Touch of Fate

At the head of the team of guards from the custom's house, Travenor advanced down the length of the dock through the heavy rainfall, grumbling about the idiocy of sailors. Even now he could see the vessel in question sliding through the precipitation.

He'd received word of their arrival from the lighthouse, which had barely managed to spot the small, single-masted ship amongst the waves. It was clear from their heading and the tattered nature of their sails that they intended to take shelter at the port.

Of course this was very much against the edicts of the current port authorities, who feared the risk of damage to the aging dockworks from unmoored vessels turned into veritable battering rams by the powerful waves crashing against their shore. As such they'd ordered a halt to all shipping until the storm had run its course.

"Alright, that's far enough you lot. I am here under the authority of Lord High Admiral Numinost, governor of the city of Plessin. Cease your activities at once and return to your ship." He yelled over the rush of water.

When this announcement did little to halt the activity of the sailors, he continued. "As you are clearly foreigners, you most likely haven't heard the word. All loading and unloading activities are suspended until this storm has passed. If you fail to comply with this order, then I will have no choice but to arrest you and have your ship impounded."

Once again, it appeared that his words had fallen on deaf ears. Indeed, it seemed that the sailors were even preparing to lower their boarding ramp.

"Fine, so be it. Guards, arrest...them…" Travenor started to command before trailing off when he turned back to look at his escort.

For a brief moment, he was convinced that they'd run off somewhere and he was alone. However, that notion was quickly shattered when he caught sight of the still forms lying on the ground. As if to emphasize this point, a brief flash of lightning illuminated the scene.

His fellow customs agents were eviscerated, their innards spread all over the docks until it was difficult to determine where one man started and another ended. Numbly, Travenor's gaze fell on one of the exposed faces. One belonging to a guard whose name he'd forgotten.

[Was it Gram or Grey?]

The man's eyes were wide open and staring, as if fixed upon something too horrific to contemplate. By all appearances, he'd been about to scream when death found him. Something that would have proven difficult given that he was missing the majority of his torso.

Travenor's legs gave out, and he found himself scuttling backwards, unable to look away from the sight.

"W-w-w-w-what is…" He mumbled, stopping when he heard the tread of heavy boots on the dock behind him.

His instincts were screaming at him to run, to get away, but he couldn't avoid turning to look, a dark, insatiable urge taking hold of him.

There stood two figures, one a heavily armored woman, and the other a cloaked figure whose face was obscured by a hood. As he watched however, one flash of lightning revealed enough for Travenor to see an expanse of burned flesh stretching from the man's cheek to the weeping remnants of his left eye, causing his mouth to be pulled into a permanent smirk.

"What shall we do with this one, my lord?" The woman asked emotionlessly. "Did you spare him for some reason?"

The cloaked man's eyes turned in his direction, and Travenor heard a deep, raspy chuckle. "No, no, I merely wanted to see the look on his face when he realized his situation. Of course, there can be no witnesses."

The woman frowned, but nodded. "As you wish."

"Wait!" The custom's agent shouted, raising his arms in a pleading motion. "I-I won't tell anyone about this! I promise! You have my solemn…" He trailed off again when he heard a rumbling growl from his right.

Almost too terrified to look, he managed to summon enough willpower to turn his head. There, slowly advancing on him was a wispy shadow, barely more than a figment against the rain-drenched night. Yet, despite that, he was certain that it was somehow alive.

He found himself unable to look away as the creature got closer, growling even louder. He was still staring when the ethereal beast opened its jaws, revealing a terrible maw of sharp, blood-stained teeth, and surged towards him.

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Wendel dismissed the hound once it had finished disposing of the evidence. It didn't much like eating the corpses of the fallen guards, and in fact had no need to eat at all, but it was much easier than attempting to get rid of the bodies by other means.

He started to walk down the docks in the direction of the city, but had to stop as a sharp wave of pain wracked his body.

"My lord!" Tanya exclaimed, rushing to his side. "You should not be pushing yourself in your condition."

"I'm fine." He grunted once the pain had passed. "We must move quickly, lest the other guards grow suspicious and send another team to investigate."

His attendant watched him for a few more seconds before nodding, offering her arm to support him. "Very well, my lord. Let us make haste."

