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
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 (:
Alina had been having a nice evening. She got to dress up, dance on a masterfully constructed floor, and laugh quietly about the outfit Tobacco had selected for Laos. Overall, a pleasant time. When she saw Laos lumbering towards her it unfortunately reminded her she had an objective here. She broke away from her dance partner, who Laos kept eyeing, and walked to the table Tobacco had selected. Laos bumped into someone, but it resolved itself quietly.
Tobacco guided them to a room, which had two men in ivory wolf masks lingering suspiciously close, and stepped in. Once inside, the music became muffled and her eyes had to adjust. The room itself looked lavishly decorated, with red velvet cushions and low set, well-cushioned couches and chairs, circling a similarly low table in the center. On one of the couches lounged a man in a fox mask, and a woman in a cat mask.
The woman looked at the newcomers and made some sort of crooning noise. The man chuckled, “Brother! I’ve missed you!”
“It’s been the same over here! I simply had to enjoy the music though, before I could visit you! How have you been?” Tobacco laughed as well, reaching up and pulling off his mask.
Alighieri did the same, and the woman followed, before Alighieri replied, “Oh, you know, business is going well, personal life is going well, overall decent. How about you?” Alina examined the man. He had much more mass than Tobacco, with hair of a much darker brown. While Tobacco’s features were unremarkable and frankly boring, Alighieri’s were rather distinctive. He had neither been ugly nor particularly attractive. He seemed fairly fit, like he kept up with his health, compared to Tobacco and his unhealthy looking skinniness.
The woman at his side, however, struck Alina as beautiful. She had jet-black, full hair, and had a darker complexion, as though she had come from Kolasi. She sort of, to Alina, looked like she glowed. She seemed out of place compared to the two brothers, one of whom had a boring appearance and the other looked simply distinct, no more. Alina found herself somewhat jealous.
She examined them. She had always thought these two would be more stern looking. They ruled their own little empire after all. They were the King and Queen, everyone knew them. Their empire stretched across two domains: premium information at premium costs, and the finest mercenary work at the finest price. The King of Information ruled over the network, while the Queen of Pain ruled over the thugs. Alina respected the level of organization that the two showed, with mercenaries that weren’t sloppy and rude, and informants that were efficient in delivering information.
“Well, I’m at a fancy ball, enjoying their amenities, so I’d say fine. Plus, a massive job just came in, which actually prompted me to be here. I need your help,” Tobacco replied. Some of his merriness left upon reaching the business portion of the night.
Alighieri raised an eyebrow and settled farther into his seat, “We can discuss that later, at my residence. For now, it’s a time of joy, so enjoy it!”
“Fine, fine, it can wait,” Tobacco’s demeanor returned to its previous state. Alina relaxed into one of the various chairs, finding it a bit too soft. Laos found a stool somewhere and sat down, while Tobacco lounged on a loveseat, sprawled as if he owned the furniture.
Alighieri’s wife, who Alina still hadn’t heard the name of, seemed to appraise the two people Tobacco had brought. Her gaze passed over Laos, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. Alina thought it may have been in appreciation. Then her eyes passed to Alina, and she simply watched. Eventually, she spoke up, “So, I assume you’re the Eagle?”
“No. I am not the Eagle. I hate that name. Why don’t people get that?” Alina expressed.
“But you are Alina Orlov, yes?” The strange woman inquired, leaning forward a bit.
“Well, yes, but still. Not the Eagle,” Alina said, breaking the minor staring contest that had begun.
“I’ve heard you are skilled. Is it true?”
“I’m not the best, but I’m far from the worst.”
“If I recall, you’re a Vitrophor and Iode, yes? Iode of the Skill, martial weapons? Dominant Vitro being Volata, secondary Vitro being Celerita?”
“Yeah… but why do you know me so well, apparently?” Alina got a bit suspicious. Her abilities weren’t exactly secret, considering people could watch her fly, but her being an Iode hadn’t been something she spoke of often. It could’ve simply been skill, people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“My husband makes a point of keeping tabs on people who’ve made a name for themselves, intentional or not, and I like to know about the ones who can fight. Alighieri leads a business founded on information, so it’s not difficult to find these things.”
