Completed Take It on the Run

[Zael Castomir]

(Art Credit)
​

The night went from calm to crazed fast.

Outside, the Festival of Fiery Skies was in full bloom. Zael had been in Elbion long enough to see all of the preparations for it, and now at last the festivities had the whole of the city in a swell of merriment. Even the One-Legged Flamingo, the classy and stylish tavern Zael had come to frequent as of late, was far more lively than usual, the jovial din of all the patrons loud and constant. After a day with an unexpected surprise as its defining feature, Zael just wanted to take it easy. Have a drink. Go out and watch said Fiery Skies, the magnificent display of magic that would decorate the skies above Elbion, at midnight when they would begin. Tomorrow sure wasn't going to be an easy day, so best get it in tonight.

Then, by happenstance, a casual glance around the Flamingo revealed the front doors opening, three men entering. And these men didn't look at all like they belonged in a well-put-together place like the Flamingo—they looked exactly the coarse sort one would find in the notorious Quarterfell District.

Zael mumbled a curse under his breath. Looked forward again. Finished his beer. And waited. Right on time, it came.

"Zael Castomir."

He stayed seated at his bar stool. Just looked over his shoulder. Said, "Don't know him, friend."

The man, an enforcer from the Marte Cartel, flanked by two other enforcers just as big and bulky, grinned widely and said, "Lucy Vale sends her regards."

A dagger suddenly flashed in the enforcer's hand with an astonishing alacrity, he dropped a heavy hand on Zael's shoulder, and then buried the blade into Zael's back.

 

[Ivan Skender]

The Republic sure seemed on rickety footing; well, either that or the miscellaneous rebellious factions were growing overly bold.

Those were the only reasons that occurred to him, as to why he'd been sent to chase yet another rogue, so shortly after he had came back from Gild. This time - fortunately - his target was not an Archon of Vel Anir, but rather, curiously enough, an upperclassman of his: Zael Castomir, the rogue of Ganfarred. As it turned out, the new regime was not as permissive towards its denizens as some Proctors made it out to be, and once responsibilities for that attack had been attributed, a hunter had been sent to track down the traitor.

Unfortunately for Ivan, that role had fallen upon him.

Though rumours and hints had, at last, brought him to Elbion, Ivan had been gone from Aniria for months now. During this time, he had chased gossip, tales, and the faintest of rumours all across Liadain until, finally, he had landed here. It had been earlier that day that, by a fluke, he had first heard the name of 'Castomir' and it had taken him the rest of the day to investigate that hint. Now he was here though, in front of the One-Legged Flamingo, a rather posh retreat of the academic city.

He had been following a trio that seemed to have been tasked with carrying out some sort of mission relating to Zael, though he was unsure about the reason. As he entered the establishment though, he would soon find out why.

As soon as he saw the cold glimmer of steel against the light of the room, his instincts kicked into action. With his arm projecting forward, Ivan conjured a set of pitch-black lightning rays against the knife. Unlike their meteorological counterparts, the blonde's rays decayed and corroded the object as opposed to charr it, so much so that the blade turned into a rusted hunk of metal within the blink of an eye; an object so brittle that it fell apart harmlessly as soon as it made contact with Castomir's skin.

Content with preserving the life of his countryman - at least for the time being - Ivan went on to fully utilize the element of surprise he'd worked on. From his belt, he pulled a knife of his own, hurling it towards the neck of one of the three. Within a moment, the man fell to the ground with a thud; a thick stream of red pouring out from the spot on his throat where the knife had lodged itself. The would-be assassin - that is, the rogue that wielded the rusted-away knife - got the magical treatment instead, with the blonde conjuring a second set of lightning rays, and unleashing them on his stunned foe. Before Castomir's eyes - as well as those of everyone else on that bar - the man started to decay unnaturally. His skin turned pale and broken, while his figure thinned and withered as seemingly decades of lifetime elapsed in the space of a mere, few seconds. Within moments - well before the man could even dream of reaching Ivan - the bandit's flesh had rotten away, with nothing but a few lumps of decayed of muscle and blood, attached to a handful of bones, being left scattered across the floor.

With two of the three gone, the third goon seemed to be frozen in place. Ivan walked calmly towards him, before halting a few paces away. The man seemed absolutely terrified by the display; so much so that he did not even resist when Ivan took away the blade that seemed to be poking out of his belt.

- "I'm sorry." - He said warmly, in the common tongue. - "but Lady Vale will have to find something else to feast on tonight." - He finished, echoing the words the other bandit had spoken to Zael. He motioned for the man to leave, which he did, stumbling panickily towards the exit.

