Private Tales Crouching Urchin, Hidden Templar

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren looked down as Alric talked, his thoughts flying away to lands of the past, filled with grief and overwhelming sadness, of a time long gone. He remembered some of the books Riss made him read. Certainly not the best part of his training, but they were indeed quite useful. The Chapters... The whole of Templar history, now scattered to the four corners of the world, the winds blowing away the dirt and blood of a history of past glories and dishonourable wars and betrayals. But as Riss once told him, those glories could yet be reclaimed. The Templars, as broken as they were, could yet be redeemed, forged into something new and bright, as powerful and righteous as they once were. All it took was a single step in the right direction.

But they never went that far. Enigmatic as he was, Riss was never forthright about his real intentions while travelling with Aldren. He never wrote any letters, and they never sought their Templar brothers, claiming that they were on journeys of their own, much like they were. Time passed on, and then came the day of Riss's demise, and Aldren was left alone again. In a new journey, now of his own making, but one that followed no clear path. He was just swinging in the dark at that point.

Aldren never did carry that Templar title with real honor, being as much as a ruse. He did have the skills, the training and even donned the armor of one, but in the end, they were just hollow of their true essence. The essence of a real knight.

Perhaps... Mericet could be his turning point? Aldren thought to himself, reflecting upon Alric's words. They weren't exactly going against monsters, at least not literal ones. Men like Devak certainly qualified as monsters, but of a even worse kind. Monsters like vampires and lycans never plotted, just attacking as they hunger went on. But men like Devak were different. They possessed intelligence, applied towards cruelty. But maybe, helping Lyssia and her brother reclaim their old, rightful life... It could be a step. One that would set him on his right path, that would then begin his journey towards his real purpose.

That's why he vowed to Lyssia to see it through. Her sweet innocence and good heart were quite warming, in that cold and dark corner in which they were. A city full of intrigue and plots, with guards and nobles after them and now hiding in the sewers, but to see that there was still some good in that place made him certain that he took the right decision in protecting her. If she was indeed a noble, she certainly didn't seem like a bad one. At least, not like those who now run that rotten city. He nodded in response to her, his heart a bit more relieved.

"Aye. I suppose it doesn't matter now", Aldren responded, with fiery resolve in his hazel eyes. He turned to look at the papers on the table again, taking in all that information while Lyssia chatted with her brother. As they finished, Aldren could sense the Alric's look, one that sought answers that Aldren couldn't give, but he would surely help.

Cordale pointed to the center of the city in the map. "Money and influence? Then we're in the perfect spot to begin. You don't work alone here, little man. So let's put that help to good use, and we'll start right here, in the heart of this city", Aldren looked to the side, facing Alric.

"Going after Devak right now would mean death. At least for you and your sister. Hell, even for me. But we can target his associates, corner him into desperation. And we'll start by tracking that money and influence you talked about. Such things leave trails brighter than any monster blood, and i happen to be a good tracker."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"Devak is just a throw piece in the greater game," Alric replied as he shifted through the papers on the table. He was clearly looking for something there, some piece of information. "Farron is the puppet master, the one behind the scenes. I am sure of it!" His voice became harsh and vehement at the end. In Alric's eyes burned a fire that bordered on hatred, raw and cold. His movements seemed barely contained, like he wanted to shred papers, scream to the uncaring world.

Lyssia wanted to go to him, eyes dancing as she looked on. She couldn't, couldn't offer him solace or comfort. She could not do anything at all for him, not in front of Aldren. She did not think her prideful brother would appreciate her empathy at all. He was very much like...like Father had been, closed off to others. He lacked the poise and calm demeanor of their father, but he was still young for a Sidhe.

And so she refrained from stepping up to him, of offering what limited support she could. She looked between Aldren and Alric and felt despair, for she could offer neither anything. For one of the few times in her life, she was aware of her weakness, of her reliance on others. Caught in the grip of that revelation, her eyes swam, unshed tears glistening but refraining from falling.

"Influence is harder to track," Alric said, voice harsh with barely contained emotion. "Wealth...much less so. If we avoid the Royal Guard, and focus on House Farron and their holdings..." Alric pulled a sheet of paper with hastily scribbled notes out of the mess, and after a hasty read, pulled a map free, too. He tapped it with a finger.

"Brother...what are you thinking?" She sounded...uneasy. Wiping unshed tears from her eyes, she looked to Aldren, who appeared to be interested in what her brother was up to.

"A raid, dear sister. We have spoken of it at length, me and my coconspirators. We have no resources to work with...but Farron has plenty. And they are not expecting D'avore to rise again."

"But...wouldn't it be safer to go after an ally of theirs?" she asked, looking to Aldren to support her in this.

"They expect nothing, Lyssia. Now is the chance to catch them unaware. It will be easier than later." He looked up from his map and papers, eyes alight with some strong emotion. "You were not trained in these things, Sister," he said, dismissive. "We must seize this opportunity while it's available. Too much caution will he the same as doing nothing." The young man also looked to Aldren for support in this venture, though from the other side of the argument. "We can get valuable supplies and possibly some coin to do other operations. We must expose House Farron, and everyone allied to him, for their treachery."

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren watched as Alric began to be consumed by rage, going through the papers at the table with eagerness. He assumed the memories that still haunted Lyssia were the same for Alric, the reason why instead of crying, he turned to frustration and violence. Opposites outbursts, but this one being a tad more dangerous than the other. Aldren knew that, he had been in his shoes for a few times in his life. He cried, lashed out with bitterness, and paid steep prices for it. But he had someone to hold him, and keep him from doing something that he would later regret, or even kill him.

It was time to be that someone now. He sensed Lyssia's teary eyes looking at them, in dismay, feeling powerless to provide comfort or reassurance. Aldren put his gloved hand on Alric's shoulder, pausing him for a moment. Closing his eyes, he recited a lesson once taught to him many times.

