His Thoughts

The acrid smell of wood rot filled the tavern from years of spilled drink and human filth soaked into the grains of the tables and stools. The tenants' natural odors attempted to distract from the aroma only to add a layer of unbathed ruffian and the copper tinge of blood. It was funny how the swill they served almost tasted as it absorbed some of the stank in its brewing process as I gulped another mouthful of lukewarm ale.

Why was I here? I asked again to break the silence of my internal monologue. I knew the answer every time, but the question repeated like the pleading final words of a man about to face his inevitable demise. Where else would I go? This scar over one of my green eyes, this white hair even though it was cut short, and the overall look of someone who haunted the memories of so many Althanians. The Scourge of Skavia, Serpent of Salvar, Crimson Assassin, The Hand, bastard, murderer, blah, blah, blah...

The mug in my hand slammed to the table just loud enough to redirect a few eyes in the middle of their conversations. I drew a long breath and sighed-- a sight the occupants recognized as all too normal in the dive bar outside of the mainland. They snickered or scowled and returned to stories and rantings of things either true or overly embellished.

You could say that I felt a sense of pity toward myself but that wouldn't skim the top of the truth. You see, I lacked a sense of direction. I no longer controlled the Crimson Hand, nor had ties to figures like Arelianus, Madison, or Scarlet, the monster I created from a noble with a mystical gift. I stood alone again at a place where my roots were firmly grown and entangled. A lone solder or killer whose only motives lingered behind the sinister set of eyes that met with strangers. That is what brought me comfort. My vision, unimpaired from more alcohol than needed to floor a Kachuk Dwarf, settled on my blades to my side. Were it not for their meticulous care, you could almost see the layers upon layers of both the guilty and innocent painting their sheen in a wash of ichor. I felt indifferent-- no guilt or pleasure from this knowledge because again, it all lacked something.

"A'notha for ya, sir?" sang a middle-aged woman with her tits barely in the hammock of her blouse. Experience soaked into every pore of her face and though she spoke with flirtatious cadence, the repetition of her work hollowed the husk she wore.

"No," came my delayed reply. I pulled a few shillings and a silver from my pouch and laid them atop the filthy table. I slid them toward her and gestured an open hand. "My tab and the rest to keep."

"Why thank ya, darling!" She fetched them off the table with a practiced motion. "Enjoy your afternoon!"

Darling My lip curled and head shook as she turned away to tend to the hodgepodge of bodies that occupied seats elsewhere. Such a word of endearment unsuited for what I had become. Yet, hearing it mused enough of a pseudo smile.

The last of the swill remained in its wooden mug while I pushed myself out of my seat. Leather groaned and creaked off my person while the stool screeched against the overly used planks of the floor. This simple motion and gesture caught the eye of a table of men who spent most of the evening hunched over in whisper and mumble. I rose, as did they. The ghastly vision of my scarred eye light up like an angry mob, pitchforks and all.

“Fuck,” I sighed.

I made for the door and felt the presence of the lot on my heels. Each clumsy footstep lurched like apes without grace and sounded like a stampede of dead from Raiaera. Outside, faint moonlight filled the muddy dirt streets and the musk of moss, mold, and horse shit did little to transition from the scent of the tavern. Horse, as I had no reason to give him any other name, stomped disapprovingly to the several others that emerged behind me. I laid my gloved hand against his neck to calm the beast and reassure it for what would soon follow.

“Ay there, pretty boy. You look mighty familiar.” His voice exuded intelligence and confidence befitting of him and his kin. “Reckon you might settle a wager?”

They filed out and circled me and Horse. My vision identified daggers, knuckles, some chain, and a few swords from the group despite their efforts to conceal them. A dozen pairs of feet, that plus a half of lethal tools of persuasion.

“What wager might that be? Which one of you looks best in a dress?” My hand kept running along Horse’s mane. He could sense the danger as much as I.

Snickers and scoffs came from the bunch. Their leader, much less amused, continued. “Me and my boys think you’re that fellow in the posters from the mainlands. Yerolk was it?”

Ulroke, but close enough for thick skulls hollowed out.

“Never heard the name.” I tugged at the saddle straps to check their tightness. This routine reassured Horse everything was alright. His restlessness simmered just as an air of silence found its grip on the moment.

