• Graded • I Won't Tell If You Don't

Finn please

With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.

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Ivanthe
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I Won't Tell If You Don't

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Ivanthe crossed his legs as he began eating, eyes fixed attentively on Finn. The following story was fractured and breathless, a sure sign of something exciting; the older boy’s eyes sparkled when he spoke of the quest, then dimmed suddenly when it came to the mention of payment.

Ivanthe grimaced and nodded sympathetically, well aware of how poorly young workers were paid for labor. When Finn’s tone turned suggestive, though, his stomach dropped apprehensively. There was the catch to it all, hanging clearly even before Finn was done speaking.

The young hunter bit his lip dubiously, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Finn laid out the camp’s mealtime, the lack of patrols, the soft assurances about how minimal the danger was – Ivanthe was not a trained thief by any means, but the task didn’t seem to require one. Looking at things from Finn’s perspective, Ivanthe could see the apparent ease for himself. The camp had been small, from what he’d seen, and Finn’s words about guards felt true.

And stealing a chest would more than put them back on equal footing. But still…

“I… could do it,” Ivanthe replied eventually, though his tone betrayed uneasiness. “If you’re sure you can keep anyone from coming back to check. I think I remember seeing that tent last night. On the north side, right?”

He looked down at his food, running nervous fingers over the bread as his chest grew tighter. He’d grown up swiping small things from Yaren, but it had mostly been food on hungry nights and only once had he taken something from a camp that wasn’t his.

“Yes,” he stated firmly after a few moments. “I’ll get it for you. Tonight, and I’ll hide with it to make sure you get it in the morning.”
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Finnegan O'Connor
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I Won't Tell If You Don't

I Won't Tell If You Don't


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________________________


Finn studied the boy closely, gauging every little reaction to all he'd said, wondering if he'd spun a convincing enough story for the youngster to take the bait. Ivanthe's reluctance was almost palpable, but the boy agreed regardless. A short grin and "thank you" later, Finn disappeared, leaving the child to his own devices. He walked out of the stables with a noticeable skip in his step. There was still no certainity if Ivanthe was any good, but if he was, Mr. Tagley would surely be pleased that he didn't just bring back treasure, but another potential helper too.

---

A few bells before midnight all those who still remained of the travelling companions gathered around for another meal. The mood was decidely more chipper than it had been before, now that all the dangers were behind them. Nevertheless, Finn assumed his usual position at the edge of the fire, keeping to himself. He didn't want or need the attention of any of the adults that had accompanied Patrick on the quest, he kept his own company and the elements had become more than mere acquaintances by now.

After a few bits he excused himself from the meal and fire to take a piss, but as soon as he was out of sight he lowered himself to a crouch and stalked his way back into the camp, using the other tents and wagons for cover. Hidden from sight behind the largest tent in the camp, he watched from a distance, waiting for a small shadow to appear near the small tent on the northernmost edge of the camp, the one that Patrick had purchased for him.

There weren't many items inside save for a dark green, standard sized bedroll and the small chest he'd mentioned. Finn had hidden his clothes and anything else that might betray it was in fact his tent, a few bells before. Hugging himself, Finn watched his breath condense in the air as he waited for Ivanthe to approach from the North. At least, he suspected the boy would take that route since it was the side the furthest removed from the campfire, providing the most shadow for a stealthy approach.

From there on out it would be a matter of time. The best thieves he'd ever known worked fast and appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye, all without making a noise if they could help it. From there, the test would turn into a simple mind game. There were indeed a few relics stored inside the chest (his fair share of the loot), and Finn knew precisely which items. If the boy was a dishonest thief, he might be tempted to take a peek, perhaps pocket one of the items for himself. It seemed most likely, though he hoped Ivanthe would be a little more trustworthy than that.
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Ivanthe
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After Finn left, Ivanthe didn’t linger. The food was wrapped up and tucked under an arm as he slipped out of the stables. Foster’s Landing began to slowly rustle awake, and when he reached his camp, he greeted his horse fondly and offered her some of the bread.

Then, as he ate the rest of his breakfast, Ivanthe began to plan.
– – –
Nerves on fire, Ivanthe arrived early enough to spend an hour in the brush, creeping slowly and quietly from one hiding place to another as he watched the party move about their camp. He was certain which tent was the correct one, placed just a bit away from the others and, from what he could see, it was completely ignored.

True to Finn’s word, there was a soft swell of noise five bells from midnight and the entire group converged near the fire. Ivanthe couldn’t even feel his own body, he was so nervous. He must have kept breathing somehow, because he wasn’t on the verge of passing out––at least not from lack of breath.

