-From Aphorisms: 1:12
Ironmantle slid out of the shadows and looked down on the plaza from eight stories up, breath misting in the chill of the night. He had read the report from the Delmarva, Treyvor, and it had been enough conformation for him. Now he contemplated the festivities below him.
Roshamas.
A time to thank the God of Plenty, Rosha-kul. To celebrate the coming spring, new budding life returning after the harsh snows of winter. And not to start until after midnight.
Many older livestock had been slaughtered and the best cuts offered up, while the rest were roasted and prepared for the multitude of feasts. Libations, concentrated by the water in them freezing all winter, the spirits being poured off multiple times, were handed out freely, and raucous laughter could be heard in the streets.
He could smell other recreational habits now too, but that was not unique to the holiday. Not in the Old City. Not with the amount of unprocessed Kiphos increasing on the streets, shipped in by the Lizards themselves.
He remembered many such festivals, and wasn’t surprised to realize that he had spent the majority of them working in one capacity or another.
One of the few he could remember that hadn’t been that way was from his childhood. His mother had scraped up enough coppers to buy him some goblin snapbangs, and he had spent the night throwing them to scare the rats in the alleys.
He saw a gaggle of kids doing just that, laughing, before having to throw the rest at the guards that came around the corner. Using them to startle the men to give them time to run away.
He hadn’t been so lucky. But he hadn’t thrown them just at the rats and guards.
The master assassin felt once more at his face, double checking for the last time that the paste that he had applied as part of his disguise was properly hiding his scars. Filling in the deep crevices of his face, and changing the shape of his nose. He would be a scholar tonight.
And so the days turn and come again. Just to repeat like waves lapping on the shore. The only problem was, he was the shore. Getting worn away with each passing moment.
For now, anyway.
Ironmantle grinned, and leaped off of the edge of the roof he stood on, diving into a shadow. He immediately left out of another, maintaining his momentum, sailing over the city below.
His destination was over the bridges and quite a ways to the south. Outside of the paired walls. South of the stronghold of the Syndicate.
The Athenaeum.
The great imperial library.
That was where the Tomtar’s information pointed.
And that was where, like a sailing arrow, Ironmantle was headed. He slid into another shadow before launching up onto a rooftop, running across the slates, feet silent as he enjoyed himself on his way to his next target.
Then the real fun can begin.
The Athenaeum itself was close to empty, almost every window dark in the night like so many closed eyes. The grounds however, were not.
Bright, cherry light danced, providing plenty of flickering shadows for clandestine lovers as well as for the assassin, all originating from the bonfires roaring in the campus.
The scholars, usually so reserved, were also dancing and singing drunkenly around the flames, just like the dock workers. The main difference here was that the bonfires weren’t made from wood, as the majority of the fuel consisted of various alchemical and aethereal components instead.
Which meant that the fires occasionally changed hue or shot bursting sparks into the sky.
All save a few were there. He could see the lit window of his target.
Ironmantle slipped through several shadows, using everything from a falling mug to a hitched horse to get close to the doors. He slipped out of the Dark, looking over at the revelers like he was just enjoying the festivities from afar.
He waited a few moments, checking to make sure that even the security for the library was taking part, staying in the shadows.
While nobody was looking, he took out a coil of line. One end had a monkey’s fist knot around a bearing ball for weight. With a soft buzz and a swish, he tossed the knotted end up and through the open window.
He checked to make sure that the revelers hadn’t noticed, sliding into a different shadow once he was out of sight before using the shadow of the line to scale the building and gain entrance. From the Dark, he made sure the room was empty before stepping out and quickly coiling his height-rope around his arm to hide it with his sleeve.
He took out a pair of spectacles from his pocket and put them on. They were fake, clear glass in the frames.
He strode through the new wing, not bothering to hide in the shadows just yet, walking past all sorts of scrolls, experiments, and lecture halls with notes still scrawled on the massive hanging slates in chalk.
“Can I help you sir?” The voice was authoritative, commanding. A guard.
Ironmantle turned and gave a feigned jump of surprise, the fake spectacles on his face almost falling off of his false nose. “Hmmmm, what?! Oh! I say, you’ve startled me.” He made his voice reedy, not quite able to get the rasp out of it, but different enough.
