Reclamation

Alexej

cns gore, violence against animals (very briefly), mentions of child abuse, violence, hot shit

The convoy entered the valley like a worm, slowly creeping along the river Surbin. The Ninety-eighth Neverwinter Fair of Magic and Wondrous Items was going to commence in less than a week, and the great merchant Cassius Rubian certainly wasn't missing out on it. 

Rubian, after decades of expanding his trading empire, had started catching an interest in rare magical creatures and items, and by now prided himself with one of the most copious and extensive collections in all of Faerûn. Naturally, a man of his wealth wanted to show it off, so he was on his way to the fair with one of his most prized possessions in tow. 

His convoy consisted of a multitude of caravans. Besides his own luxurious one and a handful of ones for his trophies, a grand total of four caravans were dedicated to the transportation of sellswords for the purpose of security. After all, one could never be too careful. Rubian was in a great mood: If they were able to keep up the current speed, they would arrive in Neverwinter a full day ahead of their schedule. 

Unbeknownst to him or anyone else on his travelling party, the convoy was being watched. Near the other end of the small valley, a warlock was looking down on it with a grim smile. In less than an hour the convoy would have made its way through and reached the very narrow exit that only left a few feet on both sides of the road until the terrain quickly became inaccessible: On one side, a steep mountainside towered over the path that was restricted by the river on the other side. Truly a perfect place for an ambush. Time to finish the last preparations.

Alexej stood right in the middle of the road. He was wearing only a silken shirt and trousers in addition to a pair of elegant leather boots;  Everything heavier would just slow him down, and his magic would protect him well enough. As he watched the caravans approach, he rolled up his sleeves and revealed his tattoo-covered forearms. The tattoos looked fresh, and furthermore brimming with magic. In fact, he had gotten them for this very occasion. A little bit of extra power could never hurt. Alexej focused his gaze on the wagons. He couldn't help but think about the strange road that had taken him to get to this point...

He can hear his brother's friend yell and shout behind him. They will beat him up or worse if they catch him, he's terrified. He stumbles around a boulder, his sore teenage limbs aching. If he just manages to cross the river, the neighbour's house will be close. But in the furt his foot lands the wrong way, his ankle snaps and he lands head first in the ice cold water. He can hear them close the distance. No way he will get away. When he tries to get up, his hands close around something strangely shaped for a stone...

Sleepless nights with his best friend Rava in their grandpa's library, trying to figure out what that sword was. Meanwhile the entire rest of the village searches for three neighbourhood boys that have mysteriously gone missing...

Endless talks with the Sword and eventually closing a pact with it. The stars imbued in the blade pulse in sync with his heart, and never again will anyone beat him up. He will show them now...

Who would have though there was so much money to be made with bounties? Him and Blackrazor sit in the Waterdeep Opera, watching a beautiful play. He could get used to this lifestyle...

Utter disbelief and shock when they take them away from him. The years in the dungeon, brooding...

He gets out and immediately starts trailing the sword. His amazement is immense when he finds out Rava has become a wealthy collector and apparently gotten their hands on it, alongside the rest of his possessions, in an auction out of all things... 

Hints of sadness, but mostly frustration when he discovers Rava has been killed and the sword involved in some kind of double theft. The trail goes cold for a few years while he keeps himself above water with mercenary jobs..  

By chance, he overhears some sailors talk about a murderous kalashtar with a demon-like, soul-eating sword. He drops his employment over night and is on the road for the following months...

He is captivated by mad laughter when he finds out the dumb girl tried to destroy the sword. Apparently it remade itself from the abyss and is now once more in the possession of some rich idiot. Ironic...

The agony as the witch burns the tattoos in his skin. He has finally worked out a plan, but for it to work out he will need a little extra oomph, and that's what makes this ordeal bearable... 

And there he was. A fresh breeze went through his hair as he carefully extended his sixth sense and stroked along the strains of magic he had woven into the ground. He inhaled. Showtime.

The first carriage stopped only a few feet apart from him, the doors clattered and a guard exited. The man didn't look poor or badly trained in any way; His equipment was new and well maintained, he himself young and full of vigor. Their eyes met. He wouldn't hold up. The guard was about to open his mouth to ask him what he was doing there on the road, all alone, but he didn't get to speak. 

In the same instant, Alexej dropped to one knee, digging one hand into the earth. He closed his fist and felt the runes he had spent the last days crafting. It took only a gentle pulse of magic for the runes to activate and come to life. Within a split second, they drew on his energy, hungrily sucking it out of him and transforming it into a symphony of destruction.

In front of him, the street exploded. A quick series of violent purple explosions rattled down the path, accompanied by the screams of the horses and men inside the carriages and the screeching sounds of metalwork coming apart. All of a sudden, the air was filled by a thick sheet of dust and bloody mist. Alexej spew out. Disgusting, but it had had to be done. He took a deep breath and took a step forward into the cloud of dust.