The boy stayed in place longer than perhaps was necessary, terrified that someone would come to check the tent the second he stepped toward it. But there was a sweet spot between fear of being too early and fear of being too late that eventually propelled him forward, though every movement and sensation felt like someone else was living it.

He kept to the soft ground, avoiding as many rocks as he could until he reached the tent. Firelight caught on every shape, dancing jaggedly out from the camp center and providing sharp darkness for him to hide in. When he was behind the little tent, he took a few too many moments to crouch down and calm his breathing. He was so close––it was amazing they couldn’t hear his pounding heart over their supper.

Screwing his eyes shot and concentrating, Ivanthe almost convinced himself that they weren’t there. Just enough to force himself around and through the entrance of the tent.

The inside was dark, but small enough tho navigate by touch. Bedroll, clothes, small bits of things––a chest. He slid one hand over the container, but continued roaming with the other; he refused to make a mistake after having come all this way, and he needed to make sure there was no second chest.

There wasn’t. It was the right one, then.

At that point, his drowning anxiety was beginning to blur into an overarching numbness. All he could think about was getting out and getting finished. He struggled to hoist the thing off the ground, but it wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be. He backed out of the tent and waddled his way back into its shadow, took three more moments to breathe, then slowly but surely waddled his way away from the firelight into the darkness.
– – –
As promised, Ivanthe did not leave the chest unattended. He snuck back into the stables and wrestled it into the loft, covering it in hay before plopping down himself before finally processing what he had just done.

He’d stolen a chest. He’d just stolen an entire chest from an inhabited camp. The exhilaration chased him into his dreams and brought him in and out of consciousness here and there, and whenever he woke he would reach over and just run his fingers along the wood to confirm that he’d actually done it.

The pride was enough to make his anxiety loosen, and that was enough for one night.
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Finnegan O'Connor
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I Won't Tell If You Don't


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________________________


What would've certainly felt like an eternity to the burgeoning thief passed within the span of a bit. The boy was careful with his approach, almost too careful, but the darkness hid his movements well and if Finn had the advantage of knowing where to look. What happened next transpired much faster. There was a slight rummaging noise, too low to be heard by those sitting at the fire yet not quite soft enough to pass unnoticed to anyone nearby. Without the wind to drown out the movements, Ivanthe could consider himself lucky that no one else was near. The retreat was clumsier, hastier than the approach, but also certainly faster. Soon, the boy had disappeared entirely, his dark hair blending into the night.

Finn moved back to the camp, still mulling over what he'd seen. He knew he was far from a perfect thief himself, but still thought he could teach Ivanthe a thing or two. He plonked down back near the fire and quickly devoured his meal before excusing himself again, only to return to his tent. From what he could tell, Ivanthe had done exactly as instructed and had only taken the chest. A good sign, though the boy had been a little careless with his rummaging, leaving some of the items in his tent slightly shifted, wrinkled, and changed. Finn doubted many ordinary people would have noted. He was looking for clues of Ivanthe's presence after all.

---

The next day, Finn hurried toward the stables early. He'd slipped on the warm woolen coat he'd gotten from Patrick this time, shielding himself against the Cylus cold. When he entered the stables he found Ivanthe slumped amid the hay, caressing his latest and perhaps first ever treasure. Everything about him screamed exhilarated relief. He wondered if Ivanthe had slept there again, but soon dismissed the thought.

With a thud, Finn unceremoniously dropped down next to the little thief and punched him lightly on the shoulder, flashing an encouraging smile. "You did rather well," he said. "Couple of sloppy moves but, overall-" He cut himself off there and chuckled. "Sorry, I'll start at the beginning. Can you give me that please?" He nudged his chin toward the chest. Once he'd received it he laid it on his lap and opened the lid. It only took him a few trills to see that Ivanthe hadn't taken anything out of the chest.

"An honest thief," he noted as he closed the lid again and set the chest aside, not caring too much about the trinkets at this point. "I thought you might be, but now I know for sure." He expected a confused look but silenced Ivanthe with a movement from his hand before the boy could get a word in. "It was a test. The chest's mine. I was stood behind the large tent. Saw you take it." He stood up and offered his hand to Ivanthe to help him up too.