At this point, Alighieri jumped in, breaking the light discussion he’d been having with his brother, “Oh, I can’t take all the credit, Kat, you’ve done some of your own snooping as well. I don’t much care about important figures from, say, Niebo, if they aren’t likely to ever show up on my doorstep. You can name their best and most influential fighters, though.”
Hearing what Alighieri called her, her name clicked in Alina’s memory. Aikaterine, shortened to Kat, also known as the Queen of Pain, or simply the Queen. Alina always remembered her title, but not her name.
Kat gave a slight nod and a little smile in response to her husband, then turned back to Alina, “Well, I find it unreasonable not to know. What if they do show up?”
Alina had begun to run out of topics, and found herself uncomfortable around Kat. Something about her simply unnerved Alina. Alina shrugged, “Fair enough, I guess. When do you think business will start?”
“Oh, business has already ended. Maybe they look like they’re chatting, but that’s just how they do it. It’s always quite a casual affair. The actual exchange will take place at our home.”
“Ah, I see,” Alina mumbled. She felt lost within this interaction. She never before really needed any information, it would all be provided by her employer, so she’d never been in a deal like this. This certainly isn’t how this normally works, right? It must be because they are brothers.
Tobacco stood up, nodding to Alighieri and Aikaterine, before saying, “Then we’ll meet you at your manor?”
“Yes yes, of course! We shall see you there. Enjoy the remainder of this ball!”
“I will, thank you. Alina, Laos, you must rarely get a chance for a ball like this, go have fun! Meet me back at the entrance at twelve.” He slid his mask back down and strutted out the door.
Alina stood, stretching and deciding she may as well go get some food. By the large timepiece above the grand entryway to the ballroom, she had thirty minutes to kill. At the table Tobacco had selected earlier she noted some light snacks, where Tobacco himself also lounged. Laos had found a seat near the entrance, evidently particularly ready to leave.
She sat down across from her current employer, grabbing a piece of flatbread to scoop some of the olives, tomato, and cucumber up with. She tried a bite, finding it a bit rich for her tastes but good nonetheless.
Starting in on the rest, she turned her eyes towards Tobacco himself. The last job they’d been on had almost been a disaster, Tobacco guiding them based off of faulty plans he’d gotten from one of Harper’s new recruits. They’d nearly rounded the corner before Hawthorne, in his ever twitchy manner, had begged them to stop and hide. He had noticed small discrepancies in the plans that both he and Fivin had memorized, some hallways not quite lining up with where they were meant to be, and he wanted to reassess just about everything. They’d spent a couple minutes debating in a hushed whisper, cramped inside of a lavatory, while Alina kept lookout, before deciding to pull out of this job and come back another day, with better plans. The next day, after getting updated plans from Harper himself, they realized the door they would’ve opened, expecting to find the treasury of Viscount Salvaxe, would instead have led directly into the break room of the guards.
Hawthorne had saved their lives. From that mission alone, Alina could tell how close him and Tobacco were. So why didn’t he seem more shaken by his friend’s death? Earlier, he had dismissed her asking after it, calling it a private matter, but even if so, she would have thought he’d have some outward sign that he felt it. Alina knew it had no bearing on her, but she still felt the urge to figure it out. What went on behind the impassive gaze of that mask?
She continued to ponder his seeming indifference, while he in turn continued to relax in the ballroom atmosphere. Their silence had lasted a whole ten minutes before Tobacco finally broke it.
“Have you enjoyed our outing?” A faint hint of melancholy showed in his voice.
Alina finished chewing a bite of her salad-in-flatbread before answering, “It’s been alright. Honestly the highlight is this food.”
“That’s nice, I had hoped you would. I didn't expect Laos to, it’s simply too far removed from his personality to enjoy a place like this.” He looked towards her, his eyes behind the mask focusing on her meal.
“Yeah, he seems… uncomfortable, to say the least. How about you? It’s been awhile, Tobacco. How’ve you been?” She examined his eyes. Is he a little more subdued than usual? Or is it my imagination?