Wendel gratefully took the help and began hobbling down the docks to the best of his abilities.

Not for the first time, he cursed his luck. To be trapped within the burning wagon, unable to escape as the flames had seared him until he was but a shadow of his former self. Warped and scarred beyond the point of recognition, few would not associate him with the once powerful aristocrat he'd been.

However, he mostly cursed the cause of his misfortune. A certain individual who'd not only ruined all of his plans, but left him in his current state.

"Just you wait, Michael Rasmussen. I will take from you all that you've taken from me." He whispered unconsciously, his raspy voice barely audible over the hiss of the rain.

Unbeknownst to him, Tanya's face briefly twisted in grief before returning to its neutral state as she continued to shepherd her master down the dock.

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On a different continent, another conflict was in full swing, much to Mike's chagrin.

"Can we move this to a less...populated area?" He yelled at his opponent, while vaulting a fruit stand. With any luck, it would avoid the fate of the cart full of cabbages that had been practically disintegrated a few minutes ago.

"Ha! You'd like that, wouldn't you? Give you plenty of space to use your magic!" The swordsman dressed as a beggar yelled back while nimbly jumping over the stand and thrusting his rapier at him with blinding speed.

Gritting his teeth, Mike blocked the first stab, allowing the next two to slip past and punch into his chest while he channeled his mana again, willing it into his limbs. Surrounded by an invisible breeze, he stepped forward to counter attack, his arms moving with noticeably greater speed.

The pair exchanged several blows in quick succession, moving too quickly for the fearful pedestrians to follow. While many of them began to flee the crowded market, others stood transfixed, obviously unsure of what to do or whether to escape.

"You're assuming that I won't simply ignore the collateral damage and let loose anyway." Mike shot back while skirting around a fountain, neatly avoiding a small boy who was in the process of fishing for coins in the water.

"Come now, Hero of Almir, I think we both know that you aren't the type to slaughter innocents simply because of convenience." Came the reply from above, forcing Mike to glance up and then roll to his left as the rapier pierced the air he'd previously been occupying.

Mike slipped back to his feet, and swept his free hand into the air, bringing with it a hail of sharpened stones that the swordsman easily deflected or avoided.

[Damn, but he's agile. I need to trap him or slow him down, somehow.]

Thinking quickly, he waited until the swordsman had pushed forward to attack again, before sending his will into the water of the fountain. With a thought he brought the mass of liquid down on both of them in an unavoidable deluge.

The swordsman lept back, but was unable to completely dodge the wash, resulting in the rags covering his lower body becoming sodden. He gave Mike a curious look. "I know I probably look a bit dirty, but that hardly warrants a bath. Especially with that water. I'm pretty sure portions of that fountain were close to developing intelligence."

Not bothering to reply, Mike focused his will on the air surrounding his opponent, sending it's temperature plummeting.

With an audible crack, the area around the man froze solid, trapping him in a cage of ice that extended from the ground to the middle of his chest.

"That's pretty impressive." The swordsman offered while examining the situation. "I've been thinking about this for a while now, but you have a peculiar way of fighting."

Mike almost gave into the invitation for banter, but instead focused on channeling his mana into his body again, this time causing it to be surrounded in a crackling nimbus of lightning.

"Most elemental battlemages concentrate on one or two elements in order to take advantage of class and title benefits." The man continued unperturbed. His sword was still held at the ready, but he otherwise displayed no notion of being in danger. "You on the other hand free cast even composite elements without concern for mana expenditure. Either you must have truly monstrous reserves, or you have access to some particularly powerful skills and titles. Of course, I would expect nothing less from the youngest Tier 4 in history."

There was a flash of light and the crack of tortured air, and suddenly Mike was standing behind the trapped swordsman, a cloud of steam rising from the friction of his passage. To onlookers it appeared as if he'd simply vanished and reappeared several meters away.

With a sigh, Mike released the mana enhancement, bearing with the intense muscle and joint pain until it had faded to a reasonable level. He turned to glance back in the direction of his opponent.

While the swordsman had managed to bring up his weapon at the last second, he'd been unable to halt the devastating blow, succeeding only in the destruction of his weapon along with himself.

[I thought for sure he'd have some kind of counter. Did I really just kill him?]

