Chapter Two: Soaring With The Moons (Blood)
Chapter Two: Soaring With the Moons (Blood)
Vitrophoresis happened to be a wondrous gift, for one whose instincts are to soar. If Alina hadn’t been granted this boon, she wouldn’t be able to absorb the view from a thousand feet above the city of Keldanven. The Phlegyans ran blue through the Loft District, slowly becoming more and more discolored as it made its way through the Dust District. It may have been an ugly city for the most part, but it suited her just fine.
Prisms like her tended to have unique perspectives on the city, as someone who wore multiple signifiers of station in the underworld and, most importantly, had the blessing of Aether. She wore a bracer with three rubies arranged in a triangle in the center, and had a simple silver turquoise ring. She, like most Prisms, lived as a mercenary for hire.
Alina accepted she would never have permanent companions. In a dangerous profession like hers, family tended to be a very difficult thing, and she never really found someone she worked well with, so she remained by her lonesome. The thought seemed almost pleasing.
She did have one bond, but while they enjoyed each other’s company, he quickly dissuaded her of the opinion that he could be a close confidant, not through his words –slurred as they are, she doubted she would get the message– but through his near constant drinking.
Checking the pouch attached to her side, under the clothes and within an inch of her skin, she noticed three orbs of Prismatic Glass left, a good chunk of time for quick flight. Despite that, it wouldn’t be prudent to waste it, so she chose to return home.
Deactivating her Vitrophoresis, she dropped like a stone, relishing the feel of the rushing air. She thankfully had goggles on to stop the air from affecting her eyes, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to see the ground rushing towards her. She remembered when she used to keep her hair down during flight, it would always get in her mouth and in front of her goggles, especially during the falls. Now she kept it up with a simple silver hair dagger through a bun in the back. With about a hundred feet till impact she reactivated her Vitrophoretic flight, slowing her fall and coming to rest softly on the ground a street over from her home. Apparently she had drifted with the wind some. She started walking, pulling her goggles down to rest around her neck.
She arrived at her home, a seemingly small shack in the slums of Keldanven, with a trapdoor inside leading to her cozy basement. Walking in, she leaned to the right, checking the makeshift bedroom to see if Skrunk happened to be home yet. The mangy man who took residence in the upper home added to the illusion of it being just a shanty.
He seemed to be still out, likely drinking, but someone had left a letter on the sleeping mat. It had a seal of purple wax, with a tobacco insignia on it. She picked it up, smiling. A job had come in, and it seemed evident it would be a good one. She chuckled. This, if Tobacco remained as consistent with the quality of his job offers as he had before, would be amazing. The letter turned out to be a short read, just two sentences. Meet me where blood greets tide under the light of Porphyl. Dress nicely.
He always went for some dramatic time and place with his meetups. That had to be the old execution grounds. They used to favor a form of execution called Quenching the Thirst, or Quenching for short. A gruesome process, they would make three cuts on each extremity, and a cut under each rib, then throw them off the cliff to the waters of the Glomar Bay, where the Glomarian Demons awaited the unfortunate soul. This quenched their thirst for blood, and thus the process got its name. Porphyl hung directly above the city just after midnight, brushing Lorvir in the sky for most of the night, so it would be basically pitch black other than its light. Definitely going for a theme.
Orlov looked outside, checking the time. Dusk had fallen on the horizon, the remaining light in the sky fading and dying. With the sun that far gone, it must be around eight o’clock. She briefly wondered how to spend her time, choosing between going to the nearest Chiasma or to The Burning Tree. Then, she pulled an Ember out of her pocket. She flipped it, deciding while it hung in the air that if it fell flame side up she’d go for a blessing. She watched it land, but before she could see which side Skrunk stumbled in, bent over, and picked it up. She stared, then spoke, “Skrunk, I needed to know which side that showed…”
Skrunk looked over, hiccuped, and slurred out, “Oh… didja? Ain’t that a shame…” he hiccuped again, “Can I keep this’n? I need me ‘nother bottle o’ gin…”
“Sure, if you show me which side is up right now,” she flatly stated.
He opened his hand and presented the coin to her. Flames. Seems like she had a moon’s blessing to receive.
“Thanks, Skrunk. I gotta prepare,” she said, walking over to the foot of the bed. She bent down and reached under the bed, searching by hand until she found a release trigger. She pulled it, and beside the bed a piece of the floor popped slightly upward. She stood, stretched, and stepped next to it. She pulled the trapdoor open, and started crawling down the ladder. Once she had lowered to about head level with the floor, she looked back to Skrunk, “Just how drunk are you?”
“Ma’am, if’n I’m less’n four bottles in, I'll give yer coin back,” came his stumbling reply.
“Great,” she sighed. She got all the way down the ladder and looked around, letting her hair down with one fluid motion and setting the hair dagger in a drawer full of them. Tobacco had said to dress nicely, so she decided to start with the goggles. She selected a nice pair with golden inlays and the occasional studded ruby.
Next on her list would be a warm coat, flight often left a person cold if they didn’t have the right gear. None of the ones she immediately saw really fit what she needed. Some would be warm, but not fancy in the slightest, while others would be plenty fancy, but silky and thin. She thought for a bit, then had an idea. She started rummaging through a chest and pulled out a noble disguise. It had just the right tone and golden highlights to complement the goggles. It had ruby buttons and went down to about her knees. It would definitely not be practical in a fight, but it certainly looked good.
