Training Thread - Seros

[DemonicFerret]

Four sailors sat at the bar, chugging their Bugman's and grumbling quietly to themselves, as they did every day. The subject of their uneasy mutterings on this particular day was the Chaosman sitting in the corner booth, quietly sipping a relatively clean glass of water and watching people walk by. "He's bringing the taint of the warp to us, he is," the first sailor said. "Aye, and there will be more where he came from, no doubt... travel in groups, that lot," said the second. The third, somewhat more inebriated than the others, slammed his mug down. "By Sigmar, I won't stand for it anymore! We should DO something! Let's go give him a beating he'll never forget!" There was a momentary silence, as the three looked at each other, glanced over at the impressively thick, ornate chaos armor and longsword which the man in the corner booth was wearing, and then back at each other. "Mmmm... let's send Mud Ox."

The final member of their group, the aptly named Mud Ox, was a gargantuan hulk of a man, covered in the accumulated dirt and grime of life on the docks. Unlike his companions, he made no effort to remove this filth, causing him to be even more intimidating than his bulk would normally cause - reliable authorities held that he had once knocked out an orc with his stench. Adding to his similarities to an ox was the fact that like most bovines, he never spoke, only grunted, or in certain situations, mooed. So it was that when Mud Ox's friends asked him to pummel the man in the corner booth, he responded with a definitive "Hrrrrmmmph," smashed his mug dramatically on the ground, and strode purposefully over to the aforementioned corner booth. Rather than immediately smash a barstool over the man's head, however, Mud Ox halted, evidently to listen to whatever the man had started saying to him. Moments passed, and the masterminds of the operation watched with growing confusion as Mud Ox continued standing there mutely, apparently listening intently.

Just as they were about to go over themselves and thrash the heretic (or so they would say in retelling the tale), Mud Ox rotated slowly and returned quietly to his seat. Aghast, the sailors stared at him. "What the hell happened, Mud Ox?" one of them said. "Yeah, why didn't you beat his ass?" said the second. The third remained silent, his jaw hanging open. Mud Ox shrugged. "I sort of like that guy," he rumbled. The rest of the bar stared at him, then glanced back over at the man in the corner booth, perhaps to see if they had missed something endearing about him. Nothing irrestible presented itself, and silence reigned. Finally, the third sailor spoke. "I guess he's alright." The other two shrugged, and conversation quickly turned to the horrifying disease that Mud Ox had recently obtained from a less-than-high-quality lady of the evening local to the docks.

The man in the corner booth smiled and returned to sipping his water.

Stats: +3 Wp

[FlyingPinkPony]

updated.

[DemonicFerret]

Hours after leaving the twice-dead Kroxigor in his wake, Seros returned to the cavern. As much as the greenskin shaman disgusted him, it had used potent magic against him, and he was not one to leave power unclaimed. Guided this time by the
hand of the Changer, Seros located the intended entrance to the caves, proceeding carefully past a dead sailor bearing the distinct toothed marks of a saurus weapon. He came eventually to the pile of dead goblins he was looking for, and gingerly fished out the still overgrown corpse of the waagh-empowered archer. Whispering a prayer to the Great Conspirator, Seros placed his gauntleted hands on the headless body. A trickle of smoke wafted out from his handprints, then a tiny flame, gradually increasing until the goblin was consumed entirely, leaving nothing but a small pile of ash.

Seros rubbed his fingers together, feeling the magic he had absorbed. It tasted foul, corrupted by the inelegant conjurings of the barbaric shaman. The pure sorcery of the Raven God was so much... smoother. Regardless, it would serve, or be made to serve. This magic desired to grow, to empower, to enlarge his muscles, and he would allow it to do so, but not in the temporary, vulgar way of the greenskins. Seros refined the magic, slowly filtering it into his body. Immediately, he felt stronger, tougher, more robust. So it went - all magic stemmed from the Changer of the Ways, and all magic would be made to serve the Changer in the end.

+3W

Encouraged by his success, Seros grabbed the other body he was looking for - that of the greenskin shaman himself. This one could be more complicated. Setting his hands on a corpse once more, Seros repeated process once more. He frowned slightly. The shaman was resisting, even in death unwilling to give up his power. That choice was not his to make, however. Psychically pushing harder, Seros entered entered the creature's mind, determined to claim whatever magic remained.

He found himself standing in a small village, houses ablaze, corpses strewn about the street. Green figures could be seen in the distance, setting fires and chasing villagers, weapons raised. Seros' avatar rolled his eyes. So crude, these greenskins. The astral figure of the shaman stood before him, cackling with glee as he observed the carnage. Seros cleared his throat. "Beast. I have come for your power. Cease your resistance, and I will commend your soul to the Changer's grace." Hissing, the goblin spun around to face the intruder. "You dare enter my home, chaos spawn? This is my domain - I rule here." With a gesture from the shaman, the flames engulfing the houses nearby took on a life of their own, crawling over the intervening ground to assault Seros. He remained, seemingly unperturbed, as the flames surrounded him, watching the goblin calmly.

