Dreadlords City On The River

[Edric]

Deliv - The Cracked Galleon

"It just seems like in a lot of these missions I'm the one that takes a beating." Edric protested as Duncan gently slapped him in the face, the odd tunic he was wearing shifting as he recoiled from the other Rogue Dreadlord.

"That's because you are." Duncan replied simply, offering another dose of that ever valued honesty. "You can take a beating, better than anyone else with us."

Edric frowned for a brief moment, wondering whether or not that was a compliment. Duncan had a tendency to make them somewhat backhanded, a habit which he'd caught onto lately. This was just about the fifth time since graduation that his new allies had put him in some kind of violent competition. Everything from tournaments to sports games, it seems nothing was off-limits.

He supposed, it was a mark of his value.

"Look, I might be the best fighter, but-" Before he could finish Duncan interrupted him.

"I didn't say you were the best fighter, not even close." The Dreadlord corrected. "I mean you're good for your age, I'll give you that, but Kress lets not give you too much credit, eh? You're leagues away still, it's just if you accidentally get brain damage...well, it's easier for you to heal."

Lips thinned for a brief moment as he considered the other man's words, shaking his head in disbelief. The honesty offerred by his new companion was a double edged sword. Unlike back at the Academy Edric actually had his questions answered. He knew why they were here, knew why it was so important that he won this tournament.

Deliv was a smugglers town, apparently, filled with river rats as most called them. Smugglers, starter pirates, and the lesser 'criminals' of this world. The types, who apparently, if left alone would burn down any city within a heartbeat. Thus they needed entertainment, which Deliv, in a brilliant move, decided to make the famed sport of bare-knuckle boxing.

The popularity of the 'show' quickly took root, and Deliv was now famed the world over for it's matches. So famed that it attracted men of wealth and esteem, participants and watchers both. That was why they were here. One of those men of wealth, another noble that was apparently important enough to have a conversation with.

Edric knew all that, he even knew what the conversation would be about.

He knew that because of Duncan's so called honesty, but he also knew that apparently he wasn't even close to the others in Gilram's company. A fact which only made him wonder all the more. How fucking dangerous are these people.

The thought rang in his head as Duncan offered another gentle slap to the face.

"You alright? Your name got called but you look a little lost." Edric frowned for a brief moment, and then shook his head. A smile drew over his lips, and he reached up to quickly counter one of Duncan's encouraging slaps. Turning on his heel and walking away from the other man, embracing the sounds of the crowd echoing above him as he stepped into the ring.

 

[Junius Alfort]

Deliv, The Cracked Galleon

Junius stared around the crowded tavern as the group entered through the well-worn front door, the handle disgustingly oily from years of revolting, unwashed hands grabbing it over and over again. His stomach lurched slightly at the thought, the filth that no one ever removed. Thankfully, he was in the middle of the group, that meant he didn’t have to put his hand on it, nor did he have to utter a quick spell to return it to a pristine state so he could use it. As the sounds of the tavern washed over him; the shouting, the drinking, the sounds of chairs moving, the clinking of money changing hands, he steeled himself against the din. Through it all, he kept a slight smile plastered on his face, smiling was good, he was told it disarmed people, at least that was what had been beaten into him in Vel Anir anyway.

As they picked their way through the crowd, he sized up beings around him, breaking down their bodies in his mind, imagining what kind of masterful puppet he could turn them into. He wouldn’t, of course, compromise the mission simply for more corpses. He had access to plenty of those and his workshop was full of puppets. That was why they nicknamed him “corpse” after all, that, and his gaunt appearance. Those who were dead didn’t need their bodies, and war was the ultimate source of dead bodies. Junius was inundated with bodies since he had left Vel Anir and joined Gilram. Guards, soldiers, farmers, and even a few of his former classmates from his time in Vel Anir who had attempted to mistreat or eliminate him in the competition between students the school quietly encouraged.

The man in command, Duncan, was speaking to another about the mission, his classmate Edric. Edric’s anatomy fascinated him more than most, being that he could regenerate himself. If Edric were ever to really die, Junius wondered if he could create a puppet out of Edric that retained his uncanny regeneration abilities. The only thing he really hated about Edric, the thing that irked him so, was that his stupid power didn’t leave any corpses behind. It was revolting and simultaneously respectable since he technically cleaned up after himself.

It’s not that he wanted any of them to die, on the contrary, in his own way, he loved his classmates who had fled with him and stuck by him. He was one of the few in Gilram’s group that served his classmates as a sort of doctor, putting them back together like a child’s doll when they broke. He had an intimate knowledge of the human body, the same as a skilled surgeon. He had gained this experience through his puppeteering endeavors. What an individual person might be like as a puppet was just always a thought that nagged at his consciousness, chipped away at his psyche. His friends didn’t have to die, and he would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening, but if they did die, he could preserve them forever and keep them by his side. It was a comforting thought as he turned his attention back to the group.

They stepped up to standing room around the ring, a dirty and disgusting wooden platform with a barrier around it to prevent contestants from leaving. Junius was glad he wasn’t fighting in that, though he would probably be good at it. He was physically weak, not strong or powerful like Edric, but he could simply turn his opponent into a puppet without anyone realizing and let whoever was unlucky enough to face him beat themselves into a pulp. Of course, a pesky mage who was either searching with his senses or enchanting his eyes would be able to see his threads, but he doubted any such individual was around here that was capable or looking. His classmates and commanders knew about his abilities and would be able to likely tell what was going on.

