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What once was whole, can be whole no more.

Started by Wycliff, November 19, 2017, 10:37:35 PM

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Wycliff

[OPEN]

Worthless.

A man wandered through the sunlit streets, a cold breeze ruffling his long silver locks. A knight with no helmet, a warrior with no blade, his footsteps were heavy and labored as he made his way along the cobblestone walkway. Looking in his eyes, no spark of life could be found, and glancing at his silver bearded face, not a hint of laughter could be seen. Indeed, what could be seen meandering the streets of Reahj this day was a husk, clad in the armor of the once great military division, Ansgar's Hand.

The clank of metal upon stone was monotonous as the man inside's thoughts, the same sound playing over and over, echoing through his mind. Worthless. It was the knell of his existence now, the idea of solace long forgotten. A once proud, ambitious man, with aspiration to help the lost, tend the wounded, and rescue the forlorn, broken into pieces by the machinations of the universe. Time, it seemed, passed him by without a glance, taking with it his purpose. His soul. His love.

Worthless.


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Miriad_Vegetables

Useless.

The word filled Morgand. Having to break down a door just to speak to the hag was bad enough, but to find she had nothing for him, after all he had done to reach that point, it was disheartening.
It felt like everything in his life was slowing to stagnation; He was, she was, the whole world was. He could see that indebting mages to himself wasn't worth what it used to be, all of it was becoming less of a pleasure and more of a chore, worthless trouble on his part.

It was all because paranoia had spread so widely over the remaining free mages, that involving themselves with anyone, including Morgand, was considered a risk. It had caused him no end of grief, the few special favours he could earn from a desperate witch were worth nought when she wasn't willing to practice her magic within city limits.
The only thing he could think and feel was that if all of the remaining mages in Reajh were like this, they could all eat dirt, taste ash, and drink piss for what he cared, all the mages in Connlaoth, the Continent!

"Useless!" He barked into his shoulder this time, face turned down and away from the other people on the street. It was about midday, so many people were making their way about their business, the lifeblood of Reajh in all it's shapes and sizes... but this street was less full than it could have been, painfully obvious to Morgand.
It was a street where many of the houses were empty, now belonging to no one. Seized by the state when the occupants were invariably taken away by the Mordecai. Morgand had lost a lot of mage contacts that way, some of them useful, some of them he had known well and couldn't help having some sense of guilt over.

But that was all in the past now, He was losing income fast that's what mattered. Supporting his family's lifestyle hadn't become any easier over the years, things having taken a downwards turn now that they were spending as much as he was earning as fast as he was earning it. It was a combination of expenses paid for the essentials but also luxuries, things he couldn't bring himself to deprive them. But no matter what he wanted, and try as he might, no alternative method of income presented itself... He would have to visit the Gravekeeper's Hovel soon, and get his cut from the girl, that was for certain.
But for now he kept an eye out, for a thief, or a rowdy youth, anyone he could growl at to ease his stress.

He didn't have to look hard for someone to grab his attention. He stopped where he was walking, and put his feet apart trying to steadily stand. He watched from across the other side of the street as neither a criminal nor a drunkard marched and mumbled across the way, a striking character.

His head glinted in the sunlight. Morgand thought it was a helm at first, to go along with the armour, but it was really silver hair shining brighter than the metal itself, the colour implying a venerable man.
The figure strode along the street, people stepping aside out of the way, as his mouth worked open and closed from what he could see, the only sound being the clank of his armour on the cobblestone.
The sight of the man, alone and in a place like this, meant Morgand's frustration was replaced with confusion, and despite himself an odd concern for who this man was.
He must be a nobleman, a Duke's uncle maybe...No, an old knight for sure. Either way he must be important. He stipulated, as he decided this would be his chance to do something worthwhile today.

He chose to draw nearer the man and as he did he saw that the soldier, despite the wear of his armour and his hair-colour, could have been near his age if not younger.
It was then that Morgand tried to remember in that moment, about a Major in the army (or perhaps a general) who had hair that was said to sheen like platinum... And her company, the army beneath her...

