Private Tales Blood on the Mausoleum Doors

[Quintus Vexion]

The Merchant Lords of House Vexion were esteemed within the City of Alliria and their wealth spoke to such a thing. Within the city, it was a common thing to see the large houses and the manors that lined the streets of the Inner City. For centuries, the merchants that took up residence in these splendid homes came and went. Some of them lasted for thousands of years and others had their day and faded into obscurity along with all that they created for themselves in that grand old city. Vexion's Court, stood out among even the finest manors in the city. The dwelling from the outside looked something like a cathedral that had it's place not too far away from the Allirian Keep. The large tower it sported had it's own place on the skyline of Alliria, something one might be able to see when riding into the city from afar and yet it was one spire in a place of many. To see it face to face was to lay eyes upon an entity in itself. The walls were built and shaped from white stones. The doors were reinforced and heavy. Two men from the Allirian Guard stood watch over the great entrance and there were many who were approaching the doors and showing their invitations to the gathering within.

Peers both friend and foe were happy to make their presence known in private events such as these. House Vexion was known for the myths around their founding as well as other things that made them relevant to this date... Quintus's ancestors recognized a simple truth that came with their mythos. There would always be a need to spill blood. Alliria was known for the exportation of armaments to places all across the world. Allirians spilled blood not only in the Reach, but helped others do so in places far away as well. Being one of the first Houses to contribute to such a thing had been a point of pride for Quintus's father and his father before him. At their core they were greedy and Quintus was hardly afraid to tell anyone who wanted to know the truth of things. All the same, this palace, this place was his home and it was here that he conducted his family's long standing business.

Black velvet. Quintus was dressed in black velvet. The red ruby on the signet ring he wore shined brightly in the light of the torches and candles that were lit all about the manor. His long black hair was allowed to flow down his shoulders and back freely. He had no great love of drinking. The private party had begun an hour ago and he still carried the same glass of wine. Harps played and singers that sounded as enticing as mermaids on the high seas filled the high halls with their voices, singing even over the chatter of the various merchants of Alliria and nobles from beyond. Quintus watched them all from his balcony and silently wished he could send them all away. The voices of the helm had been silent as of late as they often were when he hadn't had to touch the Star-Made Armor for some time. It was in those moments that he liked to be alone with thoughts that were his own. And yet, different duties called to him.

His brown, swarthy features had been rather sullen as he counted all the heads in the foyer, though there was one that caught his attention the moment he walked through the door. He was more than happy to see someone who wasn't like the other corrupt and morally degenerate people that congregated in his home. Quintus Vexion, ever graceful made his way down the stairs and through the crowd as he excused himself.

"Emiliano!" he approached, offering his old friend a hand to shake with a warm smile. "Good friend, welcome to Vexion Court! I'm happy you could make it."​

 

[Emiliano]

Red. A color that marked those blessed by the gods. The color of blood. Emiliano always laughed about the idea. That those who would pit the lower castes against each other would spin such a web. Red. The color that spilt across the sands of the fighting pits. The color that sprayed across his knuckles. Spattered across his naked chest. Ran full in his eyes when flesh tore above his brow and his own ichor poured into the whites of his gaze.

Red was the color he chose to wear on this day. For no other reason than to remind himself of the price he had paid to make it so far in this world. And because he looked damn good in it. A taller and more gaunt man opened the door of his carriage, Emiliano bowed his head to the taller man.

"Gracias, Federico," he eased out of the carriage, and Federico kept his head low as he walked by him, following after once Emiliano had passed him by.

The former champion strolled up to the doors of the estate, where a purse lipped door man stood guard. "Master Emiliano," the man bowed to him and opened the door.

Music swelled from inside, the sound of many voices mingling and mixing. Good humor, and good cheer. "Thank you, Balt, always so welcoming," he teased with an easy smile. Emiliano strode in, a black half cape over his shoulder stirring some with the swagger of his stride. There were pretty faces to wink at, and raised glasses to nod to. A familiar voice called out. "Quintus!" he replied, arms out, he wasted no time in embracing the younger man. Even squeezing him. Some of the nearby nobles laughed some, but Emiliano went on, with heavy handed pats on the master of the home's back, and a bright grin on his face.