Edric was distracted, lost in his own thoughts, wandering in the realm of his own mind, even as his name was called to step into the ring. Duncan got his attention, attempting to slap him again. At least Duncan washed his hands periodically, Junius could tolerate a slap from him, but thankfully he seemed to be focused on Edric, which was fine. As Edric stepped into the ring, Junius subtly began deploying his threads, one on the elbow of a man to his right, one on the lower back of a woman nearby, several on the blades he carried on his person. He could use those like puppets, making it appear as if swords were rocketing around the room, seemingly with no hand guiding them, killing of their own volition. He didn’t specifically want to kill any of these people and honestly had no intention to, but he would use them to accomplish Gilram’s goals if he had to. Even if they did die, he could at least possibly acquire some new puppets.

 

[Chasmine]

"I want you to go with Duncan on this mission to assist Edric."

There could not be any greater irony than what was about to happen here today. Chasmine Gray, of all people, in assistance for the sake of Edric. Strangely enough, her thoughts did not go back to any particular time at the Academy when Edric had brought harm to her (of which there were many). Nor did it think of that fateful dance where he'd sent her mental pins scattering.

She was thinking, instead, of the mission to the cliffside castle where she had taken possession of the young noble girl amidst the chaos of the dance where Edric had caused a great deal of devastation and nearly ruined the mission with his runaway temper. But it wasn't even that moment her temporal mind drifted to. No, it was in the moments leading up to it. An epiphany on the balcony.

"All this time," her soft voice trailed him even as her own ghostly appearance dissipated through a stone wall, "I thought you took people's souls when you did that. I was wrong."



Edric came to a sudden stop. The echo of his boots striking the cobbles ringing through the hall. His head slowly turned towards Chasmine, lips thinning. "What?"

There was a sternness to his voice, and yet it was mixed with anxiety and curiosity at the same time.

"What do you mean?" He demanded, rounding upon the ghost accompanying him.



"Their souls ... spirits?" Chasmine echoed gently, turning to look at him, her ghostly hair slowly billowing about her, "As I am now, I exist among them, I see them as plainly as you see the living. You did not claim that guard's soul and..."

Her brows furrowed slightly as she looked Edric up and down once. She frowned.

"...I can see the spirit energy of the living. Each one has its own unique aura and color. Except for you. You do not have one. Curious, isn't it?"

"You'll need to stay out of sight," Gilram informed her prior to leaving for this mission. "Duncan will wear a talisman you can attach to for travel. Use this as an opportunity to practice your skill of possession. Throw the fights in favor of Edric."

"But sir," she'd told him plainly as though she might tell him his shoe was untied, "I am not a fighter."

"No, you are not a fighter Chasmine," Gilram replied, "but you have learned how to survive better than most."

She lingered near Duncan, unseen as required, a constant case of cold shoulder as she clung to an emblem pinned to his chest. It glinted dully in the light of the tavern, the only hint of the rough cut crystal within it to which she had tied her presence as they traveled. The revelation of Edric was a fact not a single other person was privy to, so far as she knew. Chasmine had no intention of telling anyone what she knew and she suspected Edric wouldn't either, if he had even come to accept it as fact.

Now that they were here, she could stray from the crystal and use the emotional energy of the location to charge. It did not take long at all - the rowdiness of the crowd was like fuel to a flame and she quickly consumed the heat within their surrounding area to take her first charge: a half drunk pirate woman standing to Edric's right. By her estimation, the inebriated would be far easier to take - but she had not accounted for feeling the effects of inebriation herself.

The woman turned to look at Ed, Duncan, and Junius with a wayward swagger beneath her large hat, looked down to her flagon and gave it a sniff. Hueeggh. She promptly tossed it aside and then rounded on Ed with an accusatory finger behind a glazed set of familiar, sickly blue eyes.

"I fucking hate this mission," she blurted suddenly and then raised her own brows with surprise at her crude choice of words, "curious. The host bleeds over ... as does the aftertaste. I regret this decision immensely. Junius," Pirate Chas raised a hand and stumbled past Edric, "help me find my feet..."

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

The nobles of Aniria had quickly worked out that the way into the Prince's good graces was to enjoy fighting. Several had attempted to accompany him to rings but had lost their stomach for it after the first lost tooth, but others had persevered and a few rare gems had turned out to genuinely like the sport. One such noble was a Lord Lugard. Wil had completely forgotten what house his family was connected to but it turned out to be one his father approved of. Strongly approved of. As long as Wil was with him then his father didn't seem to question what it was he was getting up to.

Which was a terrible parenting decision.

Lord Lance Lugard was the worst influence any boy could hope to be friends with. He'd taken Wil to some of the seediest parts in Anirian's plentiful lands, and to some of the more dangerous - and therefore fun - fighting rings. Lance had also proved himself a seasoned fighter. All that time on the ships no doubt. Was it ships? Or was it horses? Whatever, it didn't matter. He was fun and that was all Wil cared for.

This fight was meant to be no different; go in, win the fighting, drink themselves silly until they woke up in bed with several very naked women. Wil had been looking forward to it for months. Which was why, when he recognised who was striding towards his confident friend who was too busy waving at the crowds and getting them riled up, Wil's whole face changed.

"Ah, Fuck."

 

[Andros]

"Heh, look at all these weaklings. This whole thing shouldn't be more than warm up." A burly, bearded, bald man chiseled with scars and veins huffed, awaiting the announcer's call, occupying a stiff chair at the bar and downing an even stiffer drink. It was Irak the Iron, a name recognized much more in Ragash, known for his large build and even more enormous appetite for punishment. He would have finished the drink had a gentle tap on his shoulder not caught his attention and ire.

