Fable - Ask No Trouble

[Olvir]

Vel Anir Portal Stone
Ivan Skender

Olvir stood leaning against one of the tall obelisks that surrounded the Vel Anir Portal stone. By his feet was a pack laden with supplies for what appeared to be a long winter journey, a coat currently slung over it. Tied to the side was a sword, it's scabbard encrusted with strange runic writing, the hilt as plain as a farmer's first sword save for a deep black jewel stuck upon the middle of it's hilt.

I could just tell you.​

The sword whispered in Ollie's thoughts, a now far more common occurrence than he thought he was comfortable with. But you won't.

No answer came to his response, but he could almost feel the sword grinning. An odd transference of emotion that was now becoming all too common. One that Ollie didn't understand, one that he couldn't help but explore further. This sword, that he had plucked from the vaults of his ancestors, was a mystery that he couldn't help but wonder about.

The blade was magic, that much was clear, but beyond that it was like nothing he had read of. Not in any tale he'd read had it spoken of blades capable of speech, much less thought. Not in any story had he...lips thinned as he thought of what the blade had enabled him to do that day, head shaking as he dispelled the thought and took a breath.

That was why he was here, to learn more about the sword, or at least to try.

A trip to the city of Tyr. City of smiths and fire, ogres and craftsmen the likes of which the west could never contend with. Where Rikar Urahil, the greatest Swordsmen Vel Anir had ever known, had gotten one of his blades.

Ollie thought it the best place to learn about his blade, perhaps hoping that some ancient Fire giant had crafted his sword and would be able to tell him all the answers. A silly notion of course, but that did not stop him from wishing. It would make this whole thing so much easier.

I was forged in a volcano.​

The blade offered, though Olvir had no idea whether it was telling the truth or not. His head shook, and he glanced down the road. Somewhere along the throng of people was the Dreadlord Initiate who would be accompanying on this journey. The Republic having utterly insisted that he could not go along, a notion that Olvir was sure had been influenced by two people in particular; Elspeth Sirl, and Aisling Weiroon.

Both of whom had given him an earful after his last adventure, and concluded their conversations with him by echoing the same phrase; "No getting into trouble!"

Something he was really hoping to do.

 

[Ivan Skender]

The sun shone brightly in the midday sky as he approached the tall pillars that marked the portal stone of Vel Anir. Making his way through the surrounding crowd, Ivan did not look that much different from every other passer-by: Clad in a light armor of padded, black leather, he carried still a backpack that was filled almost to bursting point, and from the side of which hung a somewhat thick coat. He had looted the jacket off of the Academy’s lost and found; though it looked warm with its fur coating and suited him nicely, it was worn off, and while it seemed to have been pearly-white at some point in its life, it now bore a dark, ashen-grey colouring about itself. The rest of the backpack was stuffed with food and other miscellaneous supplies he would need to cross the distance between the receiving portal stone he would be arriving at and his final destination, the city of Tyr.

He stopped briefly in the shade of one of the obelisks and peered beyond the moving gathering of people to try and locate the man that he was supposed to meet.

“Young man with long, black hair and light, brown eyes.” - Well, that didn’t help much, did it? The description of his partner-to-be he had been given during the briefing was thoroughly lacking, and yet, it managed to be about as vague as the details about the mission itself. All that the Academy had told him was that he was to guard Olvir Weirwoon during his trip to Tyr. Whatever further attempts at garnering more information he had made all been met with either confused gibberish or a simple, yet firm, affirmation to fuck off and ask someone else.

In any case, while some of his peers would have undoubtedly chaffed under the prospect of having to escort some Weirwoon scion to the other side of the known world with minimal information, Ivan was fairly looking forward to this assignment. Most of his missions outside the academy were boring patrol duties out in the dull Anirian countryside. As such, the chance to cross the world to tour a city famous for its metalworking and weapon crafting was, needless to say, a very appealing prospect for him.

What was more, since he was technically escorting an Anirian dignitary abroad, he had been granted a stipend for all his expenses while travelling with the young Weirwoon. Not only that, but since the Dreadlord that had enlisted him to the mission had been a Weirwoon man before the revolution, Ivan had been granted a very, very generous allowance, the totality of which he was bent on splurging before he got back to Vel Anir.

