Private Tales The Chains of Family

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair looked around the room, his mind quickly assessing all of the possible entry points or danger. His mind made a collection of them and went around the room lightly touching the specific areas. A small almost indistinct series of runes slipped down his arm and onto the walls wherever he touched.

Finally, satisfied with his work he turned back to Olvir with a chuckle. "You are right about that."

Alistair made his way to take a seat on the couch, but also looked to the bed.

"It's better than a brown sleeping sack, so I would have to say yes...Rarely, do the missions send us somewhere so nice."

Alistair's eyes slowly fell to the sword at Olvir's waist, trying to examine the runes from a distance.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Ollie chuckled. "Well, make yourself as home Al'."

The Weiroon noble gestured with a hand.

"My temporary home is yours." He was still very thankful that id had been Alistair paired with him and not some stuffy Dreadlord. The two of them got along fairly well, their three day trip having been filled with more than a few bouts of laughter.

"First meeting is in the morning." Ollie said, uncorking his bottle of Liquor. "Down at the Bank of Selam."

That was the easy one. "Then another in the afternoon with the Breven Bank. They're Allirian but apparently have an office here."

He glanced at Alistair, following his eye-line to the sword.

A hand came down, unbuckling the blade and pulling it free from his hip. He held it up, giving Alistair a better look at the ancient runes on the hilt. He would recognize them, though only barely. The scribe was old, and strangely enough...elven.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair's trained eyes traced over the sword hilt with a raised eyebrow. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, but the real question was why did Olvir have something like this.

"Incredible, did your family gain this in battle or something?"

That was the only reason he could think they would have something like this. They could have bought it, but what would have been the point when they could have got something of equal quality in Vel Anir.

He was trying to decipher the complicated weave of elven runes on the sword to try and determined what the sword could do, or if it was just inert decoration. If it was inert then maybe he could do something to activate the runes once more.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"I'm not sure." Ollie answered with a shrug. "I dug it out of a basement."

That was entirely not a joke.

At the time he had been looking for something for his mother, but found the blade sitting at the bottom of an old Trunk which hadn't been opened in what felt like centuries. The sword hadn't had the scabbard then, and he'd taken it...simply because he could.

With a thumb he pushed on the cross-guard, revealing the blood red blade. "My father said it was a relic from another age."

He frowned for a moment, looking at the sword.

"Called it the Butcher's Blade." When a sword was named, it was usually a title of honor. Something that brought hope, called for justice, anything to inspire. This sword? It invoked only a chill in the spine. "I figured if no one was using it..."

A shrug rolled over his shoulders. Alistair would know that Weiroon had not been a Martial House, not for centuries anyway. They were bankers, and an heirloom such as this did not make much sense.

Especially since it had elven writing upon it. Writing that most definitely were magic. That with enough study, Alistair could most certainly decipher.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Hmm, it was certainly old given House Wieroon history. The blood-red blade was unsettling. Combine that with the given name and Alistair could definitely guess what type of history this blade held.

"It certainly is beautiful."

Alistair went to reach out for it for a moment, but stopped himself recognizing that it would be rude in this situation. Still, the elven runes were tantalizing to the dreadlord initiate. It was like one of the difficult runic problems that the Academy would give him, expecting him to solve it, and he always did. This was just another challenge.

"Lucky that you found such a blade hidden in your house. It would go for a decent amount of money given it's quality. I wouldn't suggest that...When we have the free time, let me look at it and maybe I can figure out how all the runes work together."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"Luckily I'm not exactly hard up for gold." Ollie jested with a grin, letting the blade slide back into it's scabbard. He set the blade down, and then tilted his head slightly as Alistair mentioned the runes 'working'.

He had never thought that they were anything more than...decoration.

Unlike Alistair Olvir had never been instructed in any semblance of magic. He knew as much about Rune Magic as he did baking a loaf of bread. Which was to say nothing at all. "What do you mean?"

Ollie asked curiously.

"It's magi-" Before he could finish his sentence a bright spark of light erupted from the roof-top opposite them. His head turned almost immediately, and there he saw a massive ball of fire arching towards their room.

A curse echoed out from the young Nobles lips, and in desperation he jumped over the back of the couch.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair still had his eyes on the sword until it was put away. He looked up to Olvir with a smile. "The runes on your sword certainly don't look like any imitation. Definitely once active runes. That likely means some part of the formula has been rendered inert, leaving the while sword void of power. If I just fix that then it should go back to working as good as new."

Alistair spoke with the confidence of a trained craftsman. "I suppose I could even-."

He watched Olvir duck and instantly the eyes around the room glowed to life, and he saw the attack. Shit, he had been too careless inside the posh living quarters. He wouldn't have time to utter a normal defensive spell.