"You know, to tell it true, I'd grown a little tired of all the gatherings and galas and feasts as of late, but" he shook the man a bit, as if he were greeting an old freind from the streets, a finger waving at him. "When I read your missive, well, how could I not?" A pair of smiling young things strolled by, and Emiliano smiled at them in return with a knowing tilt of the head. They trailed off, and he let Quintus go. "You do surround yourself with quite the crowd, after all," he grabbed up a drink from a passing server, and a second in quick succession. He offered one to Quintus, and was already drinking from the other.

After the long sip of floral bubbly, he looked to Quintus. "Well, what is new since last we met, my friend?"

 

[Quintus Vexion]

Happiness. Genuine joy to see a good man doing his part in to make the world a better place even though it gave him no reason to. Quintus was quite aware of the advantages that he was afforded from birth. He came from a wealthy family with a history dating back to times that most didn't care to remember. His privileges always simply were and there was never any need to worry about danger he didn't put himself into. Had Quintus chosen to live a boring life, there might have been no struggle. Just another rich merchant in the greatest city of merchants to sit idle and drunk from the fruits of his ancestors. One might say Quintus was special because he chose to be. He used all that was offered to him and led a life of adventure. Protecting the weak and hearing the voice of the gods because he was ordained by every law in the cosmos to be capable of doing so. Knowing Emiliano the Anvil's history as a pugilist that made something of himself was inspiring. Even more so that he made something of himself and chose to be an upright man despite all the reasons why he shouldn't was even more admirable. Quintus was more than certain that out of all the blessings to come to him, a friend like Emiliano was one of the greatest boons that either fate or the gods had bestowed upon him.

Quintus laughed a bit at the mentioning of Emiliano growing weary of the festivities in the city known for it's festivities. There were few things rarer in places like Alliria than an affair put on by the wealthy in order to rub shoulders and scheme with one another. Quintus had found love in other places. Love in the grip of his sword swinging in a far away place. The songs sang by mercenaries on journeys they may never return from. The seat off the coasts of the sands of Amol-Kalit at night. That was to die for...

Men died over common things here, he'd learned. What did they know of doing the right thing? Did they understand it at all like the master of this home did? Did they understand it the same way the master's one true friend did?

"To be honest, I wish I could give you an interesting report," he said passively before, much to his chagrin he was forced to down the wine in the goblet in his right hand so that he could place more attention to the one Emiliano gave him in his left. He leaned in a bit for what was to be said next. "Yet another carousing for the snakes of this city so that I might see more clearly who might try to knife in the back tomorrow, hm? Nothing but politics as usual."

Politics that he hated participating in. Everyone in the room there likely imagined themselves a piece on some grand chess board. Each piece moving to find supremacy over all the other moving pieces around them. What few understood was that they were more akin to the pieces of some foreign contraption. Something beyond the understanding of most mortal creatures. The system they created that allowed the poor to starve and for the rich to grow richer. The suffering and insidiousness that it caused seeped into the very earth around this city. Vile spirits clung to it until cleaner ones woke him from his sleep some nights.

He'd seen hell itself whenever they got their way.

"And you, friend? How long has it been since I've last seen the Anvil? Still in the fairest city in the world fighting the good fight I hope."

Quintus gave Emiliano a joking smile as was their way, but Quintus was always prepared to fight right beside him if ever asked. After all, there were few other things worth fighting for in the world outside a good fight.​

 

[Emiliano]

A smirk curled at the corner of Emiliano's lip. "Ah," he began in response to Quintus' barb. "If only they were snakes, dear Quintus, for even a snake knows it is best to hide in the dark before the strike," he bared some teeth with his grin, and looked unto the crowd around them. "Hell, the snakes on the farm knew more of honor and pride than any of these feckless clowns," he went on. "Las cascabeleras," he raised a wordless toast to the memory of his home, and took a drink. "Rattle snakes, I think you call them here," he said after the sip.

