Second Chances are for Rookies

[Torq Cetec]

Torq stopped running when he heard waves and smelled water. The fog obscured his already subpar vision like smoke and caused him to walk with his hands ahead of him to feel for danger in the woods. He felt the hard ground of the forest filled with knotted roots and aged rocks give way to a brief respite of loose sand before returning to a hard surface, this time wooden. He looked down. He could make out the weary boards beneath him through his pale pink eyes, but the end of the dock was as out of sight as the end of the world.

He felt uneasy. The waves created noise themselves and along with the boats parked on adjacent docks they created a cacophony of unrest for Torq, who was desperately trying to block them out and search for any coming sign of danger. New smells pervaded his nose creating a never before smelled pallette of exotic aromas. This was bad as well, because just as it was difficult to consciously block out white noise, white smells were even more frustrating.

He was tense in this new place--this second chance at starting over. Seit had once said to him that "Second chances are for rookies. And we don't want rookies. We want Ces." Maybe for that reason he could not consider himself Ces, because he was taking a second chance on a school guarded by a blinding fog, rolling waves, and foreign smells. Hoping that this place could make him strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, in order to surpass his "Ces" peers. Strong enough to jump back into the system or take it tumbling down with him.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

There were footsteps upon the now-spongy wood, soft falls natural to a race of darkness and assassination, but with crisp measured paces reminiscent of a military stride. The man's appearance followed their style; his frame was tall and straight in the shifting mists, and there was a sternness about his posture that bordered on severe. The garments that clothed him were both formal and functional, a long, clasped coat and pants, both dark, skillfully cut but unadorned except for some runes upon the collar.

A dark red cloth was bound around his head, from the bridge of his nose until it was lost under the cover of wild brown hair. The only skin that could be seen was black, black skin over slim elven bone structure, forming a grim, unsmiling mouth. Indeed, his ears came to points. Whether in hue or personality, it was doubtful that Torq would find this person too bright to stand.

"Welcome to Twilight Moon Academy, Torq Cetec," he said formally, a voice calm and without expression. It was very nearly monotone. "The school lies across this lake, and I am to be your teacher. I am Zet, and I welcome you here."

[Torq Cetec]

Torq picked up a new smell as his teacher approached. With a basic familiarity on the local static noise, the footfalls were almost silent and difficult to hear, but nevertheless he could somewhat make them out in the ruckus of the dock. He turned around and saw the outline of his teacher slowly approach him. As he came closer he began to make out gross details. Dark skin. Possibly a surface-dweller, he thought. In Umbrosia, the darker the skin the more time spent on the surface, and this new teacher's skin was dark. Very dark.

"Fine," he stated with reciprocated monotony. He looked around, wondering if the teacher was taking a boat across. Torq could always grunt through the pain of exhaustion and try to swim across, but realistically he might need assistance after days of intense travel. Or he could focus his Ec'Cue and attempt to walk across, but he doubted in his endurance for that as well. He did not want to ask for a boat. That would be weak. But he did not want to suggest an alternate route either, as he did not want to overexert himself.

All these thoughts ran through his head like maniacs running through an asylum, but his eyes, as the only representatives of his countenance through his helmet, remained calm as an undisturbed pool. Business was business, no matter which way you cut it, and any kind of perceivable weakness was still dangerous.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

Instantly his analysis began. Like many of his students of the past, this one was a smooth facade. Not necessarily polite, but cold and hard, obsidian. And yet no matter how smooth the surface, there were always cracks. Cracks that exposed the person underneath the weapon, that in his darker days had been exploited and used to tear down enemies and rivals alike. Cracks that he now used to find his actual students, sealed away under the weight of expectation and self-deception.

"How have you come here," he asked, "and where are you going?" The student had come from a sunless land. If it were not for the gnomes and pech of the Underdark, he would almost believe that no good could come of a society without light.

