Tales of Alidaire: The Struggle

A slight groan elicited from the slender sleeping form just to Silas' right as the small bit of cloak––which the figure had been using as a blanket––was torn away from him. "Oh Nastasia, please! Beauty sleep is important... five more minutes..." the man moaned, moving to grasp the cloak back from its owner. His fingers, however, collided not with the cloak, but the subtler curve of Silas' hip. The sleeping man paused, traced an outline of an indeterminate shape along the effeminate man's physique, took a quick loving grasp of his side, and then sat up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Oh dear," he yawned, stretching until one of his arms fell delicately poised around Silas' shoulder. "Pardon me, mademoiselle," he whispered lovingly, scooting his face ever so close to the poor smaller man's ear. "I seemed to have forgotten you were spending the night, but not to worry. I haven't forgotten the stars in your eyes." It was at that moment that he chose to part the cloak wrapped around Silas' shoulder, pressing his free hand in only to find that his palm failed to knead the soft breast he had been expecting to find. In fact, his palm lay flat against the slightly older man's chest. The flirtatious man paused, turned to get a better glance at his lady, and in half a second was on the other side of the room.

"Mother of mercy!" he yelped, his smooth, dark voice from earlier having jumped up at least three octaves. "You're not Felicia... or Nastasia! Oh goodness..." he proclaimed, thrusting his head into his palm. "The press cannot find out about this," he reasoned, talking to both Silas and himself, "Aaron Strider cannot be involved in such a scandal!" He then turned his eyes to the man with whom he believed he had shared a rather... intense experience with. "We didn't––I'm not––I just had too much to drink. Damn that bartender and his champagne. 'Tasting the stars,' he said, 'brings about the truest passions' he said!" As if realizing the implications of that last statement, the man, clearly Aaron Strider the semi-famous dancer, retracted his statement with a simple shake of the head. "Never mind that," he uttered, bringing his long fingers to his temples. He closed his eyes and rubbed small circles.

When he opened them again, he stared. Not at Silas, not at the other occupants of the room, but of the location itself. This was most definitely not his dressing room! How had he ended up here? He certainly hadn't been that drunk! He quite clearly remembered slipping back into his dressing room––that feather bed was much better than anything the inn could have offered him. So if he wasn't where he thought he was, and he wasn't with who he thought he had been with...

"Then it didn't happen," he whispered to himself, taking a moment to breathe before returning to the shorter man's side. "My deepest apologies, sir," he offered with a humbling bow. "I wasn't quite myself there for a moment... although I do say, how did we end up here? I don't have the foggiest..." he trailed off, looking around the room before eying the blonde lady sitting on the couch. "Excuse me, miss," he began as he crossed, sashaying as he went. "I don't suppose you know where we are?" 

 

Silas looked back at the man that was sleeping next to him, confused. "My name isn't Nasta-" He stopped, his speech very quickly turning into a squeak as the man's fingers trailed across his hips. Silas remained silent, a look of utter shock on his face, which was quickly turning red. He only turned brighter and brighter as the man put his arm over Silas's shoulders, then grasped his chest, expecting a woman. Silas squeaked again. He slowly turned to the self-proclaimed Aaron Strider, a look of absolute horror on his face. "We-we what?" Silas looked faint.

He watched Aaron for a moment, face bright red and eyes wide. Aaron then approached Silas again, bowing deeply and apologizing. "Uh...th-that's okay," he mumbled, blush subsiding slightly. He took several deep breaths and slowly got to his feet, still keeping his cloak wrapped around himself.


While Aaron went to speak to the woman on the couch, Silas crossed to the window, staring out at the dark, rainy cityscape. He was in the midst of wondering where he was when the woman spoke, answering his internal question. He turned to look at her with a slightly puzzled expression. "How did we get here?" he asked, on the extremely slim chance that she would somehow provide an explanation. "And what do you mean, you shouldn't be alive? Were you being assaulted?" He took several steps towards her, concerned that this woman and her companions were injured. "I'm sorry for all of the questions, but are you okay? What happened?"

