To be a warlord 3/29

Task would take a comfortable seat upon the stool sitting beside the nearby wooden table as he idly hummed to himself, puffing away contently on his corncob pipe as the old priest turned his hollow, blind eye sockets to the drakan. Her ambition was a familiar one, in truth.

One he had shared, seventy years prior, when he'd first come to Theria destined to be its clown prince.

"When I came to Theria, all I knew is that I wanted to be at the top of the pile. So I had people killed, hurt folks, made a bunch of noise, made people fear me. And I became warlord, and then the warlord. The others followed my stride, and I reigned over the circus with chaos."

The one armed priest would toss a bit of dust into the wind, ethereal blames burning it out into smoke as he nodded.

"But when I achieved what I desired, I didn't frankly know what to do next. I'd risen through the ranks, my ambitions were achieved, and I, theoretically rich andpowerful, felt rather in a malaise."

The near hundred year old wizard would nod gainfully, taking a long drag from his worn, cracked pipe once more with a missing toothed smile.

"That is when I realized one little thing, and it all made sense. The path to seizing my place as warlord made me become far more powerful than I ever was before. As long as you introspect upon the journey to your rise, you will never fall. When you become warlord, your job doesn't end, it becomes making sure Theria is the strongest, best place around. And it'll feel good, too."
(Dun Task)
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"Yeah. I kinda get that. I mean, one of my bigger reasons to wanna head honcho around Theria is that I love this place, and I wanna be strong to make it strong. Pay it back for welcoming me back and stuff...!"

That is a vague statement, but one that she seems to believe in quite wholly, having spent a lot of time thinking about it despite her young age. She is wise beyond those years for what she has dealt with.

Theria, in general, ages it's young with it's oft do-or-die attitude prevalence.
(Rinn)
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 Greaaaat,

Not only was Dornar now engaging in conversation with a Drakanite with illusions of grandeur, he was now being subject to the ramblings of an old village elder, remising on the past. Likely his knowledge of the events, weren't even that great due to his age. Not to mention, how forgetful old people tended to be.

It was safe to say Dornar was not a fan of story time with old man Task. Still, he'd have listened-- Even just to humour the old man somewhat.

"Sounds like an interesting time. Fear is a good tool for anyone to use, and being chaotic; on a personal level is a good thing to be. It only others that suffer for your volatility in those circumstances." he'd affirm, even if he didn't care for the story-- He'd engage none the less.

Dornar was but a simple bounty hunter, he didn't really care about ranks, roles or anything like that-- They were just descriptions he gained on his bounties, and price enhancers. However, it seemed some people, actually did care about this stuff.

Task and Rinn, for example.
(Dornar)
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 "It is a good sense of civic spirit to manifest, and one that is important in keeping the free city upon the mountain just that, free."

Task would nod lightly as he took a long, thoughtful drag from his corncob pipe, clicking his teeth together with mild amusement as he mulled over the conversation topic at hand with a degree of sullenness.

It was a strange thing, growing old.

"And I quite agree, stranger. And many did suffer, with certainty. In truth, it is likely why I became a priest, there was much blood on my hands by the time I retired at fifty. Pretty much fifteen years straight of clown masked ultra violence and escalating brutality. I tore out a lot of eyes and tongues, ran a gang of murderous clowns, became a bogeyman for Osrona for a time. Wild days, in truth."

The old wizard would nod with a light, yet tickled pink grin as he nodded. Gods, those were the days he missed.

"But I do not regret my actions, they were important. For my growth, and for the city's. Weeds needed to be trimmed. Once the council was shuffled and problems removed, things run smoothly for a good, long time. It's how it should be."

The former warlord would blow a cloud of minty smoke up towards the distant horizon of the cityscape, nodding lightly.

"I am old now, and Theria's leaders are young. I am content to watch their growth, and offer guidance where I can."
(Dun Task)
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 "... I have something to prove to someone, to do them proud by being grand above all else. I want to be the biggest. The best.

Whatever happens along the way is just. Whatever I feel like doin'."

She comments that plainly, after a drawn pause following Dun's spiel on his own past, his exploits and his experiences that have come with age and time and activity amongst this city and it's people.

It's the kind of stories she, too, wants to one day tell, to have in her pocket when the world is retired from her interests and she, from it- or when the time comes that one is separated entirely from the other.

She wants to prove she is worth what she has been given.
(Rinn)
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"There's been quite the stories about the clowns, from way back then." The masked bard speaks, still making music with his instrument as he repositions himself to look more directly at the group.

"There has even been some songs about the clown's antics from those days, though I didn't fully memorize most of them. Perhaps I should, if there'll be enough crowd for it."

The bard speak in a voice that makes it hard to tell whether it is a man or woman underneath. Both Cymbal's pitch and tone can fit both.

"Still, no one can deny the effect the clowns had over Theria at that time. One could say Theria's current power and standing n Esshar, is thanks to you and the clowns' strength."
(Cymbal Tenor)
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 Seemed that story time, was going to continue. Despite Dornar's preconceptions of how boring it would be to listen to an old man rambling, it was surprisingly educational. He felt that it was perhaps not as pointless as he first assumed.

In truth, it would seem that Task had in fact lived quite a life. Becoming a Warlord was never going to be something on Dornar's to do list, he didn't need to hold a rank to be the strongest around, at least in his eyes. Not to mention, the responsibility for other people-- That was not really him as a person, Dornar was far to self-centred for that kind of deal.

Although, by the sounds of it. So was Task.

It did appear that there was a lot of issues with Theria, before Task and the other remaining Warlords of old, fixed them. His acceptance to allow the young to lead, simply off the back of his age-- Was a disappointment to Dornar to say the least.

