Old dogs, new tricks. [closed]

Quote:

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Closed to Storm Veritas

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Shinsou had been watching the players perched around the table carefully for a good while now. Each facial expression told of the men’s experience in the game. Some grimaced with mock incredulity, trying to throw the others off of the scent. Some of them simply stared down, not wanting to give anything away. Storm Veritas, to the Telgradian’s left, smiled before calmly gazing down at the cards in his hand, sipping his honey malt whiskey in the deliberately confident way he always did. Shinsou contemplated his next move, placing his hand face down on the table and tapping two fingers on the reverse of his cards. He knew, underneath his palm, there were three separate cards, completely unrelated in both suit and order, with the potential to lose him his thus far respectable pot.

But he wasn’t at all worried.

Experience told him that he could have had the worst hand in the game, but it wouldn’t matter one bit if he could bounce the other players into thinking he had a cock like a caber. Judging by the intelligence of some of the knuckle draggers at the table, it wouldn’t be a particularly difficult task.

"Well, well! Would you look at that!", A thick set, heavily bearded wall of a man to Shinsou’s right exclaimed, throwing his hand face down proudly but being very careful to not reveal his cards. Slamming his fist triumphantly on the table, sending tremors through the room, he grinned like an Alsatian. “I’m taking this pot all night long, chumps!”

It is easy to smile at an insult and pretend it's funny when the person insulting you is about to hose you with money.

Shinsou glanced casually at the mound of copper and silver in the center of the table, and then to Storm on his left. The electromancer shrugged nonchalantly, folded, and took another sip of his drink from behind his own sizeable portion of the coins.

It should have been difficult to focus. Within the steady hum of idle chatter came the regular thump of boots pounding onto the creaking timber floorboards; interrupted only by the crescendo of clinking glasses and the cheers of the revelling crowd. Indeed, some of those seated around the table started to lean in, cupping their ears to catch the bets as they rose. One folded accidentally, not realizing the bet was lower than he thought. However, Shinsou sat, his cards flat against the wood, with a cool expression.

“I raise you fifty.”

The calm expression never left the former Telgradian emperor’s face as he threw in his lot, pushing his silver towards the pile. Fold after fold followed in a clockwise motion around the table, until it came back to the bear-man.

“Are you joking?! If you don’t have at least a flush, boy, you are done here! I raise a hundred!”

Shinsou, not dissuaded by his failure to sway the lumberjack, tapped his cards.

“You better think before you match me. The timber trade’s a little slower than usual these days, and you look like you need the money. Two-hundred."

Tossing his own cards face down amidst the taunts and laughter around him, the Telgradian glared at his peer. The lumberjack looked flustered, and hesitated. A lot of money was on the table, a month’s wages for him, and he knew his own hand was a slight bluff. A king high pair would do okay in the early betting, but not here. His opponent had to have at least a flush to throw in two hundred.

It took a moment before he decided to cut his losses and abandon his bluff.

“You got fuckin’ lucky that time. What did you have?”

Shinsou smiled. “It’s not what I had that matters, it’s what I have now that’s important. Which, by my count, is two hundred pieces heavier. Thanks for playing.”

The lumberjack slammed his fist into the table, and exited to raucous, mocking laughter.

You can all laugh, but he’s human, same as you, Shinsou thought quietly to himself, By the time tonight’s done I’ll have had you all paying for my board here.

Taking the deck in his palm, after sweeping his coin mountain into a leather bag next to the table, Shinsou tossed cards back and forth until the next game was set and ready. Three card brag had never really been his forte, but Storm had taught him well from their time travelling together when there was nothing to do between marches. Of course, his wily friend had been careful not to teach him everything, but that was to be expected. That was the way things worked between them; a relationship of trust and independence, guidance without handholding, and progress without intrusion. It was something Shinsou had given a lot of thought to, and he had hoped that his latest idea would sit well with the skilled electromancer and follow the same template. As everyone slid their cards into their hands and began their methods of misdirection, the Telgradian shot a glance left to Storm, who was trying to get the attention of a particularly top-heavy waitress for a top-up.

“I know this is a bit out of the blue,” Shinsou started, folding his cards inside his palm, “but can you meet me at the Citadel tomorrow morning? There’s something I want to show you.”

As he was about to deal the next game, a tap on his shoulder distracted him. He turned his head and shot a glare at the man stood over his shoulder.

”What’s up, Arius? I’m playing here.”

A pair of hazel eyes appeared from beneath a pair of gold rimmed spectacles, unfazed. From beneath his brown leather robes, he handed over a beige, folded note.

“It’s ready. Well, sort of. You need to give it the finishing touches.”

Shinsou looked around the table, and sighed, placing the deck in front of Storm.

“Excuse me. See you tomorrow, and try not to be too hungover, yeah?”

He got up from the table, slinging his weighty coin sack over his shoulder, and unfolded the note between his finger and thumb. The handwriting was his father’s; the paper looked as if a spider had fallen in a vial of ink and scurried across the page. He held it up to a nearby lamp, and read it quietly in his mind.

Tonight was intended to be a “bait night” for Storm. With Shinsou joining him at the table, the cards would be secondary to the conversation, and an opportunity for the wizard to set the table with these doughy, hairy-knuckled fools that clung to their crowns with fervent desperation. Tonight, he wasn’t here to win money. Tonight, he’d happily drop a few coins, setting up small tells after his third whiskey – scratching his nose when he held a little doubt; or fixing his seat just so slightly when his hand was strong. He’d make these moves tonight, and tomorrow, letting these fools bleed him slightly while he slowly raised the stakes. In three or four nights, when their jaws dripped with enough saliva, he’d tighten up and string them. He’d already caught most of their tendencies just watching.

Fat boy twists his ring when he’s unsure of what he’s doing. Crater-face fans his cards more taut when they’re stronger, to keep people from seeing strength. Cue ball isn’t too bad, but he drinks with his left hand when his hand is strong.

Fucking rubes. This is a five hundred crown crew if I can convince them they’re smart enough.

The thinnest blanket of tobacco smoke had finally fully coated the ceiling of the room when Shinsou was pulled away abruptly. The Telgradian made a snide remark about sobriety (as if he were some sort of fucking sponsor) and was out before Storm Veritas could talk him out of a good decision.

“Well, shit. Looks like the young fella’s all tuckered out. Who’s ready for a round?” The diplomatic electromancer rose and smiled brightly, fixing his pedestrian suit. The cotton-wool blended stuff was beneath him, but it was soft, warm, and allowed him to fit in with these filthy peasants. They thought him fancy in anything that lacked holes or mustard stains, so he’d been drinking his way into their good graces.

With a few extra rounds of a weak lager and strong whiskey, the men started loosening up and chatting amongst themselves. Storm had convinced the group he was a traveler who traded currencies, which left his pockets a little heavy and his company welcome. The gamblers were largely losers, but had some fun stories and tried to regale the Secret Serenti Champion with tales of their own regalia.

“I was a warrior as a boy!” Cue-Ball had started the conversation. In fairness, with meaty hands and a thick chest, crazier claims had been made. “I fought in the Alerian Revolution. Those Dark Elves won’t come near me now.”

They’d cut you in slices like they were divvying up Sunday dinner. You could just as well tell me you walked there, across the water.

“Amazing!” Storm smiled with seemingly genuine curiosity. “Did you retire? A hero’s pension is supposed to be fantastic in Radasanth…” He teased the point, knowing it false, pushing his luck just a touch.

“It’s fine.” Cue Ball hedged, spinning his ring and sipping slowly. “It was a long time ago – the army wore out my knees and ended my career before full pension.”

Maybe he’s only partially full of shit…

“Oh, fuck off, you shiny-skulled shit! We’ve all heard it a million times!” Crater Face had come in over the top with an aggressive barb. “And besides, some of us aren’t so naturally strong but can still find ways to work for a livin’!”

“Bullshit.” Fat Boy was simple in his critique. “Your idea of work is getting up at the crack of noon and asking Uncle Stu for a couple of coins.” Storm had no idea who Stu was, but took a mental note of someone in town with no doubt deep pockets. These were, after all, his favorite type of friends.

“No shit.” Crater Face smiled, finishing a short, heavy glass of whiskey and slamming it with a thud. “I’ve been making a king’s ransom as a trader – you know where to look and my money man here can tell you there’s piles to pull.” He gestured to Veritas, who took his cue fairly.

“Sure, yes, absolutely. Hell, exchange rates float from place to place, and I just need to find a couple of people that need Alerian, Coronian, Dheathian coins or whatever. It’s free money for me to travel, if you can find the right place.” This was a gamble; his story had more holes than a sea sponge.

Shit, that was stupid. Needed a better story. Shit.

“Better when you find the same spot, my friend!” Crater Face smiled, his brown-flecked teeth taunting him as he spoke. “I’ve been trading wheat at Tylermande for triple rates! And you should see the whores down there!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, the wizard had managed to keep his comportment, allowing his rage to bubble just beneath the surface. He was banging on the door of Vaan Osiris, oblivious to the fact that it was late, Shinsou was quite possibly not alone, and Storm smelled like a distillery fire.

With a few creaks and mumbled swears, a light shined beneath the door to the tavern hallway. Storm backed slightly upon the stones, giving space to Shinsou to slowly open the door. When their eyes met, Shinsou was a blend of annoyance and disgust.

“Gods! You’re drunk as shit! Get back to your room; I’m not holding your hair while you puke. We have an early morning, in case you forgot.” Even sober, the fatigued warrior looked punch-drunk himself with bags under his eyes.
“No! Well, yes, but no. Sure, I drank plenty, but that’s not this.”

Wrap it up.

Storm steeled his eyes, showing his intent and purpose. “The Citadel is going to have to wait.”

"I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it!"

It was the seventh time in as many minutes he had said it, but Shinsou's fury was still no closer to abating. His face was a stone cold snapshot of silent rage, his lips were almost white from the pursing and his fingernails left purple crescents in his palms as he clawed his fingers tight around the reins of his horse Slepnir. Beside him, in tandem, was an equally furious electromancer, spurring Attila on with a quiet but almost venomous demeanour.

"We need to check everything," Storm finally uttered through gritted teeth, "and I mean everything. Ledgers, profit and loss accounts, shipping manifests and the cash on site...lock, stock, the fucking lot."

Last night, Shinsou had been listening intently with a mixture of grave concern and, eventually, boiling anger, to his partner's retelling of "Crater Face's" boasts. At first, the Telgradian wasn't sure how much of it was true. A lot of people tried to big themselves up at the card table to impress both the clientele and the women, but a cursory check of the latest Brotherhood treasury ledger (something neither he nor Storm ever really audited) confirmed a sizeable deficit that seemed to fit the facts. There should have been a very healthy income; Storm in particular had gone to great lengths to ensure that the trading tariffs at ports and markets were always profitable ventures, and that any supply lines were negotiated very thoroughly to ensure a favourable outcome for the Brotherhood. It was what he was good at, and he had bust his not inconsiderable balls to achieve it.