She pulled out matching pants next, rather simple with only gold buttons. This aspect of Keldanven pleased her greatly, its nobles weren’t arbitrarily sorted fashion wise, meaning many of the women wore traditionally male clothing. Interestingly, you never saw a man in a dress.
She found a nice black silk undershirt next, meaning all she had left to choose would be a good pair of boots and a more fancy hair dagger. She found a nice pair of boots left in the pile by the door, that laced up to mid calf and were really comfortable. She really needed to sort that. Lastly, she found a golden hair dagger with a ruby in the hilt, redoing her hair and pinning it in place. She got dressed and headed back up the ladder, opening the trap door and stepping out to Skrunk, who intently stared at the coin. He looked at her and then uttered, “This’n’s an Ember innit? Yeh can keep it. Too much money fer alcohol.”
“Then take a Brand, that will get you at least one bottle of cheap gin,” Orlov replied, tossing a smaller coin to him. His hand missed it by a foot. Out of the denominations, the Brand held the lowest spot, while the Ember stood the highest. Among the cheapest commodities in Keldanven for a long time had been alcohol; letting people keep their minds off of their lives fell into being just another feature of the dump that attempts to be a city.
Skrunk handed her the Ember and cheerily spoke, “Thanks t’yeh! I’ll savor it rightly!”
Alina pushed open the door to the outside, noting she had about three hours to kill, excluding the thirty minutes or so it may take to get there. Whatever Tobacco had in store for her would definitely need her to have some divine protection and prayers beforehand, so one of the Chiasmata of the district would be her first stop. She decided to walk instead of fly, no reason to draw undue attention, or waste the costly Glass. The journey had always been short, she chose a house nearby an Erythen Chiasma on purpose.
Admiring the flowing architecture, Alina strode into the Chiasma. One of the crimson robed figures kneeling in front of the altar at the end of the room stood and turned towards her. The amount of embellishment on the left shoulder of an ecclesia determined their rank. Other orders had their embellishments in different spots, like the hood for Porphyl and the right shoulder for Lorvir. Based upon the shoulder of this ecclesia he ranked relatively low. High enough to perform an initiation to the Chiasma, but not enough to have many subordinates. The larger Chiasma, especially the Loft District four, had glamorously high ranked ecclesia, but the slums didn’t need all that much. He seemed to first note her jewelry, eyes passing over her ring and bracer, then he smiled and murmured, “What is it, child?”
“Well, I need a blessing. I will be in danger sometime soon, and would like to be prepared,” Alina shared, knowing that the ecclesia saw through the guise of an ordinary –if fancily dressed– citizen and to the heart of her as a Prism.
“We can certainly help you with that, I think,” the ecclesia said, sounding slightly skittish. He obviously didn’t want to know any more, for fear of involvement. Fine by her, she didn’t know what Tobacco had planned to be able to tell him anyways. He began to lead her towards the front, stopping briefly to pick up a small rusted bowl. Once they reached the altar, he dipped the bowl into the basin of blood at the center.
She never liked the next part, but for the blessing it seemed necessary. She knelt, the ecclesia placing the bowl into her hands. She raised the bowl to her lips, and drank the blood. It tasted horrible, like a dirty coin. The bowl didn’t help. The ecclesia handed her an eagle feather next, simply to keep, not consume this time, thankfully. She tried not to make faces as she stood, muttering, “Thanks.”
As she exited the building, she eyed the eagle feather. That feather, and many others like it, were part of the reason she wished people would stop calling her by some made up nickname. The Eagle, as people called her, remained in her mind an awful name. Her dislike of it stemmed in part due to its religious association, and partly due to the fact that it sounded simply ridiculous. Ever since Tobacco hit it big and got famous, every great criminal needs a nickname. The practice seemed moronic, in Alina’s opinion. Especially her given name. It related too much to Erythen, when the entire point of her position, as with all prisms, had always been equal representation of multiple moons.
There were four great birds, ones that represented the moons, and she didn’t want to be associated with any of them. Eagles, native to the mountains south of Keldanven, represent blood due to their station as apex predators. Ravens, native to the forests in the north, represent the void due to their simple ominousness. The magpie, native to the semi-grasslands in Iustitia, represents gold, due to its weakness for shiny objects. Finally, the nachtahn represents the sea, as it is the chief avian of the ocean. Only the Glomarian Demons ever eat them, when they swoop down for a fish, so they claim a spot near the top, rightfully ruling over the ocean. They also have an impeccable sense of direction, and while it is difficult, people have trained them to serve on ships as navigation and pets, in the case that a Furor could not be hired. The best among pirates and traders have them, even if they are unnecessary. It’s a sign of wealth to be able to own a nachtahn.
She stopped her pondering, deciding to visit The Burning Tree for a bit, grab a drink or two and maybe chat with Lloyd. Good conversation always sprang up around Lloyd, even if he personally remained uninteresting in general. He seemed to just attract strange people. More accurately, Tobacco did, and Lloyd connected him with the rest of society.