The difficulty in remembering such important details made Morgand curse having not paid more attention to the war effort beyond how it affected him. Now that knowledge may make or break his fortune, being sure he knew the man somehow, must have known the man, a few rumours...
The only way to be sure was to try, and so Morgand cleared his throat and spat on the stones to the side, before rolling his shoulders and standing straight, beginning to stride over to the man, hand out in calling to him;

"You, over there, soldier-Sir Knight! Sir! Can I help you?" he said, as he walked after the man, trying to match his frantic pace.

Wycliff

The man stopped, a voice cutting through the cacophony of self-loathing. Help me? No... wait. Ansgar's Hand... He turned to face the approaching human, the light of the sun pouring over his face. A silver beard circled his mouth on an otherwise clean shaven face, his pale skin reflecting light almost as well as his follicles. Above all else, though, the most striking feature of the man would have to be his eyes, a silver-grey, with black particles emanating along the iris from the pupil.

Those darkened eyes regarded Morgand dully, scanning over his person. A city official of some sort, most likely. Perhaps he knows about the fate of Ansgar's Hand.

His voice was smooth and proper, but sunken in depression. "Yes, thank you, sir. I was wondering about the current state of the Ansgar's Hand Military division. I don't suppose you know of it?"

The man was, in fact, once a Captain of Ansgar's Hand,  Aven Kilandre-Alveron. He'd become known around Reahj in recent years for frequent night patrols, from the slums to the streets of the upper class. Were he in the right mind, he my have recognized Morgand from his rounds, but it was obvious to anyone that Aven was not his usual self.


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Miriad_Vegetables

Like a Connlaothian who'd never seen the sun... Seeing the man's feature's properly for the first time, it was the eyes that made Morgand slow his pace and touch his pocketed pistol in no uncertain manner.
Morgand had seen many mages whose power was wrought upon others through the eyes, and there was no doubt that this man was a mage, had to be. The eyes were slightly sunken, yet so striking in the way the pupils seemed to ripple and distort the irises. They were more like portals than eyes.

Ansgar's Hand? What had become of them, were they still around?... That was it, I know now they were a force, a force founded in the Duchy of Vythe at the war's onset. A Lady had become a Major, then a General over the course of the war, that must be them.

"I know of the Ansgar's Hand, Mordecai on horseback from what I know. Began their campaign in the Duchies south of Matron's 'Allow." He steps closer to the man, and looks at the man's armour as he talks, appraising his wealth, and his noble manner, before continuing. "Famous, I am sure you know sir, but as for what has become of them now. I have heard of victories and near losses, but besides that... Little news on the war front reaches even Reajh, too many spies and mages still around."

Morgand gestured to the man as an example, before catching himself and saying "Which is why you ask, I am sure sir. Are you an esteemed member? I've certainly seen you before in Reajh, and you must at least be a captain of a kind, seen battle by... by the Lady General's side, eh?"

Who are you? Morgand tried to ask without asking. Are you dangerous? And how do I make you my friend regardless?
He squared up to the man, crossing his arms loosely and putting up a smile. Despite him being so dilapidated the man was a knight, one Morgand was sure haunted the streets more than himself even, but he had never had the pleasure of being introduced.

Morgand decided to be forward, and offered his hand and arm to lock with the man's own as he awaited an answer.

Wycliff

Aven's eyes sunk as 'The Lady General' was mentioned. However, at the same time, the irises ceased their pulsating, and became the steel grey eyes of his youth once more.  The effect was obviously not intended, a slip of the mind. "I haven't seen Hakon in some time, I'm afraid." A haggard sigh escaped his lips, as he felt a Mordecai Aura suppress his magic. There wasn't much doubt, after Aven's experience chasing and confronting Mordecai that the man in front of him had such a talent. It was weak, but there nonetheless.

Aven made solid eye contact, trying to remain afloat in the sea of doubt and despair. A tear dropped from his eye, unbound, as memories of his time with Hakon resurfaced by the man's words. The battles they'd shared, the opponents they faced... Caster. The name was soaked in venom and coated with poison, even when said within the confines of Aven's mind. The hate that he held for that Demonlord was nearly as deep as the ocean of sadness he was drowning in. Still, this man before him was unrelated to such a matter, the look in his eyes a testament to greed, though not overbearingly so; and beside it, was that fear? No doubt, he'd seen the particles in Aven's eyes, a mistake that the Aven of the past would never have made. 

