• Closed • [Foster's Landing] Threads of Hope

[Muse]

Cylus 30, 718 - Foster's Landing

The last trial of darkness hung heavy and thick in the frigid air around Fosters Bay, laden with salt and seemingly unwilling to finally surrender to the sun come tomorrow. Ships bobbed in the harbor with indifference, their cargo exchanged regardless of whether it was by torchlight or the welcome glow from the sky. The docks were particularly busy on this last trial of the season, so many merchants preparing for leaving at dawn to new destinations, so many restless pirates eager to get back out to sea and prey on those weaker than themselves.

The cold brought less people to the Circle and more to the hearths of taverns and the inner warmth their alcoholic selection of wares could provide. With the end of darkness in sight, this particular trial saw everywhere even more crowded than usual, the populace of Etzos eager for a change of season and passing the time by blurring it with idle pursuits such as drinking and entertainment.

The exchange of opinion flowed with the alcohol consumed, and those who settled into their tables and booths planned their new arc from the shadows, watching and waiting. Stenn Losten sat at one such table, comfortably settled closest to the fighting pits of the Inverted Noose, hawk-nosed face and short-cropped dark hair eagerly watching a pair of sturdy men crush each other's bones and spill each other's blood, fingers curled around a pint of mead. Across the table from him sat two other men, one in a hood and the other with sandy hair long and well-groomed. All three of them seemed far too well dressed for the mercenary bar, and yet here they were.

Waiting.

"A letter is hardly the type of summons anyone would really pay attention to around here." The sandy-haired man sneered, his hazel eyes fixed not on Stenn but on the fight, fist clenched tightly as if he'd placed some money on this one he wasn't too keen on losing.

"Oh, but you underestimate him, Nyor." Stenn chuckled, his eyes flitting from the fight to his friend and his stern gaze making the other man uncomfortable even when their eyes didn't meet.

"Fine. We will wait." The hooded man answered gruffly, his accent thick with Rakahi, "But only one break more."

"Acceptable." Stenn chuckled, confident, raising his mug to his lips and watching the crowd.

The boy with the letter should have reached Gangui the trial before, after all. He'd paid the child well enough, and he knew the Circle often rang with the other man's voice loud and clear. The question was whether or not he considered the summons worth his while.

Off Topic

Let's go, Gang!

On Cylus 29, 718, a young boy found Gangui in a crowd and delivered a short, handwritten note. The note simply read:

"Your people hear you, but do they feel you? I will be waiting with your answer in the Inverted Noose tomorrow at the fifth break after noon. -Ser Losten"

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

Folding up the worn slip of paper into his chainmail shirt, the commander took a deep breath and stepped forward. Even after ducking his head, the blue feathers of his broad brimmed hat brushed against the top of the door frame. A gauntleted hand rested on the pommel of his sword, ready for conflict.

Conventional mass wisdom said following the directions of the ominous note was pure folly. However, Gangui operated on a higher level than the common folk. A gut feeling told him to proceed anyways; it was the spirit of humanity working within him. Once the fear of personal safety was set aside, common sense dictated there was no loss at hearing these people out. Despite his budding courage as a faction leader, he still had fear. Not the fear of death, but fear of life; He feared he would die before he saw his vision through.

The brightly blazen turkey tabard and his stylized mustache caused only a brief glance from a few of the patrons in the Inverted Noose. All the focus was on the fight. Everyone was hooting and hollering and spending their hard earned blood money. It was as if Cylus was already forgotten in there.

Following his initial hunch, he allowed the spirit of humanity to drive him forward; relying only on his conscious and the desire to proceed honorably. This led him right to where he was supposed to be. Logically speaking, the two men sat apart from the common fortune soldier screaming drunkenly, but the spirit of humanity -- common sense -- drove Gangui directly into the midst of Nyor and Stenn.