Alistair held out his hands as the runic lines on his arm began to glow with light blue energy. One of the runic eyes he had placed along the wall suddenly grew in size and floated into the air becoming more substantial. It acted as some sort of shield against the ball of fire.

The large explosion that followed broke the eye and pushed Alistair back behind the chair, but Olvir should be ok. However, his eyes would take some time to heal.

His left eye was squeezed tightly closed as it seemed to be bleeding from the socket. Such was the price that must be paid when activating some a hasty, crude, yet powerful defensive spell.

"Olvir, are you ok?" Alistair asked with a pained grunt.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"I'm alright!" Olvir called out from behind the couch, raising up his head.

Fingers clutched the sheath of his sword in a death grip, his eyes swiveling left from right as he noted the half destroyed hotel room. Shock still colored his entire form, and he couldn't help the slight panic that entered his tone.

"What in the fuck was that?" He asked, as though Alistair would somehow know. "I didn't se-"

Once again Ollie found his words interrupted.

There was a sudden flicker, and then a metal spike buried itself in the ground just a few feet above him in the wall. A cable lanced out from it, and through the darkness of the night he could see silhouettes flickering forward.

Half a dozen figures wrapped in shadow pulled away from the line. Steel ringing as swords were drawn. "Shit!"

Ollie, the Butcher's Blade flickering into his hand as the figures split into groups of two. Four of them rushing towards Alistair, the other two heading directly towards Olvir.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair could still thankfully see out of the runic eyes that had not been damaged in the explosion. Unfortunately, one of the eyes he could not see out of was his left. A handicap to begin the fight.

He sensed the attackers enter the room rather than actually see them, but he stepped out from behind his cover with absolute calm as he drew his sword and dueling dagger.

At the moment, he had three eyes on him and his enemies and then one on Olvir, that was the best he could do.

"Gentlemen, you have caught me with only one eye...Seems like a little unfair doesn't it...Want me to fight with one arm behind my back?"

Alistair questioned with a cheeky grin, but the entire time he talked, he tried to slightly move towards Olvir.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Ollie didn’t have time for banter.

The two men who rushed towards him didn’t give him the opening. Steel quickly slipped from his opponents robes, dragging free of sheaths and cutting towards the noble. The crimson red of Olvir’s ancestral sword flickered up.

Sparks flew almost immediately, casting against the ground as he began the flow of battle.

He moved with a surprising swiftness. Feet darting back and forth, sword quickly weaving to bat away cut after cut his opponents leveled towards him. He fought his way backwards, defending over and over.

The two men pressed, and then Ollie kicked out his leg.

A sharp cry echoed from one of the men’s throat’s as pain lanced through his knee, Ollie’s bright crimson sword suddenly darting forward. Pain turned to silence as The Butcher’s Blade cut over the man’s throat, droplets of blood scattering to the floor.

The blood upon Ollie’s sword seemed to linger for just a moment, and then was dragged almost unnoticeably into the blade itself.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair would admit that they weren't amateurs, but they weren't dreadlord either. At the end, speed was speed and these guys were slow, at least compared to Al. His speed rune glowed on his boots and the next strikes looked like they were in slow motion.

A quick slashing counter from Alistair resulted in one of the attackers ending up with a large hole in his leg. This fight would have been over in seconds had it not been for Alistair's eye. Thankfully his constant movement meant that he avoided an attack that he did not see coming.

If this was just a sword fight, then the fight might have taken longer, but he was a dreadlord. Alistair had a knack for shooting out magical bolts at the exact time that his opponents weren't expecting them. The first bolt would not knock anyone out, but they would weaken and knock off balance. That was essentially a death sentence against Alistair.

Alistair found himself behind one of the attackers and stabbed his dagger through the throat. He had already managed to kill one attacker, and cripple another.

"Now is your chance to run."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"Why run!" It never even occurred to Ollie that Alistair might have been talking to the assassins.

He had spent most of his life being babied and thrown out of whatever danger was nearby that it was pretty much the norm. He understood why of course, he was a Weiroon, had been one of the most important people in Vel Anir.

But he wasn't a slouch. "I'm winning!"

The Butchers Blade rang, and then he darted forward against the overeagerness of a child. His blade swept high, then low. Sparks flickered out as his assailant desperately tried to defend himself, his own sword suddenly bucking downward.

Then from out of nowhere a second blade appeared in the man's other hand, slicing across Ollie's outer thigh.

A strangled cry slipped from the Noble's lips. A cast of pain biting from his throat. Sword coming up, quickly slicing through the attacker's wrist and chopping off his hand.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair started laughing at Olvir's comment as he looked at his two remaining attackers. "Wow, you two aren't very intimidating. Even your target is feeling pretty confident."