The newcomer reached out a hand in gesture, and Aven took it. Aven's grip was firm and fixed, as if he was holding back his strength for safety. "I am Aven Kilandre-Alveron, formerly a Captain of Ansgar's Hand.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr...?"


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Miriad_Vegetables

Morgand saw the man's face change to be filled with emotion, despite his focus being on the man's now settling eyes. He also listened to the man's words, drawing up what memories he could of the name, Hakon. Lady Kilandre was her title, and she was indeed the lady general of Vythe, meaning this man must be one of her aids.
The armour, yes, he belongs to Ansgar's Hand, he is a mage and yet... and the Lady Kilandre... how did that happen? Why didn't more people know?

Aven introduced himself and Morgand looked again at his face, where now he had piercing and youthful steel-grey eyes. This person was larger than life, swelling within the confines of his physical body, not to mention his grip vice-like. He was quite unlike any mage Morgand had met in the city limits in a long time; imposing. Morgand wasn't sure he was in control anymore, but nevertheless he wanted to believe there was something this man could give him.
A shared namesake with the Adhara general even?

"Justah civil servant, one of Reajh's many guardians sir. To be addressed by a captain of the military is enoff of an honour for a dozen lifetimes I assure you." Morgand said, bowing his capped head slightly.
"...I did not know you were involved with Lady Kilandre so, an' I see it's a painful spot in you sir, no shame in that, but I think she is strong from the stories so... " Morgand rattled out, his plan of attack forgotten in the wake of this man's words, so few yet powerful. In light of this Morgand had to say something more, or lose his chance

"If it's news you want, the Cathedral's are always receiving pilgrims and people wishing to confess and impart prayers, it's a place where much is shared and a man may overhear much..." Morgand stopped himself there. "... If a man were inclined to..." He let out his own ragged sigh and scratched his bristling jaw.
"Sir, to make up for any disappointment I've caused, what else could you want? If I can help I will... Before I stopt' you, you looked like you needed waking." Morgand spoke, trying to make his pitch. An old dog will still serve you just as well, throw me a bone is all I ask of you. Morgand met Aven's eyes with his dark brown ones, and tried again to gain some favour.

Wycliff

You looked like you needed waking. A truer sentence was never spoken. Aven hadn't been himself for a long time, the pain of loss stifling any attempt he made to break free. His newfound physical strength was useless, as was his skill in magic. Not even the fastest regeneration could mend his broken heart, having left his family behind. Perhaps, exactly what he needed was a wake up call, a purpose. He'd lived for Hakon and his family so fervently and so long, he forgot how to do anything else.

The man before him was visibly intimidated, though that didn't come as a surprise to Aven. He'd grown accustomed to that look, well aware of how his size and mannerisms came off. A reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; ironically, as Aven was so far in the hole of despair he'd almost forgotten what the light looked like. Thankfully, he hadn't yet forgotten his family's faces. "No need for apologies, you've told me more than I could have asked for." He paused for a moment. "You're right, of course, Hakon is strong, she'll be just fine on her own. Unfortunately, churches are not good places for me, though I'm sure it would be a favorable spot otherwise."

He glanced up at the sun. "I'm not busy today, I don't suppose the Taverns are your fancy? I'm famished, and a drink may do me well." Aven winked. "Don't worry, it's on me. Consider it thanks for... waking me, as it were."


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Miriad_Vegetables

Well, didn't expect tha'
Morgand relaxed as he believed the man had begun to warm to him, and would most likely start to treat Aven as just another eccentric military officer; powerful yet out-of-touch. Morgand stowed his Watchman's cap in his pocket, and pulled his overcoat closed to cover up the fact he was wearing the city colours, and a mace to boot.

Morgand, feeling pleased with himself and not sensing the mild disapproval from the soldier, spoke with a level tone, "Thank you for the offer sir... I fancy a tavern over a church most days that are not Ansgar's, though It's still best not to be seen entering places without warrant whilst in uniform, but I'll stay sharp as anythin' Sir Kilandre-Alveron."
Morgand stepped to be beside Aven as they looked at the street. Though the man had some normalcy to him, Morgand wanted to know more, to ask about his relationship with her Ladyship, and why the man was separated from her and the Ansgar's Hand. But, Morgand did not pry mens' secrets as a profession, such questions would need liqueur to ease them out.