"Hello, are you Irak the Iron? I'm a big fan, and I must have your autograph before you go out there and fight." It was a calm tone, too smooth for a place like this. Irak scoffed, turning around, preparing to splatter whoever this annoyance was and finish his drink peacefully. As Irak turned, his vision faded when the stranger delivered a chin strike, powerful yet swift and subtle.

"Oh my, it seems you've drunk too much, my friend. Let's get you situated." Andros caught the slumping body of Irak. It was a comical sight how he handled the giant man with little effort, placing the unconscious fighter gently on the counter, producing a pair of coins from a pouch, and placing it next to the half-drunken flagon.

Andros had a partial thought to persuade Irak to switch out and let him take his spot and name, but he knew a man like him would have deciphered such words as insults. Either way, Andros stood, dusting his cloak and tipping his wide-brimmed straw hat forward, searching for a spot to view the current match.
--

Striding towards a spot closer to the ring, he caught sight of Chasmine as she stumbled in that borrowed body. Andros rendered his gentle assistance before she could fall, helping her steady. He was graceful in his aid, moving like his body carried little weight and with confidence, not at all stumbling in the attempt of assistance.

"Excuse me, miss." He tipped his straw hat in a polite greeting before taking his seat, watching the events in the ring unfold.

 

[Edric]

Edric stopped for a brief moment as a drunk woman ran into him, spouting some sort of nonsense before further stumbling off. He frowned for a brief moment, letting the words run through his head before suddenly he made a noise. "Ah."

The fighter said in understanding.

Chasmine, of course.

Lips thinned for a brief moment, but he didn't stop to question why she was here. Perhaps to spy on the noble? Or maybe to intimidate him after he'd been captured. Both made sense, regular folk didn't like ghosts and Chas had that possession thing going on.

A slow breath drew into his lungs, and Edric stepped forward into the crowd. Cheers went up, though most of them weren't for him specifically. The people came to see blood, and they knew that as soon as the fighters took center stage that was what they would see.

Lord Lance was already moving about the ring, throwing up his arms and hyping up the crowd. He looked at Edric with a wide grin. "Ready to hit the ground?"

Ah bark of a laugh escaped the Dreadlord, but he said nothing. Only shaking his head as the referee came wandering into the ring. Spouting off a list of rules that to Edric made absolutely no sense, though he would follow them nonetheless.

Duncan had been particular about that.

"FIGHTERS READY?"​

The referee called, and Edric nodded. Lord Lance only grinning. "More than."

 

[Junius Alfort]

Junius was turning to catch Chas when Andros came between them, steadying Chas with a courteous greeting before he went to a nearby table and took a seat. He glared at the man’s back as Andros moved away, he had no right to just touch someone like that, especially not one of Junius’ comrades. Who knew when he had last washed his hands, anyway. He reached out and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, uttering a quiet incantation to clean the woman’s disgusting jacket as his hand touched her shoulder.

Flashing his signature smile, he helped Chas stay steady as she swayed about in the woman’s body. “Be careful, the crowd can get quite riled up at these types of events.” He looked over as Edric stepped into the ring and turned back to Chas, getting close to the pirate woman’s ear. “Right, let’s get ready to execute the plan. We had better move fast since I don’t trust Edric not to get riled up and put this poor soul into the ground.”

He turned the woman Chasmine was possessing around by the shoulders, facing Lance in the ring and began to perform his craft. Invisible magical threads of iridescent deep red began to erupt out of Junius’ fingers on both hands, finding their targets with deft precision nearly instantly. Having a full view of Lance, he connected a thread to his arms, a then to his legs, to the back of his head, to his hands, and began to weave a web across his limbs that would ensure his later possession.

The threads themselves were entirely invisible to the human eye unless one was looking with magically attuned vision attempting to spot enchantments. They could be sensed by the well-trained mage, but each individual thread took very little magical energy to create and maintain and blended well into the background. They were nearly imperceptible to the host once attached unless Junius attempted to manipulate or exert some form of control. Once attached to a target in Junius’ line of sight, they harmlessly passed through obstructions and stayed attached to the target for up to 400 meters away even if moved the target out of sight.

There was little chance this rowdy bar of brigands had anyone who would be actively searching for enchantments with any skill. Junius kept the threads anchored to Lance attached to his left hand, completely slack until he opted to tug on them and exert magical force. With his other hand, and with mobile parts of his body such as his elbow, he began to weave threads throughout the crowd, specifically the people standing ringside directly opposite facing him.

If Edric snapped, he could always easily yank several drunken revelers with his marionette threads into the ring and hopefully put a temporary defense between Edric and his opponent or separate the two with the force of the crowd impacting them. In a worst-case, mission aborting scenario where he was discovered, he could release control of the threads and disappear into the crowd, leaving them hanging but not attached to him.

He leaned over into Chasmine’s borrowed ear. “I am set up and ready to put on a good show with Lance whenever you possess him, and I have a few contingency plans if Edric decides to turn this tavern into a burial crypt.”

 

[Chasmine]

Her face nearly met the floor and Chasmine felt herself trying to push her arms forward to break the fall but the lethargy of drunken possession was not to be underestimated. The ease of the mind made for challenge of the body - a challenge she'd not been expecting.

But suddenly - arms. Strong arms. Were those her arms? No...they were much to clean.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Before she knew it she was on her feet, but who was that and where was Junius?

