Fate - First Reply Final Exam (Dreadlords)

[Henk]

The last time Henk had scrapped in this field, he'd been a child.

Many times in fact, he'd bled, sweat and cried on the earth beneath his feet, a place of pain and punishment underneath the sweltering sun. From the outside looking in, it was a sparring field. To anybody who had been an Initiate of the Dreadlord Academy before the Revolution, it was a pit of agony and despair. That he found himself grappling a younger Initiate to the ground now was due only to a series of sad, shocking, and sordid events that had twisted the fate of him and all his comrades.

Nevertheless, he was here, a hand pressed into the greasy, knotted hair of a younger boy as he ground the teenager's nose into the dirt, his leg twisted around the Light Mage's ankle from the takedown he'd been subject to. He felt bad for the Initiate beneath him, but he'd never been a match for Henk. That he faced this battle was only by the whims of the Academy; The once-exile had been accepted back into the fold at Noel Schwarz's insistence, but he was not yet a graduate. Instead, he had been sent back to his place of learning for a series of 'final tests', to deem him worthy of the title he sought.

So far, it had been a joke. Henk's skill had long surpassed any actively learning Initiate. The strength he'd gained since his first 'Graduation' had been swift and intense. It was as though a new well of power had unlocked inside of him, the depths of which he was only beginning to tap into.

"That's enough, break."

The man watching over Henk's work barked for him to separate from his unfortunate opponent, and he did so, releasing his grip on both the boys leg and head, before standing at attention, though not without an eye towards the one shouting the orders. Certainly, he wasn't going to provide even more of this fodder? It was beginning to feel like an insult, being so underestimated.

But, he supposed, he'd never shown much interest in fighting with the ferocity he now showed the last time they saw him.

The man stepped onto the field, taking a cursory look down at Henk's defeated foe before turning his wrinkled gaze, framed with long web-like hair that ran over his shoulders. "If you're trying to impress me, it isn't working, boy." His dry lips all but spat the words out. It was clear that although he'd been cleared of treason, not all those who knew of his actions agreed with that decision. "You can beat the pissants of this new class, maybe, but I've seen your scores. You're a straggler, no Banick, Shwarz, or Pembroke, that's for damned certain."

Henk tried to hide the tightening of his face. This stranger had some, nerve in throwing around the names of his friends to insult him, especially when all of them had been put at great risk by a government he worked for.

The student on the ground groaned, and the man's expression shifted for a moment before brushing the concern off of his features as though it were formality.

"But since they're all busy doing -real- work to help the city, they don't have time to waste with you, aside from begging for your life, apparently." He sneered, in a not-so-subtle jab at Noel.

It was all Henk could do not to swing for the rotten bastard's jaw. He clenched his teeth and stood his ground. Of course, this is what his accoster seemed to expect. The old man leaned in, his breath smelling of smoke and wood.

"Which means we'll just have to think up another means of testing whether or not you're really who you say you are, St. Preux. Lucky for us, there's a fine selection of missions that fall through the cracks, when we don't have anybody expendable enough to lend for them."

---

If the man's words weren't sign enough that the title of Dreadlord would not be handed to him without a bloody fight, the sight of the mainland vanishing into the horizon behind him as the creaking sails overhead turned with the wind would cement that his life being spared did not equate to him being seen as a valued commodity.

A rebellion like no other was being brewed by a former Archon, backed by dozens of disillusioned Dreadlords and Initiates that wished nothing more than to tear apart his home and his loved ones. His very way of life was being threatened, hanging on by mere threads, fraying more and more with each passing day. Every drop of blood in his viens yearned to be with them, fighting alongside them, protecting them.

Instead, he was being sent to the Bayou Garramarisma.

"We've very good reason to believe there's an organized group plotting against us in the Bayou. Perhaps they've allied themselves with Gilram, perhaps not, but they're learning backwater magic from radicals in the muck and mire, and if allowed to grow stronger, they could prove extremely dangerous. Go there, eliminate any and all traces of this group. Success will mean your graduation."

That had been the extent of his briefing, but even as Henk leaned against the starboard side of the ship to look out onto the open waters, he felt a sense of dread. It was not the first time he'd embarked on a mission with so little to go on, but last time he'd had Ralene with him. This time, they hadn't even seen fit to tell him who his partner was, and it was suggested he was given a companion less to help him and more to monitor him for any signs of disloyalty.

Whoever it was, they hadn't come above deck yet. Henk wasn't about to go look for them. It was a relatively short trip to the Bayou, and the salty scent in the air calmed his troubled mind.