It was at this point Silas realized she said she was the niece of the king of Dalmaschior. He immediately bowed deeply. "I-I'm sorry m'lady," he stuttered, still bowing. "My name is Silas DeLaney. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!" He remained stock-still for a moment, before returning to a normal, standing position. Beneath  the cloak, Silas fiddled with his fingers, suddenly nervous to be in the presence of a noble. He wasn't sure how he should act. Him, a lowly exiled mercenary commander! How did he come to be in front of a noble, and knocked out on the floor of an abandoned house. That only seems to raise more questions though, he thought, a slightly troubled look crossing his features momentarily. Why were they all here? It couldn't be coincidental, but why him? There were plenty of other well-qualified, non-exiled commanders out there. Why not the royal captain of the guard? This doesn't make any sense...

He sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temples. "This situation is just too confusing. I'm afraid I have too many questions that none of us can answer--but I'm sure you have the same questions yourself. I think the main question that needs to be addressed now, though, is what we should do."

 

That noise. How he hated that rambling noise. That noise was almost too much to bear. It always brought a grimace to his countenance. How he hated it. The voices of people. There were some moanings and mumblings followed by further drivel. None of them were voices he recognized. A very careful lift of a single eyelid allowed for his gaze to view muffled sillhouettes through his eyelashes while maintaining the appearance of unconsciousness. He lay on his stomach sprawled on an unknown floor. He had no recollection of recent events, which means he must have been ambushed somehow and taken captive.


Now he needed to discover who his captors were. Thane or Dester. If it were Dester he'd be in luck, he could easily slip into their ranks as a fellow brute just to abandon them later. He'd done it twice before, he could do it again. As for Thane, that would be tricky; they have an annoying trait for asking too many questions. He strained his recovering hearing and caught fragments. One speaker was obviously pompous and relatively formal. Thane. Great. Well, if anything, this pathetic whelp of what he assumed was a man that spoke so annoyingly would make a great bargaining chip for his freedom. Those mightier-than-thou Thanes would rue the day they picked a fight with Tyrel Collins.

Timing would be critical. The figure with the annoying voice was just within reach if he moved fast enough. He tried to concentrate on his body to gauge his energy level. Nothing seemed broken or in pain, so willpower should be enough to overcome the weariness. Time to move.

Like a well oiled machine, his body was in motion. Flat palms hit the floor as his legs pulled up into a pouncing position; instantaneous power surged as he sprang directly towards the irritating man. His arms clamped into a bear hug; but grasped only air. Tye cursed as he tumbled onto the floor. Well, that could have gone better. He got onto one knee and quickly surveyed his predicament. The others in the room looked worn and weak, which means they were likely other captives. "What a pain" he spat with distaste, watching the alleged convicts like a trained hawk.

[[sorry for the delay, my internet cut out until now]]

 

Having sensed a stirring behind him, Aaron rather elegantly grapevined his way out of the newly woken man's assault, coming to a halt with just the slightest bit of flair. "I don't know what you planned on doing, but I just bought this coat," he retorted, brushing the garment off although there was nothing to clean. The dancer then, just as quickly, returned his attention to the blonde, blinking twice as she introduced herself. Lady Alexandra Valentine!? Aaron immediately fell into a swooping bow. "Many pardons, milady," he apologized once more, holding his pose for a moment before raising once more. His right arm fell to a cocked position on his hip.

"Although I must say that I'm rather surprised you don't recognize your entertainment," he quipped, a small grin spreading on his face. "As I said a moment ago, my name is Aaron Strider, milady. My troupe and I were set to dance for your wedding, but it seems Fate had a different plan for us." He bounced on his feet reflexively at the thought, hands readjusting to a thinking pose as he balanced on one foot––his other leg crossed masterfully over his extended one. "Must be written in the stars," he mused, giving the noblewoman a slight wink before quickly tossing the thought away with a smooth gesture. "I suppose if we don't know why or how we're here then we'd best get to finding out."

His gaze then flew to Silas in a nanosecond. "I suppose that also answers your question."

 

The fox returned Helena's gaze, but seemed altogether unperturbed by the presence of the woman, nor her hasty climb to her feet. Perhaps he did not start easily, but the eyes of her would-be prey betrayed a look that was more akin to boredom, or a matter of triviality. Helena narrowed her eyes and lowered her hands to her sides, leaning back in an almost defeated sort of way. There really was nothing she could do to the misplaced fox without her bow. It pissed her off more than a little bit, but she resigned herself to the present for the moment. After all, it seemed that more interesting matters were coming their way...