[Torq Cetec]

"I ran," Torq stated plainly and then paused before continuing, "And I'm going to Twilight Moon Academy." He did not like the questions, but did not plan to do anything about it but answer with broad statements. Questions about the past were for curiousity, and curiousity helped nothing when used for ancillary purposes such as this. If his teacher was trying to create some kind of positive, friendly rapport with Torq, he might as well be trying to part the lake in front of them. In fact, Torq felt his teacher was establishing the very opposite.

Teaching was not a relationship among the Umbrosian Ces, it was a business arrangement of mutual benefits: the teacher is rewarded with another Ces to benefit the country, and the student is, of course, taught. But things were different among the sunlit lands, he assumed. Not everything was the same as "home" was, and he had a strange feeling like people liked to be too personal here at Twilight Moon.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

"You ran," he said dryly, the slightest of smiles touching his face. That was a long way to run; Torq would probably fall to even the most pathetic assault at this point. Zet had not really intended to test his student's prowess the moment he had arrived to the school, but he now knew there was little need to question his endurance. If Torq had come by some vehicle, beast, or a steady pace, he would have done this differently. A boat, then. The blades hidden at the tips of his cracked leather boots glistened wetly with grains of sand as he started down the docks, searching for a ship not infested with demons and worse. The dead did not lie quietly here. They only howled the louder.

"That isn't good enough," he replied to the second answer, bluntly. The smile had been brief, and it had fallen back a calm seriousness, apparently his default expression. "What do you want from this school? I cannot assist you if I do not know what you hope to achieve."

[Torq Cetec]

Torq followed Zet through the mist. Whether he enjoyed this conversation or not, this man was his only chance to get across the lake. Because, as he soon began to sift through all of the white noise, he began to hear something shrill. Something once natural but now unnatural crying from beneath the waves. It was not human, well, at least now it was no longer. From beneath his helmet, Torq cringed at the thought that the dead populated the lake.

"Strength. Knowledge. Training," Torq replied as he regained himself, matching Zet's words monotony for monotony and bluntness for bluntness. He felt as if the question was redundant, seeing as he had come to Twilight Moon. What else could one want from an education from a school for the gifted?

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

The dark elf sighed inwardly as he paused. "Have you learned nothing from your flight?" he asked, as if Torq had said something excessively foolish. It did not seem as though Torq had a teacher that would tolerate much nonsense. It was not in front of the mighty, rotting galleons that he stopped, nor the flat, decaying barges. Instead there floated a vessel scarcely larger than a rowboat, narrow and tapered. Though scarred by the years of seaworms and puffed at its waterline as though swollen with infection, it nevertheless seemed in better condition than its brethren.

At the front stood a man obscured by a hooded cloak, large and menacing. He did not seem to notice the teacher or student, but the pole in his hand was poised with a readiness to move out into the too-calm water. Man, pole, and cloak all seemed curiously transparent, too ready to dissipate with the next shifting of the fog.

He stepped onto the boat, withdrawing a strange golden coin. The Poleman glanced to it, and it disappeared, but that was the only sign that strange figure recognized them. He waited still, presumably for Torq.

[Torq Cetec]

Torq held his tongue. This teacher, who he had just met, seemed to be judging him. And what did he mean, "Did he learn nothing?" He ran because he was weaker, less intelligent and less trained than those hunting him. What he asked for was the simplest and most direct way to fix those problems. What was he supposed to learn, how to lose? Compassion? All things that do not help one in the heat of battle. Torq began to doubt the qualifications of his teacher if these were to be lesson plans.

Torq looked at the boat that he assumed they would be using to cross this lake of the dead. The eerie atmosphere emanating from the boatman seemed fitting in the ever-shifting atmosphere of fog that surrounded him.

Torq jumped into the boat, causing it to slightly rock. He mentally reprimanded himself, obvious through his angered and introspective eyes. He should have been lighter on his feet when jumping on, regardless of how fatigued he was. The next time that happens, he might not be surrounded by non-hostile persons, and it might just kill him.

