• Solo • Suspicious Underground Activities -- Part 2 (Graded)

[Oberan]

The 23rd of Vhalar 720

Previously

A loud noise made the thief jump. The unexpected sound of breaking glass that echoed through the tunnels unimpeded. It disrupted his concentration, making him look up from the opened barrel. The flow coming from the vial of dubious liquid he held stopped as he did so. Oberan couldn’t tell which trap had been sprung –left or right—but one thing was for certain; someone was moving through the tunnels.

He peeked his head out of the door, listening intently to the ambient sounds reaching his ears. Standing water in the basin, sloshing lazily against the edges. The quiet bubbling of the river branch that supplied it. A slight howling of wind, somehow making its way down into the Underground system through tiny canals and cracks. And among all those noises, footsteps. Several pairs, so did the irregular cadence tell him. Oberan heard voices too. Though he could not make out words, the tone of them wasn’t lost. Mostly relaxed, but a few had an edge of tension to them.

The Mortalborn kept listening for a while, finally determining the direction it was coming from: left. Which was the path usually taken by the Web Guard, according to Resistance intelligence. Though it was still faint, Oberan thought he could hear the clinking and clanking of metal. Buckles and weapons, maybe a steel plate fastened to leather armor too. Web Guard, for sure. They weren’t supposed to be here though; their delivery shouldn’t be going through until two days from now. They’re changing up their schedule?

Either way, it was bad news. Oberan wasn’t nearly done yet, and wouldn’t be able to complete the job before they arrived. Even if he could, there was an unconscious guard in the room, and no security outside. It’d raise suspicion for sure. Waking the guard was no option either. Oberan had planned to do it slowly, simulating waking from a nap. It’d take too long for one, and it’d put a guard in front of the door again, making the matter of escaping without alarming them in some way more difficult.

Yet he had to act, and do so fast, for he’d be caught in here with his figurative pants down. The thief cursed, and improvised.

* * *

They arrived at the door not a moment too soon. Rakina’s arms felt as if they were about to fall off. The ache in her shoulders and biceps had gotten worse, and by being locked in a static position for a long while they’d become stiff and sore. Moving was a literal pain, but oddly enough there was some form of relief and gratitude coming from the limbs. Yet another strange thing to add to the list of sensations that had once been so mundane she’d subconsciously ignored them, but were now completely alien to her.

While she and her two companions took a moment to put the barrels down and rest, the leader of their little squad approached the lone guard at the door. Rakina stood too far to overhear the brief conversation the two were having, but her leader’s incessant pointing at the sloppiness of the door guard’s uniform, along with the few reprimands that did reach her ears made it quite easy to guess what was going on. The guard made no attempts to fix his appearance though, despite the leader’s loud and vehement insistence that he was insulting Lady Sintra by wearing her uniform in such a disheveled manner.

Rakina had been a mother once, and though she wouldn’t claim to be great at reading people in general, there were a few clues in body language and expression she’d picked up while raising two rascals. Those adopted by the guard were ones she recognized immediately. Her oldest used to make a similar face, hold himself in a similar manner as the man did now, and always when Rakina had to nag about something. An untrained eye might think the guard was listening, but Rakina was certain he didn’t hear a thing that was being said. He just nodded and made little affirmative noises, and let the leader’s rant wash over him.

Eventually, the squad leader ceased his lecture, with an authoritative “understand?”, to which the door guard saluted.

“Understood, sir!” he confirmed.

It appeased the leader apparently, as no further conversation between the two followed. Instead the guard simply pushed the door open, and stepped aside so the group could move into the reservoir. Rakina once more assumed her position as last in the line, which gave her ample opportunity to study the guard a bit more. Her instincts told her something was wrong, though she couldn’t really figure out what. Was it the twinkle in the man’s eye? Perhaps the way his lips were kept pressed stiffly shut, despite the corners of his mouth curling upwards, as if he was doing his utmost best not to burst out laughing? Maybe the bad fit of his uniform, looking like something went very wrong during the measuring. On top of that, wasn’t the door supposed to be locked?

Yet, though her brow knitted in suspicion, part of her was having second thoughts. Maybe she was completely wrong. Not all Sintra’s troops were well-mannered and disciplined. Certainly a couple couldn’t be bothered to wear their armor in a dignified way. Rakina had met several who had problems with authority. Who didn’t listen to anyone other than Sintra herself. It would make sense to keep someone like that away from the public, to make sure the Etzori were shown an armed force that functioned perfectly. Without individuals disobeying orders and doing their own thing. Form a united front. Keep the lowlives and insubordinate down in the Underground to stand guard at some door.