Subtle changes only. He didn’t have to do these things, but it kept him in practice. He could have just killed the guard and moved on.
The guard lifted an eyebrow. “This area is re-”
“Yes yes, my good man, I know it is restricted. I just… Hmmm…” he patted his pockets, as if looking for something. “Damn… I swear I… Hmmm…” He checked his back pocket. “Ah!”
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He flourished the forgery to the guard. Captain… If he remembered the regalia correctly for the Athenaeum’s guards.
He took it, glancing at Ironmantle, who stood with a bit of a hunch, adjusting his glasses, taking pleasure in how they glinted into the guard captain’s eyes.
“This seems to be in order, Mr...” He looked at the paper more closely, “ Mr. Silo, though you are in the wrong section.”
“Yes, it is actually good you found me, captain. Helplessly lost you see.” Ironmantle said cheerily, pleased that the guard hadn’t corrected him. “Wanted to talk with Professor Ovamus. I had some questions about my own area of study you see.”
“Which is?” The suspicion was back.
Ironmantle played dumb. “Discuss aetherial resonance with her for a while. There is a tricky part of the Arcane Matrix of my project, which results in a backflow of-”
“Sure, sure,” the guard waved a hand, clearly understanding the gibberish just as well as Ironmantle did, “would you like me to-”
“No, my dear man, do continue with your duties, just a nudge in the right direction would suffice.”
The guard pointed, and Ironmantle bobbed a nod and plodded off. Smug as a fox in the hen-coop.
Tok shifted, and the Initiate was awake.
Vivex uncurled from around her tail and stood shaking herself and letting her joints crackle back into place. She slid off his back, getting a drink from the river, her yellow eyes already wide in search of prey.
There! Her Instinct snarled and her hand shot forward, claws sinking into a juvenile tikabo’s tail. It thrashed pulling at her, and she hissed in pleasure. Vivex whirled the little beast over her head.
Slap! Slap-slap! SLAP!
She smacked it into a stone again and again, until it went limp.
Vivex stood, carrying her kill away from the water, blood oozing thickly from its now misshapen head, prowling towards the Ambassador’s abode. Tongue flickering in excitement for the meal.
I’ll use her fir-
The wind shifted.
DANGER!
She dove to the left, rolling as Zegoth crashed next to her, his wooden club hitting the sandy shore with a dull thump.
“Tutor, what-”
He didn’t answer, stepping forward and swinging at her. She dodged back again, and used the tikabo to knock aside his next swing, its already damaged skull bursting and spraying gore onto the trunk of a tree.
Tok rumbled, sitting up, the movement catching her eye. He sat, just watching as she was assaulted by the big male. He didn’t intervene.
Why? Her Instinct was still waking up. Then she realized! A test!
TWACK!
She paid for being distracted with a smack on the shin.
“Do better! Idiot runt! How did you survive with only these skills?” Zegoth snarled.
Rage burst into her soul and she reached for her knife.
Thunk!
Zegoth threw his club and it hit her hand, stinging painfully. She hissed and glared at him, but he already had another for himself.
“Defend yourself!” He roared, his black and red locking in, but with a thin line of green along the separation between his dorsal and ventral side.
Practice? It must be.
Snarling she shifted into her own display, adding the green, snatching up the club and charging forward, eager for the chance to beat the male. She zigged left, hard and sudden, and he moved to counter just as she zagged right, sliding under his tail and lifting her club high with both hands.
There would be no repercussions for getting back at him for calling her a run-
THWACK! THWACK! THUMP!
The male anticipated her strike, whirling faster than she could have imagined, hitting her with a vicious forehand then a staggering backhand before kicking her hard in the chest. Vivex fell to the ground, snout bleeding and head throbbing as she gasped for air.
“Again! Show me!” He snarled.
Fine!
Compete!
She blended, holding nothing back, scrambling away and starting up into the tree to-
With a snarl he leapt the entire distance and was on top of her! Yanking her off of the tree and slamming her spine first onto a stone!
“Idiot! Distract first!” He punctuated the lesson with another thwack of his club even while she was still writing. “Wet ground leaves tracks! And if I am looking for those, I am looking for claw marks too.”
