Flashback It All Comes Crashing

[Roan Mayfall]

Disclaimer: This thread takes place before Roan takes up that name. He is still called Claus in during this thread and the man who will later be his mentor is called Roan. 13th day of Spring, 513 AV South of Sunberth off the Syliran coast “It seems Zulrav and Semele are havin' a spat.” the captain said with a dismal look in his eyes. “Get yer father and get to the deckhouse boy. Now.” His spirited smirk shriveled into a scowl; his felicitous storytelling came to an abrupt end. Just moments earlier he'd been enthusiastically bragging about his journeys to Claus. The tales he spun were dubious at best, but the rugged old seaman had been in this trade for over two decades. Though utterly lost, Claus knew to listen. He acknowledged the urgency and hastily scrambled to do as he was told. As fast as his legs permitted, Claus raced around the ship. He spotted his father calmly smoking a pipe by the stern. While still in motion Claus shouted. “Hurry father! The captain told us to take shelter in the deckhouse.” The young man's father didn't stir; his gaze stood fixed on the gently churning tides. He slowly took a long drag of the pipe and didn't quicken a chime on the exhale. “Why?” He asked with his eyes still firmly on the water. “Well...I honestly don't know.” Claus confessed. The waves gently rolled and the clouds innocently formed wispy white streaks across clear skies—it didn't seem different from the other days at sea. His father couldn't help but shake his head with a sigh—not in a slow way as if saying “no”, but in a waggling way that might shake the irritation from his brain should he get lucky. His contemptuous gaze met his son's at last; he couldn't avoid it any longer. “Let's go. The captain knows the ocean well.” Claus's father was a longtime friend of the captain and wouldn't question his authority, the disdain was solely directed at his son. The two made their way to the deckhouse in silence. Once inside, Claus settled into a hammock strung between wooden beams and his father sat in a chair on the opposite end of the room; conversation clearly wasn't welcome. Not 30 chimes of silence passed before the hammock began to softly sway. Claus's thoughts interrupted his book, he laid its open pages on his chest to mark his place and stared at the ceiling. “Is this what the captain anticipated? He sure loves to exaggerate. Or perhaps the world he experiences is different from mine; it could be that he isn't exaggerating at all. In fact, are my experiences truly in line with those of the people around me? They probably are. How else would we even remotely agree on our senses? The problem may lie instead in language. Language is rather fickle and a rightly subjective construct. Maybe it's-” An ominous howl brought the young man's thoughts to an unforeseen conclusion. The wind came to life with remarkable vigor. It battered the ship with the unrelenting persistence of a starving man cracking open a coconut. The vessel heaved and tossed in the rising swell, her frame groaned with every blow from the liquid hammers. Plucked from his seat, Claus's father slid across the room in a blur. Though muted by the storm's dissonant roars, he crashed into the door with a loud thud. Before he could curse his luck he was forced to scramble for the beam's safety; the impact provided the wind with the assistance it needed to pry open the door. Torn from its hinges as if they were made of paper, the cabin's door was snatched by the ravaging gusts. Those two inches of wood had been acting as a veil of hope for the father and son duo. To these naive scholars, with no perception of the sea's horrors, it had maintained some semblance of order on the ship and cast the illusion that this was just turbulence. Now that it was gone the madness on deck became a reality. From a door frame sized peephole Claus watched sailors run to and fro as rain came down on their heads like daggers. A sinister backdrop of heavy black clouds with crackling lightning eclipsed the sky. Towering waves rhythmically fell on deck, their ferocious jowls snatched up unfortunate sailors, their might caused the ship to keel then straighten. The captain marched across deck towards the now exposed cabin while barking orders, his confident steps reflected his ample experience. The term sea legs took on a new meaning for Claus. As the ship violently swayed the captain adjusted accordingly and when the waters came crashing he braced himself; it was as if he had a sixth sense. Clutching the door frame for stability, the captain yelled at the helpless pair. “Don't be sittin' there slack jawed ya fools, get outta 'ere! She won't be survivin' this.”

