The Source... [Flashback]

[Syndre]

Time Stamp -=44th of Summer, 504 AV=-
Location -=The Wildlands=-

It had been four years since the young thief had been orphaned in

the chaotic streets of Ravok. His parents, thieves themselves, had been killed
by the tainted hand of the Ebonstryfe during a botched heist. He had managed to
survive three of those years on his own using the underhanded skills his Mother
and Father had taught him throughout his childhood. When they were alive, they
had incorporated Syndre in the family business as soon as he was able to
comprehend the concept of stealing. The knowledge they bestowed upon him greatly
assisted in his survival, from picking pockets to busking with a set of worn
cards, the aspiring rogue was able keep himself fed. Even the occasional begging
brought him a few appreciated Mizas.

This last year had been spent with Caleb, a fellow street rat who's own

Father had hesitantly taken Syndre under his wing. The man had seen potential
in the youthful thief and wanted to nurture his abilities for his own
personal gain. Syndre was never considered family. He would never be the man's
son or Caleb's brother, and he was reminded of this from time to time during
drunken outbursts from his friend's Father. Although Syndre knew his place, he
and Caleb still thought of each other as unblooded siblings. They were brothers
by friendship and every job Caleb's Father needed done, they did together as a
team. The worked well together, and with the rigorous teachings they had
endured for the past year, they were becoming capable underlings.

They had been on the road for awhile now, for Caleb's Father occasionally

had dealings outside of Ravok. The details of the man's business outside the
safety of the Rhysol's city was kept secret from the teenage boys. No questions
were asked for both knew that if Dedrick, which was the man's name, wanted them
to know he would have told them. Prying to much into their mentor's dealings
would be like asking for a slap across the face, which did happen on occasion
whether they deserved the display of aggression or not. Physical contact kept
the boys in line, even though they sometimes crossed the line intentionally
to see what they could get away with. It was a rough relationship, but the young
thieves learned a great deal about the Underworld from this strict, authoritive
figure.

They were a month removed from the floating city, the troop associated

with Dedrick traveling slowly through the Wildlands on two separate wagons.
Sturdy horses worked tirelessly at a steady pace, pulling the group of shady
characters along the unpaved road that led them to an unknown destination. The
unprotected lands of Sylira were dangerous and it was necessary to bring a
group of armed men along for the ride when on business. One never knew what you
would encounter. Whether it be untamed creatures that felt disturbed by your
presence or another unlawful group of bandits trying to steal your possessions,
these roads could mean your death if you weren't prepared. It was a good thing
that Dedrick always anticipated the worse.

[Syndre]

"So where are we going?... I've never traveled this far from the

city before...," Syndre's curiously asked his brother as they sat at the back
of the vibrating wagon, their legs dangling off the edge. They had traveled
much of the way in this position, watching the terrain change from day to day
while keeping watch from behind the second wagon. It was the responsibility of
the two boys to warn the rest of the group if they spotted anything unusual that
may come up from their backside. They took their assignment seriously, which made
for a lack luster ride, but they knew the unpleasant consequences of failing
their Mentor's orders.

"I'm as clueless as you. And even if I did know I wouldn't tell you,"

Caleb responded with a half hearted laugh. The response had been a mixture of the
truth and a joke, one that he knew Syndre would understand. If Dedrick felt the
need to grace one of them with certain information, the secret would have been
in safe keeping, even if they were brethren. This is how things operated in this
unlawful organization. Everything ran smoothly, because everyone kept their
place and knew their role. There was no testing authority, no shenanigans, and
especially no mutiny, for such activities would either earn you a severe beating
or you would possibly be left for dead. Not even Caleb, Dedrick's own flesh and
blood, would be spared if he decided to act unruly. This had always been a
tight knit operation and it would stay that way through force.

It was becoming more difficult to discern shadows from actual objects as

the evening sky grew darker with each passing moment. The group had to be
cautious no matter what part of day they traveled through Sylira's Wildlands, but
it was especially unnerving during the night. They were somewhere around seven
hundred miles south of Ravok and west of Nika, no where near the protection of
any city or patrols. There had been no detrimental encounters to speak of during
their journey, only the occasional traveler that they had swapped rumors with. The
lead wagon had suddenly slowed to a stop, causing the wagon the young thieves
accompanied to do the same. Caleb and Syndre both smiled as the group slowed to
a stand still, either some type of trouble had arisen or they had reached their
long awaited destination.