She realized that Alexandra was in the room. The noblewoman had been the female figure who voiced thoughts aloud. Helena still did not know what she said at first, but now that she had been hopped up on the adrenaline that the thought of the hunt had brought her... well, Helena was much closer now to being awake and cognizant of her surroundings. Quickly, she brought herself up to speed as certain events unfolded before her eyes. A man with an air of arrogance and pomp that made her shiver - Strider, he introduced himself as - was speaking of a night of debauchery before. Business Helena decidedly did not give a shit about. A figure of an indefinite gender and an equally implacable voice hidden by a cloak introduced themself as Silas DeLaney. She wasn't altogether certain whether or not the two newcomers knew one another. It was up in the air at this point.

As Alexandra summarized their recent troubles and mentioned her by name, Helena could do nothing but look down sheepishly, suddenly very intrigued by the floor panelling. She raised her hands raised in a vaguely dismissive way. "Was nothin', highness. We did what any self-respectin' humans would do." It occurred to her that the spotlight was on her to introduce herself. "Ehm... Helena. Helena Galangar," she quickly spoke to at least get the formalities out of the way.

A dull light caught her eye, across the room, as the fox trotted down onto the floor, and transfigured itself into the human shape of... Stry. Well, shit. Knew there was a reason I wanted t' put an arrow through that fox's gullet, she thought to herself. It turned out that he had been spared as well as herself, Alexandra, and Kat. So why had Mai been the one to pay the ultimate price of staying dead...?

Momentarily, Helena had a memory spring forth from the haze of her brain - one of the moments before she, too, had been obliterated by the light that Lucian commanded. In this violent flashback, she recalled seeing the blood seeping through the clothing that Mai had kept in pristine condition almost religiously. The blue of the fabrics stained a telling crimson from a myriad of skin lacerations and violent burns. Mai had fought honourably... but Lucian spat on her anyway. No. Worse. He ripped her apart. Belittled her even in her death. Helena shuddered.

"The dead stay dead 'n' in the past, m'lady. Whether we like it that way 'r not." As she said this, her voice was hollow. It was humbling that she had been allowed to live, but she felt a burning shame for saying as much in the memory of Mai. She waited a few seconds, pensively, before turning back to Stry, "I won't pretend that I particularly liked Mai, but I at the very least respected her. Tha's more than I can say about you, foxboy. Why're you still with us?" She spoke in a way that was deathly calm, but still showed hints of hostility. He had stood his ground with them against Lucian, but Helena was more than just a little wary of his presence. "Y'know," she raised a finger to her chin, feigning thoughtfulness, "ain't there some sort of superstition that about foxes like you? They bring about misfortune?"

She had more to say to the bloody foxboy, but her attention was immediately seized by the scuffle of feet against the floor, as a third figure launched himself at the extravagant man, Aaron... missing entirely. The blunder made for the perfect moment for Helena to take advantage of and command the situation. As the man rose to his knees, Helena capitalized. She seized the man's long mane of lilac-coloured hair in her hands, and dug her knee firmly in between the man's shoulderblades. "What the hell do y'think yer doin', lad?" she hissed into his ear, pushing her knee assertively into his spine, "You'd better start talkin'. I could use a bloody explanation or twenty. Who are you, who sent you, and what is your relationship with Fancypants over there? Another lost lover?"

It amazed... no, even confounded her that Alexandra and Kat were able to simply exchange words when the situation called for control. She stopped following that conversation to regain that balance of control. Hopefully some of their questions could be answered by her new hostage.

 

Aaron's face contorted into a look of displeasure as the formerly silent woman threw a small tantrum in restraining the unknown man who had attempted assault. Short fuse, the dancer mused, resettling his focus on the noblewoman before him. Did he remember anything of his time in the Capitol? "Not particularly, milady," he responded with a frown, "although I do remember being told the routine was canceled. His frown deepened. No one just canceled an act like his! It was a once in a lifetime opportunity––even for royalty. "My manager, Nastasia, told me a small sum of gold was paid to apologize for our extended travel and that I was free to peruse the city, but..." he trailed off once more, eyes settling on the rain pouring down outside. He hadn't the foggiest what had happened. He shook his head slightly. He murmured, "I'm terribly sorry, your majesty."