Morgand cleared his throat and swallowed it, not spitting in Aven's presence. "I am partial to most any tavern, yes sir, and any tha' take yer fancy will be likely to discount us on the fact we are servants of the Duke both, eh? So lead on, and anythin' else that comes to my mind I'll share with you as we walk. Like the stories I have heard, though they have arrived in the capital at a piecemeal pace for years... we should continue our conversation indoors."

Wycliff

Aven patted the man on the back as they began to walk, a concrete smile forming across his face. "Don't be so uptight, soldier; I'm retired, after all." A small twinkle shone in his eye, a reminisce from his old days convincing Mordecai to defect. Scanning people's expressions and building on their morals was an acquired talent of his, more than he'd care to admit. "You still haven't given your name, surely I don't need to continue calling you abstracts?"

It was one part instinct, as Aven'd already shared his name, and being uninformed was not something he enjoyed. "I'd actually prefer you lead the way, wherever you feel. It's been so long, it doesn't feel like my home city anymore. Speaking of which, how long have you lived in this area?"


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Miriad_Vegetables

Being called a soldier, now wasn't that something? Morgand smiled somewhat genuinely as he tried to play off the frustration of the day as best he could "Me, uptight? No sir, I'm as easy-going as they come... They call me the Old Dog-" When they think I don't hear them. "- but that's not a name either, eh? It's Morgand if you care for it."

He walked along the street, heading for one tavern in particular, feeling well under-dressed to be having Aven for company. But now here came his chance to impress upon Aven his respectability and character. "Ah, retired, then I'm jealous of that if nothing else of yours. As for being... estranged to Reajh, I could see tha', she's changed in recent years." The pair just about having cleared the last street of derelicts in this quarter by that point.

"I have liv'd within the city for 35 years at the least? And in the Watch since 28 years past. But I don't live here, no sir, somewhere nicer by a margin, near the Southern Gate to Highheart." Morgand spilt all this whilst intent on navigation, remembering how he came to own Trostoc House filling him with pride. Such that he nearly forgot Aven was getting more out of this conversation than he was. "And yourself? The inner streets near the Duke's Palace I expect. In which case I know a place that serves meals fit enough for a soldier of your calibre, drinks not bad either, hard to find bad drink, eh?"
Looking at the man he was met with a pleasant expression, like an oil painting, but didn't notice the artificial nature.

Wycliff

Aven nodded as Morgand spoke, the older man taking obvious pride in his accomplishments. To be honest, Aven was a measure of impressed: thirty-five years was a long time to serve, no matter what the duty. "Morgand, hm? Well, it's very nice to make your acquaintance, Morgand. I assume you prefer your name over that 'title' you've earned, yes?" He chuckled. People were inventive, that's for sure, but to be fair, he'd heard worse nicknames thrown around. Aven himself had once been referred to as the Shadow of Reahj, perhaps the tackiest title he'd ever encountered, a side effect of his efforts to turn the Mordecai order against the Grand Duke. Fitting, he supposed, but a tad too edgy for Aven's taste.

When Morgand mentioned the Duke's Palace, Aven made a slightly sour face, and shook his head. "No, I never could stand the politics of nobility. Take my word, it's just a collection of rich snobs kissing each other's rears for money and influence, for the sole purpose of enacting their ideals on people they view as lesser beings. Not a place for smart people, believe you me." He returned to his gentle smile. "You have the right idea, biding your time in the middle. It's better to live for the ones you care about than slave away for meaningless power."


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Miriad_Vegetables

Morgand started listening intently, ideas of profit mostly forgotten. Aven spoke a lot of sense. Morgand's thoughts were that maybe being a soldier, magic and nobility be damned, had done him some good. "Heh, certainly sir, but the title is welcome sometimes. It's easier to convince someone you're worth somethin' and that fighting you ain't worth the trouble if you have more than a name to your... name, a reputation I mean." He looked down a street, and thought he saw what he sought, turning towards it before continuing.