"Oo yew collin' MESS-" suddenly words. She slapped a hand over her mouth again and blinked, hard. No more talking.

HAND. Chasmine spun-swayed into the signature smile of Junius and she found a most smarmy smile taking over her own, hand dropping to display crooked and discolored teeth, "Ello Junebug-" and then he was talking into her ear and not-Chasmine took on the face of someone trying very, very hard to understand.

Listen.

"Yew want me ta wot?" said the woman to Junius and Chasmine found herself swooshing out of control. The drunken pirate woman blinked at Junius in confusion once, twice, and the blue of her glaze eyes vanished on the thrice - back to bloodshot brown.

"I betchuu could put on a good show, look at ya cute fella. I likes a good tight butt ta squeeze-"

Phantom Chasmine reeled forward, indiscernible among smokey haze of the hall, and sloughed off the remnant yuck of the woman's saturated spiritual vestiges clinging to her like burrs from a run in the thicket. As she passed cleanly through several people along the way they startled and shivered at the sudden heady coldness overtaking them, looking around for a weird draft.

She pushed on to the ring where Edric and Lance were stating their ready and quickly drifted, toward the center. Unseen now as she was, Edric would at least recognize the feeling of cold that her presence engendered. Chas waited for the first few punches to be thrown, holding off for an opportune moment to overtake Lance after a stunning right hook from Edric sent him reeling backward.

That was when she plunged into his body, plying her phantom limbs through his own as if pulling on a heavy sweater. Lance shivered visibly, though it could have just been him shaking off the stars of the strike, and when he blinked back up at Edric it was with a glossy blue glaze to his eyes.

Chasmine wrested control of his mind and his body, silently grateful he'd not been into the drink before the match but fighting the urge to retch at the horrible taste in his mouth. She lifted his right hand and tapped her pointer finger to the side of his nose then to Edric - her signal to Junius that she was in.

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Lance was a good fighter. He'd studied and he had travelled a fair bit fighting in rings like this and on the duelling ground. Usually, Wil didn't have to worry about him unless the opponent looked like a real bruiser. Edric did not. Not at first glance anyway. He could almost hear Lance's thoughts; I have this in the bag! Except Wil had seen Edric fight and he knew the man was a Dreadlord. His eyes flickered from the pair as they began to circle to scan the crowds and sure enough, there was Duncan.

How many more were there?

Such power...

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," he muttered to the ring that hummed on his finger.

No, boy. There.

The feeling of ghostly fingers pricking at his scalp made him turn his attention to the rest of the crowd and a strange pair. The woman looked drunk from the way she kept swaying and bumping into things, but the man who was staring at Lance...

Oh FUCK, fuck fuckity fuck.

Would Dreadlords never stop ruining his fun?! He was beginning to take it personally. His attention was snapped back to the fight at the sickening sound of a crack as Edric's fist connected with Lance's jaw and sent the man sprawling to the ground.

 

[Andros]

Andros slumped into his seat, perched close to the ring on the first row. His eyes scanned everywhere except for the fight. He did sense something strange from the woman he helped and found it odd that there was shifting energy moving from her down to the arena floor into that noble. Something about it reminded him of a spirit. It was interesting but unimportant for the moment; the same could be said for the fight below, with the noble seeming to have bitten off more than he could chew.

Still, there was no sign of his target, and he could not sense the presence he had been trailing. But if Master Tsung's hunch were correct, it would show up eventually, and this was the best place. But for now, he would wait and observe around him, sensing peculiar presences already; Andros would keep a sharp watch.

However, that is not to say he would do so in discomfort; pulling out a hollowed flask made of bamboo, he opened the latch as steam wafted into the air, carrying a fragrant scent.

"Tea time."

 

[Edric]

Edric moved faster, like a viper springing upon it's prey. His fist struck Lance before the man even had a second to move, stunning him and...

The Rogue Dreadlord blinked.

Two steps saw him back off and away from Lord Lance, his head cocking to the side as the crowd roared with blood lust. He frowned, saw the odd wisp of blue, and then the tap to his nose. Instantly the cogs in his head began to turn, and then click into place.

No one had ever accused Edric of being a genius, fuck, no one had ever even said he was any kind of smart at all; but he wasn't a moron either. Two and two went together, and the flicker of rage in his chest sparked into being.

Without a second of hesitation he strode forward.

'Lance' threw a strike, then another, both of which Edric wove through like liquid. A burst of his reserve carrying him through in a blink. His own fists reaching out in two quick strokes, striking against 'Lance's' chest before Edric broke into and against the man. A low growl echoing from his throat as the two briefly wrestled. "Chas."

Edric roared just above the din of the crowd, the referee already moving to break them up.

"Get the fuck-" The Dreadlord bit off as they were separated. "Out of there!"

He shouted, pointing furiously at 'Lance'.

 

[Junius Alfort]

Spoiler: OOC

-Dashes- indicate the TLDR for those who may be short on time/attention span.

Junius frowned and raised an eyebrow at the pirate Chas. ”Junebug? Are you drunk? Is it possible for you to get drun…?” Ah that was it, possessing someone inebriated with a substance caused Chas to experience the state of the host body as well. ’Interesting’, he couldn’t help but wonder if it applied to all substances. If Chas possessed a body put under his sleeping agents, could she experience sleep? Perhaps she could volunteer, and they could do some…no, no, no, he had to focus. They had a job to do and there would be time for him to discuss the event with Chas later.

