The Lightning Argent (open)

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Please feel free to join in, plan or no plan.

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Though the weather was bleak, the day had begun brightly for Tenedos Starkk.

In the months since he escaped the chaos of Arius Mephisto's assault on Whitevale, he had returned to Scara Brae, to the site of where his life had once began and where the Brotherhood's only presence was as a memory in the back of his mind.

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and placed the half empty cup down on the oak table. Back in the day, the other Reavers of the Brotherhood called Tenedos "The Lightning Argent". Perhaps, after this mission, historians would etch the name into the annals of Althanian history.

Perhaps.

The man picked his teeth with a bone toothpick, chiseling out the remains of breakfast from the gaps, and examined his reflection in the wall mounted mirror.

His cheeks had color from the cold, and his face had lost a little weight. His narrow blue eyes still had a handsome sheen to them. Looking down, he pulled his left sleeve up to reveal puckered, rough skin covering the length of his forearm. Tenedos ran his other hand over it slowly; the texture felt like that of a cheese grater, the result of his skin melting and bubbling from being struck by a scolding hot missle from a Coronian Assembly trebuchet during the Siege of Radasanth. Although he had recovered well from the injuries of the siege, the constant discomfort reminded him everyday of the battle. He had lost so much more than the feeling in his arm that day.

As the front door slid open, Tenedos quickly rolled his sleeve down and turned to see his friend Elle pace in, followed by a whiff of sea salt. Her boots thumped across the clean tile floor. She looked nonchalant as usual, with her hazel hair framed face drawn in complete indifference. Tenedos gestured for her to to sit at the small table, so she pulled back a chair and sat her lithe frame down in it. Elle spared a quick glance at the falchions, Vito and Mors, in the corner and then cleared her throat, reaching inside her leather jacket. A milky skinned hand produced a folded piece of paper and placed it on the table, sliding it slowly across whilst navigating the coffee cup.

"I've got a name," Elle said, her light voice echoing through the hall. She raked a hand through her disheveled brown hair, hazel eyes blazing like coals.

Tenedos picked up the paper and unfolded it, and after a brief glance at the tidy scrawl on the page tucked it into his pocket.

"Augustus Damacles." Tenedos cleared his throat and wiped his lips before shooting a suspicious glare at Elle. "...and he has the key?"

The woman nodded curtly. "That's what I'm hearing from my sources."

The man pushed back from the table, and walked to the window. His eyes followed a flock of martins as they swooped below the treeline of his garden, and pivoted before scattering like buckshot as a hawk descended on one of the weaker fliers. Tenedos watched on as the bird of prey ripped apart the smaller bird, feasting on its carcass. A well deserved meal.

"Well then. Time to find out more about this Augustus."

Somewhere at a distant table, at the other side of the town in a long tavern main room, a young faun was standing her ground. Leaning over the countertop towards her, his elbows touching the wood, a man with a lazy eye, two broken teeth and perfectly groomed hair proffered her what he thought was a good deal.

"C'mon, little one," his voice whistled horribly through the gap in his teeth. "You're a rarity in these parts. A young hoofed maiden. It'd be worth it. You look of age, and you'll get paid handsomely. All the drugs you want."

Celandine remained seated, her hands balled into fists on her lap, rolled into the looser threads of her jumper. Steadily holding his gaze she glared back, her voice just as tight. Maybe it was because she was alone. Maybe it was because she looked unarmed, defenseless. Maybe it was because she looked like she was a virgin. But this beast of a pig had just come up to her like she was waiting for him, and proffered her money for services in an orgy he was organising.

Likely for rich folk. Likely in some basement hidden away in the depths of Stonevale. A secret location. But one that was filled with delicate foods and too many cushions. Where the air was filled with incense and euphoria and every crumb was laced with aphrodisiac.

If Celandine had been her mother, she would have accepted. She would have taken the money, taken the deal and used the opportunity to gain power over this wretch of a man whose only attractive feature was his hair, gained connections during the entire evening and forged another weapon in her arsenal.

But Celandine wasn't Philomel. She was herself - a young faun with very little interest in sex, who just wanted to be left alone.

"C'mon," the man chided again. "They'll be everyone who is anyone there. All the nobles passing through the town. The mayor, the priests, even the head goblin. It's an exotic night I'm arranging. You're perfect. It'll be worth your time."

"I said," she repeated through a tightened jaw, "I'm not in the slightest bit interested. You have the wrong woman."