Upon entering the bar, she immediately saw that Lloyd, as usual around this time, appeared swamped at the front. It seemed her conversations would have to wait. Instead, she found an empty table and sat down. A waiter quickly ran over, pulling out a small notepad as he did. He looked heavily stressed, so Alina simply ordered a steak. Something simple for him to take to the chef, no modifiers or complicated asks. Despite her efforts he looked no less stressed as he walked away. Maybe she hadn’t been that helpful.
Half an hour went by before her meal arrived. She tore into it, finding it actually rather good, despite this place being disreputable to the common man. She’d always found this place had exceptionally good food. Around halfway through the meal she began to survey the other customers. She always took a minor interest in who gathered here, as it had grown to be a hub of all sorts of illegal activities. That, and a lot of the people here were vying for Tobacco’s attention. Most of their pleas were heard by Lloyd, but deemed too unimportant for the ears of Tobacco. Some important figures had representatives here though, and every time she saw them she tried to listen in, see which kind of business they had here. Either they were looking for the man himself, which always piqued her interest, or they were using this spot as a meet up for other business. Tonight she saw one of Sugareater’s lackeys, one of the three captains of the infamous Chimaeras (specifically the Lionhead, a fierce man of amazing combat prowess), one of the mid-rankers from the Blossom, and burning hells, why is one of them here? The final individual worth noticing stood out as a Centurion of Frost. They shouldn’t be this far north, not by a long shot. Has this one earned a vacation? Empress Nyx wouldn’t send one singular soldier to do her bidding, right? Especially one that served as a low rank.
About a century prior, the Grormahk kingdom tried to subjugate all else on the continent of Acherousia, and while they did have better soldiers and equipment, they eventually were overwhelmed by the armies of the other countries. This marked the third Acherousian Great War. Once defeated, their territory had been reduced to the mountainous region south of Keldanven. Empress Sol, at the time, stood proud as the leader of the Grormahks, though now her daughter Nyx holds the throne. The treaty formed with the Grormahks forbade them from trying to expand their territory, so unless Nyx intended to violate that, the soldier had to be here of his own initiative. That calmed her down a bit. She hadn’t kept up with the quality of the Grormahk troops, as they were no longer a threat, but in the past a Centurion of Frost could rival, if not best, a trained Aetherblessed like Alina. Their training taught them to a level of mastery surpassing the proficiency granted by the third boon of Iodanphis, a blessing that Alina had acquired long ago which gave her much needed combat skills. Spectacular skills, rarely surpassed save by other Iodes. That, of course, made her naturally very wary of anyone who could, without said blessing, have that same proficiency.
Deciding to stop thinking about the machinations of Nyx, she instead focused on Sugareater’s lackey. He looked nervous, he had been tapping his leg the entire time she had seen him, and his hands were twitching and fidgeting seemingly of their own volition. His eyes darted about the room quicker than a minnow in a pond. Maybe his request had been denied and he had come back here to try again. Most probably, he had been tasked with Sugareater’s orders. Sugareater turned out to be not the kindest when denied his goals. As she watched, the restless servant lurched to his feet and jerkily walked to the bar. He spoke a few brief words with Lloyd and then walked into the back of the inn. Had he ordered a room?
He didn’t come back, so she shifted her focus to the Blossom’s agent. She watched him note the absence of Sugareater’s peon, and saw a sly smile slide across his face, snakelike in appearance, before quickly disappearing. He next stood up, though his movements were smooth, relaxed, despite the raucous environment. The man had confidence, his demeanor in control. He placed a letter, likely with a cherry blossom seal, in front of Lloyd, and whispered something to him, then walked out of the bar. Strange. Lloyd immediately stopped his current order and grabbed the letter, quickly striding over to a locked box and placing the letter inside, relocking and leaving afterwards. So, the Blossom’s business had been with Tobacco, as appeared Sugareater’s. That left the Centurion and the captain to show their motives. Then she heard the chime. Eleven o’clock. She had to get going.
She regretted not getting to know their intent, but in the end it remained just a minor curiosity. She strolled a bit away from The Burning Tree before ducking into an alley and pulling on her goggles. She still looked fancy as can be, so she started up her flight; during the dark hours like this, she’d attract the least attention this way, especially from people looking to rob the rich-appearing woman. She didn’t throw in speed, as that would glint more Glass than necessary.
Slow flight over the city had always mesmerized her. It felt like endless slums arrayed before her, but if she turned towards the center she saw royal courts and noble mansions. The black ribbon cutting through the center of the city seemed the only consistency between the two sections. The juxtaposition always astounded her. She continued flying, checking the pouch sewn into her bottom layer of clothing to make sure that she didn’t burn through too much Glass. The glowing wisps of one of the orbs disappearing greeted her, and peering past them she found two and a half orbs left. Plenty for a continued slow flight to the execution cliffs.
Forty minutes before she had been told to arrive she lowered down to the bottom of the great hill the execution site lay on. She began the trek up, stopping briefly to look back to where she knew her home lay. Something about tonight made her nervous. The figures present at the bar, the summons from Tobacco, the persistent feeling that she’d need a god's blessing to make it through the next while, it all made her jittery. She couldn't show that to Tobacco though, so she steeled herself and continued.