Yet, despite these efforts, the number in red on the statement of account told an uncomfortable truth; there was an alarming shortage of money. Money was the very lifeblood of the Brotherhood; it was used to feed the families of the soldiers, buy food and weapons, and pay "maintenance" costs (as Storm called them) to any relevant authorities. Without it, quite simply, they were fucked. As the steeds trotted side by side, the miserable weather of the rainy season hit. Through the driving rain, the pair of allies rode down a muddy hill towards a junction. A left turn here would put them on the road to Tylmerande, and as the pair cantered over the potholed clay, Shinsou shot a sideways glance at Veritas.

"Arius delegates responsibility for the finances between three people in Tylmerande, as far as he told me," The Telgradian held three fingers up for a visual reference, "There's a treasurer, a freight forwarder and the exchange. The treasurer deals with accounting, the freight forwarder deals with goods in and out of port and the exchange deals with buying and selling currencies. As your boy Crater Face confirmed, we need to get a grip of the freight and goods trading- accounting is all well and good, but it is subjective on the information provided. There is nothing fucking subjective about that cash balance...someone is taking the piss out of us."

The area they were in, about five kilometres now from the port of Tylmerande, was a fairly rugged track next to woodland. Even with the enormous steed beneath him, the tall Telgradian felt every step beneath jolting him as the hooves churned up mud and clay. It just served to irritate him further.

"Could it be a mole?" Storm asked, producing his pipe from within his finery, "I wouldn't put it past the assembly to get creative, especially when it comes to us. They know we're a tough nut to crack out there, but maybe they think if the boys aren't getting paid, they'll down tools and leave us exposed."

"If there is a mole, I'd like to play that game where it pops up and we smash it with a fucking hammer." Shinsou emphasised the point with a downward stroke of his fist.

He watched as Storm took a moment to fill his cherry-wood pipe with a bit of tobacco, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

"So, who is doing the vetting for recruitment, then?" The electromancer asked, screening out the rain using the back of his hand as he inhaled.

"Arius deals with all of that, as far as I know. I've not known him to be wrong, yet."

As they continued to ride, Tylmerande appeared on the horizon. The coastal town was such an unassuming place, yet enjoyed key status amongst its previous incumbents, the Assembly, and current occupiers, the Brotherhood. It had once served as a shipyard for the Imperial navy and a port that was economy-critical for the government, and now found use as a fully functioning harbour and trading post for Shinsou and Storm's organisation. Taking it had been easy enough, and the rebuilding and operation of it seemed to be going smoothly up to now, but they both knew that in order to maintain a healthy Brotherhood, Tylmerande had to be self-sufficient and not pissing money up the wall.

A few minutes later, the allies had gotten close enough to travel by foot. Smoothly dismounting their great black mounts, leaving them at a Brotherhood checkpoint with reserves of water and hay, Shinsou and Storm strolled to within a kilometre of the town gate.

"The shit we went through to get this place was worth it," Shinsou reminisced to Storm as they approached, and passed, the final perimeter picket, "...so long as we leave here safe in the knowledge that the leaks are plugged. My first thought is a town wide blockade - no freight taken off or put on the ships here, no goods changing hands and no coins being bought or sold until every manifest, every currency option and every contract is checked. What do you think?"

“It’s a hell of a start.” Storm glowered as he stared holes through the greywood and white stone, sun-bleached buildings of the port town. After the fiasco of losing Whitevale, Storm and Shin had made sure to do Tylermande right. They kept themselves largely out of operations, allowed the citizens to feel empowered, and enacted firm, fair rules that the townfolk ostensibly seemed content with.

Of course, your average schlub isn’t exactly going to give one of us lip back, after we cut this town a new asshole four feet wide on our way in.

His teeth gritted around the pipe as he tasted the heat, the sour-sweet flavor of his tobacco. The wash of placidity that tobacco brought him settled his lungs and heart into a certain smoothness that aided his decisions, and settled some of his budding mania.

“I’d like to force the truth from these ungrateful bastards with some combination of lightning, rope, and chrome coated pliers. Bribe our ways to the first name, and disembowel him in town square to send an unmistakable message.”

As furious as Shin had grown, he knew this path was lunacy, and had learned enough of Storm to understand the wizard had something else in mind. He continued walking as he waited, sipping from the leather cask that Veritas believed held water. Storm continued.

“But we can’t, not if we’re going to rally the town back into good graces. More flies with honey, and all that. Besides, I don’t know if we’re dealing with one rogue fool I can string up by the balls, or if we’re dealing with a more sophisticated grift. Maybe we start by looking at the books in a routine spot check, see what we’re dealing with.”

“Sure, I bet there’s a line item loophole someone honestly missed. And Phi is probably waiting in the tavern with open arms and tits out to throw us a surprise party.” Shin smirked at himself as he mocked the initial plan.

The wide eyes of the handsome warrior showed a certain vitriol that caught the attention of his friend. It was rare that Storm would serve as the voice of reason between the two, but perhaps this calm only came because he was spelling out his own plan, and had already navigated the processing of his own wrath.

Be honest, roles reversed, Shinsou could present the best plan in the history of modern politics and you’d second guess it if it didn’t involve you filleting the mole like pork before the Harvest celebration

The electromancer caught himself, careful not to show some unwarranted temper. Shin was right, in that there was virtually no chance that the pock-marked gambler was piping off at the mouth over some legitimate issue.

The wind picked up a bit, sending the sea air over them in a salty staleness, stinging the squinting eyes of the magician. He had stopped, picking at his fingernails as he retorted.

“Relax. It’s about process. Let’s peel this onion one layer at a time, find the rot systematically, and allow the people to see that we’re respecting the democracy established here. Then, when we discover the source of the corruption, you can remind the people here that governance is taken seriously. Hell, you can even break out your Emperor Cutesy-roogi bullshit if you want to.”

A knowing smirk. Nothing got under Vaan Osiris’ skin like the playful mocking of his incredible power. Storm had the luxury of being the only man upon Althanas who could comfortably offer the barb without any fear of retribution.

Though the weather was bleak, the day had begun brightly for Tenedos Torr. In the month since he and his comrade Damascus escaped the chaos of the Brotherhood’s assault on Radasanth, they had returned to Tylmerande, to the site of where the madness had all began and where the Brotherhood had sent a message to the nation of Corone they would not soon forget or forgive. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and placed the half empty cup down on the oak table. Back in the day they’d called Tenedos “the needle”, and soon the people who had trusted him with this dangerous task 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 gained 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 Brotherhood trebuchet. Although he had recovered well from the injuries of the siege, the constant discomfort reminded him everyday that there was a score to settle. He had lost so much more than the feeling in his arm that day, and the time was drawing near for the Brotherhood to settle the debt.

As the front door slid open, Tenedos quickly rolled his sleeve down and turned to see Damascus pace in, followed by the scent of sea salt. His heavy boots thumped across the clean tile floor. The scarred enforcer looked nonchalant as usual, with his white-seamed face drawn in complete indifference. Tenedos gestured for him to to sit at the small table, so the larger, muscular man pulled back a chair and dumped his heavy frame down in it. He spared a quick glance at the flintlock rifle in the corner and then cleared his throat, reaching inside his leather jacket. A marked hand produced a folded piece of paper and placed it on the table. Damascus slid the paper slowly across, navigating the coffee cup.

"The Brotherhood just arrived, with those two in tow," Damascus said, his deep voice echoing through the hall. He raked a hand through disheveled dark hair, hazel eyes blazing like coals. "They’ve shut down the port, as we expected, so we’re stuck here until the job’s done." he muttered darkly.

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.

“By the time they have figured out what’s going on, we’ll be whoring it up in the best brothels in Radasanth,” Tenedos cleared his throat and wiped his lips before shooting a suspicious glare at Damascus, “You did make sure to set the trail for them?”

The enforcer nodded curtly.

“The paperwork will lead exactly where we need it to, Tenedos. Don’t worry.”

***

As the effective trading hub for Tylmerande, the Headquarters for Revenue and Commerce on the outskirts of town often played host to a variety of people, ranging from passing traders looking to apply for merchant permits to high-level officials. Thanks to the blanket lockdown now in effect, people quite literally packed the building from wall to wall, prevented from leaving until all appropriate checks were done by security. The main hall opened up to a roofed balcony walkway that was intended for observation of the port, but so unprecedented was the occupancy of the building that men and women were crammed into it with only thin cushions for comfort and small portions of basic food and water for sustenance.

In the main administrative offices, Shinsou and Storm sat opposite each other at desks on the far side of the room. Their features were creased with concentration as each man carefully checked manifests, reconciled ledgers and cross checked sums, attempting to narrow down the leak from the huge pile of papers that sat on the wood.

“Storm, check this out,” Shinsou eventually said after a prolonged silence, thumbing through a three page report, “Your man was saying that wheat was being traded at triple rates? Look at this entry. The standard tariff stands at fifty a kilo. Here, we have two kilos being paid at a hundred. So, that stacks up to our normal tariffs, right? But then, ten lines down, we have some sort of adjustment to the cash account for an extra two hundred.”

Storm took the opportunity to glance at the account from Shinsou’s side.

“Shit, there’s our triple rate,” The powerful electromancer grimaced, “Better look at the other duties and see what else is mouldy in the cupboard.”

The hours meandered on. The sun rose higher into the cloudless blue sky and drowned the pair in uncomfortable heat, magnified through a glass pane window. The pair ate only sparingly and drunk none. Once, twice, the tension threatened to explode. Further discoveries of costly anomalies had been made and one or both of the partnership were actively considering a policy shift from softly-softly to full-on genocide of the entire town, before reasoning that it was better to keep their emotions in check. There was no catalyst quite like losing money for triggering rage.

By the time the last of the paperwork had been checked and the trays of half eaten food cleared away, the sun had almost reached the horizon. Pools of soft orange light cast uneven shadows amongst the office interior as Shinsou finally tucked the last report away.

“Three-hundred thousand,” His boots rasped on the floorboards as he walked; hackles on the back of his neck rose as they fielded the anger inherent in his tone, “All from commodity trading. Gone, just like that.”

“Whoever was recording all of this was too fucking stupid to keep the cash adjustments off the ledgers,” Storm spoke now, bowing low, ignoring the snorts that echoed on the edge of his hearing, “So that makes me think the problem lies on the front lines. No true money-man would be so careless. Time to pay a visit to the port, I think.”

The port of Tylermande has a sort of loud silence to it. With the sun high and sails about the seas full, a sturdy wind continued to whip across open water at the muddy-red faces of the sailors, traders, townsfolk and visitors moving in and out at a steady pace. Despite the clang of bells ringing as they slowly drifted into the floating wooden docks, and the loud chatter of barter being negotiated, the wind seemed to cut any carry out of noise. Here, with the briny scent and choppy sea, there was usually a pleasant demeanor. People’s eyes grew more blue with their focused pupils, and teeth shined whiter against tanned skin. Perhaps it was the ability to pass gas with relative impunity that led to a better overall temperament.

Regardless of the cause, today’s feeling about the port was nearly solemn. All the traders – typically the drivers of conversation – worked in lighter tones, clearly conscious of the tandem who had been seen perusing the books. Rates of transfer were posted clearly in thick chalk today, and the chalk pieces beneath the display boards were still thick and long – obvious signs of very little transactional activity.

On their best behavior. So the traders are in on it, too, or they wouldn’t know to watch their own asses.

