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On 12/31/2021 at 3:25 PM, Channelknight Fadran said:

"I've got an... obscure form of magic."

“I may need a tad bit information than that.”

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Hey hey - I’m going to do a piece of writing set in Arcalla sometime in the near future - is it alright if I yoink the magic systems from this and put them in that?

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On 12/31/2021 at 9:50 AM, The Unknown Aon said:

Tip went to a large room in the hideout that was filled with telegrams. Tip had been trained in using them by Velen to maintain secrecy. Quickly, he wrote down his message and began transcribing.   This the Tip of the Knife with a message for the Darkened Fist. Stop.

The Darkened Fist is currently in a meeting. Stop. Is this an urgent message. Stop.

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I'll interject some more.

Tell him that [Velen's codename @Szeth_Pancakes] has found a mage. Stop.

Or so Tip assumed. Velen did seem to be a mage magnet.

Hello, Tip. Stop.

These messages could be monitored, Darkened Fist.

Darkened Fist. Stop. That man always did think too much of himself. Stop. It's what got him killed. Stop.

Who are you.

Far away, a man clothed in a flaming cloak chuckled.

An ally, or I could be, at least. 

What happened to Alex.

These people. Stop. They think they have power. Stop. They think they can leash those beneath them. Stop. They must fall. Stop.

Without them, there will be chaos. Stop. Would you rather there be chaos.

From ashes comes the Phoenix. Stop. And there lies your answer. Stop. You can call me, the Phoenix.

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Hmmm, it was asked of me to do an interlude for Khusa and I particularly don't want to cry over math or deal with English right now, so here.

Also, as I've been writing this, I've found Khusa's theme :pp

Khusa watched Velen walk out, then looked back at his papers. They were mostly what Haro got on Velen and they were an interesting read. He'd heard little whispers long ago about the Shadow taking on an apprentice a while back, but he never really believed them, for he had no reason to; however, if the Shadow's reputation proceeded them, then it was particularly surprising that they, of all the assassins, took one on. Sure, Velen had a hard past and Khusa could understand, but at the same time...

He clasped his hands together, before being interrupted by Haro walking in with a tray of biscuits and tea. Khusa looked up, coming out of his thoughts. He gave her a grin as she set the tray down.

"Thanks, my dear," he said, taking the teacup and sipping.

Haro stood around, watching him. "Why did you help them?"

Khusa paused, teacup just inches from his lips. "Whatever do you mean?" he said after a moment of silence.

"You usually never help new people, except to put them in their place and to know that you run everything here."

His grin faded. "Because they needed the help," he put simply, sipping his tea again.

"I think it's more than that."

"Well," Khusa said, his grin coming back. "If you really want to know, why don't you come over to my place and we can talk about it over dinner with entertainment to follow?"

"You can take your dinner and entertainment," Haro replied, leaning in close with a playful grin, "and shove it."

"Oh, you're no fun," he said, leaning towards Haro.

"Not when you talk like that, no."

"What? You have a problem with the way I talk?"

"No, not really. Your voice is actually nice, just not the words that come out of it."

"You like my voice?" His grin grew larger, his voice becoming smoother.

"I never said that, and you know it."

"But you did. You said you like my voice."

"I said it was nice. There's a difference."

"No, not really." Khusa continued to grin. "You know you love me."

Haro only smiled, holding his grin.

"Anyways," Khusa said after a moment, picking up a form with writing on it. "If you would send this in, it would be much appreciated."

Haro plucked it from his hand. "For your family?" she asked without looking at it.

"As always," he said with a sincere smile. "They're the ones that matter most."

Haro nodded, moving towards the door.

"Oh, and Haro?" Khusa called out, looking out his window at the city below, basically at his fingertips.

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure the front door is open."

"Expecting them already?"

Khusa looked back at her, grinning. "You know I am."

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“Sit tight here, my good friend,” Velen said, walking away from the couch, unrolling the rug, and opening the secret hatch. Velen’s training, combined with an Alchemical earpiece that amplified their hearing, had made them an expert at spotting liars, and there had been no odd twitches or quavers in the man’s voice as he’d told them his purpose. Everyone had a tic, even if it was too small to hear with the un-enhanced human ear. So Velen could be relatively sure that the man wasn’t a spy for the nobility, or a spy for a rival criminal organization.

They walked down into the darkness of their basement office, shutting and locking the hatch behind them. They walked through their office to the door behind their desk, unlocking it and swinging it open. Behind it lay a concrete room with six blood-spattered sets of manacles hanging from the wall. Beneath each of them, there was a reddish-brown bloodstain set in the concrete.

Only one of the sets of manacles was currently occupied; by a brown-haired, light-skinned man with rivulets of dried blood running down his bare chest from cuts Velen had made a few hours before. He was gagged with a black handkerchief, which was muffling the screeching emanating from his mouth, and tears ran down his face, dripping on the floor. An Alchemical blackspike - a device that caused a massive amount of pain to anyone who was unlucky enough to be subjected to it - was shoved in his leg. Velen had put it there three hours before, when they’d left for the Espara job. Hopefully the man had used that time to think over their questions, and come to a reasonable conclusion that was different from the bullcrap he’d been spouting before Velen had left.

They yanked the blackspike out, and the man’s screams immediately ceased. They tore out his gag, which was covered in spittle, tossing it on the ground. “Are you ready to talk? What do you know about the murder of House Ipara?”

The man let out a soft wail. “I don’t know anything!” It was a lie. When questioning the man earlier, Velen had noticed his voice slightly quavered at the end of each vowel whenever he lied.

“Persistent, are you?” Velen growled. “Tell me… which of your eyes do you like the most?”

The man wailed, thrashing. “Please, no… please!”

Velen held his left eye open with one of their hands, and reached for it with the other.

“Wait! Stop! I’ll… I’ll talk. Ah… Khusa Asou. They… they’d know something!” Velen sighed. The man was just telling them what they wanted to hear. But… he had a point - Khusa might know something about their parents. He was one of the most connected and important people in the Arcallan underground; he had to at least have heard about the incident.

Velen sighed, closing their fingers around the man’s eyeball (“Wait! Stop! I talked!”) and tearing it out, its blood-soaked root trailing behind it. They sighed, tossed the slimy thing onto the floor, shoved the blackspike back into the man’s leg, and shoved the gag back into his mouth.

They walked out of the dungeons and up the stairs, stopping at their office sink to wash the man’s blood off their hands and face. They unlocked the hatch, and strode towards the telegraph room, ignoring their guest. “Tip!” they called. “We’re leaving to meet my new ‘friend’.”

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Like I said - a bit of a sociopath. Also: this isn’t my best work, since I’m kind of tired today (stayed up too late reading The Lies of Locke Lamora :P)

Edited by Szeth_Pancakes
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2 hours ago, Szeth_Pancakes said:

Like I said - a bit of a sociopath. Also: this isn’t my best work, since I’m kind of tired today (stayed up too late reading The Lies of Locke Lamora :P)

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We all like to write a sociopath every once in a while. Can't blame you.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

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