“Bullshit.” Blurted out a different buffoon to their leaders dismay. “I know it’s ‘im!”

“Listen gentlemen,” I replied. “I’d just like to forget that piss swill I just drank and get on with my evening. Why don’t the lot of you be on your way or go back inside and make a few passes at the barmaid? Surely she’s more your type.”

It was night. Perfect time for an attempted robbery. The masked demon was there in that town for another reason. He had a contact in the area. He looked about and saw some ruffians. They had surrounded a lone noble type. Let's see how this plays out... He thought carefully to himself. It was night the star ocean lurked above. There were a few clouds that dotted the clouds. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the ruffians.

Nosdyn knew who that man was, the ruffians stood no chance.

He looked at the fellows before him and sighed. "Let him go." Came the demon lord's sudden command. "If you value your lives you will let the man go home. That's the only way you lot are going home." Nosdyn was there on another mission and only intervened to insure the man's safety.

They had no idea who Ulroke was but Nosdyn knew...it was his business to know.

His eyes narrowed as the interloper looked at the ruffians. "I implore you all to go home and sleep it off. This man is skilled enough to best all of you." The demon lord's boasts were truth though. He heard the legends of Ulroke since his early youth.

The man was dangerous and the ruffians were out classed.

If he could avoid blood shed there it would be part of his job done.

Nosdyn kept his arms folded across his chest, his cloak dancing in the night wind.

If the hunans were smart, they'd take a hike...

Men who only know muscles, brawn, and force lack the finesse for logic. On the other hand, the stranger in the mask at least seemed to have sense enough to see danger when it was right in front of him. See, the problem with humans is their numbers. There are so many that they gain false confidence if more than one pursues the same goal. They think that in numbers there is safety. They fail to comprehend the unknown. In this case, they could never know the disparaging gap between their muscles and steel versus the experience locked away behind my cold, stern eyes.

"Piss off, freak." The retort was expected to the point of rehearsal. "This ain't got nothin' to do with the likes of you."

"I mean, you could also make a pass at him. He sounds more interested than the barmaid would be," I added while my eyes stayed on Horse. Despite the fact the ringleader stood behind me and clearly out of view, my gifts of sight kept him at the forefront of my mind. He would be the first to act. The thing with these kinds of groups is that one of them has the spine. The rest are just the appendages of the unit.

He didn't care for my comment or the fact they now had a witness. The ringleader clenched his teeth and bared them like an ape in frustration.

"I've had enough!" He shouted with a rasp born of whiskey and smoke. "You two, get rid of the freak. Rest of us, let's --"

"Fall away," I muttered.

Now, much happened in what would seem like seconds. My body moved like a wind through the trees. One by one the trees fell, but not by leathal force. A blow to the jugular, snap to the back of the C1-C3 vertebrae, jab to the diaphragm, knee to a kidney, a thwack with the pommel to the temple, and a myriad of other precise strikes all occured outside of the stranger's view. Using my power of will and my words of power, I pulled the gang into a realm of my own creation. I left the stranger out by choice but by the time I finished, I released my reality back into Althanas. The only thing this interloper would be able to witness would be the collapsing bodies and groans of all the thugs.

I continued to stroke Horse as the event surely spooked its instinctual response of fight or flight. Horse shook and pulled on its reigns until it became calm.

"What do you know of me?" I asked this interloper. His body shone brightly within my sight. This meant he harbored much more ability than that of the unconscious few littered outside the tavern's front steps.

Nosdyn sighed as his eyes darted across Lye's position.

He saw the absolute skill that Ulroke used to dismantle the guys from off his horse top.

Nosdyn's eyebrow rose behind the mask. He didn't like to reveal himself too often if could be helped Humans were a brutish and racist lot, he knew that to be true. He looked up at Lye for a moment. He was a short demon, his body carefully wrapped in leather clothing. He was clearly a big guy.

He sighed for a moment or two as Lye asked the questions. He nodded. "My father took me as a young bloke to one of your citadel matches." Nosdyn was actually telling the truth. "Must have been about five or six that time." He looked away for a moment or two. "You used the same sort of combat tactics to dismantle your opponents then too." Nosdyn said with a whistle. "Always pays to know who can become a future ally someday." Nosdyn was not loyal to the banded races of Althanas...he had his own way of doing things. He operated by his own set of rules to the point he'd become almost entirely unpredictable.