Ever one to lighten the mood, Storm Veritas walked with his friend atop the docks. His metal-soled shoes (which granted him a propulsion not so different from flight) clacked loudly on the water-worn pinewood, and he carried a tall glass of a creamy yellow beer that was already half-gone. They laughed a bit at the rocking docks with each passing wave, Storm nearly having to call upon his flight to keep him upright.

“Mix in a water, you light-weight pussy. We have work to do.” Shinsou was trying to joke and promote a less ominous tone, but his eyes betrayed his mouth. Those focused, hawkish globes were sometimes too quick and intelligent for his own good, and none would buy him for some half-drunken lout.

“Relax, gramps. Don’t forget we’re here with honey, not vinegar. Not that it matters; can you hear them pucker their assholes from here?” Storm finished his drink in a long gulp, at least partly designed to spite his friend preaching temperance.

“Loud and clear; these people are terrified.”

The eyes of the strikingly handsome man running the wheat stand could be found anywhere but on the two approaching leaders. He clenched his hands, combing fingers through his thick, straw-blonde hair as he nervously bounced from foot to foot. Storm joined him in scouring the docks for modes of escape; clearly the entrepreneur was strongly considering the option of making a dash for it. With a booming greeting, the wizard made certain that he was heard clearly across the cutting wind.

“Goldenlocks! Relax, my friend, today’s a lucky day for you. You’ll tell your grandkids about it if you’re smart.”

The thin, almost waifish salesman was frozen now, his sea-blue eyes rolling up slowly towards the oncoming legends. Storm Veritas and Shinsou Vaan Osiris had abandoned the song-and-dance routine, moving quickly with raised hands and open palms towards him. Extending a hand, Storm broke the ice immediately.

“Sit. Relax. Don’t shit yourself; I don’t want to deal with the smell, the fish around here is bad enough. If you’re scared that means you know us, and if you know us, you know what a damned fool’s errand it would be to try and run.” Storm gestured to a sealed barrel of wine, where the young man reluctantly sat.

“I, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that… I just…” He was trying to talk through a lie that he had run out of time to practice.

Storm considered leveling the man to smack a layer of sense into him, but optioned against it. Instead, he squatted, lowering to stare the man in the eye, speaking slowly after the terrified man trailed off.

“Easy… Play this through in your head. If we were going to do something, and thought you the source of the problem, we wouldn’t be talking, would we?” Storm stifled a small belch as his eyes shot around to the other tradesmen. A row of booths were staring intently, but none dared venture out beyond their tables.

“Your tariff rate is on the books for three times the normal rate. That means you’re tipping out at three-to-one on what we agreed with Alerar. Now, there are three possible scenarios that I see taking place here.” Storm was focused now, scanning about with sharp and concise gestures, pulling taut on his dress clothes and ensuring his teeth were clean by rapidly flicking his tongue across the top row behind his lips.

“One: you two have a deal in place, and you’re chopping the excess free cash on each shipment in some form. With two-hundred extra crowns for every few boxes, you can wet a lot of beaks…”

“Two: you…” Storm was interrupted too late as they only heard the faint pop of gunfire from somewhere behind them.

The gunshot that cracked into the air seemed to stop time entirely for the briefest of moments. As the smell of cordite faded, the first few seconds of eerie, awed silence that followed felt like days.

The tinny snap ricocheted through Tylmerande and everything simply froze. Many confused looks were quickly and nervously exchanged amongst the gathered; dozens of pairs of eyes flitting from left to right to try to determine what in the gods had just happened. Storm Veritas flinched violently as the shock of the sound hit his eardrums, and, acting with the haste that his agile body and sharpened senses allowed him, placed a palm on the pinewood decking to push himself up to his feet.

Twisting violently enough to about-turn, his gaze first sawed through the collective wooden trading booths, then the paralyzed Tylmerande collective before finally resting on the bewildered face of Shinsou Vaan Osiris.

What greeted him was a horror show.

The Telgradian was swaying, as if stoned and caught in a light breeze. Blood flowed in crimson torrents from his lips, dripping down his chin and forking down the front of his neck. The salty taste upon his lips from the liquid stunned him momentarily into a numb stasis, but, after a few moments, agony finally struck the right hand side of his chest, which was potmarked with a single bullet hole. The Telgradian’s gaze started to float indiscriminately between the floor and the people ahead of him, never once fixing on anything, as everything blurred into a sickly haze.

Shinsou tried to speak, to say anything to the ageing electromancer, but all he could manage was a pained gasp as his legs gave way and his body crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap. As his head lolled to the left and he watched the masses flee into alleyways and houses, the horizontal view of Tylmerande started to look to him like an oil painting, ruined by a water spillage, with dozens of ants scattering upon its surface.

At this point, everything sounded and felt like it was happening underwater, and the Telgradian questioned whether he was truly conscious or whether he was trapped in a nightmare. It felt real enough that his joints ached where he had impacted the cold, hard floor. It felt real enough that the wound in his chest burned with the sensation of a thousand giant hornet stings. It seemed like a woman had knelt down next to Shinsou and was flicking strands of brown, blood-matted hair out of his face, but he couldn’t be sure as he tried without success to survey the carnage before him.

It was at that point that everything changed. Suddenly, reality was sucked into pure, brilliant white.

Shinsou panicked. The floor, the port, the whole of Tylmerande exploded into a million tiny fragments of reality shrapnel that spun away from him uncontrollably. It wasn’t long before he realized, alone in the brilliant void, that he could no longer feel the pain of his injuries or taste the bitterness of his blood upon the tip of his tongue. His clothes were clean, his hair swept back into its usual slick style. His arms and legs were no longer aching.

What the fuck is happening to me?

The Telgradian wasn’t expecting there to be a response, so, when it came, it startled him.

You’re home.

A form slowly materialized in the void; all the components of a body seemingly oozing out from beyond the bright white light and reforming in large, rugged segments. Once the human jigsaw had assembled itself, Shinsou could make out the shape of a woman. Her hair was brown and straight, falling in soft waves to the middle of her back. Strands hung in layers about her glowing face. Her nose was petit and her cheeks were smooth. Her clothes seemed to consist of a flowing gown of light, one that the Telgradian’s eyes could never really focus on, as if one were gazing into ultra-violet light. She gazed at him with green eyes that sparkled, beautiful things that regarded him with a warm interest, and yet all the while seemed to enquire.

The realization hit him hard, and Shinsou’s eyes widened with shock.

It couldn’t be.

Rhovani?!

The world had frozen around Storm Veritas, and his universe ebbed and flowed in a sinusoidal wave of the impossibly fast and eternally slow. The image of Shinsou falling stopped the wizard in his tracks, blood spilling from the mouth of his one dear friend as though he was already dead. A flood of emotions and images came in waves.

Guilt for the thousands killed in Radasanth.

Helplessness surrounding the moment.

Guilt for his ignorance – a metal bullet had sailed past him, into the soft flesh of his last dependable friend.

Hate.

There were things he could compartmentalize; elements that would have to wait for more existential second-guessing. For now, it was his to serve two masters; one which had him tend to Shinsou, another to seek justice for him. In a moment he was by his friends side, instantly extracting the metal round from the Telgradian’s chest with a magnetic pull of his left hand, grasping the crimson soaked round as those same fingertips cauterized the wound. Vaan Osiris wouldn’t notice the maneuver, as he was going into shock. With no exit wound where his right arm was wrapped beneath him, no blood or wetness accumulating.

“Fuck Shinsou, hang on. Who did this? Did you see him?”

Based on how Shinsou was standing, the electromancer could triangulate a guess from where the bullet came. The round had come past Storm from the left, his ten oclock as he was facing the wheat stand. A glance in that direction yielded nothing but bedlam, as the white noise around them began to distill down into discrete sounds. He listened briefly to the shrieking of women, the raucous yell of both angry and elated men, the frenzied rush of onlookers fleeing the scene. Before him, the pleading whispers of the handsome salesman coupled with his open, apologetic hands.

To hell with him. He knows more.

With a flick of his fingers, Storm had summoned the metal spool of baling wire upon the table, pulling at it violently from ten feet away. A cobra, the wire raced around the feet of the shocked salesmen, knocking his ankles as they bound his feet in less than a second. Twisting itself into a taut knot, the wire was broken with a snap of the magician, and a second coil wasted no time in binding the man’s wrists.

“Stay put. Try and free yourself and I swear by the FUCKING GODS I will flash-fry you where you lie.”

Desperation. Shinsou was staring off now, looking for answers.

“Doctor! Get the doctor!” People were moving in on him now, familiar faces that he couldn’t name in the heat of his wrath. They were desperate to help, but approached as the mouse, removing the splinter from the lion’s paw. One threatening gesture was death, and the tradesmen knew it.

Shinsou was growing pale, blood steeping from his mouth and eyes dilating. The on-the-spot first aid Veritas had applied was proving unsuccessful, for all his time learning from Karuka in the jungles of Dheathain, he had likely cauterized the skin over ruptured organs. It was a lesson in futility.

Stay with me. Don’t you die, too.

In moments Storm had released his grip about his friend, watching as the young man was hoisted atop a stretcher. Now it was the eyes of the older wizard, paled with time and pain, which were as the falcon’s; peering atop every roof for dust or commotion. Someone had seen this. Someone would know the identity of the attacker.

How did we both miss this? How did we not sniff this out?

The group of men and women carrying Shinsou were marching into a large, white Stucco building, with well-sealed glass windows and a red cross above the door, painted squarely and cleanly in neatly cut pine. With the slight salesmen flipped over his shoulder like a prize buck, Storm walked with them, the once legendary adventurer now just more heavy feet in the crowd.

For all of the travels the tandem had shared, they had earned a sense of entitlement; a belief that they were in fact invincible. Dealing death, and cheating death themselves enough time had spoiled the two, an overconfidence which they now repaid in spades. They had walked into the trap, confident fools feeling themselves invincible. For his brazen idiocy, Storm Veritas felt hopeless to walk alone in the world.

How can this be?

You’re dead. I watched you die.

Are you alive? Are you real?

Why?

Why?

Why?!

I loved you.

“Why are you here?”

The question finally came in spoken form, but never represented the one million different thought processes Shinsou had run in under five seconds. She shouldn’t be here. She was long dead, so it was clear that he was either under the influence of some sort of hallucinogenic spell, or experiencing a vision. Sadly, a brief glance about offered no path back to reality; only a dreamscape of his past.

“What are your hands for?”

The silky voice slipped through the shadows of the valley as Rhovani’s alabaster form turned to face him.

Shinsou groaned.

“I don’t have time for riddles, Rhovani. I-“

“What-are-your-hands-for?” She interrupted, her voice seeming to shake the sands of their new surroundings. For some reason, the question battered the Telgradian. The riddle clearly held some deeper meaning, but repeated attempts to recall any sort of connection to the question and him failed. Suffocating tendrils lifted from his vision and receded from his lungs as he breathed in stale must and ancient history. Then, a pang. A tiny fragment of a thought in his mind sparked to life and muscle memory kicked in.

“To build the world around us.”

“And what is your heart for?”