[Roan Mayfall]

Claus laid there staring in a trance; his mental gears were in motion. A lifetime of comfort hadn't exposed him to the realities of life: the terror, the confusion, the anguish, the thrill. His lips began curling into a smile. Claus enjoyed this to the very core of his being. “You better be coming with us Noah!” Hearing his father address the captain returned Claus to his senses. The old seaman's eyes were dull as he shook his head. “A mariner never deserts 'is ship. Get inta a lifeboat and pray to Laviku.” His pride manifested itself in his tone. He confidently looked death in the eyes—this was a culmination of his life's endeavors. Claus burst from the swinging cocoon like an animated corpse. His book fell to the floor and immediately slid away with the ship's unpredictable motions. His father let out a sigh and steeled his heart; trying to convince the captain was an exercise in futility. “Let's go.” He commanded not giving Claus an opportunity to interject. Claus's father rose to his feet while using the beam to steady himself. He hurried past Noah as soon as a lull in the tremors allowed; Claus followed suit. “Best of luck to ya boy.” The captain mouthed as the storm's dreary mantle consumed Claus, spitting at him with its frigid shower. Both father and son slowly stumbled across the deck; never had 50 paces been so strenuous. Darkness enveloped the world around them. Screams, bangs, cracks, booms. Cacophony was the only manner of sound to be heard. The duo latched onto the lifeboat as it came within arm's reach—fear of being swept away from it consumed their minds. They lowered it into the deathly waters below with the synergy of warring nations. As they made contact with the violent tides their tiny raft was promptly swept away. There was something amusing about escaping a sinking ship in a smaller, more fragile version of it, but Claus couldn't quite put his finger on it. The tiny lifeboat was at the mercy of the capacious sea. Claus's knuckles whitened as he clasped his seat to keep from being swallowed by the ravenous tides. Dizziness and nausea laid their roots as salt water forced itself into his lungs and mouth. Between coughs and dry heaves childhood memories flashed through his mind. He vividly remembered putting ants into bottles and shaking them about—perhaps this was some form of karmic irony. The ship they'd just abandoned was visible when the waves allowed it. From their lifeboat's asylum, both father and son watched the ragged vessel's final moments play out. It rose with the swell, its bow pointed skywards, and with the ghastly squeak of timber, it disappeared. The captain, the sailors, all of them, they were all dead and it happened so fast. This was a testament to the fragility of human life. The sea's ruthless whims didn't allowing for mourning; their meager raft was overwhelmed and capsized. Squeezing their lifeboat as it tumbled was all Claus and his father could do. As they wallowed in the darkness time became a blur; maintaining a vice grip and a modicum of hope occupied their entire being. Gradually the ocean calmed and the pair only needed to drape their battered bodies over the raft's buoyant skeleton. Exhausted and lost, their strategy stayed stagnant. The currents would decide their destination—their fate was in the palm of Ovek's six fingered hand. When his will reached a threshold and conscience began to fade, something bumped Claus's leg. Then it happened again, this time unraveling the loose knot Claus had formed with his arms around the lifeboat. His head fell below the water, his body was limp. The prospect of death didn't seem too bad; it felt like being dragged along a rocky shore. In fact, it was exactly like being dragged along a rocky shore... In a sudden rush of energy Claus oriented himself, planted his feet, and burst out of the water gasping for air. His limbs had forgotten how to do anything except the finite tasks he'd needed for sustaining himself during the hellish trial and so it took him a moment to make another move. He trudged towards land and collapsed into its dry, rocky embrace—his father played out a similar scene. With less than a chime of relaxation, Claus turned on his side and in a single revolting motion let loose a surge of yellow seawater carrying the remnants of his last meal. As he purged the vile smelling liquid from his body his sanity reformed. While laying in his own vomit, Claus fell into a deeper sleep than any in his life.