The greenskin's eyes widened as the fire continued to blaze ineffectually around Seros. "Burn! BURN! WHY WON'T YOU BURN?!" Seros raised his arms, and the flames rose into the air with them, losing their yellow appearance and taking on a reddish hue. "I was forged in the fires of change, animal. Let us see how you fare with the same treatment." Instantly, the ball of red fire streaked toward the goblin, engulfing his spectral presence and vaporizing it in the blink of an eye. The psychic world faded around Seros, returning him to the cavern, where the shaman's body had been reduced to ash like the archer before it. Once again, Seros refined the magic he had reclaimed, channeling it into his own abilities, increasing his power further. He rose, and casually immolated the remaining corpses as he left the chamber. His work here was done.

+3Wp (for next week, don't apply until tomorrow)
Learn Red Fire 3 and Red Blade 1

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved/ You couldnt wait to post for 1 day. Sigh... Approved

[DemonicFerret]

It was only a small shrine to Sigmar, the sort that is erected at a significant crossroads or cemetery as matter of principle, but still a crowd gathered when it was engulfed in flames. The group of thugs that had perpetrated this arson stood before the flaming shrine, brutally beating the lone petitioner who had chosen a particularly poor time to pray here. The crowd watched uncomfortably, unsure of what to do - the guards should be here, stopping this sort of thing. Failing that, surely someone else would intervene, they each thought, and so none of them did.

Seros stepped forward from the crowd, drawing his sword dramatically. "Unhand that man, you knaves. You will cause no more suffering this day." The lead thug paused, his hand drawn back to punch his victim in the face yet again, and looked at Seros quizzically. "But you - " The rest of his words were replaced with screams as a massive fan of red flame shot out from Seros' sword, enveloping the group. In seconds, the thugs were reduced to charred skeletons. Seros moved toward the bodies, extending a hand towards the crowd. "Stay back! The flames may still be dangerous. I will check on this poor man." He knelt down by the beaten man, inconspicuously pocketing a pouch from one of the skeletons (had the thug even wondered why he had been paid with gold in an asbestos pouch?) and checking the man's pulse. Weak, but present. That would not do. Seros cradled the man's head, keeping his back in the crowd's line of sight, and melted the man's brain.

With an exaggerated sigh, Seros rose and let the man's body slump to the ground. "I am afraid he has succumbed to his wounds, my friends. At least these thugs will not trouble us again."

Wp+3

[FlyingPinkPony]

You are as horrible a person as I expected approved and posted on last weeks since you totally PMd it to me earlier.

[DemonicFerret]

Seros sat on a bench in the Tameria marketplace, watching the scene before him. A Sigmarite priest was loudly extolling the virtues of Sigmar and the bountiful rewards that His service could bring. This was a tough sell for this crowd, only some of whom were human, and even most of those were not what one would typically think of as the religious type. A remote island like Irolek did not attract the faithful in large numbers, although a settlement like Tameria certainly attracted missionaries - the priest before him was a prime example of this.

Still, some small number of the passers-by had stopped to listen to the priest's fiery sermon, perhaps only for their own amusement. This displeased Seros. Something had to be done. He could hire thugs again... no, it would be almost tacky to do that again, and would not benefit him beyond the gratification of seeing a dead Sigmarite. No, this required a different approach. Seros turned his head to lock eyes with the street thug who had been eying his valuables for several minutes, almost spooking the man to flight immediately. He gestured casually at the ruffian. "Come here. Make some easy gold." At the mention of gold, the man's eyes lit up and he approached eagerly. Seros set a finger on his forehead and murmured a minor spell. "All I need you to do is go into that crowd and say whatever words come into your mind. Come back when you're done, and I'll have a shiny gold piece for you." The man looked puzzled, but followed the order and went to watch the priest.

"...and the filth of Chaos and heresy will be purged from the land with fire, leaving only the most holy followers of most holy Sigmar, to live in a holy kingdom of peace and prosperity forevermore." The missionary paused to take a breath, and the thug jumped in, Seros controlling his tongue. "Praise Sigmar, brother! Your words bring me much joy... I was worried that there were none of the faithful in this den of heresy!" The priest's eyes lit up - he rarely saw this much response from his audience. Seros' puppet continued: "But... I fear that there is no hope for converting these heretics. They do not wish to see the light. I fear that Sigmar's hand does not extend this far from the borders of the Empire, my friend."

The missionary was predictably horrified by this statement of doubt. "No, no, brother! The light of Sigmar cannot be stopped by distance, nor any obstacle! Even here his hand reaches us all!" The thug made a show of looking unconvinced. The priest's next words were important to the effect of this demonstration - some minor mental prodding by Seros ensured that the Sigmarite chose exactly the right phrasing. The missionary leapt down from his podium, grabbing the thug by the shoulders. "I swear it, brother! May I be struck down where I stand if it is not true!" Seros smiled. A beam of rainbow fire streaked from the heavens, immolating the priest and the hapless thug he was embracing. An unexpected bonus - now he would not have to pay the man. The crowd was stunned, backing away from the smoldering ashes of the two men and beginning to disperse. Would they remember this? Would it have any effect on them? Maybe, maybe not. But Seros had certainly enjoyed it.

