The Right Man for the Job

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric was bored, which most of his fellow Loyalists knew from experience meant that somebody, somewhere, was about to make a few key catastrophic mistakes in their life choices. Personally, he would rather be bored than deal with his current assignment: it seemed the sergeant had taken an interest in some rookie from Shim. Bloody Teonidus save him, there was no way they were going to recruit any potential Paragon spy, why even bother?

But no, apparently the guy had gotten in via some easy-as-shit investigation involving a scam artist. Didn’t qualify a G1 rank from the boonies for Loyalist work, not by a longshot. The least he could have done was earn his position through proper blackmail or bribery, as Ferric himself had benefited from so many years ago.

It wasn’t his call to make. Ferric tossed aside the relatively new file on this “Dylan,” having made it his practice to research everyone he expected to come to work with. One worked half as effectively without a proper base of knowledge and Ferric was more than willing to abuse his position to get the dirt he needed.

Besides, the sergeants had trusted him with this. They had to know what Dylan was in for, and he’d hate to disappoint.

Justification secured, Ferric walked in. The clang of steel was prevalent as guards wandered around the premises, though most held their helmets at their sides. The patrol board was a mess of extra shifts since the bombings, everyone had to check it twice. Fortunately, Dylan and Ferric were exempt for the morning. “Dylan Drashalov?” He called out over the sea of faces, errantly flipping his hand to the side dismissively. “Ferric Vintas, so get up front and center. Wouldn't want to keep the sergeants waiting.”

[Dylan Drashalov]

Dylan felt the stares of the citizens of Marn on him, burning a hole through his armor. The people of the city respected their Guard, even feared them. However, no people or land was free of dissent. No matter how heavy a hand is applied it gets applied unevenly. The concept used to make him feel oddly uncomfortable, dissent. Now after training, patrolling, and service with the Guard it made him a bit aggressive and full of resolve.

Ordinarily Dylan would chide himself for giving in to his baser instincts, the kind that his brothers and father and other such men lived on. However, with the Gala bombing he felt he could do with a bit of base instinct. The city was angry and scared, waiting another attack or brutal retaliation from the city government.

Retaliation he understood. Somewhere in this city someone was gloating over the old plot and hatching a new one. Had Dylan his way, he’d go to door to door and start dragging the riffraff out, lining them up against walls. An arrow or two or a handful of rapid thrusts with a dagger would improve Marn forever.

But this was more than using magic or a tavern riot. An organized enemy had targeted the city and was using a more potent weapon than any bomb. Fear.

When he heard his voice being called, Dylan pushed his way through the assembled Guard, eliciting a few grumbles and curses. They were all on edge, quarrelsome, eager to fight.

Dylan kept a hand on the old dagger he used as a sidearm and stepped forward to the man calling his name. He rearranged his slick, small featured face into a inscrutable mask.

“Dylan Drashalov, reporting as ordered.”

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric adopted the proud stance of disapproving fathers everywhere, crossing his arms and sticking his chest out, narrowed eyes staring at the rookie as he approached. The rookie’s face had all the features of a slate of marble, but people had plenty of other tells to scan. Ferric’s left eyebrow rose to uncharted heights when he noticed that the rookie had a hand on his dagger. It was an awfully defensive gesture for one surrounded by allies, but many were on edge after the bombings. He supposed he could let it slide without comment. Simply settling his gaze upon the knife for a few moments longer than necessary would serve as an unspoken admonishment.

With a shrug of his shoulders and indifferent turn of the head, Ferric spun on his heel and walked back out the door, which had been propped open for the guards to head out through the courtyard to their positions throughout the city.

He wouldn't be Ferric if he didn't check the patience of his coworkers. Refusing to use his name might be a fine place to start testing the waters. Letting a jovial, teasing note into his voice, he greeted Dylan with, “Great to meet you, rookie, truly a pleasure, but let’s be off. The sergeant wants to punish me by having me look after you, so let’s be quick about it.”

He considered kicking the door stopper out from beneath the wood, but quickly decided that was far too obvious. His experiments were always more enlightening when the subject wasn't sure whether to blame themselves or him.

As Dylan moved to follow, one of the other guards slapped him on the back a couple of times and said something to the tune of “good luck” with a couple more colorful words thrown in. For his part, Ferric didn't recognize the poor sod but assumed him to be one of the many who had been negatively affected by the revelations that he so generously bestowed.

