Private Tales The Chains of Family

[Olvir]

"They won't try to kill me during the meetings, or even in between them." No, that would be too direct, and would give the Republic a reason to be angry.

A Weiroon dying would already be enough of a political incident, a Weiroon being murdered by a major bank during a meeting? That would outright start to crash reputations, not to mention invite an invading army into the city.

No one was that bold, or stupid. "I'll give you time to search. Hopefully you'll find something."

Someone had to pay the Morag their dime, otherwise they wouldn't have shown up.

He had never much liked Politics. The intricate lies and lines one had to follow. A part of him was glad he hadn't grown up fully wrapped in that world.

"I'm ready." Olvir grunted, glancing at the needle in Alistair's hands.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair nodded in understanding. He would still add some protections to Olvir's clothing. That would, at least, ease some of his own worries.

The stitch work for Olvir was not that complicated. Alistair went about the work with the practiced ease of someone who had spent hours performing this. Each initiate learned first aid training during their time at the Academy. It had come quite easy to Alistair thanks to his steady hands and his meticulous nature.

The mixture that Alistair had placed around the cut would lightly numb the area, meaning less pain for Olvir, but it mainly served to clean the area and ensure a healthy recovery.

It only took a few minutes to actually finish up the stitching. He then rewrapped the wound and he would leave it at that.

"Alright, that should be all you need, but I wouldn't try any big movements...Next thing we need to do. I need to see your clothing for tomorrow, and then I want to look at that sword of yours. I'll see what I can do for both."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir kept surprisingly quiet as Alistair stitched his wound shut. A grimace was worn openly on his face, but for a Noble peppered with riches and comfort for his entire life he stayed shockingly quiet. "My clothes?"

He asked with a slight raised eyebrow.

"They're in my luggage, one of the servants probably has it..." Leaving the room he hadn't exactly been paying attention to where his things had gone. Nothing but his sword anyway. "As for the blade."

Ollie gestured to where he had put down the sword. "Just don't break it, not sure we have another sword in the Weiroon Vault's."

It was a miracle he'd found this one in the first place. His family was not exactly known for it's...martial pursuits.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair smirked at the last comment as he finished up the last of the stitching. The stitching would hold up, but he would change out the bandages tomorrow morning.

He stuck his head out the door long enough to call for a servant to go retrieve Olvir's clothes. "I will take a look at them and add some defensive runes just in case...As for the sword."

He could not help but let a small smirk come to his face. "Don't worry I won't break it. I only make things better."

From what he had first seen when he inspected the sword, it had some runes that handled blood. He wasn't sure exactly how though, yet. It certainly made sense given the name of the weapon.

"Once I am done. It would take a whole squad to take you out alone."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

”Oh good. I was worried I’d actually have to practice to get better.” Ollie said in slight jest.

Though he was no Dreadlord, he had in fact held his own against the assassins. Upon reflection, a fact which Alistair might find interesting. He had moved like a proper swordsman, and although that in it of itself was not surprising, the fact that he had moved distinctly not like an Anirian swordsman was.

Ollie had clearly not been trained by anyone from Vel Anir. ”So what do you think it is?”

The noble asked Alistair as he began to inspect the blade.

As he looked closely at it, the Initiate would be able to tell the story of the Butcher’s Blade quite well. It’s name was an apt one, for the script upon it marked it as a weapon of drastic consequence.

Through the magic wrought within it’s red steel the Butcher’s Blade maintained an almost vampiric quality. It took the blood from those it cut, incorporated it, and fed it to it’s wielder. A siphon of life and vigor. An effect that Alistair would realize…Ollie had likely already used, the very reason the cut on his thigh had not led to a gushing artery.

Yet there was something else. Something buried within the blade. Something that with his own knowledge, Alistair could quite easily bring forth.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair had indeed recognized the foreign swordsmanship that Olvir practiced, and he planned on asking about it in the future. It was strange that he had not been trained in the Anirian style, but he supposed that the wealthy had access to far more unique teachers or sources on different styles.

His focus was solely on the sword at this moment. The traces of magic that the sword was still able to show off were more than impressive, but the hidden secrets brought a smirk to his face.

"It's something there. Something even better. It's already been helping you whether you noticed it or not, but it has so much more to offer."

Alistair took out his most expensive engraving supplies. A sword like this required the best. He could even already see some of the problems where the runes had been damaged or withered away. They would only need to be engraved again, or bolstered.

"I can do this."

With that simple statement made, Alistair went to work. A dark blue flame flaring to life at the tip of his engraving tool.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir sat quietly, watching as Alistair did his work.