Wp +3

(Note: I totally posted this before reset. Totally.)

[FlyingPinkPony]

Nice post. It's pretty clearly after the reset. Approved.

[DemonicFerret]

What are men, without a King?

Seros' eyes snapped open and darted around the room, as if trying to catch the speaker of those words. The room was empty, however, as it had been the last dozen times. Seros growled in frustration and rose from his meditation. Those words haunted his dreams, ever since the incident at the obelisk. Those lost souls had not been trying to harm him, he was sure of this now - they had been trying to tell him something, the same thing his dreams were now trying to convey. Not only his dreams, in fact - whispers of that phrase crept into his thoughts whenever his attention lapsed. Seros was no stranger to mysterious whispers in his mind, but this was different. The Changer required a service of him.

Seros threw open the door to the empty hovel he had been meditating in, momentarily blinding himself in the force of the midday sun. He still did not know what he was meant to do, but his legs seemed to know where he was meant to go, leading him down streets and narrow alleys of their own volition. "We are shaped by fate, just as we shape it..." Seros muttered. His journey ended in front of a dilapidated antique shop, of a sort common across the town. He entered, surveying the merchandise. It was a mix of badly damaged, worthless trinkets recovered from the various expeditions out of town, and poorly made fakes, designed to increase the profit margin of the shop's proprietor. The contrast was laughable to a discerning eye, but the nobles of the Empire cared little for authenticity, and this trash could be exported to them for a massive profit.

Finally, Seros saw it. The reason he had been brought here. Mixed in with a box of obviously bovine "kroxigor" bones was a tiny pin, ornately decorated. Seros carefully picked it up, examined the engravings. The symbols were unfamiliar to him, but the workmanship of Khemri was obvious. This was a burial good, meant to lie eternally in the tomb of a Prince of Nehekhara. How it had come to be in this place was a mystery Seros suspected he would never receive the answer to. Seeing his interest, the shopkeeper hustled over to him, babbling incessantly. "An excellent choice sir, excellent, the craftsmanship is superb, you are a man of fine taste, I will charge you only a pittance on account of this, a mere-" The man was cut off before naming his price, as Seros wrapped a hand around his throat and squeezed. "This is mine now." Eyes bulging out of his head, the shopkeeper nodded furiously. Seros dropped him to the ground, gasping for breath, and departed.

Exiting the shop at the same time was a small boy with a black circle around his wrist. Having seen the opportunity to exit without paying for the book he had chosen, he took it, bumping into Seros on his way out the door. Without knowing why, Seros grabbed the boy's wrist and lifted it up to his eye level, examining the strange symbols that composed the circle while the boy dangled meekly by his arm. Seros glanced down at the book that the boy still clutched in his other hand. "The Wrath of Alcadizaar, eh? I have encountered it in my readings... a fine book, although I think a bit slow for a boy your age." The boy stared back at him, wide-eyed and mute. Seros set him down and released him, then pressed the Nehekharan pin into his tiny hand. "Take this to the one you serve. Tell him it is a gift from... a potential ally. And your master needs allies, if he is at all what I think he is, little one." The boy nodded, confused and still slightly terrified, and dashed off down an alley.

Seros smiled. For the moment, at least, the whispering had stopped, replaced by the familiar whisper that he had been hearing since the moment he first opened a tome of forbidden lore, the words that had brought him to this place, the words that had made him what he had become:
This is only the beginning.

Wp +3

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved. Last exception though homes.

[DemonicFerret]

Seros sat at a simple wooden table, drumming his fingers impatiently, staring at the door to the warehouse as if willing it to open. "They're late," he growled to the man standing behind him. Mud Ox did not reply, merely crossed his arms and continued watching the door. Seros let out a long hiss of frustration, and continued drumming his fingers. "The money is good, you know. Your friends are lucky to be getting this offer." To this, Mud Ox offered only a single nod of agreement. Seros resolved to hire thugs who were better conversationalists, in the future.

Finally, the door before them opened, and three sailors entered. They were burly, filthy beasts, typical of the muscle Seros had been recruiting for dirty tasks since the day he had arrived on the island. They came to stand before Seros, striking a pose he supposed they must think intimidating. "Gentlemen. You're late. I don't like to be kept waiting." The thug in front glanced at both of his companions in turn, perhaps looking for support. "We... we want a bigger cut." Seros raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you? You want a larger cut of the money you have yet to obtain for me? Perhaps you should acquire it, and then we can discuss your cut." Another glance sideways. The man was nervous. Seros found it difficult to work with nervous people. It made them... unreliable.

The thug took a deep breath, summoning up his reserves of courage. "We hear people who work for you end up dead. We want the money now. All of your money, in fact." A heavy silence followed these words. Seros looked down at his gauntlets, casually rubbing away a smudge of Nurgle goo. "Mud Ox, how close of friends would you say you are with these gentlemen?" There was a momentary pause as Mud Ox looked over the three men before him. Then he shrugged. Seros looked up from his gauntlets, locked eyes with the nervous thug, and smiled.