[Roan Mayfall]

Claus partially opened his eyes. The sun was starting to make its way over the horizon and the air was cool with the sea breeze. His blurry vision revealed several humanoid figures. While slowly making sense of the world around him, Claus recognized one of their voices. “Please spare me. My research is near a breakthrough and it'll change everything! Take him instead. He's young, healthy, and intelligent. Y-You'll get a great price.” “Hmmm, ya make a good case.” Gathering his wits, Claus finally opened his eyes fully to see his father grovelling on hands and knees to a band of roguish men. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors and numbered about nine total. Claus's clarity came just in time for him to see an impish little man missing an ear and an eye walk over and sit on his back. He grabbed Claus by the hair and yanked his head up; the weight on Claus's weary body rendered him incapable of struggling. “Look 'ere boss, this'n 'as a pretty face. Ain't he?” The impish man said blithely. A Cheshire grin crossed his mangled face from ear to missing ear as he put Claus's face on display. “Yer right.” Affirmed a massive man with a gut of matching proportion; though not cut, this man was clearly very strong. His bald head reflected the sunlight and his braided beard, falling just below his chest, was studded with small jewels. The rest of this band of misfits followed his orders. “Awright, we're takin' the boy.” “Oh thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Whimpered Claus's father in rapid succession while bringing his forehead to the ground. Watching this deplorable sight did something to Claus; the mental gears that had been set in motion on the ship were now moving as if they'd been freshly lubricated. Though his father had neglected him, shunned him, and unfairly judged him his entire life, Claus wanted to see him as a good man. He was a leader and role model to his colleagues and friends, all people who Claus respected. He was an awful father, but Claus had been proud to be his son. That was all in the past now; Claus finally acknowledged reality. His sobered eyes saw a hollow shell inflated with phony ideals. Claus knew it all along, but he never wanted to admit it: Morals don't exist intrinsically; altruism is foreign to human nature. Life is a game and thinking it isn't is just a case of mass hysteria. Claus wasn't experiencing sadness, anger, nor any related emotion. This was freedom! “Now, now,” Began the band of vandals' boss. “Don't be thankin' me yet. I'mma make you listen to a little story of mine. Okay?” His lackeys swallowed their cackles trying their hardest not to interrupt. Before Claus's father could agree, the big man kept talking. “Had a boy of my own once. I left the little f***er with 'is whore mother, he wouldn't recognize me if I looked 'im in the eyes. But I'll tell ya one thing, I wouldn't sell the bastard to slavery first chance I got. Well, I might, but I'd at least try an strike a bargain first. D'ya see what I'm sayin'?” He waited a few ticks for Claus's father to start responding then interrupted him. “Course ya don't. I'm sayin' yer a spineless bastard.” He turned to his men and nonchalantly gave orders. “Kill the ol' fart an take the boy. Make sure not to scuff up 'is face.” A lanky eypharian drew his khopesh and in one conclusive swipe, beheaded Claus's father. The freshly severed skull bounced slightly as it hit the ground. What was once a neck, now a meaty stub, drew a line of blood as gravity helped settle the detached head. Life hadn't fully left its horror filled eyes. “You lose.” Claus began thinking, his face stoic. A sudden pain ran through the back of his head followed by another bout of darkness interrupted his thoughts. The impish man had knocked him unconscious with a rock. As Claus's sensibilities slipped away he heard a scolding yell.