The boys could hear Dedrick shouting orders to various members of the

outlaw group, spurring them into positions that had long been practiced and were
now being executed. The two teenagers hopped in unison from the edge of the wagon
and hurried around the horse drawn vehicle to find out what was going on. They
stood beside the wagon and watched as Dedrick's men, about half a dozen well
armed guards, produced their loaded crossbows and moved into their positions.
Another pair of carriages slowly crept down the worn road in the group's
direction, the lead carriage waving a large red flag in some type of signal that
the boys knew nothing about. They could see Dedrick's large frame walking
confidently in front of the group, his hand raised and clenched into a fist, a
familiar sign to stay ready.

"What's going on?... Do we get to fight?...," Syndre asked his brother

without looking to him, keeping his wide blue eyes on the situation unfolding
before them.

"Calm down Dre. They are waving some sort of flag, so I think these are

the people Father planned to meet with," Caleb gave the orphaned thief a pat on
the shoulder and stayed where he was. If the boys moved any closer to the front,
they would surely provoke their Mentor's wrath.

[Syndre]

The horse drawn carriages drew closer as the fiery sun continued to

descend below the rolling hills that littered the landscape. They slowed to a
stop thirty paces from where the wagons were positioned and the boys watched as
Dedrick issued a few more hand signals to the armed men in their group. Following
their leaders signed orders, three of the crossbow wielding guards split off
from the others and quickly moved to Dedrick's side. Each man lowered down to a
knee with their loaded weapons lifted close to their faces, their line of sight
even with the cocked bolts. The other three guards stayed put, their ranged
weapons held firmly in place even though the weight of the heavy crossbows
strained their arms.

A total of four men jumped carefully off their lifted seats and into

the tall strands of grass. They were dressed in the soiled attire of farmers
and appeared harmless, even a bit frightened due to the crossbows trained on
their every movement. Three of the farmers hurried around the to back of the
carriages while the remaining one walked slowly toward Dedrick with arms
raised toward the darkening sky in an unthreatening manner. He shouted something
to the young thieves' imposing Mentor in a language the boys couldn't understand.
The man moved closer through the swaying grass and shouted again, repeating the
same string of words while keeping his appendages lifted. Dedrick seemed to
consider what the man was saying, then reluctantly signed the command to lower
the crossbows, which his men did in obedience.

Dedrick yelled something back to the farmer approaching him in the same

type of language, and what he had said caused the wiry man to laugh aloud. Once
reaching their burly Mentor, the two men clasped forearms in greeting, dropping
the cautious facade as if they had been friends all along. Perhaps they were,
this was Syndre's first run with the group, what did he know? He didn't even
know what they were here for, but it had to of been some kind of business
transaction. Why else where they traveling in empty wagons if not to haul
some type of supplies back to Ravok? Syndre and Caleb stood beside the second
wagon like statues, watching and listening intently to the conversation that
they couldn't hope to decipher.

"Bring the wagons around men, we're going to make camp here until morning,"

Dedrick issued the command to the shady group after his conversation had ended.
He turned from the farmer, who began issuing commands of his own, and walked
back between the horses and wagons. A stern gaze moved over the two boys as
their Mentor neared the back of the second wagon. So fierce were his eyes that
neither Syndre, nor Caleb dared to stare at them without eventually having to
look away for fear of retaliation. A wave his large hand was given and his
intimidating voice called out to both of his apprentices," Don't just stand there
being useless, go collect some fire wood damn it!" The fear stricken boys needed
no further persuasion and were swiftly set in motion. A cloud of dirt briefly
followed them after Dedrick had kicked the ground in their direction, giving them
a hard time like usual in order to toughen them up.

[Syndre]

An hour had passed before the underlings in training made their way

back toward the circular camp formed by the four horse drawn transports. They
carefully walked down the descending slope of a grassy hill with scraps of
timber stacked in their outstretched arms. The meager branches they had found
would have to do, for it was difficult to gather wood in a region scarcely
populated with trees. Both farmers and guardsmen were busy finishing the site
as the boys reached the foot of the hill, and from the looks of things they had
already transferred the barreled goods from the carriages to the wagons. The
contents of the sealed barrels were still a mystery, one that Syndre desired to
uncover. With everyone focused on constructing the camp for the evening, there
was no better time than now to take a quick peak. How could he pass up such an
opportunity?