“I’ve been mostly bored. Good jobs can’t always come in, y’know?” He met her eyes. In the right light, both of theirs would have deep purple undertones, their shared nature as Iodes emerging as the Krysos chandelier passed over them slowly.
“That’s fair. I’ve been itching for bigger work than intimidating some rival thugs or being a shown off bodyguard for a day. Glad you sent that letter.” Alina swung her legs up onto the table, drawing eyes, but by her estimate she’s not coming back anyways, so why not?
“Well, this job seems to deliver on big. If I can’t crack that vault, do you get the implications? It’ll be marketed as the strongest vault in the world, everybody with something to hide and money to spare will be clamoring for one. What am I meant to break into then?” He traced the rim of a crystal goblet with his finger, seeming not to see the ball around them but instead the scope of the job.
“Damn. Is it stressful?” In the five years she’d known him, she didn’t think she’d heard of a job of his with quite so much weight to his life.
He sighed, “Yes and no. If I think about it too much it can be, but I have to treat it like any other job, stress just leads to mistakes.” He passed his thumb over the jaw of the mask, seemingly an unconscious habit.
“So I’ve seen. There’s a reason I don’t do thievery. Good luck, Tobacco.” Alina had decided Tobacco did feel something about Azaryan’s death. She suspected that it hadn’t fully hit him yet, but the clues were there that he did feel it, like a coming storm.
“I fear I may need it,” Bells throughout Keldanven began to toll, and she saw Tobacco snap out of his head, “Ah, it’s twelve. Let’s collect Laos and head to Alighieri’s manor.”
“Alright then,” Alina swung her legs back down onto the floor and started towards Laos, Tobacco following shortly behind. He strutted past, briefly leaning in front of Laos and nodding to the exit as he went. Laos stood and grumbled his way behind Tobacco.
Once they had all reached the street, Tobacco hooked a left, towards the outer ring of the Loft District. He walked at a leisurely pace, seemingly breathing in the night itself. While he had looked a fitting part of the masquerade, he seemed native to this cloaking darkness, the occasional wisp of light from the now distant ball, a lit lamp in some noble’s study, or a night-wanderer’s lantern some streets away catching briefly on his figure and sliding cleanly off, as though he were made of naught but the shadows themselves. This midnight nature of his replaced any semblance of grief he’d previously shown. Elsewhere, Alina could easily picture him as looking bizarre, but now, as she had noted many times in the past, she could find it nowhere in herself to disparage his appearance. He seemed greater, here, than all others, as if no one could rival him among the gloom. The tenebrous air and Tobacco were one and the same; this was his domain, all else trespassers upon his realm.
She shook off her fancies as they reached a two story manor near the very edge of the Loft District, where Fivin used his thin frame to his advantage, lithely slipping over the wall and softly landing on the other side, unlocking the gate for Alina and Laos, before walking towards the front door and using the knocker, shaped like the head of a fox. One of the Dozmalus brothers, now unmasked and revealed to have bright blue eyes and sharp features, pulled open the door to usher him inside, his two companions following close behind.
The brother who had received them directed them to the living room, where Alina took a seat on a luxurious couch, while Laos chose a plush seat he obviously didn’t expect to sink so far into. Tobacco didn’t sit, leaning against the wall while the second Dozmalus served tea for the newcomers.
Alina started looking around, growing awkward about simply sitting here, before something large started sniffing the back of her head. She whipped around, coming face to face with a large, lazy looking black cat with bright green swirls like clouds streaking all over it. It yawned, mouth opening as wide as Alina’s face.
She’d heard of this sort of thing before. If you feed an animal Prismatic Glass it grows in size, and gains strange coloration and patterns. It’s said to amplify their emotions as well, so this cat must’ve been primarily passive and sleepy before, as it seemed to be only those now. As she thought about what had happened to this cat, it closed its eyes and drifted off, letting its head fall to lay in Alina’s lap.
The first Dozmalus, perhaps Vincent, softly spoke, “You must forgive Master Cyril, he loves newcomers. He is the closest thing the Lord and Lady Adrastus have to a child. If you grant him your affections, he would greatly appreciate it.”