[Roan Mayfall]

Hooves clacking with the ground and the familiar rumbling of a carriage greeted Claus's returning consciousness. While opening his eyes Claus tried to rub the throbbing bump on the back of his head, but iron shackles kept his hands tied behind his back. With limited prospects, he squirmed until he sat cross legged. Sharing the cage with him were three other men. This caravan had about six carts like the one he was on. Just under two dozen men on foot and on horses walked along side the procession, all of them armed thugs. “Looks like you're finally up. Judging by the sun you've been out for at least two hours.” The middle aged man talking was sitting next to Claus. His face beamed as he casually sat with his back against the cage. “Name's Roan.” Claus eyeballed the man as if he were some sort of martian. His demeanor didn't remotely imply that he was bound to a cage on his way to be sold; either he was insane or oblivious. Roan looked to be in his mid to late thirties. He had long, loosely tied black hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a full beard. His muscles shown through the tattered beige rags he wore; they weren't huge, but they were clearly optimized for efficiency. The other two men sat there, watching the ground move outside the carriage, utterly defeated. “I'm Claus. Do you know where we're going?” The young man relaxed his back against the cage like Roan; he might as well get comfortable. “These fellows are taking us to Sunberth for auction.” “Well, that's rather unfortunate.” Roan snickered at Claus's response. “I like you kid! You're not like the rest of the chumps around here. They all have this look in their eyes; like they're walking corpses.” He looked at the other two men, but they just made an effort to avoid any eye contact or confrontation. “See? That's no fun at all. But you and me, we're cut from the same cloth.” “I'm not sure if that's a good thing.” “My point exactly! Even in this shitty situation, with your stomach growling away, you have a clear enough head to be a wise ass. I'd wager you're almost enjoying how f***ed it all is.” “If you say so. Speaking of food, you have any?” Claus had nearly forgotten how malnourished his body was. His last meal was on the ship the previous day. “Do I look like I do?” Roan asked rhetorically. “The fellows outside'll give us some eventually; they've got vested interest in our health.” He turned his head to address one of the thugs walking beside their cage. “Isn't that right lad?” His question was met with a glare. Roan looked back at Claus and shrugged his shoulders. “So what's your story kid?” “I'm from Zeltiva. I was on my way to Sahova, got caught in a storm, abandoned ship, spent the night like a cork in the water, woke up to my father selling me off, they killed him, and here I am. How about you?” Claus talked almost as if those things had happened to somebody else. His cynicism had fully congealed; this was how the world worked, it sucked, but he made the best of it. Roan blatantly laughed while looking Claus in the eyes. As the laughter dissipated, he kept the same smile as before. “You didn't just seriously tell me did you? Look here kid, I like you, so I'll tell you a little something about where we're going. In Sunberth, letting your intentions, your past—really anything about yourself—be known is a good way to end up dead if the wrong person hears it. Information is power, power is power, and you're your only friend. Judging by your attitude, you seem to know the last bit, but you'd do well to keep the rest in mind too.” “How's that wisdom working out for you?” Claus joked; he used his eyes to point at the chains trailing off from behind the man's back. The mischievous grin on Roan's face widened. “I suppose you'll have to wait and see.” This remark peaked Claus's curiosity, but he knew asking about it wasn't going to get him anywhere; Roan would just answer in some cryptic way. Claus shrugged. “I suppose it doesn't matter.” “Does anything?” Roan asked. The sun was high in the sky and these slavers probably wouldn't stop moving until it began a steady descent. “I doubt it. As far as I can tell people just seem to think things do; like those 'chumps'.” Claus figured they weren't going anywhere anytime soon and they might as well pass the time. “Why would it matter?” “Hmmm, I agree with you, but supposing I didn't, I'd wager it mattered because life is a deterministic series of actions. Of course, I actually believe life is completely probabilistic. And regardless of which it is, I'd argue that things didn't matter because whether or not the end result is fixed, we're ignorant to which path is optimal.” “If anything,” Claus was fully invested now; he may have studied maths in Zeltiva, but philosophy was his first love. “That probabilistic model gives us more certainty because, if we took the time to sit down and actually consider the implications of each individual action, we'd get some perspective on the possibilities.” “I disagree with that. There is no need to actually consider the entire list because once something has happened it is determined and cannot be changed...well at least by our conventional model, but that's beside the point. It follows that all we'd have to consider is the actions to come. Due to free will, another interesting topic, we have yet another infinite list. For each topic on this infinite list we have an infinite number of possible outcomes, again depending on the metaphysical model we subscribe to. So I say neither model we've described provides an advantage and both point at our conjecture that nothing matters.” Roan's eyes gleamed with the excitement of a child with a new toy; Claus shared the sentiment. These two really were cut from the same f***ed up cloth.