Frowning as he noticed Chas leaving the body of the pirate woman, who immediately went back to her drunken self once falling from under Chas’ control. He grimaced as a dirty, unwashed hand latched onto his ass. Being a scrawny boy, Junius didn’t have very much of an ass, but there was still enough to grab. Faster than the woman’s brain could have comprehended, especially under the influence of libations, his finger flicked, and the red thread brought a dagger halfway out of its sheath in his cloak, his mind sinking into the insanity faster than he could stop it.

This woman, touching him with her disgusting hands without even asking first? Did she want to die? No, he couldn’t, not here. He wasn’t Edric, Gilram had worked on this with him. The knife slid back, having never fully cleared its sheath, which fortunately meant that it would be less likely anyone would have noticed it moving without a hand on it, though Junius couldn’t be sure. He gave the woman his best, startingly bright and smile, which came off as unnatural, and placed an arm around her neck with its right gauntlet resting inches away from the light purple jugular. He needed to appear jovial and kind, make everyone feel at ease, but he couldn’t very well let this harlot get away after touching him with those disgusting, unwashed claws.

Using marionette threads that were kept attached to the inner mechanisms of the gauntlets, he pulled open a catch. Faster than most eyes could register, a tiny needle shot out of a hidden compartment and travelled the inch or so to the flesh of her neck, pricking right in the interior jugular vein, then retracting just as fast. The woman flinched, but the prick had been so sudden, her drunken mind didn’t register pain until the body was already slumping forward. She wasn’t dead, no, he had been told that no one needed to die here, she was simply sleeping, and would be for some hours under the influence of the concoction injected into her veins. Junius let the body slump on the ground against a nearby table, announcing loudly towards what appeared to be her crewmates, “Oh my, looks like someone has had a little too much to drink, perhaps take her somewhere safe and she’ll be up once it wears off” he stated with false joviality as her crew came to help her up. Hopefully she wasn’t allergic to anything in the sleeping agent.

-As Junius stood up and melted back into the crowd, he saw it, the signal. Lance lifted his right hand and touched his nose. Junius nearly jumped with joy as he took a position up close to the ring, keeping one shorter individual, a dwarf, between him and the center floor. Being just tall enough to conceal a portion of his body, the dwarf was the perfect spectator. Junius felt the resistance that normally flowed through his threads melt as Lance went slack. It was time for a puppet show, a time of entertainment for all his guests, though they weren’t aware. His fingers moved deftly, moving Lance’s body apart as the referee separated the fighters. As the magic fully took control, Junius began to become aware of the sensations Lance was feeling, the information his pain receptors were sending, what he could see and smell, and the information of his other senses. Lance would have some serious bruises, but the fighting hadn’t really begun yet, so he wouldn’t be truly injured. His body was surprisingly less capable than Junius had hoped, though his standards were exceedingly high. It was a helpful effect, and only one a living body could completely provide.

As an artist moved a brush, Junius moved Lance’s body, propelling him through various motions, twisting and contorting his body in dodges and strikes. There was no way Junius could ever beat Edric in a true one on one fight with his physical body, but with a puppet, he could face anyone. He knew the human body intimately, inside and out. Junius had to be careful, though, not to make Lance seem too precise with his strikes. Lance suddenly gaining an intimate knowledge of the human body would surely seem suspicious. Keeping his hands low to conceal the movement of his fingers behind the dwarf, Junius moved his charge, swiping through Edric’s guard with a left hook to his chin. He felt Lance’s abdominal muscle tense and stretch with the lighting fast motion of ducking under Edric’s guard. Oops, he hoped Lance had been that fast before. Using living humans for complex and precise tasks was a huge hassle. Lance’s body was no match for Edric and Junius would break him if he kept moving his body in ways it wasn’t in shape to handle, better to scale it back a little and make him seem more normal. He put Lance into a defensive stance, intent on Edric’s next move.

Being able to see both fighters’ muscles tense and relax from a distance made it quite easy to read them, much easier than Lance would have had from his position in the ring.-

 

[Chasmine]

Lance threw a strike, then another, both of which Edric wove through like liquid. A burst of his reserve carrying him through in a blink. His own fists reaching out in two quick strokes, striking against Lances chest before Edric broke into and against the man. A low growl echoing from his throat as the two briefly wrestled. Chas.

Edric roared just above the din of the crowd, the referee already moving to break them up.

Get the fuck- The Dreadlord bit off as they were separated. Out of there!

He shouted, pointing furiously at Lance.

"Edric," Lance replied, though his gruff voice was unusually gentle and soft, as if talking to a lover. Not-Lance took a curiously awkward step back as they were separated. While not an easy man to overcome mentally, having his body controlled by Junius was proving to be an unusual orchestration to attune to.

A bit like learning a new dance with a dance partner who wished to lead and having no idea what the dance was.

"I cannot," said Not-Lance, his dreary-casted gaze curiously lucid for how suddenly he dove back into the fight, with a swing and a hit to Edric's face that Chas-Lance's eyebrows lifted at as he duck through Edric's guard. She had to withhold an apology for the hit, but wasn't even given the chance to do so before Junius' strings had her stepping back and raising the man's fists into guard.

"Now you have a fair fight," he continued lightly, "so fight me."

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

He had to stop this fight.

Lance had rallied himself somehow even though it looked as though his nose were broken; the woman he had left in his bed that morning would not be pleased. She'd chosen Lance as he was the prettier one. Whether his friend thought he could win or not though, this fight was never going to go in his favour. No amount of fancy training in Dornoch or Oban would contend with that of a Dreadlord - and that was before taking into account the magic which was definitely in play if that damn sorcerers salivating was anything to go by.