“Oh, how cute,” Alina cooed, turning to Cyril and scratching his massive head, fussing over him. Cyril responded happily, with playful paws the size of Alina’s hands. Burning hells if he isn’t massive though.
Aikaterine walked out of a room which, from the glimpse Alina got, appeared to be a study. She nodded to Tobacco, who stepped in, while Kat sat across from Alina. As Kat started talking with Laos, Alina continued to play with Cyril, barely noting the muted thunk in the other room.
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.
Laos decided that he very much disliked this city. It relied all too much on walking, he hated their clothes, and the people were pompous. Tobacco had taken him to a shop where the perplexed owner brought out his largest suit and asked if it would work. It pulled tight under his armpits, and across his shoulder blades. The flared cuffs were gaudy, just like the curled coat tails and puffy cravat, to his eye. It made him sweat.
Apparently, tonight’s ball had special importance. Today Amphicaea celebrated the Day of the Basileus, and as such the nobility were holding a masquerade. Laos had been given a lion mask, while Tobacco wore a version of his normal mask. It had thin gold lines emphasizing the cheekbones, and scarlet and turquoise paint outlining the purple swirls, which were placed where they were on his ordinary mask.
His suit had more taste too, its jacket lacking tails but coming down to mid-thigh, its vest with amethyst buttons, his deep purple undershirt. His pants were simple, but elegant, like his shoes. Laos figured it unfair for him to get a sleek and good-looking suit when Laos had to wear the uncomfortable and ugly one, but decided not to mention it until after the job, when he would politely send a letter with his grievances, and most certainly not punch one of his kidneys out of his throat.
Alina had decided to meet them at the party, she had gone home to find one of her masquerade masks that allowed her to keep wearing goggles. Tobacco told her her outfit would be striking, and therefore fit for the ball, so she should be far ahead of them and waiting at the entrance of the Lothar Keep, where the Basileus had decided to host his festival. The Marquess Elric Lothar had been trying to become a Duke for a while, and one of his bids for favor every year seemed to be offering his keep’s lavish ballroom and amenities for the Basileus’s use. According to Tobacco, he also ran a drug empire, stretching across Acherousia and through the east portion of Kolasi.
Laos tugged on the sleeves of his costume as they rounded a corner. In front of them sprawled the fortress-like walls of Lothar Keep. Just down the street, a figure separated themself from the crowd around the gates and strolled towards the two.
Her mask only covered the top half of her face, but it fit smoothly around the goggles she had been wearing previously. It also had rubies and gold, a good complement to the rest. Where the nose of the mask jutted forward, it also curved down, almost predatory, like a hawk. Or maybe an eagle.
“Hey. Question. Tobacco, what do you want us to call you for now? We certainly can’t call you Tobacco while here, that’s too suspicious, you must’ve robbed half these people over the years,” She asked. She had a coin in one hand, which looked like an Ember.
“Well, the mask might give it away, but you’re right. The more keen, or prone to memorization, may recognize me, however it would be a breach of etiquette to call me out here, and worse in their eyes, a wound to their image to publicly admit they’ve been had by me. Call me Cassius. Cassius Ladroa. Oh, yeah, Laos, you’ll need an Ember to get in, do you need to borrow one?” Tobacco answered, then reached into one of his inner pockets. He pulled out an Ember, flicking it into the air and catching it with a flourish.
“Yeah, I didn’t think to bring money while worrying about my outfit, Tobacco.”
Alina looked him up and down, turned away and covered her mouth. After a minute she mumbled, “It’s not that bad…”
“You’ll make it through the masquerade, that’s all that matters. Really you could go in a loincloth as long as you had that mask on. Five Brands on Viscount Salvaxe doing exactly that. Anyone down?”
Alina thought for a moment, “I’ll take that bet. I think he’ll dress like a normal person. No way he shows up to the Basileus’s personal masquerade in a loincloth.”
Tobacco leaned in and placed a hand on Alina’s shoulder, then pointed at a man in the crowd she had exited. It would be easy to miss him if you weren’t looking in his direction and stuck in the crowd, but overall he stuck out. He wore a loincloth and a mask. The mask displayed the face of a bear snarling. He had even oiled himself for the event. Alina sighed and started getting out the five Brands she owed. Laos continued pouting about his outfit. Tobacco pocketed his earnings and turned back to Laos, “I assume you’ve never been to one of these before? It’s common practice for a noble to bring a bodyguard who also dresses up, so just stick by me and I’ll do most of the talking.”