For a moment, the scenery faded. Shinsou could swear that, over him, loomed three slight figures clad in white and mottled with blood. The one on the right glowered at Shinsou, bristling with energy as his hands touched the wound in his chest. Pain wracked him again all of a sudden as the main figure worked and the other two regarded him with little more than mild interest. Before long, everything was suddenly sucked back into the Telgradian dreamscape again and his body returned to its numb state. What was that just now? The flickering of reality? The rancid musk of this place returned, accompanying a chill in the air. Hard rock dug into his feet, clawing at his heels.

“To shape the world we built,” he muttered. “What is all this about?”

“But there is another part to that haiku, isn’t there Shinsou?”Rhovani replied. The hint of a wry smile played about her lips.

“For fuck’s sake,” The Telgradian swore, this time not bothering to keep his temper in check. The roots of the valley reverberated in tune with his rage. Loose dirt and ash sprinkled upon his upturned, furrowed brow. “What is my sword for?. I don’t have the answer to that one, so, now what?”

“Now, Shinsou Vaan Osiris, you understand.”

“I understand what?”

Rhovani outstretched her hands and suddenly manifested a perfect copy of Enpera, Shinsou’s blade. The movement gave her a sweet scent of dark magic and the tantalising hint of the ruins that he had once walked as home. “That you don’t understand anything at all. The world you built with your hands, and shaped with your heart, is such a fragile thing. It needs a suitable lynchpin to hold it together. A sword pointed at the hearts of friends is no lynchpin at all. That is a feeble foundation for your world; your Brotherhood.”

Shinsou’s face hardened. His voice stabbed at her through the dim motes of floating dust. “You’re referring to Philomel van der Aart?”

Rhovani sighed, and turned to smile, white teeth gleaming.

“She is your world now, Shinsou.”

The Telgradian straightened as painful shards of rock continued to dig into his feet.

“Don’t patronise me with stupid suggestions like that,” Shinsou’s glare smouldered like embers. His fingers twitched. “She turned on me. Storm Veritas is the only person I can trust. What do you want?”

“For the moment?” Her smile revealed little. “Nothing.”

The wizard found himself maddened by the bedside, watching as nurses and doctors had scrambled to stabilize his friend. Delicate instruments, thin paper tubes and elastics were hooked up to his mouth and arm, measuring his breathing and heart rate. This seemed like witchcraft to the magician, however as he’d witness the efficacy of actual witchcraft in the jungles of Dheathain, he deferred to those that called themselves experts. Each new face was scrutinized with animus, Storm serving as the mighty Cerberus protecting the gates to Vaan Osiris’s personal hell. Internally, his mind raced, his pulse quickened and sweat filling the back of his shirt.

Why are you here? What are you going to do? If those bastards were bold enough to attack you in broad daylight, who’s to say they don’t try to blow up this little hospital?

And what’s the alternative? Go back to the market and sniff around for clues like some type of half-assed bloodhound? How do you think that ends?

In the corner of the room, his luggage was beginning to smell. The handsome salesman remained bound, even as he gently tried to slowly wriggle free. His eyes were wide and manic, but his face held a nervous smile, as if trying to sell his captor of his own passivity.

“Relax, I’d have done the same thing. Try to wretch free, don’t let me know if you do get loose, and wait for a moment to bolt. I won’t hold your own humanity against you.”

The tanned blonde looked awash with relief. “Thank you sir. I just, I couldn’t know… I didn’t…”

Storm interrupted him like a falcon striking its prey, rocketing to him in a single wave of dizzying speed. The electromancer had seemed to float to the little man, and was holding the salesman’s sweat soaked lower jaw between his fingertips with a speed that simply didn’t add up.

“Don’t say another fucking word if you value your life. Not yet. I saw your eyes flicker before the shot. You knew it was coming.”

The handful of doctors and nurses attending to Shinsou had maneuvered away from Veritas as he assaulted his apprehended prize, too scared to act as anything more noteworthy than a bird on the windowsill was disrupting their work. Confrontation was in none of their best interests, and the lot of them wisely avoided any awkwardness wholesale.

Before the wheat-shop hawker could offer rebuttal, his captor hoisted him once more over his shoulder like a rolled length of carpet. Storm wasn’t incredibly strong, but the man was light, and it was only a few moments before the tired, frightened fellow found himself dropped upon the bed in a nearby room.

The room felt cold to him, and he was scared. He motioned to cry out in desperate sadness before a large, slender hand wrapped down over his mouth. It was rough, and strong again. The snake-like coil about his wrists seemed to loosen slightly, but also pulled his hands up to the headboard, where he helplessly watched them twist a know about the center beam above him. One foot was released as his metal foot-tether bound his right leg down to the right foot of the bed. He had one free leg, and one of the most dangerous men in the world was seated heavily atop it. Menacing eyes glowed white at him as the hand gently, slowly softened the pressure at his lips.

“Please sir! There’s no need to harm me! I’ll tell you anything! Everything!” The hand clamped down like a crocodile upon him, snapping his teeth together in agony.

“Yes, you’re correct. You’re going to tell me everything. Every detail. Every nuance. Every name and time and payoff. And we’re not going to waste time.”

Storm raised his right hand to the door from the bed, the iron doorknob hearing his command and obediently slamming the door shut. From fifteen feet away, the horrified captive watched as a heavy deadbolt slid closed, pushed by the invisible hand of the devil.

The pinned man was aghast. His bladder at last let go, only to be met by the furious sneer of his captor. This man was a nightmare he couldn’t imagine.

Tenedos and Damascus had cleared themselves out of the commotion with the kind of skill and precision expected of assassins, but also with the fear of men who had already experienced the wrath of the Brotherhood. As it had been in the great Siege of Radasanth, the pair found themselves diving swiftly between houses and alleyways. There may not have been the advancing army, explosions, the flaming debris raining down from the sky or the smell of death hanging in the air from shouldering corpses, but the urgency to escape Tylmerande was much greater. This time, there wouldn’t be an army to hide behind, nor would there be anyone else to take the flack in their stead. Storm Veritas was unscathed, and now with Shinsou out of the picture the electromancer was sure to be foaming at the mouth. He would be doing all he could to identify the shooter, meaning it was too dangerous to risk hanging around.

Tenedos followed the lead of his counterpart as Damascus leapt high in the alley, kicking off a wall and landing gracefully on a low shale rooftop. The crowd from the town itself started to flood the passages, creating human congestion for any pursuing guards to get stuck in. Without hesitation, they sprinted, the wind ripping across their faces. With the traffic on the ground thickening, Tenedos knew he had to go up to get out, and looking around for a few good outlets presented him with a fourth story window of what looked like a disused shop just big enough for the both of them, across a six foot gap. Motioning to Damascus to follow, Tenedos burst into a full sprint and kicked off from the ledge, crashing through the grimy window pane in a crumpled heap.

“Shit,” The assassin exclaimed as two shards of jagged glass impaled themselves within his right palm, drawing sudden streams of crimson. As Damascus tumbled into the shadows behind him, Tenedos ducked between two tall stone columns. Tearing off a piece of his shirt, the man wrapped the bandage about the injured hand and tied it taut.

“You ok?” Damascus asked gruffly.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” His companion snapped back, walking over to the other side of the empty floor and surveying the network of back alleys at his disposal. To redirect himself towards the exit of town that was the least guarded, he would have to head north from here, and then take a sharp east. The route never got touched by the midday sun and, more importantly, seemed cut off from the center.

“What about the boss?” Damascus piped up as he shed his jacket, throwing it into the corner of the abandoned room, “He was supposed to be coming with us!”

“Wolf food, most likely. We’re dead too if we stay here, so get going.” A frown crept across Tenedos’s face. The plan had been successful, but he knew the man who had commissioned the act was alive and well, and Tenedos personally wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He would become a problem. It seemed preposterous that their paymaster was more of a danger to them than the Telgradian and the electromancer, but given what was at stake for their benefactor…

“Well come on then!” Damascus insisted, becoming more animated with time, “Let’s get out of here!”

Tenedos’s heart rate hadn’t recovered yet. He could feel the drumming of it against his chest, still frenetic, whilst his skin felt flushed.

Then, footsteps. Audible footsteps.

The pair backed up, daggers quickly to their sides as a hooded form manifested from the stairwell at the far end. Though thin and wiry, he towered in contrast to the men, and walked confidently to within a couple of feet of them both. A mosaic of blue and white arcane energies signified the end of a portal. Waving his hand, a pair of spectacles appeared instantly on the face of the specter, and a crop of brown hair crept over the figure’s face from within the hood.

“Tell me, Tenedos,” The softly spoken voice echoed through the dilapidated surroundings, "Was your shot as true as you claimed?"

It was only a few moments later that the door from the room adjacent to Shinsou’s unfortunate quarters was opened again. The door opened in with a gentle creak, exposing the wizard who had finished his interrogative work. He appeared a bimodal disaster; well dressed with sharp creases in his suit offset by his hair uncharacteristically messy, sweat stains forming in the center of his chest and at his armpits. Most notably, blood was spattered across his clothing in seemingly errant streaks, six or seven slashes of crimson and battery orange-brown across his knuckles, suit, and shoes. There was no sound behind him coming from the room, the fate of the salesmen seemed to have been terrible.

Walking sharply but without panic towards the quarters of Vaan Osiris, a thin, petite blonde nurse was stopped by the villain. Her eyes were doe-like as she tried to balance her fear beneath duel masks of preoccupation and polite desire to serve.

“Nurse, see to Master Greysmith behind me. He’s passed out having undergone some harrowing dental work, and will likely be well served by a stiff drink or something heavier when he comes to.”

Looking back at the puddle of scarlet slowly walking its way into view from the room he had just exited, Veritas strode to check on his Telgradian business partner. Satisfied with the stability of his trusted ally, his eyes met the front door of the lean-to hospital.

Sorry friend; I can’t do shit for you in here. I can barely set a stitch, let alone run these little machines faster. I’ve got to go where I can be useful. I will stop them from coming back.

His eyes moved from his friend, who was breathing with the help of some incredible machines, and back to the door, where the bright sun framed the rectangular passage behind the oaken door, betraying what had been an undeniably dark day. His curious gaze pivoted quickly back into focused slits, the electromancer returning to a singular focus. He was two strides forward when the door was opened for him, and one step forward through the threshold when his attention found a man named Gabriel.

Gabriel was a gambler; one the adventurer had met early in his travels. He was connected, relatively wealthy and a connoisseur of rumors. He was one of a handful of men Storm Veritas had short-listed for tier-two leadership before Tylermande went sideways on him. Gabriel was also a short, fat man with tanned skin that burned in unique patterns atop his particularly lackluster hairline, and his cheeks wobbled in a frenzy when he saw Storm bearing down on him. Gabriel had wondered into a very bad place at a very bad time.

“Sir Veritas, I…” The glistening face of the cherubic hustler was stopped mid-phrase by the long, vicious fingers of Storm, who had closed on him and grabbed his face like an angler looking to hoist a prize smallmouth bass. Pushing forward, Storm had driven Gabriel into a shady alley beside the hospital building, oblivious to the dozen or so onlooking citizens. They were still quite visible here, but few would be bold enough to move into their periphery. If the shade delivered any respite from the heat, the corpulent swindler didn’t sweat a drop less.