"A blade, wielded in blind fury, is as threatning as a wooden stick."

That was the first lesson taught to him by his master Riss. When Aldren was but a boy, sword in hand, and the taste of vengance on his lips, ready to face any monster that appeared in his way. Exactly the kind of thought that would get him an early grave.

Alric tried his best to contain some of that fury, if only barely. That was something hard to learn, something that takes time and it happens in the worst scenarios. There's no calm state of mind when your life is ripped apart, your family killed and everything you knew is upside down. Aldren understood that, and so he made no further press, calmly going back to his silence thoughts, overlooking the maps and memorizing its designs. As a smart and skillful fighter, Aldren had quite the knack for strategy. That's how he got command of his own, albeit small, unit so soon in his military career.

He was no master tactician, but you could say he was far above the ordinary. And so, Aldren began to evaluate a few strategies. It helped that the maps had a few details already written, possible important locations and sensible information that would be of great use later on.

As Alric and Lyssia finished their own conversation, Aldren once again sensed the despair that took hold of Lyssia's gaze, and now Alric as well. They were both looking up at him, as if waiting for him to guide them towards the next steps. But as sound as strategies went, especially in their situation, any attack would be of a great risk. But it was a necessary risk, unless they planned to wait for this Farron and his men to storm the underground after them.

Taking a deep breath, Aldren looked at Lyssia with a heavy look. "It has to be done. A direct assault is risky, but so is waiting for their wrath to come down on our heads". It wasn't easy to respond, the way Lyssia look at him fearing that exact answer. He knew she was too afraid of the danger they would get into, but there was no other way. There's only going forward now.

"But your sister won't come with us. I won't risk her safety. And if we die, at least she'll have the chance to run away for good", Aldren said firmly, eyes fixed on Alric beside him.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

...your sister won't come with us...

Her head snapped between Alric and Aldren, and for a moment she was lost, again. Alone. With no one to provide any aid for her, and her left to fend for herself. The prospect was terrifying, for all that she had only been rescued from that fate scarcely a day before.

She took a deep breath, clearly trying to master the fear that coursed through her, and only partially succeeding. She didn't want to go on this venture, but she was not about to be left behind. "You will not leave me behind," she said in a stern voice that was somewhat betrayed by a quaver of fear. Her eyes were bright with it, but the set of her jaw indicated the degree of stubborn willpower she was throwing behind this decision, carelessly made or not. "I am a grown woman, you don't need to treat me like a-" she began, but it was Alric that cut her off, ahead of any protest Aldren could make.

"A grown woman?" Alric said, face a comic caricature of disbelief. "You are, what, nineteen? You have at least a decade ahead of you yet. dear sister," he said dismissively. "Me and Aldren here can handle this, along with some others. You can stay here and mind the place while we-"

"I will not be left to...to...to tend hearth like some common woman," she hissed at him. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, staring back and forth at them, looking like she wanted to bite both of them. It didn't hide the fear, but it certainly mitigated it some. "I am not helpless," she said, and she held a hand out, one arm crossed beneath her bosom and cupping the elbow of the other, which now held a dancing flame. It flickered, feebly, as she fed power into it. "You won't leave me again!" There was a hitch to her words, but she ruthlessly crushed it. Tears had no place here, none at all.

"Aldren, talk some sense into her." Alric had turned back to his papers, dismissing Lyssia entirely. It made her bristle inside even more, as she left the magical flame vanish.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren's face remained straight, unimpressed. He needed to look so, lest he encouraged Lyssia's hasty decision to join the fold of battle and danger. His head now tilted to look towards Alric, who had the same firm gaze, and yet almost begging Aldren to convince his sister of the stupid decision she was making.

Resting his hand on top of his blade's hilt again, Aldren then switched to face the inspired and somewhat angry, frustrated girl a few steps from him. He resisted the urge to smile, even for a little. It was quite impressive to see her so determined, not looking like the helpless girl from a night ago. And yet, that boldness could get her killed, and that was a hard truth that Aldren had understand clearly.

"I'm sorry, Lyssia. But i-- we... can't risk it. It's too dangerous", Aldren's words tried to get through to her, but her fiery determination didn't seem to waver. "We're going into battle, and you're not a soldier. It's safer for you here", Cordale finished as calmly as he could.

Alric seemed miles distant from that conversation, minding his own plans, lost in the papers on the table. Aldren stared Lyssia while hoping she didn't seem so keen on suicide now.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She stared into those calm eye with her own, and knew the fear of the conflict ahead was reflected there for all to see. especially a battle hardened veteran who was seemingly numb to the brutality that he committed in the name of his quest for...for whatever it was. Redemption? The fire in her eyes died away. But that determination only grew more solid, more demanding.

They will not treat me like a child, she thought to herself. But how could she do other than she was told now? They would not allow her to come along no matter what, it seemed. Perhaps they didn't understand at all. She had been forced to be alone when the entire house of cards came crashing down, what now seemed like an eternity ago. A year, left to fend for herself. She had seen the harsh truth of the streets, though she had shied away from it as much as possible. She had watched this man brutally slay men without a care for their families or their selves. Surely what they planned could not be much worse?

But can you remember the look in the eyes of the slain? And the truth was that she could not. The emptiness of those eyes after...that was what really terrified her. Death. An end to all of this, and she was not ready to let go.

She already held to the source within herself, and she stoked those fires a little more. Subtlety was key, of course.

With a scowl and a huff, the girl rushed forward until she was inches away from the warrior, radiating anger. Or at least a facsimile of it. She drove a finger into his chest, sweet flow pouring forward, inscrutable in its purpose. "It is not safe for me anywhere," she said, high pitched voice filled with emotion. What emotion it was, was anyones guess. "I am not some pretty little flower that needs a knight to defend," she continued, and this time the heat in her voice was not feigned at all. She spun about and stalked off to one of the alcoves where a bedroll was spread out, and sat down, pale eyes gleaming like chips of ice.