His brow quirked at the second question, smile returning as if it had never gone too far. "Must have been at ol' Valencia's get together not a month ago," he huffed a laugh as a pair of powdered pretties walked by them with upturned noses. Emiliano swirled his drink, but waited before he took another sip.

"I told you then yes? Or maybe it was by missive," he sipped then. "I opened up a little gym in the commons, near the dockyard," he laughed, just thinking of the villainy that liked to call that place their home. "Have a few prospects I am trying to teach right, teach what I can at least," he shrugged, and his smile grew soft. Tender. "Federico helps as well, and there are some other old ring dogs I put on the payroll,"

A rather large, and ornately dressed man strolled toward them, his soft and round face and beady eyes made him look like an overgrown baby. Chest puffed out, garb a mix of gold and purple. "Quintus!" The baby faced man interrupted, and forced his girth between the two men. Or at least tried to.

Emiliano stayed tall and stiff, and the ball of a man bounced off of him. Though his drink did spill.

"Baron Lenoran," Emiliano rumbled, his eyes hard and hot. A stiff hand wiped away the drink that had splashed against his red coat.

Baron Lenoran blubbered some, and took a step back, his pudge jiggling with incredulity. "My, if it isn't Emiliano," he dusted his coat off, and snatched up a drink from a nearby server. "I'd say it is a pleasure, but, well, that would be a lie, now wouldn't it,"

Emiliano smirked, "And I would knock your teeth in, had I half as little dignity as you, Baron, but my mother raised me better,"

Lenoran barked a laugh. "And what did she do, Emiliano? Whore around with half the farmers of your village?"

"And still had more time for me than yours,, Lenoran. To think, your mother, the poor woman, must have had done all she could to push your fat ass out. Counted it blessing enough to have survived and didn't dare ask the gods for anymore should she risk having you suck the life out of her teet."

 

[Quintus Vexion]

Baron Lenoran was swine to be certain. The previous patriarch of the House, Abraxas Vexion had advised Quintus to keep men like him around, though. It was his belief that people like the Baron gravitated to power and laid themselves bare for all to see. To listen to them speak and move among other people was to commit to understanding one's enemies. The good Baron was far from swell company, but he served his purposes well enough. Right now, apparently, he was best used as an object of amusement. The few nobles and merchants that had gathered around them laughed when Emiliano made his retort about Lenoran's own mother. His attention shifted to the Baron, who's face was swelling red with outrage. Men in high positions disliked being embarrassed, especially by someone they perceived as lower status than they. Quintus stepped between the two men, having no desire to see the situation escalate into Baron Lenoran leaving his home with a broken face.

"Now, now Baron," Quintus interjected as he placed a hand on the Baron's shoulder. He hadn't always been the sort of man to take the soft approach, but as recent years he'd been beginning to see the benefits of not demanding one's compliance. He'd get what he wanted through kind and slick words and reserve the steel for those who really deserved it. "Let us see to it that cooler heads prevail here. Besides, my friend here has put fighting men on their arse before and in short order. I would hate to see the same fate fall over you because of come words, hm?"

Within a few moments and some direction to a few other visitors of important stature, the good Baron was out of Quintus' hair. For now. The man was nothing short of insufferable. He grinned when he turned back to The Anvil and gestured for him to follow him to the balcony where only a few were gathered.

"Come tell more more about this gym near the dockyard and lets get you another drink in hand."​

 

[Emiliano]

“Always the coolest of heads,” Emiliano said with hint of smile that curled at the end of his mouth.

He followed after his friend, and rest his elbows against the railing. The wind blew cool air from westward and the sea. He could smell the rot of it. The ports that he had spent so many days in. Now and years ago. “Smells like shit, even up here” he said with a hint of a laugh, and took another drink as a server appeared. He bowed his head to the man, and gave his thanks.