The idea of a group of rouge mages hiding in the foggy bayou certainly wasn't appealing, and the chance they were affiliated with the rebellion did give him some additional motive to act on the issue, however unlikely that scenario was. Henk could only hope he would be able to squash the issue quickly and return to the side of his friends. To Noel's side, as he'd promised her.

 

[Augustine Verglas]

“You’ll be heading to Bayou Garramarisma accompanying an initiate named Henk on his graduation exam”, the Archon had said, his body in a defense posture on the bare, sandy floor. They were both standing in a training room, where they had been sparring. The man had come to seek him out and challenged him to a friendly sparring session. Augustine had hardly been more skilled than the Archon, but he was skilled enough to hold his own, at least with no magic involved and he was proud of himself.

The job was simple enough, handle a group of mages plotting against Vel Anir in the Bayou. As one of Vel Anir’s most powerful magic users, most mages who were not a part of the courts of the Dreadlords and the ranks of former Dreadlords were of no consequence to him. He had trained for most of his life to deal with elves and other magical threats, after all. Even the weakest Dreadlord was stronger than the average mage one might find on the street. He had reluctantly agreed, it was his job after all, and he hadn’t spent decades of his life training to back out of this life now.

The only thing Augustine had questioned was who he was being sent with, the former traitor, Henk. He had no idea why the initiate had simply been allowed to come back after deciding the exile life wasn’t for him. It was of little consequence, however. His concerns had been brushed off and he had been assured of the initiate’s loyalty. It was hardly as if Augustine was helpless, after all. His power wasn’t as brutally destructive as some of his companions, but it was extremely versatile and very capable on both offense and defense and could take on many enemies at once.

Augustine now found himself below in the hold of a ship, which smelled of pitch and mildew and the myriad of smells that accompanied a sailing ship, escorting an initiate he wasn’t sure he trusted on a mission where he was to serve as proctor for his final examination. It would be an interesting mission, possibly more so than he had had in a while. ”I suppose I better go up and introduce myself”, he thought, leaving the confines of the ship’s guest cabin. At least they had allowed them both to travel in the style befitting a Count’s son.

Stepping out into the warm salt air, his white armor announcing his ascent up the stairs that lead into the hold, he made his way over to the initiate. “Greetings, Initiate Henk, I am Augustine Verglas, and I suppose, for better or worse, I will be serving as your partner for this particular assignment.”

 

[Henk]

The mainland had faded from view, and now Henk looked only out into long, unending blue. It was not a particularly long journey to the Bayou, but it was the first Henk had taken since the disastrous assignment with Everleigh, Zael, and Tinker. That ship had burned to nothing and left them captured used for sport. While it wasn't the worst outcome, it wasn't one he wished to relive.

Hopefully, there were no fire scorpions aboard this vessel. He would have enough to worry about once he reached his destination, if his briefing was to be believed. Even so, his magic was suited for navigating the low-light fog of the swamp. So long as they'd sent him somebody halfway competent to work with, the 'initiate' didn't forsee too much difficulty.

“Greetings, Initiate Henk, I am Augustine Verglas, and I suppose, for better or worse, I will be serving as your partner for this particular assignment.”

Speak of the devil. Henk slowly turned to face Augustine, raising a brow as he gave the silver-haired fellow a once-over, the eye that was not glazed with blindness scanning over his form for a fraction of a second. He'd not met Verglas personally, but he'd heard talk of him. Supposedly, he was quite a powerful Dreadlord, a force to be reckoned with. From his initial look of the man, Henk could tell those claims were far from rumor.

He could also tell that Augustine didn't trust him. Something Henk didn't blame him for.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Verglas." The bearded figure nodded his head respectfully. "My name is Henk. Henk St. Preux. I assume you've been briefed the same as I?"

Henk said nothing about the situation. His exile, Augustine's assignment or it's true nature. They both knew why they were here, and it was for more than the suppression of some rouge mages. There was nothing to be done about that, and they both had work to do.

His broad shoulders turned back to the see, a strange serenity in his voice as he basked in the salty air. Did Verglas see him as the type to turn on his home, he wondered? When he emerged from below the deck and set eyes upon him, did his mind ring 'traitor'?

"The Bayou isn't my ideal vacation spot, but hopefully we can make short work of this and get home unharmed, no?"