At the top of the incline she found herself staring upwards towards Porphyl. The ever shifting surface of it seemed to keep one’s gaze locked to it, almost as if threatening to absorb the viewer. She broke away from its entrancing light and looked down towards the man who styled himself after that same moon. All in all, when dressed up, he could also be somewhat intriguing to look at. The mask really helped him in that regard.
With a dramatic flourish and a clearing of his throat, Tobacco turned around. Alina sighed. His dramatics were a bit tiring, but if she gave it five minutes she could get used to it. He put a hand on his mask, and slowly removed it. She gave him a mock gasp. He did this last time too. She had the privilege of knowing his actual appearance. Lightly gaunt, medium length brown hair, overall he looked better in the mask, nothing special lay behind it. Finally he actually addressed her, “So, the Eagle responded to my summons…”
“Don’t call me that. Get on with it, what’s the job,” she tersely answered.
Trying to hide his flustering, he continued, “A very special man has hired my help, and I’d like to hire yours as protection.”
“Obviously, and they always seem to be very special. I want specifics. Now,” she again cut through his very obviously rehearsed speech.
“Ahem. Alistair Baris. I’m to test his vault's security,” he looked down, seeming very morose about his speech, now torn to pieces by her attitude.
“Hm… makes sense. I assume my cut is half?” She liked the idea, it would be on the easier side, she thought. Tobacco had to do all the actual heavy lifting, figuring things out and such. She just had to keep people off his back.
“No, your cut is one third,” he replied. Seeing her withering glare he quickly rushed to explain himself, “We have a third member for this job! He should be here any minute. You’ll probably like him. He doesn’t like me.”
More Posts from All-things-beginning and Others
Hmmm. This is tough, I don’t listen to several different artists at a time. I suppose my seven would be:
1: Will Wood’s The Normal Album
2: Will Wood and the Tapeworms’ (separate profile so it counts okay) SELF-iSH
3: Tom Cardy’s The Dancefloor At The End Of The Universe
4: Arctic Monkeys’ AM
5: TWRP’s Digital Nightmare
6: Bear Ghost’s Blasterpiece
7: Joey Valence & Brae’s PUNK TACTICS
I do not know tagging etiquette well enough for this I feel. Is there like, a thing someone will put in their blog that means “go ahead and tag me?” I’m unacquainted with Tumblr social norms because I typically just post writing, someone please tell me if there are social rules. Whatever, anyone that sees this should go ahead and do it.
Reblog game:
You just got a kind of shitty old car and it doesn't have Bluetooth. You can only buy 7 CDs and you can't repeat an artist. What are you getting?
Here's mine:
I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Blood - MCR
Relentless Mutation - Archspire
The Queen is Dead - The Smiths
Unknown Pleasures - Joy Division
American Idiot - Green Day
Slipknot - Slipknot
Fresh Fruit for Rotten Vegetables - Dead Kennedys
Violent Femmes - Violent Femmes
@reallifegothboy @thegreat-chrundle @xxdweebishboyxx @magicalnursekomugi @destroya-gee @xxxmychemicalratpoisonxxx @undead-vamp ...and anyone else who wants to
Chapter Five: Blue Embers Dying (Void)
A light fall rain sprinkled the area, making the night darker. Fivin’s night had taken a terrible turn, an old friend found dead in the middle of the Dust District. Blue embers still glowed within the corpse, providing an eerie light through the holes in the skull.
Fivin trudged the scene. How had someone snuck up on him? It seemed impossible. Azaryan far exceeded anyone else Fivin knew in terms of caution. Fivin had almost led himself, Alina, and Aza into an ambush once, but Azaryan’s paranoia let them sneak out unscathed. Fivin thought of the man as a good friend, he knew him for almost eight years now. Had known. Fivin would have to get used to that.
His hands trembled. Stop that. This isn’t the time. Whoever had done it wanted to make sure Aza died. Amaranth Oil had always been damned expensive, and only a few shops sold it at all. This had to be professional. Fivin’s Aether enhanced mind raced. Evidence, he needed to know what happened here. He looked at it all over again, then reached into a coat pocket.
He pulled out a small canteen, hands still shaking. It contained Ambrosia, a stimulant that would keep him awake for a while yet, but helped fuel the Aetheric processes happening in his brain due to his nature as an Iode of the Shadow. It expanded upon the Aether naturally drawn to him and powered it further.
He took a sip, and let it kick in. His hands stopped wavering. Everything felt more vivid after a sip of it. He looked at the scene once more. There were scuff marks around the body, like someone had rolled it. Maybe Hawthorne had been alive when he was set ablaze, and tried to put it out? There also appeared to be a little divot collecting water nearby. Maybe he had tried water first…
But where had he come from? Smudged tracks led to a spot slightly down the street, where it looked like something heavy had lain for a bit, from a dip in the mud and detritus. Deeper tracks led to the spot, and so did light ones like those that Azaryan had left in his futile attempts to suppress the flames. These light ones grew further apart, like he had started running, but the heavy ones stayed equidistant, suggesting either the assassin had a long stride and advanced at an even pace, or he had sprinted towards Hawthorne. Maybe Hawthorne had spotted him, bolted, and the assassin caught up? Why did he lay there a while though? Why not burn him there? Unless the killer wanted him to feel it? Maybe he was an example… so he waited for him to awake to light him? Then what did he knock him out with? Presumably nothing sharp… maybe a small mace? Fivin went and inspected the skull and found cracking. Signs of a blow on the back of his head.
