[Job Thread] No Strings On Me (I)

Elias has finally been summoned back to Ravok, but there is one last thing he must do before he can see his home again.

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Known as the Celestial Seat, Nyka is a religious city in Northern Sylira. Ruled by four demigods and traversed by a large crevice, the monk-city is both mystical and dangerous. [Lore]

[Job Thread] No Strings On Me (I)

Postby Elias Caldera on August 22nd, 2016, 10:41 am

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41st Day of Summer, 516 AV

"...Because I'm looking for someone."

Elias could tell the old man was deciding in his head whether or not he liked the sound of that. Marshy eyes narrowed above two plum red cheeks as if seeing the hooded stranger for the first time. The mage could also tell what the barkeep was probably thinking too; ‘seemed a polite sort, for a Ravokian, but who petching knew in Nyka these day, right? Even the most doe eyed alter boy probably had a blade tucked under his robes.’

"You wanna elaborate?"

The Ravokian nodded and downed his third drink that night, gesturing for another. Few better ways to keep a tavern owner happy that making use of his tavern's best seller, after all. And, if he was being honest, the ale wasn't that bad, in fact he could barely taste the water and piss, which was a real improvement over most of the establishments that openly served outsiders. It was part of the reason he’d come here so often during his stay in Nyka and the subsequent hunt for the Sylirans. He’d become something of a regular, but Morrison, or Mad Mor as they once called him in his hay day, had early on recognized something in Elias the young man had just as easily seen in the barkeep as well. Though they both knew, neither had had reason to truly speak until now.

"Fellow I'm looking for, seems like he left Ravok in something of a hurry, and I'm guessing everyone that passes through those gates comes through here at some point, seeing as you’re so friendly to foreigners and…"

"Foreign coin?"

"Mhm."

"How long ago was this?"

"Maybe... two, three seasons."

"Good gods lad, come on!" Morrison reared back with a guffaw and nearly eclipsed the lanterns lighting the tavern with his bulk. Elias had rarely beheld a man so... spherical. He hadn't even seen his feet yet, though he assumed they were there, somewhere, struggling away under all that meat. Now said meat’s fleshy face contorted into a perfect mimicry of helplessness, gesturing to the sprawl of smelly humanity infesting his oh so reputable place of business. "Look around. This is just one night, and tomorrow, every face will be different. Now multiply that over three petching seasons, and think about how likely it is for me to remember, hmm?"

"There might have been something to set him apart."

"Yah, they’re called names, lad. Did he have one or what?"

"He had a mark."

"A scar? Unless in was shaped in the image of Nikali’s bare backside I doubt I’d recall-?"

"From a god," Elias said, leaning a touch closer to keep their words private, his cold eyes glittering with intent under the shadows of his hood. "From Sagallius, the great manipulator."

Morrison frowned a little at the reference, dredging through his soggy memory for some glimmer of recognition. Elias had little hope the man would find anything, but that, unfortunately, was the game he was forced to play these past few days. Left to stagnate in Nyka like a stray dog thrown out of his master’s abode, the mage was permitted to roam nowhere else but within the wretched walls of his new -Rhysol help him- ‘adopted home.’ After heroically retrieving the artifact months ago, he had fully expected the orders that would recall him to Ravok, adored and celebrated for his glorious achievements. Instead, he had been greeted with deathly, horrid silence.

For nearly a season he had lingered like a fart, hovering from place to place, watching and waiting from whatever shadow he could wriggle himself into, but for what, he had no earthly idea. Where was Malachai? Where were the rest of the squad? Had they just bloody well forgotten him here like his torturers had back in the dungeons? He was left with nothing but questions and frustration for too long.

When the first letters finally did start to arrive however, they weren’t to congratulate him, no, that would have been too kind. Instead they were there to guide him to his next assignment.

One after the other the tasks came, devoid of emotion or gratitude, but darkly marked with the ancient seal that told him there was nothing he could do but obey the words; find this, kill that, or ensure such and such makes it here- It was petching trivial bullshyke compared to what Elias had accomplished during the winter raid on the Theodosia, but nary a word ever mentioned the bloody artifact, or even hinted at his possible return home. He couldn’t understand it, but he was a good soldier now, and like a good soldier, he followed every order to the T.