“Fine.”
“Alina, have you been to a masquerade?”
She kept eyeing Salvaxe, but responded, “Yeah, once. Two years ago. I’ve already got an identity and everything, so I think I’ll mostly do my own thing until it’s time to meet Alighieri.”
“Oh? What’s this identity?”
“Ladavna. It’s just my middle name.”
“Nice, though easily connectible. I don’t suppose you care though, considering you try to refuse nicknames. Let’s head in.” Tobacco tossed the Ember to Laos, then joined the crowd while pulling out another. As they were in line for the event, they watched one man get thrown out for not paying.
Eventually, the guards let them through and they gave up the three Embers. Inside, Laos’s jaw dropped. To call it pretty would be a heavy understatement. Lothar didn’t slack in his attempts to impress the Basileus. Almost entirely marble, as Laos looked to the ceiling he saw one of the most impressive features. All four chandeliers. One displayed the standard gold, shining bright with weirdly yellow flames, another made of blued copper, and must’ve also had copper in the flames for they were blue too. It seemed not to be the unnatural blue of Amaranth Oil, at least not from here. Another made of rusted iron, with red flames, and the final made to be a deep purple, exactly the purple Tobacco seems to enjoy. They all had gems dangling from them and swaying, each also the color. These were nice, but what truly impressed Laos had been their orbit. There were probably animals or a water wheel or people somewhere controlling it, but these chandeliers constantly orbited a central point, a large mural of the sun. The massive chandeliers provided a constant light jingling as background noise.
The band started up, playing a piece with lots of strings. Pompous noblemen huddled in groups, while the ladies did the same at tables. Some couples had excused themselves to the dance floor, a raised platform that ran through most of the middle of the room. More private side rooms had plots certainly being made in them, events like this were hubs of conspiracy. Tobacco led them to a corner table and sat where he could see the entire room. Laos looked around and started checking out the people. Salvaxe had joined the dance floor, performing some dance that looked vaguely like it came from Kolasi. There were several strange masks around, they seemed unique. Maybe if you were famous and known enough you were obligated to get a weird mask for this.
A man strutted into the hall and immediately set off for a room. He wore the mask of a viper. Tobacco followed him with his head, then sighed, “There goes Dante. Damnable man.”
Laos looked back to the man. He did look somewhat like a bastard. Hmm. Another man came in, this one wearing a demonic mask, like one of the spirits from Caritan myth that would drown unfortunate swamp travelers. Laos would never admit it, but both times he had visited Caritas he had kept an eye out for them. This man Tobacco pondered at, not commenting. Laos took it upon himself to figure out why this man had importance. He had a special pendant on, one that seemed designed to catch the eye. Sugareater’s symbol. Laos didn’t have to do much detective work to guess the man’s identity, then. Leonidas Harchian, man behind the moniker. He also set off for what seemed to be a designated room.
Just after the two Dukes had arrived, upon a raised platform at one end of the dance floor curtains pulled back. Elric stood at the front of the small stage, and the Basileus sat upon a grand throne behind him. Elric set into his speech, declaring the virtues of the Basileus, obviously sucking up to the middle-aged man behind him. Laos racked his brain for the name of the monarch, but couldn’t find it. Finally, Lothar said it, Argyrios Galanos, current leader of the Galanos dynasty, who have ruled Amphicaea for two hundred fifty-six years.
Tobacco nudged Laos and discreetly gestured towards a man and woman thirty or so feet away. The man wore an unpainted ivory mask of a fox, while the woman wore an ivory mask of a cat with blood red accents. Tobacco quietly spoke, “That’s our guy. Alighieri. Next to him is his wife, Aikaterine. She’s his chief bodyguard, but his other two should be floating around here somewhere,” he looked for a moment, then motioned to a man in a wolf mask, with deep blue accents, then again to a man in an identical mask a couple yards from him, both with platinum blonde hair cut short, “Vincent and Lorenzo Dozmalus. They may as well be twins, but Lorenzo is a year older. I can’t tell which is which from this distance. Between his wife and those two, he is well protected at all times.”