Accusing.

Alric glanced at his sister from the table, and rolled his eyes. "Ignore her. There is more important things to be about. I do not have time to babysit my dear sister." he waved a piece of paper in the air, and tossed it Aldren's way. "I think this will do nicely. We cannot get at any of the wealth they stole from my family, at least not hard currency. That is in the hands of the banks and moneychangers right now." Alric sounded angry, but it was a cold anger, devoid of any real heat. "We could go after goods and perhaps secure some supplies, but I think that is short sighted. I think information will be more valuable, don't you think?"

The young man was of a certain mindset. Information was the weapon of choice here. To expose Farron and the Houses in concert with whatever design it had for the kingdom, that was his truest ambition. They could kill Farron armsmen and the Royals, they could try to slay the scions of the various Houses...but that would neither clear the name of House D'avore, nor would it bring low the conspirators that had brought about their end in the first place.

"There are factions within the Parliament," the boy said, looking at the sheets of paper before him, eyes moving and scanning the words there. "There are groups who oppose Farron and his coalition. The King is dying, you see, and Farron wants Earl Cadry to ascend to the throne, since the King has no heir. The question is why? Why go to such lengths/ Cadry is hardly a man to be led by the nose..."

He pulled up a map, and put a finger on a street corner in the Old District, nearest the river but upriver from the warehouse district. "Here. This is a Farron holding, and there has been a lot of activity recently. A lot of men and women, some high born and some commoners, all passing through this place. And since those types do not rub elbows without a reason..."

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren remained as a stone, unmoved by Lyssia's impetuous display. Even while being confronted by magic, he knew that she would never harm him. She was hurting, struggling with her fears and crawling her way out of that pool of desperation that she was in, trying to find the strength to evolve, become someone better. But that's the sort of journey that doesn't happen so easily. It is a road filled with sadness, anger and pain. Like the steel of a sword, that needs to be hammered into shape by the blacksmith, so is the will to change.

In that moment, Aldren began to wonder. Was he making the right decision? Denying Lyssia her chance to move on, to change? He knew he couldn't take the risk. It was too dangerous a plan for her to participate, but seeing her like that made him doubt his own plans.

Cordale let out a short smirk as he saw the girl turning around and marching towards the bed rolls, wrathful. He turned to face Alric, face covered in restlessness. "Is it really wise to leave your sister here, unprotected?", Aldren almost whispered to the little man beside him while looking to the maps himself, both his hands resting on the grand table in front of him.

He was hoping for confirmation from Alric, that it would put his mind at ease and let the doubtful thoughts fade away. In perfect honesty, he was indeed beginning to inquire as to the safety of that location. Surely, it was a well thought, concealed hideout. But these men they were about to face... They certainly didn't lack the resources to scour the city, buildings and rat tunnels alike. What if their steps were already being anticipated and it would be the perfect moment for this Farron and his men to strike, seizing their prey?

Not that the heat of battle would be of greater safety for Lyssia, but Aldren's heart was filled with suspicion about the steps they were about to take.

He decided to shake those questions off, and focused once again on the maps, following Alric's tossed instructions. Though Aldren paid little attention to Alric's talks of houses and such, his mind wandering towards thoughts of impending battles.

"And what's your plan?", Aldren asked, head tilting to face Alric. "The two of us can go take a look at this holding, but we will need reinforcements if you have any mind towards a direct assault."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"She is hardly unprotected. There are...guardians in this place, of a certain nature," he said in reply. He cast a glance at her, found those eyes regarding them both unabashedly and, above all else, angrily. He gave Lyssia a tight smile before returning to the work at hand.

"We need but verify that there is still activity ongoing. I believe that this is a hub for House Farron eyed-and-ears. Informants, mostly. The nobility requires information to secure themselves." And it was a fact that this hideout had been known by D'avore informants, and some of the people he now worked with were those very same agents.

"I do not expect the need to kill anyone, other than perhaps a guard or two. We should try to avoid it, anyway. What good would gaining information to shed light on Farron do if our own name were tarnished with real cri.es instead of manufactured ones?" Alric looked the man in the eyes to drive the point home.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren accompanied Alric's glance towards his sister as they talked about her. The mention of guardians did put Aldren's mind at ease now. That hideout was even better than he thought, to be so shrouded in mystery, concealed in plain sight and now adornished with magic. That made Aldren wonder for how long Alric and his conspirators must've been planning all those things... and why he never went to look for his sister before.

It couldn't have been pure luck that Aldren appeared in Lyssia's way like that, saving her from the grasp of death in a cold, wet and dark alley. Surely the gods placed him there for some reason known only to them for the time being, but he was sure that Lyssia was special, and it wasn't just coincidence that he decided to look out for the screams in the streets that night.

Cordale's mind wandered too far, and he was brought back to reality as Alric continued his talks of planning, easeing Aldren's worry about a possible assault in that holding. Being the heavy warrior that he was, Aldren wasn't much of a rogue, even though he met a special one in his past. A rival, so to speak. Even though they were short of enemies, admiration was the bond that had united them in the dangerous situations that they faced. Sword and daggers, a deadly duo once in a time.

But since they didn't have any better plans, Aldren decided to just follow in Alric's lead. "Fine. Lead the way, then", he said while looking back to the man with a small side smile.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The young man stopped what he was doing, closing his eyes. Even from where Lyssia was at, she could feel the magic that he plied, felt the force of it. She had no idea what it was that Alric was up to, but it couldn't be too terribly much, here in the dark.