It didn’t help that every once in a while, very sparingly so as to keep his chain taught, he surmised, there was a compliment tucked in among the orders, usually tacked on at the end like a half-assed afterthought, but they were there none the less, he couldn’t escape them. In fact, he longed for them. They were the only things keeping him from going insane.

That, and Alija of course.

Gods bless that sweet girl, she was so impeccably kind and generous to him, even with the hardships and dread he rained down upon her innocent head with his mere presence in her life. It had been hard at first, naturally, even as a child she had a knack for putting up walls around herself, but once Elias had cracked that shell as he had done back during their time together in Zeltiva, she had accepted him as family once more, if not a bit hesitantly at first.

He needed her, he recognized that now, and she needed him, even if she continued to refuse seeing it as such. Despite his constant pestering his cousin simply rejected his every attempt to convince her that leaving Nyka was for the best. She would have a home in Ravok, with him, under his protection and roof. No more looking over her shoulder, or over her father’s, just the basking light of the black sun to wither away her woes and bring her peace. Everyone deserved that, right?

Even Elias... right?

He was close to giving up, close to saying ‘petch it,’ and packing up his things. He had done his duty, gone above and beyond for petch’s sake. This couldn’t truly be the will of his masters, especially not now when home beckoned to him like a lover from the seashore, crying out for him to come back as he sailed further and further out into the murky depths. This feeling wasn’t just his mind toying with him either, no, this was something real, palpable, and growing ever stronger with each miserable day. Ravok needed him. Rhysol needed him, and Elias needed to answer the call.

That was when the order came. ‘The final one,’ as it had read, and the Caldera lied to himself when he muttered about how lucky they were he had waited. As if he ever had a choice.

Regardless, he couldn’t have been more ready for the mission…

Or so he thought.

Now you have to find this man they’ve sent you after. Crawl through shyke holes like this one for the glimmer, the suggestion of a petching memory, with little else to go on but a mark and an old name no doubt long since discarded.

Time and patience, he reminded himself as he waited unsteadily for the hulking, heaving, tragically built bartender to rub his numerous chins and come to a decision. Time and petching patience, that's what it takes. That, and finding the right connections.

"I... Hmmm. Nope, I don't think I remember." Elias's small ember of hope died, vanished into ash, and then was resurrected again all in an instant as a pudgy finger stabbed the air in abrupt exclamation. "Wait! There was... yeah... there was someone, I think. Bearded fellow. Wild eyes. Looked like he’d been through a hell of a time. Talking about the 'glory of... Sagallius', or something. I recall the lads didn't like him one bit, and when one of 'em tried to toss him out, he just touched him and-

"He... made people do things?"

"He just touched 'em," Morrison restated, face twisted in the fear and hatred of magic that all his fellow Nykans shared. "Touched two men, and they just fell. Old boy like that, gaunt and starved as he was, and he just held out his hands and poof! Dropped those two like puppets with their strings cut."

Finally, this is more like it.

"Did you hear about what happened to him?"

"A few whispers here and there, but only a few. Someone with that power, he hides it in this city if he’s smart. The people here, they don't like the djed users. Flash that around too much and you'll get strung up by the monks ‘fore too long. That said, I did here that someone like him was around here but now... where... was it again?"

He extended his hand, as a gentleman would for a lady, but Elias knew it was not his feminine charm the now grinning Morrison was looking to indulge in. The Ravokian forced himself to smile crookedly and started rifling through his purse.

"I wondered when this would come up."

"Well, now you know."

Five gold coins were produced. Silence answered them. Ten then. Yet more empty air. Twenty and Elias's face twitched just a little... but Morrison merely cleared his throat and took a sip, glittering mound of gold in his unsatisfied and ham like hand.

"Good information is not cheap, my lad."

"Neither are medical bills.

Ah, that elicited a furious little gleam from the tavern keeper. Morrison knew full well the kind of man he was dealing with, Elias hypnotic suggestion made sure of it in that very instant. The djed slipped in with the words and began its working, pulling and pushing on memories to make room for itself to nestle. In a way, Morrison knew with all Ravokians, but this one was an extra helping of dangerous the little stray realization told him. At the very least, the fat man should have understood enough not to tarry while the mage held a weapon in his hand, and wouldn't you know it, while one hand counted out the coins, the other was massaging the hilt of his dagger...