But still, something gnawed at her. Rakina knew a hunch when she felt one, and this particular gut feeling told her not to trust the guardsman. As a loyal servant of Sintra, she should alert the others of it. Would they believe her though? She’d been a housewife before the plague, all her combat experience accrued during her time as a ghost. Most of her fellow Web Guard knew, and it caused them to ridicule her behind her back. They didn’t take her seriously. After all, most of them had been soldiers or mercenaries or thugs of some kind before. A housewife’s intuition was nothing compared to their years of experience. She’d rather not have her worries be dismissed with a laugh and an eyeroll again…

And thus, Rakina kept her mouth shut and followed the others inside the reservoir.

[Oberan]

Each member of the small Web Guard squad unloaded their cargo, spreading through the room. Two went for the basin itself, while Rakina and the last guy got started on the barrels at the side. These were filled with water, ready to be transported to one of the water huts or the private supply of one of the richer residents of the Commercial Circle. In times of drought or a problem with the water in the basin, these doubled as the emergency stash. Sintra had ordered for something to be poured into the reservoir, and for good measure the filled barrels needed to be spiked as well.

Rakina did not know what was in the small kegs they’d carried all the way here, but her gut feeling said it was something nasty. Her companions had already gotten started, pouring the contents into the water, chatting as they did. Not a sign either considered just what they were doing, and what the consequences would be. Even the last member of the squad had already gotten to work, opening their second barrel at the far side. Rakina stared at the selection of barrels assigned to her. A sigh and she gingerly reached out to the lid of one, fingers not reaching it. Her hand hovered above it, in her mind swirled second thoughts.

She really shouldn’t be doing it, so said her gut feeling. However, she’d seen what happened to those who’d left Sintra’s service. She’d heard of what had been done to those few former Web Guard who had spoken out against the Immortal. Disloyalty, betrayal, ungrateful. All words the Spider Queen had used to justify her actions. Treacherous rats who’d taken advantage of Sintra’s goodwill, stabbing her in the back as soon as they got what they wanted. As soon as they were restored. Only imagining what Sintra would do to someone who ‘sabotaged’ her through inaction made shiver run down Rakina’s spine.

But to do something that likely was a crime against the Etzori people… it’d weigh on Rakina’s conscience for the rest of her life. Was that worth her continued existence? Probably not. What about the suffering the Immortal might heap on before erasing Rakina from Idalos? Was that something she could endure?

The distinct feeling of a presence behind her made her quickly turn, fully expecting to see either of her squad mates ready to tell her to get to work rather than space out. However, there wasn’t anyone there. The two at the basin were still chatting among themselves, the other Web Guard focused on their work, splashing liquid into the barrels. Yet, someone was definitely standing near her. Though Rakina couldn’t see them, their presence was felt. A ghost, perhaps? One not yet restored, sent by Sinta to keep an eye on potential turncloaks?

Cold sweat was prickling in her armpits and on the small of her back, and with trembling fingers she finally did pry open the lid of her first barrel.

“Walk away,” a voice whispered from behind. Warm breath hit her neck and ears, making the little hairs stand on end. Once again Rakina whirled around, and once more she saw no-one suspicious. Nothing around her, not even in the corners of her eyes. Yet the voice spoke again; “Don’t do it.” Rakina swung a fist as she turned, hitting naught but air. No-one behind her. Not even a materialized ghost. She gritted her teeth.

“I’m loyal,” she hissed, more a plea than an assertion. To prove her point she opened the tap on her keg and let suspicious liquid stream into the waterbarrel. Her insides were tying themselves into knots, thoughts in disarray. There was no going back now. Only, the splashing sound was all wrong. This wasn’t the noise of liquid hitting liquid. The voice warned not to look, to walk away now. It was her last chance, they said. Rakina ignored it, casting her eyes down into the dark inside of the barrel.

“Most unfortunate,” the voice lamented, the presence diminishing. Rakina did not turn around this time, mind trying to understand what she was seeing, and coming up short.

Then, she screamed. Her companions rushed over as she stumbled back, stumbling over her own feet, falling backwards. Her hand found the edge of the cask to stabilize herself, but as it wasn’t full of water, its weight was insufficient to anchor her. Both she and it hit the floor, the barrel’s contents spilling out. A man dressed in only undergarments, wrists and ankles bound and a gag stuffed in his mouth, flopped halfway out of the container. Not a mutilated bloody corpse, as she’d thought at first.

Crouching next to the body, the team leader pressed two fingers in the man’s neck. “He’s alive.”