The man opened his eyes. "Later. It is too soon for us to attempt this. Broad daylight is a poor time for such work," he said mildly. "In any case, I have need to speak with my associates. The target was one of a few possibilities, and they will have much more current information than this," he said, indicating all the papers with their scrawled notes. He picked up one of those, and then let it fall back to the table.

"In fact, I will go speak with one of them now. Feel free to rest here. There is some leftover mutton in the pot over there, water - clean water - in those barrels over by the door. If you will excuse me a moment..."

Alric stepped away, walking over to Lyssia. He knelt down where she was seated, saying something too low to be heard. Lyssia shook her head violently, and spat something too low to hear, but loud enough to catch the tone of it. Anger.

"I am not a doll," she said in a louder voice as her brother stood and started to walk away. He stopped, and half turned to address her.

"You may think you are an adult," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, the tone kind. "But you are not, Lyssia. You shouldn't have to be thrust into this...this mess. You should have had time to grow, to get educated..." He shook his head sadly. There was no changing the past. There was only moving forward.

Before he left, He stopped and looked to Aldren. "Watch out for her, good sir. She is headstrong and stubborn."

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren nodded in response to the little man's request, watching as he disappeared in the shadows of those dark tunnels, leaving the young would be Templar alone with the D'avore lady. He seemed to pay no mind to Lyssia's facial complaints and body language that indicated how frustrated she was at that whole situation. Instead, Aldren slowly walked to one of the water filled barrels, inspecting their content. Even in the chilling air of those sewers, Cordale felt he needed to at least refresh his face a bit. It passed quite some time since he last put some water on his lips as well, and only now he noticed his canteen had been empty all along.

He calmy filled the recipient, looking over his shoulders to see how Lyssia was coping with that situation. Her closed and straight face while looking towards the fireplace was answer enough for him. Aldren shortly smirked and finished filling up his canteen. Using his other hand, he took some water and threw in his hair and face, washing his beard as well.

A draft of air filled the room, making the man almost instantly regret his decision of washing his face, as the cold seemed to almost sting his face like with little needles. Aldren walked to the fireplace, taking some chopped wood pieces and throwing it in the fire and watching as it grew stronger, strong enough to warm him as Aldren took out his gloves and put his hands close to the fire.

The man reveled in the tranquility that moment brought to him, the cracking sounds of blazing wood taking up the air. He blew some air into his almost closed palms before approaching the fire again. "You'll catch a cold there, even with your little magic fireballs", Aldren said as he kept watching the fires.

"Your brother's a nice man. He'll do his best to protect you, even if it means going against your wishes", he spoke again, his rough voice in a slow tone. But then, Aldren got up from his crouching stance and walked towards the angry lady. "But that won't always be enough. Here", he took out a small dagger from the side of his waist belt, offering it to Lyssia.

"You said you're a grown woman, capable of defending yourself now. Prove it, and i'll let you come with us."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The flames brought to mind other places and other times, mostly spent in the company of people barely remembered. Of dark afternoons in winter, the snow flying in the howling winds just outside a window, a barely perceived plane of glass separating the occupants from the elements.

She had been so young, then. The fact that a handful of years separated her from those quiet evenings spent in the close company if family, distant and close all at the same time, made little difference now. She was still very young now, as perceived by her own people, rare as they were. It was only by human reckoning that the age gap really became ambiguous, difficult to understand. Nineteen, nearly twenty...and probably about sixteen in human terms. The slowing had already begun, the process of physical aging destined to halt complety within the next thirty years or so.

By Sidhe standards, she was still a child, albeit coming into her own. By human lights, she was already a young woman.

And so steeped in their world was she that it was hard not to see herself as anything but. She seethed inside with impotent rage at the casual dismissal her brother leveled at her, and the same disdain that Aldren showed her. Didn't they understand? She had been tossed aside and forgotten for a year on the streets of Mericet. She was still alive by her own volition, her own will to live.

And then Aleic had just...showed up.

For some reason, it hurt her. A lot more than she was willing to admit, in truth. Her brother had been alive, and had not even designed to let her know. She had been excluded from his plans, had been ignored and left to her own struggles to survive without a word said in passing. Now that she had found him...

Anger surged in her heart. They treated her like a burden, as if she were a liability to them and to herself. It felt like a betrayal, somehow. Not from the not-Templar, no, it was her brother that she felt this from. There was no answer at the front of her mind for it, either.

Aldren came to stand before the flames, tossing pieces of wood into the flames. Her anger ratcheted up a notch, and she had no idea why. She looked at home sideways for a moment, then sniffed at him. The silence she radiated was cold enough to put ice on water.

At first, she pointedly ignored him beyond the initial sniff of disapproval. She kept her eyes locked on the flames, not deigning to further acknowledge his presence. Hot anger died down to smoldering irritation, and she jumped a little when he spoke, having moved from his previous crouch to where he now stood.

"My brother is an idiot," she said, a little of the hurt seeping into her words. Some little bit of his previous words slipped through, and she thought to tell him her anger would keep her warm enough, and that her little magic fireballs could be made much, much bigger...except that would be childish. Probably. "He left me on the streets to fend for myself for a year, and he could have said something. He could have told me he was alive, at least."

She heard metal come free of something, and looked toward him. He held a blade in his hand, and she looked at it like she would a snake, coiled and ready to strike. She took the unfamiliar weapon in her hand, surprised at the weight of the thing. She had, of course, carried makeshift knives while in the street, but this was a crafted weapon, far superior to anything she had ever held.

"How...how do I prove that?" she asked, uncertainly. She had rather expected to rely on her mystic arts more than physical strength, of which she had little to begin with. The knife felt strange in her hand, fingers curling around a hilt made for a larger hand.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

"Come at me, boy", the man said, sword at the ready and a serious look gazing upon the young soldier. Aldren gripped the sword tightly as if waiting for some divine sign of confidence that never came to be. He screamed and charged at the Templar, trying as best as he could not to look like some amateur warrior. But all those years of training seemed to disappear in face of cowardice and desperation after what had happened a few nights ago. He was looking more like a brute, striking at every angle in the hopes of hitting that man who calmly evaded and deflected every attack with frustrating ease.