"No. They're not." Morrison said tightly, and pushed his hand out further. "But then I'll be battered and bruised and you still won't know shyke, will you?" Elias practically shuddered at the audacity. Petch me, he resisted it... Fifty gold mizas in all then, just to ram the point home, and Morrison nodded his approval, talking even as he examined each and every coin like a slaver his stock. Elias on the other hand, felt as if he had just surrendered a chunk of his soul.

"On the far end of the Eastern Quarter, there’s a gang called the Aquilas. Basically got their own little neighborhood to themselves, a compound I guess you could call it, walled off from the rest of the city, it’s patrolled and guarded at all hours. The monks leave ‘em alone cuz they got enough coin and manpower to convince ‘em not to try otherwise."

Elias was genuinely surprised, but didn’t let his recognition of the name show. "That is where he is, with the gang?"

"Last I heard." Morrison said nonchalantly as he tipped the golden pile into his apron pocket. “The servants, well, they talk, don't they? Say he can control you with a just a touch, shyke like that. Sounds very much like your man, hmm?"

"His name," Elias rasped, eyes gone from glinting to flaming, raging and hungry as a starving wolf's. "What was his name?" He had to know for sure.

"Not sure I remember." Morrison had the balls -somewhere under all that flab- to smile, but then snapped his fingers and forestalled any brutal retaliation the mage had planned for him. "But he was from Ravok, I heard. Plus, from what I can tell, he’s the one leading the Aquilas these days. Uh… Al- something or other."

Alaric Dumat.” Elias finished with a chuckle. “Alaric Dumat leads the Aquila gang.” The laughter grew, even stifled by a pale, scarred hand, it grew and grew until it became so loud everyone in the tavern was passing him a weary glances. The mage didn’t care. If they had known how lucky he had just become, they would have laughed right alongside him.

After a while Elias wiped a tear from his eye and sighed jovially into his mug before taking another swig. Well, this was an improvement, if not the best damn news in the world. Now he knew where to find his prey at least, but if he thought about it, that was like finding out that money was kept in a bank vault. All well and good, but how to get to it? He scratched under his chin and turned it over in his head for a while. He could tell Morrison was staring at him the whole time, no doubt perplexed and a little worried something in his brew had gone bad and warped the mind of one of his patrons.

Morrison?

Uh… Yah?

"My thanks."

"Oh, no." The barkeep said, jingling his purse with a sly smirk. "Thank you."
Last edited by Elias Caldera on August 26th, 2016, 2:52 am, edited 5 times in total.
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No Strings On Me

Postby Elias Caldera on August 24th, 2016, 1:25 am

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Elias watched from the shadows in patient delight as the drunk finally came shambling out of the pub, a raucous roar of laughter and merriment following in his wake before being abruptly silenced as the tavern door swung shut behind him. Young, beardless, he sauntered with all the pomp and grace of a young man utterly smashed, and it seemed a miracle in of itself that he somehow made it to the privy before collapsing into a crumpled pile. His armor, green and glorious, clanked and clinked noisily along with every swaying misstep, and the mage studied it with some discomfort. The Aquilas were one of the more well off crews, able to afford a level of luxury when it came to their arms and armor that few others could compare to. It was why they were such an overpowering menace in the first place, but it also made the mage think of his own paltry leather cuirass that he wore now and a frown found his lips.

After this, he reminded himself with a renewed smirk, I’ll be able to afford any damn thing I want, new gear included.

Though few would have the insight to understand it, Elias jubilation had not come without warrant. You see, Sol Sudan had been the name given to him by his Ravokian overlords, because Sol Sudan was his target, a slave whose downright ‘heroic’ escape from bondage was quite endearing to some, he imagined. The man had slain his master and broken free of his shackles as all unbroken slaves dream to do, but when faced with the unforgiving reality that comes next; of finding oneself stranded in a city where hostile eyes and merciless enemies lay in wait around every corner and down every canal, he did what few other slaves in history had managed… So what did Sol Sudan do, you ask? Why he cut a swath of mayhem and carnage through the lower dockside so unprecedented in its brutality it earned him the eternal ire of an entire nation. Sol left a trail of gore and blood that followed him all the way from the shipyards of Ravok to the mainland, where upon arriving, he promptly disappeared into the wilds, never to be heard from again.

It might have been Sol Sudan who had plunged into those woods, but it was Alaric Dumat who came stumbling out the other side, half-starved and mad from the long journey, but a free man none the less. It was also this same Dumat who quickly began to make a name for himself as one of Nyka’s biggest crime bosses not long after he fell into the warm embrace of the city, much to the monks' chagrin, and it wasn’t long after that before the Aquila gang was formed. A new slaver gang, of all things.