[Roan Mayfall]

Their conversation jumped from one subject to another—from metaphysics to epistemology and even to areas of mathematics like Game Theory—until the sun was safely below the horizon and the slavers' caravan came to a stop at a clearing in the woods. Once the rogues lit their bonfire and started handing out food, Roan's smile retracted into a smirk, he looked around, and he interrupted Claus with a near whisper that not even their cellmates could hear. “You know I'm enjoying this as much as you are, but we're going to have to cut it short. Don't act strange.” As Roan spoke he swiftly tossed a sheathed knife behind Claus; it was as if he'd pulled it out of thin air. “You made this ordeal surprisingly enjoyable; that's my way of saying thanks.” Claus scrambled to hide the knife; he was becoming rather good at making decisions while utterly lost. He shuffled backwards until his back was flat against the cage and the knife firmly beneath him, then he slowly went back to his relaxed position—he was sitting on the flat of the knife's blade with the handle between his legs. Roan flashed him an approving nod and sat in silence; Claus waited to see if he'd add anything else but he never did. Around 15 chimes passed and their captors started falling into an unnatural sleep. Either Nysel was working or Roan was up to something. Roan revealed another magic trick; he produced a small metal pick from the gap between his arms and the shackles. Nimble fingers worked it into the lock and wiggled the pick around. Click. Within ticks the binds fell off with a clank. The unfortunate lackey standing guard turned around to examine the noise, but Roan never stopped moving. He unsheathed a dagger from underneath his legs and stuck it through the poor guard's neck before he'd even turned to face them. Wide eyed, Claus watched the inhuman display of dexterity. Roan unflinchingly yanked the blade out, rummaged through the guard's pockets for keys, and put the dagger down next to himself as he undid the rest of his chains. His smile was uninterrupted; he seemed entirely unfazed. He unlocked the cage and looked back at Claus from his perch. “Best of luck to you. Hopefully we can finish our conversation some day.” He tossed the keys into Claus's lap and disappeared into the darkness without a sound. Their cellmates watched in horror as Roan performed his disappearing act. The poor saps crawled into their respective corners in fear of him coming back and doing to them what he'd done to the guard. Claus unfettered his cuffs and crawled in their direction to do the same for them; there was strength in numbers and, though most of the slavers had fallen asleep, Claus wasn't giving up any strength. Finally free, Claus snagged his knife and stepped out of the cage. The wave of misfortune that had hit him—both literal and figurative—had his body feeling heavy as lead. One of the men sharing his cage followed behind and ran in a random direction as soon as he was out. The other stayed huddled in the corner mumbling. “A demon. That was a demon. It had to be. A demon...” He repeated, but several sounds were flaring up around the clearing and Claus didn't have time for him. The slavers had formed a massive circle around the bonfire with their carts. All manner of gear filled the annulus between the carts and the fire; Roan was clearly using this to his advantage and so would Claus. He tucked the knife between himself and the waistband of his pants then scurried into the sea of clamor. His body was low to the ground as he maneuvered his way towards the road they'd been traveling on when the sun was up. He mustered all of his will power and resisted the urge to take the drugged slavers' food as he stepped over their motionless bodies. The night was clear. There wasn't a cloud in the sky nor was the moon present; stars were the only glow on the nebulous plane. It was a perfect evening for Roan's composition; an orchestra of chaos was sounding. All six of the cages were let loose, only a small portion of the slavers were mobile, and the slaves had no qualms about taking their weapons. Now the captured were armed and outnumbered the captors. Shadows danced with the bonfire's flames and their silhouettes enacted scenes of carnage. Newly freed men butchered incapacitated slavers. The thugs left standing fought off the abused “products”. The clanking of steel on steel and the groans of slain men were in a crescendo. Claus watched the madness ensue, it commanded his gaze with a hypnotic allure. Slowly he made his way out of the camp, stopping to watch the bloodshed whenever he had the chance. All of a sudden something wrapped around his ankle and caused him to stumble. His eyes darted to his rear and he found the wiry eypharian man from earlier grasping him. Claus drew his knife and stabbed it through the four armed man's wrist with the finesse of a surgeon wearing oven mitts. The shocked bandit let go of Claus's ankle and sloppily rose to his feet, clearly still affected by the poison. Claus took up some sloppy hybrid stance, bracing himself for combat; he could only imagine what a good stance for knife fighting would be based on his limited experience in the martial arts. “Ya lil' batrd. Th' fckn' 'urtz...” The eypharian stumbled in place while howling and drooling his unintelligible slurs. As Claus mentally deciphered what the man said, the multi-armed thug sloppily stepped towards Claus and brought his bloody right arm down like a club. The young man used his unarmed left to block the plummeting fist; crimson petals splashed onto Claus's face from the gaping wound he'd made. Already the eypharian was on the move, his other right fist rocketed towards Claus's face. The young man dipped his body as fast he could, narrowly avoiding the heavy blow. The momentum from his own punch knocked the rogue off balance, Claus centered his body weight and plunged the knife into his chest. Both men fell down, but Claus was unrelenting. He pulled the knife out and repeatedly stuck it into his victim's chest. The man was long dead, Claus bathed in blood, but he didn't stop. This was his first time killing a man and he made sure the man he killed was dead; he couldn't risk the eypharian seeking out revenge because this would've been a one-sided fight if it weren't for the poison and blood loss.