“Shut the fuck up, Gabriel.” It was at this moment that the fear yielded to abject terror, as the doughy weasel noticed the eclectic spatters of blood upon Tylermande’s connected elite. Gabriel’s fat little mouth closed into a taut circle as he wisely followed instructions, not complaining at the pain inflicted upon his face.

“Damascus. Tenedos. You know the names, I’m sure. I have the who, I need the where. Let’s not let this get messier for you, shall we?”

As expected, the coward named Gabriel folded like a beach towel, offering up every morsel that Storm Veritas would need to locate his new prey. They’d be on the run, but their likely next stop wasn’t so far away. With one more horrifying and promised glare, Storm released his captor with a rough push, watching Gabriel bump roughly into the stucco wall behind him. For his obesity, the little fellow popped up and excused himself with impressive speed.

After only a moment or so, the terrible Storm Veritas emerged from the alley alone. His hair was pulled back taut, face and hands cleared of bloody debris. This was easily overridden by the soulless grey eyes that seemed to stare out forever, towards the western parts of the city. His expression was totally vacant, as though humanity had left him altogether for his singular, driving purpose.

He was hunting, and he would succeed.

"What do you mean?" Tenedos said to the hooded man. He tightened his hold on the daggers, readying himself for a fight if so required.

The portal behind the cloaked enigma died away with a whimper. Outside, heavy, cumbersome rainclouds had rolled in from the north and before long raindrops heavily rang a thousand staccato beats across the Tylmerande architecture. Damascus shuffled uncomfortably as the sound of an arcane hum grew ever louder, and Tenedos bounced on his heels as the vibrations of unknown magics started to manifest all around him. It was power, raw power, stemming from their employer. The hooded figure momentarily closed his eyes, shut out the empty pit in his stomach and focused on the pair in front of him, enough that when he spoke, it came out with a straight, unwavering voice.

"Shinsou Vaan Osiris is still alive."

"He can’t be," spoke Tenedos, wide eyed with both shock and desperation, “I shot him right in the chest; In the heart. There was no time for Storm to deflect the bullet, and Shin-“

"Nevertheless," the man interrupted, willing himself to stare sidelong at the man he had hired, "He lives all the same, and now Storm comes for you. You have made this very difficult for me, Tenedos."

"What more could I have done?!" Tenedos asked, incredulous and bemused in the same breath. "There isn’t a man amongst us who could have made that shot with Storm around, and it was impossible to get close to them. If we had, we’d be dead. You weren’t by his side then, but I saw them in action at Radasanth. I watched two men do things mortals should simply not be able to do. This was the only way to hit him, and we did." he declared. The tone behind the words shook Damascus right to his core; their employer had proven in the past he was not one to be argued with, and his partner, for all of his bravery, was doubtless walking on thin ice.

The cloaked figure smiled pityingly. "Yes, you did." He held up his hand, and a silver ring with a Brotherhood crest shimmered on his finger. It was red and black, just like the ones worn by the upper echelons of the Castigar hierarchy. "I suppose you did everything that could be expected of a pair of sewer rats from Radasanth. But it isn’t enough to stop the rot. Sadly, I only have one more use for you both now; corpses, for the coroner.”

"What?" Damascus asked in genuine disbelief.

"Shut your goddamned mouth, Arius!" Said the spunkier Tenedos, who had clearly now heard enough. He knew what was coming from the moment their boss had warped into the building, and he was damned if he was going to let this arrogant son of a bitch make the first strike. The mercenary stuck out the daggers, flipped them over and closed his eyes.

I don’t know if this is going to work, but I have to try.

“Senkai: Arashi no Ikari”

There was a long pause before Tenedos realised that nothing was happening. Frustrated and desperate, the mercenary helplessly opted for wide swing of the blades and met a wall of violet-blue feathers that billowed into place before it, negating the attack completely. With a simple wave of his hand, the hooded man slammed Tenedos sickeningly into the westernmost wall. By then, Damascus was already spinning through to a counterattack; a battering ram in the form of a clenched fist. It was dodged easily, and as the heavy set man blew by him the cloaked figure unleashed a stream of lightning that struck Damascus violently and threw him into the other wall.

The hooded man smiled as lightning from the window outside caught his spectacles, and thunder rumbled its agreement. Finally, a pair of smooth hands slipped from under his robes and folded the hood back, revealing the naked head of Arius Mephisto.

Shinsou’s trusted advisor turned to face to a writhing, groggy Tenedos and paced to him, pulling him up by his hair.

“So, when did you steal them from me?” Arius asked, an underlying anger present in his voice as his free hand summoned magnesium-white whorls of flame. “those daggers were created by Shinsou for Storm Veritas. They won’t work for just anyone.”

"Our second meeting in Radasanth. It was too easy, really. You have a habit of underestimating us, just a pair of sewer rats. Does that make you angry?" Tenedos asked him with a sneer on his face and hatred in his eyes. He spat a clot of blood at Arius’s feet.

Suddenly, a wounded but enraged Damascus burst from the ground, rotten floorboards ripping up in his wake. He closed in with another punch and Arius turned just in time to meet him in kind with a hard swing of the flame immolated hand. The tall mercenary slammed down a few feet away, rolled and came to rest at the broken window. His head lulled to one side and eyes rolled back into his head as the final vestiges of life ebbed away from his body.

“Damascus…” Tenedos, through bloodied lips, uttered his friend’s name as he witnessed his demise. Arius took off his cloak, revealing a white greatcoat tied about the waist with a black sash. It seemed to be in mockery of his leader, or perhaps a self-proclaimed symbol of his standing. Slowly, he walked back over to the muddled sellsword, and pulled his bloody, mottled hair back so that Tenedos’s eyes met his own. Gasping for breath, the mercenary glared through wincing eyes at his oppressor.

“What…do you…hope to gain…by betraying them?” The words were pursed, drawn out and spoken with every ounce of energy left in his body, but met only with a cold sneer by the Brotherhood second in command. Without warning, another magnesium-white flare burst into existence from Arius’s free hand and the resulting blast took off the right side of Tenedos Torr’s head, tearing away part of his neck and shoulder in the process. He collapsed to the floor in a bloodied, crumpled heap, the leftover momentum dragging him down on one side. Arius watched him on the way down, staring at the lifeless corpse.

Things hadn’t transpired the way he had planned, but Mephisto knew that events would lead to where he wanted them to go. And with another sneer, Arius deigned not to linger over it. He left the bodies where they fell and didn't bother watching as his arcane flames enveloped them, quickly disintegrating them into thin air.

The distant thunder once again pounded Tylmerande, and lightning struck again.

Fury drove the old wizard, who found himself moving with purpose and a swiftness he hadn’t felt in ten years. The creaks his knees and hips usually offered in disapproval of his efforts were conspicuously silent. With his hands and shirt still bloodied, people in the streets stole indirect stares, terrified of the rapidly moving villain as he pushed forward in defiance of the emerging rain. The packed dirt beneath him popped up, dusty puffs little explosions with each devastating droplet, leaving a thin cloud for Veritas to push westward through. The people about him, bustling to find shelter, were merely slowly moving obstacles, ones he sidestepped, outran, or even leapt as he pursued his goal.

Can’t let them reach the west gate; they won’t stay covered for long. Shit, they could be long gone by now. You waited too long.

Thunder surrounded him, a sort of metaphor that fueled him. Lightning struck to the north, a tremendous explosion that seemed in tune to his running. The Storm’s coming… he thought to himself, simultaneously lavishing in his own power and grimacing at the awful pun. Regardless, the glares at him had turned away towards his target. The chatter and hollers from people clearing the way before him began to turn as a singular, ordinary stucco building some two hundred yards from him flashed white with an audible bang. It was magic; the commotion leading many townfolk-idiots to surround the building in a loose, safe thirty foot perimeter. They were curious, but not stupid.

Storm didn’t need to examine the building to know it was his target; coincidences rarely existed upon Althanas. He also intuited that a simple knock on the front door would be a spectacularly bad idea, as he skidded to a halt some hundred yards from the sun-bleached white building. This was no fortress; by standing tall over the growing crowd, large gothic windows dotted all sides of the building, sad eyes letting in the natural light.

Not screwing with this wall of sad humanity. Last thing I need is another hero getting in my way.

East of the building was a smaller building, a flat-topped mixed-use building that doubled as a small grocer and home for a well-acquainted family. Without thinking, Veritas popped up in the air atop the roof, catching the eyes of only three or four citizens who were otherwise concerned with the ruckus before him. A few fingers pointed to the bounding electromancer, but he wouldn’t give them time to consider the implication of it all. In five long strides he was off the roof, somersaulting gracefully through the air and landing between the world’s most cowardly lynch mob and the target building. This was accompanied by a few gasps and whispers. He was frightened of what may lead ahead, but this fear was overwhelmed by anger. Resolute, Storm elected to blast a focused shot of electrical energy at the window as he leapt for it. Whomever was inside would likely be ready to fight.

Bring it. You’re fucking with the wrong bull today, my friend.

Obediently, the window exploded inward, leaving him a rough, slippery footing of broken glass and splinters. His hijacking of the action was met with relative quiet; the familiar scent of ozone mixing with the acrid, sour smell of blood and fire. Blood was everywhere, and a few tables had been overturned, glass dishes and plates shattered upon the oak hardwood floor. To his left, a tall, thin figure stood by the door. With a smooth, bald head and wide, toothy smile, Arius Mephisto held a devil’s grin for the intruder. He spoke without hesitation or fear, adjusting the Brotherhood ring on his finger.

“Lovely parlor trick, Mr. Veritas, but I’m happy to report the tandem of Tenedos and Damascus have been dealt with. You’re welcome. I took the liberty of cleaning up their loose ends, to avoid local investigative complications with our Brotherhood.” He gestured to the blood-stained floors, where the largest two concentrations of blood in a room of abject carnage was pouring between floorboards, leaving an ever-thinning puddle in their wake.

Bullshit. Nothing here feels right.

Storm paused for a moment. His instinct was distrust, but was he sure? Shinsou trusted Arius implicitly. How would this stranger have known where to go before he could get here? Who gave him authorization to kill the assassins, before their intentions were made clear? And since when did the city manager have magic? Sneering, Veritas felt his nostrils flare as all signs were pointing to the man before him.

“Relax.” Arius continued, barely looking up from the back of his hand as he smirked with confidence. “I can see your simple brain connecting the dots, we can cut to the chase. You two failed the Brotherhood in Radasanth, at the moment of our greatest opportunity. The Castigars should be sitting around the Council table of Radasanth Square, not squabbling for table scraps.”

Storm’s eyes pulsed white as his rage grew with the same exponential fury that had leveled literally hundreds of Radasanthian guards atop the western wall of Radasanth. He wouldn’t give Arius another word, and instead held up his hand to unleash hell.

Nothing.

Aghast, Veritas literally stumbled back at his sealed magic, a baby deer upon newfound legs. Arius merely smiled again, rubbing his thumb over the shining red jewel in his ring.

“I told you to relax, young man. Those lovely powers of yours have a place in the new world. Unfortunately, Shinsou was the merciful one; I knew that despite his power, his empathy would be our undoing. You can still be a hurricane, but for Vaan Osiris wastes his immense abilities whenever a friendly face throws doe-eyes at him.”