The scene looked clear now to Fivin.
It started with the assassin somehow staying hidden, but then being uncovered. Hawthorne turned and ran, but the assassin ran behind him and clubbed him to the ground. He then doused him in Amaranth Oil sometime while he lay unconscious or coming to, and waited for him to wake up and panic to light him. Hawthorne ran for water, a desperate hope, and when that didn’t work writhed until he couldn’t, then died. A vicious slaughter.
He turned to his two companions, who watched him work from a respectful distance, and described what had happened here and why he thought so. Alina looked impressed, Laos looked confused, and Fivin placed an aster on Hawthorne’s chest. The purple flower, representative of Porphyl, mourned the loss of a fellow thief, and most importantly, friend.
Alina waited for him to situate the flower, then cleared her throat, “Hey. So, the story made sense and looks very plausible, but it doesn’t tell us who.”
Fivin straightened his coat and stood, “I have some clues there too. It's obviously an expert, but an exact identity eludes me. Azaryan was one of the most paranoid men I knew. Only one thing could have snuck up on him, and even that would have a tough time. A Specter.” Yet another Vitrophoretic classification, the Specter had Intigua as their dominant Vitro. Vitrophors had the most variation, and thus begged classification. Specters primarily could conjure illusions, and the best of them had their second Vitro being something like Kineta or Intigua, allowing them to either affect nearby objects mentally or anticipate other’s actions. Fivin continued the thought, “Someone who either is a Specter or has one on their payroll. Not just any Specter though, a damn good one. A likely suspect is anyone who could afford such powerful servants, and not just that, would have a reason to kill him. That, unfortunately, doesn’t narrow it down that much. Most every noble had some sort of grudge against him, and about half of those could keep a Vitrophor at their beck and call. We just don’t know enough. For now, we get back to the job.”
Alina cocked her head, “Was he not your friend?”
“He had been, but that is a private affair. I beg of you not to mention it.”
Laos had remained silent, but Fivin saw wisps of Glass being glinted at his side. Why would he do that? He certainly didn’t need Potentia… Fivin didn’t know his second Vitro. His eyes cleared up and his head snapped towards the shadows. He shrugged his shield onto his arm and drew a large, heavy mace. He began to charge at these shadows… and then one moved. It… dodged him? Fivin quickly realized that this must be the killer, still cloaked in darkness and watching them. The assassin started dashing away, and Laos followed in hot pursuit. Alina scrambled to draw her cavalry saber and began to float upwards.
The killer nimbly ran, getting away from Laos, who couldn’t keep up, but then Alina rocketed forward in pursuit. She slashed where she thought the killer’s form sprinted, but caught naught but empty darkness. She flew higher and looked around, then sheathed her saber and dove down.
“Laos, is he beyond your range?” Alina hurried towards him.
“Yeah, I can’t find anything malicious around us.”
Fivin started putting pieces together in his brain, and realized something, “Your second Vitro is Intigua, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I can predict movements and intentions. Something felt off earlier, so I started glinting and felt a man there in the shadows. He’s gone now though. Dammit,” Laos clenched a fist, “I hate the fast ones.”
Alina pondered for a moment, then spoke her mind, “Laos, between your close range deadliness and my speed we’d be a good duo, if the conditions out had any good level of visibility for me…”
Fivin sighed, an action that had become all too common lately, “Come on. Let’s get back to the Tree.”
They walked into The Burning Tree just before sunrise, greeted by a far less raucous crowd than before. That Centurion of Frost still drank calmly, just as when Tobacco last saw him. His gaze passed from his drink, and passed over Fivin’s face. Fivin could’ve sworn their eyes locked briefly, but it just as easily could’ve been his imagination.
Lloyd waved him over, “There is other news too, not just about Hawthorne’s… passing. You got a letter.”
Fivin accepted the proffered letter, noting the cherry blossom on the front. He broke the seal and opened the envelope, pulling out a neat piece of parchment. He scanned it and frowned, then read it again.
To the man known as Tobacco, we regret to inform you that you have been involved (Through no fault of your own) in a private feud between two factions. The first is us, The Blossom, who did not want to drag anyone else into our battle, and the second is Sugareater’s gang. We cannot express enough our sorrow that you have been involved. We ask that you deny any requests for assistance from the opposing side, and we shall not contact you further. Should we learn that you have helped them, we will cease being polite and use all the might within our domain to crush you, faster and more brutally than we intend to execute Sugareater.
With the kindest regards, Duke Dante Moriasun.
Tobacco sighed again, feeling like he had too much on his plate right now. Foremost, he felt, to keep his mind off things he had to handle his current job. This threw a kink in things though, the private war that Sugareater and Dante had been waging for years certainly wouldn’t be something he wanted involved with.
Alina peeked over his shoulder, then gasped, “Damn. What’s Sugareater want out of you that Dante wants you so desperately to ignore?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he has the answer,” Fivin pointed to a man coming out of one of the establishment’s rooms. He looked exceedingly nervous, and stuttered to Lloyd, asking if Tobacco had gotten back yet to hear his plea. Fivin turned to his two partners, “I have to change, be right back.”