Another gust called to him. “Yet, none ever seem to think their own follies follow them under their heels, do they, friend?” he shook his head and sipped from his cup. Let his lips smack and pulled the fine drink away. “S’pose i’m no better,” he stood tall and looked over the distance.

Just faintly, one could see the curve of the dockside coast. Even this far from the grim and grit and stench.

“Haven’t thought of a name for it yet,” he smiled and rest against the rail. “The gym I mean,” he took another sip of his drink, and nodded at the arrival of a revelation. He pulled the cup away from his lips and motioned toward his friend. “You are good with names, Quintus,” he laughed some. “Far better with words than I, that’s for certain,”

The sounds of the party went on, and the city went on. For in Alliria, little and more changed in the day to day.

"Rich as I am now. Quintus, I am still just some street kid who got lucky." he said softly, and took another long drink from his cup.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"The world turns because of boys who got lucky and were able to become the best of men,"Quintus said simply as he flagged down one of his servers to approach. The red wine sat pretty within silver and gilded goblets and a woman who's cocoa skin shined like the Seluca sun brought them their poison of choice with a wide smile. Jeweled fingers reached out and grabbed two goblets by their rim and the Merchant Councilor handed Emiliano another drink before going to sit down with his own.

"My own ancestor was fortunate enough to pray to gods that were willing to hear his plea in a land plagued with so much war that people barely even remember what took place then. He prayed for salvation from his enemies and they say Astra threw a rock from the heavens so that he might have it... People pray everyday and yet his was the one they heard. Out of all occurrences, certainly that one happened for a reason. We can call it what we like, friend. Luck or divine intervention. We're here because we are supposed to be."

He explained it as though it were something he'd given a lot of thought to. How could someone who had seen all the things and did battle with all of the things he had not ponder? How could he not ponder on existing at the whims of gods and spirits who used him as they might a blunt force instrument against their enemies that came from places he could barely fathom. Here he was with all of the wealth and connections in the world and yet he was still so small on the grand scheme of things. His stories, while great like his ancestors would be forgotten as the world spun. All of this was temporary.

Quintus knew that he'd might as well make the best of it while he was here. Afterall, he had no children and time was ticking. An enemy could pierce his heart at any given moment. He took a sip from his wine.

"I wish the gods had truly granted with the ability to think of names the same way that you imagine I am. Salvation by the Sea seems a good name for your gym, though. You're giving these boys and girls a fighting chance are you not?"

 

[Emiliano]

Another drink, and a new story. He had heard whispers of how the Vexion family had earned their place amongst the Council. How so few could carve out so much.

"A rock from the heavens," Emiliano mused, and smiled as the next drink came. "You speak truth, friend Quintus, and ease my troubled heart," His head was beginning to swim some, but what was a bit of wooziness to a boxer, if not a challenge to best? He drank from his cup a little deeper, only stopping the downpour once Quintus spoke anew.

"Salvation by the Sea?" he smiled before he fell into the cushion across from Quintus. "It does have a lovely ring to it, doesn't it?" he mused aloud. "A little too, celestial for my taste," he said as he rubbed thumb and forefinger about the sides of his jaw. "And a little too sofisticated for most of our street toughs turned proper fighters," another sip of his cup. "Salvacion," he repeated in his mother tongue, then smirked as he saw the hideous figure of Lenoran. "Salvaje," he smiled wide and satisfied. "Yeah, Savage!" his eye turned to Quintus again and he wagged an excited finger at the man. "See, you word smith you," he slapped his knee, certified hype.

"Savage Rank," He grinned and nodded, toothy and boyish. "That's what saves us, Quintus, you soothsayer you, our ranks in the ring!" he leaned back, suddenly relaxed by the idea. "Savagery, by the sea," he raised a hand, as if he were painting a sign across a fixture. "Savage Rank, Gym by the Sea," he laughed at it, out of sheer joy. "here, here," he raised a cup to his friend. "A toast!"