Seros jumped to his feet, propelling the table forward to crash into the lead thug, knocking him prone. The other two, who seemed considerably braver (why had they chosen the nervous one as their spokesman? He may never understand how this filth thought), drew swords and moved to attack. Their intended prey was far quicker, however. Mud Ox jumped forward, wrapping his thick arms around one man and squeezing, preventing all movement (and respiration). Seros simply decapitated the final man, wiping his blade on the falling torso and returning it to its scabbard before the head hit the ground, Calmly, Seros stepped forward and kicked the table off of the struggling thug, who instantly froze in terror. "Idiot. What is your name?" Seros' request was punctuated by a sharp crack as something crucial finally broke in the man Mud Ox had been grappling.

"S-Samuel. My name is Samuel - " Seros cut him off. "First name will be sufficient, I don't care that much. Now, Samuel, who put you up to this pathetic attempt at skulduggery? I find myself quite sure that even fools of your caliber could not come up with a plan this poor on your own." Samuel shook his head earnestly. "It was Captain Cain! Luthor Cain! He runs all the side business that goes on at the docks, and he doesn't like competition!" Seros cocked his head. Competition? He had simply been using robbery as an excuse to have easily deniable thugs murder Sigmarite missionaries. But he was certainly not opposed to displacing this Cain and taking over the local graft. That could even be useful, now that he thought about it. The Changer moved in mysterious ways, as usual.

Seros focused his attention back on the trembling man prone at his feet. "Samuel. Who do you work for?" The thug began to open his mouth - "Capt-" Seros nonchalantly kicked him in the head, a resounding blow made worse by the thick metal of his greaves. "Samuel. Who do you work for now?" The sailor blinked several times, trying to clear his head, and spit out a wad of blood and teeth. "...You. I work for you." Seros nodded calmly. "One man cannot serve two masters. You understand this, don't you Samuel?" The man nodded weakly, beginning to drag himself to his feet. Seros did not assist him. "Now. Tell me more about Luthor Cain."

WS +3

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved.

[DemonicFerret]

Seros' assault on the Wavebringer was a surprisingly bloodless affair. After a couple of decapitations (as a demonstration), most of the thugs who had been posted as guards were all too willing to accept his offer of employment. With a growing force of sailors behind him, Seros cleared the deck of all opposition, and then proceeded down into the bowels of the ship. He paused at the door marked "Captain's Quarters". This particular room would wait until the rest of the boat was under his control.

Tell me about this Captain Cain, Samuel.
You haven't heard of him? Even in the Empire, he was well known as a pirate and a killer. Even most of the usual criminal refuges started to refuse him, for fear of what the authorities would do if they discovered his presence there. His notoriety only made it easier for him to attract the desperate into his service, and he expanded his operations out to Tameria, where the hand of Karl Franz could not easily reach him.

"This door is locked, gentlemen." Seros spoke to the group of sailors he had bought off with gold and promises and glory (and threats of death should they refuse). They had almost finished clearing Cain's ship, converting any thugs he found and taking any valuables he happened upon. The entrance to this final cargo hold, however, was the first locked door they had run into. Luthor must be keeping something good inside, if he didn't trust his crew with access. "What is he keeping in here, boys?" The group of traitors looked nervously at each other. None of them spoke. Tired of waiting, Seros simply shrugged at them and kicked the door down. His eyes widened upon seeing the contents of the room. He had been mistaken - this door had been locked not to keep his crew out, but to keep the cargo in.

And what business is Luthor Cain in, exactly?
All of them. He smuggles drugs, exotic artifacts, wanted criminals, illegal weapons... anything Tamerians want from the mainland, he sells them at an exorbitant price, and then sells anything unique from Irolek back in Tilea.
Anything else?
I've heard that he also deals in... more exotic goods. The kind that you have to keep chained up in your cargo hold so they don't run away.

The Wavebringer finally under control, Seros returned to the Captain's quarters. "You want our help, boss?" one sailor asked uncomfortably. "That won't be necessary," Seros said. If they actually saw Cain again, he would have a chance to threaten them back into his service, and Seros would prefer not to have to kill the entire crew while they were still useful. He tried the door. Unlocked. Cain would be expecting him, no doubt.

WS +3

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved.

[DemonicFerret]

Seros stepped into Cain's quarters, prepared for an immediate attack, but none came. Indeed, there was no one to be seen at all. Seros could immediately tell something was wrong here - he had a certain strange feeling in this room, one he could not quite identify. A single lantern lit the chamber, casting flickering shadows around the walls. Perhaps Cain had already escaped. Or perhaps he was still here, concealed. Seros carefully closed the door behind him and scanned his surroundings again.