He stepped into his room and quickly flipped his coat inside out, then donned his mask. When he strutted out, he looked brand new. He stepped up behind the man, who still begged with Lloyd, and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man jumped and spun around, hand going down to a knife in his belt and then respectfully back in front of him. He quickly bowed and began to sputter, trying to find his words. Tobacco altered his voice a little. A tad deeper always helped the impression, “Follow me.”
“Y-Yes, sir,” spoke the lackey. Tobacco thought him entirely too nervous to meet a thief, of all things. He led the poor man to the same room that he had been drinking in earlier. He sat down at one of the chairs, and the man sat down at the other side.
“So what’s the job?” Tobacco leaned forward, lacing his fingers in front of him.
“W-Well, you see, we need you to steal lots of Aether. Lots. From Moriasun.”
“How interesting, because I recently received a letter from Moriasun. In it he said not to help you. Why should I?”
“U-Uh, he sent you a letter? Don’t listen to him. He’s begun to overpower us, we need an advantage.”
“And why should I care at all about your conflict? I have my own job going right now, and heavy things weighing upon my mind.”
“Look, you like the Basileus, right?”
“I suppose. Never met the man, but he does keep the policing force somewhat off the backs of us criminals who don’t really disturb the peace. People like me, the King of Information, your precious Sugareater.”
“Well, he has serious claims in other countries. Sons who when those kings die will rule as vassal states to Amphicaea. Overall, good plan. I wouldn’t mind him ruling almost a sixth of the world. But, Sugareater is the one man between him and death. Once he inherits all the land and treasuries of certain countries, Moriasun, that damned viper, wants to be in his place. As you know, the two Dukes are the closest to becoming Basileus after his death.”
“I think I see where this is going. Leonidas is closer to the throne, protecting it, and Dante wants him dead so he can ascend in his place after he assassinates the Basileus. Why should I give a damn who’s on the top, though?”
“Because it’s more than just that, Dante would crush the underworld. The peaceful relationship you have now would dissolve, and all organized crime would be obliterated, annihilated to its very roots, save for the Blossom itself.”
“Ah. That’s… less than in my favor. Look, just stay here awhile, I’ll get back to you at some point. I have a massively important piece of business to attend to for a while. If you stay in the room you’ve already paid for, I can guarantee you’ll receive my services.”
“Can you not expedite the process?”
“No, I apologize. I simply cannot. I’m sure you can hold out for a month or so.”
“Fine…”
“I will get to this, I promise,” Fivin ended, then exited back to his two partners. Alina raised an eyebrow at him.
She opened her mouth, but closed it back again. Fivin guessed her thoughts were something along the lines of I haven’t been hired, don’t need details. He shrugged, then spoke, “Aether. They want me to steal Aether.”
“Wonderful. Anyways, what do we do now?” Alina asked. She seemed uninterested in his other affairs. What a shame.
Fivin thought for a second, then looked to Lloyd, “Is there a ball going on tonight in the Loft District?”
Lloyd quickly checked his mental calendar, “Yes, at nine o’clock tonight.”
“Well then, Alina, Laos, dress your best. We have a dance to get to tonight.”
Thirty minutes later, he broke down quietly, weeping into his pillows
So I know that at the moment literally no one visits this blog except for maybe two people who followed me (Hi there @zephyrimm and @oracle-of-joy (: ) but I wanted to clear up any potential future confusion. At the moment I have a lot of creative drive for Unseen, so what I have of Serene is unedited and not yet ready for exposure to public eyes. I have it listed in the master post for once I get around to it, but that might take a while. So, if anyone was wondering, that’s why there’s a spot for a story with NO chapters.
Chapter Four: The Midnight Showing (Gold)
The man watched unseen from the shadows, as Azaryan Hawthorne crept cautiously through the city streets. One did not brazenly stride through the darkness, not in this city. He applauded the thief’s efforts, despite the illusion Azaryan had almost caught him three times, in the brief hour he had followed him. Sadly, despite it being a wonderful game, his job relied on him ending this poor fool.
Said poor fool rounded a corner in a three way intersection, entering one of the several streets that led to the arteries of the Dust District, then the hairs on his arms stood up. He turned and stared at the spot where the assassin stood beneath the eaves of a cramped wooden home, examining the darkness. The man had used an illusion to make himself seem to be just another shadow, a pool of darkness against similar darkness. But Hawthorne, keen and cunning, picked it out. Just slightly. Some animal instinct told him that he had an observer, and he listened carefully. A stiletto fell into his hand, a quaint little thing. It wouldn’t be enough.
His eyes widened, he had finally caught on, seen the third dimension to the shadow. The assassin stepped towards him, and he stepped back. He spun and began to sprint the opposite direction. He hadn’t been fast enough. The mace came down on the back of his head, knocking him out.
His instructions were to make a lesson of him. Show people why you don’t desert. He doused him in an oil, a very special, very expensive oil, which doesn’t stop burning through ordinary means until it’s spent. Amaranth Oil. He pulled a copper insignia out of the man’s breast pocket. Then he waited. And waited.