Ferric took it as an opportunity to reverse his attitude. Picking up the conversation as though he hadn’t left any gap at all, he continued to speak, “But little does she realize,” He surrendered a conspiratorial smirk to Dylan as the pair weaved their way through the steel-clad crowd of guards in the courtyard, “I’d rather go out on an arrest than drudge through the doldrums of patrol duty any day. We’re a lucky pair today, my friend.”

[Dylan Drashalov]

Dylan swallowed just a bit when he saw who was summoning him. Even as a newbie in the Guard, he’d heard of this Vintas. How did the old saying go] The Guard protects the citizens with sword and shield. The Loyalists work in the shadows with whispers and daggers. He only supposed it was fitting that someone like Vintas embody these qualities to the umpteenth degree. Already the man had cast a look at his belt, and Dylan realized the man was looking disapprovingly at his holstered dagger. He wondered what it meant. Shouldn’t he be on his guard, after all?

With the bombing, Dylan could see how the Loyalists would be more useful than ever. The majority of the Guard found them distasteful, and probably never more so than now. For his own part, he was not quite sure how to feel them, until now. He wanted nothing to do with this man or his Loyalists. Especially if he’s taking me on some kind of suicide mission.

As he followed Vintas out into the courtyard, someone slapped him on the back and had something clever to say. Dylan resolutely ignored it. He already had enough trouble today without adding to it.

Dylan noticed that Vintas had not used his name quite yet. His lip quirked just a bit when he realzed he was in for a hell of a day. From what I hear, he is taking it easy on me still.

“Lucky how?" He was not quite sure how to address Vintas, whether sir was correct or not, so he didn’t want to push it. He’d probably like it if I called him m’lord, knowing him.

[Ferric Vintas]

“Well, that’s simple enough,” Ferric responded, flippantly shrugging his shoulders and tossing his eyes up to the cloudy sky above. “Patrols are boring and last for entirely too long. All we have to do today is walk up to a house, kick in the door, and drag the poor sod to the bowels of the justice hall for questioning.” Ferric hoped Dylan was smart enough to infer what ‘questioning’ actually meant.

The doors of the fort were opened for the pair as they left the premises; it was all very professional and impressive, as Ferric had long ago come to expect of these Marnians and their Guard. It would surprise many to know that he had always admired that about them, even if he didn’t quite follow their example.

It was time to drop the bombshell. He got the impression that Dylan was in this without being informed of the full situation. His superior’s handiwork, probably. Teonidus only knew what went on in the mind of that woman.

“’Course if you’d rather avoid dealing with his family, I think we could do this subtle-like.” Now sufficiently far away from the fort, and the no-doubt-uptight door watch, Ferric fished through the toolkit at his belt and pulled out a fairly high-quality lock pick. He twirled it casually around his fingers until it abruptly vanished, consumed by a sleight-of-hand trick. Ferric smiled mischievously as he waved the fingers of his open palm.

“You might even learn a thing or two, about some handy tricks of the trade and the good citizens of Marn. For example, people are generally smart enough to figure out what happened after they come report a disappearance to the guard and the guard doesn’t find ‘em after a while.”

[Dylan Drashalov]

Dylan had never felt like more of a farm boy than he did at that moment: watching the highly ranked, sarcastic, and caustic Guard flipping a key around his hands and talking about an arrest. No, something much more different than an arrest. He had an odd yearning to be back on the farm, smoking his pipe as he guarded some rutabagas against encroaching rabbits.

Though he had heard the odd rumor about Vintas here and there from other Guards, Dylan realized that it could all be a lie. Guards who were bored or off duty weren't exactly the most reliable source of information. The two of them were alone now, and Vintas seemed to be waiting for his response. This could all be a test. I must proceed carefully.

“I was just thinking to myself that the people in this city could use a reminder about who is really in charge.” Dylan blinked. Why had he spoken so honestly? This man will either report me or think me a lunatic. Or would he?

He considered retracting the comment or adding something about how they should proceed within the confines of the law. But Dylan had a sense that if he appeared weak or uncertain in front of this one his fate in the Guard, such as it were, would be sealed. Vintas wasn't wrong about the patrols, that was for sure. Dylan had pounded the cobblestone for hours on end, feeling the sun beat down on his helmet or the rain on his shoulders, the ache of his armor twinging the small of his back towards the end of a shift, brushing the horse shit and sometimes fouler substances off of his boots. The city was generally a fairly ordered place, but it wasn't somewhere he wanted to walk around for eight hours every day for the rest of his life. Was he wrong for feeling just a bit excited about the prospect of what Vintas was hinting at doing?

He tried his best and did an admirable job of sounding and appearing nonchalant, but he could almost hear the axe blow of Vintas’s response whistling down.