Yes, take me closer boy.

Wil had no idea what the essence attached the ring would actually do if it got close enough to a Dreadlord. He was fairly certain that the ring couldn't eat them. Right?

He had no choice - it was a chance he would have to take.

The Prince considered jumping into the ring but Edric seemed to be annoyed about something and loathe to punch Lance in the face - maybe the noble was offering him some coin to go easy on him. That would be smart. No, Wil's first job was to interfere with whatever the fuck that other Dreadlord was doing staring intently at the ring. He sauntered in that direction and veered off towards the bar to grab a drink then meandered back through the crowd, appearing to try and fight his way back to the front to watch the fight. One large bullish looking fellow was stood almost right behind the puppet master. He'd had more than a few ales from the looks of it which would be perfect for his plan.

Pretending to trip, Wil fell into the large man who whirled on him with a snarl.

"Sorry about that mate, I-" the Prince got no further as the brute all but picked him off the floor and threw him forward, straight into Junius's side. Ale and all.

 

[Edric]

Edric reeled as the strike landed on his jaw, taking two quick steps back as he scowled. His eyes almost immediately setting on 'Lance', his head not flickering with Chasmine's words, but instead what had just happened.

She'd been fast too fast.

Lance's first strike could have been to test him, to see just how quickly he'd respond, but the second one? The second one had been like lightning. Quick enough that it had caught even Edric off guard. Not that it mattered really how much his opponent hit him.

It really was a bit unfair.

"Fair?!" Edric laughed, his eyes flickering across the ring. Something was wrong, he didn't know what, but it was…why hadn't they told him? Why hadn't they just said the plan was for Chas to fight? Discomfort flickered through his chest, and with it came anger. "Do you remember what I did back at the Academy?"

He asked as he began to stalk forward, not like a fighter, but a man determined. "This was never going to be a fair fight."

The referee gave Edric a very confused, and slightly perturbed looked, but before he could say anything the Rogue Dreadlords darted forward. He moved in the blink of an eye, darting forward and sending a succession of four quick strikes against 'lance'.

Each one probing, exacting, drawing the eye, until the last came flinging in from the side. Cutting from the side and directly against his opponent's jaw.

 

[Andros]

Just before taking another sip of his warm drink, Andros halted, tilting his head to the oncoming commotion. His spot close to the ring made watching the pit and the stands simultaneously challenging, but the audience needed his attention as he tracked that faint presence. Whatever it was, Andros honed its location on the prince but did not know exactly where or what was causing it. Either way, it was something worth investigating.

Andros rose from his seat, cloak swaying with a lightning-fast turn as he strode higher. It looked to be a mess up on the prince's part, and how his friend looked down there in the ring may prove to be just the opportunity he was looking for.

Just as the more prominent fellow pushed Wil into Junius, Andros would join along the row, sandwiching Wil between him and the young exile. It would prove a deterrence for the brute to act further and a way to break the ice.

"Hello. Are you alright there, friend?" He asked, words seemingly out of place given their current situation his eyes wandered along Wil's attire, looking for any signs of the presence he felt.

 

[Junius Alfort]

One minute, he had been enjoying himself moving Lance to and fro in the ring and seeing how much the young man’s body could bend without breaking, and the next he was falling to the ground, knocking into the drawf, who spilled his drink as Junius crashed into his side, breaking the boy’s fall. For a moment, he lost control, a metallic slink of one of his knives echoing as it left the holster near his shin, the knife moving as if it had a mind of his own, then he took several deep breaths, regaining control. He couldn’t jeopardize the mission; he could do this. The knife slid back into its sheath, he wouldn’t gut this charlatan like a fish, but he wouldn’t let him get away with touching him and causing him to fall on the filthy, disgusting ground.
He stood up, a sickly-sweet smile plastered to his face as he replied to Andros, though he turned towards Wil.

“Oh, I am quite fine friend, just a bit dirty now that this charlatan got himself pushed. Oh, but I am much more good natured than this fine dwarf, who you caused me to fall into.”
The dwarf, who was standing up and wiping his breastplate with a sackcloth, looked up at them bewildered.

“Well yes but acc…” He never got a chance to finish before Junius dropped the parts of Lance he had on his left hand and magically snatched the ethereal strings he had wove to those around him. The words turned into a yelp in the dwarf’s throat as his body surged forward and an armored fist moved forward with the intent of smashing into Wil’s sternum.

As the dwarf was swinging, in the span of a second, Junius began to yank the threads connected to those around him. Bodies pressed into other bodies, drinks began to spill, shouts of anger began to fill the room. Picking a few heavily inebriated patrons, he swung their fists directly into other nearby unsuspecting patrons. Currently, Lance and the dwarf were the only ones he could fully control, but various individual threads on patrons around the ring could allow Junius to swing a fist or jerk a body into another.

In the span of two seconds, the bar erupted into shouts and screams as fists began to fly. Junius began to back up and put some distance between himself and Wil. Hopefully, they could find the target in the confusion and get out.

 

[Chasmine]

With Junius at the helm she had no real opportunity to test herself here - having survived the spirit realm was certainly no easier than the living realm. As a matter of fact, Chasmine believed it was much, much more difficult. She would never be a great fighter or as powerful as her peers, but learning how to react do her tormentors in her own plane of existence had given her an edge she'd not had while alive.