Gangui nodded a silent greeting, grimacing under his mustache. He took a wide stance and rolled a piercing a gaze towards Stenn. He beared down with his icy blue eyes, attempting to display his mental fortitude and his status as commander. The eyes of lesser men would look away, easily deciding the dominant person in the relationship. Those who did not then would play the devilish dance of who was the leader.

[Muse]

Stenn Losten had shifted his gaze from Nyor’s face, meandering through the crowd before his dark eyes came to rest on the mustachioed man approaching their table. He didn't flinch at the attempted show of dominance, holding eye contact with Gangui with a disquieting calmness. He was the sea and the armored man stared upon its horizon for far longer than he should have, unwittingly laying bare the threads of his tangle for the seated man to sift through as if he was running fingers over a finely woven tapestry hanging on some castle wall.

"Sit."

Nyor grunted, having only briefly glanced at Gangui for long enough to take him in, study his weapons and his stance, note his armor's condition and then look away. Perhaps he unwittingly proved himself the lesser creature by looking away, but it was clear the Biqaj was uncomfortable here or at least that he was meant to be the one keeping watch. Looking back to the fight instead of at the mustachioed man, his boot kicked the last chair out in Gangui's direction, hissing in his heavily Rakahi-accented voice, "Sit or fuck off."

"Please, excuse my friend." Stenn laughed, shaking his head, "Have a drink with us, Ser. I see my messenger found you well enough. I've longed to hear you speak somewhere other than in the Circle."

The man waved a hand at the empty seat and regardless of his personal convictions, Gangui would find it a compelling enough invitation. Nyor shifted a little in his seat, revealing the hilt of a dagger tucked beneath the well-tailored wool coat he wore. Instead of a belt, however, the Biqaj wore a very colorful silk scarf, making it difficult to tell just how many pointy weapons he could have tucked away into the folds of his person. His calloused hands were curled around his mug of ale, but he was otherwise clean-shaven and hardly looked like the generally scruffy lot of mercenaries that filled the Inverted Noose, cheering on the fight happening behind himself and Stenn.

Stenn waited patiently for Gangui to sit, one hand straying to run well-manicured fingers over the tabletop, patient as always, never losing eye contact with the mustachioed man of his own accord. Once the armored man sat, he would raise a hand and get the attention of one of the many servers to meet all of his guest's needs,

"Tell me, Ser, do you know who I am—other than an admirer from afar, that is? Have you heard the name Losten before my boy found you in the street? If not, then, why did you come?"

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

Gangui all but ignored Nyor’s aggressive annoyance, catching the disgruntled gesture from his peripheral. It was the turkey commander’s intention to confront these people openly and honestly, so despite having paranoid mistrust of Stenn he acknowledged his strength silently. He sat. Still holding onto his resolve though, he did not let up his mental focus as he peered into the man’s soul. Emotionally, Gan was the calm within the eye of the storm of chaotic emotions. The tension was real.

“Why am I here?” Gangui reiterated. It was a simple, yet solid attempt to gain control of the conversation by making himself the one who asked the questions. Stenn probably could see the threads of pride and honor coming to the forefront of the disorganized knot that was Gangui’s soul.

“Common sense.” he said flatly as if the question didn’t even matter, “I would hear out your proposal with no fear of my life.”

“Have I heard of the Lostens?” He continued before Stenn could say anything, still trying to wrestle emotional dominance over the situation. Stenn was stronger than Gangui, a noble man indeed. Thus, it was necessary he ignore anything the sidekick Biqaj was putting forth. The turkey commanders intention still was to remain valiant and true to his conversation with Stenn.

“Nay! I have yet to hear the name. I supposed you will fill me in? And... what do you want?” The pause in his speech displayed faintly the thread of uncertainty in his knot, but his pride and strife for dominance drowned it out.

He did not break eye contact.

[Muse]

Cylus 30, 718

Stenn smirked, watching the weft and weave of Gangui's threads in his tangle, the colors of which didn't shift so much as solidify into a pattern clear for the Empath to see. Perhaps there were some that would assume the mustachio'd man simple, that would assume his focus and drive made him ignorant, but the older man who met his bright gaze full of conviction knew better, knew otherwise. Ser Losten laughed at the other man's honest answer.