"Your name always stuck with me even as a young bloke." The demon said calmly. "What do I know of you? I know what I need to know of you." He moved closer to the man's horse and position and whispered that man's name. He knew the way Humans did things, their noble houses played games with one another. He whispered Lye Ulroke's name to him careful to respect the man's need for secrecy and discretion. "I have a city out here named Theselak." The demon lord said suddenly. "You are welcome to join me there we are not tied to Xaliel in any way." He knew men like Lye Ulroke needed their secrecy and operated in the cover of shadows...

...Nosdyn saw a profit.

A dangerous thing.

As the afternoon slowly, lazily drifted towards night, descending silence came with it. The long, winding ‘road’ was barely a road at all. It was more of a path through the thick grass, with wagon wheel ruts dug into the dirt. Arphenion let his horse plod along slowly on the center ridge. The young gelding was a smooth, silky coffee color with a patch of white on its chest in the shape of a diamond. The pair had been on the roads for days since he had purchased the horse at the docks, wandering towards the Southern edge of Alerar. The Raiaerian elf had business with a particular dwarf about a forge he wanted to build back at his homestead.

Arphenion shaded his eyes from the red-tinted sun as it hung in the horizon, attempting to gauge the time of day. It looked to be close to mid-afternoon. The bard had long since untied his long-sleeve white undershirt to let what breeze he could catch cool his chest. His snug, black doublet and thick frock were already slung across the simple saddle.

The trip was not one that he had expected to enjoy, but it certainly was not expected to be so uncomfortably humid. However, the elf had also never visited the Tular Plains or the Southern Alerar region before. “Brithos,” he whispered to his steed as he gently stroked its long neck, “Do you see what I see?”

A small, dusty town came into view as he crested a small hill. The bard sighed heavily and picked up the reins, tapping his booted heels and pulling his wide-brimmed hat down tighter. Within the hour he found himself wandering into the hard-packed main road. It split a handful of buildings and houses, with some shacks and tents dotted in the outskirts.

“What do we have here?” he queried as he and Brithos watched the display by the man in the black leather. As a practitioner of magic, a bladesinger and bard in a past life, a soul touched by the black hand of Xem’Zund, and one who had seen the Tap itself… he knew when there was powerful magic being used. “Did he cast with words alone?”

Curious, unafraid, the elf spurred his mount to walk towards the intriguing man who was surrounded by maimed opponents. Brithos’ iron-shod hooves clapped against the dry, packed dirt road, kicking up puffs of dust with every step. As Arphenion closed, he took a quick note of the stout and muscular mound of a creature that was speaking to his quarry. Other than the mask and blue tinted ears, the elf could not tell much from behind.

“Greetings,” Arphenion hailed, leaning forward in his saddle. “It seems the afternoon has brought some excitement to you already. Is everything ok here?” He attempted to make eye contact with the human, shifting his head suggestively towards the man at his side - as if suggesting there was possible trouble between the two.

As he spoke, I could not refrain from thinking about how unusual it was to lead off the conversation with the story of one's youth. Several unconscious men, some with lasting injuries, laid all around and he looked casually ignorant of the fact. It meant a few things: he was one of stained hands himself, or mad as a bag of Dur'Taigen. With a narrowing of my brow, I focused the details of my second sight to illuminate the secrets behind the man's mask. The features of his face were some I made a note to remember in detail. Secrets, after all, are only daggers to be used under their cloaks.

"You share a lot for someone with a mask," I replied with slight jest from beside Horse. His mention of a city ignored by the majority of common folk piqued my interest. Everywhere I seemed to go, someone knew me and better knew the bounty on my head. This was no different as was the chance some offer could also be a trap. Yet, this far south of the mainland, fewer people seemed to know of the man made notorious in the cold North. Besides, rumors of the tavern lingered on about some manner of new demon gate different from the others. How could I resist such a juicy detail? And should this...

"What is your name?" I asked of the man. Even if it were to be an alias, it would serve better than "sir" or "you".

...should this "you" try to lay claim on my head, I'd bury him like the rest. Maybe, just maybe, I'd be lucky enough to have someone finally rid me of it in a way I could find some peace. I scoffed to myself despite no joke. Peace for my painted past, please.