He quickly made his way beyond the first few wagons. Not much remained of them; every so many feet he had to step over more or less alive bodies and leftovers of magical creatures that had been transported by the convoy. Maybe a species had gone extinct today, he thought absently. Then he got distracted by an out of breath battlecry. From his left, two surviving sellswords charged at him. He just crossed his arms, cocked his head and looked at them. To their credit, they looked very determined until they saw his shadow rise behind him. 

Alexej stumbled on through the bloody fog. Activating the runes had taken more of his power than he had anticipated, and ripping those fools' heads off, which normally wouldn't be very stressful, now felt like an ordeal on its own. He had even gotten so slow one of them had grazed his thigh with his blade, but he couldn't afford to heal himself right now; If there was more protection or more surviving sellwords, he might need all the energy he had left to defend himself.

Without much other distraction, he reached the last three carriages. To his surprise, they had gotten through the explosions mostly unscathed; The road beneath them was churned and scorched, but the carriages themselves had apparently not taken any damage. The oh so great Cassius Rubian was nowhere to be seen either, his personal carriage abandoned.. but there was noise coming from the one behind it. 

That one was second to last of the bunch, heavily armored and, miraculously, also untouched by the magical bomb that had gone off a minute ago. Some kind of arcane ward, it seemed. Alexej frowned. He hadn't known about defenses powerful enough to withstand his onslaught, but it was all the same in the end. 

 

Limping, he carefully made his way around the armored wagon. The air was still heavy from all the swirled up dust and breathing was a little difficult, but he would manage. The thick steel door was ajar, and from inside came muffled curses and the sounds of boxes being ripped open. Through the pain and exhaustion, Alexej was only filled with disdain. These rich snobs were all the same breed: Thought they had life figured out, but as soon as they got into a real fight, they pissed their pants. He would enjoy this. 

He reached for the door and was just about to reach for the handle when the door suddenly got smashed open. The heavy steel frame hit him in the chest and he got painfully shoved back, struggling to maintain his balance and finally regaining it, but it was almost too late, Rubian was charging at him with... oh, this was too perfect.Instead of casting a spell, Alexej began, as strange as it was, reciting a poem. 

"Blood by the pond.."

Rubian was quickly colsing the distance, his bearded face distorted in blind rage and fear and covered in sweat, Over his head he amateurishly held a long, black greatsword. The blade was sprinkled with spots of light, like a window into a pitch black night sky, and the Quillons looked like they were made of granite. It had borne many names throughout its long history, but to him it was only known by Blackrazor. His patron, his companion and even, after centuries of united hunting, his friend. Rubian wasn't holding it correctly, but the blade had cut people, monsters and other entities down for as long as it existed and would cut Alexej down too if it hit him, but the merchant was still a step away.

 

"..Her reflection.."

 

Rubian madly yelled something and swung the blade, bringing it down on the warlock with all the desperation of a doomed man. But Alexej, in an instant and with a certainty of imminent victory gathered the rest of his magic, forced his tattoos to pour the very last of their power into his blood and simply stepped away, leaving nothing but his empty silhouette over the bloodstained road. 

"..permanent." 

From behind Rubian, this final word was spoken with an undertone dripping with triumph. The tradesman spun aruond and saw that strange bandit stand in front of him, a wide, malicious grin on his face. In the movement he strangely lost touch to the blade in his hand. He felt something heavy drop behind him and then, impossibly, another voice spoke in his back. It was raspy and dark, and it only said two words. "About time." 

Hectically, Rubian turned his head again. Where the other man had been before, now stood a raven-haired woman. She was wearing a black leather coat that was wrinkled as if it hadn't been properly cared for in ages and scharred as if it had been laying in a fireplace, had long, black nails and her face.. oh god, her face. It was awfully beautiful with narrow lips, an aristocratic looking nose and a gorgeous jawline, but what really stuck out were her eyes. They were as dark as the void itself with pupils that could only be described as distant stars, flickering in an unsettling way as if she was blinking rapidly. 

"I came as fast as I could." Rubian could only look back and forth between the two that were now looking through him as if they had forgotten about his existence entirely. "These wretched Waterdavians let me rot in their dungeon forever, and after that I tried my best. This here.." he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arms, "took quite a bit of time to set up, too. But let's not waste any time. We have..." "Someone to hunt" she ended his sentence.

 

"..Are we thinking about the same person?" "Kalashtar girl with more issues than she can count?" They both cracked their knuckles simultaneously, smiled a vicious smile, then spoke in unison, their voice in perfect harmony: 

"Let's get to work."