(Re)Education

[Jai_V]

"I deserve to be dead." he said to himself, aloud.

Words, silky smooth and honey sweet, came so easily to the man when he was out among polite society. But as he sat upon the threadbare blankets of a broken bed, in a room that could be considered the pure definition of spartan, the man was all alone. He could lie to everyone else...but not himself. Not any more. "Gods damn it all! You're in your thirties, and you still haven't--"

He sighed, massaging the dips in his neck to deaden the clavicle notch nerve clusters. It was an exercise he had practiced since that monk had pinched him into submission several years ago. "Wonder whatever happened to that uppity bastard." He did wonder about some of those in Sundren he had met in the eight years since he first arrived. In between the trips abroad, that is...

He went through his work-out routine. Age meant that he had to work twice as hard to keep the weight off, and to ensure that every muscle responded as needed, when needed. Half a bell later, he was done; all heavy breathing. Unexpectedly, he cut a noisy fart. He groaned at that, another annoyance that came with age. At least he was alone in the room. Hopefully.

This place was safe. Of that, he was sure. It wouldn't do to have this sanctuary violated, as upper management would be seen as weak and ineffectual. A lot of the other skels stalking Sundren already thought that, after what happened to the encampment in the mountains of Aquor. Word on the street was anything outside of the city was free game.

Cazen smiled. Opportunity knocks.

He sat cross-legged on the broken bed, carefully reading the leather-bound volume he had been handed yesterday. The quiet man had selected well; but Cazen noticed things. He had acquired some fine vellum of his own, and sought to make notes, carefully sliding them in between the pages of the volume. Lessons he had learned in his less-than-legendary career; tricks of the trade that would help get the less careful ones by.

He resolved to handle any business he felt needed tidying by the end of today. Then, he would lock himself away for a couple of days and study the words written in the volume before him. And other related volumes, as well.

[Jai_V]

He closed the door behind him. It was done, and he could only hope it would be enough.

The older con stripped down until only his pants remained, and approached the mirror as if it may attack him. Cazen's eyes turned to the man that looked back at him. His upper torso was covered in battle scars, many of them knife-wounds from his youth. A lot of those has disappeared completely, or been replaced by newer near misses.

And the tattoos. Jail-house art has a certain quality, while retaining a certain crudeness. The ouroboros done in Rashemi tribal-style on the upper left of his pectoral had been gashed at some point, giving it a funny tattoo and scar "Q" appearance. The coin of Tymora on his right pectoral was somewhat faded, and would need to be touched up. Across his abdomen, the word "Scoundrel" was still dark and had not becoming misshapen. Above that, the watch-tower with a dragon wrapped around it has badly faded and he mused about whether he wanted that particular tattoo to disappear into obscurity.

He turned around and looked over his shoulder to the full back piece he had done in Teflamm by a Shou artist. In the upper right, a koi had been bisected by a jagged scar from an orc's axe, and skyward-reaching oni of his lower back had a puckered scar from a crossbow bolt that had almost got his kidney.

Every scar and tattoo was a memory. There was a story to every imperfection, and all of those stories had led him to this moment; standing alone, in a low-rent barely-lit Inn room, looking at himself in the mirror. He was happy to see that although his early thirties were robbing him of the perfectly corded-rope muscles he had through his youth, he was still in excellent physical condition. Most men his age had given up on adventuring and settled, letting their most valuable asset decline into a comfortable mediocrity.

With this in mind, he worked through his exercise routine, again. His thoughts were of the young half-elven girl and the precarious situation she had place him in. Cazen was sure he could spin this so that the coin landed face-up in his favor, but he wondered at the long-game; who would truly benefit more?

As he finished his exercises, sweating but strangely invigorated, he put the girl out of his mind and turned back to the book that had been given to him. As he read the treatise within, it not only forced him to think about things he had thought about before, but to think of new ways of affecting changes. Cazen was more the con man than the killer, but he always had a killer's eye. This go-for-the-throat mentality had served him well throughout the more criminal aspects of his career, but he couldn't help but wonder if it had colored every decision (and subsequent move) he had made?

"Am I my mother's son?" he said to himself, aloud. The possibility didn't seem to have the same stigma it had only a few short years ago.

He put this out of his mind, as well, and returned to his studies. Cazen had a lot of decisions to make, soon, and he wanted to ensure they were informed decisions.

[Jai_V]

What's it to be, then?

Decisions.

Always the decisions. When he first stepped off the Sea Sword in Port Avanthyr nearly 8 years ago, he had not been a fresh-faced youth; Cazen had been in the prime of his life. He could have reinvented himself...left behind all those things forced upon him. Instead, he fell into old habits. Comfortable habits. Cazen had grown comfortable in his own way. He had forgotten what it meant to struggle--to need. To be alone, and without means. Most terrible, he had begun to believe he could handle it all on his own. Understanding this mistake was what lead him to reach out to the Family in the first place.

And now he had a decision to make.

"So what am I? Murderer, or mountebank?"

His deep blue eyes turned toward the pages of a book he had been obsessing over for days. Cazen had read it, cover to cover, and considered what he read. Truth be told, he thought of little else. Well, except that one moment when he whispered to her on the consequences of betrayal. Cazen had never been one for idle threats. But often, he felt a tinge of regret when forced to implore such tactics.

He hadn't with her.

She reminded him a lot of the person he thought his mother was, and he knew it would be easy for him to harm her. Cazen would have no worries following through. His thoughts turned to the hateful things he would visit upon her if she forced his hand. A dagger slid easily from within his sleeve and into a lazy grip. He concentrated on a darker part of the wood on a nearby wall. The naturally occurring discoloration was approximately the size of a human head. With a casual flick, he flung the dagger at the discoloration...and frowned as it sunk into the wood slightly up and to the left.

If that had been a person, he would likely be on the receiving end of a cudgel, or some other unpleasant instrument. He needed more practice. A lot of practice.

[Jai_V]

Incomplete Thoughts

The light of the hearth-fire did strange things to the shadows dancing in the room. I was sure that any second now, Nobody was going to step out of one and deliver some malignant circumspection. Probably regarding the nature of daggers and their proper placement to ensure one's imminent demise. My eyes dwelt within the flames for the moment, my thoughts turning to recent events. Having returned to Sundren and accepted the many changes, I knew what I had to do; take the jobs, do them, get paid. It was that simple. But I wasn't some young blade, anymore. I had to start thinking about the future.

It came to me in the most peculiar of ways. I had only been to the Moonstone Mask in Neverwinter once, and that had been quite some time ago. As I spent more time trying to convince my newest asset to fully commit to my plans, my memories of the time spent at the Moonstone Mask returned. Those ladies could talk you right out of your skin, given enough time. It was then that I noticed that while the Ports of Avanthyr certainly didn't lack for entertainment, they lacked for the quality of a finer establishment. I wanted that for myself; a place in the docks where a client could come feel desired and respected.

That would be my new goal, then. Acquire the means to see such a place existed. It could only work in my favor; coin for the ladies, myself, the city government, and the Family. The clients would get some measure of comfort and enjoyment out of the experience. Information, which was always a hot commodity, could be easily acquired in such a place. Not to mention the peace of mind one gets from having a place to lay one's head at night.

That was it, then.