Rakina calmed down rapidly. Not a dead man, but an conscious one. She took a couple deep breaths and got to her feet. Eyes on the body, someone noticed a tattoo-like mark on the back. “Isn’t he one of us?”

It evoked frowns from the whole Web Guard squad, everyone quickly put two and two together. Unconscious marked of Sintra stuffed in a barrel. No armor. At the door someone with a sloppy uniform. One of Rakina's companions rushed towards the door, violently throwing it open and storming into the tunnels. They returned a couple seconds later, shaking their head. “He’s gone.”

And then they dropped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, head facing backwards. Right behind where the Web Guard had been standing stood the fake door guard, lowering his hands. His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, a mostly concealed look of disgust on his face. “Most unfortunate indeed.”

[Oberan]

As a general rule, Oberan avoided killing others He did not often employ lethal force. In fact, if he had to use violence at all, it usually was to make his escape. Perhaps a mistake had blown his cover, alerted enemies to his presence, and sneaking out no longer was an option. Sometimes there was no choice left but to fight his way out, but even so the Mortalborn rarely did kill. Incapacitate, yes. Perhaps break some bones, cause injuries that were too grievous for the victim to continue their chase.

Occasionally, accidents happened. Someone hit their head when they fell, or collapsed in a way that put their neck at a… less than beneficial angle. Other times Oberan did not have the luxury to think twice about his actions, hesitation in the heat of the moment meaning capture or worse. That’s when people got pushed or kicked off staircases or high places. Sometimes his hand was forced, mostly in cases he shouldn’t leave any witnesses behind.

Despite having more blood on his hands than the average person, Oberan did not think of himself as a killer. He wasn’t like Kasoria; he hadn’t made a living out of it. And yet, there was little doubt the Mortalborn would be quite proficient at silent assassinations. After all, getting into places he wasn’t supposed to was his specialty, as was skulking about unseen. To then kill an unsuspecting target? Child’s play.

As evidenced by the corpse at his feet. It only took a quick and sharp twisting of the neck. Also a strong grip, arms, and abdominal muscles. Not to mention a certain amount of conviction, of ruthlessness. Sticking a knife into someone was one thing. Quick and easy. In and out. The tool was made to slice through flesh. Using your bare hands though, that was personal. It required effort. Every method of killing did have a barrier to overcome. Taking a life on purpose was no simple matter. One needed to be strong of spirit, have the will to go through with it, and be resilient enough to add that burden to the weight on one’s conscience.

Oberan no longer lied awake at night after forcefully shedding someone’s mortal coil. That’s not to said it did not bother him, but he no longer struggled to sleep, most of the time. As always, there were exceptions. Sometimes the excuses otherwise sufficient at justifying his actions failed him. Sometimes the weight on his conscience grew too heavy, and he did his best not to think about what he'd done. Especially when snuffing out the lives of 'bad people', though it really did not matter who died by his actions.

People were people. Some rotten to the core, others just doing their job. And others still misguided or deceived, tricked into believing in a cause that did not exist in the way they imagined. It really wasn't about whether or not they did or did not deserve to die, not at all. It was about the faces that appeared in his dreams afterwards. It was about the wrongness he felt when he wrapped his hands around a head. Fingers clawing, muscles tensing. And then twisted, sharp, quick. SNAP! POP! CRACK! Body going limp, breathing stopping with a rasp. Eyes open and staring, but unseeing. Heartbeat ceasing. Flesh still warm, but empty. A hollow husk. Wrong. Plain wrong.

There was no excusing the killing of people, although he often did try. His mind already was overflowing with reasons why he shouldn't feel sick about it. These people were willing to stick a knife in the backs of their fellow Etzori. They served Sintra, and at least two of them –the corpse at Oberan’s feet, and the leader of the squad—were fully aware of what they were doing. He’d overheard them talk while pouring the toxin in the reservoir. Not even a hint of hesitation. The Web Guard as a whole had been up to some terrible stuff too. And, as the cherry on top, the fuel for the restoration process that brought ghosts back to life consisted of children.

All things that would work wonders to quell whatever guilt that seeped into his mind during quiet moments. Only one problem, one counterargument that would play devil's advocate, refusing to allow him to completely suppress it. Sowing doubt. Making him sick to his stomach.

This had not been an act of self defense. There was neither a need to kill these people, nor would it make a difference. It made no dent in Sintra’s forces, and she would send others to poison the well. Most likely, the Immortal had already suspected the Resistance would try to interfere with it, so there was no use in eliminating witnesses. The best option would have been to remain hidden and wait until they were gone. Give them nothing to report other than that someone had been in the basin room rather than jeopardizing the Resistance's operation.