It was quite the tale now that the mage had all the piece; the slave who became a slaver, it was inspiring really, and even Elias, despite not knowing much else about this god Sagallius whom had apparently marked him, could see the appeal of a man who went from being the puppet one day to being the puppeteer the next. The best part however, was that the Ravokian had been well aware of who Dumat was long before this mission ever fell in his lap. You see, as a mercenary Elias had been employed by a slaver himself, a peculiar and distasteful man by the name of Valion Thrace. He’d worked for the bastard for the better part of two seasons now, and being that the criminal element was his bread and butter, for lack of a better term, Elias quickly began familiarizing himself with all the big names that played the game, and even some of the little ones too. As it turned out, Dumat was a name on everyone’s shyke list. His crew were well trained, well supplied, and utterly unwilling to play nice with the competition. They constantly raided and undermined other kingpins like Thrace, making him almost universally despised by the admittedly small collection of slave lords that operated out of Nyka.

To say Thrace was eager would have been too strong a word for a who man seemed absolutely incapable of such emotions, but the business man was at the very least interested in Elias’s proposal when the young sword hand in his employ came to him with this uniquely compelling proposition. It didn’t take much convincing to get the slaver to sign off on the hit, as long of course, as his name was kept out of it.

Just like that, the mage had secured himself a tidy bounty, and for something he would have done for free otherwise. Now, not only was he fulfilling the will of the stryfe, but he was also getting paid handsomely for it. If ever there was a man more cunning and clever, he had yet to meet Elias petching Caldera.

Hence the reason for his smile. Hence the reason he had been watching the tavern he knew to be most often frequented by the Aquilas…

Hence the reason he was now creeping up behind one of them, ready to strike.

The man was so hammered he barely heard the outhouse door open behind him, but he definitely felt the wind chill his back, and see the light fill the cramped shyker before it was eclipsed again. His eyes widened as the shadow lunged and an arm like a vice wrapped around his neck. The flux came into play then, the power in the mage's legs slowly but surely diverted into his arms, fueling them afresh with an unnatural might that made his hold even tighter. In fact, Elias gripped him with what must have been something akin to a crude garrote. It immediately began pressing into the drunken Aquila's throat, choking off his wild yelp of surprise and pain.

It didn’t spare him from gravity unfortunatly, as both of them went toppling backwards as the Aquila's questionable equilibrium finally failed him, clattering onto the straw covered cobbles with a thud. The goon struggled, kicked, tried to swing his elbows, but the booze fogging his mind put flight to all his training. Every gasp he lost air, but couldn't regain a wisp of it. The world swam and the implacable, grunting figure that had his back whispered something, his voice slithering into his mind like poison.

"I’m glad it was you," Elias said, snarling and sneering even as the blackness began to envelop the feebly struggling merc. "You’re just my size..."

The mercenary’s world, or the world he knew and that mattered to him, vanished from his senses. The cobbles, the cold wind, the choking arm, the voice, the grind of his armor against his skin... all of it was swallowed up by an icy void as consciousness abandoned him.

The Ravokian moved fast once the deed had been done. He checked the spot on the man's neck and found it pulsing dully every few ticks under his finger. Good, he thought, the boy was useless to him dead, after all.

He grunted and heaved the lad onto his shoulder, thanking his blessed arcane talents once more for giving strength beyond most humans. The armor surely added some heft to him. but a fluxed up Elias could handle it.

The two of them wouldn't be going too far.
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No Strings On Me

Postby Elias Caldera on August 24th, 2016, 1:36 am

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Everyone breaks.

It was one of the few truths in this world a man could rely on. Elias knew this because he had broken. Whether it had been upon the rack or within the darkness that had been his cell, he couldn’t quite remember the exact moment, but his torturers had done their job. They’d ripped him up into a thousand little pieces, and from the remnants they reformed a man who now understood what it took to destroy someone completely like that, to undo their entirety and unravel everything they held dear;

Pain.

So much pain. Pain enough to break confidence and loyalty and courage and honor. Many a brave and noble man would say such things could not be broken, or at least theirs couldn't.

They were wrong.

All it took was time and determination, because with enough of each, everyone breaks.

Caleb certainly had.