Syndre suddenly knelt down upon a knee and emptied his gathered load

as quietly as possible onto the ground. Caleb gave his brother a concerned look
and was about to warn him against any mischief, knowing Syndre was the
troublesome sort that constantly got them in trouble with their Mentor. Before
he got the chance, his brother was already a number of paces ahead, his swift
creeping footfalls taking his slender form toward the back of the closest wagon.
Caleb silently cursed and placed the dead branches he had collected next to
Syndre's pile, his dark brown eyes darting about the outer perimeter of the
camp. He hated when his foolish brother sucked him into these type of situations.
It didn't matter if the idea was Syndre's or his, for Dedrick always punished
them both regardless of who's fault it was. With a deepening frown, the cautious
teen made his way behind his brother, who was already poking around the supplies.

Syndre's hands slightly trembled due to a heightened level of anxiety as

his slender fingers worked along the seal of a barrel. He was absolutely
nervous, but the reward of unraveling the secret would be worth it in the end.
Finding a pair of sunken grooves, the mischievous thief applied a firm amount of
pressure until the wooden cover gently popped off. He set the circular top
quietly beside the nearest barrel just as Caleb crept up beside him, giving
Syndre an extremely displeased expression. He dared not say anything though, not
wanting his angered words to reveal their shady activities. Caleb curiously
watched as his brother dipped a pair of cupped hands into the opening and
slowly scooped up a finely textured substance. It was difficult to see without
the assistance of any light, but it seemed like a colorful mixture of dried and
crushed vegetation.

Inspecting it closely, Syndre and Caleb noticed that the majority of

ground down herbs were a light hue of green. Patches of soft purple were spotted
about the small heap and delicate shreds of black completed the strange
combinations of colors. Syndre lightly parted his fingers, causing the parched
plant matter to slide thru the cracks and back into the opened barrel. Once the
small pile of herbs spilled from his separating fingers, Syndre could barely
make out a shimmer of diminutive grains that stubbornly stuck to his skin. He
wiped his outstretched digits against his clothing in an attempt to remove the
sticky particles from his hands, his azure eyes glancing to Caleb as his
features displayed his mild confusion. Caleb didn't offer much in return, just a
simple roll of his set shoulders as if he had no idea what they had discovered.

"Sneaky little shytes!," a pair of large calloused hands tightly gripped

the youths' hair immediately after the loud words were spoken. The force that
yanked their heads back was tremendously strong, almost ripping follicles of hair
from their scalp. Either boy stumbled back from the wagon, trying desperately
to keep their footing so they wouldn't fall. Dedrick himself had found the
meddlesome boys and was now dragging them painfully toward the center of the
camp. A fire had already been started and most of the men were settling down
around its heat, finished with their preparations and wanting to relax for a
moment. Rations and flasks of alcohol were produced by many, and those that had
taken first watch remained sober until the end of their shift. An amusing cheer
rose up from a few of the guardsmen at the sight of Dedrick returning with the
two struggling boys in tow.

[Syndre]

The large man dragged the boys into the center of camp without much

effort, tossing them roughly to the dirt once they had reached the slow burning
fire. Another chorus of shouts and cheers erupted amongst the guards and
farmers when the young disciples crashed to the ground. Dedrick signaled for
two of his men to quickly restrain the brothers, which they immediately did upon
deciphering the silent language. The two guards pulled them to their feet with
ease, for there was no longer a struggle from either youth. The initial shock of
being discovered, and forcefully led into camp by their hair, was beginning to
wear off. They knew that participating in foolish activities such as snooping
wasn't tolerated, and that getting caught in the act would bring about overly
stern repercussions.

"Left arms out... we're going to play a little game," Dedrick told them

in an amused tone of voice. When neither boy reacted to his command, the guardsmen
holding them still forced their correct appendages outward. Their Mentor grinned
darkly as he slowly slid his cloth sash from around his waist and began winding
the soft material around their exposed wrists, securing their outstretched limbs
together with a few tenacious knots. "Place your bets men!," the volume of
Dedrick's voice rose greatly so that those gathered about the curling flames
could hear his words. Taking the bound teenagers from the clutches of the guards,
Caleb's Father drove them down once more with a sudden display of power. The
boys soon began to stir and rise in an awkward manner, struggling to use each
other's balance to rise from the earthen floor.