He looked at Zet, as if expecting him to sit down first. He did not want to initiate, but to reciprocate. If he sat down first, that would seem weak to him.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

He could almost see his student's mind. The harshness, the pride. What he had been taught, and even more what he had taught himself from the moment he had been born. He had been rejected from a system that had marked him for termination, and yet he only hoped to reestablish himself in it as a higher player, perhaps marking instead those who had betrayed him. Torq was stuck inside a dark monster, dancing as it wished, digested when needed, and never even knowing it. Noting his student's reluctance to sit, and ignoring it, the teacher settled down on the boat. Thankfully, he did not hear a sign of It, nor any other fell things so close as to pose a threat.

The Poleman started poling, though that soon became odd, if one thought about it. The lake was vast, expanding in every direction despite the veils of mist, and it seemed unlikely that it stayed as consistently shallow as poling would require. Zet made no comment upon it, however. He had probably made this trip before.

"At Twilight Moon Academy you will take these classes without exception: Magic, Weaponry, Alchemy, Beastry, and a private one with myself. You then may choose between Music, History and Potionry for your next class slot. The following may be either Holy, Flare, or Summoning. The next may be Dragoon, Samurai, or Thievery. The last slot may be either Survival or Puppetmaster. Consider these and then decide well. I must inform the school of your decisions," he informed stoically.

[Torq Cetec]

Torq sat as he heard the first mandatory classes and sarcastically thought how fortunate he was to spend a whole, private class period with his teacher. However, he was returned to his cold neutrality when his teacher went to talking strictly business. This was a style of necessary conversation that he could endure with ease.

He considered the choices. Music--something that he had heard only when he had absconded from Umbrosia. It was nothing more than a mere distraction--an escape from reality. But reality was not a maze one could escape from so easily, and he could not help but notice how unnecessary it ultimately was. He struck that down from his choices. History was just as useless. It had happened, and knowing that it had happened would not change facts or manipulate reality in some way. The past was set in stone. Potionry was a class that he saw some practicality in. Potions had a wide variety of uses, ranging from the absurd to the devastating, and having that kind of knowledge or weaponry would be advantageous for the young ninja.

The next three he assumed were the magical classes. Based on what he could gather, Holy and Flare were antithetical of each other, meaning that Holy was light magic and Flare dark. Light magic was frowned upon in Umbrosia, being symbolic of a foreigner in a xenophobic land. No Umbrosian had ever exhibited any kind of aptitude in light magic, as it was fundamentally against their nature. Flare and Summoning could be equally practical; however, summoning required dependence on something beside oneself. Torq enjoyed controlling his own outcomes. Flare was more preferable. Dark magic was the staple of Umbrosian thaumaturgy, and even the most unqualified and untrained Umbrosian exhibited some small kind of proficiency with it. He knew he would excel and gain valuable offensive training in the process.

The next triad consisted of Dragoon, Thievery, and Samurai. He had heard of dragoons used in foreign lands, and had no desire to ride a dragon where he was utterly exposed. He much preferred the stealth benefit without riding one of the hulking beasts. Thievery would focus on stealth, he assumed. Stealth was something that he could always practice, because as one learned more methods of being stealthy, one also learned more ways to identify others attempting to be covert. He did not even consider Samurai.

The last two were both interesting. Survival was survival, there was no need to think about the implications of that class. But Puppetmaster offered the new avenue of controlling other items to fight in one's stead, or possibly other people, thus reducing personal risk of injury or fatality. He wanted Puppetmaster, he was sure of it.

"Potionry. Flare. Thievery. Puppetmaster," Torq stated in fragmented subjects. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, but he dared not move his head or neck. Still, the fog choked off vision in each direction that he scanned. It was proving to be annoying.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

Zet could have named Torq's classes before he did. As it was, he had no need to write them down. The choices made were standard among his students. It was about this time also that the boat slithered onto the grain of the opposite shore, a wet sound accompanied by the scratch of protesting shells. The fog here was lessened, pierced to tatters by hundreds of faraway window lights, warm orange holes in a glowing, shifting tapestry. The shadow behind it was an immense castle, stretching beyond sight and into the dark sky as would a mountain range.

On this shore, the quiet was peaceful rather than ominous. The sand was lighter; the grass beyond it was full and green and wild, as opposed to the graying pokes that had clawed the shipyard's gravel.