Looking around, a grimace passed through Ivan's features as he observed the scene that unfolded before him. Maybe he should've been more careful...

Oh well.

Without looking at Zael, Ivan walked towards the counter, placing a heavy-looking bag of coins on its wooden top.

- "Sorry about that." - He said, flashing a smile to the bartender. - "We'll have two more." - He continued, motioning towards Zael, and the beer he'd been drinking. He let a few moments pass after that, letting an atmosphere of normality return to the Flamingo before he finally took a seat on the wooden stool right next to Castomir.

- "You're a tough one to find, blondie." - He said playfully, switching to Anirian.​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Fuck that guy was fast.

This was the thought which only had the luxury of time to even come to be after the fact. Yet, as it turned out, the feel of the blade piercing into his back never came—a hard pressure, yeah, but not that sharp pain. And before Zael could even properly rise from his seat and raise his fists for a scrap, two out of the three enforcers were dead, one in a more grisly fashion than the other. The patrons of the classy Flamingo, not used to such sights, understandably had among their large number a good number of shocked screams and alarmed shouts. But when the violence of the ordeal ended, all the crowd stood frozen and transfixed, watching. Only the last enforcer, hurriedly fleeing for the exit, was in motion.

The barkeep, an absolute statue of a man with a solid jaw, an immaculate mustache, and a commendably stolid and unshakeable air about him, simply looked to the bag of coins laid on the polished wood of the bar counter, looked to the dead enforcers, and then smoothly announced at large to the tavern, "Justice is served."

With these three words (and some muscle to get rid of the bodies and explain everything to the guards who would surely be awaiting soon outside), the Flamingo slowly and tentatively assumed again its festive air, even if touches of lingering tension made it more fragile than before.

The barkeep gave a nod of respect to Ivan, took the coins, and then set off to get him and Zael those beers.

Ivan sat next to Zael, and it was then that the full force of Skender's presence came upon him. Man, what a sight. Ivan, the Ivan Skender, the very same with whom Zael had had some of the best spars of his life, back when the Academy mercilessly ground up Initiates and spat them out. Problem was, so far as Zael knew, Ivan was a loyalist. First Kristen and Zinnia, and now Ivan. What was next, a whole reunion of his erstwhile class in Elbion, Edric and all?

Ivan spoke in Anirian instead of Common, and Zael did the same. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't hold back a delighted grin. "And you're an easy one, blondie. You came right up to me."

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

- "And why do you think that is?" - Although, after spending years with Zael, he could somewhat understand what had driven him to go rogue, especially after the fuck-up that had been the last graduation, Ivan was still rather bewildered that his comrade had chosen to betray Vel Anir in such a haphazard manner. Castomir had always been - in Ivan's mind at least - a bit too duty-bound though; too steadfast, too honourable.

- "I'm actually surprised I've caught you at all." - He said, easing his tone, as he flashed a sly grin. - "All this time in exile has made you sloppy, it seems. You've become lax," - He glanced quickly up-and-down the form of his former colleague. - "and fat too, by the looks of it." - He added playfully.

Though a part of him had missed - to the extend a Dreadlord initiate could miss such things, that was - that cavalier playfulness that had existed between them, looking around, it did not take much to comprehend that they were no longer those innocent - again, to the extent such a word was pertinent - initiates hacking at each other during sparing train... not that Ivan would be too opposed to knocking the other blonde on his ass once more though.

- "Also, you're missing an eye." - A raised brow followed, as his gaze finally fell upon the other blonde's face.

It was at that moment that the bartender returned to them, placing two healthy-sized pints in front of each. Ivan took his, together with a rather long sip.

- "What were you thinking, Castomir?" - ​

 

[Zael Castomir]

All this time in exile has made you sloppy, it seems. You've become lax.

"I wasn't tryin to hide."

...and fat too, by the looks of it.

Zael's lips scrunched up as he tried to hold in a laugh, failed as a singular mirthful snort leaked out, and then he said, "You motherfucker." He was gonna have to rib Ivan good before this talk was done.

The comment on his missing eye. Yup. Courtesy of the Academy. Courtesy of former Proctor Kimble. Courtesy of, more or less, the same people who sent Ivan out here to Elbion. And, this time, unlike with Kristen and Zinnia, this was no coincidental meeting, was it?

And there came the same question Kristen had been dying to ask him.