[Roan Mayfall]

A soprano roar made its way towards Claus's flank. As he poked holes in the lifeless eypharian's chest, the impish little man missing an eye and ear tackled him. The wind was knocked from Claus as his back hit the ground, the knife fell out of his hand and slid off into the darkness. The hideous imp mounted Claus and brought down a barrage of punches; he was much less powerful than the man Claus had just fought. The young man brought his hands up, but still fists clapped against Claus's face causing his nose to bleed. This didn't last long, as the little devil wound up for the next blow Claus bucked his hips and knocked him off. Both of them immediately scrambled to their feet, but Claus was a tick quicker. He lunged at the unprepared imp and planted his left fist into the mangled face. His right fist promptly took on an arch towards the hideous creature's gut, but the impact was dulled by a simultaneous blow to Claus's exposed ribcage. Both combatants faltered, both were tired, and both had swollen bloody faces. The imp was the first to move. He charged at Claus and tried to hug his knees, but Claus had the height advantage. Before the imp made contact, Claus extended his arms and used them to guide the imp's face. He lifted his right knee with intensity normally reserved for leaping. He missed the face, but he hit his foe squarely in the sternum. The small man rolled on the floor in the fetal position; he entirely focused on catching his breath. Claus immediately glanced in every direction in search of a weapon. He saw a kitchen knife laying by a limp body and scrambled for it, but a heavy foot crashed into his ribs and sent him rolling. He probably had a broken rib. Claus grasped his side and winced with pain. A towering ogre of a man with dreadlocks stood over him, a massive war hammer resting on his shoulder. This one wasn't going to be nearly as manageable as the imp, especially with Claus's body being as worn as it was. “Ya really did a number on ma little friend didn'cha?” He croaked. “That's what I was going to say.” Responded Roan's voice. He stepped out from behind the massive man—seemingly materializing—and popped the back of his right fist against the big man's chest causing him to stumble back. He had a bald head slung over his left shoulder and held it in place by it's long beard; it was the slavers' boss. “I'm really disappointed in how you handled that whole thing. I don't even want to call it a fight.” He dropped the severed head into Claus's lap as he turned to face the man he'd just knocked back. The man with dreadlocks stood at least two feet taller than Roan. “First and foremost, momentum is the most important thing in a fight, both concretely and abstractly.” He drew his dagger in his right hand, quickly glanced towards the imp, flung the blade into his eye, and looked back at the big man. “That also means you need to focus.” At this point the massive man had gone from confused to enraged. He ran at Roan and swung the massive hammer horizontally, but it hit air. Knowing his opponent would be stuck in the swing, Roan had crouched onto hands and feet. He burst up as the man recovered from his weapon's weight and, using his own momentum, steered an uppercut into the behemoth's chin. Absolutely unrelenting, his other hand viced itself around the big man's right wrist, the hand he used to uppercut grabbed the right shoulder, and in a fluid motion Roan stopped the man from stumbling backwards and forced his right arm into a full