The whole process was completely and utterly fascinating to him, like something out of a storybook. He had never once in his life seen anything like it, and that meant something considering he'd been surrounded by Dreadlords for a good chunk of his time.

He stayed quiet as Alistair did his work, finding a place on one of the plush couches as the Initiate began to gently carve away at some of the inscriptions.

Alistair himself would take short work of the blade in his hand. He would notice that the runes upon it were not something to activate, but rather, almost like the lock to a door. A line here, a quick mark there, and the key was slipped into place.

Ten, twenty minutes passed. Alistair's tools flaring brightly as they drew over the final etching within the hilt.

A heartbeat passed.

It was a brief, flickering second, and then in an instant a pulse seemed to run through the blade. Alistair would feel it as he held it. Would sense it almost as soon as that final line was carved into the hilt of the blade. A release of pressure, a sudden surge of magic.

In that same, thunderous second, that Alistair would hear a voice echo in his skull.

"RETURN ME!"​

The desire echoed almost painfully within the Initiate's mind, like a lash through the skull. A press upon both will and flesh, driving him to drop the ancient sword.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

The constant output of magical energy was tiring and had brought droplets of sweat to appear on his brow. Still, he pushed through because the rush that came from unlocking such power was like a shot of adrenaline running through him.

When the last lock finally fell, the ripple of energy that pulsed through him gave him a brief insight into the sword. He could sense some of the malice that came with it, but he already knew that with a name like 'Butcher'.

He did not expect the thunderous command that followed that caused him to wince slightly. A small part of him hesitated because he wasn't sure if he wanted to put something so forceful into Olvir's hands when it could possibly harm him.

However, that was Olvir's decision to make. Alistair carefully placed the sword down on the table directly in front of Olvir.

"It is done, but...be careful. The sword is a bit...intense."

He did not think it would be smart to describe Olvir's sword as an 'asshole'.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Ollie raised an eyebrow almost immediately.

A part of him still didn't entirely understand just what Alistair had done. To his eyes the Initiate had spent the last hour or so gently carving away at the hilt of his sword.

There had certainly been work, even he couldn't deny that. Yet to his eyes it had been little more than...tinkering. He was entirely dubious that anything at all had changed, particularly because the sword looked completely the same. "What..."

He frowned, slowly pulling himself up.

"What do you mean?" The Noble asked, taking a slow step towards the Butchers Blade. The frown on his face completely evident. "You mean...the uhh...magic?"

Ollie asked, more than a little concerned as he reached his hand out towards the blade.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Yeah, it was definitely the magic, because swords didn't just talk to people. He still stood close by in case something went wrong then he could act upon it.

The voice had been dark and violent. With the moniker that the sword held, the sentience of such a sword definitely was a bad omen.

"There are some weapons that have been magically tied to souls, spirits, or even gain their own sentients through grand deeds...This sword is definitely one of those, so watch out. Don't let the magic run away from you."

He could only stand by and watch as Olvir reached for the blade.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir listened to Alistair as he spoke, the words reverberating in his head, resonating, and yet drowned out as his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

It wasn't any word that silenced Alistair. Not a single call of sentence that drowned him out. It was a sensation. A jarring touch that reverberated through the young Weiroon. His eyes popped open, his lips thinned, and every muscle in his body seemed to tense.

A sharp breath pulled into his lungs.

It felt as though a weight crashed down onto his shoulders. His entire body seizing up the moment that he touched the blade. The whole of him seeming to shake and shudder all at once, a trickle of blood drawing down from his nose.

Only then did he hear the voice.

"Ahhh...There you are...There you are again."​

The sound within his skull seemed to jerk Ollie back into reality. Fingers still clutching the blade almost involuntarily as he tried to pull away. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He swore in confusion.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Bloody nose...not good. This is where Alistair would have to draw the line for a bit. Someone like Olvir who did not have much experience in magic might not have a body ready to handle such a sudden connection to it.

Alistair drew closer with his hand out but was still watching the sword. "Alright, that's enough for the night. Why don't we just put that down and we can try again later."

Alistair moved quickly to grab for Olvir's wrist and the hilt of the sword. Not out of fear of Olvir, but he had read that some swords could possess or control their wielders for short amounts of time.

"Let go, big guy."

This might have seemed weird directed at Olvir who was an average size, but Alistair had actually directed the last comment at the sword.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir's fingers only tightened as Alistair grabbed his wrist.