Zael lifted his pint up in a gesture of appreciation for the drink being on Ivan. Said, "I was just thinkin how nice it was to finally say 'no'." Then he took a sip, adding with a little facetious air afterward, "And that Commander Varez was a cunt. The Army of the East is better off without him."

Commander Varez, former commanding officer of Ganfarred Keep.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

A smug smirk flickered through his features as he heard Zael's muffled laugh, though it soon died as Castomir provided his explanation.

"I was just thinkin how nice it was to finally say 'no'."

- "And what, you figured burning a fortress of the realm was the best way to do that?" - An eyeroll and a shake of his head were also part of his response to that remark. Though he couldn't exactly question the following part of Zael's answer - most senior Anirian officers he had encountered had been cunts, after all - he did still severely doubt the wisdom of the other blonde's actions.

- "Kress' sake Castomir, if you hated it so much, you could have just gone for exile." - He raised his brow, glancing at his compatriot, before he shook his head yet again. - "That ship has now sailed though." - Ivan produced a piece of paper from within his coat. It bore a seal of red wax, engraved with the symbol of the Dreadlords; a sort of correspondence the Academy used every now and again.

- "That mess at Ganfarred, really drew a lot of attention." - Should Zael choose to unfold it and read it, the paper contained - in a neat, small handwriting - a compressed set of guidelines for Ivan's mission: his target, a brief summary of context, as well as a short, yet concise, section urging for the capture of the rogue if possible; summary execution if not.

- "Fortunately for you, the Republic is not the only one with its eyes on you." - From another pocket, he provided yet another folded piece of paper. This one bore an empty seal of black wax, a symbol that Duncan - or whoever it was that corresponded with him on the side of Gilram's exiles - used to mark its identity to Ivan. The paper unfolded itself as Ivan placed it on the counter. Within, there was naught but two simple words, written in an unremarkable handwriting:

SAVE HIM

The missive had arrived the same day he had been set to depart, its meaning becoming easily evident to the blonde, the moment he'd read the letter.

- "So," - He asked, motioning with his hand to the two papers as he took yet another long sip out of his pint. - "which one should I take?" - ​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Ivan wasn't here to listen to Zael's whole spiel on why Ganfarred went the way it did and why he was fighting against the Republic now; and even if that was the case, well bless his heart for being so kind first off, and second, it probably wouldn't amount to anything much different than Kristen's final conclusion. In the great game that was Vel Anir, all throughout its history it seemed, there was one side, there was the other, and the two just didn't see eye-to-eye.

He couldn't help a little amused smirk when Ivan mentioned that he could've just gone for exile. Big Ivan almost echoed Commander Varez's exact reprimand word-for-word there. But to Zael, it just wasn't like that.

That mess at Ganfarred really drew a lot of attention.

"You're tellin me." Vel Farris had been proof enough of that. The 9th Homeguard torched the entire town just because they thought Zael had been there.

That first note was nothing surprising. Ivan being tasked with his mission, the orders being very simple: find Zael so we can kill him fast or kill him slow ("capture", heh, sure, he knew what was at the end of that road). Some things never changed. The second note, however, caught Zael's attention hard, making him pause with the tankard of beer to his lips and to then slowly set it down as his eye, narrowed and focused on what scant details there were, worked over it. Now...Zael knew Gilram's whole operation didn't just operate on secrecy, but depended on it; if you didn't need to know, you weren't told. Made sense—Talus's Revolution probably worked much the same way. But even so, Zael certainly hadn't been expecting this.

Zael looked back up at Ivan. Said with all seriousness, "That's a dangerous game you're playin."

Him. The Slayer of Ganfarred. Saying that.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

Ivan's first response was a light chuckle, the irony of it being Zael - of all people - that sought to warn him of the dangers of his course striking a wry tone with him, as much as it had with the other blonde.

- “As if you're one to judge.” - He shot back, unfazed. A raised brow over a smugly amused expression crowned his features as he turned to meet Zael's gaze.

- “Fortunately, for the both of us, I'm much better at taking risks than you are.” - He turned to the paper, the one with the black seal, and touched it lightly. A faint, black aura materialised momentarily out of Ivan's finger and then poured onto the paper in the form of a dark mist.

Zael would recognise this. It was a staple of Ivan's decay power; an all-corroding magic that decayed everything that it touched… except that this time, it would not be so.

As it made contact with the paper, a faint light emanated from the object, seemingly countering the effects of the decay magic, which rolled over the paper harmlessly. It was as if the paper had some sort of enchantment upon it.