Anger began to take hold of Aldren, and he tried to surprise the man with a punch that passed clean through the empty air, while an elbow hit him square in his face. He fell hard, nose busted open and his sword falling far from him.

"You call yourself a soldier? You're nothing but a whelp!", the old Templar taunted, a few meters away from the fallen Aldren. He quickly got up, taking up his sword and charging at the man again, with a vicious strike. Aldren's own blade was held at bay by Riss's sword, and they finally came face to face since the start of that confrontation.

"A coward", the Templar said. Aldren's eyes widened and he lost his head, swinging blindly and failing terribly, his arm slightly cut with a quick strike from the old man. The young soldier looked up, confused. Why that was happening? Why was he so powerless now? Why his strikes carried no real strength and purpose like back at the academy?

"A man gets what he earns, when he earns it", Riss said, putting away his sword. Aldren's looked to the ground, defeated and confused. He had finally seen what a true warrior looked like. Fearless and true to his principle. Exactly what he wanted to be since he was a child, but now...

Cordale made one last stand, announcing his attack on the man who put his body away from the blow just in time to evade it, taking out his sword again. For the first time in that battle, their swords clashed in balance and equal strength. Aldren's own strikes felt different, and Riss picked right up on that. He softly smiled, just before Aldren managed to slightly strike his sword arm, drawing quite a bit of blood.

He finally understood the meaning of those words, and how he would carry them for the rest of his life.

Aldren's thoughts wandered back to the present, looking carefully as Lyssia hesitantly picked up his dagger. Those words that he carried, it helped shape him to the man he was today. The hardships, the struggles, all of them played a part in making him stronger. And he knew it could be like that for Lyssia. She was no stranger to suffering, and now to frustration, by the way she spoke of her own brother.

The young Templar smiled at her remarks, surprised to see her so vocal and headstrong like that. He didn't fault her for being angry, but also understood what Alric had to go on his own. He certainly had some plan that couldn't involve Lyssia, for her own safety. And now they were all together, in the same dangerous situation, being hunted by the same evil men that wanted to see Lyssia and her family gone from this world.

"In this life, you get what you earn, when you earn it", Aldren replied to the girl's questions. His face was serious, almost intimidating. He had to be so, because he knew Lyssia needed the lesson. Everyone needs that lesson, one day. "Right now, you're just like me. Your name means only your identity. You have no real power, no strength. All you have in your eyes is fear and despair, not wanting to go back to where you were, hiding in dirty alleyways, in the dark. But that's not who you are, girl."

He took a few steps back, taking out his waistbelt and throwing it on top of the nearby table. "You have a choice. You can squander away, thinking about days that are forever in the past. You can hate your brother for ignoring you, hate this Farron and his men for what they did to you and your family. Or... you can find yourself. You can prove to me, to your brother and most importantly, to yourself, that you're not a child anymore. That you're no coward."

Aldren opened his arms, challenging the girl. "Hit me, Lyssia D'avore."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She held the weapon in her hand like someone that had never held a weapon in her hands before, the grip awkward. Unwilling. She had seen people killed before, and did not know that she herself could bring herself to such a thing. It was not a thing that was thought upon by many people, and certainly not considered with any degree of seriousness. Until the time came.

Until, as it were, there were only two options.

Right this moment, there were more options than that. It was not kill or be killed. And, in fact, the girl had a hard time understanding why, what striking at him would show. Violence was not the only way, not always the right course of action. And not doing harm to another was not necessarily an act of cowardice, at least not by her lights.

A year spent on the streets, avoiding doing harm to others. And avoiding being harmed herself.

"Why should I have to hit you to prove anything?" she asked, still holding the weapon awkwardly. It felt like a small sword in her small hand. "I...do not see what this has to do with cowardice. I was not trained with a weapon, ever," she added, uncertainty in her words. Maybe a touch of confusion, as well.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren patiently waited for any sign of action, but was only met with further questions from the girl, hesitant as her fingers trembled, awkwardly griping the dagger. She looked terrified at the simple thought of harming him, even if she stood no chance in actually doing that. But he understood her fears.

"It's not about that, Lyssia. You're focusing on the weapon, looking past the idea behind it. When you raise a blade against someone, there's only two things that can cross your mind: You're either defending yourself, or you're seeking someone else's harm", Aldren explained, face yet serious.

"You're not a warrior, and not many of us are. But when pressed against threatning odds, we must learn to raise a blade in our own survival."

Aldren took a few steps forward towards her, waiting. "Trust me."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She looked at the weapon, really looked at it. A simple thing, right inches of polished steel gleaming in the dim light of the underground room. It was a working weapon, not adorned with any fancy and useless fluff like so many of the high born would have. The hilt had already warmed perceptibly in her hand.

From that, to Aldren's stern features. Those eyes of his were so hard, a testament to the kind of man that he was. Straightforward, brutally honest. In fact, brutal in general. Imagining him as an enemy sent a thrill of fear through her, contemplating the ruthless efficiency he had killed the guards in that alley with. The lack of remorse, of compassion.

"I have no need to defend myself from you," she said quietly. But defiance was there in her eyes all the same. "And I have no desire to hurt you, either. But...if it is what I must do to prove myself..."

She gripped the small blade with both hands, and rushed at him silently. There was little chance of her doing anything; she was not fast, nor was she strong. But she tried anyway.

I will not be spurned anymore!