"I ain't one for politicking either that's for sure. I could as likely name the aristocracy as I could a stray in the street, Sir! An' maybe they are worth tha same in the end, Ansgar says as much. And the money-grubbing? Well, that come's with having the slightest bit-ah power o'er folk, I know that."
Morgand nodded, agreeing with himself or Aven not being entirely clear. But as the last part came, his brow creased, dangerously self-aware.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and said "But... no, maybe not going so far as to say that. What I do for the sake of my family isn't freedom at all, if anything I'm one of..." He seemed to lose himself, before bile at the back of his throat reminded him he wasn't getting any younger, nor wealthier as time passed. He swallowed, unable to dislodge the kernel in his mind that preached the same verse.

"I need the money from what I do," He stated flatly. "As much as the city needs what I do, if not more so. Men can't make do with the mid-road these days, it's-it's always less than we need... You're always needing jus' a little more" Morgand thought about Lorrita, Marton and Jaspia. They were living in a safe and clean house because of him. That was how it'd always been and how it'd always stay.

Morgand looked over at that man who had been the onset for all this reflection, and chose to try a new approach, or retreat, or something.
"Sir, we're near now. So, though I'd usually hold a man to a bargain, I'll gift ya the liberty to rid yourself of me. I'd like to know more of what you've told me, my son would care dearly for the tale of our meeting alone. But you know more than your share of me. So, unless you truly want to share more, we can part ways civil like... won't do for you to be seen with me." Morgand muttered, pulling his coat tight around his uniform and looking for any ruffians he might recognise.

Wycliff

Aven's gentle smile lifted, and became a slight smirk. His suspicions were correct, an unfortunate side effect of constantly delving into people's morals and uncovering their humanity. Oftentimes, their desires and fears were dug up alongside. You're always needing just a little more. Aven knew the median wage for a city watchman, of course, and could sense the hint of desperation in Morgand's words. He obviously wasn't just a city watchman, not with that attitude.

Before Aven responded, he took a moment to gauge the mood. From Morgand's words, the older man was looking for a client; though, be it a Noble or a mage, he couldn't say. Dusty gears turned in Aven's head, gears that hadn't turned in such a manner for over ten years. He supposed the revolutionary within him was still just as prominent, if not more so now that Hakon was safe...

The thought gave him pause, the words bouncing around his head. Hakon was safe now, even though she wasn't with him. A small bit of the wound in his heart began to heal, and a spark of life flared back into his eyes. Perhaps... he could continue to live for a while.

I suppose I could pass the time by causing Calent a headache. Without a word, only a light smirk, Aven pulled out a gold coin, and with a flick of his thumb, flipped it to Morgand. "Just a little bit more, eh? Well, that can be arranged, if you keep those old ears of yours peeled for me." The intonation of his proposition was more than clear, the gold was a one way ticket down a rabbit hole. The question was, how far, if at all, was Morgand willing to go?


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Miriad_Vegetables

The coin seemed to sing as it soared, masking words that Morgand would have otherwise taken offence at. "Always, just a little more." He repeated, catching the coin at the end of it's arc.
His mouth formed a firm line as he turned and opened the door to the tavern, even though he felt he was being led into a den by a fox given Aven's attitude. But gold was gold, and skewed his judgement, just how dangerous could another man's story be, eh?
Aven's was sure to be exceptional however...

He stepped though the threshold of The Night's Solace. It was a very pretentiously named drinking house that simply serve the Night watch, from before dawn until noon. Even now, just after midday, many of the patron's had gone home and were asleep, though some had chosen to sleep at their tables. The small-windowed building had situated to one side a duo consisting of a tired looking man and girl. She was singing a lullaby like song as he rapped on a drum skin.

Morgand called the serving boy over and reached into his pocket, avoiding the Golden Duke and retrieving some Silver Crests, handing over some for the drinks and slipping one into the serving boy's pocket, muttering "The clean tankards, son, there's royalty present." 

He turned to his companion of the last few minutes and pulled out a chair for Aven at a table with a candle, and sat himself down opposite, indicating the seat. "So, you want to talk to me? Well I can't outright tell you the error of your ways, so instead I'll ask this; What poison do you prefer? The sort that kills quickly in small dosage, or the kind that effects a man slowly?"