The room was lavishly furnished, as one would expect of a wealthy pirate captain. The walls and floor were covered in exotic rugs and tapestries, every one of which would have produced wide-eyed stares from collectors. Seros was impressed, despite himself. The decorations were... ostentatious, but when one had such extraordinary prizes in their possession, one could not be faulted for wanting to show them off. On the back wall was a huge painting of the victory of Magnus the Pious over Asavar Kul - a famous piece, known as "The Decimation of Praag". Was this the original, perhaps? Impossible, surely. Seros resisted the urge to indulge himself by inspecting it for authenticity. The bedsheets were clearly Cathayan silk, ridiculously expensive to acquire and maintain. On Cain's desk rested the piece de resistance: a solid gold statuette of the Twin-Tailed Comet, forged by the legendary dwarven smith Marak Rhataz, made as a personal gift to Grand Theogonist Volkmar. It had gone missing some years back - apparently this is where it had ended up.

Tell me about Cain himself. Is he a wizard? A marksman? A master swordsman?
I... I don't know. No one knows. I've never actually met him myself. I've heard stories that he makes his men sign contracts in blood, never to speak of him. I've heard that he's a vampire prince, and his crew are all wights, bound to his service. I've heard that he is a worshiper of Khorne, and that he collects the skulls of anyone who opposes him and mounts them in his quarters... I have heard many things, but nothing that I could tell you with certainty is true.

"You have an eye for art, I see. Unusual for your type," said a voice from the shadows.

Seros allowed no surprise to show, but he was instantly concerned: why had he not sensed this presence? "I am not of the Northmen," he said calmly. "And I am not one of the bloodthirsty fools who worship Khorne, god of ignorance. Luthor Cain, I presume?" Seros moved forward and picked up the statuette, making a show of examining it while he attempted to locate the man lurking in the shadows. There had been no response at the mention of Khorne, and he saw no skulls. That was one theory discounted, at least.

"So is your taste for fine art the reason you have boarded this ship, killed these men? What do you think to gain by killing me?" The voice spoke again, ignoring his question, and Seros frowned. Something was amiss.

"This business you are running here in Irolek interests me, so I am taking it, and your ship, and your crew. Everything you were is mine now, Luthor Cain," he said. It was as if his magical senses were dulled somehow. But by what?

"Ah, you may be well educated in art, but you betray your ignorance of sailing, sorcerer. Without Luthor Cain, there is no business. Without Luthor Cain, how will you navigate this ship to and from this god-forsaken isle?" the hidden figure said. Seros' frown deepened. Cain (if it was, in fact, Cain) was correct - he had not considered the logistical concerns of smuggling. More importantly, he had to keep this man talking until he could find him.

Tell me what he looks like, at least.
I told you, I've never met him! And I've never dared to ask anyone who has. He does business through go-betweens, which makes sense for a man who is wanted by the authorities of the Empire. You could ask one of the go-betweens, I suppose, but I expect you would find that they had received their instructions in an envelope left at a prearranged spot.

"Yes, it seems you are a rather prodigious mariner, Captain Cain. I saw your cargo, down below. I can only imagine what you did to obtain such a... treasure; not to mention what you intended to do with them. Not that your plans matter anymore, of course." Seros saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. That had provoked a response, it seemed. One more taunt, and this would be over - "I think I'll call your ship the Changebringer. A more appropriate name considering its new management, don't you think?"

A dagger came hurtling out of the shadows at Seros' head, but he was prepared for it. Seros swiftly raised the statuette, catching the tip of the dagger between the two intertwining golden comet tails. Dropping the statuette and dagger to the floor, he extended both hands toward the area the dagger had come from, conjuring forth a wave of fire to kill this tiresome pirate - but no fire came. The strange feeling he had felt since entering the chamber crystallized for him. Something was suppressing the winds of magic.

"Trying to use your sorcery on me, wizard? Then you've discovered the same thing our friends in the cargo hold discovered - magic does not function near this amulet," The voice sounded amused now. Seros liked this shadow less and less with every passing moment. "The priests of Nehekhara produced some truly ingenious devices in their efforts to defeat Nagash, it seems; tragically, it does not cause the undead to revert to the dead, so it availed them little against the tide of corpses that slaughtered them all," the voice said.

So you know nothing. Anything you CAN tell me, Samuel?
Plenty I could tell you, probably none of it true. No one knows anything solid about him because everyone who looks into it too deeply ends up dead. He doesn't like nosey people, and he doesn't like competition. The gold keeps flowing, keeps greasing the right palms, both here and in the Empire, and no one asks questions they shouldn't.

Seros drew his sword and twirled it nonchalantly in his hand. "If there will be no magic, then come test yourself against my blade, Luthor Cain. I tire of this game, and I have many affairs to attend to after I kill you," he said.

"I did not survive this long by fighting fair, sorcerer," the shadows said. "This is only the beginning. We will meet again, you and I, when the time is right. If you do quite well, you may even meet Luthor Cain."

Seros raised an eyebrow. "Then who - " was all he got out before the strange sensation left him, his magical senses returned, and he realized he was now quite alone in this room. With a growl of frustration, Seros threw the door to the chamber open again, and pointed angrily at a startled sailor standing outside. "You there! Tell me about your Captain."

"Cap'n Cain, sir? What do you want to know?"

"Anything, you idiot. What does he look like, to begin with?"