The Biqaj, unlike most of his people in any other given situation, didn't laugh along. Instead, he stood as if dismissed, gave Gangui one lingering, wary glance, and walked to the bar like there was some invisible script and it was his queue to do so.

Stenn didn't even flinch or look after him, everything moving like the predictable stars in their courses in the darkness outside,

"The Lostens are an influential family here in Etzos and beyond. We have been for decades now, though our influence is not one to be seen in the public eye, not like you, Ser. No, my personal work amongst the Etzori people is far more subtile, you could say."

He grinned like a shark from over the rim of his drink, leaning forward when he set the mug down and trailing his fingers over the tabletop just for the sensation, though at the same time he strummed the threads of curiosity and interest that stood out brightly in Gangui's tangle, tugging on his need to know and making that desire stronger, fiercer, louder,

"I want to help you. Nothing more. Nothing less." Stenn said simply, letting his words hang in the sweaty, stale air between them. The smell of stale alcohol and too much blood spilt in the pits clung to everything in this place, but there was something about the way this man talked that almost could be called tangible, as if his words could be felt and not just heard,

"As I once helped your father, so now I have been tasked with offering you a new avenue of influence. Your words carry a sustenance that many here have been starving to hear. You feed them, and they rise up to follow you. Now, I'm here to offer you more than just a banner to wave, but the wind to wave it with. This sort of power isn't free, of course, so I must warn you the price is steep but has no value in coin that can compare."

The man paused, perhaps more for theatrical effect than actual necessity, and let his gaze stray from Gangui to the fighting, to the crowds, to Nyor. The Biqaj moved away from the bar and toward the door as if Stenn's glance had meant something. With that, he suddenly cut to the point, speaking without fear so directly about something that often brought fear to others:

"I'm here to offer you magic—Empathy, to be specific—a discipline that allows you to reach into the very writhing pit of emotions all mortals carry in themselves and pluck out what you want or cut away what you do not. The price, of course, is your soul, but not for me to consume. How much do you really long to bring change here, Gangui?"

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

Gangui shifted in his seat and let out a big sigh, his mustache fluttered. The Commander mused Ser Losten’s proposal for a long time.

An unbreaking stare into the knight’s eyes accompanied the unpacking of Gangui’s mind. The grim warrior had long lost the fear of honesty. Willingly he showed this to the man.

The fear of failure inter-tangled every thread in the commander’s knot. It made him think he was a little baby and this made him feel sad. But he ignored it and shoved it so deep into his knot. So deep that it disappeared entirely; Covered up with the stronger threads of Honesty and Bravery and Resourcefulness.

He had been fighting his whole life; exchanging blows with the best competitors the Etzori free market had to present. He survived an exchange with the tyrant Cuckoo. Rising from the prone position of his dick in the dirt, up into a position where he could actually swing his sword again. Freedom had won that day, untangling the knot of Confidence from the gnarly web that was Gangui’s inner turmoil of emotions.

He had been fighting his whole life; signing deals with the devil without compromising his honor. He endured Zipper’s world of bureaucracy over and over and over again. Begrudgingly— with much disdain and protest— he complied with the obsessively stringent nature of her requests. Jumping through the hoops of fire the bureaucracy laid out made him trip a few times, be he didn’t fall. The result was that he had gained moral authority in Foster’s Landing and built a castle. Discipline had seen through a major victory for the good men Etzos. The thread of Stability was wrenched from the knot, it’s tangle no longer a plague to the inner Turmoil that was the commander’s emotions.

Still he was scared.

A man who had tunneled in the mines of Sirothelle for years to have all his work stolen from him by a blasted Immortal. A man who had willed forth a company of zealot soldiers into being with sheer persistence. A man who had stood up against the most powerful mage in all of Idalos, despite not having more than a smidge of a chance at winning. Charging upon the fields of dirt and blood, exchanging blows of hate with enemies, fighting in the free market. On and on his exploits where.