Eventually Azaryan stirred, then his eyes flew fully open. He gasped and started frantically crawling away. The man calmly lit a match, and let it glow for a bit before tossing it onto the fleeing man. The man erupted in blue flames, and began to scream. He stood, running to find a puddle or some other source of water. A recent rain had left a few, and he dove to the ground, soaking in it. The flames didn’t stop searing his flesh, and he started rolling. Nothing he did had any effect on the fire, and eventually the thrashing and crying came to an end. The people of these slums made the smart decision. What went on tonight hadn’t been their business, so no one came to help. He twitched feebly under his blanket of flame, eventually succumbing entirely to the sweet release that became death.
I suppose, considering my circumstances, now is a fitting time to (hopefully) introduce myself to other people on this platform
Hi there, reader, I am an aspiring author. I try to only make original pieces, though I haven't actually completed anything. Writing has had to take a backburner for a while, but progress is coming along. Slowly. If this sounds stilted, that's because I've never done this before and I really don't know what to say. How do I make myself sound interesting? Anyways, I'm here looking for an audience to present some of my works to, to help me figure out my strengths, weaknesses, and next steps regarding my stories. I will be regularly posting chapters of my current WIP, if anyone finds it tempting to read them. All chapters are subject to change, if I see something that is inconsistent or, as I feel I need to, I bulk up my scenes. The current WIP is my attempt at a blend of the style of Mistborn: The Final Empire, and The Lies of Locke Lamora, two of my favorite books of all time. This does not mean I am succeeding at this, but I am trying for that.
Any advice would be appreciated, but even if you read every chapter you don't have to provide any, it would just be nice to know I have an audience.
Oh yeah, a name. I need one of those if people will address me on here. I suppose I'll stick with my usual online alias, you can just call me Circle. Direct messages are a perfectly acceptable thing for me, in fact please do, if you want to talk about one of your projects or my project. Of course, comments are good too!
Best wishes, Circle.
PS: Please tell me if I'm doing tags incorrectly
To the void: How the fuck do I do scenarios? Like seriously, I can make an entire universe, define characters, set up antagonists and protagonists, make an entire magic system, and even make a plot but how do I actually write said plot??????? This goes both for my writings (I can’t move them forward and it’s stressing me out) and the group I’m DMing (I cannot figure out what I want to do for next session or how I’m supposed to move this story forward). I feel like I’m stagnating this is horrible.
Hey sharty
Hi
Hey, I’ve gotten just a few followers, and I wanted to talk to you all. I noticed something while editing chapter 7, I had made a tense mistake, switching to present. If you notice any tense mistakes, punctuation errors, or anything else that I simply passed over in editing, please please please inform me, through comment or dm or whatever you want, just please tell me. Thank you for listening to me talk here, I genuinely appreciate anyone reading so so much. Thank you. I really hope you enjoy these, I write mostly for myself but my eventual goal is authorship, so feedback is wildly appreciated. I wanna know if I’ve got something worth reading here. Again thank you for reading my stuff. Also, I regularly go back and re-edit chapters based on advice I’ve gotten and little things I’ve noticed in my own re-reading (mostly because I need to make sure I don’t contradict myself in later chapters). I’ll be editing the original posted chapters to instead be the updated versions, but I’ll make note in the post that they’ve changed, because I’d feel dishonest changing things without telling my audience. Thanks for reading, and have a good day!
Circle out (:
Felt like I sorta had to
does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver
Chapter One: The Arrogance of the Blind (Void)
Fivin sighed, staring at the dingy, and somehow stained, ceiling of his room. The wood had a particular dark cast to it. Walnut, maybe? Or was it Rosewood? He sighed again. Contemplating the ceiling won’t make me any more entertained. Neither will contemplating my contemplations.
The last time he’d had any sort of fun with a job had been five months ago, a piece from a renowned surrealist living at the base of the Siarkan peaks which had been contained within Marquess Lothar’s personal collection. Fivin played the game of thief for the thrill, known as one of the best –or at least most notorious– throughout the criminal underworld under the name “Tobacco.”
Lloyd peered into Fivin’s room and watched his deep brown eyes stare blankly upwards, gaunt frame occasionally heaving a sigh, before speaking up, “You have a customer, Fivin. Finally, you can get out of this damned room and stop bugging me every day about a job.”
Fivin looked up, hopeful, “Is it a good one?”
“Should be, if they’re asking you,” Lloyd affirmed. Lloyd had been Fivin’s partner ever since he began thieving. Rather than stealing, he acted as the liaison between the famed “Tobacco” and any customers. He owned and tended the bar of a local establishment called The Burning Tree, which Fivin currently stayed in. The bar in the front consistently hosted a great many people, some rather famous in the sphere of criminals. It seemed a win-win to Lloyd, he got a cut of the profit, and Tobacco’s association made his business get more traffic. Twenty percent of the selling price of the target item had always been Tobacco’s price, and he’d give half to Lloyd.
“As the last months have proven, that’s not always the case. Who’s the customer?” Fivin inquired.
“Alistair Baris,” Lloyd said, smiling.
Fivin frowned in turn, “What’s the leader of the Coppergarde want with me?”
“I’d assume he wants you to steal something,” Lloyd stated.
Fivin gave him a flat stare for a second, then moved on. Typically scholarly guilds didn't hire him, especially the leading scientists of the last twenty years. What use could they have for a thief? He couldn’t think of an answer, so instead he moved to a drawer. Opening it, he looked upon the mask ceremoniously displayed within. He examined it for a long moment. Made of Black Ivory from the fangs of a massive Glomarian Demon, it made for a dramatic first impression to say the least. It took inspiration from the face of Porphyl, the Void Moon. It had dark purple swirling designs painted onto its surface using the blood of the very beast the fang came from.