 

The accursed woman was surprisingly quick. In his attempt to take control of his situation he seems to have only put himself in a more difficult one. Tyrel scowled at this turn of events. He scowled at the interrogator's prodding. He scowled at his hair for being a vulnerable target. But mostly he just scowled. Well, at least his assailant made a very helpful mistake in leaving his arms free. He'd have to use what little magic he knew, but his distaste for the phantasmal energy would have to be set aside for now.

Tyrel focused on the palm of his hand to such a degree that he could feel the tiniest hair standing on end. It was always an unpleasant feeling, channeling mana. Soon the force was flowing through his consciousness into the single point of his focus. A dim, greyish light illuminated the open hand. Strength beyond his natural capacity surged into his now closing fist as something formed therein. A single metalic loop. Then another connected to it. Another and another. In the brief expanse of a single instant a chain link was rapidly forged; creating itself around the arm and leg that held Tyrel.

"I don't answer to Thane trash." He spat on the floor to show his distaste. "You can tell those pompous imps that they can go to hell." With that, he gave a strong pull on the chain to throw his captor off of him.

 

Silas braced himself as the unknown man burst from the shadows, attempting to tackle Aaron. He took only a single step back, throwing back the folds of his cloak so he could bring his arms up into a fighting position. Having been the commander of a mercenary unit at one point, Silas was a surprisingly durable brawler. Not to mention that his true calling lie in bringing out the potential of his allies. Perhaps that's why losing his unit was so painful...but what exactly had happened? He remembered something dire, then losing a bunch of his subordinates. He remembered being cast out and wandering for a while, but there were far too many blanks in his memory. He stared blankly ahead, his eyes trained on the assailant, but not really looking at him. That's when he realized the athletic-looking woman, Helena, had the lilac-haired individual by the hair, with her knee in his spine. Silas let out a low whistle. He already had tremendous respect for this woman.

"Well, I'm sorry that one of your members didn't make it," he said timidly, keeping a careful eye on Helena. "And I may not understand your animosity with Mr. Stry, but..." he trailed off, pulling the folds of his cloak around his torso again, making himself look very small. "I think we're going to all need to work together to get out of here."

It seemed as if his words fell on deaf ears, though, as the lilac-haired man summoned chains and used them to throw Helena off. He was upset about a group? A group known as the Thanes? Silas had never heard of them before. "I'm fairly sure you have the wrong people," he said reproachfully. Alexandra echoed his words shortly after, sending a burst of violet energy through the air in the shape of a chain. "I've heard of fighting fire with fire, but chain with chain is a little ridiculous."

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, his facial expression one of irritation. "Alright, none of us are happy that we've all ended up mysteriously in this run-down shack during a downpour, in a city none of us have probably ever been to. But you all need to CALM DOWN!" His voice, while still feminine, now carried an authoritative tone to it. It seemed to ring louder, and it was almost as if there was some kind of undertone to it. Despite his short stature and frail appearance, there was now a borderline oppressive, commanding presence surrounding him. His head was held high and his expression was hardened. His gaze slowly traveled between all of the gathered members of the party. "Whether you want to be here or not, and whether or not you're happy, you're here, and you're going to be stuck here unless we all work together. So sit down, act nice, and behave. We're going to need to figure out a goddamn plan before we can do anything, so I suggest we get started on that."

Apparently, Silas was capable of turning every bit of his timid and docile nature into harshness and authority. But then again, he was an ex-commander.

 

Silas braced himself as the unknown man burst from the shadows, attempting to tackle Aaron. He took only a single step back, throwing back the folds of his cloak so he could bring his arms up into a fighting position. Having been the commander of a mercenary unit at one point, Silas was a surprisingly durable brawler. Not to mention that his true calling lie in bringing out the potential of his allies. Perhaps that's why losing his unit was so painful...but what exactly had happened? He remembered something dire, then losing a bunch of his subordinates. He remembered being cast out and wandering for a while, but there were far too many blanks in his memory. He stared blankly ahead, his eyes trained on the assailant, but not really looking at him. That's when he realized the athletic-looking woman, Helena, had the lilac-haired individual by the hair, with her knee in his spine. Silas let out a low whistle. He already had tremendous respect for this woman.