The Ravokian didn’t enjoy doing what he did to the poor boy, nor had he intended it to be this way. The plan had been to simply tie the young man up and begin lathering his mind in fear and complacency via hypnotic suggestions. Bathing his thoughts in corruption had proven futile however, for no matter how much the hypnotist dabbled and toyed with Caleb’s brain, something in there, amidst the natural pride and defiance, was afraid. Not of Elias though, whose hands held the dagger to the boy’s throat, but of the man his torturer asked him to betray.

This Alaric had made quite the impression on his soldier it seemed, but not enough to withstand the creature that tormented him...

They say cowards make the best torturers, because cowards understand fear better than anyone else, and more importantly, know exactly how to use it.

For Caleb -as the unfortunate Aquila’s name turned out to be- all it took was a bit of clarity to open the mercenary’s eyes to the reality of his situation. Like the way his tanned skin would never grow back quite right in the place where the pale mage had peeled it off. Or how when the agony in his hands subsided to a dull throb, and he realized for the first time couldn't feel his fingers anymore. Elias had shown him why…

Once the Ravokian had wiped his brow for the umpteenth time and held up everything he'd cut off the young Aquila to see, oh, he talked. Hell, Elias couldn't shut him up.

"Where is Alaric? How many guards? When do they change shift? Where is Alaric? How often are the patrols? Any mage’s among them? How do I get in? Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me all and i'll end it!

That was the key, Elias had discovered even as his djed rooted around in the merc's trembling mind. To make them believe it could stop and they still might survive with enough of their parts to still be considered a man in the end. That there was no help coming, no rescue, no redemption in this hell. Death would be their only relieve, but life... life was something to be granted by this new god in Caleb’s tortured world.

It took bells, but it worked.

Now he knew, and in his knowing, Elias's path became clearer, if not easier. The compound was a literal fortress, to hear the shattered Aquila tell it. The mercs filled it during the day and night, and come darkness, the gates were all shut and not a soul was allowed to enter or leave. There was something else too, something about a ‘Durak,’ or a ‘Duraj’- No, it was Dural! Dural the Myrian, once Elias waded through his babbling and tears. Well over six foot tall, unbeatable in combat, and with eyes that pierced the thickest darkness as a normal man's would the day. The giant watched everything, always, ever eager for a chance to bloody his hands.

Elias noted that. He noted all of it. Yet nothing was more crucial and demanded than his first question; "Where is the one marked by Sagallius? Where is Alaric Dumat?

After gasping for breath a few times and having Elias impatiently prick the edge of his eye with his dagger, Caleb inevitably vomited out the words.

"Good." Elias cooed gently, and he meant it. "You’ve been very helpful Caleb, very helpful indeed. I think it’s time you go to your god now, my friend."

"Wh-"

Whatever Caleb had to say, fate had decided it was to remain a mystery. His plea or curse or final defiant barb devolved into a long, drowned gasp of gurgles when Elias’s blade met his neck. The blood fountained like a geyser as he ripped it free, but the Silakrov marked made sure to avoid it with a deft side step. He was wiping off his blade in the next instant, and then spent a good few chimes wiping the rest of the gore from his chest and hands as well. He couldn’t exactly show up to the party covered in blood, now could he? He’d also have to make sure to keep his new uniform clean too, as Caleb had been so generous as to donate it to his cause, it was the least he could do.

He picked up the bag containing his new attire and began making his way to the Eastern Quarter. One step closer, he reminded himself, nervously scratching at the crimson flecks drying beneath his fingernails.

One step closer…
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[Job Thread] No Strings On Me (I)

Postby Dove Brown on April 15th, 2017, 4:01 pm

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Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request. If you have any questions, comments or concerns regarding your grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM.



 
Elias Caldera
Skills
  • Socialisation 1
  • Torture 1
  • Interrogation 2
  • Persuasion 1
  • Investigation 1
  • Hypnotism 2
  • Intimidation 1
  • Weapon: Dagger 1
  • Flux 1
  • Unarmed Combat 1
Lores
  • Letters that bring tasks but no recall
  • Alaric Dumat leads the Aquila gang
  • Sol Sudan's legendary escape
  • Everyone breaks eventually
  • Torturing needed info from an Aquila
Miscellaneous
  • Mizas (+/-) | - 50 gm (bribes)

Comments: Enjoy your grades
Very busy at work. May not be around much for a while.
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Dove Brown
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