The Noble felt a spike of something roll through him. Anger, annoyance, something along those lines. Yet the emotions were not his own, no, they were...they were...eyes flickered down to the sword.

"Tell him to let go." That voice echoed out again, ringing within his skull. "Tell him to let go."​

It hissed quietly, and Olvir frowned, glancing up at Alistair. "It's alright...I'm alright."

There was a slight shake in his voice, but he was confident he actually was fine. The pain had subsided, the noise in his head was gone, and strangely enough he felt...good. Really fucking good.

His other hand came up, gently nudging Alistair's palm away from his wrist. Once he was free he felt his own fingers ease around the hilt of the sword, and that sense of annoying flowing away. The Noble frowned, and he looked up at the Initiate.

"I...ahhh. The sword is talking to me?" He tentatively asked Alistair.

"Don't sound so worried, boy. I am the best thing that's ever happened to you." ​

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair tentatively took a step back, but he had a rune prepared at a moment's notice. He might say he felt alright, but that could all just be the sword trying to lure Olvir in.

"Yeah, not the nicest individual...You shouldn't converse with him to long, even the sword should know not to burn you out...Still, if you plan on keeping it then I suggest you have some sort of conversation with it."

Sentient swords had always been worrying to Alistair. The type of personalities that got sucked up into those types of things was usually on the extreme ends of crazy.

"I...I'm going to put some more runes up while you talk, but if I see any more bleeding from you then I am calling it off."

With that said, Alistair went about putting up a few more runes around the rune. These however were meant to protect the inside and not the outside like his earlier works.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

"Talk...with my...sword?" Did Alistair have any idea how fucking ridiculous that idea sounded?

The very thought was...was like something out of a storybook.

Slowly Olvir looked down at the blade in his hand, at the sword which sprawled out before him. Lips thinned, and as the Initiate began his task of adding more runes he would hear the noble say. "Hi...hello...sword."

He coughed.

"What is your name?" Ollie asked slowly, the only answer coming forth being a loud groan echoing in his skull.

Despite the rather awkward introduction, by the time dawn came things had changed. Olvir did not sleep a lick. The whole night he looked at the Blade, tried to speak to it. Sometimes an answer found it's way into his mind, other times the thing seemed wholly silent.

Yet when the sun rose, duty called, and the creditors waited.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair had eventually fallen asleep, after making so many runes that he probably had turned that room into the most secure location in the entire city. Olvir could have moved his finger wrong and alarms would have gone off.

That still did not satisfy Alistair, when he woke up to see the state of Olvir, his frown worsened.

"You should have gotten some sleep. Are you going to be able to handle the creditors today?"

If what Olvir had said was correct, then there would be no fighting today for Olvir, but that did not mean he could afford to be unfocused during today's meetings. Then, there was always a chance that this sword urged him to kill them all.

He put on his clothes, settling for something less noticeable since he would be information gathering that day. He then went about checking on the runes while Olvir got ready.

"I'll see if we can get you some breakfast before we leave."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir was wired.

Awoken with new knowledge and slivers of a past that he had no idea about it. "I'll be alright."

The noble assured his companion, standing up and drawing a more fanciful coat over his shoulders. The Butcher's blade rested upon his hip, settled into it's sheath as though the night before had held not a single revelation.

"I'll do some schmoozing." He contended. "You find out who tried to murder me."

His head tilted, turning towards Alistair. "Then we decide what to do about them."

If anything at all, but that could come after breakfast.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair only nodded in understanding while looking over Olvir. "Understood, the runes I placed on your clothes will protect, but will also alert me if something goes wrong...just in case."

He wrapped up his own sword, while also adding on a stick to give the appearance that he was just holding a staff. His dagger would then be placed in a forearm sheath.

"I'll do some digging...If I have to capitalize on something then I will act, but I would prefer we can go at this together. Two are better than one when facing an army of assassins." Well, sometimes.

He exited the room first, checking the hallway while guiding Olvir out of the building.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Olvir nodded along in agreement with Alistair's words.

There was a reason that the Initiate was with him, and Ollie wasn't fool enough to reject any advice that he had to offer. "I'll try not to poke any bears."

He said as they stepped out onto the streets. The city around them had come to life once more, and apparently the attack last night was the talk of the whole tone. As they walked by Ollie heard more than a few whispers, most embellished.

"I heard they fought thirty men."

"There was an explosion, 'parently they were the only survivors."

"Heard it was the Tong."​

By the time Ollie and Alistair reached their destination they had heard all sorts of tales, most of them with just a single kernel of truth. "This happen often to Dreadlords?"