Crack!
He hit her again and she yowled in pain. It stung.
“Every hit I land is you dead neonate! Every miss you make is a prey that you do not kill! You are a failure until I decide you aren’t!”
She snarled and managed to kick him hard in the shin, scrambling to her feet only for him to spin for a tail sweep!
Over it!
She jumped, and his tail hit her right in her midriff.
Damnit!
Innovation!
“Never expect the enemy to do what you want! Expect them to do what will ruin your plan!” He snapped, grabbing her shoulders and headbutting her in the face, making her yelp as he compounded previous injuries.
“I wasn’t-”
Thwack!
“Ready? The battle is for the moment! It is never something projected unless it is ritual! Our enemies will find your unpreparedness delightful!”
Clack!
He swung again and she managed to lift her club up to divert it. Jumping out of reach of his next kick only to have him jump to keep up, grabbing her painfully by the throat and throwing her into the river.
Splash! SKLOOSHHH! She heard the Provider’s hand plunge into the river as he hunted for his morning meal.
She spluttered and snarled, scrambling to her feet and fought to get back to shore, or at least the shallows. Tok pulled a gulper out of the river, biting into it as he observed. Blood streamed down his chin.
I need another weapon. She was too used to using a pair that having only one was frustrating.
“Come on, little warrior! Show me what you can do!” Zegoth growled back, sloshing into the shallows and swinging again.
And so, the first few hours of her new training regimen began with a terrible beating.
That was, until she felt his hand grip the hilt of her knife.
Mine!
She roared!
Snap!
Vivex bit down hard on Zegoth’s arm, her teeth tearing through scales. The sweet taste of blood pouring into her mouth. She held on, pinning that arm as she lifted the club over her head, no longer practicing as she smashed it down over and over again onto her Tutor’s knuckles.
“Runt!” He gnashed his teeth, and with a painful kick he threw her off of him and snarled, his blood spattering into the mud at his feet.
She panted, aching, furious, and sick of the lesson, staggering to her feet. She wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t during the trial, she wouldn’t now.
“You touch my knife… and I… will skin you…” She gasped, gripping the hilt with her other hand. She didn’t remember drawing it out.
“Oh? You-”
“Yes I will.” She hissed, snapping her jaws like Biter, staring him down the green stripe in her pattern fading. She wanted to kill him then and there.
And damn the consequences.
Tok grunted in the background, but Vivex didn’t look away from the other Greenscale, tense as a coiled viper.
Is that… yellow around his eyes? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to be distracted. I need to be ready to strike or flee.
“Well runt, you ain’t totally useless.” He grumbled. He pointed over by Tok. “Place it over there then and we can continue.” There weren’t any praising prefixes there, but there weren’t any demeaning ones either.
Good! Stand my ground more. Her Instinct hissed, still determined to strike down her Tutor, though her forebrain was quite sure that wouldn’t happen.
She grunted, untying her rope belt and tossing it over to the Provider, who sat cross-legged, watching. It landed next to him, and he lifted it up with one claw and closed his big hand around it.
And then they began again.
After a while, once the injuries made it hard for her to even stand, Zegoth started to guide Vivex in how to properly orient her strikes.
“If you are going to the front in the north, or anywhere where you will face the parasites, you better know these skills. Longer you can serve the brood, the better, runt.” He hissed. “How did you fight off the others?”
“Two weapons… Tutor…” she grumbled, struggling to be civil. Struggling to not bite him again.
He stared at her. Then shoved the other club into her belly. “Take it then. I’ll get another.”
It was a few hours past dawn when they finally finished. One of her eyes was almost swollen shut, and she snorted, making blood splatter onto the sand as she cleared her nose. She had done better with two weapons, but Zegoth had still been the clear winner. His boast had been a statement of fact.
Learn.
Shut the fuck up.
Thwap!
She snarled as Zegoth threw her tikabo into her face.
“Eat, medicine doesn’t like an empty stomach.” He growled. “And take the damned medicine, I have you this evening too.”
She growled, and he stared at her.
It pained her to show deference, but she managed it. “Yes… Tutor…”