This lasted for a few moments until the gloomy fog reached one of the corners of the message. As it did so, the protective charm seemingly stopped working, and the magic then corroded a piece of the paper. It did not do so at random however, for it seemed as though the areas that were left to the decay spell arranged themselves to form a word; and not just any word, a location. It looked as though a simple get-together was not all that Gilram's exiles had charged the blonde with.

Pleased with himself, Ivan turned to his beer.

- “So, Castomir, which one will it be?” - He asked, before downing the rest of his drink.​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Fortunately, for the both of us, I'm much better at taking risks than you are.

Zael smirked—never afraid to indulge in a little self-deprecating humor. "You're not wrong. You still got both eyes."

Zael watched the display with said singular eye of his and drank from his tankard as it progressed. A neat trick, that, probably could have the same thing arranged with his fire if ever the occasion should arise. What holes the magic chewed through in the parchment were arranged with such neat precision that it was as though a practiced torturer had carved it out with a scalpel, and these gaps revealed a word:

Maraan.

Zael huffed into his tankard. Maraan? What the hell did Duncan want in Maraan? Heh, well, whatever it was...

"Tell Duncan this can wait," he said, taking another sip and then setting the tankard down again. "I've got plenty to do here in Elbion. Duncan knows that. Or he oughta."

Zael flashed out a hand and smacked Ivan on the thick of his arm. He grinned, again playing this whole thing off lightly, "A little suntan could do you some good. Why don't you go? The Academy won't miss you. They're probably too busy puttin on another Dance. Did you go with anybody to that?"

Yeah. Zael had heard about that, the Dance Night for the end of the written exams. He didn't know which mole had leaked that info out, or how the hell it was even pertinent to anything, but it gave Zael a chuckle nonetheless.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

- “Heh, maybe I will.” - Maraan was a rather far - and random - place, though he knew for a fact he wouldn't go back to the Academy immediately after he was done in Elbion. For one, he could wander for some more time; it had taken him months to get here, why would anyone suspect if it took him some more to finally be back? Castomir was right, the Academy wouldn't miss him.

Also, getting back immediately after actually finding his target in Elbion was potentially risky. A sudden return could raise suspicions that he had met Castomir while here, and given him a pass. It could also cause the Academy to use Elbion as a starting point for a fresh round of searches for Zael, if Ivan claimed he had lost his track of the rogue there, something which - in turn - was problematic if Castomir intended to stay in the city.

“They're probably too busy putting on another Dance. Did you go with anybody to that?”

- “You heard about that?” - He asked bemusedly. - “Yeah, it's wild, it doesn't feel like the old Academy anymore.” - He shook his head.

- “I went with Odessa Urahil.” - He said. Man, she was pretty, and certainly had been so at the Dance. Ivan couldn't say he'd enjoyed the dancing proper, though the girl's company had really been worth it… even if her oafish brother - whom Ivan also adored, it could be added - kept blundering into their night together. Fun as it may have been though, Ivan was rather sure Zael wouldn't want to hear about his conquests.

- “And Ebersol was also there.” - He said, vaguely aware that there had been something between the two of them, even though he really could not bring himself to see what Castomir saw in the poison-eater.

Maybe her rack? - He thought to himself. Indeed, Everleigh's cleavage - and its scant containment within her shirt - had been the talk of the next morning, though that was something he probably wouldn't mention to Zael.

He pulled himself out of his daydreams, and regarded his former colleague once more.

- “Do you miss it?” - He asked, referring to the Academy, and the student body among which Zael had grown up. - “Any of it?” -​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Yeah, it's wild, it doesn't feel like the old Academy anymore.

Shit, Zael could only imagine. Through immaculate skill and being too much of a pain in Proctor Kimble's ass, Zael had managed to dodge all of those same luxuries thrown to his class—the Solstice Ball, the Fun Day at the beach. Who knew what all Ivan's class was getting that Zael didn't even know about. But, while Zael's initial regard of all the "new stuff" was making it the butt end of jokes (all with a dash of mocking derision), he'd come in more recent times to think it wasn't all that bad. Good, even, and somethin he would've liked during the whole of his Academy training, not just squirreled in at the last year. Imagine being treated with some decency, right?

Odessa Urahil, huh. Look at ol' Ivan over here, maybe trying to move up in the world. Man, once upon a time Zael had been in a little town called Grishino, talking to his friend Ollie about how he wanted to be a noble himself one day, start the House of Castomir. Pure whimsy, it seemed now. Or maybe not. Shit, maybe if he got filthy rich enough, he could start the House of Castomir here in Elbion, how about that.