[Ferric Vintas]

“So…” Ferric responded, waving his hand in a tight circle at his stomach level. Dylan hadn’t exactly answered his question. By Ferric’s estimation, people would be reminded who is ‘in charge’ in either case, once they put two and two together to figure out where their neighbor had gone. “The kick-in-the-door option, then?”

Ferric would have preferred the subtle option, of course. His handiwork was a bit rusty and he could always use the practice, but more than that he considered it the superior option, politically. By his estimation, giving the wife even the smallest trace of doubt as to her husband’s fate would make it much less likely the government would have an unexpected enemy somewhere down the road.

He made a short, disappointed ‘tsk’ noise from the back of his throat, before immediately contradicting it with a flippant shrug. “Suits me just fine.” He responded, extending the u sound in just far longer than was necessary. His voice dripped with unspoken disapproval. “I’m sure some might argue that this sort of heavy handed justice is why the rebellion sprung up in the first case, but I couldn’t care less. The sneaky devils keep me employed, after all.”

[Dylan Drashalov]

“I didn’t say that!” Dylan protested, quite feebly. Vintas sure had a gift for putting words in another’s mouth.

The young man seemed to take a minute to collect himself before continuing.

“It all depends on what we’re dealing with,” Dylan said. He put his hand on the hit of his dagger. The gesture seemed to do him good. “If I could know exactly what that is, I may have something further to contribute.”

Had he gone too far? Dylan was long past keeping his face or his voice under control. He could almost feel Vintas’s eyes crawling over him, judging him, thinking him craven or weak.

By Teodinus, he had hoped he was done with all of these kinds of tests when he had completed his initial training. Apparently not.

[Ferric Vintas]

“Please. We in the rank and file only need to know one thing: this fellow pissed off the wrong people, and gets to spend a few days in jail as a warning.” Ferric shrugged as he walked, the nonchalant motion rattling the bastard sword sheathed on his back. “Tactically speaking, he’s got a family, a wife and child. The kid is probably at school, so we don’t need to worry about a weepy eyed bugger coming to get us.” Ferric casually elbowed Dylan’s shoulder as if he were part of the joke.

“We know from his record he isn’t working today, so he should be there. If not, we wait for him like the fine, upstanding gentlemen we are. Or get his wife to give up his location, if we’re feeling less patient. Really though, we can take our time. Why get back to work early?”

Ferric thought about it more, his finger lazily gliding to his chin in mock contemplation. His eyes rolled up to the heavens, where grey clouds extended in all directions; even through the wall’s new great gaping crag. “His name is Ratmei Mykalvir, he’s one of those middle-ground types where nobody is sure if the family is synevive or titre. The exotic sounding name doesn’t do him any favors, though. Since he hasn’t changed it, we can probably assume it has some meaning to him. Either that, or he’s too uncreative to come up with a new one.”

The scrape of a steel boot against the cobblestone sent an unpleasant screech echoing through the barren streets. People were less inclined to go outside after the bombings. Stupid, really. Paragon wasn’t going to have the resources to pull a stunt like that for a while. They were safer now than they had been all of last year.

That might be an exaggeration, but Ferric took what patronization he could. He continued speaking as he pretended to study those few civilians left on the street. “He works as a plumber or something, and is frustrated by gnomish technology like any sane individual. He’s oddly outspoken about the arcane, and tends to bring it up in conversation all the time without actually taking a side on the matter. That’s probably why we're paying him a visit. His favorite color is purple, but I’m just messing with you on that one. I have no idea what his favorite color is." He took a pause to take a breath of the crisp air and feel the wind.

"So, what do you want to do with all that?"

[Dylan Drashalov]

The moment Vintas had brought up the case Dylan’s eyes lowered a bit as he focused. He took in all the other man said and appeared to be in a great deal of thought. When Vintas took a break, Dylan silently wished he had had quill and paper to take some notes. The ability to write them down would serve even better. His memory would have to do, as it always had. One day he would learn to write, but until then he would have to be enlightened by his intellect alone.

When Vintas was through Dylan let the silence settle between them. He observed the street. A city under siege. There weren't many people out, and Dylan couldn't blame them. The rabble was scared to half to death.

An older boy across the street mounted on what looked like the family horse cast a curious glance at them. Dylan tightened his grip on his dagger, set his jaw, and shot a withering glare from underneath his helmet right back, a glare that said, Guard business. You got a problem with that? The boy quickly slunk away.

If this bombing had any silver lining it was that the riffraff were in their place, for now. All that remained was to catch the ones who had put them there.