“The wife? Seriously?” Laos stared at the woman. She looked harmless, like a kitten. She didn’t have raging muscles, and she didn’t carry an obvious weapon anywhere. Then Laos supposed she couldn’t bring one to this event if she wanted to.
“Yes, other than you and Alina, who I think would both struggle, she is probably the strongest person I know. You see how there are all those knives and silverware nearby, for the eventual feast?”
“Yeah?”
“How much would you say each individual knife weighs?”
“Maybe… two ounces?”
“Between those, and the ones I know she has strapped under her clothing, she could slaughter everyone in a thirty foot radius in seconds.”
“What?!”
“She’s very similar to you, actually! She’s a Typhoon, as compared to your Brutal. Both of your seconds are Intigua though. So, she doesn’t even have to have her eyes open. She detects people, where they are and what they are doing, and she can send a knife through their throat.”
“That’s just wrong.”
“I agree. I’m so happy for my brother. Come on, we have to find Alina,” Tobacco set off, then turned back, “You check the dance floor.”
Laos grumbled, because the dance floor lay right in the spotlight, exactly where he didn’t want to be in this outfit, but then decided that if Salvaxe could do it, he could too. He climbed the stairs, stepping on to the floor and looking down. He immediately regretted that. The floor had been crafted from stained glass, below which he saw a pool of what seemed to be liquor. It constantly churned, swirling beneath them. Laos stepped back into the firm, solid marble, before realizing the glass seemed thicker than his thigh. Plenty of people were dancing on it, so it must be safe, right?
Upon actually examining the glass, he saw several amazingly crafted pictures. One depicted Cataclysm, emerging to eat a small fleet of ships. Another showed a depiction of Infernum, a glorified version of the drawings made of the inaccessible continent. The third of these great images showed all seven hospitable continents. The last of them depicted the four moons, in their human-like representations, with interlocked hands surrounding a globe, which had the continents represented only vaguely shaped like they were in real life, each being monotone. Most of the detail in the image had been delegated to the gods. Laos gawked, impressed, but eventually tore his eyes away when he remembered he had a job to do.
Laos ended up finding her before Tobacco did, she had joined the dance floor. She performed a slow dance with some guy in a rat mask made of copper. When she saw Laos she performed all the polite breakaway phrases and left her partner. He stared after her for the entire time they were still on the floor, and while Laos couldn’t see him, it still felt like he watched when they got back to the table. On their way there, a man bumped into Laos, turning around and profusely apologizing. He wore a gazelle mask made of copper.
Tobacco waited at the table, back quicker than Laos, probably because he didn’t take time to admire the artwork. He tapped his foot repeatedly. He tilted his head, “So, Alighieri has withdrawn to a room. Let’s be off.
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
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.
Laos Aridai did not appreciate all the walking that damnable theater freak had put him through. He much preferred being on a ship. Laos’s journey had thus far been him landing in this accursed city, immediately being contacted, walking to a meeting point, walking to the inn he stayed at, walking to The Burning Tree, and then walking halfway across this godforsaken city to the base of this veritable mountain. If this job didn’t pay well he intended to strangle the bastard.
He eventually grumbled his way to the summit, coming up behind some lady talking to Tobacco. Tobacco cleared his throat and looked at him, then said, “So, you’ve arrived at last, Lionhead… welcome to the execution grounds! I hope your journey has been ni-”
“Cut it out. I will throw you off that cliff,” came Laos’s only response. Tobacco paled and turned back to the lady, who also seemed fed up with his theatrics. Good. Damnable man deserved to be shut up.
“So, each of you will receive 166,666 Embers. The remaining two are to be donated to the nearest Porphyl Chiasma, after the split happens, as a little tribute to the god that allowed it to happen. This sounds alright, yes?” Tobacco put his hands together and slightly leaned forward, grinning. Laos watched the girl, whom he now recognized as the famous Eagle, consider the offer briefly and nod. Laos in turn nodded, accepting the terms provided. That many Embers would be a greater haul than he had ever received from a job. The Goathead and Snakehead would certainly try to one-up him, but they wouldn’t be able to. A job like this would be far, far too rare.