 

[Aldren Cordale]

"No... not from me", Aldren whispered shortly, closing his eyes and taking in the surge of chilly wind as the girl came rushing towards him, dagger in hand, held clumsy due to her lack of training. All he had to do was put his supporting foot a step behind and twiddle around her, passing clear from the attack and holding Lyssia's hand quite above her head, giving it a small grip. It was enough for her to drop the weapon, and Aldren kicked it away.

He gazed upon her for a second, unimpressed. His hazel eyes carried a coldness much like the air around that place. He knew she was no fighter and maybe she would not even need to take up arms in her life, but destiny can surprise in many ways. And if such a day comes when her life comes to be endangered in more direct ways, she would need to be prepared. Aldren understood the painful trial that he was to put her through.

Aldren let go of Lyssia's soft hand, pushing her small body away. He watched with small hints of regret as she fell down on the cold and dirty ground, pieces of her innocence already beginning to fall apart. It hurt to see the injustice done to that poor girl, so young and detached from the cruelness of the world but already feeling some of its venomous stings. Her dead father, the plot against her family and her life, and now that.

Hard as that was, she would have to endure. And in doing so, become someone capable of surviving anything, not only through words of caution and thick plots.

"Again", Aldren said roughly, positioning himself and waiting for another attempt.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There was pain.

It was not much, not compared to some of the things she'd faced recently, but it was still there. She gasped as she was disarmed as easily as a child might have been, weapon stripped from her hands and cast aside as if she mattered not one whit, as though she were barely worth mentioning. Somehow, the casual ease the warrior had left her defenseless was more stinging than any of the words her brother had delivered upon her.

A moment only, and she sought to unleash the dormant power within her flesh. Her cells cried out, the power within begging for release...but her own haste, her own emotion, raw as it was, defeated her attempts to access the wellspring within. Simply willing that arcane power into being was not enough. The calm, rational mind was most helpful in wielding it, especially in a desirable way. All she gained for her effort was a twinge of pain behind her eyes. Proof of her failure to seize hold of the source within.

She gave a startled gasp at the failure, stumbling headlong and only just catching herself from falling face first into the dirty stone floor with her hands. A moment only, but frustrating enough to add to everything else. Especially given the simple question: what would she have done had she succeeded? Burned the man to ashes where he stood, else struck him dead via lightning? Assuming she could martial the skill to control such magic.

I have not been prepared for this.

The blade was where it had been kicked away, and the girl moved for it as swiftly as she could. Which was not fast enough. Compared to the human she faced, she was slow and weak, and she knew it. Even Alric would have fared poorly if that were the only measure of his mettle.

And knowing this, she could feel the ghost of broken bones, of being laid up deathly ill because she had been too weak to stop another from doing it to her. Of being terrified, starving in the streets because the other children of the street were far more brutal than she could ever have been, spoiled and raised with plenty and only ever needing to ask to receive. This was a situation that could not be ended for the asking.

What am I supposed to do? She reached for the weapon, preparing to spin and try again. Knowing that there was no way she could stand against this man if he had any real desire to hurt her. And knowing she could not bring herself to use the only real weapon at her disposal. Not even entirely sure that it was the fact that it was Aldren, the man that had saved her and protected her dignity, if little else, that stayed her hand. Perhaps she just didn't have it in her to kill?

A sobering thought.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren watched as Lyssia slowly got up, blade once again in hand and magical sparks in her eyes. Now that was what he was aiming for. The power that he knew the girl carried within her. The power that she would need to never again be tossed to the side like a little child. He opened a side smile, bringing himself to a deeper state of focus, beginning to tap in his own inner powers.

"You're holding back, Lyssia. Don't hold back, let your power flow", Cordale said, roughly. He took a step forward, his eyes beginning to brighten as the flow of magic ran through his veins, hoping that the feeling would be passed on to the red haired girl.

"That dagger is only a tool. You have to focus past it, it's only a conduit for you. Draw upon your magic and hit me!"

In his Templar training, Riss once taught Aldren the advantages of using tools as conduits for specific magics. Riss had magical talent himself, but no like Aldren. Even though he was no wizard, Aldren had an even stronger primal power, deadly in offense and solid in his defense. Riss taught him how to use his sword to focus his magic and deliver faster and deadlier blows, and how to use his shield to deny harmful magics to an extent.

"Don't let your fear control you, girl. Do it!", Aldren shouted, his primal power now fully tapped, the veins of magic becoming visible near his body, his iris bright like a moon.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Struggling to seize the source within, failing. haste hindered her, emotion clouded the concentration required to at least open that which was locked away within to her grasp. Each attempt was painful in the failing, not just for her pride but for her flesh and blood. The Art was a dangerous thing in the hands of the untrained, both to it's user and those around them.

It was a lesson that Aldren had not been given, and a sharp one at that. It was one known to Alric, and to her parents as well. Both had overseen their tutelage, she and Alric, in the Arts. No human alive could teach them the way forward, anymore than scholars at Elbion could. The Art was uniquely Sidhe in nature, the avenues of mastery distinct to the people. The source, the methodology, and the sheer and unmitigated power it offered. Purely that of the Sidhe.

It was, after all, a power that had assisted in the destruction of an entire world, once.

Her magic refused to obey her commands, and so she came at him again with the knife, held like a sword with both hands. There was literally no chance in all the heavens that she could actually hit him with it, though, and with contemptuous ease she was sent careening to one side by a simple shift in stance and a hand placed on her back as she missed, sending her sprawling to the floor with a muffled cry, blade skittering across the ground.

She got to her feet more slowly than before, tears gleaming on her cheeks, blood marring one elbow where she'd skinned it in her fall. Tears. Not tears of hurt, or at least of physical hurt, but tears of frustration. And anger, that she couldn't do what she needed to do, couldn't actively achieve what it was that was needed. Anguish that she couldn't understand why she had to fight as such.