His daydreams of largesse though were cut short when he spotted his travel partner. Standing by one of the pillars to the right-hand side, he looked no more than a couple of years his senior and had the long, black hair he was looking for. While his eyes were just a bit too far off to make sure of the colour, it was the warm-looking coat laden over the bag by his feet that sealed the deal.

He made his way there.

“Hi. You must be Olvir.” - He greeted the other. “I’m Ivan Skender. I’ll be the initiate accompanying you to Tyr.” - He said with a smile.​

 

[Olvir]

Ollie pushed himself from the base of the obelisk as the Initiate approached him. A part of him had hoped that he would be assigned someone he already knew, but the chance of that had been low and at the end of the day it didn't matter much.

He'd always been decent at making friends. "Excellent, you can call me Ollie."

The noble said, knowing that there was really no point in standing on formalities. The journey would take them three weeks. A portal stone to the Isle of Sheketh followed by a hike up the central mountains and down the Dragons Causeway as it was called.

Aisling, of course, had told him he should chart a ship, but his attempt to do so had been met with more stop gaps than he could count. Apparently the Isles were currently beset with a strange storm, and sailing even close to the coast was exceptionally dangerous.

So, best to hike and hopefully on their way back the journey would be more relaxed.

"We've got a long walk ahead." He told the boy. "But I think I'm fairly good company."

Flashing a grin, the Noble began to pick up his things.

"You ever been through one of the Portal stones before?" Ollie asked as he started to sling his pack over his shoulder. He knew that some Initiates were sent out afar from Vel Anir, while others never even left the Academy.

He wouldn't want to presume about Ivan.

 

[Ivan Skender]

“We’ve got that in common, then.” - He replied cheerfully to Ollie’s comment about being good company, corresponding the other’s smile with one of his own. - “Just don’t ask any Proctor at the Academy about it.” - He said, raising an eyebrow in a complicit look to the young Weirwoon. He appreciated Ollie’s friendliness though, which stood in stark contrast to the sneers he usually got from the other Anirian dignitaries he had had to escort so far.

“I can’t say I’ve crossed through a stone before. Though I know well enough how they work.” - He waited for Ollie to hoist his pack before starting to make his way towards the portal proper. - “So I can operate it if you need.”- He duly added.

Ivan took a few further steps in silence, mulling over a single question in his mind before he finally decided to take the plunge and ask:

“But why, exactly, are we going to Tyr?”​

 

[Olvir]

"Well, I'm going because I need to learn more about this." Ollie held up the sword slung around his hip for just a brief few seconds, waving to it. "Tyr is supposedly filled with the greatest smiths in the world."

So it was said anyway. "I already know the damned thing isn't Evlish, or Dwarven."

That had been a suggestion about eight times now by various smiths, but his own sword had denied it and eventually he'd managed to track down members of both species who told him the same thing.

"So Tyr is probably my best shot." Plus he had the time now after Rostok, with his father finally off his back. "You're going because both my sister and my betrothed are worried I'll end up dead otherwise."

Ollie shrugged his shoulders, then walked over towards the stone. "It's not so bad, made me vomit the first time but you get used to it."

He had used the Portal Stones more often than most people, though that was due to the nature of his family. Trade and negotiation where at the heart of how House Weiroon had made it's money, both brought travel.

 

[Ivan Skender]

So, Olvir Weirwoon wanted to cross the world to talk to a blacksmith, was it? So be it. For his part, Ivan couldn’t complain about the hand he’d been dealt. Tyr was well-known to be a very secure, safe place to wander, with its mighty ogre patrols keeping order with an iron fist. In short, if his mission was to return Ollie safely home, he couldn’t have asked for a better destination.

There was, of course, the small matter of their journey through the Isle of Sheketh, from the stone to Tyr, but as far as Ivan was concerned a small hike had never hurt anybody; and it certainly beat having to sit through one of Proctor Gamble’s lectures on Anirian history.

Ivan knelt on the small circle of burned grass by the portal. Setting his backpack by his side, he waved his hand over the stone. A black mist seemed to pour out of his palm and ensconce the rock, twisting and turning in non-descript patterns as it mixed with the portal stone’s magical aura. Once he felt the spell take hold, Ivan pressed the rune for the Sheketh stone.

In the blink of an eye everything went dark, and he found himself surrounded by pitch-black gloom; he could see nothing, be it far or near, and all he could hear was the faint, far away, yet very discernible, sound of rushing water. It was an eerily soothing experience, almost relaxing, in its unique way.