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Fanatical loyalty without logic was never something anyone would use to refer to Augustine. He was logical, oftentimes to a fault. As he regarded Henk, he knew that both likely didn’t want to be here and that brought with it some common ground they could relate on. He had never personally met Henk and he had no idea why the man had chosen to briefly turn traitor, but he knew the academy had many dark secrets. In those few moments of comprehension, he decided he couldn’t really fault Henk for his decisions, especially without knowing his story. He remembered his own final exam, which had been a truly horrifying experience as it had been before the revolution. He was glad Henk would not have a similar experience.

He took his time with his words, choosing a careful response in what would be an important first impression. “I have indeed been briefed similarly as you. It is nice to make your acquaintance as well. I hope that we can work in harmony together, as I am sure this is not an ideal assignment for either of us.” Augustine knew that Henk likely knew what was really going on, and part of him hated putting up this façade, so he hoped they could resolve this situation quickly. The academy could’ve picked a much harsher Dreadlord to proctor this exam, so Augustine figured on some level, the upper echelons must have some trust in Henk.

Despite everything, it was refreshing that Henk was at least good natured. Some initiates were arrogant and under the ignorant impression that they were anything other than inexperienced children. Henk seemed to be wise well beyond his years. He had a demeanor telling of many battles fault and many experiences lived, some likely as terrible as Augustine.

Stepping up next to Henk and looking out over the water as well, Augustine replied in kind. “It is certainly not on any list of places I want to visit before I die. It’s also not the place I would first think of when I think of rogue mages, either, so whatever is going on here should at least be interesting.”

Henk

 

[Henk]

Henk offered merely a tilt of his head at Augustine's words. So, they had at the very least not leant him one too blinded by loyalty to be cordial. That was a small pittance, but one he appreciated nonetheless. The once-exile turned his face back to the sea, closing his eyes and allowing the salty air to wash over his face with a sigh of satisfaction. It was a foreign scent, but not one without comfort.

"You would be surprised what those in the Bayou's deepest reaches involve themselves in," Henk replied, paying thought to the books on the subject he and some of his classmates had once unsubtly lifted from the College in Elbion. "There's very little in the way of law and order in the muck. If you have an interdicted trade, there are far worse places to try and find a market." It wasn't the unauthorized teaching of magic in the Bayou that concerned Henk though, not so much as the lack of discipline and guidelines that made such studies safe.

"Do you see, Mister Verglas?" Henk turned to him now, leaning against the edge of the boat as his working eye lingered on Augustine's face. "That is the advantage the exiles hold over us. Despite all of Vel Anir's faults, and there are many, we adhere to a code. We restrict ourselves to prevent repeating the mistakes of our past. The exiles have no such circumscription." It was a double-edged sword, Henk figured. One he'd felt the brunt of himself, in some capacity.

After a moment's pause, with only the idle battery of the waves against the hull, he reached out, patting his new partner on the shoulder with a smile through his growing beard. "Idle musings from somebody who's had too much time to think lately. Do they have any food on this ship? We should eat before we disembark, and the trip won't be long."

Augustine Verglas

 

[Augustine Verglas]

He had read as much as he had time to on the bayou before they had departed. There were all sorts of practitioners of every form of magic one could want. Unregulated, untested, and most importantly unlawful. The world had to have law and order, as humans could not be trusted without it. Greed and hatred consumed those who were not under the rule of law. The bayou was no exception to that rule, and neither were the exiles.

Thinking on Henk’s words, he stared out at the blue-green waves as they lapped against the planked sides of the boat. ”That is true, they are not held to the rule of law, and they can act with impunity. Though I would argue many within our own court hold no such attraction to the rule of law and act similarly. We, as the Dreadlords of Vel Anir, collectively created the circumstances that allowed Gilram to defect and take all of those initiates with him.”

He turned towards the rear of the ship. ”Even though most are loathe to admit it, our complicit compliance all contributed to the circumstances of the demise of a unified order. We must go on, however, and accomplish our mission, if not for anything but our own penance.”He turned towards Henk and gave him a half-smile ”My father and myself have had many such conversations. As he is a Count, I was in contact with him throughout my training.”

Clapping his hands together at Henk’s suggestion, he began to walk towards the hold. ”I concur, there is a small dining area that offers an acceptable meal. It’s not exactly the morning meal at the Great Hall of the Academy, but it will do.” Augustine moved off, heading for the hold which would lead to the room aft of the crew quarters that served as a sort of dining hall for the ship. Picking a table, the cook served them both a simple meal of bread, jerky strips of dried meat, a few slices of some fruit, and wine.

Henk

 

[Henk]

"It's interesting, them choosing you for this mission."