These Web Guard wouldn't have known who had enterted the basin, so why kill them? Even if her Web Guard did not return, Sintra would know what had happened. She would know why someone unauthorized had entered the reservoir.

All things he considered after the act, when the deed was already irreversible. One moment of panic was all all it’d taken.

Oberan stared at his hands, then glanced towards the two advancing Web Guard. Their weapons were drawn, in their eyes he could see a lust for blood. They’d kill him without hesitation. Granted, Oberan’d murdered their comrade, but that’s not what this was about. That much he could tell. Did they feel anything after staining their hands?

His eyes flicked towards the last member of the Web Guard, a middle-aged woman who kneeled besides the bound man. She was hesitant. Worried. She did not want to be here. He’d gotten the distinct feeling she was cooperating against her will. Coerced.

Maybe there was something he could do for her. It might excuse the killing of these terrible humans coming Oberan’s way, blades flickering in the torchlight. Make him feel a little more at ease with himself.

The Mortalborn took a deep breath, and steeled himself.

[Oberan]

He woke with a start, a gulp of air sucked into his lungs while both eyes snapped open. Rough floor against his skin, throbbing pain in several spots of his entire body –but mostly the jaw and chin. Confusion ruled for a few moments, but then memories came flooding back. He scrambled to his feet, ready for action once more. Although there was no need. The battle’s outcome had already been determined. Two of his men were dead –one had their head backwards on their shoulders, the other a dagger in the chest. The imposter lied unmoving on the floor, face first in a pool of crimson. Rakina stood over him, chest rising and falling in quick breaths, body shaking and tense. In her hand she held a makeshift club --a crowbar used to open barrels-- splattered with blood.

“Good work,” the squad leader said, rubbing the left side of his face, wincing a little. Rakina turned his way, distressed. She stepped a couple paces away from the body, then stopped, as if unsure what to do with herself. “You clubbed him on the head from behind?” the leader continued, eyes wandering to the corpse. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“His back was turned, so I just…” Her voice was just as tense as her body, words trembling and unsure. “Is he..?”

“Dead? Seems like it. Blow to the head usually is pretty lethal.” And if it wasn’t, the victim would suffer from a concussion. If they were lucky. The imposter wasn’t though. The back of his head where he’d been struck was slick with blood. Around his head was a slow-growing pool of blood, roughly circular, like a crimson halo. The squad leader prodded the man’s face with his boot, lifting it out of the puddle for a moment, then let it drop again. The cocky grin of the man had been wiped away with his death, but the image was still fresh in the leader's mind. As were the taunts.

He kicked the body in the ribs, hard. Once, twice, trice. “Fucker! Who do you think you are, huh? You think you could attack us and get away with it?” Four, five times.

Rakina cried out for him to stop, to respect the dead. The leader made a disapproving noise, and spat on the imposter’s immobile body, but did as asked anyway. With a huff he stomped away, towards the barrels of water. Only one cask of toxin still was filled. Rakina’s from when she’d found the actual door guard, stuffed in a barrel. The leader picked it up and began to distribute the chemicals across the waterbarrels that still needed spiking. In the meantime, Rakina freed the bound, half naked man. Her efforts to wake him had no effect however, and by the time the leader was done with poisoning the water, the guard was still unconscious.

The leader hoisted the door guard over his shoulder, and started heading out, Rakina glancing around the room, unsure. He caught her eyes drifting to the corpse of the imposter, and then to the two dead web guards.

“Shouldn’t we take their bodies with us? For a burial?”

“If you want to carry them, go ahead,” the squad leader said. “I have my hands full.” She looked as if she wanted to protest. “They’re dead, it's not like they'll know if they got a burial or not. Just leave them for the rats and spiders, that's already more than that one deserves,” he nodded towards the false door guard. No further words were wasted on the matter, the Leader strode out of the room, and after a last glance towards the imposter, Rakina hurried after him.

[Oberan]

As the door to the reservoir closed once more, and the footsteps of the two Web Guard distanced themselves from the room, one of the corpses picked itself up from the floor with a groan. Oberan’s arms trembled as he battled the self-induced lethargy. His body needed to rest. Limbs and eyelids heavy, seeming to be unresponsive to his brain’s commands to move. But he couldn’t stay in this place, on the floor, no matter how much he wanted to. Spiders would soon come, and perhaps other Web Guard too. Oberan needed to be gone by then.

