Copper and Criminals

[Myles Arnnett]

73rd of glade 2pm

The Copper cut, a quaint little place. One of those structures where the inner space was used so efficiently it felt larger than it was. Sipping a light ale the Zaichaeri Officer eyed door watching those who came in went with a detached interest as if he was waiting on something that even he wasn't sure of. He had been melancholic most of the season, in between fierce training and recovery the man had found little time for rest.

Once upon a time he'd thought that the officers who drank in the earlier hours were stetting poor examples for their men. But now he got it, excess inebriation was not productive but a small portion did smooth out the wrinkles of the day. Myles frowned, he didn't like thinking but as he grew from soldier to officer their where more unavoidable truths. More idiosyncrasies that came with the territories of authority. As an officer he was expected to uphold laws even when they conflicted him. To be a justice in place where law was concrete but the criminals grey. In some cases it was so easy to know who was vile and who was not. However in some situations without knowing the full context of the situations the feelings and reasons involved he was still expected to dispense justice. The courts of course took the most heinous and difficult crimes but aiding the common woes of the citizenry in a just manner felt at times near impossible. Taking another swig from his cup of ale he frowned. So many officers saw it fit to simply take the side of those with connections and rich blood rather than those who where bereft of such benevolence of birth. It was not however Myles's place to simply impose his views of justice on his fellow officers. He hated the old saying about leading by example but he was finding fewer and fewer options and more and more realities he detested. The only path he could see that wasn't blasphemous was to keep climbing ranks and gaining power.

Somewhere along the way it seemed to Myles that people had stopped loving the people of Zaichaer, and had started loving the idea of it. Nodding with a thin smile to the maid who topped his tankard Myles swallowed another gulp of the swill. Turning his head to the door he continued to wait. He'd heard tale of some people frequenting this tavern so close to the edge town thinking it free from the eyes of the law. It was his job now to see to it that no such hidden nooks or crannies remained thus for long. Thus Myles sat unsure of whether he wanted a fight or not. Criminals that wanted a fight were easy. It was simple to fight the bad guy, it was so much less simple to arrest the mother stealing for her child....

“Please let tonight be a simple one” Myles pleaded to anything listening for at least one night where his morals could stay intact and his hands clean. Myles looked forward to deployment outside the city, camping under the stars, hunting bandits and brigands, that was the work he longed for.

[Florian]

Florian had another day free from training with Eitan. The man had "official business" to attend to, whatever that meant, and he didn't ask questions. If it were relevant to him, he would tell him. He had spent his morning lazily, running minor errands where he knew it was safe for him to be. Conflicting emotions had crossed his mind all day, though, and he had a desire to stop thinking them. Though knowing that he would not have Eitan to walk his drunk ass home, he was going to have to drink sparingly. There was going to be more training the next morning, too. It was unfortunate that Eitan was the source of such conflict, but beer was a friend that would not judge his feelings on the matter.

It was a bit different to come alone. Not by chance, but not on purpose, Florian had chosen the same bar in the Copper Cut that he had gone with Angevin. It was a somewhat safe option for him. It had its fair share of both human and nonhuman patrons, perhaps leaning a bit heavily on nonhuman, and it wasn't particularly expensive. He had been too drunk to remember the tab that Eitan had covered, but a beer by himself wouldn't bankrupt him. And, with a sense of self-preservation, he wore his uniform. Zaichaeri people - Zaichaeri humans, particularly, were highly militaristic. He hoped that a worn announcement that he was a part of the Air Defense Corps would keep any potential fighting to a minimum.

It was only mid-afternoon, but it wasn't empty. Florian scanned the room in a strange attempt at people-watching, only to make eye contact with a human man in uniform. He was not ZADC, but it was clear he was military. He stared for a moment, but his beer arrived and he was imminently distracted.

[Myles Arnnett]

Myles waited, and frowned. He was waiting on a small group of officers that had been prowling the area. Supposedly they'd been tasked with keeping order among local rabble due the unrest caused by recent sicknesses in the area. Tho he had reason to believe the methods they were less than ideal in the eyes of the public. While it wasn't his job to necessarily police his cohorts he felt that if the unrest in poorer sectors of the city were to be quelled he'd have to. Noticing the other soldier walk into the bar he noted their decorations as an airman despite the horns that bedecked their head. While he'd met Lysanrin in the ground branches of the military this was the first he'd seen of one in the flying divisions.