Storm had experienced enough of this. He had the kris dagger in his left hand, behind his back, and wouldn’t give Mephisto a moment to catch himself. With the speed of the cobra, the wizard whipped the knife across the room, through the smoky white cloud where Arius had just stood, before bouncing harmlessly off the door and sticking in the floor.

He had been bested, and there could only be one place that Arius was going. To finish the job. Storm moved to pick up the harmless looking knife, sheathing it in spite of shaking hands. His legs wobbled with fear and helplessness, as he struggled to soldier forth for the window once more. He had to create the mask of a bold face as he ventured out towards the spot that would need him to race.

Shinsou.

Rhovani’s ghost hadn’t yet withered when Shinsou stepped out of the smog of cloudy grey that enveloped their dreamscape. His breath, hot and heady, steamed from his cracked lips into the mists that wreathed the illusory road ahead and sighed.

“I don’t know how I got here, why I’m here, or even why you’re here,” Feeling their business was done, the Telgradian’s brown boots began to tread a crisp path away from the woman, who listened as Shinsou moved towards foothills on the horizon, “…but I do know this; this isn’t real, you aren’t real, and I don’t need the opinions of a phantom. I don’t belong here.”

He hadn’t a clue why he had decided to walk in that direction; perhaps something was subconsciously urging him to escape the hallucination that way, but nonetheless the Telgradian walked on as the beautiful form of the girl melted into the ether. Perhaps ten minutes after leaving Rhovani, he came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Beneath the scent of the heavy fog, beneath the aroma of barren lands, he caught the fleetest whiff of something else.

Blood.

There was a sudden, jarring disconnect with this strange world. The synapses in his brain wouldn’t let him place exactly what was wrong, but Shinsou felt a sudden jolt of pain in his chest, as if someone had slid a meat hook under his skin and was trying to hoist his body up via winch. He cried out in full voice; his scream of agony reverberating around the Telgradian wastes, and sunk to his knees. In the same movement he swiped at the invisible hook that tore at his chest, but could not get to the source of his pain. It was then Shinsou heard it; his heartbeat echoing, the world around him suddenly wordless and silent. Grey tendrils snaked through the world of formless fog that surrounded him before.

It was then that a white-cloaked figure rose from the shadows of the roadside. His familiar eyes gazed coldly at the Telgradian, but his otherwise masked features remained stoic.

“Arius?”


***

“Leave us,” Arius Mephisto declared to the Tylmerande medical staff, perching his wiry frame so that he sat at the same height as the bloodstained guerney. Without a second thought, the physicians quickly exited the room and left the wounded and drugged Shinsou Vaan Osiris in his care.

Seasoned and stained with centuries of spilled blood, the oak boards of the small medical facility’s floor groaned beneath the chair Mephisto leaned back on as he clutched the rudimentary chest drain pipe that had been set up to clear the Telgradian’s bullet wound. Having once been a medical student himself, Arius recognized the impressive amount of equipment that such a small town had at its disposal, and tapped the rubber-like pipe to show his appreciation.

“This really is cutting edge equipment, Shinsou. All Brotherhood funded, no doubt,” Gazing down, the right hand man could see the small hooks that attached the pipe to the anesthetized flesh of his leader, “It’s a shame it’s been squandered on you; there were far more at Radasanth deserving of its use. How many countless men died for our cause that could have used these facilities? Those people believed in the better world we were going to build, a world you threw away. You waste men, and you wasted our hopes. For what? The Faun? Storm? An easy peace? A quiet life?”

A simple tug at the apparatus encouraged a sea of red to leak from the barely conscious Shinsou’s bared chest. His cheeks, like pitted coal, clenched in slumber. Heaved air left his lungs as his heart sped up, trying to compensate for the blood loss. Funneling the his voice into the Telgradian’s ear, he slipped into spider-like tones as Mephisto drew closer, holding the bloodied, disconnected line in his right hand.

“This is the end of the line, my friend. We won’t allow you, or Storm, to demolish what we’ve built.”

He had entertained his own ego long enough. Arius knew Storm would soon be coming, and he knew further pronouncements would only serve to undo him. The blood-streaked hands of the Telgradian lay limply by their owner’s side as Mephisto finally stood, eyes locked onto the breathing tube that was maintaining Shinsou’s life, and started to methodically dismantle the apparatus. Tempered blue eyes watched as the metal connections between the air pipe failed, and a satisfying hiss echoed through the room. He upended half a cup of sterile liquid as the wily man spun to pull apart the last pieces of the medical equipment sustaining Shinsou vaan Osiris. There were no leering snickers accompanying his actions as he went; just a cold, matter-of-fact silence.

There was no need for a show. The Telgradian would soon be dead and Arius would be long gone before Storm got to him.

Well, at least you know the way.

Storm Veritas had grown old and haggard, but the magic-infused adventurer still had the ability to move like almost none other. The disappearance of Mephisto was simple enough; there was only one person that bald bastard would be going to visit. The wizard’s pursuit was not one of an old and broken limp, but rather a desperate dash. He started moving out of the smallish edifice, the crowd having gathered around terrified by his movement. The three-deep row circle of human stupidity that surrounded the stucco structure had begun to part like a paper slowly being torn apart, but the electromancer had no time for patience. From his low sprint, he bolted forward, lunging upward and driving his foot off the shoulder of some slow-moving mouth breather. There was a gasp and a collection of groans and yells at the rude maneuver, but nothing that would register above his singular focus. He would return to Shinsou, and he would kill Mephisto.

He’s a talker. Egomaniacs always talk. You’ve got a few seconds, even with his teleporting bullshit.

The sprint was fast and liquid, his movements smooth, fluid, and driving muddy earth behind him with each pounding foot. Cleverly, he decided to fly there, using his metal soled-shoes to his advantage. With a strong electric pulse under-toe, he was catapulted fifty feet ahead, at a speed that was simply astonishing. He repeated this move through the street three or four times, rocketing ahead and accumulating speed. His knees and hips ached at the force; the old body yielding at the joints and tendons. The final burst sent him rocketing into the closed front door of the small hospital, shattering the wood and sending a dull ache all across the right side of his body, which he had narrowly pivoted to absorb the impact. The wave of pain was fast coming, but there was no time to reflect.

Instead, horrified employees merely yelped at the splintering by their front door, their eyes darting back and forth from the front door to the room some twenty feet ahead on his right. Without a word, the tired wizard huffed forward, his lungs burning as he came ahead low and smoothly. From the corridor, he could see only a vacant section of Shinsou’s room, but the explosive entrance had certainly betrayed any opportunity for surprise. One exasperated nurse, a pretty but chubby blonde, held the flat of her hand up to Storm, holding two fingers down by the flat edge as a signal. Silently, an appreciative nod to the brave little ball of dough.

He’s against the wall. Ambush.

Unsure of Shinsou’s position, the notion of blasting the entire room to liquid hell with his electricity was out, so Veritas opted for a simpler solution. His heart still racing, he leapt ahead, tumbling nimbly into the room in a neat somersault. Crossing the threshold he was met with nothing but the smell of rubbing alcohol, followed by a sizzle-crack of lightning that had just missed above him. Spinning on the floor, Storm Veritas pushed forward a hand to pulse his own sizzling electric justice at Mephisto. Unfortunately, nothing was produced.

SHIT! Too many of those burst-jumps must have worn me down. Just a few seconds should do it.

Arius Mephisto looked down his aquiline nose with a wide and twisted grin, his bald head shining by the nearby gaslight. His hands had been outstretched, lowered to his waist, and he stepped forward slightly as he readjusted the large ring on his left hand with a sneer.

“Impressive speed for an old man. If you had been that brave in Radasanth, we’d be sipping wine in the Capitol, wouldn’t we?!” The speech was deliberate, controlled, and gentle, a sort of relaxed tone unbefitting the situation. Even more foolishly, he had stepped in front of a doctor’s table, putting himself between Storm Veritas and a tray full of sharp and pointy metal things.

Goddamned amateurs. Not everyone deserves this gift.

Storm reached his fingers out now, a few seconds rest restoring his strength to pull the scalpel through the monologuing fool. Arius’s eyebrows arched with surprise horror, only to be followed by a return to the same snarl.

“Nice try, but I’m a whole host of horrors you didn’t bother to check in on. No one uses magic on my watch but me. You two were too damned busy staring in mirrors and running from battle to see my growth; I’ve been stronger every day since that meteor missed us. Your time is OVER!”

He fired another bolt at the greying magician, who leapt to his left to escape disaster. Without his magic propulsion, Storm was slower now, feeling a horrible burn in his left ankle as he rolled behind the bed which held a still unconscious but visibly very much alive Shinsou. Unintentionally, he had put his friend in the crossfire. Worse, getting hit with lightning fucking hurts.

“I was just disconnecting a couple tubes here and there, figured I’d leave an easier cleanup over here for the orderlies. Figured Shin had at least tried, so I’d put him away gently. I guess not.” Arius was taunting now as Storm peeked under the bed, spying his toes turned to Vaan Osiris.

Got to hurt him and get him away.

It was a poor plan, but the only one available, and Storm kicked over the bedside table opposite Mephisto. He then lunged under the bed as the shattering porcelain lamp caught Arius’ attention, slashing feebly at the ankles of his newfound enemy. The [i]kriss[i] dagger had found its way into Storm’s hands almost automatically, and did a nice job of carving a single crimson mark across the front of both shins. Arius instinctively stepped back, assessing the superficial damage. Sliding out from the bed on the side of Arius, Storm swiped once more as he rolled forward, missing as he tumbled into the hallway off his right foot. Another vicious blast of that sweet, sweet electricity rocked the doorjamb behind him, sending a splinter of wood into the skin on his back.

There was no time to create distance to escape Mephisto’s seal, and no way to get near enough to him to save Shinsou. The end had come.

Arius wiped his beaten brow with a white sleeve soaked with the Telgradian’s blood, a memento for his hand in Shinsou's 'surgery', and stood menacingly over the exhausted Storm Veritas with a slight smirk. Today had been an excellent day. It had come sooner than expected, but he was holding all of the cards, including the card that told you how to play. The electromancer lay broken at his feet; perhaps not physically, but spiritually. He could tell. Those determined, resolute eyes no longer burned with defiance, but dimmed in defeat as his friend Shinsou slowly bled to death, out of reach, on the gurney. As Arius knelt beside the finery clad wizard, mindful of his own cut shins, he extended out his fist and pressed the Castigar signet hard into Storm’s cheek as a final insult, gritting his teeth between words.

“Beneath the bluster, and the bravado, you’re just a bag of fucking meat,” Arius whispered into Veritas’s ear, “Take the greatest mage, strip away their power and what remains? Watch as they try to cope, and you’ll see nothing more than a mere man, woman…a child. ”

A click of his fingers caused the cramped medical room to erupt with an ear-splitting crack, as the portal from earlier tore itself open. On command, dozens of red needles burst into life from the recesses of the ocean blue membrane as a crude imitation of Shinsou’s Enpera Kurohitsugi made itself known. The sudden summoning of crimson lances hung, frozen, within the portal, awaiting a command. Storm’s soured expression told Arius everything he wanted to hear.