But still he felt like a coward.

Perhaps this is what being grim really meant if you sort out all the details.

“I will go through hell and sacrifice everything I love to see my mission through,” Gangui’s mustache fluttered finally. He didn’t feel confident, but he knew magic was the key to his success.

[Maltruism]

Cylus 30, 718

A pageantry of Gangui's doubts paraded before Losten as his prospective initiate ran the gamut of recent fears and failings. The man buried some of the more profound sources deeply beneath a meringue of soldierly flavors. None of them were buried further than Losten could have dug out once again, had there been some need. But such need did not exist; they would surely come bobbing to the surface in time, if the initiation was agreed upon.

It was a curious backlash that Losten's mental encounter with such broad strokes of honor caused his own to flare to a degree sufficient to inspire the same. He could easily have swelled the sense of "hiding one's fears" within the soldier's self esteem, and brought him to bare them in bold-face. But every man was entitled to some privacy, and Losten felt his own respect rise in response, and deny the invasive approach he might otherwise have embraced.

A montage of encounters fed the emotions in tangle patterns Losten had long grown used to. Courage and confidence soaring after the reversal of dominance in a fight with...'who?...Cuckoo'...Losten felt a twinge of connected thought regarding an unmatched bounty on ...'Prince...Mercy...something' He set this aside for now. It would likely surface again. Next was a Black Guard sorceress ...'Zipper'?...a strange name...'Fionamaria'...no...that isn't right.'

Again, the unimportant details could wait. Beyond this was a series of obscured impressions indicating fear of those connected to this Zipper character. Faces of who she answered to; faces of those who were surely even stronger than she ...'Stronger than the she who had beaten him, Gangui, soundly into submission.'

Yet, as the shadowy chain of command rose to ever higher levels of Etzori authority, the unmistakable visage of Chief Adviser Karnos Vuda suddenly burst upon his mind. And even as Losten himself cringed in sudden trepidation, disrupting his light touch into Gangui's tangle, he perceived an oddly reverse impression emanating from the soldier regarding the Power-behind-the-throne. It seemed that the soldier truly revered the Chief Adviser as some embodiment of the values Etzos had originally stood for.

That was truly interesting...

The comment that followed sealed the deal, "I will go through hell and sacrifice everything I love to see my mission through." the soldier said, as if an oath of the highest order. Losten sat back, his own face now showing some uncertainty.

"Those were nearly the exact words your father spoke. We will see if they are truer for you than they were for him. If you mean what you have just said, you need to look into my eyes as unblinkingly as you are able, and maintain it for as long as you can. Try to unravel the truth from the lies in what I say. The nearer you get to an actual breakthrough in the ability, it will be easier."

As the soldier set himself to begin, Losten began, "Do you believe that sacrificing everything you love will include your mother?"

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

The commander's neck swelled up at Losten's mention of his father. An inexpiable emotional outburst suddenly hit him, making him lose focus on some of Losten's words. Like everything in his life, he remained disciplined and didn't allow the emotion to consume him.

The residual effects of having the wave of despairing sadness were seen in suddenly red eyes and a single drip of snot come down his nose. Gangui didn't cry though, he would never release fully to Losten, not yet at least. The triggering image was the face of his father when he was slowly dying -- crucified to the tree of woe by Faldrun himself -- after their family sword was stolen.

As he held onto life, his father's face turned blue and his lips purple. The most disturbing sound was the 'death rattle' -- the rasping gurgle of man trying to hold onto his dying breath.

Young Gangui touched his chest to feel a faint heartbeat. The warmth of a son's touch kept the father alive, as if the power of love pushed away the black sludge -- but alas it was only a momentary stutter in the deep set tendrils of death.