Summoning all willpower he could muster, the Mortalborn pushed himself onto his knees, and then planted his feet firmly on the slick ground. Gravity had multiplied, tugging at him, hoping to drag him back down. And Immortals be damned, he wanted nothing more than to plop back down and sleep. A jolt of pain provided clarity, Oberan pressing a fist into his ribs. It swept away the haze that came with lowering his thrill, granting him access to his uninhibited mental facilities, albeit for just a couple moments.

Most of his thoughts commented on the pain, worrying for injury. The Mortalborn didn’t bother to check; if anything had been damaged, he surely would have felt it. As things stood, his breathing came out unlabored and without pain. Both arms retained their full range of motion, not evoking any stabs of hurt. Good thing he’d been wearing the armor. The leather chestplate had absorbed most of the impact of the stomps. Without it Oberan surely would have suffered serious injury.

He shuffled over to the barrels and pulled out the vials of antidote again, restarting his work. With a bit of luck, the fluid would be enough to counteract the extra dose added in by Sintra’s goons. Either way, he’d have to report the change in frequency of the Web Guard’s visits to the reservoir. The Resistance would want to hear about this, and take appropriate action. And they’d be pleased to hear of the new asset they’d gained. A spy planted within the Web Guard.

It hadn’t been difficult to convince Rakina of Sintra’s treacherous nature, it hadn’t been difficult to convince her that she was on the wrong side of the conflict. Without going into details, without telling her much at all, Oberan had managed to get Rakina to understand what Sintra’s real aims were. Though that had been only the final nail in the coffin. What had really been the decisive factor were the doubts already present in her mind, now validated. Doubts stirred up by the brutal actions of the Web Guard, of Sintra’s slowly crumbling façade.

The difficulty had lied in getting Rakina to take action against the Immortal, to leave the Web Guard. Despite having her own suspicions, Rakina had been unwilling to betray Sintra –or rather, betray her own values. Sintra had given her a second chance at life, after all, which she felt grateful for. Such actions had put Rakina in Sintra’s debt, so the woman claimed, a debt to be repaid in loyalty. But did the Immortal deserve it? Rakina’s expression had spoken volumes. Sintra’s actions had put her benevolence in question, and the actual reason for Rakina’s unwillingness to run away or switch sides had come to light.

Fear.

Those restored that dared speak out against Sintra, dared testify of the things they’d seen as Web Guard simply disappeared. Turned to dust and vapor. The second chance they been given taken away with ease. So despite wanting to, Rakina couldn’t leave Sintra’s service. She did not want to die again. But continuing to serve, especially after learning of the Immortal’s true goal, would eat away at her conscience. It would add more and more guilt onto her shoulders until she collapsed under the weight.

The solution to the problem was simple though, Oberan had said. Don’t leave the Web Guard. Serve to the best of your ability so you can keep living, and to not buckle under the burden of conscience, report on Sintra’s plans periodically. Stay in touch, covertly, to aid the Resistance. Serve Etzos, rather than Sintra.

Rakina had accepted, or had at least pretended to. Time would tell if she would prove an asset or not, if the information would come at all. And if it would be accurate and trustworthy. The Resistance surely would have their doubts, but Oberan felt quite confident in his hunch of where Rakina’s loyalty truly lied.

The Mortalborn finished with the barrels, and moved to the basin itself, pouring the remainder of his vials into it. It would spread all on its own, helped by the slight sloshing of the water. Then, looking like one of the walking corpses mothers told their children roamed the Underground --face and hair still a bloody mess-- Oberan disappeared into the tunnels.

[Kasoria]

Review Rewards

Name: Obe

Points awarded: 10

Knowledge:
-Deception: Pretending to be a Web Guard
-Disguise: Putting on a Web Guard uniform
-Strength: Snapping a neck from behind
-Acting: Playing dead
-Endurance: Don't move or make a sound when being kicked
-Persuasion: try to convince someone to switch sides

Injuries: Sore ribs, they'll be aching and stinging for ten trials

Skill Review: All Skills used appropriate to level

Notes:
My my my. Quite the cunning little sod, aren't you? Very clever solution to the problem, and quite in character for Oberan, too. But next time, even with someone as "pliable" and uncertain as Rakina, it would still be better to actually read the conversation, rather than just "take your word for it", as it were. I know it's extra wor(ds)k, but when the story hinges on such a blatant and subtle deception, we really need to see it, y'know?

Other than that... no complaints. Pretty much the polar opposite of how Kas would have handled it, ha!

If you have any questions, comments or concerns in regards to this review, feel free to PM.