His grin faded into neutrality at the mention of Everleigh. "That right," he said in a tone without inflection. And he left it there.

He took a drink from his tankard. Finished it, as the fact of the hollow sound of the empty tankard upon the counter attested. Then, with Ivan's question, a chummy gesture Zael didn't quite expect given the particular nature of his visit, Zael brightened up again. A little, because talking about things missed always had with it something of a wistful character.

"The fightin," he said. "Spars, duels, all that. You had motherfuckers like Edric who took that shit way too serious, and I'm sure you got some like that in your class too, but time in the ring was the highlight of my day, man. I loved it. Somethin about the environment...bout fightin the same group of people month in and month out...really got to know one another special-like. It was somethin else."

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

He raised his brow, his expression one of clear amusement as he heard Zael's response. Why didn't that surprise him?

- “Kress’ sake Castomir, do you miss getting your ass whooped that much?” - He quipped. It was a joke, of course, as he knew full well how lethal Zael had been in the ring. As if to reminisce on that, he held out his forearm, where a rather thick, well-visible, scar ran across the length of his pale skin. - “I still remember this one.” - He said, pointing with his chin to the spot of darker, coarser skin.

It had been from his first match with Zael. Ivan had gone into that match looking smug, and flying high on the defeat he'd just inflicted on a trio of other initiates his own age. Unfortunately for the haughty initiate, the new opponent he faced was not just any other schmuck of his own class. Zael was about three years older than him, and while currently that rift did not make all that much of a difference - at least in Ivan's mind - back then, the increased experience that came with those three-odd years had been enough to teach the smug, younger initiate a rather valuable lesson.

He shook his head, a faint smile still perceptible on his face.

- “Though it seems you don't have any lack of opportunities for practice here.” - He said, pointing with his chin to the few spots of red where the corpse of one of Zael's assailants had just lain. - “Who the fuck is Lucy Vale, and what did you do to piss her off like this?” -

Knowing Castomir as well as did, he could think of a number of things that could've warranted such a dramatic response.​

 

[Zael Castomir]

A grin found home in Zael's expression. Giving out an ass-whooping, getting an ass-whooping, they both came with the deal, and if you wanted a good fight you had to embrace both the giving and the getting. There were a fair number of Initiates who took losing harder than they ought to, but to Zael, losing wasn't a thing to get all bent out of shape about—just so long as you didn't lose when it really counted. Hell, that's what all your losses in training were preparing you for, right? So that you could have the wherewithal to win when it mattered.

Ivan still remembered that scar on his arm, didn't he? He sure did. And Zael remembered the thrashings he received courtesy of Edric, of Vance, of Charon, of Ralene, of Caeso, of Noel, of Henk, man, the list went on. Winning was fun, but losing? Brother, was losing ever the more instructive of the two.

This string of their conversation unraveled right into the initial reason for the disturbance in the Flamingo. Namely, Lucy Vale, her anger, and the henchmen she sent to get some petty revenge.

"She's a hungry, hungry woman," Zael said. He and Ruslan found that out firsthand, alright. "You wanna go get chewed up and spat out? I could take you to meet her if you're into that."

He meant it in jest. Zael was best off staying well the hell out of the Quarterfell District, and Lucy may or may not even still have those sympathies she had for Gilram's cause anymore—she struck Zael as that level of petty, even without the deaths of her henchmen.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

“She's a hungry, hungry woman,”

- “Well, I got plenty for her to munch on.” - He said lewdly, his tone one of coarse vulgarity. - “She can chew on it all she likes.” -

He shook his head. Though his ability to seduce even the most bitter of enemies was undoubtedly beyond question, getting laid was not the reason he was there… well, not the primary one, anyways.

- “Still, she looks like something that needs to be dealt with.” - His gaze shifted perceptibly to the blood stains that lingered on the floor of the Flamingo, the act serving to hammer-in his point even further. - “Otherwise, if you're so dead-set on getting killed, I'd very much like to be the one to do it, so that I can take your pretty head back to Vel Anir, and claim some credit at least.” -​

 

[Zael Castomir]

"I ain't worried bout Vale. She'll get over it."

Knowing her (for what little Zael did know of her, yeah, funnily enough, it was actually a lot), Lucy would get all riled up over someone else sooner or later and forget all about him. Or Ivan's stunt here in the Flamingo, the fact that it wasn't even Zael himself who killed her goons, might make her think twice about sending more; for all she knew, a whole ass army of Rogue Dreadlords called Elbion home. That's a bear you'd best not poke, and it'd suit Zael just fine if that became her perception.