Henk ate quietly for the most part, cutting his bread into small slices and laying the jerky strips atop them to eat together. He'd certainly not been expecting a feast, but as long as he'd been away he actually missed the Great Hall. It wasn't exactly posh dining, but it was far better than a sailor's meal. As he swallowed a mouthful of wine, he continued. "I expected a much more conservative Dreadlord. Not one who is so open about the flaws of our Republic."

It had been perhaps somewhat presumptuous on Henk's part. He'd grown up in a pre-revolution Vel Anir, before such opinions were commonplace and acceptable. It was not the only reason for his assumption, however... "I worried that they would begin to crack down on such open opinions after the botched Graduation ceremony. Certainly, they'll be more worried about dissent now. I've heard nothing but praise about you from our superiors, though." Henk takes an idle bite of his makeshift sandwich, nodding thoughtfully. "It's relieving."

By the time their plates were empty, they would be nearing their destination. Henk chose to continue the conversation with Verglas, glad for the company after months of exile, and then another month in confinement. He looked out of one of the port windows in the same room as the dining table, watching the rhythmic heartbeat of the sea as the waves grew whiter with proximity to shore.

"I imagine it's helpful, to have a figure like that to support you through your training." He spoke of the Count. Perhaps there should have been a hint of bitterness to his tone, but any sadness Henk had over not knowing anything of his family beyond a possible last name had mostly passed. Especially since there were much more important things to be worried about. "Many of our class suffer strained or nonexistent relationships with our families. It makes me wonder how things could have been different if we'd attempted to change sooner."

Turning away from the window, He offers a polite smile as calls above sounded landfall.

"Perhaps one day I can be there for children of my own."

Highly doubtful.

"I suppose it's time to go to work, no?"

Augustine Verglas

 

[Augustine Verglas]

Augustine finished his own meal, listening to Henk and occasionally interjecting his own thoughts. “Things are different now, the academy has to be more careful. Being a Dreadlord doesn’t guarantee immunity from everything like it used to. I was born privileged, my father’s connections permitted me to be shielded from some of the hardships of the academy for fear of irking his ire. I suppose you could say I was permitted to form such opinions.”

“I suppose I’ve walked a fine line in my time at the academy, just threading the gap between my superiors distrusting me and becoming a mindless drone of the state. It’s a privilege that comes with station, I suppose. It is regrettable that such a divide between myself and my less privileged peers exists.”

They finished with more pleasant conversation as time passed and before long, the crew called landfall. Augustine stood up and stretched. He made sure he went to his room and grabbed the possessions he had brought, packs with some basic gear in case they needed to camp out somewhere and identification that proved who he was.

Meeting back up at the debarking ramp, he took in what lay before them, a boggy port town. It was clear that its residents were of low economic status as it was dingy and dark, with older buildings that were clearly held together by decades of patching and repairs. Stepping over to the boarding ramp that had just been lowered onto the dock, Augustine turned to Henk. “Well then, where shall we start?”

Henk

 

[Henk]

Henk had traveled to his fair share of exotic lands in his time, but this was an environment that even he had little experience in. The dock they disembarked on was less a connection from land to sea and more a means of marking where the waters became too shallow to sail upon. Even the small settlement ahead of them consisted of little more than ramshackle structures built atop the foggy green waters of a massive swamp.

A pungent smell permeated the air, rising up in invisible tendrils from the murky surface of the bog beneath. Cringing silently, Henk pulled some loose cloth hanging from his neck up over his mouth and nose. It didn't do too much to shield his senses, but it was better than nothing. Footsteps against the wood behind him brought his gaze back to Augustine, and he nodded to the silver-haired Dreadlord.

"I have an idea or two." He spoke through the cloth of his makeshift mask. "But it's important that we don't make it obvious who we are. This 'group' catches wind that we've been sent after them, they're liable to go into hiding, and we don't have nearly enough intel about this place to know which holes to stick our heads into if that happens."
Henk turns, and begins walking down the rickety wooden walkway that weaved between the buildings suspended above the bog. Beneath the thick canopy of trees above, the dim lanterns that hung from most of the structures created a dim, moody atmosphere. He could only imagine how visibility would suffer at dusk, then.

"That being said, I believe our best option may be to bait them out. Given that we've little to go on, getting them to come to us will take far less effort, so long as we play our cards right."

Scouring the entirety of the Bayou Garramarisma wasn't feasible, and crossing the untamed and unmapped swamps to find the other settlements within would be treacherous enough in its own right. No, they needed to play smart, and not hard.

"Remind me, Augustine. What is your area of expertise?"

Augustine Verglas