"Oh c'mon!" He begged, leaning forwards to touch her face. "C'mon, wee lass. Augustus won't like that you've denied him."

Quickly she leant from his touch. "I don't care who your boss, or customer, or patron or whatever is. I'm not interested."

Shinsou Vaan Osiris had been expecting a much different night.

The message had reached him hours earlier. Augustus Damacles was a low level minister in Corone's Assembly, and had caused quite a stir for campaigning against organised crime on the island. But this campaign wasn't all what it seemed, and not so co-incidentally exclude some of the more wealthy crime-bosses that had so far evaded both the Brotherhood and the Assembly. Word had spread that Augustus had been greasing palms to the point where his interest was directed at Shinsou personally, and he had decided to pool his considerable resources to silence the Telgradian by putting a bounty on his head.

The decision to get to Augustus first was an easy one, but the man moved like a shadowy wraith around the island. All Osiris had was the name and quick description of one of his concierges. The place was easy enough, though; The Silver Wolf in Stonevale. The concierge, though? A brief physical rundown had done nothing to help him identify the man in a crowd. Dark hair, middle aged, no scars or tattoos. Usually dressed in finery.

He could have been fucking anyone.

The Silver Wolf was a typical, city centre pub. It was abuzz with people, conversation and merriment, and all too cheerily lit despite the absolute disrepair of the place. Shinsou took care to avoid the worst maintained areas by meandering through the labyrinth of tables and chairs to the corner of the bar furthest away from the crowds. The strong scents of ale, sweat and piss clung to everything. To make matters worse, he could feel the vulture-like eyes of the clientele picking his unfamiliar face apart piece by piece.

Shinsou nodded to catch the attention of the lone bartender.

"Whiskey, neat" The Telgradian asked of the short, moustached fat man with a lowered voice.

"Sure thing, pal." The pug like features of the barman screwed up as he grabbed a bottle of amber liquid from the shelf behind him, barely even glancing at his customer. "Miserable evening, isn't it?"

"Could well be." Shinsou quipped.

The retort surprised the bartender as he fumbled with a tumbler he had been cleaning up, and looked up to meet the slitted, golden gaze of the Telgradian. "Sorry, sir, I don't follow. Are you ok?"

"It could be for someone in here," Shinsou said vaguely. "...a miserable evening, that is."

The musing was suddenly interrupted by raised voices. Only moments passed before he recognised the young voice of Celandine Van der Aart, who seemed to be brushing off the unwelcome advances and undue pressure from a short man, with dark hair. What on earth was she doing here, he wondered? Perhaps she had finally convinced her mother Philomel to let her see the world, and she'd finally got as far as Scara Brae. In any case, the young faun didn't seem to be having a good time, and Shinsou was on hand to help.

"You're on thin fucking ice my pedigree chum," The Telgradian stated, very matter of factly, to Celandine's assailant. "She's told you to fuck off twice now. I wouldn't risk asking a third time."

Scara brae, depending on who you asked, the place could have been called the pride of Queen Valeena, a thriving country that had formally been a backwater colony. Or they could have called it a shit stain on the map. Umbra was of the opinion that it was both and neither at the same time, both statements were true, Scara Brae was certainly a place of opportunity, a good place to get your feet wet when it came to starting out as a no name mercenary.

But that didn’t mean that everyone here had your best intentions in mind either.

Either way Umbra had no intention of staying, the pay was measly and they were capable of doing more than guarding milk runs from the main port city to Stonevale and back.

The iron clad warrior currently stood as a silent sentry outside of the silver wolf pub, watching vigilantly as hired men unloaded the shipment of goods, of what exactly, Umbra didn’t know and didn’t care to ask. The day was a gloomy one, and the crowds of people wore even gloomier faces. It would have been easy to be distracted by the cacophony of noise of a hundred voices that told fleeting glimpses of insight to the true face of Scara Brae.

Umbra deigned not to listen to a gilded lover’s complaints as they were thrown out of their home for cheating on his wife, or the drunken slurs of a private party with a promise of untold depravity. Instead, Umbra turned their attention to the merchant that was now approaching them with a small bag in his hand, the reward for a job well done no doubt. The red stain marring Umbra’s gauntlet could attest that their service was certainly a needed one.

The merchant was a relatively young man, with an oncoming patch of fuzz around his chin, dark medium length curly hair and a smile to charm a hag. And said smile was currently being directed at Umbra who was keenly scrutinised the man carefully for a hidden weapon from under the privacy of a solid metal visor.