Gangui was embarrassed for even allowing these memories to re-surge as they did. At least Losten now knew why Gangui abhorred torture. Thus, the commander's reputation of giving swift executions to all criminals who received the death penalty.

Still looking Losten soul-to-soul, he finally answered the question after sweeping away the terrible memories.

With a solemn shake of the head, "No... no... I wouldn't have strength to abandon my mother,"

But then something else happened, as if the memory of his father had triggered it. A shadow fell over his eyes, like a monster, "But I'd abandon the mothers of every Etzori if I needed to."

[Maltruism]

Cylus 30, 718

Losten's stare bore into that of the soldier before him. "Do not look away, Commander. Yours is the task to unravel the truth of my words. You think it will be easy perhaps. But I say you will be too ready to assume an incorrect truth because the genuine truth is too difficult to accept."

The smith knew it was not precisely true that Gangui needed to break through this emotional barrier by deciphering truth from falsehood. But the readiness created by such an orientation towards an alignment of emotional interpretation would aid the process considerably. It was, in fact, Losten's own task to place the sliver of his spark within his own emotions and share and implant his threads with Gangui's. It would be more that if Gangui began to show an ability to tell more easily when Losten was speaking falsely, it would indicate a successful transplanting of the sliver.

Memories of a torturous death, of a man held in fatherly esteem, raked across Losten's invasive thread, as Gangui recalled the crucifixion. But the smith knew that story already and was prepared for it, giving no sign of its clarification of cause for the soldier's loathing of such interrogation methods. Noble, but restrictive of results. When lives were often in the balance, was the suffering of one enemy more contemptible than the potential loss of allied lives for lack of such willingness?

"A curious contradiction of policy, sir." Losten ventured, "Your mother serves Faldrun. Loyally. And you claim to be on the side of Etzos. But you say now that you would abandon mothers of the Etzori? Your mother serves the very regime that ordered the crucifixion death, and you are understandably reluctant to stoop to such brutal tactics. But do you think death by fire to be any less horrible than crucifixion? Does the fact that this is the preferred manner of death Faldrun would inflict upon us not temper your resolve regarding torture in any way? Would you choose to see these abandoned Etzori mothers dealt with in such a way? A loyal operative of the enemy is to be given mercy over the mothers of your own brothers-in-arms?"

These questions were not delivered in such rapid fire fashion, however. Nor were they the only ones posed. These were just typical examples of the verbal fencing that the smith now imposed upon his initiate. Every question, every answer, was easily twisted to bring another angle into play. It was Losten's purpose to get his own emotions to match Gangui's as much as possible. And angry, accusing, counter-striking defensiveness was swiftly self-generating.

It went on for some time. And Losten often had to suddenly downplay the level of animosity to keep the soldier from breaking eye contact and storming off; admitting that it was just the tactic he needed to employ. He would again call upon the Commander's claim to "...go through hell and sacrifice everything he loved to see his mission through..." to regain his hold on the man's sense of duty. For nothing else was so effective in keeping him focused and under control.

There were several instances where the two were glaring in fury at each other, poised upon their fists, leaning toward each other with violence just a nudge away, when Losten would feel an odd "slip" of joined subconscious, and he'd pull back, reiterating his need to resort to such aggravation. The fact that it happened more than once gave him to feel that it had not as yet succeeded. But each time it felt more deeply seated before fading again. At such times he would break from the barrage of pointed questions and fall back more on what came across as story-telling, simply recalling events he'd supposedly heard to see what sort of intuitive strides a joined empathy might be creating.

After these several breaks, it had been longer since the last such episode and the smith thought it may be time to test truth. "So, have you never been curious that, having been captured by the aukari, your father would be executed in the manner that he was? In such manner as was not so long ago celebrated in the arena, here in Etzos itself? Not fire, as one would expect of Faldrun's brood, but rather, ritual disembowelment?"