The Poleman was nearly invisible now, a wraith, though he stopped and waited with the same patience as before. Torq's teacher left the boat, wading briefly until he had walked beyond the waves.

[Cyndon]

Cyndon grumbled to himself as he stood on the shore of the shipyard closest to the castle. He had no idea who had given him this 'invitation' to meet someone, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't going to end perfectly well. The wind was barely registering, but just enough to make the long blue robes on his person flutter. He had decided to pull the hood over his head, draping over his eyes and hiding their dual-tone shine. To his right side the crystal sword hung motionless, and in his hand was his staff wrapped with vines.

"Who could have given me that letter? And why all the way out here where the new students arrive...?" The fog around him kept its distance, a ring of land about fifteen feet around him being repulsed by his abilities. He couldn't explain it, but after coming across the water himself, he felt as if the fog had some strange effect on people. He took note of a boat appearing on the horizon and instantly his mind set to work, shaking the cobwebs away.

'That must be the person I'm meant to meet.' He gave a small smile, for some reason someone wanted him to greet a student. It relieved some of his stress, though another question took hold in his mind. 'Why would I have to greet a student? Nobody greeted me... did they just decide to do this recently?' Only time could tell what was going to happen at this point.

[Torq Cetec]

Torq was reluctant to get up, held back by the burning nagging of his thighs from tireless running. Nevertheless, he forced himself past the minuscule pain and stood up. Looking down at the water, he decided against momentary moisture and instead muttered something to himself, holocryptic in both volume and language. He stepped off of the boat and on top of the water, kept above the liquid by the Ec'Cue focused on his feet in a basic maneuver. Regardless of its simplicity, Torq moved with a hurried pace back to shore, realizing how much of his Ec'Cue he really had left.

He had almost made it to shore before his concentrated energy gave out, and thus he dropped a few inches into the water. It was with a nonchalant guise, as if he had meant it.

It was growing darker, and thus his eyes began to grow darker, moving from pale pink to a more distinct red. He could see the gross image of the figure in the mist slowly begin to change into a mass of purples and blues and reds from the body heat exuded. He saw the faint smile. Was this all a trick? Get him to a point of exhaustion and then double team him when they knew he had no chance? His muscles began to tense. He raised himself up onto the balls of his feet only slightly noticeably. His eyes grew wide before returning to nonchalance.

Torq dared not turn his head to look at Zet. Instead he kept his thermographic vision locked on the stranger on the shore, ready if necessary.

[Ladd Russo of the Russo Family]

Whether Zet noticed the many weakness-baring actions of Torq or the student's preparation for a fight for his life, he nevertheless stood at the stiff, rigid ease that defined him. As if, by being in absolute control of himself, nothing in the world could cause him concern. The dark elf's face was lifted, presumably watching the progress of Cyndon, whose arrival was timely.

When both had met, he began to speak, the same deadpan tone as before, with not even the slightest rise of inflection to indicate the ridiculousness of the sentences he uttered. "Cyndon Kouvindao, Torq Cetec, you are well met on this shore. You will be bound by magical means for an unspecified time. In this way will I be able to read your prowess, so that I may know where I may start to improve your skills, Torq. Your teacher wishes to ascertain how much you have absorbed in your time here, Cyndon."

With the explanation given, Torq's teacher withdrew from his coat a diminutive silver sword, not even the length of his fingers. He calmly removed his glove and, with it, carved a symbol into his dark palm. He placed his palms together, so that the cut had its mirror in blood on the other hand, and spoke a brief, harsh word.

A flash of silver illuminated the area, and when it faded Cyndon and Torq were left with thin silver bands, four of them. Two were reserved for the neck of each, and one had appeared on Torq's right wrist, the last on Cyndon's left. Two deceptively thin chains, only five feet in length, extended between them in a cross, one from Cyndon's wrist to Torq's neck, and vice versa.

"You will have this night to recover and prepare. Tomorrow you will be put to test," Zet informed them. "Do well." And with that the drow left.