Born of that frustration came a calm acceptance that she could not do anything to this man, even had she the will to do it...and with that calm, came the necessary balance of emotion to permit her to finally seize what she had been trying to for long minutes. The power, dormant within the very cells of her body, collected from the world over time, surged through her flesh. Her eyes bulged as that hammerblow of...of life slammed through her being, fire and ice and chaos and sheer, exhillerating power. She wanted to shout to the heavens for the feeling of it.

But there was no control in this release. To herself, she must blaze like the sun with energy, it must crackle across her hair. But to the real world, to the eyes of the sole witness, the stones beneath her feet cracked suddenly, the sharp snap loud in the enclosed space. No control. No direction. And without a guiding hand, the magic formed its own patterns, chaos in truth. The Art was to give form to chaos, and she did not do it, so caught up in the revelry of embracing that power.

A tremendous force slammed in a wave across the room, knocking the table over, smashing a barrel. Turning the pot over n the fire and scattering the fire everywhere for a brief moment. The stones of the ceiling cracked, too, and chips and dust fell threateningly as it did so. And the ave slammed into Aldren with the force of a charging bull, even as Lyssia collapsed to the floor on hands and knees, retching at the sudden loss of the mana that had surged into her in torrents never dreamed of before...and then snapped away. Like cutting her feet out from under her.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren started to grow frustrated by the lack of progress in that "training", with each time Lyssia charged at him, it ended with the same result. Blind lashes of anger that ended in swift responses from the Templar, with the girl falling to the ground each time, blade dropping from her hand. With each time, Aldren shouted "again" and waited for her to get up and truly draw upon her real strength, but all to no avail.

And that was the moment when Lyssia truly came into her own. When Aldren felt the whole place shaking, little bits of broken stones starting to fall, and the echoes of raw, powerful and ancient magic flowing from her. His eyes widened as he saw the flame of power burning ever stronger, and its chaotic release in a wave of pure destruction just before Aldren focused his own magic in a almost invisible small barrier in front of him, absorbing some of its effects. The blast carried unknown and mighty power, even to Aldren's knowledge, and if not for that timely barrier, he surely would've died in that very instant. Instead, he was thrown like a ragdoll halfway across the room, his body stopping short at the first wall of stone.

He fell hard on the ground, coughing quite a bit of blood, the sound of his metal armor echoing through the heavily destroyed room. In the shades of blur that took over his vision, he saw Lyssia falling down, drained of energy. Despite the events, his first thought was to the girl's health, wondering if that outburst had some dear cost on her own life. Still, he could hardly push his body up from the ground, ridden with pain.

And after using the last of the strength he could muster, Aldren tried rolling over, belly up as he recollected his breath. Darkness started taking over and he soon fell uncounscious.

A few minutes passed before his eyes opened and he forced himself into sitting, coughing up some more blood. He scoured the vicinity and found Lyssia still on the ground and his heart skipped a beat, thinking that he had pushed the girl far over her limit, maybe even killing her.

With heavy moans of pain, Aldren slowly and costly got up as the stones continued to fall like little strains of sand from the walls. He made his way towards Lyssia, nurseing her back into awakening and realizing instantly the toll that magic took on her body. But even as the place seemed to fall around them, Aldren opened a small smirk as he placed his heavy hand on the girl's small shoulders.

"Next time, you won't even need me", Cordale said with a short, tired laugh before spitting blood once again.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Very much like cutting her legs from underneath her.

The girl struggled with herself for long minutes, emptying her stomach on the floor in front of her. Not that there was much there, but that wasn't much of a consolation, convulsive retching leaving her in the undignified pose on hands and knees, mouth agape and acidic drool hanging from her mouth.

The sudden vanishing of power left pain in its wake too, she sheer overwhelming flow too great at one moment, and one at the next. She could feel bruises forming on the palms of her hands and knees where she had hit the floor, and other bruises internally. A small price, all things considered. Small enough when she could have brought the entire castle down on their heads, or burned everything in this room to ashes - including herself. Just another reason to get sick, those thoughts.

After a time, her guts subsided their traitorous rebellion and she pushed herself upright, legs folded beneath her. The weight of what she had done settled on her like a lead cloak, and she stared across the room, unseeing and unaware of the destruction she had caused. Until Aldren spoke, of course, which snapped her back to the here and the now.

She searched for words, and found it surprisingly difficult to think. "Could have killed both of us," she said haltingly. "No control. It...just snapped, did what it..." She fell to silence, eyes confused but becoming clearer. She blinked, and shook her head to dispel the cobwebs therein. She could see the blood now, see the man before her, and felt a thrill of panic at his state.

Without hesitation, she reached out and laid a hand upon his armored arm, and opened herself again to the source within. The flood was still there, of course, but under the current circumstances it was controlled, measured. She'd had little practice with anything beyond support abilities, but support abilities she had learned swiftly, easily.

It was harder without direct contact with his skin, but she delved into his flesh, a flow of mana, a part of her very being, sliding deep within, coiling around the hurts and the wrongs. This style of healing was not without its costs, but it was not as hard on her as it would be on him. Flesh knitted itself as she deftly wove the magic within his body, fractured bone mending. The process was swift, taking mere seconds to achieve, although subjectively it might feel like an eternity. Within moments, all the damage she had done, and all the ills he might have been suffering from prior to coming here were gone.

And in their place, an aching hunger, insistent beyond belief. And, worse, the phantom of the pain that had been caused, more insistent than before. Forced healing was not friendly on the healed, and all of his injuries paradoxically hurt more now that they were gone, and would for days or weeks to come.