Zael waited until they met eyes again. Heh, all three eyes between them, what a fortuitous number.

"Here's a question for you: when are you gonna stop twiddlin your thumbs and commit to somethin? You're out here playin both sides, but you know that shit ain't gonna last."

Maybe Ivan knew this too, maybe he didn't: Zael caught wind from the Rogues that they had recently lost a mole within the Academy. He didn't know who, or how it happened, just that it did (though if he did know all the details, namely, that the mole in question was Soleil Verdane, and that she had been killed by none other than Zinnia St. Kolbe, he'd have bought the latter more than just tea). Could go that way, or maybe Ivan would follow the wrong orders from the Republic and get Gilram's boys pissed off. Either way...

"Push has to come to shove sometime. Best it be on your terms, right?"

Who knew. Maybe Ivan would end up being a bootlicker like Ralene, a good boy for the Republic. Or maybe he'd be set on doing things his way, like Edric and yours truly. Or he might just say fuck it all, go full exile, and take his sexy ass off to the Empire for all Zael knew—get that tan Zael had mentioned.

Ivan Skender Zinnia

 

[Ivan Skender]

"I ain't worried bout Vale. She'll get over it."

- "Famous last words." - He quipped, throwing his companion a sly glance. He wouldn't push the matter further though, instead reckoning that Zael - having lived as an exile in Elbion for what appeared to be some time - would have a better feel for these things than he did.

The next couple of questions however, did have him mulling over what kind of reply he would give. Moreover, he considered how truthful he ought to be. After all, he didn't know up until which point Zael was imbued within the Gilramites' ranks. While the fact that the other blonde had just scoffed at being summoned to Maraan - that not to mention the trademark unruly behaviour Castomir was well-known for at the Academy - did hint at somewhat unreliable relations, Ivan didn't know for sure, and going around admitting he was very much willing to betray either side at a moment's notice did not sound like such a good idea.

- "Right." - He answered. - "Graduation seems like as good a cut-off point as any." - This was true, though obviously not the whole truth. When he had met Edric, as well as Duncan, that day in Fel'Darrah, his aim had been simple: Some of the most powerful casters and fighters Vel Anir had ever seen followed Gilram. By siding with them, he could get more in terms of training and knowledge, than he would if he spent a decade more tutoring under the likes of Gamble, or Harkenov.

Plus, if Gilram did win - unlikely though that may be - he would be in a prime position to reap whatever rewards came with such a victory. Big gains only came with big risks, and, when it came to probabilities, the likelihood of Gilram and his troupe seizing power in Vel Anir was not all that hopeless, at least for Ivan.

The answer he'd provided Zael with was not untruthful either, however. His plan was to wait until graduation. Until then, he'd strive to get as much from each side as he could; by training with Archon Zana as part of the taskforce, and by setting-up a network of other Gilramites that would teach him what the Academy wouldn't. Then, when graduation finally came around, he'd have - or so he hoped - enough clout, in terms of expertise and martial prowess to vanish off the face of Vel Anir and brave the world.

The Republic, in its quest to give Dreadlords and initiates any semblance of a life choice with the new graduation protocol, had inadvertently destroyed what little stakes he had in the future of his country. The choice had been virtually made already, and with each day that he inched closer to graduation, the more unbearable Aniria seemed to become.

- "Unless one of the sides forces my hand." - He shrugged. It could be that the Republic finally caught up with, and crushed, Gilram and his exiles in one fell swoop, dragging his allegiances along with such a hypothetical victory; or it could be that the rogue Archon finally pulled his finger out of his ass, and managed to hit the Republic so decisively that it managed to convince the blonde to finally, and overtly, change sides. Should either of those fail to materialise though, exile seemed like the most promising path to take.​

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Fair enough," Zael said. He had his ear out for the date of the next Graduation, the one Ivan himself but also a certain Kristen Pirian would be participating in. To the latter he had made a guarantee, even if, these days, she wasn't too keen on actually taking him up on it. But Zael had meant what he said to her: if another Bloody Graduation was on the way, he'd show, and he'd help the Initiates rebel against the Proctors—and the false promises of the Republic at that.

So that was coming up. Time would tell if Zael would be there or not. If not, and things went smoothly with whatever new test the Republic cooked up (may or may not be fingerpainting), heh, Ivan was sure to ace it.