“I was going to wait, but I thought it’d be a fitting end. This is Shinsou’s favourite spell, no? A tribute, so to-”

Before he could finish the sentence, an object dropped at his feet with a sickening thunk. It was a single, fleshy digit with a silver signet ring adorning its base.

His digit, with his ring.

The pain didn’t come instantly; a side-effect of the anti-interrogation “escape and evade” techniques that he had learned during his time in the Brotherhood to become more resistant to torture, but after a second or two the former number two screamed. It felt like his whole right hand had been dipped in molten lava, and as he instinctively tried to grab at the wound, he heard the sizzle of scolding flesh and instantly pulled back. Arius’s left hand had just wrapped around something caustic, and as a sickly smouldering odour filled the air and waves of nauseating pain flowed and ebbed through his arms, his eyes swivelled to meet the pale, surprisingly awake face of Shinsou Vaan Osiris staring hazily up at him with unfocused, dreary and fatigued eyes. Arius’s features twisted into a feral snarl, the single blade of dark matter from the Telgradian’s shaking hand still glistening, slick and wet from his blood.

“You…” Shinsou said, voice trembling as he struggled for air and fought unconsciousness, “…cunt…”

Deliberately, as quickly as he could summon the energy to do so, Storm took the opportunity to kick low, knocking the severed finger and iron bangle back under Shinsou’s blood-soaked gurney. The electromancer almost crumbled with the effort it took out of his body.

“This isn’t over; seal or no,” Arius replied, languid and arrogant. Through vision that seemed as if everything he could see was an oil painting that had run, Shinsou noticed his former friend’s features seemed more twisted than before, somehow sculpted to be more intimidating than he had previously appeared. His eyes glinted with a deep green hue; angry in the portal’s light. For all purposes he might have been a ghost, or a spectre, save for the blood dripping down his side that glistened very, very real.

Slowly, and with a scream, Arius peeled away from the dark matter blade that had pinned him in place and quickly spun. Shinsou’s involuntary gasp, as the force of the movement jarred his muscles and caused more blood to seep from his grievous wound, harboured both agony and fear. He grimaced, clutching at his chest as he tried to grasp the final throes of consciousness, not really knowing his own life hung delicately in the balance.

“You’re going nowhere, you traitorous shit!” Storm cried at his adversary, drunkenly sliding his splintered body up the emulsioned wall of the room in attempt to right himself. Without his ring, Arius would be vulnerable, and Veritas knew he only had a split second to act. “You’re done. I will…”

“Too late.” Arius interrupted him, winking lightly as Shinsou’s arms fell to his side, limp and frightened. Storm’s gaze flicked from him to the Telgradian, and there it froze as the mortality of their situation became ever more apparent. Taking advantage of the electromancer’s hesitance immediately, Arius quickly stepped away from them, his feet light upon the blood-slickened wood panels, and the dozens of gleaming needles hanging in the portal immediately gave way to his body. The ageing wizard caught on to his sudden move to escape, tried to move trickily, almost slithering in front of the portal ahead of Arius, but lost a step as the fatigue in his legs folded his muscles.

A final desperate shout echoed throughout the room, but as Arius phased through the gateway and snapped out of reality, the pair were suddenly all alone.

Everything had happened quickly to the wizard, who now lay supine on the wooden floor with his hands resting on his temples, fingers intertwined in the sweat-soaked silver that lay above his head. The thin hands were riddled with veins; Storm would reason it was the gift of dehydration that afforded this appearance, ignoring the elephant in the room that he had grown old while no one was looking. Arius was so close; a younger, quicker version of himself would have recovered his magic and blasted the traitorous wretch into a blackened spray of meat, bone and burnt hair. It was only now, moments later, that he could feel the magic finally returning stronger with each rapid thump of his heart.

Damned lot that does you now.

“You’re welcome…” a weak voice offered from the bed above. Shinsou had reawakened, through some fortunate combination of magic and pain-induced shock. Veritas stood to see his old running mate, and his eyes betrayed an attempt at optimism. Shinsou had been bled significantly; long slashes in the arms and legs and across the belly. Arius had been filleting him before the wizard arrived.

Shinsou offered a weak smile as his friend’s hand came over to rest on his shoulder. Bandages wrapped the parts of him that were wounded by the old gunfire, but he would need to be wrapped for the tomb to give him sufficient coverage to bind his fresh wounds.

“Hang tight. I can cauterize the fresh cuts, but I can’t have you passing out from the pain. Already lost you once.” Storm spun to the door, his tenor changing entirely as he yelled at the terrified employees of the little hospital.

”We’re clear in here! We need help, have an injured man! HELP!”

A few brave eyes slowly appeared around the entrance of the room where the little war had been waged. The nurse was scared, but the eyes of Storm Veritas told her that she was welcomed and needed. Peering around the room once more, she stepped through the doorway, gasping at the wreckage of a man that was before her on the bed. Barely five feet tall, the dark skinned woman of sixty-ish waddled quickly as she hollered.

“Ginna! Bailey! Stephens! Hurry!” her small, sharp voice registered her urgency as she raced to reconnect tubes and little wires and fluids. She scrambled with bandages, asking Storm to compress wounds before a couple of other orderlies arrived to assist. A flurry of questions, tests, chest compressions and breaths. They would scramble, piercing Veritas with a needle and a tube that ran from his arm to his friend. The scarlet fluid flowed quickly, the thin, watery blood devoid of any little flickers of fluorescence or visible magic that they had secretly hoped to see. Time passed quickly, and it would be morning when Shinsou would wake up to a familiar voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you.” Storm bit his lip to avoid a tremble in his voice; Vaan Osiris was still barely a whiter shade than the bedsheet had once been. Even by Telgradian standards, Shinsou looked like a wraith. Still, the friends had been through horrors, and knew what each could endure.

“Seriously, thank you.” Storm continued, grinning wickedly as he looked down, gently tapping his back for the splinter that was fortunately big enough to get his fingers on. With a quick pull and a grunt, it was out. “I was laying there, thinking how old and slow and weak these old bones have gotten. It softens the blow to stand and see you here, looking like you died six months ago.”

“Also, you were in a pinch there, talking all sorts of High Telgradian nonsense and about to bleed out. They asked me a bunch of questions and ended up giving you my blood. If it burns when you pee, you’re welcome.”

A slightly heartier laugh came from the bed, and the men would talk. Cleaning crews would work, kind nurses checking and bringing food, and the pair discussed Mephisto. Shinsou knew him far better, filling in Storm with some background and details. Police would come, debating on how to do their job in the eyes of the Lords of the city, balancing an air of responsibility with not bothering their ultimate bosses.

Whatever. Do your jobs. Train your people better. Lock this place up.

Storm cared little for Tylermande as the sun poured in the window to the room where so much blood had been spilled. His friend was alive, and that was good. Arius Mephisto was alive, and that was bad.

…And that is temporary.

Quote:

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Three days later

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Ginna once again changed the bandages and got the puckered flesh underneath back under control with a couple of stitches, but Shinsou really didn’t care about the bullet wound anymore. The Telgradian's worrying about his own wellbeing had its limits, and those were reached the moment Arius's betrayal had not only been directed at him, but also towards the lithe electromancer who had put himself in harm's way to save his sorry backside. Luckily, Storm was an altogether different breed; able to not only keep that bastard Mephisto at bay long enough for the Telgradian to wake up, but also smart enough to save his life with a blood transfusion.

As he turned his head to look at his friend, who was busy filling his pipe with cherry tobacco with every intention of disregarding the public health rules, Shinsou hid a smile. When they had first met, Osiris hadn't taken to him well; he was regularly drunk, out of shape, cold and selfish. He had never doubted the man's deadly abilities, but had been concerned about how fruitful a partnership based entirely on money and power could be, especially one with a person of Storm's infamous approach to life.

But then, something changed. As time passed, the Telgradian saw something underneath that whiskey soaked cotton-guard of insecurities. Beneath all of the finery, the money, the hustling, the shit-eating grins and the womanising, there was something that set this man apart from anyone else. Firstly, he was truly powerful. Shinsou often felt that staring into his eyes was like staring into the heart of the Tap, and although he was loathe to admit it the Telgradian was some way away from Storm's true level. He knew his friend often thought himself as ageing into the obsolete, but the Telgradian knew only the opposite was true. Secondly, there was a tremendous amount of loyalty rooted deep beneath the façade of misogyny and chauvinism. Shinsou never got much chance to discuss personal matters with Storm, but he knew that the electromancer had very few personal friends and was lucky enough to count himself amongst them.

That thought immediately led the Telgradian to darker ponderings as his thoughts fled to the pain that Arius had inflicted on them both and the humiliation he had inflicted on their Brotherhood. Still struggling to equalize his hasty breathing from the pain of his wound, Shinsou sat up on his bed and spoke to Storm, who was now leaning out of a window to puff.

"He's declared war on us. Unluckily for him, we've got his ring, and I'm not going to stop hunting that little shit until he's just a puddle of grease and regret at our feet. Anyone who tries to stop us..."

"Yeah," Storm muttered under a breath of sweet vapour, "I've seen that look in your eyes before. We'll nail him, don't you worry."

Veritas could see it in the Telgradian's face. What he felt now was rage, but not an outwardly violent manifestation of it. No; this was a seething, simmering anger that lay beneath the surface. Right now, everything could burn and crumble to ash around him if it meant he got to have a stab at Mephisto. The man had made Shinsou look a fool for trusting him, and had humiliated him. That was a mistake.

“That reminds me,” Shinsou tried to sit up further, rubbing his hand over his aching chest, "You saw that dagger, right? The one you cut him with? He was holding onto that for you. It's a gift from me; one of a pair. I was going to give them to you before our card game got interrupted for this shit."

A whiff of wind swept over them from the window as Shinsou beckoned for one of the nurses to hand him a pouch from a nearby dresser. As he unbuttoned the black leather, the Telgradian drew the pair of silver Kris daggers out, twirling them, before offering them hilt sides to Storm.

“These are Senkei weapons,” he said, looking up at his face. “Much like my Enpera, they will bond with you over time. I had them tailored to you, so they have a particular affinity with electricity, but I have no idea how their powers will develop; that bit is up to the wielder. These weapons don't exist outside of Telgradia, and you are the first person to receive one who isn't of the blood, so don't fucking break them or melt them down into dental fillings.”

Storm seemed reluctant at first, but after another gust of wind swept through the medical bay, nodded his appreciation and holstered them. After another set of instructions came from the nurse about his pain medication, a messenger knocked on the door and greeted Shinsou with a letter, all the while being glared into oblivion by the electromancer.

"Can't you see he's resting? Get the fuck out of here! Whatever it is can wait." Veritas said, his eyes not at all betraying his ferocious snarl.

"It's okay, Storm," Shinsou raised an apologetic hand, "I'll read it."

As the Telgradian sat on the edge of his bed while all the necessary items were procured by the attending nurse, Shinsou's eyes flitted from word to word hastily. Before long, the letter was folded back into neat quarters and placed on the dresser.