The laugh must have been too much for one of the assassins as he dove in to slash at Alistair, but he had seen it coming a mile away. Alistair held the sword outright at the spot where the attacker was coming. It was a perfect counter, the man essentially skewering himself.

The smile on his face quickly dropped when he heard the cry. Never looked that way, but held out his dagger. Through the dagger, Magic traveled down his arm and across the room towards the recently crippled man. He had used more energy than necessary, but he was more than a little irritated for letting his charge get injured.

The bolt that slammed into the target sent him flying across the room and slamming into a wall.

Alistair then turned his eyes onto his remaining dagger, but this time with a glare. "Alright, you managed to finally make me mad."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

The man in front of Ollie went flying.

Wood and plaster cracked as his form went into the wall, the sound of breaking bone following it shortly after. "Holy shit."

Ollie said, one had clutching the gash on his leg and eyes flickered over towards Alistair in wonder. He'd known the other boy was a Dreadlord, or close enough to it...but for some reason he hadn't expected anything at all like that.

Fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, and a thought flickered through his mind. No wonder they won the revolution.

A frown touched his lips, and then quickly he hobbled over towards Alistair.

Both the assailant's were entirely transfixed by the Initiate in front of him, and before either could notice Ollie the nobling slipped in behind them. The Butcher's Blade flickered forward, and in one quick swipe cut through one of Alistair's two remaining assailants.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair locked eyes with one of the attackers, and he could see it. It was a look that he had learned about from years of fighting at the Academy. It was the look of someone who knew they had a loss. They were too afraid to move through because they knew the minute that they did, then the fight would be over.

Olvir intervention stole one fighter's life and the other's attention. That was all Alistair would need. He flicked his wrist, and instead of sending out magic, he sent his dagger tumbling end over end until it embedded itself into the throat of the final combatant.

The wide-eyed assassin grasped at his throat and took a step towards the door like now he wanted to run away, but he only managed one step before he dropped to the ground dead.

There was a moment of stillness as the battle ended and Alistair let loose a sigh, but his eyes were still hard. He looked over the room before moving over to retrieve the dagger.

"Apologies for my relaxed behavior...Let's get you patched up and then we will find another room." He said it firmly, in a way that indicated there wasn't much room for arguing. This was necessary for Olvir's protection.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"'Tis Fine." The young Noble said, clearly only half paying attention as he surveyed the chaos that surrounded them.

The suite had been all but destroyed. Walls, floors, and furniture scorched by the fireball. Blood had seeped into the carpets, and the bodies on the ground more than stained what lay beneath them. A small 'tsk' echoed from his lips.

His head turned as Alistair spoke again, his head nodding.

Olvir didn't offer any argument. Though as he sheathed his sword the echo of steps began to rang out.

Through the door burst a dozen Hotel Staff members. Some of them wore uniformed armor, others had swords drawn, and still others were simple concierge members. They rushed into the room with looks of utter shock, peering at the two Anirians.

"My Lord! Are you alright?! What happened?!"​

One of the men asked, his voice tinged with concern. "We were attacked by these men."

Ollie gestured the Butcher's Blade at one of the bodies.

"We...we uhh, will need a new room." He said, one hand still clutching the wound on his thigh.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair was taking Olvir's first comment worth a grain of rice. It was his mistake, and it would not be happening again. This was something that he would surely be punished for at the Academy.

When the guards and staff members ran into the room, Alistair said nothing but sheathed his sword. Although, he never put away his dagger, clutching it in his left hand.

He moved over to what remained of the bed and tore off one of the few strips of good cloth left that was not burnt or completely destroyed. He then moved over to kneel down next to Olvir, so that he could wrap up his leg. This would do until he got a free moment to actually do proper medical work.

"It seems they did not respect your security system..." Alistair said nonchalantly. Now that the adrenaline of the battle was over, his left eye was tightly closed as it was beginning to throb in pain from the earlier rune that protected them from the explosion.

"Are any of these people familiar to any of you?" He asked while pointing his knife at a decapitated head.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Ollie half waved to Alistair, not wanting him to make a fuss. "It's fine!"

The Noble insisted.

"I've had worse." Despite what most people might assume about him, it was actually true. Ollie had suffered more than a few rather horrific wounds in his time. Not the least of which had been dealt by his brothers and family. "I'll be fine."

He told Alistair as the other boy wrapped the bandage around his leg, a slight grunt echoing from his lips as the Initiates gestured to the assassin. "No."

His head shook.

"I don't know any of the-" Ollie cut himself off, frowning as he recognized not one of the men, but a symbol on his forehead. "That's the Morag Thul, a society of assassins."

He had read about them in books.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"Doesn't matter if you are fine. We need to make sure the wound avoids any infections." Things like infection were always more difficult to heal, even with magic.