“Huh, it’s not as bad as all th–.”

Suddenly, however, an overwhelming feeling washed over him. Unlike the last, this one was unpleasant… and very much so. He felt strong nausea, as his stomach seemingly turned in on itself, and a vicious migraine which took over his head as if someone was bashing something hard against it. As soon as it had come, however, this feeling disappeared, and he was left gasping for air afflictively. It was as he once again got a grip of himself that he noticed the environment around him had changed. Ivan looked, wide-eyed, at his new surroundings: gone were all the people, as were the familiar obelisks of the Vel Anir stone, and the midday sun that had been shining just seconds ago. Replacing the latter he now saw a dark, cloud-saturated, grey sky, and in place of the burned grass he had knelt over, now stood a thin cover of pure, white snow.​

 

[Olvir]

Olvir was already clutching his stomach by the time Ivan spoke. His face was half turned, but the violent nausea he usually experience while traveling through one of the Portal Stones was surprisingly not that bad, as though his body had simply starting growing use to it.

Nevertheless a sharp breath flowed into his lungs, the air cold and biting as he reached out and placed a hand on one of the obelisk like pillars that surrounded the stone itself.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself gather his strength before he finally pulled himself together. Gaze flickered over their surroundings, finding not half a city around a busy point of commerce, but instead an empty mountain side. A path leading down to a small village below, and another leading up into the hills above.

Snow mixed with volcanic ash lay all around the, a peaceful quiet hanging in the air.

"I think we're in the right place." Olvir called out, his head shaking as he took another breath. Gathering himself as he pushed away from the obelisk and took a few steps out and away from the Portal stone.

He peered up the mountain path, glancing at the gray clouds above. It was going to be a long, long walk.

 

[Ivan Skender]

After spending a few moments adjusting to his new surroundings, and making sure he wouldn’t throw up after all, Ivan was ready to leave. He took his coat out of his pack and put it on. He was happy to verify that it did fit him nicely and that the grey colour of the garment blended in very well with the ash-saturated snow that fell all around them.

He hoisted his pack onto his back and turned around as Ollie spoke up. That they were in the right place seemed reasonably sure. Back in the Academy, he had gone over all the maps available there to try and charter a path from the stone to Tyr. As such, he was vaguely aware of the layout of the land around the Sheketh stone, as well as the direction they had to take from here. Whether it would be easy to follow directions from a map during a snowstorm, however, was a different matter. He looked up, past the path they were in, and towards the towering mountains that they'd need to cross to get to Tyr.

“Do you have everything you need?” - He asked Ollie, his gaze deviating from the snowy peaks in the distance and towards the village below. - “Or shall we make a quick stop before we go?”​

 

[Olvir]

For a few more moments Ollie let himself enjoy the view.

It was an almost alien world compared to the rolling grassy plains which surrounded most of Vel Anir. The mountains were taller too, huge spires that stretched not to the heights of the Spine, but certainly towered over the Mountains of Fel Draza back home.

A smile touched his face. "I have everything."

Ollie had come prepared. This was his mission, the task that he had set for himself, and the young Noble had been hellbent on making sure he didn't look like a fool. His pack had extra clothes, rations, a tent, and of course a bedroll warm enough for the cold nights.

"Let's get going." He said as he hoisted his pack into place, tightening the straps before he began to set off. "Hopefully we won't be seeing any fire-giants."

The young noble joked as they began their trek. The first part of the road appearing as little more than a mountain path, stretching into the heights above.

 

[Ivan Skender]

"Wouldn't that be nice?" - He replied with a chuckle at the Fire-Giant remark. - "At least you could ask them if they made it.” - He continued, pointing with his chin at Ollie's sword. Weren't Fire-Giants known for their craftsmanship after all?

With that, he started walking. As he made his way through the road, Ivan could feel the biting wind blowing all around him, howling as it twisted and turned in between the frozen spires of the mountains. The path ahead looked like a steep climb, but in between the snowed peaks and the ash-spewing volcanoes, the hike truly looked like a picturesque journey… even if not the safest one.