“Seems to me that a man who works with high-fancy, high falutin’ gnome plumbing and with a swishy name like that values himself pretty highly.” Dylan said. “Man with a silver spoon stuck up his ass. I don’t think dragging him off to prison would be enough.”

He realized how plainly he was speaking. Dylan wondered if it was the right tactic. Vintas had done so, so why shouldn't he?

“But for that type of man I think having him and his family name dragged through the mud would be worse.” Dylan told Vintas. “Disrespect him before he gets sent away, and maybe he’ll learn a lesson.”

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric only barely restrained his laughter. This kid was hilarious. He’d probably been brought into the force by some extremist, nationalistic loon who thought extreme beatings served as a deterrent to every crime under the sun. Teonidus bless those who were really in charge, who understood enough to know that publicly humiliating the populace only riled them up more. There was a reason Marn’s executions weren’t out in the open like those idiots back in Eyropa.

Even so, this left Ferric in the unique position of deciding what to do with his companion’s rather extreme views. If Ferric’s interest in tormenting people were comparable to food, his mouth would salivate at the prospect before him.

The way he saw it, there were two possibilities before him. The first was to let Dylan go ahead with his charming little plan to beat a man in front of his wife, the second was to try and educate the rookie as to how the guard really functioned. The advantage of the latter was that it was likely part of the reason his superiors had assigned him to this. The advantage of the former was that it was not what his superiors wanted him to do, and that’d teach them to try and force these rookies on him.

Ferric held back a sigh, knowing that the latter wouldn’t work out all that well for him, long-term. He’d been kept on a short leash ever since last Yiamas, and the true test of this situation might well be directed more at Ferric than Dylan. Meaning it was, unfortunate and dull as that might be, his job to educate this farm boy.

“Listen kid, you keep saying you’re not committed to the kick-in-the-door, but that’s what I keep hearing.” He rolled his lips around as if chewing, contemplating where the weak points lie. “Tell you what. Compromise. We sneak in and grab him without alerting anyone, throw a sack over his head-” Ferric slapped the pack slung at his side. “Then you’re free to throttle him- in private, where nobody’ll see. I’ll even teach you how to do it without leaving obvious bruises, if you’d like. Lessons learned, for both you and our guest.”

[Dylan Drashalov]

Is this why I was assigned to him? Dylan wondered after the other man had spoken. To learn how to beat a citizen so it wouldn’t leave a mark?

He ruminated on it for a bit, again yearning for his pipe. He likewise yearned to be back in Shim, amongst other farm people. There he stood out. There Dylan was above the cut. You’re just a country boy here, and you will be until you learn differently.

He yearned for that day, the moment when he climbed a hilltop and surmounted a challenge. In his youth it had been to break free from the bonds of the land, from his gentleman father who was rich enough to learn all he wanted about the world and yet had no desire to improve himself. Dylan was the apotheosis of that mindset and in fact hated it.

I’m here now, where I’ve always wanted to be. This isn’t the time or place to pussyfoot around.

“I think that Mykalvir and Marn’s best interest would be served with your solution.” Dylan was trying to emulate Vintas’s way of speaking, the measured and calm tones. But not the mocking. He hadn’t earned that quite yet. He could only assume Vintas had.

Dylan wondered if he could do it when the time came. He had no qualms about glowering at a beggar in the street or drawing his dagger. He’d had to do it a few times in the line of duty, already. But the real test was just getting underway, and he wouldn’t pass it by showing any weakness.

[Ferric Vintas]

Ferric smiled pleasantly, but there was a smug undertone to it that spoke volumes all its own. This was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. He clapped his hands together and said, “Excellent! It seems there is hope for you yet. We’ll stop by the patrol outpost to grab the stuff I’ll need.”

True to his word, they made a brief detour to the outpost, whereupon Ferric grabbed a bag and some various tools that could be repurposed for the sake of the beating. Among them, a delightful pair of handcuffs that would serve to restrain their increasingly unfortunate target. At a whim, he also snagged a piece of evidence: a paragon newspaper. There was a tiny, malicious idea forming in his head.

He considered trying to charm his way into taking the horse and wagon that would be stationed here, but decided against it. The requisitions officer was occasionally shooting glances his way, and if Ferric had previously demeaned the fellow it was an unlikely risk to ask the officer to break protocol in such a flagrant manner.

The rest of the walk involved little talk, as the plan of action had already been decided upon. Soon they approached the house. Ferric brought Dylan to a halt by putting his hand out, and said “Here we are. It’s the one story place between the two larger houses.” Ferric pointed. “Let’s case it, just for fun.”

