The Mortalborn had lost a lot of people in his life, but the message that he found on his desk that morning shook him more than he had expected. The mother of one of his students had written to him. Hailey Shore would never come to class again. One of his most promising students that was about to graduate and attend the prestigious Academy of Viden on a scholarship was dead. She had been kidnapped and murdered in a most brutal manner by a man that had claimed to be in love with her, a man by the name of Jett Ryne.
When the guards had come to arrest him, he had managed to escape and was currently on the run. There was a bounty on his head now. It was obvious that Mrs. Shore had cried when she had written the letter. The ink was smudged in several places. Doran did not care much for her grief – he himself hardly ever cried these trials – but it angered him that such a promising career had been cut short and a life had been taken. He read the letter a second time, and then he came to a decision. He abruptly rose from his chair and called for one of the secretaries. He would leave his office early that trial. She needed to cancel the rest of his appointments.
He would bring Hailey’s murderer to justice – the man would suffer the same fate as his victim - but he would need help. Although he knew how to use a weapon, he was neither a detective nor a bounty hunter. Fortunately he knew people, people that might know the right man or woman for such a job. It took him a trial, and he had a name: Duncan Oisin. A message was written, informing him that his help in catching a murderer was needed and telling him to come to the office of one Professor Doran Thetys at Rynmere University.
---
If Duncan decided to accept the job, he would eventually find himself in the Institute of Sciences, walking down a corridor that was decorated with pictures of scientists that were long dead and that led to a double door made of dark wood. It was open, as if his arrival had been expected, or maybe that was just coincidence.
The professor’s office was extremely clean and orderly and elegant, in its simplicity. Everything was in its assigned place. Nothing was lying around. The room was dominated by a desk made of fine dark wood, and shelves that were filled with books on a wide variety of subjects lined the walls. There were no flowers, no sculptures, paintings or other silly decorations. There was only an old longsword that hung on the wall behind the desk, a reminder of times long past, framed by a pair of dark red curtains.
The man that sat behind the desk was young, younger than one commonly expected a professor to be. He could not be much past thirty, but despite that he sat completely straight and exuded an air of utter confidence. He was an impeccable man, dressed in coal and burgundy, a color that was much to his amusement the height of fashion at the moment. He was tall and tanned, with eyes that were such a deep blue that they nearly seemed to be black. His dark hair was slicked back, and his beard was well-trimmed and cleaned.
As he noticed Duncan’s entrance, the Mortalborn looked up from the book he had just been writing in – the work didn’t stop because of a murder - and put his quill down. For a moment he simply studied the mercenary in silence before he asked, “Duncan Oisin, I presume?” The tone of his voice was cool and stood in stark contrast to the words that followed. “As I wrote in my letter I need your help in bringing a murderer to justice. The money will be yours, but I wish to be there and take part when you end his life.”
Doran's letter had reached Duncan at Ye Old Inn, an establishment that was quickly becoming his regular haunt, despite the fact that he'd been drinking and whoring less than ever. Instead, he'd thrown himself into his work, taking any and every job that came his way. And so, the mercenary had barely read through the letter before deciding to accept the job. He'd seen the contract for the murderer out on the bounty board, and even then he'd consider taking it when he found the time. The words 'dead or alive' in particular had appealed to him, no need to be particularly careful while pursuing him.
Not long ago he would have found the university fascinating, and may have even taken his time on the way to the Professor's office to chatter and flirt with the students and visitors that milled about the halls, but his mood had soured of late, and he only seemed to find enjoyment in his work and the little time he found to spend at The House of Roses. He found the physical activity, and the exhaustion he experienced after a hard day of work to be relaxing, freeing almost, as it allowed his mind a break from all that bothered him, and grounded him in the physical world. He was a strange visitor he knew; a man dressed in inexpensive clothing, patched and worn in places, gladius at his hip and a bow across his back, scars on his face and hands. Certainly not the scholarly type, nor did his purposeful stride and grim expression speak of one eager to learn.
The door to the office was open, but he knocked before entering anyway, striding forward to stand before the man seated at the desk. Professor Doran Thetys he assumed, though he seemed a bit young to hold such a title. Duncan had naturally assumed that Professors were older, having had multiple decades to perfect their knowledge of their field. Apparently, he was to be proved wrong, as the man he was here to meet with was indeed young, well dressed and attractive. Doran's gaze fixed to him, and Duncan inclined his head. "Doran Thetys." He said simply by way of greeting. "It'll be no problem, though I assume you'll be able to handle yourself? I'm not wasting my time hosting an adventure for some bored academic." The mercenary wasn't in the mood for social niceties, and didn't have a problem making that known, cutting right to the chase. "First of all, we need to locate him. I'd assume he's still in the city, perhaps hiding out in low town, or in one of the abandoned homes outside the walls."
word count: 460
"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night,
and when you move fall like a thunderbolt"
The man looked different from the people that the Mortalborn usually associated with those trials. He was tall and imposing, with scars scattered across his body and clothes that had been patched in several places, and yet there was something about him, about the way he held himself. He was confident and direct. He did not beat about the bush like his colleagues tended to do. It was something that he appreciated after nearly two arcs at the university.
“Trust me”, he spoke and looked directly into the mercenary’s eyes. “I am not some bored academic. I know how to use a weapon and have been on a battlefield before.” The tone of his voice remained utterly calm. He did not find Duncan’s question offensive in the least, although some would likely have considered it such. On the contrary he approved of the fact that the mercenary would not allow somebody that might be a liability to come along, although he could not help but wonder whether he would just take him for his word or demand some sort of proof of his combat prowess.