"Just don't do anythin you don't wanna do," Zael would add. "I heard it plenty in my class, and you probably hear it enough in yours too: Initiates just resigned to whatever. Gettin coaxed by the Guard to go military or by one of the Houses to go Reserve and work for them. Hell, I was sleepwalkin my way into the military without even givin it a second thought once upon a time. Then it turns out when I wake the hell up that I exile myself, join with Gilram, and life couldn't be better."

He smiled genially.

"Bein able to choose is somethin else, ain't it?"

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "It sure is." - He said. There was an irony there that didn't escape him, though. - "But you know, were it not for the Republic, I would've probably ended up doing just what you said." -

He sneered, raising his brow as if merely contemplating the notion was already bordering on absurdity.

- "Sleepwalking into some second-tier, glorified bodyguard role." - That was a notion that kept biting at the back of his mind: That were it not for the Revolution, he'd might just have sworn himself to the Guard, or to one of the Great Houses; he didn't know any better, and he wouldn't even have contemplated that he could strike out on his own, so far removed from the past reality such a notion was.

Instead he was here, double-crossing that same Republic that had planted the very idea of choice on his head, all the while trying his hardest to forge a future of his own... and all of that; all the conflict, the betrayal, the chaos had sprouted from the seemingly well-intentioned offer that the new leaders of Aniria had presented him with.

He sometimes wondered if the higher-ups of the new regime regretted their decision.

- "I guess it was the same for you?" - He asked, still unsure what the answer would be. - "That when you realised you had a choice, then you just wanted more, and more." - A few years ago, he would've been perfectly happy with the supposed fate of swearing himself up to, say, Great House Urahil, and spend the rest of his life in nonsensical politicking with Leander Urahil, until one - or both - of them became an Archon in their own right.

Now, though?

Fuck the Houses and the Guard. From the moment he understood he could strike out on his own, and to be master of his own fate, the perspective of serving someone, or something, else had become unfathomable.​

 

[Zael Castomir]

"Somethin like that." Zael didn't think it all that necessary to dive into the whole story: getting betrayed by the infirmary nurse Jenna, taken by ex-Proctor Kimble, tortured for months, told by Kimble that he wanted to "break his spirit" by having him pick the grand and "unwinnable" fight that will define his life, Zael doing just that, and then Kimble just...setting him free to get after that fight.

And so we have our wager, Kimble had said. Yeah, you bet your fuckin ass we do. Heh, funnily enough though and in a twisted way, he had Kimble, fucking Kimble, to thank to creating the conditions which led to that spark of liberation. Now all Zael needed to do was win that wager, track Kimble down, and drive a sword right through his chest...maybe not in that particular order, if certain opportunities arose. Kimble could watch Zael win their wager from hell.

"And, brother, now that I got a taste, there's no way I'll ever go back. I ain't against followin orders or bein part of a chain of command—that's why I'm way up north here in Elbion doin these things for Gilram and Duncan and the like. But joinin the military never really was my choice, like doin that bodyguard thing wasn't yours. Maybe it coulda been, if I had made the decision to go to the Academy myself, like Kristen did."

Zael smiled thinly.

"But it ain't that way. The Republic tidied some things up, but the big thing is still the same, the leash just changed hands: instead of the Houses it's the Guard, and they're the master over you now. Dreadlord? Heh, more like slave."

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

- "But that's what a chain of command is." - He shrugged. - "You're just a slave to someone else, who gets to hold the leash, and decide your future for you." -

Rather obliviously, he'd just given his game away. He was not really undyingly loyal to either side - if Zael had even bought that he was in the first place - and he didn't regard Gilram or his exiles as any more permissive or benevolent than the Republic was. His goal in collaborating with either side was purely transactional; that was, he would do the bidding of both sides only so long as it was advantageous for him to do so.

- "I can't say I resent the Academy for not giving me a choice on whether to join it, though." - Well, not too much anyways. - "Have you ever considered where either of us would be if not for their mentorship?" - ​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael balked slightly, his head swaying back on his shoulders, as Ivan gave his unvarnished thoughts on chains of command as a whole. Even for Zael, that crossed beyond the border into hyperbolic; but the sentiment was certainly better than its direct opposite, being a bootlicker. And it sure sounded like Ivan wasn't intent on any of that—certainly not for the Guard. Good on him for that at least.

Ivan's follow-up got a jovial laugh out of Zael. "Man, that reminds me. I always used to say about the Academy durin its ugliest days: 'Hey, at least they taught me how to read.' That's a tough truth to reckon with, that it wasn't all bad, that we got some of the best trainin in the world. And me?"