"You've told me a whole lot without saying much. You're pretty brave," he started, his voice casually except for the slight tremble of excitement woven into it. "I remember the first time I nicked something. I was shaking like a leaf." His eyes seized Ivanthe up once more. Young, yes, but not much smaller than himself, though a little skinny judging by the boy's loose clothes. Nothing Mr. Tagley couldn't fix. "Unless, of course, this isn't your first time, but I believe we already established that. The real question is this," Finn spoke as he found a beam to lean against before crossing his arms over his chest. "would you like to get better? You have some talent, some real talent, and I work for someone who could use your talents well, I think. Pay's not bad either."

He arched an eyebrow at Ivanthe, realizing there was one more mystery to solve. "Your father might be a problem," he said. "Or is he?" At this he narrowed his eyes, the insinuation subtle. "You're what-? Ten? Eleven? I don't know many fathers who let their children wander around at this hour."

For a moment he worried he'd gone too far. Children could be rather sensitive about their parents, he knew from experience, especially orphans who had tasted the bitter loss recently. His arms uncrossed and his gaze soften a little as he looked at Ivanthe. "I grew up in an orphanage, Ivan. I've seen all kinds. Kids with no parents, kids with bad parents, kids with parents who made them do terrible things... which one are you?"
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Ivanthe
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Ivanthe was already on the edge of dozing and awake, so he rose quickly when Finn arrived. It was impossible to tell what time it was without seeing the stars, but the unhurried steps told him he was safe.

The young hunter let the the chest do the talking for him. Finn was pleased, and Ivanthe had done something dangerous––that alone was almost enough to not notice the slip in Finn’s words. Almost.

Ivanthe blinked cooly, but still pushed the chest to the older boy without comment.

That, then, was when he learned what had really happened.

"Disappointed" would have been too weak a word. He had no right to be, he knew––this was Finn’s repayment, and not Ivanthe’s place to judge––but he’d been so proud of what he’d done. It was daring and cunning, and being told that it was all fake knocked the joy right out of him.

Still, he did his best to keep the feelings hidden behind his eyes, a bit crestfallen but unwilling to blame Finn for it. He’d get over it, he knew, but it still stung.

The job offer, now that held on to Ivanthe’s attention. Employment as what, a thief? Was that the suggestion? A torrent of doubts tumbled through his mind––the greatest being the fact that he simply was not a thief. Well, yes, he’d stolen something, but thieving and being a thief were two different things, just like hunting and being a hunter. Which, come to think of it, Ivanthe could barely call himself either. There were a thousand things he wasn’t, and not many that he actually was, other than someone trying to get by with no idea what they were doing.

“I…” Ivanthe almost said something, but there was no way to vocalize the crushing uncertainty that was his response. So he simply said nothing.

And then Finn mentioned his father.

Ivanthe’s jaw tensed instantly, though no other part of him did. “My father doesn’t care what I do,” he said flatly.

But Finn was sensing more than he was supposed to, and the subtext of what he said––kids with no parents, kids with bad parents, kids with parents who made them do terrible things––it yanked up his defenses faster than a flying fist.

“I don’t want your pity,” Ivanthe snapped. “My father won’t be a problem. He doesn’t care, he just hunts.” Whether or not Finn believed him was irrelevant; the sharp defensiveness insinuated something else entirely.

Ivanthe closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself, then looked back at the older boy. “I… have never had a job before. Not a real one. I don’t know what that means. What would you want me to do?”
word count: 471
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Finnegan O'Connor
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I Won't Tell If You Don't

I Won't Tell If You Don't


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________________________


He flared his nostrils. Ivanthe was too much like how he'd been. Half the fist fights he'd gotten into back in Etzos had to do with some cunt-faced mongrel calling his father or mother names. "I don't pity you," he grumbled. "You can take care of yourself." There was a double meaning to it. Not only did he believe Ivan could take care of himself, he started to suspect that the boy had been doing so for at least a season now. Whether that meant the boy had a negligent father, an absent father, or no father at all however, remained unclear. One thing was certain, no one with normal parents would react so violently. Something was clearly amiss and he could only wonder about Ivanthe's mother, who'd gone unmentioned so far.

Still, he had a chance to persuade the flighty boy and he had every intention of doing so. He pushed his back off the beam, picked up the chest under his arm and motioned for Ivanthe to follow with his head. "Well first of all, I'd like you to eat a little more. You're scrawny." He refrained from making a comment about the boy's father not feeding him enough. That would only touch a nerve, he imagined, and he needed to persuade the boy to come with him.

"The job I'm offering you," he started as they stepped outside and set on a path into Foster's Landing, "is not just about stealing things. It's more than that. It's being a couple of extra eyes and ears for my esteemed," he smiled, "employer. Sometimes it's as simple as going about your day and reporting back what you've heard and seen. Sometimes it's about putting on an act. Prying information loose. Sometimes it's about slipping something into someone's pocket, without 'em noticing. And yes," he stopped before a bakery, "sometimes it's about stealing. Have you had breakfast yet?"