"Why do you even care about who made the blade, anyways?" - He asked absent-mindedly. As far as he was concerned, blades were meant to be used, not studied. If Ollie had made all this way just to ask a Tyrian blacksmith about the sword, then surely he would have had a good motive. Plus, the way to Tyr was long, so they might as well strike up some conversation.​

 

[Olvir]

"That's a good point." Ollie said, not having thought of that, though he did know that Fire-Giants weren't all that common anymore.

The only one that most people even knew of in the world was of course Menalus of Molthal. He who ruled the blightlands as a living God and crushed those who argued with him beneath his heel. A man whom Ollie would definitely not be asking.

He followed alongside Ivan, moving up the trail as they continued their conversation.

"Because it talks." Ollie said, glancing over at Ivan.

By now he had revealed only to a select few people the truth about his blade. Alistair, Zael, Elspeth of course, but beyond that he had kept it mostly quiet. For one he didn't want people thinking him insane, for the other a sword such as this was better kept secret.

Yet he and Ivan would be together for weeks, and they were here for the damned thing. "From time to time anyway, and it seems to be...aware of itself."

He felt amusement coming from the blade, though it said nothing.

"I've asked everyone I could in Vel Anir." Quietly. "And they were no help, same with Elbion, so..."

A shrug rolled over his shoulders. "Tyr's a good bet, and I can do some business while there."

As any true Weiroon would.

"And before you ask." Ollie continued, being remarkably cavalier about the whole thing. "It refuses to tell me anything."

 

[Ivan Skender]

It talks? Ivan furrowed his brow at the prospect. It was a good thing that Ollie anticipated him by commenting that the sword told him nothing about its origins. Otherwise, as likely as not, Ivan would have made some snarky comment about just asking the thing and being done with it. Instead, he was left quietly brooding as he thought about Ollie’s predicament.

It took him some time to finally break the silence again. - “Did you know” - He said, seemingly going on a tangent. - “that people claimed they could hear voices in the old Skender fortress?” - Especially in the Falwood, there were always many rumours, stories, and tales about his family and their ancient estate; seldom were they pleasant though.

“They thought it was cursed, or some shit.” - He continued, his tone growing snarkier as he did so. - “Most were too scared to even come close to the castle.” - He took a full breath of fresh air, taking the opportunity to side-step a boulder that lay in his path.

“No one knows when or where these tales came from. No one knows if these voices were even real.” - He continued. - “The old Skenders never cared about it either. So long as the stories were there. That way they had a “weapon of fear” at their disposal.” - He said, mimicking the air quotes with his hands.

“My point is, you have a magical sword that can speak.” - He pointed out redundantly - “It doesn’t tell you where it came from; but why would you care? You don’t need to know that to master it. You just need to know what to do with it.” - He concluded, as he tried to tie his rationale together.

“So why don’t you ask it how to use it?” - He took care with the way he said that last sentence. On the surface, it was a silly question: Surely Ollie knew how to use a sword. Ivan’s point though, and the one he hoped he had managed to get across to Ollie, had been to ask the sword, if he hadn’t already, about any hidden abilities, or magical properties it might have, and that the Weirwoon might have missed by simple combat usage. In other words, something that could help him unlock the sword's true potential.

He supposed that a sword such as that would not have been gifted with speech for the sake of simple idle talk.​

 

[Olvir]

It was actually a pretty good point.

Ollie knew that the sword could do more than talk, that much he was sure of. More than once had he moved faster than he should have been able to, more than once he'd found himself doing something that should have been impossible.

It was because of the sword, he was sure of that. He had not been blessed with any innate magic, and aside from that nothing had started happening until he picked up the sword.

That all being said, he had always figured that asking the sword about it's abilities would be less than futile. The blade already refused to speak of itself, and whenever Ollie tried to pry anything more from it the damned thing usually went silent. "Well...I had mostly assumed that it wouldn't answer that either."

Something he felt a fool for now. Amusement once again flickered through his head from the blade, though it did not comment on the conversation.

"I suppose next time it feels conversational." Ollie said with a shrug. "I'll ask."

He took a breath and continued down the path. "Not like I won't have plenty of time over the next dew days."

Ollie commented as snowflakes fell from the sky.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan furrowed his brow, as Ollie remarked about the sword only talking when it wanted to. So far, he had assumed that, while the information it gave might have been useless, it still responded to Ollie whenever he asked it anything.

“So, you're telling me that you have a temperamental, fickle companion that only talks to you when it feels like it?” - He raised a finger as if to hammer in his point. - “Aaand that drags you, and some poor, innocent initiate, on an errand across the world on a whim.”