"I'm sorry," she said faintly as she let her hand drop away, and her eyes drop to the floor.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

His last cough of blood came through with a severe pain on his torso, his arm instinctively holding his belly after it. Aldren certainly felt like he had broken a few bones as well, along with his arm being busted open in a large cut. As he looked to Lyssia, the young man felt very much intrigued about her powers. It was a different sort of magic than he had ever encountered before, much more stronger and connected to the inner feelings and deeper connections of its user. And if it weren't for his armor and his also magical shield, he would've been paste right about now.

Still, even though that magic was indeed very powerful, Aldren feared for the girl. She wasn't a fighter, she lacked the will to do so. She was a gentle soul, one that felt she could do more with words than swords. And he respected it, even if he cared little for those wellspoken people. Pompous fools the lot of them, he thought. But not her. She was something else. More along the lines of an innocent angel, trapped in the bloody cobwebs of a dark and ruthless world. And it felt wrong to take that innocence from her, to force into being more like a mirror image of himself, a broken and angry warrior, lashing out like the sky.

"I know, but it didn't", Aldren said with a smile, rough hand softly reaching for her cheeks until he felt another wave of pain and fell flat on his knees, then proceeding to sit and better acommodate himself. Lyssia acted quickly, almost in desperation, tapping in on her magical powers once again, this time in a more welcoming way, some sort of healing magic that began with calmness and went on to surge like roaring thunder. He felt his skin and bones being mended back into place as if nothing had happened in the first place, but the cost of pain of that procedure was maddening. He gritted his teeth hardly, holding back the screams.

In the end, all he could hear were the desperate cries from the red haired girl, apologizing. Even in pain, Aldren felt bad for doing that to her. It felt so wrong now, to be putting her through that. He tried saying something to soothe her, tried saying that it was nothing and he would be alright even though he felt a pain that he had never felt before, but it was a vain attempt as he succumbed to a forced state of unconsciousness because of the cost of that spell on his body, even though it healed his wounds like a miracle.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Lyssia was not given a chance to answer, though. The door leading into the sewers creaked, a muffled curse coming from beyond. A heavy bang, and then another, and finally another as the door burst open, Alric's foot hitting the floor after the heavy booted kick that was required to open it. Bits of masonry crumbled and showered the floor, but the doorway held, as did the rest of the room.

Alric's face was a thunderhead, cheeks stained red with anger, eyes bright with it. "What the hell," he began as he stormed into the room, eyes noting the state of disarray angrily, "was that? Dear sister, what did you do?!"

Lyssia squeezed her eyes shut, head downcast as before. She didn't say anything in the face of her brother's anger, knowing full well that it was going to come, and knowing full well that she deserved all of it.

Alric stopped in the middle of the room, standing next to the turned-over table, looking at the papers scattered on the floor. "Damn it all, Lyssia, you could have killed yourself! You could have brought the castle down on your head, killed hundreds of other people along with you!" He snapped a look at Aldren, eyes narrow. For a long moment he stared at the man, hands opening and shutting reflexively as if he was thinking of something else. "You survived? What the hell kind of hair-brained idiocy did she do?"

"I was trying to show him that I can help you!' Her words were surprisingly fierce. She still had her face downcast, but her eyes were open, wide with some strong, unreadable emotion. "It's not his fault, brother! It is me you must face over this."

"There is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind on this subject, Lyssia. You should be at home under the firm hand of a tutor, learning. Not fighting. That is not your place," he added, dismissively.

"Who are you to tell me what my place is," she replied in a growl. Her eyes were still wide, but with rage now. He abandoned her on the streets for a year, but now she was to be held back from helping reclaim her name, and her rightful station in life? She had been forced to live with the lowest of the commoners, while he lived a relative life of luxury.

"In a few hours, Aldren," he said, ignoring Lyssia, "we will go and see if we can dig anything up in that place. I do not know if you require any rest, but I am going to go and take a nap." The small man suited his words, ignoring his sister's enraged muttering as he went.

 

[Aldren Cordale]

Aldren woke up as if the weight of the whole world had fell upon his body. He slowly sat up, still feeling the effects of Lyssia's intriguing healing magic. His wounds were as if they had never existed in the first place, but the pain that echoed through his body was even worse than before he was wounded. A curious concept, to say the least.

And even though he was very impressed by that, his mind was yet more reassured of his decision now. Lyssia wasn't a warrior like her brother. It wasn't that she lacked the proper training, or the finesse. She lacked that something extra that lets you cross a blurred line of violence and blood. As he thought before, Lyssia was of gentle heart and good will. Those are two things that can get you killed in a battle for survival. But her magic could be of some use, at least in the future.

Aldren surely lacked the proper knowledge to guide her in a different path, but he decided to keep a close eye on her development.

His thoughts were cut short as the door was almost blasted open by Alric's announced arrival of furious confusion. The little man barely noticed the battered Templar on the floor, his gaze and blame immediately headed towards the red haired girl. Aldren had a hard time finding points to disagree with Alric, albeit his logic was fairly flawed by misconceptions about his sister. He had to stand with him, otherwise Lyssia would get the wrong end of the stick, eventually.

"Your sister is stronger than you give her credit for", Cordale said while struggling until he finally got up on his feet, holding his once wounded arm. His face expression and rough moans were clear evidence of the pain that he was still in. "But you're right. It's too dangerous for her to come with us. She's not ready."

He looked at Lyssia, regret filling his face as he expected whatever disappointed reaction she would give to him. He had made a wrong decision before, and it almost cost his life, as well as her own. He couldn't bear to do it again, especially where they were going.

Aldren took a few steps towards her as Alric passed by after mentioning he was going for a nap. "I'm sorry", that was all he could say to her after what happened. It was his fault after all, pushing her towards his own imaginary limits, seeking to shape a moldless weapon into senseless demand. Lyssia was indeed strong, but in her heart and head.

The Templar spun and walked towards one of the bed rolls, already seeking some relief for his pain. "A few hours rest is all i need..."