Deciding that waiting out the officers with another soldier was slightly less conspicuous than waiting alone, and the fact that he hadn't spoken to any airship crew in a while it might be a good chance to hear how things were topside. Striding from his booth over to the newcomer at the bar now nursing a cool ale Myles stopped at the bar looking from the soldier to the bar tender.

“Hail soldier, care to trade me your tab this evening for some airship stories?” Turning to the bartender Myles grinned with half his teeth. “I'd like two glasses of Oak barrel whiskey.” Waiting at the bar he kept himself angled to watch any newcomers that might use the front entrance still looking for other military types to enter. The was an increased presence of the other races in the lower sections of town, be it from wars or immigration or having nowhere else to go, Myles wasn't sure but the increasing density of the working and poor classes had resulted in waves of illness not before seen in the city. Some officers where already taking it out on the weaker minorities. He grimaced at the powder keg he felt like the city was becoming before knocking back those thoughts with a whiskey glass proffered him. Looking back to the Lysnrin, Myles nodded setting his now empty first glass on the table and offering a hand to shake. "Name's Myles, Officer Myles Arnnett, Defense corps, its a pleasure to see an airman down here, figured you all kept a bar in clouds" Smirking at his own joke the soldier hoped his offer was taken in good humor.

[Florian]

Florian stiffened at the approach, expecting the worst, or at least, bad. He was surprised to see that the human had only come because of his uniform and not the rest of him. He returned Myles's handshake. An officer, eh?

"Private Florian Albrecht." He replied in kind, his own smile forming and the glass of whiskey in his hand. "I'll gladly trade stories, but I'm afraid I don't have many to tell. I've only just been an airman." He noticed the man's remark or joke or what-have-you, but Florian had never felt welcome among the other airmen. Not that Myles had to know, or that Myles particularly cared. The whiskey left the glass and found his stomach, enough alcohol to ease his words. The man's immediate friendliness left a good impression on the Lysanrin, though, and he rarely had a chance to talk about himself to someone who seemed eager to listen.

"I've really got only one story, you know. First time leaving Zaichaer," His smile kept steady. "And we're at this little outpost. Small town attached. Most of the men were drinking, not too much, but I wasn't. I feel something off, and I go to tell Commander Angevin, and suddenly we're ambushed. By mages." His brow furrowed at that point, unsure how detailed a story Myles was looking for in exchange for drinks. "I, well, I take a fireball and..." He looked at Myles, his head tilted. He knew most people didn't even know what it was that Lysanrin were even feared for, let alone the rest of the extent of their abilities. It certainly wasn't something he felt particularly comfortable talking about in a bar.

"Commander Angevin was able to ward and protect us from the fireballs, and luckily the mages were obvious about their art. There weren't a whole lot of them, and we kept off the ambush long enough for them to scatter." He fumbled the story, and unlike when Eitan recounted it, he attempted to keep his participation to a minimum.

[Myles Arnnett]

Listening to the soldier speak Myles tried to hold his thin smile as he listened, the mentions of mages and fire magic at that had his attention, enough that he missed the arrival of the other group of officers until they'd already been seated. When the airmen had finished speaking he nodded. “Well met private Albrecht, If you would do me the honor of joining me at my booth I would like to ask you a few questions about that experience” Looking back to the bartender he ordered two more drinks to be sent to his table before eyeing the group of officers now seated in one of the booths near his. Judging from their grungier looks they where likely low-towners themselves looking to get ahead in the military. If Myles suspicions were correct, they were getting ahead at the expense of their own people.

Sitting back at the table he strained his ears to hear anything he could make out from the other group.

“...awfully quick..” “...aye, when I was that age...” “...ain't got nowhere to go...” “...Always tomorrow...”

Perhaps to anyone else they where discussing any other pursuit of a criminal but his suspicions were that they were praying on those recently orphaned by the plague. He'd only rumour to go on most of the populace unknowing and uncaring, the others often to afraid to say what they did know, especially to an officer. Myles lamented the layman's lack of trust for authority and cursed those who'd ruined the military's good name.