"Well, he... he..." The sailor trailed off, and looked confused. "I... don't know? I knew a second ago, boss, I swear I - "

Seros kicked the man in the chest, audibly snapping a rib. "Anyone? Can anyone here even tell me what Luthor Cain - your own gods-damned Captain - looks like?" Silence filled the room as the dozen or so sailors present glanced at each other, and then at the floor. "Useless. All of you. Useless." Seros stormed back into the Captain's chambers and slammed the door. There was magic at work here, yes - unfortunately, it was not his own.

The ship and its crew was his now, his attack had been successful, but Seros was displeased. He did not like his enemies surviving to annoy him another day. He would tell his allies of this Luthor Cain, and much of the town would become hostile toward him, but Seros had a feeling that would do little to impede this man - if he was a man, and not something else entirely. He left Cain's quarters again, carrying the comet statuette with him, and walked toward the cargo hold, to begin dealing with that interesting little situation. Cain, or whoever, had said something to him that carried deep meaning to Seros. It was coincidence, surely. It was a common phrase, he need not look for any connection to the words that had been whispered to him since the moment he discovered the glory of the Changer.

This is only the beginning.

WS +3

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved. I'll give you an extra Ws for the obscene word count you silly goose.

[DemonicFerret]

Seros put Luthor Cain and his mysterious ally out of his thoughts. They were no longer an immediate problem, and so they could wait. Tossing the comet statuette idly between his hands, the sorcerer walked back to the cargo hold of his ship, the newly re-christened Changebringer. Casually throwing open the door, Seros greeted his unwilling guests. “My apologies for the delay, my friends. There was a matter that required my attention.”

Seros faced eleven High Elves, bound and gagged, chained to various sturdy objects about the hold. They did not appear terribly pleased to see his return. Seros snapped his fingers at a nearby thug, newly under his employ. “Remove the gag from that one,” he said, gesturing at a particularly upset-looking Asur female near the front of the group. Immediately upon the removal of her gag, she began shouting angrily in Eltharin.

Wide-eyed, the thug looked at Seros. “Quick boss! She’s trying to cast something!”

Seros simply smiled. “No, this woman is merely screaming a string of obscenities that would no doubt shame her ancestors, were they alive to hear it.”

The woman stopped after hearing this, and narrowed her eyes at Seros. Switching to Reikspiel, she addressed her captor. “You speak Eltharin, sorcerer?”

“Yes, it came up briefly in my studies. I only speak a very little, I’m afraid. You happened to pick my area of expertise, however - my teacher spent most of his time berating me with such curses, so I learned those words well. Tell me, noble Asur, how have you and your companions come to be here, under such circumstances?”

The woman glared at him. Her long golden hair was unkempt and filthy, her clothes torn and tattered from the rigors of confinement, but her eyes still contained a rage that impressed Seros. “I went to sleep secure in my bed in the towers of Lothern, and I woke up here. From the little conversation I have been able to have with the others, I think the same is true of them. But why should I answer any of your questions, Chaos scum? Kill us and be done with it, I tire of this game.”

Seros contemplated the woman. With a wash and a change of clothes, she would be quite beautiful – much more so than any human woman. In fact, all of his captives, indeed the entire Asur race, were quite attractive. An idea began to form in Seros’ mind. Certain parties would be extraordinarily interested in this cargo he now possessed. “Kill you? I should think not, that would be a terrible waste of resources. You have a certain fire about you, girl. I like that. Tell me your name – “ The woman’s face began to contort into a sneer. “ – and if you answer in any way other than the truth, I am going to torture to death every elf in this room except you. So you can watch, of course.”

She regarded Seros for a moment, as if trying to figure out how he was going to use her name against her. Finally, she responded. “I am called Quara Sunspear…” She went on to proudly list some of her titles and family accomplishments, but Seros had stopped listening when he heard her last name.

“Sunspear, you say? Any relation to Ithilien Sunspear?”

Again, Quara’s eyes narrowed warily at Seros. “Archmage Ithilien Sunspear is my brother, yes. Why?”

Seros smiled broadly. It was a great day. “It seems the hand of fate has blessed me, dear woman. Your brother is the man who taught me Eltharin, among other things, and I look forward to seeing him again.” Seros approached one of the other prisoners, a dark-haired male, and began removing his bindings. “Return to Ulthuan. Tell Ithilien that I have his sister.” Confused but eager to escape, the man began moving toward the door. “Oh, and one more thing, Asur.” As the man looked back toward Seros, a bolt of red fire engulfed the elf’s left arm, reducing it to a charred stump. Howling in agony, he fell to the floor. “Tell him I still remember.”

Seros turned to the thug again. “Put this man on the next boat to anywhere civilized. Give him some food and money – I need him to survive to his destination.”

The thug carried the one-armed elf out of the room. Seros snapped his fingers again, and Samuel entered the hold. “Samuel. I need you to make contact with the Druchii they call the Mistress of Pain. Tell her I have some merchandise I think she will be interested in.”

Wp +3

[Budou]

< Excellent refference good sir, excellent refference. I will make note of it.>

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved. Btw, we should talk.