A blood curdling scream pierced the room.

 

[Quintus Vexion]

​

​

Kytara, the Mother of Spiders
​

"Shhh... Stay your wrath and listen to me closely, sweet mother," he said in a low baritone, the nectar from the vile fruit he ate dripping down his massive chin. "Listen so that you may understand. Alliria is my home, you see? I knew who I was supposed to be when I was trapped on the lowest rung of society. I stared in envy of their high towers and glistening armor. Have you any idea what it means to have your nose broken with the hilt of a blade for simply trying to fill your belly? Have you ever known starvation? True starvation? To be the object of the perversions of those more powerful than you? I-... I haven't come here to demand anything of you, Great Mother. I have merely come to beseech you to aid me and accept my offering."

In that dark place away from the eyes of the law and the gods, she stared upon his mass and withheld her awe. She knew that his theatrics and feigned humbleness were a part of an insidious plan. she couldn't quite place her finger on what, but she could feel the malice pouring out of him. His stench nearly turned her stomach and her heart told her to do anything within her power to be rid of this blight on the land. A blacker part of her heart bade her listen. Who knows how she might benefit from having an ally so powerful and steeped in malice. And if things did not go her way, she was certain she could find a way to be rid of him. The Warlord was not the only one with a tight grip on power in this world. So through a smoky gaze, she locked on to his black, beady eyes. Staring into the abyss...

"What is it you offer that I cannot attain myself?" The Mother said through a cheshire-like grin that removed any suspicion of fear. It was one that beckoned the darkness closer if it dared to meet her own poison. "Come, First Son. Talk to me nicely..."

The first son grinned.
​

__________
​

The blood curdling scream pierced through the air and immediately caught Quintus' attention. Placing the cup he'd poured down on one of the white marble tables, he moved to the balcony to see all of the party guests scurrying about frantically. Between them, he could see the hooded men. Assailants that were crossing blades with his household guard. Instinctively, the Councilor moved to grab one of the scimitars off the wall... Nay, he grabbed both of them. He tossed one to Emiliano.

"It would seem we'll need to hold off on that toast, good friend. And let us lean into the spirit of savagery this evening."

A man could not allow another to break into his home. A Lord even less so.​

 

[Emiliano]

Emiliano caught the curved blade with a sure hand. Gave it a test cut, a bit clumsy, but with power and enough grace to whirl through in smooth flair before he held it to guard in front of him.

"A spirit I know too well, mi amigo," he grinned beneath his proud whiskers and hurried toward the balcony. One tall story up it looked like a painful fall. He thought twice. "I'll take the stairs," he said with hint of doubt squeezing tight his voice. He was the Anvil, not the Cat.

Quick strides made him make quick time to the action. Though the assailants had already made it deep into the manor, the sounds of fighting ringing out from the entry hall and the ballroom as guests screamed and ran away from the violence.

One man saw Emiliano, with twin daggers in hand, he broke toward the pugilist turned merchant prince. A thrust, a cut, too shallow for the quick footwork of the fighter, who through a test cut, saw it parried, only to bring down a second with more force that too was parried.

A twist of hips and a roll away of the shoulders were all that kept Emiliano from being gut like a fish. His own foot stamped down on the dagger dancer's foot with a hard crunch of the heel. The man winced, and Emiliano stepped away, like a boxer out of a clinch.

"Pinche peleijas de espada," he cursed, and dash-stepped forward with sure grip. He hacked through the dagger dancer's arm with lopping force. A grunt and a growl saw the curved blade hack down at the man's neck. Collar bone crunched and blood spirt up to spray him across the face in gouts of red.

The man fell to the ground, and Emiliano spit on him. "Puto," he said with an exhalation.

Two more men appeared sliding through the doorway, swords in hand.

Emiliano stared blankly at them. Picked up one of the daggers off the ground and through it as they ran to him. It chunked into one of their chests as the other clashed against his guard.