This was Scara brae after all, charming smiles were often accompanied by a sharp blade.

“Will you be available for the return journey?” He asked with a slight foreign accent Umbra was unfamiliar with, and shifted the bag of gold from one hand to the next, causing the coin within to jingle appealingly.

“Depends, when are you setting off?” Umbra replied after a moment of thought, their voice tinged with a metallic ring as they gave the man their undivided attention. A job offer was only good if it was consistent.

“In three days, we will be leaving at noon at the main gate if your still in need of work” The merchant said with a widening smile.
“I’ll be there” Umbra said simply, hiding their disappointment.

“Well, it will be a load off of my mind if ya do show up, you did a good job with the goblins” The merchant said with an earnest tone while holding out the small bag of gold and rolled it over into Umbra’s waiting hand.

“Oi, watch how you’re handling that or you will be paying for the damages” The merchant called out displeased as he turned back to the hired men, and started cursing their mothers with the language of his homeland. Umbra only paid them enough attention to learn a new swear before testing the weight of the sack in their hand and upended the contents into their palm.

Clink, clink, clink.

Ten gold coins stood a neat little pile, a paltry amount that was apparently worth the lives of five ill-fated little goblins. For Scara Brae, it would have been just enough to pay to spend those three days in a decrepit hovel.

Umbra silently placed the bag of coins somewhere within the confines of their armour and marched over towards the entrance of the silver wolf. Work was plentiful enough if you knew where to look for it…

For some, the Silver Wolf Inn was a temporary respite from the cold, from hunger and from thirst. For Tenedos, it was his local. It was all of the above, plus the most valuable place to find information and hired hands in abundance.

He would need both for the job in hand.

The fire place occupied the centre of a cleared out part of the tavern’s vault, and the man was far enough away from the main bulk of tables and patrons to be concealed by the shadows. As some weather beaten punters entered the tavern and sat around their ale, their coats soaked from a hellish night in the rain and their tired faces illuminated by the flickers of the dancing flames, they talked in hushed tones. Tenedos’s eyes and ears took in as much as they could, filtering through the idle chatter to pick up on any hook he could deem relevant to his task whilst he waited patiently for his chicken order to cook on a spit in the kitchen.

Won’t be long now. Can always tell the hired hands from the norms in here; always the first to speak, and often the loudest. I just need to find someone with empty pockets and a weapon; nothing intricate.

Sat back in his seat, Tenedos peered out from underneath his hood and allowed his eyes to settle on one particular figure through the crowd. Although it now felt like a lifetime ago, the face stuck with him. Those unmistakable golden eyes. The white coat.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris?

He was extremely surprised and curious to see his former commander in Scara Brae, as Tenedos understood that the Telgradian had disappeared after the destruction of Whitevale. The former Reaver now knew where to. He turned his head away, staring blankly into the fire as Shinsou began berating some jumped up prick for his advances on a young – whatever she was. Even though there was no way of Shinsou remembering a rank and file soldier like him, Tenedos couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact just in case. He, after all, had been there that night, at Whitevale. He knew that something terrible had happened, and that Durandel and Arius had caused it. He hadn’t taken part in the attack in Concordia Forest, against the orders of the turncoat Durandel and the dark wizard Arius, but Tenedos knew what had followed. He could only imagine what the Telgradian had suffered at his hands.

The former reaver was mulling over it all as a dainty voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Your meat, sir?”

A chargrilled chicken breast fell onto a plate from the makeshift wooden griddle in front of him. As the waitress left, he sunk his teeth into the tender, juicy meat. Vita and Mors, the Falchions that Durandel had gifted him, lay at his feet and the flawless steel of their blades glimmered in the fire. Eventually, Tenedos threw a bare chicken bone into the flames, and turned his head at the mention of a name from where Shinsou was standing.

Augustus…

As he carefully repositioned a jug of honey mead he had into his palm, listening as intently as possible to the source of the name, the tavern door batted open. Through it walked what he presumed was a man, but in reality a walking piece of steel. The man within took a bag from within his armour and held it within his plated fist. A greatsword was sheathed at his hip, the armoured titan flung the first untied sack at the bar. The canvas thing spilled out, spreading its golden contents all over the wood.

Jackpot.

Tenedos smiled to himself. Now, the hard work would begin.