Wycliff

Aven laughed at Morgand's inquiry as he took his seat. "Remember, this is my treat, I should be asking you the same! I'll oblige you, though; my favorite happens to be Matron's Root, a heavy mead brew from up North." He grinned wolfishly, a intimidating expression indeed, though one he rarely wore. It was an imitation of a noble he once dealt with, a cocky bastard who'd thought his Mordecai guards made him invincible. How wrong he'd been. "As a forewarning, I advise you to forget about getting me drunk: I'm afraid poisons in general have no effect on my body." It was a calculated sentence, feeling out Morgand's intentions. If he were in the business of dealing with mages, the subtle hint toward the supernatural shouldn't be lost on him, while if he dealt with Nobles, the phrase would be likely laughed off and dismissed in the spirit of kissing boot.

He turned to the serving boy. "A Matron's Root, for me. It'll be a single tab for both of us." Aven was slowly slipping back into his old routine, not an entirely unwelcome process. At least, it got his mind off his family. We'll see your intentions, now, watchman.


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Miriad_Vegetables

Morgand stroked his jaw at Aven's words, mulling them over as if choosing what to do next cautiously, before cracking an incredulous smile. "Heh, sure you are sir, and I'm immune to the winter's cold. We're both mere men, no matter yer standing." Morgand replied, though internally his mind was thinking otherwise.
Matron's Root? I thought that was a drink of women-folk and children? Huh. Seeing Aven's expression he thought better than to voice these thoughts.

Morgand instead held the boy by the shoulder, and pressed a finger to his chest as he spoke.
"I want a well made Barley Wine, to provide the majority of the flavour, served with a well-done ham dowsed in red-wine, I don't mind the vintage. I also want finely sliced potatoes cooked in the pig's fat and left to soak in the juices... If you can manage that, please. Go boy."

He watched the boy go, before leaning back in his chair and looking about the tavern. He coughed and looked at the candle between the two of them, grinding his jaw one way then the other, as his face hardened. His eyes focused on the metallic shine of Aven's worn armour and eventually on Aven's eyes for a long while.

Morgand eventually reached under the table and placed his heavy iron mace on the edge. He then slowly hunched over, leaning on one arm, and bowed his head as he spoke to Aven in a low voice. "You are human, right? That is, only to say that I know for a fact..."
He stopped as he considered his words, and took in a deep breath.

"No more being coy, eh? I know for a fact what you are sir. It confuses me, yes, yes it does, how you can wear the armour of a Mordecai division, be known to an Adhara general, and still walk these streets... make no mistake I am not so dull as to not notice this." He put his hands in his pockets and lent back again, whistling between his teeth to let the tension escape as he went on "But, I don't judge so quickly... honest. You've done nothing but be in a daze, I've done nothing but speak to you, so respecting the harmlessness of this all... let us be keeping it civil like, lets keep talking for now, and see where this goes, it must lead somewhere."

Morgand leaned forward over the table even further and said with urgency "Tell me how a man like you is possible, for starters."

Wycliff

Aven leaned back into his chair, delving back into his mind for where to begin. It was a long tale, no doubt, though he supposed it all started and ended with his condition. "Well, then, for starters, no; I am not human, not anymore. I was a magic researcher, the son of a noble family, and a natural born shadow Mage. Unbeknownst to me, I'd been singled out by a being formerly known as the Dark Scion, the last of an ancient race who consisted of and controlled dark matter." Aven's brow furrowed. "This being planted dark matter in my study for me to 'discover', and in my experimentation with it, it took over my body, transforming me into a corrupted version of that ancient race. As of now, I am part Shadow, and part dark matter. Only my form is human, I'm afraid."

He sighed, as the boy came back with a tankard of Matron's Root. An acrid smell of heavy alcohol wafted over the table, enough to give pause to any casual bar patron. Contrary to popular belief in Reahj, Matron's Root was not a drink to scoff at. Aven picked the mug up and downed a few gulps. "As for my rank, I'm afraid it gets complicated. The easy explanation is that I fell in love with Hakon Kilandre, while she was still only a Major in the army." A ghost of a genuine smile crossed his features. "We fell hard, the both of us, star crossed by circumstance and conviction. She was a loyal and honorable Adhara soldier, while I was a steadfast Revolutionary and Mage." He laughed. "It's almost comical how different we were, but love still blossomed, and soon, I'd join the military unit Ansgar's Hand just to stay by her side, while still gathering intelligence to tear the Grand Duke from his throne." Aven took another swig of his drink, pausing to let the flood of information sink in.