"Well, I'm sorry that one of your members didn't make it," he said timidly, keeping a careful eye on Helena. "And I may not understand your animosity with Mr. Stry, but..." he trailed off, pulling the folds of his cloak around his torso again, making himself look very small. "I think we're going to all need to work together to get out of here."

It seemed as if his words fell on deaf ears, though, as the lilac-haired man summoned chains and used them to throw Helena off. He was upset about a group? A group known as the Thanes? Silas had never heard of them before. "I'm fairly sure you have the wrong people," he said reproachfully. Alexandra echoed his words shortly after, sending a burst of violet energy through the air in the shape of a chain. "I've heard of fighting fire with fire, but chain with chain is a little ridiculous."

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, his facial expression one of irritation. "Alright, none of us are happy that we've all ended up mysteriously in this run-down shack during a downpour, in a city none of us have probably ever been to. But you all need to CALM DOWN!" His voice, while still feminine, now carried an authoritative tone to it. It seemed to ring louder, and it was almost as if there was some kind of undertone to it. Despite his short stature and frail appearance, there was now a borderline oppressive, commanding presence surrounding him. His head was held high and his expression was hardened. His gaze slowly traveled between all of the gathered members of the party. "Whether you want to be here or not, and whether or not you're happy, you're here, and you're going to be stuck here unless we all work together. So sit down, act nice, and behave. We're going to need to figure out a goddamn plan before we can do anything, so I suggest we get started on that."

Apparently, Silas was capable of turning every bit of his timid and docile nature into harshness and authority. But then again, he was an ex-commander.

 

Events were accelerating at a difficult speed to track. The voices. Too many people with too many voices. It was a challenge to concentrate as his head was pounding from his sudden activity immediately after waking from who knows what. At least he had the satisfaction of bearing down on his assailant, the nimble woman. Tye's victory was short lived though as something began to constrain his entire body. A purple energy that was... shaped like chains? How dare this wench mock me. Once again he allowed his heart and mind to channel the phantasmal energy; no one would bind the one that binds. He felt the twinge of uneasiness he always had when he channeled mana, but pushed it aside. The flow began to fill his body, only to come up short and dissipate altogether. 

Hot rage poured into Tyrel like boiling water into a mug. She was binding his magic. It would never be enough to contain him, he was the one that binds after all. Back home- when he had a home- people would call him the Pit; like a well-dug hole that trapped and broke the game, he was equally as cruel and effective. He readied himself for something he had not thought he would ever have to do again. His body tensed and his nerves tried to flee from his incoming, nigh-suicidal attempt at escape.

Then he stopped at the sound of someone shouting. It was like that of an angry mother to her unruly child; full of feminine authority. He turned to see the speaker and was a little surprised to see it came from a man. Well, at least he was pretty sure it was a man. Not even Thane look that ridiculous. Tye let the adrenaline slowly ebb from his body as the male/female robed thing spoke; who was right of course. The shadows of control and hatred that clouded Tye's mind were dissipating like the morning fog, allowing him to think clearly and truly asses the situation. He could see the others were just as lost in this room as he was. With a sigh that resembled a disgruntled bear, he relaxed. "Fine, whatever. Get these things off of me."

 

Aaron shivered slightly. He had not paid the rain any mind, but when Alexandra mentioned it, he could not deny the fact that something felt off about it. The girl who had introduced herself as Kat mentioned there being a lot of mana in the surrounding area. Although he did not find the statement trivial, his eyes did roll in his head. He forced himself to stifle a muttered remark. Magic, he thought to himself, closing his eyes and forcing a smile.

He had never been one for the practice––the craft never did sit well with him. True, he could manipulate mana just as well as any man, but he cared not for all the training powerful magicians put into their spells and glyphs and runes and whatnot. He could respect it. Being cordial came with his business––a performer would not get far if they were impossible to work with. Aaron just could not care for it any more than what was necessary.

The thought did suddenly occur, however, that whatever was causing this rain might potentially be involved with his abduction. His face contorted. One of his very fine eyebrows raised in curiosity. "That is strange, milady," he mused, glancing toward the ceiling where the offending precipitation fell upon them. "I wonder who would feel the need to expend mana for such a task. Being near the sea, I'm certain this town gets more than its fair share of natural storms..."