Looking back to Florian, Myles smiled hoping his inner thoughts were masked by his face. “So, you didn't happen to catch what the mages you faced were wearing did you?” Jugging his interests Myles was excited at the thought of finding multiple leads in a singe evening. Making connections within the other branches of the military both high and low would only serve him well in the long run so he considered spoiling the youthful soldier in this pursuit, they looked to be fine enough company when compared to the usual sorts he'd grown accustomed to in his career.

[Florian]

Florian didn't pay much attention to anyone entering. Well, he did, but he also didn't — it was more of a cautious effort to be aware of his surroundings for his own survival rather than an attempt at discerning more subtle facts about the patrons. Plus, his attention was on the officer before him, a whom he had never met but who was either blind or a rare Zaichaeri man that didn't immediately want to treat him like shit. Judging by the way he looked and moved, he figured it was the latter. And if it were the latter, that was a person he wanted to know, and a friend he wanted to have. He met Myles' smile with his own as they moved back to his table, though it was more apologetic.

"No, I'm sorry. It was too dark to really see what they were wearing, and it was too hectic — I didn't really pay attention. Maybe someone else got a better look." Florian shrugged. It was an odd question, but he was sure the man had his reasons to ask. "Do you think that was important? I can ask." It hadn't been anything to note in his own report, but that focused almost entirely on his use of his aether siphoning rather than anything else. The Zaichaeri military having their grubby hands on detailed reports of how and why and when he used those things made him uncomfortable, but he shoved the feeling back down.

"What about you? Do you have any interesting stories to tell? Any exploits?" He was happy for his tab to be covered, but he was even happier — if a touch wary — to talk to someone who seemed outright friendly. Still, out of caution, he stopped drinking. He'd had enough, and he realized that he needed to keep some of his wits about him. Maybe it was paranoia, but Florian didn't want to be caught unawares, and any more alcohol would be too much.

[Myles Arnnett]

If Myles was disappointed in Florian's response he didn't allow it to reach his face. He listened to their words and questions as he finished his drink attempting to mask his watching of the newest group to arrive.
“It's no problem, its hard to pick out such details in the heat of battle... As for why, part of my duties include hunting the cult of mending, they've made a resurgence recently so any clue are always helpful.”
Motioning for the soldier to join him in his booth Myles proffered a menu of the various meals the tavern offered.
“The shepherds pie here is delicious if you've never tried it, As for interesting stories I think I have a few I could interest you in, Order yourself anything you'd like and allow me to ponder what story to tell while I fetch myself another drink.”

Walking back to the bar Myles ordered a much softer cider this round, knowing the drink would take a moment to be fetched he strained his ears to hear the table of officers conversation. It was for the most part disappointingly benign and regular soldier talk no more mentions of the orphans he'd thought they'd been talking about. As he was eyeing them he noticed one detail he'd nearly overlooked. One of the men at the table was rubbing an arm with a series of crescent moon shaped bruises, still ruddy and fresh. Clenching a jaw at what he'd already assumed to be the bite marks of a child. Myles took the drink and returned to his table. Trying to relax his features he sipped the cool basement cider and looked back to the soldier.

“I chose to specialize in recon, due to having been apart of a retinue that was ambushed by fire mages. They belong to a sect of the cult of mending called the purifiers. The use potent fire magic and smoke covered sneak attacks to wreak havoc on the battle field. They dress in nearly tribal wear or robes but always dyed black with ash, the cover themselves in the stuff. I'm hunting any leads I can find on them to this day, thus again my curiosity earlier. It's not my most glorious story but I'd tell if only for the relevance if you'd like to hear it. I can also pick something a tad more lighthearted if you'd like.”

Myles enjoyed talking, particularly with good company that actually wanted to listen to him. Taking another swig from his mug he eyed the Lysanrin's broken horn pondering the origins of the wound. The soldier was young but had seen enough fights to be scarred up by battle, he wondered how many tours they'd seen in the air. He'd begun to grow close with several airmen after he'd learned their value during the day of the Ashen ambush.

[Florian]

Florian nodded along as Myles spoke. The Cult of Mending was a name he had heard but really did not know much about. There had been fire mages, however, and now he wondered if they were connected. He had not taken any time to study their outfits, though, as he had been almost wholly distracted by watching for the aether they manipulated so that they could be taken out before causing more damage than they'd already done. It had also been very dark.