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Miriad_Vegetables

Alveron... Now where have I heard o-wait, a shadow mage? What's a-a dark scion for that matter? Dark matter? Great deal of shadows and darkn'ss an-... He really isn't human. Ah...
Morgand's eyes darted around Aven's features, feeling no longer in control once more. He sniffed at Aven's drink as it passed him by as well, and was actually sobered by the strong smell. He grabbed his own drink and dismissed the boy quickly, not seeming to care that it was merely Brown Ale, as he chugged the brew.

So... A-alrigh' so, been in the army for years, without discovery. An' he has been involved with the Hakon Kilandre for however long... Still a revolutionary? Not only that but he hopes tah... to dethrone... May Adhara's Courage bolster my own.
Morgand swallowed the alcohol thankfully, and put his mug down slow. "I wasn't expecting tha', no, no never. To meet one like you... That's certainly a story, can't 'magine why you paid me to listen though." Morgand stalled, picking up his knife and fork, but then putting them down again. He pushed the meal away, and regarded Aven with a new look.

"Because from what I understan', about half've what you've said, you sound impossible, or terr'bly possible, mage." He said the last word with a mixture of disgust and awe, sliding his hands back in his pockets and looking into the candle, before saying in a flat voice "Y'really and truly here to bring down the Grand Duke?" The question sounded silly even to himself, yet Aven had said it with such conviction.
"I... I can't let that pass, no." Morgand shrugged almost matter-of-factly. "No. Don't get me wrong, it's no sense of duty, just can't fathom letting a man like you walk out tha' door without... without some assurance."
After saying all this, Morgand fixed his mace with a glare, and quietened down. He needed to have Aven speak, know his thoughts.

Wycliff

Aven finished off his drink, setting the mug back into the table lightly. "No, I'm not taking down Calent, not anymore. The truth is, in my time away from Connloath, I met an oracle that showed me the path I would have walked had I toppled Calent's regime: it wasn't pretty. An even more ruthless leader emerged, worse than Calent by far, a true monster. I decided then and there that I would allow events to transpire as they will, and simply help the people I can along the way."

He shuffled in place, getting a bit more comfortable. "The reason I paid you, Morgand, is because I'm leaving this Country, at least for now. Recently, however, my son arrived in Connloath, and he's currently searching for me." Aven leaned forward. "I'd like to leave a message with you, if I could: you'd be paid handsomely for it's safe delivery, I assure you." He loved Jace, he really did, but now that he'd arrived in this world, Jace would need to learn how to take care of himself, a lesson that Aven couldn't teach him. It broke his heart to leave his son alone, but they'd see each other again in due time.


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Miriad_Vegetables

Morgand calmed down, things taking a turn for the better. He thanked his intuition for keeping him steady and letting Aven talk, if he were any more hot-blooded or quick to attack who knows what sort of fight would've taken place... probably none, him being dead before he reached his mace.
Morgand let his shoulders relax, and eased his thumb off the "dog" of his pistol, concealed in his pocket and aimed at Aven's gut. The man had disproved most of his fears, and him leaving, let alone entrusting Morgand to carry a message, settled the watchman's mind into a sensible one again.

Lorrita and the children will be safe from the war still, for now. It's not like I could make him do anything, he's been in this city however long and never been apprehended by the Mordecai, what chance do I have? Even if there were a reward, which I donno for certain there isn't... Gah, it isn't worth it.

Morgand locked his fingers together and hunched over the table "...Alrigh' sir. You seem to think for whatever reason I'm not one to rat on you, or your son for that matter... and yer right. Not 'cause you bought me off, never... It's 'cause I know I can't beat you. So, I'll ignore the fact you've chosen to trust me, and let this business have a happy end. What's the message, an' how do I find him?"

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