“I am not interested in some sort of adventure either”, he continued. “I simply wish to see a man who put a premature end to what could have been a promising career suffer.” The tone of his voice was a little harsher now, although he still sounded far from furious. He found letting his emotions get the better of him counterproductive, preferring to focus the rage that lingered below the surface and channel it into something useful instead.
“I will of course defer to you as far as the decisions on this bounty hunt are concerned”, he informed him – he had no problem playing second fiddle if it helped him reach his goals - and rose to his feet to remove his sword from the wall. Even though he played the part of the scholar those trials, his weapon was never far away. He had learned his lesson in Ne’haer when a man that sought to taste divinity had nearly taken his life.
Duncan would see that the sword was not new, but well taken care of and still sharp. There was not a bit of rust anywhere on the blade. “Miss Shore’s mother wrote me a letter in which she informed me about her daughter’s murder. I still have it”, he said and gestured towards the envelope that was still lying on his desk. “Perhaps you wish to take a look before we leave?”
As Duncan spoke about locating Jett, he nodded. “That seems likely”, he agreed. “It would be too dangerous for him to stay anywhere near The Crown. I’m not sure if he would already have left the city though. Would the guards not be on the lookout for a murderer on the run?” He raised an eyebrow. It would not bode well for the city’s security if every thief and murderer could just walk through the gates undisturbed.
The mercenary accepted the letter and unfolded it, somewhat hesitant to read it here and now. He'd learnt to read as a late teen, when most learnt as children, and on top of that, he'd learnt out of bawdy romance novels that'd been provided at The House of Roses, where he'd been employed at the time. Suffice to say he'd had little chance or need until recently to read more than the length of a bounty notice. It was only since meeting Alistair that Duncan had shown any interest in books, and even then he found it difficult and tiresome to spend more that a couple of bits on them. And so he did his best, dedicating his attention to the small words and reading through carefully. He felt a pang of sympathy for Hailey's mother, as it was evident that the woman was devastated. Besides that he found it peculiar that the man who'd killed her had claimed to be in love with her, and even more alarming what he'd done to the poor girl. Duncan set the letter back down on the table, his face grim and dark as he considered the fear and pain the young woman must have experienced, before her life was cut short.
Duncan nodded his agreement, it made sense to start in Low-town, and he moved to open the door to the office. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Doran in order to make sure that the other man was ready to go, before setting off back down the hallway and towards the University's exit. The University was situated in the crown of Venora, and so was a far from Low-town as was possible within the walled city. Rather then remain silent for the entire walk, Duncan decided to learn a little about his companion. "You mentioned you'd been on a battlefield before?" He began, glancing at the other man curiously. "Not something I would have expected from a professor." Duncan chuckled quietly and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "That said, I don't have the most experience with universities and educators, so maybe I'm just completely out of touch." He scratched the back of is neck, briefly imagining a sect of professor-warriors before dismissing the mental image with a snort. "The victim, Hailey, did you know her well?"
word count: 403
"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night,
and when you move fall like a thunderbolt"
The Mortalborn was, as always, almost immediately ready to leave. Apart from his sword he only took a cloak that hung on a hook on the wall and draped it across his shoulders. It had been raining the night before, and he didn’t trust the weather entirely as a consequence. Once he had locked the door – some of his colleagues were too nosy for their own good – and put the key into a pocket, he turned back to Duncan and nodded at him. He didn’t talk much as they made their way through the endless corridors of the university, neither to the mercenary nor the people that they passed by. He had never been particularly close to them. What he was doing was none of their business.
He didn’t mind though as Duncan asked him about his past combat experiences. He looked at the man thoughtfully for a moment before he answered, “I have. I was a soldier before I decided to pursue more peaceful goals. Besides, I believe that one must exercise both one’s mind and one’s body in order to reach one’s full potential. A man that spends the entire trial brooding over his books will eventually grow tired and frustrated and burn out and never attain true greatness.”
The tone of his voice was calm as if he didn’t care whether the man agreed with his philosophy or not, or perhaps he simply did not have a problem with those that argued the opposite. Once he had spoken, he paused for just a moment before he continued. “I am not like most of my colleagues, Mister Oisin. I have little interest in fulfilling whatever clichés about men like me exist, although I do, as I have told you, have little experience regarding such things”, he said, referring to the bounty hunt they were on. If he had known that Duncan was entertaining thoughts about a secret sect of professor-warriors, he would have been amused, but as it was he simply turned to answer the man’s next question.
“Miss Shore was one of my best students. She had been accepted by the Academy of Viden and we had been discussing an apprenticeship after her return. If she had lived, she might eventually have surpassed most of those that teach here. The man that killed her on the other hand has nothing to offer to the world. I hope you understand now why I have to be present when he pays the price for what he has done?” The tone of his voice was a little sharper as he said that, colder, although the expression on his face changed very little. By then they had left the Crown behind and were closer to their destination, a part of the city that Doran was not entirely familiar with.
“Tell me about yourself though, Mister Oisin”, the Mortalborn said. The man had been recommended to him as a competent mercenary and bounty hunter, but he didn’t know much besides that, and it seemed wrong to him to kill a man together with somebody that he knew little about. Such a deed required a certain familiarity in his opinion. “Why do you sell his sword and kill for money?” Unlike most the Mortalborn did not look down on people in Duncan’s profession, but approached them with the same somewhat detached kind of interest that he would approach a new chemical element, a new branch of science with.