While this was neither presented as true or false, Losten's sincere belief that it hinted at a veil of distortion over the actual facts would be perceived by any that had just successfully received the smith's spark. Gangui would probably not make the connection that he had just done so all that quickly. His mentor's ensuing comment that "It does make one wonder what other subtle inconsistencies have been overlooked" served to put Gangui's mind on a track far more focused on recalling old memories.

Losten did so as well; recalling all he could of the Commander's accepted history. As their thoughts now followed the same general track, they would often hit on the same events. Any time this occurred, Gangui would receive impressions of whether Losten thought each was accurate or distorted.

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

The process of sorting things out with Losten was not a thing that Gangui had been prepared for, nor something that he felt he was strong enough to endure on his own. However, each time he began to slip, the initiator dragged him up again, not allowing him to fall.

As the questions went through his mind, he felt the answers, then tried to translate the emotions into words. “I don’t know why I said that. I have already abandoned my mother and I would never abandon the Etzori...”

He shook his head in heavy solace. Gangui didn’t talk much as Losten guided him down a rabbit hole. A hole where he seemed to be picking apart of his entire moral code. The realization that man was not totally in control of his own emotions- of his own mind - dawned upon him. He had not yet made the realization of what the Spark meant and what Losten was doing, but he was beginning to see that some of his previous statements were not true. He wanted to put behind him all these thoughts, but Losten didn’t let him, urging him to continue down the line of reasoning that they were climbing down.

… The proud mustachio began to give in...

“I… I … I have been letting my emotions control my decisions…” His mind’s eye aligned with Losten’s; his noble and steely virtues of honor were a lie. He had been refusing to torture his enemies on the grounds of mere emotion. On the basis of mere feeling, not facts or evidence.

The mustachio’s eyes remained true. Even when it was most painful -- when his very breath quivered and his body shivered from emotion, the moment he was going to lose-his-shit and erupt in front of Losten, he was calmed again with thoughts of duty and honor; a reminder of his self appointed purpose on this world.

“I… think… I think my mission is the only thing that grounds me…” he muttered.

A reminder that Gangui's noble virtues were not wrong. It was not Losten's full intentions to change the fiber of his moral being. It was the manner in which he was executing it... it was a breaking up of the last bits of naivete that remained on his character.

~~~

Gangui began to feel the connection with Losten subconsciously now, though he didn’t realize it yet. He began to think about his past again. Coupled with Losten’s hinting words, he suddenly began to narrative the most intense events of his childhood in his mind's eye...

A peaceful springtime day, mother and father set out from Etzos on horseback for a visit to Sirothelle. They were going to visit grandmother and grandfather Nay, this is distorted… The memory shifted in his own mind’s eye and suddenly he realized there was nothing peaceful about their departure. His parents never wanted him to leave, but why did they go? He was too young to understand.

Next, came the lessons in Sirothelle and the loving nature of his mother; of fishing and hunting with the other children in the mountains. Nay, this is distorted as well Gangui... He was locked away and trained to be an assassin, even now he was having a hard time believing it. All the hunting and fishing wasn’t for fun, it was for Faldrun. Why? Why was he made to learn the Aukari ways? He was too young to understand.

A vision of his father coming at night to steal him away from his mother and the joy he felt to be reunited with his dad. He remembered running up to his father across a marbled hall and embracing him and telling him that he missed him. He remembered his face. Distortion Slowly the face in his memory began to shift and melt away into one of another man... Your father never returned to save you Gangui This one hit like a ton of lead bricks. He was took young to remember his own dad? Was there magic involved?

The warrior wanted to look away, he just wanted it all to stop. He began to lose-his-shit again, but then the thoughts of duty and honor returned to his mind’s eye.

“Losten… I understand now… you are showing me this… or maybe I am showing myself… Why did we leave Etzos? Who was my mother and father? And who was the man whom was nailed upon the tree that I once called my own father? “

Gangui felt his own hands, all the callouses, all the years of hard work, “Am I who I think I am?”

He couldn't even believe his own words. He was finally beginning to experience magic for the first time.

Zipper was right, he had been so stupid, for so long.