[DemonicFerret]

The Mistress of Pain came without delay, as Seros had expected she would. The offer he was making to her was something that any Druchii would jump at, regardless of any risks involved. All he had required of her so far was that she appear before him, alone, aboard the Changebringer. The Mistress entered the once opulent Captain's quarters to see Seros sitting at a bare desk, surrounded by sailors stripping the walls and furniture of the various priceless artifacts the room contained.

Seros stood as the dark elf approached, bowing deeply, taking her hand and kissing it. "I thank you for your time, Mistress. I understand you are a busy woman. I am Seros... Seros Changebringer, humble servant of the Architect of Fate." Seeing her confusion at the activity around them, Seros waved his hand at the thugs. "Leave us," he said. Dutifully, the sailors stopped removing their ex-captain's belongings and exited the room. "Redecorating, you understand. Please, sit."

Cautiously, the Mistress of Pain sat in the chair facing Seros' desk. Seros returned to his seat as well, and there was a moment of silence as he studied her. She had cleaned up before coming to this meeting, but he had inspected her hand carefully when he was close to it, and the traces of blood beneath her long fingernails were obvious. He had heard much of her business in the Red District, and it was apparent that she enjoyed her work. This was good. She was a savvy businesswoman as well, but he could appeal to her sadistic nature. "You are uncomfortable," he said finally. Not a question, but a statement.

The Druchii eyed him coldly. The arrogance, the air of superiority, Seros could almost taste it. This woman was a paragon of Druchii psychology. "As you say, my time is valuable. Let us be clear, and concise. You possess Asur prisoners. You have offered to transfer them to my possession. What your slave (Samuel? Of course, she would not understand relationships other than master and slave) did not make clear, was the price you ask," she said.

"Oh, but I believe he did. There is no price, not as such. I simply desire the continuing good-will of you and your friends in the Red District," Seros said. Predictably, the Mistress' eyes narrowed. Such a gift was unheard of among the Druchii, and she suspected a trap.

"My good-will? You would give me the Asur for... nothing? And you expect me to believe this?"

"My dear woman, I would do you better than that, in fact. I have heard that you recently had a... trespasser, in your business. With your permission, I would like to have my men patrol your street, and protect your businesses from such unwanted intrusion."

"You want to take over my territory," the Druchii growled, suddenly sure she had uncovered his malicious plan.

"Territory is only yours if you can protect it, Mistress. And it seems clear that you cannot. I have no desire to interfere with your business, or take any of your girls' hard-earned gold. I simply want to bring you into the family I am creating here in the docks."

The dark elf stood angrily and moved toward the door. As expected. "And you expect me to trust that you will leave me my autonomy, when you have armed thugs roaming my street? I think not," she said.

Seros shrugged. "As you wish. You are free to leave, and return to your poorly defended establishment. I will find someone else interested in my gift. Some entrepreneur, eager to start a business of their own, I think. Having High Elves on staff - willing or not - would give you quite a niche in this market. There are so many who would pay large sums for the chance to do horrible things to an Asur. Many of them are... your most frequent customers, no?"

The Druchii stopped, turned, and stared at Seros. "If you don't want any money, why do this? What advantage is there to having more property to protect? I question your motives, Chaosman."

Seros smiled. "The ways of the Changer are inscrutable even to me, Mistress. You should not expect to understand his plans. Simply be pleased that he has favored you in this way." His explanation was weak. It didn't matter. The temptation was too much.

The Mistress made a show of considering his offer for another moment, but Seros knew he had already won. All according to plan. "Against my better judgment, sorcerer, I will trust you in this matter," she said. As if she had a choice. "If you betray this trust, I will..." She went on, but Seros had stopped listening. It was empty posturing, and they both knew it. If she had any ability to carry out such threats, she would not have to agree to his offer to begin with.

Her enterprise was immune to violent takeover, since any such attack would likely destroy or render useless the very assets the attacker was trying to obtain. The threat of breaking her monopoly with a supply of exotic Asur slaves, however, was a real danger to the Mistress, especially since as far as she knew, Seros could get more.

Finally, the litany of threats ended. Seros' new "partner" frowned. "I do not lightly go into business with men I do not have the measure of, sorcerer. If we are to enter into this arrangement, we will seal it properly." Seros raised an eyebrow as she drew a long, curved dagger from her corset, then pulled it across her left palm. Bright red blood spilled from her pale skin, trickling over the chair she had been sitting in. Casually, she spun the blade around in her other hand and offered it to Seros.

"I have my own, thank you," Seros said, removing a spiked gauntlet and promptly jabbing himself in the hand with one particularly wicked spike. This was crude, pageantry and witchcraft, but he would tolerate it. Her blood magic had no power over him. He stood and clasped her hand over the desk, their wounds pressing together. "You trust me now, Mistress?"

Still clutching his hand, the Druchii leaned over the desk and pressed her mouth to his. Unexpected, but tolerable. Seros had murdered the last woman he had kissed, and he had a sudden feeling he would end up murdering this one as well. Such was life. The Mistress pulled away, blood dripping from her lips. "You bit me," Seros said, slightly perturbed.