He didn't really wait for an answer as he handed the treasure chest over to Ivanthe and entered the bakery. A little bell rang as they entered before a plumb lady with messy, blonde hair and glowing cheeks emerged from behind the counter.

"Whaddaya want?" she said. It was about as polite as Foster's Landing got.

Finn shot a glance over his shoulder. "Buns? Nah- we had those already. Two cinnamon rolls please and that big, brown loaf there," he pointed toward a wooden rack behind the woman. She turned rather sluggishly, like an old, demented elephant that had quite forgotten where it was and what it had been doing. As she turned, he snatched two small pasties from the counter and slid them into his right pocket.

"Anyfing else?" the woman coughed as she put the loaf on the counter. Finn shook his head, reached into his other pocket for payment and left the store with a polite wave and smile afterward.

"See?" he winked as they stepped outside. "Not hard at all, and you'd get paid to do things like that. Most of the times it's even easier than this. Just slip in a building, get some papers, walk out again. No big deal. There's no guard here, remember? And in Etzos... well, they don't pay much attention to the likes of us."

They strolled over to a little bench near the end of the street and Finn sat down before patting the place next to him. "You've got to understand," he lowered his voice somewhat, "you've already got the talent. All you need is a little practice and you could well become the greatest man of this time. Certainly the richest," he added. He fished the cinnamon roll out of his pocket and put it on the treasure chest. "You could stuff yourself with food like this for the rest of your days. That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"
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Ivanthe
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Finn relented on the topic of parents, earning a thankful nod on the hunter’s part. The suspicion was still there, but it didn’t enter the conversation again.

The followed Finn without comment when he rose to leave. The older boy carried the chest, navigating to the first floor with one arm and Ivanthe hot on his heels. Out of habit, Ivanthe followed one step behind and to the side, giving the lead to his elder while also close enough to see his face as he talked.

“No breakfast,” he answered distractedly, focused mostly on the job Finn was describing. Some things sounded simple, others less so, but there was a pause when they stopped in front of a bakery as the smell of bread and sweets hit him like a hammer.

The counterwoman was short and blunt, but at least she seemed to believe they actually had coin. Finn ordered with casual pickiness, and Ivanthe’s mouth watered at the very words cinnamon roll––he’d had one of those once, years ago, and the smell of the bakery brought it all rushing back.

When Finn slickly palmed two pasties from under the woman’s nose, Ivanthe averted his eyes automatically and refused to know about it, at least until they’d gotten their rolls and left.

The sky was dark and the air cold, but warm excitement was lancing through his core at the prospect of that roll. Not that it distracted from listening to Finn; the way the older boy described this nebulous job was making more sense now. Ivanthe didn’t just take things with a grain of salt, he took a whole bucket, but even then, what Finn described sounded better than what he’d been doing already.

The real dealmaker, however, was Finn’s easy confidence in Ivanthe’s ability to actually do things. The way he spoke, it was entirely alright that Ivanthe didn’t have the knowledge right now, and that he was completely able to grow into… whatever he was suppose to be.

Ivanthe had to restrain himself from snatching the cinnamon roll off the chest, managing an awkwardly hurried grab instead. He breathed a growly sigh when his teeth sank into the pastry, closing his eyes for just a moment to let the taste of sugar rip through his body. The first bite was slow, luxurious, and when he opened his eyes they were half-lidded in joy.

Someday, Ivanthe swore to himself, I will learn to make this.

When he had the mouth to speak again, the young hunter toed the ground self-consciously. “I… like what you’re talking about. I want to be better at… all of that.” He made a vague, all-encompassing gesture. “I don’t know how to learn, though. Getting into buildings and stuff, dealing with pockets, I don’t know that.” After a moment, he added, “Yet.”
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Finnegan O'Connor
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I Won't Tell If You Don't

I Won't Tell If You Don't


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A faint smirk tugged at Finn’s lips as Ivanthe ate the cinnamon roll with like it was some royal banquet. Was it the sweetness of the roll or were it his honeyed words that had persuaded the boy? Finn didn’t know, but it didn’t much matter. There was still some lingering hesitation, but that was to be expected.