He turned to Ollie, his brow still raised, but this time over an amused expression. - “Kress' sake Weirwoon, did you get yourself a sword or a mistress?” - He asked playfully.

The snow that had just started falling caught his attention. Ivan's gaze deviated upwards, towards the darkening grey sky. They probably still had a few more good hours of hiking ahead of them, but with the snowfall, the steep mountain path, and the coming of the darkness, they'd do well to start thinking about stopping for the night.​

 

[Olvir]

Ollie let out a laugh, his head shaking. "Never had someone put it quite that way, but you've got a point."

More amusement rattled through his mind from the sword, apparently signalling that it could take a joke as well as it could give one. Something that Ollie supposed he should be thankful for, he'd have to find out what happened when the bloody thing was angry with him.

"These are the problems of the wealthy." Olvir jested as they continued to climb, his head flickering towards the skies. Thoughts drawing to the same conclusion as Ivan; they should make camp sooner rather than later. "I have so few problems I have to find ancient magic swords to make some for me."

Close enough to true. He certainly didn't have to deal with Proctors, or being sent on missions or the like, though it wasn't as though his world were peachy.

Still, he preferred to look on the lighter side of things. "We should find a place to camp for the night."

Ollie suggested finally, gesturing up to a cliffside.

"Those cliffs might provide good shelter." In case the snows caught up with them overnight.

 

[Ivan Skender]

“Well, you could’ve asked for a worse troublemaker.” - He responded with a grin, eyeing Ollie’s sword. A talking blade would undoubtedly make for an interesting topic of conversation, and one Ivan would certainly be pressing Ollie on, once they made camp for the night.

Speaking of which, Ivan’s gaze deviated towards the cliffs his companion had pointed to. They looked like they could, indeed, provide some good cover against the snow, not to mention that the underbrush he could make out against the darker stone should probably be fairly dry, and hence ought be usable for a fire.

“Agreed.” - He said, his gaze alternating between the cliffs and the ever-darkening sky.

“So you should count your blessings.” - He quipped, furrowing his brow yet again, on an amused expression. - “‘Cause I’ll have you know that a night with me is one of the most sought-after prizes at the Academy.” - He sighed boisterously. - “Lucky you.”​

 

[Olvir]

Ollie chuckled. "Another Initiate once said something very similar to me."

He still remembered meeting Zael for that first time. He had been boisterous to a fault, something Ollie had rather liked about him.

Growing up he had thought of most Dreadlords as dull and boring. Brick stoic walls that didn't know how to laugh or smile. Zael had quickly proven that impression very wrong, and now it seemed that Ivan was going to do the same.

Good.

Traveling with a lifeless robot wouldn't be much fun. It was part of the reason he had hoped it would be Zael that would accompany him, just so the damned trip wouldn't be boring.

"As long as you don't snore." He jested to Ivan as they began to walk towards the rock outcropping. "That's the only prize I need."

 

[Ivan Skender]

"Ah, yes" - He responded to Ollie's comment about his previous initiate companion with a tone of mixed playfulness and smugness. - "I am an inspiration to many, so this is, of course, unsurprising."

It was interesting though, that Ollie had had contact with other initiates before. Although Ivan knew very well the Great Houses liked to ask some favours of the Academy from time to time, he had been unaware that Ollie had ever been part of such an arrangement before. While he had always assumed the assignments with the Great Houses to be nothing but boring, routine missions, the fact he was now getting ready to traverse a mountain range at the edge of the known world made him wonder what other shenanigans his colleagues might have gotten themselves into with Olvir Weirwoon.

"I wouldn't worry about my snoring." - He continued, flashing a playful grin. - "Proctor Gamble used to say I slept like a Princess." - He then twisted his face into a brooding expression. - "Really the nicest thing he's ever said to me if you believe it."

He shrugged.

"In any case, I think it would be better if we took turns sleeping, and keep a watch through the night." - They were heading into, as far as he knew, some pretty hostile terrain. While the snows and storms had already caused them enough troubles - and would undoubtedly continue to do so - he was equally as concerned with whatever living things could come howling at them in the night.​

 

[Olvir]

"I believe it." After what had happened to Houri and some of the things Zael had told him he had no trouble believing any other stories about that place.