Chasmine would not begrudge Junius his chance to practice his own skills, but she did rather think it a shame she wouldn't get her own. At least until rather suddenly as Edric had begun to storm her way, she felt the tethers of Junius' powers go rather ... slack.

Edric closed in like a freight train and where years ago Chasmine would have frozen in fear or cowered, she felt herself steel against him instead. In this moment and, perhaps, in the many more moments to come, she was not afraid of that which had brought terror to so many students in her short years at the academy. Lance's body responded to her possession in full now that Junius suddenly found his attention split from the fight. The first two strikes by Ed were avoided by fluid shifting of stance and ducking, the third countered entirely, but the fourth?

Well, Chasmine was better than she was before, but Edric was better, period.

Lance's head went flying and Chas felt the sudden jostling before the man's body fell away from her and crashed to the ground unconscious, leaving the geist's cold presence suspended invisibly in the air where he'd been standing.

Chasmine blinked the proverbial stars from her ghastly eyes and looked down. Well that was disappointing, but at least the man wasn't dead. His own soul remained staunchly attached to his body, for now. By the time she looked up it, chaos had errupted throughout the venue beyond the ring.

"Edric," said his ghoulish friend, "do you see our target?"

Edric Junius Alfort Andros

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

"Oh yes, just a few bruises," Wil flashed the newcomer the typical cocky grin of a man who had had one two many drinks and thought himself invincible. He took a stumbling turn towards the man he had fallen into with the intention of shaking his hand allowing the ring to get a read on just what his magic was, when suddenly the dwarf was hurtling towards him.

The men who had raised Wil had taught him how to take hit after hit and get back up again swinging. It was what made him so good in the Pits like the one below. So as the dwarf went swinging forward Wil rolled with the punch to soften the blow enough that it did not leave him winded. Even if it did mean he went toppling into Andros instead. Their stumble set them rocking back into the large drunk man who had thrown Wil to begin with and he turned snarling once more, dropping the poor soul whose face he had been pummelling a moment earlier.

"Did ye not get the fucking message the first time?!" he roared and grabbed a hold of Wil by the front of his shirt.

Shit.

"I'm sure we can reach an acc-"

He felt his feet completely leave the floor and then he was sailing through the air once more over the edge of the Pit towards Edric.

 

[Edric]

His fist struck, and Lance went flying. For a brief second the Rogue Dreadlord could swear that he saw Chas floating within the air, hanging freely as though he had just quite literally punched a soul from his opponents body.

A cocky, mirthful laugh passed from his lips. His tongue flickering as he was about to shout a taunt of some sort, when chaos suddenly broke out.

The crowd, which had been so neatly forming the fighting circle broke up into a thousand disparate parts. Suddenly the fight was no longer between Edric and his opponent, but instead everyone within the tavern. A brawl breaking loose and quickly turning into utter chaos.

"Why the fuck does this always happen!" He complained, smile wiped away as he turned towards the voice calling out to him.

"Edric....Do you see our target?"

The words struck his ears, though he couldn't see Chas. "No I do-"

Before he finished speaking, a figure suddenly went slamming into him. An 'oof' escaping his throat as he was nearly taken off his feet, legs scrambling back to catch himself, while one arm half wrapped around the figure that had crashed against him.

"Hey!" He said, about to throw the man down. "How about you fucking wa-Wil?!"

Edric demanded incredulously.

 

[Andros]

Andros gave Junius a fair wave before his eyes shifted back to Wil, glancing for a moment as he watched the noble, Lance, get sent flying with a blow, unable to suppress a grimace as he watched.

"This may sound odd, but we can help each other." He shook his head. That sounded a lot better in his mind. "....Not in that way. Your friend there looks a little worse for wear; I could bring him back up without so much as a scar. Provided he's not dead, of course."

Negotiations. They were less eventful than a fight but no less tricky. And before he could explain what he wanted in return, all hell broke loose, the bar patrons now in a full-on brawl that threatened to shake the rickety foundations of the place.

He quickly caught Wil against himself; the eastern-garbed man felt like a stone wall upon contact for a split second before surprisingly collapsing like a bag of wheat with him into the stout patron.

As the large man grabbed Wil, threatening to beat the young man bloody and making good on his threats by tossing him harshly into the ring, Andros stood, snatching the belt from the man's trousers, wishing he had done so sooner before the other was sent flying.

"Excuse me, sir; your boots seem unlaced! He shouted, the pants now pooling around the drunkard's ankles, revealing a pair of brightly colored underwear. Andros took this slight moment of confusion from the man and gave him a strong push with a singular hand, sending him flying into the dirt.

With that threat subdued, he stumbled into the center of the ring where Wil and Edric stood, along with many other brawlers itching for a fight.

"For what it's worth, this event was anything but boring."

Junius Alfort Wilhelm Anireth Edric Chasmine

 

[Junius Alfort]

Junius’ hands moved deftly as the crowd surged around him. Threaded limbs allowed him to defend himself with other people’s bodies when he needed to. A fist thrown into someone moving towards him, a leg swiping out and tripping a burly man who wanted to smash a mug over his head. The dwarf was yelling curses and insults as he was deftly moved, his fist smashing into a nearby elf that had stepped in front of him. Wil was out of his range, now thrown into the ring with Edric. Getting into a ring with Edric near a fight was very high on Junius’ list of things to avoid.