He was smiling, but his head was shaking side-to-side in a sure arc: Hell no, he didn't want this possible past he was imagining.

"Yeah, I considered what it would've have been like without it. I'd've been back in Tarrow—a little shitstain village out west—for a long time. Fuck, I'd either be awkwardly livin my dad who left me for dead, if he even took me back after I came out of that burnin mill alive, or I'd've run away to Kress knows where. But, into the Academy I went, and that's how it turned out."

Zael grinned again.

"Joke's on Vel Anir, I suppose—they're pretty good at trainin up their own enemies, huh?"

You could almost call it a national pastime, especially these days.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

"Yeah, I considered what it would've have been like without it. I'd've been back in Tarrow—a little shitstain village out west—for a long time. Fuck, I'd either be awkwardly livin my dad who left me for dead, if he even took me back after I came out of that burnin mill alive, or I'd've run away to Kress knows where. But, into the Academy I went, and that's how it turned out."​

- “Yeah, 'nowhere near as good' sounds about right for me too.” - He replied.

Depending on what Zael knew about him though, this could sound surprising. For while his was an old noble name, it was one without much substance behind it. The truth was that, for all the talk from the other nobles of Aniria, once the money ran dry, and the connections to places of power were broken, you were just like anyone else, noble blood or not. That was a lesson he'd learned early.

- “Turns out not even noble blood is enough to live a life of privilege.” - He mused. - “My mother's gone, and the family's money along with her; our fortress is a ruin that tried to kill me last time I was there, and whatever network my forebears had in Vel Anir is far gone by now.” - Kress' sake, by the time the Academy had found him, he was living in a filthy orphanage, seemingly doomed to live an unremarkable, ordinary life.

- “But, yeah, Vel Anir did do a good job of training their enemies.” - A sneer escaped his lips. - “Them giving us a choice really was the carrot and the stick. It's just that they sequenced it poorly.” - Well, clearly. Otherwise the Republic wouldn't have as many turn-coats as it did.

He shook his head.

- “Oh well.” - He said nonchalantly. - “So, now that you've put the tyranny of the proctors behind you, what is it that you'll do, Castomir?” - He turned to face Zael.

- “What is it that you want out of life?” -​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Well damn. Zael didn't know the Skender family was in such dire straits; then again, Zael always had the tacit assumption that "noble" meant "filthy rich". When the winds of hard times blew, guess it didn't much matter what your name or lineage was, they could blew you over too.

What is it that you want out of life?

"That's a big question..." he smirked, "...with two simple answers. At least for me."

He held up the first finger.

"I want to see the Dreadlords freed, Ivan. No more leash on anyone, just Anirian magic-users bein able to make their own choices like everyone else. I don't care who does it, the Republic—heh, if the Guard can get whittled down enough—or Gilram or someone else. If thinkin the Dreadlords are worthy of freedom makes me an outlaw, then that's what I'll be. An outlaw, a rogue, a rebel, fightin the fight of his life—sounds pretty good to me."

And it'd feel pretty damn good when the day came, when he could finally shove his victory right into Kimble's face. Wager won, Kimble. You tried to break me, and instead, I broke you.

Ivan Skender

 

[Ivan Skender]

Well, then. That was a big difference between them, he supposed. Ivan, unlike Zael, was in league with the rogues for purely selfish reasons. Freeing Dreadlords, bah... Not only was he unconcerned about the degree of freedom his comrades enjoyed, but also he was unsure to which extent his colleagues back at the Academy, or at the Guard, actually needed him to free them. They were lethal harbingers of death, and as far as he was concerned, they didn't need a sixteen-year-old fighting for their freedom. They could very well take it as he would one day.

Still, that was not all. He'd heard Zael mention two answers, yet the other blonde had only provided him with one. He rolled his eyes, deciding to take the proverbial bait.

- "How noble." - He said. - "But alright, that was one. What's the other?" - ​

 

[Zael Castomir]

Zael held up the second finger, and accompanied it with a smile.

"One day, I'm gonna be a father."

Finally, at long last, he'd figured that one out. Guess that was something else he had to thank the Republic for, because if not for the Revolution and the changes to the Academy, the thought probably would've never crossed his mind. Weapons just didn't think about these sorts of things.

"My own father was an asshole, but I'm gonna turn it around. I'm gonna have a son, and I'm gonna give him all the things my dad never gave me."

Ivan Skender