A tale sprang up long ago that said each moon favored a different sort of criminal. Those who shed blood, those who ride the tides, those who exploit gold, and those who leave voids. Erythen, the Blood Moon, favored thugs and murderers, Lorvir, the Tide Moon, favored pirates and smugglers, Krysos, the Gold Moon, favored noblemen and gang leaders, and Porphyl, the Void Moon, favored thieves and charlatans. A parallel myth regarding more reputable people circulated far more often; those who mend blood, ride tides, pass gold, and watch voids were favored. Doctors, cargo shippers, merchants, and city watch prided themselves on this myth. Fivin happened to believe the criminal half of that story, and always kept an amethyst amulet on him. These amulets and charms helped people like Fivin identify another of their kind. Thugs for hire would wear bracelets that had a ruby centerpiece. If a client wanted something stolen, they could find someone wearing an amethyst necklace. With leaders and noblemen, look for a golden stud in their ear. Finally, if it is a seafaring job, look for someone wearing a ring set with turquoise. Informants, being a significant role in the operations of many systems within the underbelly of Keldanven, but not having one of the goddesses’ favor, were known by obsidian jewelry.
Fivin put the mask inside his coat, and stepped out the door. There were several spots one could meet with Tobacco, but the schedule that only he and Lloyd knew dictated that customers should be told to go to a different one each day, without pattern, so that no one could ever predict where he would show up. Today’s happened to be just two blocks over, a decrepit warehouse that looked like it would fall over in a stiff breeze. He neared the building and slipped into an alleyway. After making sure no one lurked nearby, he took off his coat and pulled it inside out, then slipped it back on, the outside now sleek black. He then removed the mask from it and placed it over his face. Now in the guise of Tobacco, he opened the door to the building and strode in. A squatter in the corner saw Tobacco’s now rather imposing figure and scurried out, correctly surmising that this man owned the building.
Fivin sat on his side of the table, in an old but surprisingly comfortable wooden chair. Eventually, he heard someone else coming to the door, and then Alistair walked in. The bespectacled man had a sense of confidence to his walk, and quickly sat down in his chair. A golden stud shined in his ear. He cleared his throat and finally addressed Fivin, “So. This is the mighty Tobacco. Well, I need your assistance. I would like to request that a premier thief such as yourself test the security of one of my newest vaults.”
Fivin blinked at him, then burst into laughter, “Of course! That makes so much sense! Your security experts may be, well, experts, but their opinions have nothing on the opinion of a thief! I had wondered what you could possibly need with me. What’s the pay?” He only asked because, considering this sort of job obviously meant he couldn’t actually steal the objects within, he had to have a listed price beforehand.
Alistair did not seem nearly as mirthful, and it showed in his voice, “I’ll pay you half the contents of that particular vault, or in other words, five hundred thousand Embers for the job.”
Fivin’s eyes bulged and he sputtered for a second, not that Baris could see, then found his voice, “Five hundred thousand? Seriously? You cannot expect me to believe that.”
Alistair smiled ever so slightly, “We have millions of Embers, Tobacco. This is a paltry sum or we wouldn’t be parting with it.”
Fivin sat back in shock. He knew the Coppergarde had wealthy backing, of course, but he never knew the extent. Finally, he looked Baris in the eyes and said, “Deal.”
Fivin received absolutely no resources from Alistair. He had to acquire plans for the building, vault, guard rotations, and all other information on his own. He sat in his room, and sighed yet more. Where did he even start? Oh. Maybe by telling Lloyd the target. Lloyd always knew the most logical way to break a problem down. Thirty seconds later he walked into Lloyd’s room, which doubled as his managing area for the inn portion of the bar. Lloyd looked up from a ledger and peered at Fivin. He took off his reading glasses and tucked them into a breast pocket, then asked, “Yes?”
“Just came to tell you about the job. A vault. I have to test the security of the Coppergarde’s top-of-the-line vault, sure to be in the center of their complex in Kydonia. Guess the haul,” Fivin grinned.
“Two thousand Embers?” Lloyd inquired.
“Think bigger.”
“Ten thousand Embers?”
“I said bigger.”
“Oh stop this game. One hundred thousand Embers!”
“Lloyd… It’s five times that!”
“Five hundred thousand… Embers?! No way. Not a chance.” Lloyd said incredulously.
“That’s what we’ve been promised.”
Lloyd wrote something down, then appeared to do some math, then looked back to Fivin, “That’s enough for two titles and palaces to go with them, with plenty extra!”
“Really? I do like the idea of a noble master thief! Anyways, Lloyd, I need your help. What do we tackle first? And how do we get all the info we need?”
“I have a few informants I can call upon who are in that area… but it might not be enough. I can probably get guard rotations, but schematics for the vault? You’ll need to stage a heist before the heist to get those.”
Fivin sat down, groaning, “Voids help us… I had really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Hmmm. Can you get info on Baris’s office?”
“Most certainly. It’ll take a few days though.”
“Great! Tell me then!”
My scribblings on my ongoing WIP series, the All Things series(plus my mascot Bella)
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