The Academy was an evil, and Olvir wasn't entirely sure it was a necessary one.

He knew that even many Dreadlords swore it had to exist, that the tortures and the pain they endured made them what they was. Olvir wasn't so sure about that though. He thought there had to be a better way, and he supposed the Republic did as well.

Not that things would ever change that much. He wasn't fool enough to think so, but he did have hope. "Sounds about right to me."

Ollie said with a nod as they reached a suitable enough campsite.

"Sheketh is fairly dangerous." He had learned that much from his research. "More trolls and wolves than bandits though."

Apparently the land itself was a bit too hostile for banditry. "I'll take first watch."

The young noble volunteered as he began to set up a small place for a fire.

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan threw his backpack against a salience on the cliff, as they reached a suitable place to make camp, the object landing with a thud as it fell onto a patch of dry grass. He stretched lazily, his head tilting slightly backwards as he gazed at the sky. By this point, there was barely any light, and a cloudy evening was quickly setting in.

- "Be my guest." - He replied to Ollie's offer to take the first watch.

As his companion cleared out a site for a fire, Ivan went looking for some fuel for the flames. As he'd predicted on the way there, there was a fair amount of reasonably dry firewood from all the underbrush. Gathering a few twigs and branches, he set them down on the place Olvir had just cleared and proceeded to start a fire.

As the flames grew into a fully-fledged fire, he headed again to the salience where he had left his belongings. Rummaging through his pack, he took out a cosy-looking bedroll, and set it up by the cliffside, just next to the flames. He sat over it, legs crossed, as he continued to scour his pack. Finally, he found what he was looking for and, with some effort, he managed to wrestle free a pouch of dried, salted beef jerky from among the many items he had carried with him.

The food though was not the only thing he retrieved from among his belongings.

As he had been making his way to the Vel Anir portal stone, from the Academy, something on a merchant stand had caught his eye: A bottle with dark glass and no label. The very same bottle he had now just disentangled from his bag. When the merchant had given him a taste of the contents, he immediately recognized the scent of the drink.

Falwood moonshine.

He knew full well alcohol would not keep him warm; well, not in reality, though it certainly created an illusion of warmth which was, in all fairness, something we could work with.

He took a full sip out of it, making a gargantuan effort not to choke as he felt his entrails catching fire. A second sip followed, and then a third before he felt the alcohol rushing to his head, and a warm sensation on his cheeks.

- "So," - He started, tentatively offering Olvir the moonshine bottle. - "how did you even come by that fancy sword?” - A Weirwoon heirloom would have been his first guess, though Ollie’s family’s merchant ties, and seeming tendency to venture abroad, meant it could also have come from, quite literally, anywhere else.​

 

[Olvir]

Olvir finished building the place for the fire, then quickly went about setting up his own and Ivan's tents.

They were small things, barley big enough for one man, but the heavy canvas along with their sleeping bags would be enough to keep them warm in the cold winter nights. At least that was what the merchant had told him when he'd bought them.

He was of the honest sort, so Olvir trusted him.

By the time the two young Anirians had built their fires and were sitting around it Ollie found himself half trussed up in a blanket. It wrapped around his shoulders as he sat before the fire, watching the flames and Ivan with some amusement as he broke out his bottle. "Found it in the family vaults."

Ollie explained.

"My family has never been warriors." There were a few Weiroons who had won their fame with the blade, but must were merchants, traders, and businessmen. "I'm not sure how it got there."

Another bloody mystery. "As you can imagine, it's not very forthcoming about that either."

He said with a loud sigh, but then turned the conversation. "Enough about that though, what about you?"

As he learned about Initiates and the Academy, he shattered more and more of that first impression he'd had of Dreadlords. He knew that all of them had their own ambitions, thoughts, plans. Not just soldiers, not just weapons, but people.

"Graduations rolling close." A year, or so, he guessed. "Do you have any idea what you'll do?"

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "Hmmm..." - He stared absent-mindedly into the flames. - "I don't think I do." - In all honesty, it was still somewhat hard to believe that he had a choice at all on the matter. It was difficult to conceive, after all the beatings, all the harassment, and all the indoctrination and brainwashing intended to make him into a pliable weapon of the state, that his tormentors would just... let him go his own way.