For the next few trills, Finn set his gaze on the streets, coming alive with activity now that the trial had started in earnest. Whistling dockworkers marched to work on the eastern side of town while merchants opened shop further down the streets, exposing their wares to the Cylus’ cold. “It’s not that hard,” Finn muttered, his gaze still fixed on the street. An elderly man, bent with age, traversed the cobblestone with a distinct clack each time his walking cane struck the street. Finn’s eyes traced the man until he’d passed. “You could’ve taken that one without even tryin’” he said in a low voice as he leaned back on the bench and stretched his legs out. “Half the trick is having the balls to just do it. You’ve already got that part down, mostly, then it’s just technique. But don’t worry, I’ll teach ya, and we won’t be robbing poor old folk,” he added with an apologetic smile.

Next his face grew serious and uncharacteristically formal in expression. “I’ll be in Foster’s a little while longer, might be until the end of the season. Tell you what, you take a little while to make up your mind, eh? Talk to yer old folk if you must, and meet me back her in five trials. If you want to learn the craft we’ll have to go to Etzos and I can introduce you to my employer. He’s a kind man and he’ll pay you well, well enough that you’ll grow tired of eating cinnamon rolls within a season!” He stood up as promptly as he’d sat down and took the treasure chest from Ivanthe’s hands. For a moment it appeared he’d simply departed, as he’d done the previous times, but just after he’d taken the first step, he turned around.

“I rather hope you’ll come, Ivan,” his voice was solemn and sincere. “You’ve got the gift and I rather enjoy your company.” He had half a mind to offer a handshake, but the time wasn’t ripe for that just yet. A fleeting smile later, Finn had turned and started on his way back to the encampment.
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There was a loose, comfortable silence that fell over them, each content to mull over what had been said and let the other do the same. Ivanthe licked his fingers idly, chasing down any last bits of pastry that he’d missed and otherwise content to simply listen to Foster’s Landing wake up.

Though there was no sun to measure by, the entire town seemed attuned to a collective rhythm that Ivanthe was still trying to grasp. The creak of wheels and slap of shoes on stone filled the silence languidly, and eventually Finn broke the silence to remark on an old man that passed their way.

Ivanthe said nothing, merely hmmed in acknowledgement with a nod. With the quiet gone, the time for contemplation was over; Finn stood and took his chest back, though Ivanthe stayed. He had a bit more thinking to do on this bench.

Five days––that would cut it close with the caravan’s departure, but he could do it if he rushed. Figuring out how to explain away his father, that was another problem to be figured out. It was easier to lie when he moved place to place; to know Finn more than a season and to also keep the tale of his father would be tricky.

But he had five days to sort it out.

With a respectful nod, Ivanthe promised, “I will see you again.”
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For some reason, I find this thread very cute and honest. I’ve always been an advocate for playing young characters because there’s a lot you can do at a young age, though not too many people realize it. You two capture that perfectly with your characters; both the hardships of living, surviving, and of socializing, making allies and potential friends. I always preach about story flow and the flow of this story was definitely spot on! You both have really cool characters here and I can’t wait to see more of what they have to offer. Great job and thank you for this excellent read!

Ivanthe

Points: 15
Magic: Yes
Fame: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Loot: N/A
Knowledge:
Stealth: keep to the shadows
Stealth: always keep an ear out
Stealth: hiding in the hay
Discipline: fighting through fear
Fieldcraft: hay makes for a warm night
Empathy: the color of honesty
Empathy: honesty within a Tangle
Deception: stay plausible
Deception: the convenient father
Deception: physical evidence is key
Discipline: calm under questioning

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Finnegan O'Connor: young and up to no good
Finnegan O'Connor: knows more than he tells
Finnegan O'Connor: a friend in dark places
Location: Foster's Landing stables
Location: Foster's Landing bakery
Location: Etzos: has a market for ne'er-do-wells

Finnegan O'Connor

Points: 15
Magic: Yes
Fame: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Loot: 2 Uneaten Pasties
Knowledge:
Stealth: sneaking out of a camp at night
Defiance: Earth alerts you of a nearby stranger.
Defiance: Making fire dance.
Detection: A camp is an odd place to go hunting
Stealth: Stealing buns unseen
Running: bolting toward the stables
Caregiving: offering Ivanthe a place to stay
Stealth: Entering the stables unseen
Deception: lying to Ivanthe to test his trustworthiness
Stealth: Stealing pasties unseen
Pick-pocketing: Stealing pasties unseen

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Ivanthe: Younger than you
Ivanthe: Hunter
Ivanthe: Seems cold
Ivanthe: Doesn't like talking about his parents
Ivanthe: A decent thief
Ivanthe: Eager to learn
Location: Foster's Landing stables
Location: Foster's Landing bakery
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