Ferric did a rudimentary job of outlining the house’s exit points, one front door and one back, as well as pointing out a couple windows a desperate offender might seek to slip out through. Nothing that was terribly interesting or likely, but it was important to get into the right habits. Ferric had also been hoping to catch a glance of somebody in the interior, so they could get an estimate as to the number of people home, but besides a single glance of somebody leaving a room, he couldn’t really see much without waiting longer, and that would mean the child might return from school. Ferric didn’t really want to deal with a child. They often managed to make a nuisance of themselves.

“Alright, time to creep. And by that, I mean act as normal as possible. Just walk.” Ferric strode up to the back door as if he had just been called inside. It was only once he was up against the wall that he started pulling out his various questionably legal tools. As his hands worked on autopilot he cast his eyes back to see how Dylan was handling the situation.

[Dylan Drashalov]

The pair had made a stop to pick up supplies. Dylan had his dagger, he had his bow. That was all he had ever needed to do his job. What am I doing now? Certainly not what I was trained to do.

Vintas seemed to have that covered, too. The man was operating like a predator, the way he surveyed their target’s house. The behavior left him with a vague sense of disquiet. Not only were the movements so practiced, it was clear Vintas was enjoying himself. It showed that life in the big city was far more dangerous than Dylan had thought.

A concept that was going to become much more apparent to their target in but a moment. Dylan tried his best to move like Vintas, purposeful as if he was being summoned. He hoped he didn’t look like he felt: awkward, wildly out of his element.

He considered drawing his dagger, the old piece of iron that had been steady at his side since he started pounding the ground in Marn. But he knew that’s not why they were here. This man needs to be made an example of so the next citizen that thinks of joining the Paragon will think twice.

Dylan saw Vintas doing something with his hands, something with some tools. He was busy, so Dylan cast his eyes to what he could see of the interior of the house. Sweat dripped into his eyes, off the noseguard of his pothelm.

He quietly hoped that Mykalvir was down for his midday nap or something, and that the house was empty. Dylan repositioned himself so that he could slam a booted foot into the door if need be, just in case their luck didn’t hold and the target tried to bolt.

His adrenaline was pumping, but he forced his mind to counteract his body. Right now, brute strength wouldn’t serve them. Cool intellect was needed to make this operation a success.

[Ferric Vintas]

There was only so much one could do with plate armor. Ferric smiled softly as Dylan clanked and rattled his way up to the door. His own half plate was not much better, admittedly, but he knew how to make it work. His right side had the most leather, which was fortunate as it was with his right hand the most dexterous movements of the pick had to be made.

The lock was of low complexity, but even so, it would take time. If he didn’t want to show off, he might have even reconsidered his stance on kicking in the door. There was just about no situation where picking a lock was faster than brute force. Still, something to be said for subtlety.

Speaking of which, “Hey, rookie.” Ferric said, barely bothering to keep his voice quiet. If he could hear their voices, he had probably already heard the armor and clicking noise of the picks. “No need to look so ready to bolt, he won’t be going anywhere. He’s a plumber. If he has to flee, he won’t have anywhere to go. Most folk recognize that and take their chances with us.” Ferric finished the scraping process, reasonably sure that he now knew the cutoff point of each pin. Now it was a matter of balancing them right. “At least, unless they’re foreigners. Or homeless titres.”

After several more moments, there was a click. Ferric carefully spun his tools, turning the pins just so. The door clicked open, and Ferric stood up, using his hand to push the door in. It leaned wide open, without any creaking noise. It was less a testament to Ferric’s skill that it was Mykalvir’s maintenance. Mrs. Mykalvir was a lucky lady, to have such a handy fellow around. Either that or the door was just new. Ferric wasn’t much of a carpenter.

He walked inside, standing fully upright. It didn’t really look like the conventional image of sneaking, which often involved crouching for some reason. Maybe there was something to that, though, because it didn’t exactly sound like Ferric was sneaking either. In fact, the volume of his movements couldn’t be regarded as much better than average. It didn’t seem to bother him much.

Ferric wondered if Dylan would question it as he faked an interest in the flowerpot one of the Mykalvirs had set up. He motioned for Dylan to walk around and search, but his hand stopped halfway through its wave.

He crept up to the door, his movements actually quiet now. He heard voices from the other side of the door. He smiled. It sounded like husband and wife cleaning off a table, completely oblivious to the world around them. How delightfully convenient.

“They’re both here.” Ferric informed Dylan, though the rookie had probably been able to infer that much. “No grabbing him sneaky if they are together. You can have the honor of yelling ‘Marn Guard’ before we stride in there.”