotel room. Rarely have I seen such skillful use of setting, and it truly did improve the overall experience for me. There were very brief instances where I felt that setting was lost to action, such as the chase posts, but these times were few and far between. Overall, exceptional job here.

Pacing: 7

As mentioned above, pacing was an area that could use a bit of attention. While the action and dialogue kept me on the edge of my seat, I felt a bit as if I had no time to settle in and breathe. In a story such as this, every detail could potentially matter, and I found myself trying to memorize everything. Were I you, I might have broken up this continued tension with a bit more light-hearted interaction between Storm and Shinsou. The pair have such a dynamic relationship! While their reason for become allies was clear, I would have enjoyed watching the process unfold a bit more. For me, that would have taken the edge off, and allowed a bit of a lull in the action.

My second suggestion focuses entirely on post fourteen, in which a couple of nameless men are interacting in the bar. Just prior to their introduction, Shinsou is preparing to share something with Storm. The line is written as if they were interrupted, but the events that unfold are quite slow-paced. A man leans back, props his feet up, engages in some small talk (enough for the conversation to be labeled "dull"). Then, the third man bursts in. I imagine that noisy entrance of the third man might have made a better interruption than some men chatting about the weather, or who knows what else. But because you began with "at that moment," the reader is led to believe that Shinsou paused to let these men talk. You might have, instead, described these men earlier in your post. Or, rather than saying "at that moment," explained that the men had been talking while Shinsou and Storm were, in another area of the bar. That way, the interruption makes more sense.

With that being said, those were my main critiques. Pacing was far from terrible, and it is evident to me that both of you kept it in mind while writing.

Character: 19/30

Communication: 6

In general, you both did a nice job with communication. After demonstrating how your characters think, and, in turn, speak, you remained consistent. I appreciated how you provide your characters' thoughts, as they gave me a look into who they really are. However, I cannot say that I heard each character. I wonder if this is because Shinsou, Storm, and your side-characters were written similarly. There were no speech patterns or quirks to discern one from another. When it was unclear who was speaking, I often had a difficult time determining the character, especially when it came to the internal monologue. If I place lines of thought from Shinsou besides lines of thought from Storm, it is difficult to tell one from another. Your similar writing styles, or even similar characters, might be to blame here. But I would challenge you to find ways to incorporate more diversity when it comes to communication. This would also help boost your Persona score!

Also, there were instances when I felt the communication seemed out of place. For example, in post ten, Shinsou's dialogue seems long-winded for someone who was prepared to attack, and only recently decided against it. I think a simple "why are you here?" might have packed more of a punch here. The rest, you could have worked with Storm to include later. Certainly not a deal-breaker, but it did stand out to me.

Action: 7

I felt that your characters' decisions made sense, and reflected who they were. For example, I appreciated the way that Storm merely hurt the man's finger in post fifteen. This demonstrated his moral compass, without being showy about it, or shoving it down the reader's throat.

Your score is not higher, however, because there were not as many of these notable moments as I had expected. Actions were, overall, logical. But they did not always ooze personality, or reveal anything special. They were to be expected, which was precisely the problem. I might encourage you both to consider actions or mannerisms that might bring your characters to life, and set them apart from the other individuals in the story. I also felt that some actions were a bit jarring, such as the postwoman's shift from surprise to annoyance in post three. These transitions of moods can often be difficult to portray, so be careful! Finally, I was left utterly confused when Shinsou shoved Storm in post twelve. Why would he do that? Was he even close enough to touch him? I re-read twice. Only after that, did I read on to see that the shove was an important plot-piece. Be sure that your actions make sense to the reader!

Persona: 6

As I have already outlined this in the two above categories, I will not dedicate more time to harping on such things. Your characters were exceptionally well-written, as you both exceptional writers. However, they lacked the diversity that I had hoped to see. What makes Shinsou different than Storm? What makes them different than Soap, or the postwoman, or the one guy drinking in the bar? Master writers can bring each and every character to life, even if elaborate backstories are not provided. Your mission, for your next piece, is to take this into consideration. What can you do to make your characters so unlike any others that there would be no mistaking them in the future?

Prose: 22/30

Mechanics: 8

You are both excellent writers, and your knowledge of language is undeniable. Save for a few odds-and-ends typos, such as missed punctuation, and a couple of spelling errors, your mechanics were solid. I suspect that these errors were just that, errors, judging by the fact the piece was nearly perfect otherwise. Also, I imagine Shin is entirely aware that his character is not named "Shisnou," as written in post ten! I would much prefer to see these small slip-ups than blatant disregard for mechanics. My guess is that you dedicated plenty of time to proof-reading, but a couple slipped by.

Your score also suffered here due to some wordy sentences. A line in post six reads, "framed by wisps of white hair, his features were creased and worn, but his blue eyes were sharp and focused and the man held a determined expression as he gazed back into the portal at Shinsou." Another, in post sixteen, reads, "his keen eyes followed their forms as the pair disappeared into one of the rooms in the section reserved for living accommodation before returning to his post on the stairwell, his attention now taken by the band on the stage that were now churning out merry tunes with their various woodwind and stringed instruments." I think that both of these sentences could have been revisited, and chopped up a bit to allow for better flow and understanding.

Clarity: 7

Overall, there were few instances in which I had to re-read. This is certainly a feat, considering the complexity and length of your thread. The concerns that I did have were grounded in your shifting of perspectives, and use of internal monologue. I was occasionally left wondering who was speaking, such as the quote at the end of post twelve. I was also confused by the great speech given in post seventeen. I figured it was Storm, and confirmed that as I continued reading, but Shinsou was mentioned just before. When it was noted that he understood "where the wizard was going," I wondered if he had jumped in with his own dialogue. Again, this is difficult to master, especially with so many male characters - "he" could mean so many different people. Just be mindful!

Technique: 8

Your use of internal thought absolutely surfaces here. You used it, and for the most part, used it well. There were also some metaphors that I appreciated sprinkled throughout, such as the phrase "a true ant in the rice bowl," from post eleven. Finally, I was impossibly exited by the transition from post six to post seven. I imagined it in a movie, and made a very unattractive squealing noise. That shift of perspective was so, so well done. Beyond that, what you had was nice. I would have loved to have seen a bit more though. How could you have incorporated a bit of foreshadowing? A story like this lends itself well to that sort of thing. What other flair could you have sprinkled in? Something to keep in mind next time! Why not work to add sparkle to what is already really remarkable writing?

Wildcard: 10

Gentlemen, anything less than a ten here would be a crime. I'll be frank, and admit that this is not normally the type of story that I would gravitate to. With that being said, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I am excited to read the rest of the series! You have inspired me to dabble in a new sort of story, and try my hand at writing something new. That, I think, is the highest compliment that can be given. Thank you.

Total: 74/100

Congratulations!

Shinsou receives 2,500 EXP and 250 GP.
Storm receives 2,300 EXP and 150 GP.

[Rayleigh]

All rewards have been added!