"The one that draws first blood is free of punishment... the one that

bleeds gets a beating... twice over...," Dedrick explained as his hand drifted
up to his strong set shoulder, reaching for the small sheath that protruded
from his upper back. Taking the smooth handle of the knife within his closing
grip, their Mentor slid the iron blade from its home and raised it high over his
head. The dramatics got a loud reaction from the guards and farmers, from
drunken insults to instigating shouts. A number of bets had been verbally agreed
upon and the tired men were ready for some entertainment. Their Leader had
provided them with an ancient contest that dated back pre Valerian, or so the
stories surrounding the bound knife fighting be told. The competition was usually
issued as a challenge to recover lost honor, but Dedrick was using it to simply
amuse his weary men.

The double edged knife came down between the teenagers right after they

managed to rise from the dirt, its incisive apex impaling the earthen floor with
its sleek handle directed upward. A pair of fingers from the same hand stretched
outward, pointing at the two boys as Dedrick's hardened gaze bore into their
very souls," First blood..." A wicked smile tainted his lips before lifting his
muscled appendages wide, his large frame taking slow steps back away from the
dancing flames. A couple whistles pierced the night while the hesitant brothers
stared at one another, unsure of their sudden predicament. They were use to being
punished together as if they were one being, but this type of situation was new
and possibly more dangerous then their normal beatings. A lingering chime slipped
by without any movement from either boy, causing the gathered men to reach an
unruly volume with their cheers and boos.

"Fight damn you!," Dedrick roared at his apprentices, bending his thick

arm at the elbow with a clenched fist.

[Syndre]

Startled by his Father's overzealous tone, Caleb was the first to

react to the unfortunate circumstance. Quickly shifting his lean frame into a
dipping crouch, Dedrick's son shot his free hand in the direction of the
impaling knife. The tips of his outstretched fingers grazed the bottom of the
smooth hilt, but before he could close his trembling hand around the center of
the dagger's black handle his lowered form jolted unexpectedly forward. His
extended appendage that was tenaciously bound to his brother's had been viciously
pulled, momentarily sending Caleb off balance and into the path of Syndre's
swiftly rising leg. His head suddenly snapped back from the force generated by
an uplifting knee, causing his thoughts to swirl uncontrollably like a hazy
maelstrom within his mind. And so the game began.

The men that had gathered around the camp's flickering flames roared

with delight at the amusing spectacle, their level of excitement immediately
elevated by the sight of battle. Not only had the deadly competition begun, but
the first strike that had landed was undeniably cruel. Caleb dropped to the
ground with his free hand reaching back to brace his fall, the descent of his
weight dragging his younger brother along with him. Once Syndre's bound appendage
was yanked downward, he toppled into his brethren's fallen frame. Even with a
hampering cloud of confusion dulling his thoughts, Caleb managed to grab a hold
of the black haired youth. He needed time to recover and clear his head, and
holding onto Syndre would buy him a little time.

Or so he thought. Even through Caleb's desperate grappling, which

was made extremely difficult due to their wrists being tied, Syndre was successfully
breaking away while reaching for the embedded dagger. A final lunge to the side
enabled the blue eyed thief to gain control over the nearby knife, his anxious
fingers uprooting the iron blade as he rolled onto his back. The struggle for
dominance became more intense after the dagger was freed from the dirt. As soon
as Syndre had rolled upright, Caleb had thrown himself on top of him with a
surge of urgency. Their tensing arms were now crossed over one another and the
glinting knife vibrated in limbo between them. Sweat was beading on their fearful
expressions, defined muscles strained with pulsing adrenaline, and the thick
anticipation could be cut by the very blade they fought to control.

Using the general mixture of martial arts his deceased Father had

instilled in him from a young age, Syndre worked his legs around Caleb's waist.
His right boot hooked securely beneath his left knee, creating a constricting
body lock that resembled the shape of a triangle. A deep twist of the limber
teen's hips drove Caleb suddenly to the side, the sweeping maneuver allowing the
novice rogue to roll their entangled bodies. Syndre was now on top with his
brother's back flattened against the earthen floor, the hungry tip of the dagger
aimed downward toward Caleb's dirt smudged face. Their criss crossing appendages
shook with immense effort, but as the swiftly passing seconds rushed by it
seemed as if the sharpened piece of iron was slowly descending inch by struggling
inch.