The dark elf released his hand. "Do not trifle with me, Seros Changebringer. I may not have the legion of thugs you now possess, but I find ways to avenge myself against those who cross me. Do not make me do so to you." With that, the Druchii curtsied mockingly, turned, and exited.

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Seros found himself already regretting the Mistress of Pain's eventual death at his hands.

T+3

[FlyingPinkPony]

Aaawwwwww Seros has a girlfriend. Approved.

[DemonicFerret]

The city had entered a state of alarm since news of an impending horde of greenskins had arrived. Seros found this mildly inconvenient, as it made it difficult to operate the business he was presently engaged in, but also a boon, in that the town guard was far too distracted to pay much attention to his activities at the docks.

Which was good, because Seros was currently parading a string of shackled Asur through the back alleys leading from his ship to the Mistress of Pain's brothel/dungeon. "Samuel," he said. The thug appeared holding a clipboard, looking flustered. "Are you done yet?" Seros had demanded that Samuel, as his de facto secretary, catalog and organize the many treasures he had ordered stripped from the Captain's quarters and the Changebringer in general. Reminders of past owners were bad for business.

"I... I think so? I totaled the number of items, and the value, and... carry the seven..." Samuel rambled on for a moment. Seros remained unconvinced that Samuel had any idea what he was talking about, or that he had totaled the value of these priceless artifacts correctly, but he wasn't really listening.

The shackled Quara Sunspear spoke up from the line of shackled elves passing by them. "You have failed to move a decimal point in the string of math you just rattled off, you have undervalued several items to the point that any idiot would know they are worth more, and you mistook platinum for silver when examining the set of engraved plates."

Seros' head turned toward her in sudden interest. "Quara, my dear. Have I carelessly allowed you to join this line of pathetic wretches, soon to be raped to death by ravenous Druchii? How shortsighted of me. Samuel, remove her from the line." Dutifully, Samuel unshackled the Asur woman, who immediately produced an improvised shiv from some concealed place and lunged at Seros.

The sorcerer caught the blade in his hand, but the frail-looking girl was surprisingly strong, the shiv puncturing his gauntlet and his hand beneath it. With a sneer of anger, Seros ripped the weapon from her hand. "Dear girl, if you cannot be trusted not to produce weapons from your clothes, I will simply force you to operate without them."

Seros looked down at his bleeding hand with annoyance. "Samuel, you're fired." The thug looked startled, and simultaneously relieved. "Asur. You seem to have some talent with numbers. You are now my secretary. Your first task is to prepare my gift to the town guard for transport."

W +3


OOC: OMG IT'S ALMOST MIDNIGHT I HAVE TO POST

[FlyingPinkPony]

Approved!

[DemonicFerret]

Seros lounged in the throne he had ordered placed in his office in the Changebringer, swirling a glass of fine Asur wine in his hand. The past weeks had passed uneventfully, as the word of impending greenskin attack proved to be nothing but rumor.

But uneventful times were good for business, as the town guard found better things to do than harass his business (such as count the money he had given them), and recruitment continued to rise as more and more dock thugs heard gossip of the great Chaos warlord who had defeated Luthor Cain and now ruled the docks from a magnificent throne aboard his floating palace.

Seros' delusions of grandeur were interrupted by a large glob of water dripping onto his face from the ceiling above him. The sorcerer's head slowly turned to gaze directly at Samuel, cowering in the corner of the room. "This leak seems to be especially tenacious, Samuel," Seros said quietly. "I am particularly startled by its persistence, due to the fact that the water is coming from the UPPER DECK!" He punctuated the final two words by flinging his wine glass at Samuel, who fled the room with some haste.

Quara Sunspear, shackled to a desk in the opposite corner of the chamber, smiled slightly at her captor's distress as she continued work on the mounds of papers necessary to keep Luthor Cain/Seros's business running. She had made several more attempts to kill him, but with the meager resources at her disposal, it was difficult. He no longer seemed to even be bothered by her continual assassination attempts.

Seros sighed. "Great warlord" and "floating palace" may have been a bit presumptuous. The business paid for itself, but created surprisingly little disposable income, due to the number of expenses that kept appearing to suck his money away. He had somehow become some kind of bureaucrat - it had been weeks since he had murdered someone. Something had to be done. Seros rose from his throne and departed, an idea forming in his mind.

His actions would go undiscovered for almost three days, until a visitor arrived at the warehouse headquarters of the Red Fists, a local mercenary group with no particular affiliation with or against Seros, or even any interest in the docks area. From the outside, the warehous looked perfectly normal. Once the visitor opened the door, however, they found the inside of the building incinerated, dozens of bodies scorched beyond recognition, all items and furniture consumed into ash and dust. The walls were charred and blackened, as if there had been a massive explosion of fire in this structure, but it had somehow remained contained entirely within the building, and not caused any structural damage.

The only evidence the town guard could find, once they were alerted, was a note left just inside the front door, apparently unharmed by the fire. It read "If you are not with us, you are against us" and was signed with a crude ash drawing of a bird, possibly a raven.

WP +3

[FlyingPinkPony]

You are a bad man. Approved and updated.

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