“Philomel heard about what happened here, and is assigning me one of her "Gilded Quint" as my bodyguard as a 'gesture of goodwill', which according to the terms of the armistice with the Assembly, I have no choice on,” Shinsou said, struggling to contain his annoyance. "Who is leaking this shit up north? Can nobody keep their fucking mouth shut?"

“In other words, she and the assembly want to keep an eye on us after what happened at Radasanth. That's my guess.” It didn't take Storm three seconds to point out the obvious. "I wonder how she'll react when she finds out there's a rogue Brotherhood murdering wizard on the loose?"

“Well, I can't wait to find out." Shinsou said, sarcasm marinating his tone. He got up and stood beside Veritas, clapping a hand on his back as the pair looked out of the window to dusk’s orange glow. "I don't think we'll be getting a certificate of commendation from Radasanth, though."

As it poured out across the shimmering seas that lay beyond the piers and fishing boats, Shinsou's mind could only focus on Arius Mephisto. Where was he now, and what was the piece of scum up to? There was no way of knowing when, but the Telgradian knew their paths would cross again soon. When they did, he would be sure to pay the bastard back ten fold for what he had done.

Thread Name: Old dogs, new tricks.
Thread Type: Quest
Participants: Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas
Full Rubric Judgment

Opening Remarks
Another dynamic adventure from Althanas' family friendly, feel-good odd couple!

Just kidding. I really enjoyed the liquor-swilling, card-playing opening and the mysterious nature of the cat-and-mouse game that followed. Can I use more hyphens? No, no I cannot. My favorite aspect of this thread was the characters and the way you brought them to life, but more on that later!

Plot: 21/30
Overall the plot felt powerful and well developed. I don't know how much planning you put into this, but it seemed as though you definitely put some forethought and preparation into this storyline. Points where I think you could improve include setting the tone and managing pacing. The gunshot came as a complete surprise to me, which may have been your intent, but I feel it would have been better served with a little more foreshadowing. As for the pacing, it was smooth at times but got rocky through the action sequences, so I'll touch more on that later.

Story: 7/10
Story is definitely a strength for both of you; you both know how to spin a compelling yarn, and your unique skillsets complement each other well. The reveal of the big bad perpetrator was well executed, especially by comparison to the gunshot, which as I mentioned seemed to come out of nowhere. On that note, while the intro was completely in character and enjoyable to read it took rather too long to get to the hook. Up until the gunshot, I was honestly wondering if this was just going to be a thread about how cool Shin and Storm are (which I probably still would have enjoyed). That said, a little foreboding in the air would have gone a long way to setting up the shot, and I think you could have found an inciting incident earlier in the story.

Setting: 8/10
Another strength for both of you, and one of the most enjoyable factors about this story. It did an excellent job of playing in and around current Althanas events, and bringing elements of the world to life. I felt immersed in the scenery as the characters moved from the one spot to the next, and those transitions were executed smoothly. You also did a superb job of using setting interaction to demonstrate the force of your characters' abilities. Even Shinsou's time spent outside of reality was well written, which can be a difficult task (after all, how do you write a lack of setting?).

The two things that stopped this score from being higher were the fact that your descriptions bogged the action down at times, and there were a few references that seemed a bit outside the context of Corone. For example, after Shin is injured Storm refers to him being kept alive by some "incredible machines". The presence of a firearm was somewhat surprising as well, although a little more common place. In any case, I think it would have benefited the thread to include some explanation as to the origin of these technologies, even if just a passing reference to dark elves. This thread was very Corone/Brotherhood focused, which is fine, but you don't get top scores without being a bit ambitious.

Pacing: 6/10
Still a strong area generally, but definitely the weakest in this category. As I mentioned above the main action took too long to get going, and once things did get rolling they got bogged down on occasion by meaty descriptions that did a lot of telling instead of showing. I'll grab a couple examples to show you what I mean:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Storm

It was only a few moments later that the door from the room adjacent to Shinsou’s unfortunate quarters was opened again. The door opened in with a gentle creak, exposing the wizard who had finished his interrogative work. He appeared a bimodal disaster; well dressed with sharp creases in his suit offset by his hair uncharacteristically messy, sweat stains forming in the center of his chest and at his armpits. Most notably, blood was spattered across his clothing in seemingly errant streaks, six or seven slashes of crimson and battery orange-brown across his knuckles, suit, and shoes. There was no sound behind him coming from the room, the fate of the salesmen seemed to have been terrible.

---

This is just one thick paragraph of the narrator telling the reader information. You start off by mentioning that the door opened twice before introducing the subject of that action, Storm. Most of what follows is passive, adjective-filled description that does nothing to move the plot forward. It's fine to do a little review at the beginning of a post to throw the reader a bone, but you could have done so much more effectively with one or two succinct sentences.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Shinsou

The portal behind the cloaked enigma died away with a whimper. Outside, heavy, cumbersome rainclouds had rolled in from the north and before long raindrops heavily rang a thousand staccato beats across the Tylmerande architecture. Damascus shuffled uncomfortably as the sound of an arcane hum grew ever louder, and Tenedos bounced on his heels as the vibrations of unknown magics started to manifest all around him. It was power, raw power, stemming from their employer. The hooded figure momentarily closed his eyes, shut out the empty pit in his stomach and focused on the pair in front of him, enough that when he spoke, it came out with a straight, unwavering voice.

---

There's some really pretty descriptive language in here, but it's delivered fairly clumsily. First sentence? Beautiful. Second sentence? Triply redundant. Heavy, cumbersome, and heavily all mean the same thing in this context, and you're doubling and tripling up on adjectives where strong verbs would suit you so much better. Also I had to re-read the last sentence of this paragraph a couple times because you refer to his voice as "it" without being clear what "it" refers to.

Character: 23/30
You both know your characters very well, and it shows in every interaction and piece of dialogue. I really enjoyed getting to see these two (anti?)heroes put through the ringer, but I do have a few pointers so I'll get on to the categories.

Communication: 9/10
Without a doubt the strongest aspect of the writing from both of you. Both of your main characters, and even Arius and most of the secondary cast had distinctive enough ways of talking that I might have guessed who was speaking without needing the tags. You both use external and internal dialogue well with consistent vocabularies, and also employ strong elements of body language to bolster the things your characters say.

Since I just finished raking you over the coals in the last category, let's highlight some of your finer moments as well:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Storm

Can’t let them reach the west gate; they won’t stay covered for long. Shit, they could be long gone by now. You waited too long.

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I love the decisive darkening of his thoughts in this passage. At first we have a glimmer of hope, but then a cloud of solidifying smog obscures it, hardened with a helping of self-blame. Well done.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Shin

“I don’t know how I got here, why I’m here, or even why you’re here,” Feeling their business was done, the Telgradian’s brown boots began to tread a crisp path away from the woman, who listened as Shinsou moved towards foothills on the horizon, “…but I do know this; this isn’t real, you aren’t real, and I don’t need the opinions of a phantom. I don’t belong here.”

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The last two sentences are utterly Shinsou; I can't think of a character more likely to express disdain towards a ghost's audacity. The use of Arius was also very strong and consistent across both of your posts.

Action: 6/10
There were moments of action that I really enjoyed, because you both know your characters so well there are bound to be beautiful segments of motion. But for the most part I felt like the physical action dragged, especially by comparison to the dialogue.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Storm

Fury drove the old wizard, who found himself moving with purpose and a swiftness he hadn’t felt in ten years.

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This is a great example because everything before the comma is great and everything afterwards is not so great. Firstly, anytime you say something like "who found himself" you need to consider reordering your phrasing. You could just as easily have said "who moved" and it would have been an improvement. Second, you go on to describe a powerful physical action with multiple adjectives and no verbs (I'm not counting felt.) I'd be much more interested to hear about his feet impacting the ground, his heart thundering in his chest etc than the fact that he's moving with "purpose and a swiftness". Instead of telling me what he's doing, show me what it looks, feels, and sounds like.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Shin

Deliberately, as quickly as he could summon the energy to do so, Storm took the opportunity to kick low, knocking the severed finger and iron bangle back under Shinsou’s blood-soaked gurney. The electromancer almost crumbled with the effort it took out of his body.

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Similar issues here; the last sentence is strong except for the word "almost". Excepting cases where things need to literally almost happen, you should pretty much strike that from your non-dialogue vocabulary in prose. There's no reason Storm couldn't have actually crumbled here (it might have been more poignant) or he could have done something slightly less dramatic like sagging against the wall. The very first part of the first sentence is the big problem. It starts with an adjective, which doesn't provide any information until after the reader gets to the subject of the sentence. "Quickly" is another word which you should avoid using 95% of the time, it's an especially weak adjective which actually does the opposite of what what it's supposed to do. Any time you use the word "quickly" it takes the reader longer to get to what actually happens, which means the pacing is slower. It's almost like saying "very". And Storm didn't need to "take the opportunity" to kick low... he should have just kicked low.

Persona: 8/10
Very strong here again, although at times the same types of problems that weakened your action got in the way of really fluid personas. If you guys had applied the same type of focus and execution to your scene writing as you did to your dialogue, setting, and story then this thread would have definitely been in the JC range. As it is I have a feeling it will fall a bit shy, but I hope that will do the opposite of discourage you. The dedication that you both bring to your characters and your use of language is really remarkable and enjoyable to read.

Prose: 22/30

Mechanics: 7/10
The biggest thing I noticed was that Storm had a broken italics tag in one of his posts. Other than that there weren't a lot of errors, but I did notice more than you can get away with (which is pretty much zero). If you're not proofreading each others posts you really should, and remember to read back out loud to yourselves when editing.

Clarity: 7/10
While I could make the argument that everything was quite clear generally speaking, the lags in the pacing and action hampered my overall picture of the story at times. In order to get to the next level, you both need to take a closer look at how you're writing action, specifically with more showing, less telling, and less adjectives. A good example which I already referenced is Storm saying that the door opened twice before letting the reader know who opened it. I can't think of a good reason to write a phrase that way other than that that's how it initially occurred to you... but that's what review and editing is for.

Technique: 7/10
I went back and forth between a 7 and 8 here because you both create really beautiful imagery. However I don't feel like you're executing all of your your literary devices at the highest level; in order to do so, pay careful attention to my advice earlier on. Get rid of meaningless commas, phrases, and words and you'll be left with lean, expertly crafted prose.

Wildcard: 8/10
I apologize if the commentary is a little light towards the end, but the truth is you're both advanced writers who need to go back to the basics in order to achieve high-level improvement. If it seems like I'm saying things you've heard before, it's probably because you've gotten a little too comfortable breaking some of the rules that govern strong writing. There's nothing wrong with a little passive voice or purple prose here or there, but if those elements start to take over the story or get used in the wrong places, it brings down the overall quality of the piece and a reader's ability to enjoy it.

In the end though, a fantastic story well woven. I wish you would let me in on more of your epic planning sessions. No fair no fair.

Total 76/100

Shinsou gains 2500 EXP and 160 GP
Storm gains 2400 EXP and 150 GP

Congratulations, and thank you for writing on Althanas! Lets make some more adventures.

All rewards added.

Shock me like an electric eel,
Storm levels up with that electric feel.

Welcome to having character so powerful, everyone thinks it's unfair :cool:.