As I ruminated the hilarious notion of forgiveness and blissful eternal rest, I gathered a sense of another man of interesting aura. I beheld an elf of sorts, perhaps a half blood. With such light hair, it almost seemed as though fate's mirror showed me a younger version of myself. Minus the angular ears, of course.

"Okay?" I mused. "I doubt any of this will be okay."

As though I seemed to summon them on queue, the gruff and whiskey weathered bartender swept open the door-- or tried to. The body of one hefty ruffian stopped it from opening to full sight of the situation but enough to garner the gist of it all.

"Oi! What in the--" he began, cut short by the sight of myself, a masked fellow, and an elf. If there were a visual recipe for, 'maybe I should shut up and go back inside', that would be one of them.

"Carry on then. I'll uh... let these blokes nap it off." And the door shut. Shadows through the rough glass showed him gesturing to the inside tenants away from the glass. He likely told them some story of a simple scuffle or drunk idiots passing out. It was for the best.

"Hmmph, I should count myself lucky to be this far south." I blurted. This could have devolved into a scamper from royal guards or mage hunters-- not even an angry mob. Shame.

"Well, I'm certainly ready for a change of scenery." I added with a glance directly through the demon's mask.

Lye's questions lingered for but a moment.

Nosdyn looked upon the man for a moment, he knew such men were often worshipped as heroes. He nodded. "The name's Nosdyn sir." He was careful to omit the demon lord title. It was a detail the others did not need to know for the transaction to occur. He looked at the newcomer for a moment or two and nodded at the fellow.

"These blokes tried to accost this man." Nosdyn chuckled. He knew humans liked their details and the like. He looked at the newcomer and nodded. "Name's Nosdyn I was just telling this fella that." He motioned towards Lye, careful not to reveal Lye's name to the other fellow. He knew humans liked their secrecy.

"But yes, you're both welcome in my city." He said calmly.

"My city is called Theselak city of the free." He said, careful to note there were no prying government eyes.

Again, he knew that the humans needed their secrecy.

Nosdyn had a prevalida weapon sheathed across his back, a hammer style weapon. It appeared quite elegant. He wore a complete leather outfit including a warm great cloak. He wrapped the cloak around his muscular body after he began to feel a little cold. He knew the blokes on the ground would not be stirring at any point soon.

He looked at Lye and the other fellow. "Come to my city...it's safe there." The demon said calmly.

His invitation was extended to the newcomer as well. He nodded towards Arphenion. Nosdyn's face was hidden behind that mask, but it was a necessary precaution.

The half-elf cocked his head curiously as the human spoke. His tone was one of slight amusement, but Arphenion could not tell what exactly it was directed towards. He leaned back on his horse and looked around and attempted to get his bearings. The small town was a dusty watering hole, one of many dotted across the open plains he had found himself traveling. Other than the tavern, which doubled as an inn, it appeared that most of the other buildings were for the bare necessities of passing travelers.

Lucky to be in the South? Is the man running from something?

Arphenion was pondering the man’s appearance and stance when the conversation shifted. It seemingly included him in it as well. The deep voice of the squat man caught the half-elf off guard. It was heavy, smooth, and had dark undertones in it. His chuckle seemed genuine and his invitation was offered without malice, as far as Arphenion could tell.

“Well met, Nosdyn.” The bladesinger tried to get a read on the man, but with his cloak and mask it was difficult to glean much. The one thing that he could tell was that there was a mid-night blue coloration to his skin. The elf assumed a demon, but one thing he had learned about Althanas was nothing was what it seemed. If he was a demon though… “The name is Maevan, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you both!”

Giving a false name was a way of safety, and Maeven was an outgoing personality that would get along with almost anyone. He would fit in perfectly with an overly hospitable demon, and should be just pleasant enough not to raise the hackles of the human. Arphenion wanted to know more about both of them before he would reveal anything himself.

“I just got into this dustbowl of a town, but if you’re inviting me to a real town with more to offer, I guess I would be a fool to decline the offer.” He flashed a half-smile and forced a very realistic laugh. If he was going to play the part, he wanted to make sure it was as convincing as possible. “Lead on my friend.”