Ollie asked regarding the rumors.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair barely even noticed most of the whispers. His ears would perk up every time he heard mention of an assassin group, but it was never anything truly helpful. Eventually, he just blocked most of it how. Choosing to go over the plan he had for the day, inside his head.

When they finally arrived at the destination, he snapped out of it sensing this would be where he left Olvir. He was already about to turn and leave when he stopped at the question and turned back with a smile.

"Not as much as you would think. Usually, I don't leave anyone alive to even know there was a fight."

Alistair may have said it in a light-hearted manner, but there was no hint of humor or any sign that what he said was meant to be a joke. No, when they sent dreadlords, then that usually meant maximum casualties.

"Good luck today...I'll be back in no time."

With that said, Alistair threw up his hood and began to back into the crowd to try and get lost in the business of the city.

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

Ollie chuckled. "You'd find that will create more rumors in Politics."

He remarked.

The young Weiroon was sure that his father wished he could have done something similar. Assassinations and murder were all well and good, but when your targets were...well, royals and members of Great Houses things were different.

Not only did they survive more than most attempts, but they also tended to retaliate. Not just by sending assassins of their own, but by spreading word, rumors. Most which one did not want on the street.

"Good luck to you." Ollie said, waving a hand.

A long breath flowed into his lungs, and then he stepped towards the entrance of the bank. A hand resting on the hilt of his sword as though it offered him some small amount of comfort.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

The next time Olvir walked outside again. Alistair would be waiting once again, almost like he had never left. Except for the hood of his cloak was back down to reveal his face. Some of his clothes looked a bit dirtier and torn than when he had last seen Olvir, but his expression gave nothing away.

The start of his information gathering had gone rather well. It only took a little walking around and some well-greased palms to find the people he wanted to talk to, the ones that could really tell him where the assassins were.

That was where the problems had begun, most of them tried to run with the caught whiff of Alistair. When he did catch them they decided they wouldn't talk. He just needed to show them that they should be way more afraid of him than Morag Thul.

That had resulted in several chases, one dead "merchant" and a man who never going to regain the use of his right hand ever again. Not even magic would fix that, Alistair had made sure of that.

"How did the meeting go, Olvir?"

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

As Alistair came trotting up he would see Olvir with a look of concern on his face. Not as though he were in danger, or as though something particularly threatening had happened, but as though he were trying to puzzle through something he could not help but find troubling.

"Well enough." He said in truth.

Things had not gone the way he had thought, but the boon for Weiroon was more than the bane. His father would most certainly be pleased, but it didn't make any sense to Ollie. Not really.

"The largest creditor has decided to forego repayment of our loan in favor of some trade concessions." Easements on land and tarrifs which Weiroon oversaw in distant lands. "It is exceedingly good news, but…"

He frowned. "I did not expect them to take the deal, I thought the other two would and yet they stood obstinate."

Olvir shook his head.

"I believe perhaps after last night the largest Bank wanted to extricate itself from any insinuation they had been part of my assassination." Which in truth, he believed. "They fear reprisal, which means it had to be one of the other two creditors."

A hand threaded through Ollie's hair. "But killing me is…bold, for such small entities."

Very bold.

 

[Alistair Krixus]

Alistair nodded along with the assessment before revealing some of his information. "Well, hopefully, we can get out hands on one of these assassins and make him sing. The last man I spoke to said that their headquarters in the city was part of a block of abandoned buildings that once were part of the trading district. The abandoned houses are still in good condition, but city officials turn a blind eye to their squatters."

He had already done some scouting of the area to confirm that at least some people were in there. They were too well dressed to be homeless, and he had even caught sight of what looked like a symbol he had seen at the attack.

"We can go in there full force, or sneak in and grab one and then get out. We don't necessarily need the assassins, but their patron for this operation."

Neither would be simple, but Alistair was confident that they could handle this if they did not do anything stupid.

"Once we have the name then...I'll let you decide the next course of action."

Olvir

 

[Olvir]

It was a...direct method, but then again perhaps that was exactly what they needed right now. "Alright."

Ollie said with a nod of his head.

"But...we need to be careful." For a brief moment he paused, then looked over towards Alistair. "Al..."

He frowned. "How much do you know...how much do you know about the Game of Houses?"

Ollie knew that his new friend was a Noble, knew that he came from the house of Krixus, but he had also spent most of his life at the Academy. He had been taught to be a soldier, a warrior. Someone built for the battlefield. How well had he been taught what happened off it?

Back home. The politics of it all. Even now they reigned, although no one really wanted to admit it.