“This is going to be a resounding success! Who’s down for a drink at Lloyd’s bar?” Tobacco proposed, rubbing his hands together like an eager merchant ripping someone off.
Another walk and a few threats later, they sat in a room dedicated to business deals and other conversations the world needn’t hear. Laos had a bottle of mead, already half empty, while the woman (who he had figured out had a real name, Alina) had left a mug of ale untouched, and Tobacco gingerly sipped a glass of red wine. It looked vintage. Having drink in his belly, Laos found himself in a better mood, and more willing to work with the man. His theater could be a bit annoying, but he paid for the drinks, so maybe it could have a pass.
“So… Now that we are all a little happier… we have an issue. As we walked in Lloyd flashed some hand signals, ones that indicated we didn’t have any leads from Harper’s informants. So, we need someone else. My somewhat brother Viscount Alighieri Adrastus,” Tobacco murmured, obviously troubled.
The woman looked up sharply, “Wait, what do you mean somewhat brother? You didn’t tell me you were nobility.”
“Somewhat. We grew up together, decided we were brothers when I turned thirteen and he had been twelve. He only became nobility after he bought a title, having amassed more wealth quickly through hosting a network of informants than I could’ve dreamed through thieving. Almost made me reconsider my job. He gives me a discount though, for his services, so it’s nice to have that past,” Tobacco sighed, killing his drink in a final gulp. He poured another and raised a silent toast to some unseen thing.
A knock came on the door then Lloyd peeked in, “Tobacco, I need to speak with you.”
“Pardon me, my enthusiastic guests, I must take my leave. I’ll be right back,” he stood, straightening his coat and briskly moving from the small room. Laos and Alina sat in a not-so-companionable silence, not having much to speak on, before the lady finally touched her ale. She looked over, then started the conversation, “So, Lionhead, where are you from to like that Desurian liquor?”
“Geraestan, back before Desuros and Geraestan forged the Treaty of Harpagion and merged.”
“Ahhh, what clan, then?” The inquisitive lady spoke.
Geraestan and Desuros were both contained within the Varak desert, until fifteen years ago when a treaty made Geraestan part of Desuros. The clans were disbanded after this, in name, though they still live in spirit. There had been three main clans of the Geraestan portion of Varak, named the Gersomacs, the Tindowuch, and the Jerandon. The Gersomacs were very warlike, teaching from a young age the art of battle. The Tindowuch advocated more for scholarly endeavors and diplomacy, though they were capable in their own right when battle came. The Jerandon were religious fanatics, for a deity named Jansun, who’s rituals they regularly took captives from battle for. These clans were in near constant war, until Desuros took over and started heavily policing the region. A representative from each clan had journeyed to the capital, Harpagion, and signed the documents with Desuros to stop the clan fighting. Laos suspected some coin had been involved.
“I’m from the Gersomac clan, though that matters little now.”
“That explains the tendency towards battle, though not necessarily the proficiency. You’re a Vitrophor, aren’t you?” She sipped at her ale, draining it further, three quarters full at this point.
“Yeah, one of what you would call the Brutals. Although, back in Geraestan we called them Tempests and bowed at their feet. My second is Intigua.” Brutals were the colloquial name of someone who’s dominant Vitro turned out to be Potentia, the ability to strengthen oneself dramatically. The name only saw use in Caritas, Acherousia, and Kolasi, three of the more eastern continents.
“Interesting, so they rise to be leaders. It makes sense, given their extra power,” Alina took another drink, setting it lightly on the table and leaning back while Laos killed his own.
Tobacco slinked back, sitting down and sighing. He raised the glass he had poured before and downed it in a couple gulps. Leaning over and putting his head in his hands, he mumbled, “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”
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.”
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!”
Here, for ease of access, I'll link every chapter I post. Happy reading! They won't have proper indentations, but that's because I refuse to edit each chapter to work with Tumblr.
All Things Unseen: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
All Things Serene:
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