"You can tell me any story you'd like, but I'm not shy about the gruesome. Maybe I'll be able to compare what happened and pick out matching details, even if I didn't see what they were wearing." Florian took the man's suggestion and ordered a shepherd's pie for himself. He saw Myles' gaze move to his horns, and he could almost guess what he was thinking. Everyone asked the same question, when they had time to ask — how did you lose your horn? — and before Myles started on his own story, he gave a basic explanation.

"Oh and there's no real interesting story behind this. I lost a fight." He pointed to his broken horn first, and then scar on his nose. "Same here." With that out of the way, Florian settled a bit more into his seat for the story. Maybe Myles would have more to say than he had about his own fiery mage ambush. He supposed he shouldn't have been entirely surprised that it happened twice, especially if what he said was true — that there was a cult orchestrating such things. But despite being surprised, they had still been prepared for the incident, both with him and Eitan possessing magic that was very good at putting down mages.

[Myles Arnnett]

Taken aback by the Lysanrin's abrupt interjection about his horn and scar Myles smiled wryly. “Forgive my gawking, however I'd insist there is no shame in losing a fight if you learn something from it. In fact I would go as far as to say that my defeats have veiled life's greatest lessons for me.” Laying an elbow on the table Myles rested his hand on his palm lazily. “Besides, I think it makes you look all the more a soldier regardless. If people don't know how the injury came about, they almost always imagine something more awful than any truth can match.”

Taking a moment to collect himself for the retelling of the day Zaichaer lost many of its finest in flames. He'd recounted the tale enough now that with alcohol he could nearly separate his emotions from the memories. “It was the third of Cinderfall. Me and my unit were attached to a regiment numbering two hundred men. We were sent to the east to investigate rumors of high bandit movement in the area. The accounts were either fakes made by spies or the failure of incompetent scouts. In the end we were ambushed by a superior force.” Rapping a knuckle against the table Myles collected himself. “We came up on a single old man, standing in the way of our column of two hundred men. When the commander addressed him, he responded with a blast of fiery magic like that I'd never scene before. In a single moment, about a third of our forces near the front were reduced to ashes.” Pausing for effect he stole another drink of cider and willed his eyes dry. “Burned alive in a moment while that horrible wizard who called himself Vicar Belgrand cackled at us who survived.”

Taking a deep draft from his cider Myles checked to confirm the group of soldiers was still drinking away their evening he continued his story his tone now more somber. “Then his forces were upon us. They wore robes and loincloths no armor among them that wasn't crafted of leather and bone and darkened with ash. They marked their skin similarly and many of them wielded fiery magic against us as we routed. It was bad, My commander skewered a mage who burned himself away with the commander as he perished... Our reinforcements arrived by airship and pulled us from that smokey grave but not before several waves of brutal fighting, I wouldn't say we won that day, but we were able to scatter their main force at the cost of a battalion.” His countenance somewhat darker as the memories took their tole, Myles let his shoulders sag, depleted. “Its assumed the Vicar is still well and alive somewhere in the wilds, likely reinforcing his own depleted ranks.” Sitting back he assumed his vendetta against pyromancers was at bit more understandable.

[Florian]

"Thank you," He chuckled at the comment.

Florian listened intently to Myles' story, though he couldn't say he had anything nearly as exciting or devastating as it. The marking of themselves with ash reminded him of stories of Aritraea, though with vastly different purpose. Even as a mage himself, Florian couldn't help but consider how power begot the desire for more power. The destruction that could be wrought with a wave of the hand and what seemed like just as little thought was a dangerous thing for anyone to wield. He was lucky that he had some semblance of defense, and that the magic used on him could be siphoned into power for himself.

Florian had largely neglected his own drink as the story was told, only remembering it when Myles had sat back in his seat. He was quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry, that's terrible." He wracked his brain for more to say, but he had not experienced such devastation. Even the ambush he had experienced was nothing like it. Sympathy marked his face — it was the least he could share with the man who had, so far, been nice to him. "That's devastating. I can see now why you're intent on finding them again."

Florian was not nearly a competent enough mage to have faced off against those forces, and he'd likely have gotten himself killed in a similar situation. Myles survived, but he wondered if the man felt guilty about that fact, that he had survived and others hadn't. Florian had been faced with it before, but it was not self-imposed.

"Vicar Belgrand... I haven't heard the name. Ah, I wish I could help you more with your revenge."