The dwarf’s body seemed to be significantly more durable than a human’s and he let out a giggle as the dwarf’s armored fist smashed into another patron, taking him down to the ground. It couldn’t last, though, and he finally got distracted enough that he found himself staring at a bellowing minotaur whose massive fist was heading straight for his skull with the intention of caving it in, as the fight seemed to be escalating. In a flurry of motion, Desister slid out of its sheath around his belt, stabbing straight into the great creature’s arm via the manipulative forces of one of Junius’ threads.

The knife would leave no visible injury as that was not its power. It did, however, cause the minotaur to freeze where he stood, fist still raised, face locked in a grimace, locking his mortal being into a state of total paralysis. The creature’s entire body went limp as the knife’s power took effect. Releasing the dwarf, a look of malicious excitement came over his face as he cast his threads onto the minotaur, Junius’ fingers flexing and moving on his right hand by his side as he tried to maintain at least some secrecy. He mainly used Desister for amputations and surgeries, but it could be used in combat to allow him to turn one creature nearby into a willing puppet. The body could still move but the soul was locked away provided the knife remained in the target. Best of all, Desister left no visible injuries, but as a downside rendered it useless for cutting things.

The minotaur was quite an upgrade as he effectively put the creature in front of him and began to smash his way through patrons that were attempting to assail him. It would certainly appear suspicious to anyone who had noticed the initial exchange where the beast attempted to cave his skull in, but he rather didn’t care at that moment. Hopefully the thick fur on the beast would conceal Desister’s small hilt from prying eyes.

Junius let out a laugh as the dwarf he had been playing with earlier went down in a sea of bodies as other patrons retaliated for attacks they thought were the dwarf’s doing.

 

[Chasmine]

Bedlam. Sheer and utter chaos reigned now through the vicinity of the hall and Chasmine remain at the center of it before Edric, casting her pale gaze around wild-eyed for any sign of their target. She'd seen a drawing of him, knew the look of his face. He wouldn't and shouldn't be hard to miss - a local investor with a hooked nose and a large wart on his cheek - but with the roil of bodies all about it was impossible.

She did, however, see Duncan and he was waving madly trying to get Edric's attention from where he stood on a nearby bench in the surrounding stands.

Duncan couldn't see her. No one could see her, but Edric wasn't facing his direction now that he had not just one, but two, and soon coming more company in the ring.

THE PRINCE! Duncan mouthed - perhaps he was actually bellowing but who could actually hear him over the roar of the widespread brawling.

TAKE HIM! and he began to point to the dark-haired young man that was presently in Edric's death-grab.

"Ed!" Chasmine's disembodied voice hissed in his ear, "Duncan wants him!"

And without waiting for Edric to reply, dove fully into the Prince's body. He'd feel like a plunge into the arctic waters of the northern tundras as the spirit of Chasmine Gray began the process of forceful possession.

 

[Wilhelm Anireth]

"Ser Ildren, fancy seeing you here," the Prince replied as brightly as if they had been meeting on the corner of a well to do street in Vel Anir rather than in the Pits of a tavern far from home. Clearing his throat he clambered out of Edric's arms and brushed himself off though aside from one ale stain and rumbled clothing from all the throwing, there was little to fix. His outfit was, as always, flawless. "I err.. see you've met my friend here - Lance," he waved towards his swaying friend. Kress, had Edric punched his teeth out? Sure enough, the little pearls glinted in the dirt and Wil hastily bent to begin picking them up.

"Don't worry buddy, we'll get you home and you'll be right as rain," surely a Dreadlord could put them back? He just had to make sure he got them all. Of course in doing all this he hadn't seen Duncan's frantic waving or mouthing. He straightened and went to loop his arm around Lance's waist when Chas slammed into him.

The Ring of Haath suddenly flared a brilliant green.

GET OUT! Roared the spirit who had already laid claim to this vessel, slamming its wall of dark and sickly power into the offending ghost. Wave after wave of dark magic was hurled her way, uncaring of the poor host the two not battled in.

On the outside, Wil seemed to turn the same shade of green as his ring as his body went rigid. Then he promptly bent over and was violent sick, black bile going everywhere.

 

[Edric]

Confusion flickered over his features as Wilhelm refered to him as 'Ildren', the cover name that he had taken in Turin. Had he forgotten that wasn't actually his name? With all his posters plastered all over everywhere and what had happened at the Tournament he doubted the Prince could manage to wipe it all away.

He didn't notice Duncan waving, the Dreadlord lost in the chaos. "I told you last time, my names Edric, remember?"

The Rogue Dreadlord reminded his friend helpfully.

"You know that guy?" He asked, jerking a thumb at lance. "Fuck me, if i'd known that I might have taken it easy on him."

Though probably not. "Sorry abou-"

The apology would mean even less as Edric heard his name called. He frowned for a moment, and then let out a curse as Chasmine told him what was happening. Before he could say anything to Wil, Chasmine flickered forward and dove into his pal.

Edric's eyes opened wide as Will almost instantly went rigid, vomit spilling from his lips as he bent over and spilled black bile onto the floor.

"WHAT IN THE FUCK?!" The Rogue shouted, his words lost in the din of chaos that was still raging all around them.

"For what it's worth, this event was anything but boring."​

A man said, stumbling into the ring, and Edric glanced at him for just a brief moment. "You're telling me."

He said, and then stepped forward and over the puddle of black puke. Without a moment of hesitation he grabbed Wil, scooping him up as a Knight might a Princess.

"Come on." Edric said as he began to charge towards the crowd. "We're getting outta here, don't you fucking dare puke on me."