To think, someone who fought so hard to climb to the top-- Surrendered his position, simply because he became old. Perhaps this was a future for everyone who turned old, although-- Dornar refused to accept that.

"Quite a story you've got there. Should write a book in your retirement. Might make a few coins." he'd state plainly
(Dornar)
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Dun would smile lightly as he turned his blind glance from person to person's aura with a thoughtful hum, acknowledging each's words with a click of his teeth. All valid, in truth.

"As long as you steel your resolve and strengthen it at all times, you can accomplish whatever you desire young lady. This is the way of Theria, anyone can do it like I did."

Dun would turn his hollowed sockets to the bard, shrugging lightly with a wry grin that implied subtlety even to the admissions he revealed.

"I got around. Seventy three years ago, I was the commander of the Royal Osronnan Constabulary, the chief of the city watch. When I took over the Ardent Shields, my men followed my lead. I had many friends, and many enemies. But I kept my friends strong, and my enemies buried."

The one armed priest would snap his fingers with a nod, smiling to the group once more.

"Didn't do it all alone though. I had my fellow warlords.Sajid Lovain, the assassin himself. Instrumental to my rise to power with some hits he pulled for me. Lumi Fenrir, my protégé in energy magic, went on to get them to take out their older cousin on the council and replace them. Had to kick out Lukas when they got to huggy and lovey with Osrona, it was a good time to be a clown."

The old man would nod with a light sigh, clicking his teeth once more as he nodded to the group.

"But I couldn't spell check without eyes, and one armed writing isn't my forte. A book is a likely poor decision."
(Dun Task)
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Alas,

The story had more juicy details, which was making it become increasingly more interesting for the Bounty Hunter, although in truth he wasn't all that bothered about the past-- It was the past for a reason, and it wasn't going to change the future. Not his anyways.

Still, to think that a Warlord, was once a member of the opposing faction was an interesting one. Task had lived quite an interesting life, one seeded with betrayal and deception-- All on his part. So that was always something to keep in mind when thinking about this old, blind man.

It seemed that despite being heavily involved in a lot of things, he still needed the power and influence of others to achieve what he did. Dornar hadn't really considered allying himself with anyone apart from Dinant, and even that was a difficult proposition for him.

Others were liabilities. They would let him down, or not hit the heights he needed them to. They definitely wouldn't keeppace with the dark armour cladded male, who wasn't down for looking out for anyone bar himself.

Unless there was financial benefit to it of course.

At the mention of not being able to write or spell check, a simple grunt followed. As he gave the old man a slight glance. It seemed there wasn't much point in pushing that end anymore-- The guy was already defeated in that endeavour.

"Makes sense."
(Dornar)
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 Yes, yes. She's sure it was a cool story full of tons and tons of epic adventures. All she could think about were her own, as of yet undone and unfulfilled. In her youth, there was relative inactivity outside of those rare, few core events that had so far defined her.

She needed so much more. To mull over this one or these two things is a droll life that leaves her itching idle, burning with the want for more and greater most painfully when she does nothing at all.

Kind of like right now...!

"So. Make a group of followers before you vie for power, huh? I mean. That's not really WRONG, I GUESS."

Still, she frowns and crosses her arms over her chest at the dishonorable premise.
(Rinn)
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Dun Task says, "Well."
Dun Task says, "Not quite, Strive for power, and the followers will come."
 Dornar says, "Hmh. I'll be back in a moment."
Rinn says, "Not mutually exclusive, though."
 Dun Task says, "Quite so."
 Dun Task says, "You can do it by yourself too, just takes the power to be a one man army."
 Dun Task says, "Plenty of precedent for warlord seats shifting off of honor duels."
 Dun Task says, "Or murders."
 Dun Task says, "Or both."
 Dun Task says, "But, in the end."
 Dun Task says, "It helps to have friends."
 Dun Task says, "They watch your back, and in a game of politics like Theria, that's a big deal."
 Dun Task says, "Your back is very stabbable in this city, and it's practically safe compared to the old days."

Departing with his wisdom offered to the young aspirants, the one armed warlord of yesteryear paced off to the distant edge of the moment, his hollow sockets seeing nothing and yet everything in the distant gale. The sounds and howling gusts painted a chaotic image for his blind senses, but even still there was a sense of freeness in the cold air high above Osrona. Raising his gauntlet laden hand, the old wizard would take a long, deep breathe as he gathered mana around its form, the sheen steadily blackening to a dull gloss after a few minutes of firm effort.

Swinging the fist at the nearby wood, the sting of pain would tell him plainly his form was off. The flow was disrupted, his blows did not swivel like the stream of life itself. Even with his gauntlet, he had lost his edge. His knuckles alone had once been far harder with his mastery of mana. Yet, that injury...the dragons...so much had happened all at once. The priesthood became more a practice in vocal stamina than martial order...

Task would sigh, releasing the mana as he took a drag from his pipe. Perhaps it was an empty effort to refine his martial arts once more. His time had passed, had it not?

Yet...he knew, didn't he? That his time was running out. The children didn't...but a sorceror of time arrived and departed exactly when he was meant to. He had twenty five years left at most.....did he want to die weak?

Hollow sockets igniting with etheric flame, the elder of the Fireblooded with click his teeth with furious ambition as he raised his fist to the air, knuckles blackening with an audible, heated pop of condensed mana as he barked out in fervor. Theria was his home, he would preserve the young hatchlings and sprouts until they could spread their wings and fly freely, unafraid of oppression from the south. He would need his strength just a bit longer.

Then he could die in peace.