- "Though I doubt I'll stay with the guard." - That was the only choice he had, more or less, ruled out at this point. Being a part of the Guard required discipline, obedience, and a greater sense of duty to Aniria… All qualities he thoroughly lacked. Of course, he could have joined anyways, however, the prospect of having to strictly follow orders for the rest of his life was rather unappealing to him.

- "Beyond that, I don’t really know." - He took another sip from the moonshine bottle, his gaze still transfixed on the flames. - "You see, it's a bit difficult to decide on what you want to do when all you’ve been told is that you’re a weapon meant to serve." -

He kicked his feet to one side as he reclined on his bedroll, letting his shoulders sink while using his elbows as support for the rest of his torso.

- "I guess I'd like to see a bit more of the world before I settle down." - He mused. Rather predictably, while the idea of leaving Vel Anir behind was not a new one, he had never managed to focus down on a path to do such a thing.- "Though I have no clue on how to sustain myself while doing that." -

He threw a sly smile at Ollie. - "Of course that if that fails, there’s always the Skender fortress." - He said, in a sarcastically prideful tone. - "You remember right? The haunted ruin where people hear voices? What a prize that’d make." - He kept a look of amusement as he pulled the bottleneck to his lips again. This time though, a grimace took over his features, as he drained a bit more of the moonshine.

- "Kress’ sake Weirwoon, don’t let me finish this on my own." - He said, placing the bottle between him and his traveling companion. - "Or you’ll be the one escorting me to Tyr in the morrow." -​

 

[Olvir]

"Mercenary work pays well, I've heard." Ollie suggested, a fact that he had learned from his friend Reynard. The man had stood side by side with him during the Siege of Vel Hetren, and during that time they'd had plenty of time to talk.

War was great for profit, so much so that he was shocked his own family had never much tried to take advantage of the fact. Though perhaps that was because Virak had already cornered that particular market by the time Weiroon had risen to prominence.

"Though I guess that's pretty much the same as joining the Guard." He said, smiling for a brief moment, almost a sense of mournfulness to his tone. "Maybe you can find yourself a rich wife."

Ollie suggested as he reached forward and grasped the bottle. "Tell you what."

The Noble said suddenly, frowning for a moment.

"Next two weeks, or however long this shit takes." Ollie took a swig of the moonshine. Half making a face at the taste of it, but surprisingly keeping the cough suppressed in his throat as he took in a sharp breath of air. "You're not a Dreadlord."

He suggested. "You're Ivan of House Skender and you're here to live your life. Feel like doing something in Tyr? We do it. Feel like stopping off on a village along the way? We do it."

A shrug rolled over Olvir's shoulder.

"Get a taste of the world." Something he wished he could have done for Zael. "My dime."

Well, his fathers anyway.

 

[Ivan Skender]

A look of amusement took over his features once again, as he heard Ollie suggest he get himself a rich wife. Ivan Skender, the trophy husband. Wouldn’t that be a story?

It was as he mused about the prospect, that Olvir’s offer brought him back to reality. He looked at his travel companion, his expression of amusement now perceptibly mixed with interest.

My dime.

- "Famous last words." - He jested, his gaze deviating back to the flames. That was certainly an interesting change of pace.

Most of the people he escorted barely took the time to address a single word to him, let alone offer anything like this. Though he would be sure to take up on the offer, he was less convinced about Ollie’s motives. The Weirwoons had never been known for their generosity or benevolence, and so for one of its scions to be volunteering himself and his money for a vacation in Tyr with a stranger, was somewhat strange to him.

- "But, why would you do this?" - He asked, turning his grey gaze back to Ollie. His face, though, did not bear a look of suspicion, but rather one of curiosity. - "You just met me." -​

 

[Olvir]

"Because I can." The words seemed almost dismissive, but for Ollie they were directly the opposite.

He knew what his family had stood for. He knew what his forefathers had done and how many of them had earned or added to the great wealth of House Weiroon. His brothers would have called him a fool, but they had fled when the Republic was founded.

"I know what I am." He told Ivan. "The life I've lead and the privilege afforded to me because of my family."

Ollie's head shook. "I didn't do anything to deserve the wealth I have, Ivan. I didn't earn, but I have it anyway."

Lips thinned.

"So, how I choose to spend it is up to me." At least in part. He could only go so far, obviously, without his sister or father questioning him. "And I choose to make someone's life a little less shit. Even if it is only for two weeks."