Just as he was starting to worry about upsetting the power balance of the region, the swordsman stepped out of the cloud of steam looking none the worse for wear.

Mike stared at him in disbelief. "...I definitely landed that hit. I felt my sword pass through your torso…"

"You did indeed, and cut my favorite sword in half at the same time." The man replied with a cocky grin. "But they could hardly call me the Immortal Blade if I could be killed with a simple sword stroke, no matter how quickly it was delivered. That wasn't bad by the way, that enhancement ability of yours. I could barely keep up with it in my current state. Here I was beginning to worry that you didn't have any real cards left to play."

Discarding the twisted length of steel that his sword had become after the intense attack, Mike summoned a blade of flame and fell back into a combat stance. "If that's the case, I'll just have to keep killing you until you stay dead."

"Oh?" The man asked with another grin. "That sounds pretty interesting. I wonder if you can manage that."

Holding his broken rapier in one hand, the swordsman took a step forward. However, a shout rang out from the crowd.

"I've found him! Circle around the market, we can let him escape!"

The swordsman's face paled momentarily as he turned to look at a sun elf dressed in an elaborate blue uniform that was pushing his way through the onlookers. "Shit. How did you find me?"

"My lord, it is my duty to stop you from avoiding yours. I've gotten quite used to tracking you down after all of your...excursions."

The man grinned. "Do you really think you and the rest can stop me if I want to get away again."

"Not at all, my lord. We are all well aware of your abilities, but I've taken the liberty of giving each of my men a bottle of your favorite liquor. They've been instructed to begin pouring it out on the ground in approximately...20 seconds."

The blood drained from the swordsman's face. "You're a monster, Jav."

"You better move quickly, sire. Time is wasting. Of course, I should mention that our ship's chef has taken the liberty of preparing your favorite roasted pork dish. If you aren't on it in the next two minutes, he will throw all of it into the harbor."

"Guh! Grrr, fine! I'll go back for now!" The man yelled before sprinting off into the crowd. As he disappeared into their midst, he called back over his shoulder. "Hero! Come visit Karnam soon. When you do, we can finish this fight!"

[Note to self, avoid Karnam.]

"Please forgive my lord's behavior." The elf said while bowing. "He is...a man of unusual appetites and behaviors. Although I'm sure that it is merely a pittance compared to your vast wealth, I've added a small trifle to your Guild account in order to compensate you for your troubles. Know that if you ever visit our home city, I will make sure to welcome you with the utmost hospitality, regardless of what my lord said."

Mike took a moment to use Appraise on the man before speaking.

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Jav'narlindal Yuvinhut

Age: 249

Race: Sun Elf

Class: Minister

Title: Master Tactician

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"Is he always like that?"

The elf sighed. "Unfortunately. He has little patience for the vagaries of governmental rule, and would much rather spend his time in the thick of combat."

"It's funny, both of the other Tier 4s I've encountered were battle junkies too. I wonder if it is a common trait for our kind."

Jav gave him a long hard stare before replying. "My lord once said that there are two types of individuals who succeed in becoming Aspirant Ascendants. First is those who work hard every day, growing stronger little by little and accumulating progress over the course of long lives. The second is those who risk everything by throwing themselves repeatedly into battle. There they are forged in the crucible of combat, becoming stronger in leaps and bounds, and eventually reaching Tier 4, assuming they survive the experience."

He turned and surveyed the surrounding crowd, pitching his voice low enough that it would be difficult for anyone else to hear. "You, Lord Dragonknight, probably belong to the second category. Unless of course, there is another reason for your prodigious growth at such a young age."

Mike shrugged, feeling that the man in front of him was much more threatening than his master, "What can I say? I've been blessed with good fortune."

This earned him a chuckle from the minister. "Indeed. Then, if you will excuse me, I need to ensure that our trap has been effective. It would not be the first time my lord has pretended to be caught, only to slip out of our grasp at the last second. Good day."

With that, he moved back into the crowd and vanished.

The remaining onlookers all turned to stare at Mike with something approaching awe. Glancing around at them, and the devastation the brief fight had created, despite his best efforts, he decided that he had no desire to deal with the authorities at this point, and took to the air.

Flying in the direction of the dungeon, he couldn't help but feel that this was a very strange country.