Alistair's eyebrows raised at the name mentioned. A society of assassins? Either Olvir had really managed to piss off the wrong group, or some wealthy person in the city had hired them out. Either way, this made this entire much more annoying.

"If we could get a room facing the back of the building, and not towards the street."

He looked questioningly at Olvir to see if this Morag Thul reminded him of anything. A society like this meant that it would be hard to find one person to kill, and they would keep coming until they ran out of members...Hopefully, they had not been paid enough and just decided against the risk.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

A grunt of acknowledgment passed from his lips as his companion made the very reasonable argument.

His head tilted in a nod, and he began to shuffle out towards the hallway. Some of the servants immediately came running, clearly eager to make sure that their Noble payday wasn't going to collapse onto the floor anytime soon.

Olvir stumbled forward alongside Alistair, frowning still as he ran through a dozen different answers in his head. Finding the right one was all but impossible without all the information of course, but even still more than a few theories popped into his mind.

"Of course sir, of course! We'll double the guard too!"​

One of the concierge said as they went running.

"The Morag Thul are professionals." He grunted quietly.

Ollie had read books about them, though mostly just stories. "They originated in the Steppe. A society of assassins. No doctrine, no ideology, just killers."

Which means someone had paid them.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair silently stood next to Olvir, offering support as they moved. He did not want him to fall or stumble, but his eyes quickly turned to the concierge. Before he could run away, he yelled out in a commanding voice.

"No, do not double the guard. Pick only those guards that you have absolute trust in. Those are the only ones we want."

If this Morag Thul was as good as everyone else seemed to think, then slipping an assassin or two into the guards would be easy work for them. It would be best to limit the possible chances of mistakes.

"If they don't have any ideology then it might make things easier. I can think like a killer, but I can't think like a cultist." He knew that especially, he had already tried to do that.

"How are you feeling? Any lightheadedness?" Alistair questioned Olvir with a worried expression.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

The Servant half turned towards Alistair, then nodded. There was a slight lost look in his eye as though he wasn’t sure just to do as he was told, but he damn well wasn’t going to disobey the Dreadlord either.

”I’m fine.” Ollie said, a slight wooziness in his voice as they were lead into a new room.

With stumbling steps he sat himself down on a cushioned ottoman, frowning and still clutching at the wound on his thigh. The gash was deep enough it would need stitches, but no main artery had been cut. ”They were hired.”

Ollie remarked.

”No other reason to come after me.” It may have been a bit self-centered to assume they’d been after him, but it made more sense in his head. ”Probably one of the fucking banks.”

He said bitterly, though it was an utterly wild guess.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

As soon as they entered the room, Alistair moved Olvir onto the bed and put out his bag and supplies onto a nearby table.

"Ok, For now, keep that cloth pressed to it. I'll stitch it up when I finish this."

He took out a piece of chalk and began to go around the room drawing runes into the walls and the windows. He even place one directly in front of the door where someone would try to walk in. With each rune, he had to speak a spell and it looked like Alistair spent a little bit more energy.

The number of runes he put around the room might seem a bit overkill, but it wasn't unnecessary to Alistair. He would not leave anything to chance now that he was aware of the danger.

"Any one bank that you really pissed off? If so, they may show their hand again tomorrow during meetings."

He said this while he moved over to his back to reveal apothecary supplies with an assortment of poultices. It would only take a few minutes to make a simple healing salve. For all of his father's time spent teaching him to craft the perfect poisons, it was the few healing formulas he learned that had proved to be the most helpful.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir grunted as he watched Alistair. "Doubt it."

They were here to meet with three banks, and all three of them could have done this. The game of politics was as dangerous as a battlefield, that was what Sebastian Weiroon had always said. Until today Ollir hadn't actually believed it.

"It could be that they didn't even think the assassins would succeed." He remarked. "Could just have been a message that this was serious."

A frown touched his lips. "Or if the assassins had succeeded, it would have told my Sister that this business should not be handled by a child."

Either way, it didn't much matter. Olvir was most certainly taking this seriously now.

"Anyone we meet with won't give anything away." He said as Alistair began to tend to his wound. "I think while I take my meetings, you might have to go on a bit of a...fact finding mission."

Olvir suggested.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

"I can do that. It won't be too difficult."

This type of stuff would actually be called Alistair's specialties. He was one of the few top dreadlord initiates that many would consider their talent in information and intelligence and not power and combat.

"Still, I don't like the idea of leaving you alone while I go do that."

He would trust Olvir when it came to the political stuff. He was also from a noble house and could understand most of what was going on, but he was aware that the Weiroon house experience far more in-depth political machinations than he was usually privy to.

He held up a solution to the light and looked at it closely. He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw because he added a few more ingredients before deciding that it was done.

He moved over to Olvir, and brought with him the concoction, a needle, and some string.

"You ready?"

Olvir