extension behind his back in such a way that he could break the man's arm, but he didn't act on it. Instead he promptly cranked the arm, forcing the man to lower his torso, and brought his left knee upwards. A grueling cracking noise resonated in the air as the massive man groaned. Roan shoved the man away and casually stepped towards the dead imp. “You see? It isn't that I'm stronger, I'm just more efficient...well he's also pretty terrible at this so that helps too.” Roan stepped on the dead imp's chest and yanked the knife out, the same mischievous smile as earlier plastered across his face all the while. “Secondly, never waste movements; victory is in the hands of the most frugal combatant.” The ogre with dreadlocks had shrunk in front of Roan. A primal fear crept through him; he understood that fighting meant death and running certainly meant death. As Roan calmly stepped towards him, the massive man erupted from the ground and brought down the hammer with every fiber of his being. His last-ditch effort was in vain. Roan dashed forward and stuck the dagger into the man's hand, cleaving off fingers—the hammer fell from his grasps far behind Roan. In that same movement, the nimble murderer ended up behind the oaf. He used his free hand to grab the ogre's dreadlocks, kicked his knees out from under him, and slit his throat so that Claus watched. Roan wiped his dagger on his dead opponent's clothes and moved towards Claus. “Lastly, never hesitate. No matter what you're doing, unless it's just dumb, don't hesitate.” He offered his hand to Claus. The young man looked at Roan in shock—that was f***ing awesome. He'd never seen somebody so impressive in a fight; normally things like that are reserved for stories. He grasped the severed head's beard in his hand and got up with Roan's help. His body was several notches past its breaking point, adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going. “Well, I can't really argue with your advice after that bloodbath.” Claus joked while handing over the severed head. “Why did you do all this?” “Well before I answer, let me ask, what's your plan?” “Food and sleep. Plenty of food and plenty of sleep. But I have no idea after that.” “Want me to teach you my trade? You're f***ed up enough to do it, you're rough, but you've got talent, and we'd have a great time.” “Do you have food and a bed?” “I'll take that as a yes. C'mon, lets find you a wagon or something.” Roan walked forward and motioned for Claus to follow. He slung the severed head over his shoulder. “Sunberth's about half a day's walk. If we get lucky we'll find one of this guy's horses.” He gestured towards the severed head. “Now we have plenty of time to finish up our chat. If you get lucky I might even tell you why I did this.” The pair walked off into the forest's darkness. Straggling madness still played out behind them; the freed slaves were locked in mortal combat with their slavers. Roan was going to teach Claus the skills he needed to survive in the underworld. For the first time in his life, Claus was going to experience true liberation.

[Sayana]

Before I can proceed.... Hello Roan, it appears that your ledger needs to be updated in your CS to account for Spring 515 AV seasonal expenses. These expenses are 45 gm for poor conditions or 135 gm for common living conditions. There are other delegations at the bottom of the price list too, but one of those would be most likely. When you've updated your ledger, PM me and I'll be happy to award you grades.