Alchemist Fire X 2.--
The small ceramic vials burn fiercely and quickly when exposed to the air. The heat is hot enough to give third degree burns, and do much worse if not put out.

Essence of Rust x 2--
Taken from the gullet of a Rust Monster, this dust can quickly eat away at non magical metals.

Adhesive Gel Bag X 2--
This bag when thrown covers roughly a 10x10 area in a very sticky glue like substance that becomes hard like cement after a few seconds.

Smoke Bombs X 2--
When the ceramic balls are broken they release a heavy dark grey cloud that can cover a 30 feet in all directions. Winds of 15+ MPH can disperse the wind in ten seconds, while winds of 25+ disperse it in 3.

Flash Pellets X 2—
Also small pellets these release a bright light when cracked open. The light last for just a brief moment, but its effects can be damaging when used in total darkness or against opponents with superior eye sight.

This eighteen inch long baton his faded grey with three buttons on it. Pressing the first button releases sixty feet of rope every six seconds, up to a maximum of three hundred feet, pressing the button a second time stops it, pressing it a third time draws it back in at the same speed.

Pressing the second button produces a small leather loop from one end and a sharp grappling hook out the other. Hitting the button a second time launches one third of the rod (the end with the hooks) in the direction you aim. Up to three hundred feet trails behind the launched section, this launches it the three hundred feet in one second. Pressing the button a third time retracts the rope, drawing the held end towards the hooked end if it is securely attached. It can pull up to one thousand pounds.

When you press the third button grappling hooks sprout from each end of the rod. Pressing it again launches the two ends of the rod in opposite directions simultaneously. Three hundred feet of rope can emerge from both ends, for a total of six hundred feet. Pushing the button a third time causes the held section to be able to slide along the rope freely. Pressing it a third time retracts both ends and brings it back to its inactivated state.

There are seven charms on this jet black bracelet. Nicoli wears this bracelet as an anklet, which is hidden inside his left boot. Each charm has a different minor ability that only works when attached to the specific chain. This bracelet is given to True Veiled-Ones, with each charm showing the level of skill and rank one has achieved, with eight being the Maximum. Only the Grand Master has the final charm.

The magic of the charms are all linked. Those that have charges 'share' the six charges that are referenced below, meaning Nicoli could activate 1 item six times or space those six uses between them.

-Wizards Aid–
This small charm vibrates when magic is being activated/used within one hundred feet of Nicoli. It does not pin-point or identify the magic, it merely identifies that something is being used within that range.

-Rogue Feet–
This charm magically silences Nicoli’s person, it only affects Nicoli and does not extend to anyone he is touching. What’s more, is that this item has to be activated by thought and lasts for only six posts at a time and needs three times that much time to recharge.

-Spider Step–
As the name suggests once activated, like Rogue Feet, it allows Nicoli to stick to nearly any surface. It can only be used for six posts (in a single fight) before needing to be recharged like Rogue Feet. This is best used in small instances for brief moments at a time.

-Divine. Me. Not.–
This charm is useful against prying eyes. It does not outright stop Diviners, but it makes finding Nicoli through magical means much more difficult. Normal spells will not work, and often the only way to override this charm is through complicated rituals. This protection does help, though to a very a small degree, protect Nicoli's mind from intrusion. Having a piece of Nicoli (Blood, Skin, Hair) bypasses this charm easily.

-Cloud Step–
This charm has three purposes. First, it makes the user incredibly light so when falling they take little to no damage, this also allows Nicoli to leap incredibly high and finally it makes it possible for Nicoli to run across liquid surfaces. This suffers the same limitations and restraints as Spider Step and Rogue Feet.

-Shaded Face–
This charm, when activated, simply causes the users skin to be covered by a black ink like substance that swirls with dark red and deep blue streaks. It masks their features to hide their identity, but offers no further protection. If it covers the face than natural darkness no longer effects eye-sight. There is no limit to the use of this charm.

-Daggered–
Normally this charm, when used, makes a dagger appear in the user’s hand. However, since this is worn on an ankle the dagger acts as a boot dagger, and does so without damaging Nicoli’s footwear. This can be activated up to six times before needing twenty-four hours to charge.

Ocarina (Instrument), Lock-Picksx4, light silk cord 20 ft, small grappling hook x2, ink, quill, parchment, whetstone, flint & steel, Crows Flight Featherx4.

Bio/Back-story

They say that we are the products of our environment, that we are forged by our trials and tribulations. It is also said that it is in these moment, when man is at his weakest, that you see his true nature. One sees what lies beneath the façade, the lies and falsehoods we build around ourselves. That the illusions we have come to accept as reality fade away and we are left with nothing but the truth. What we, as humans, truly are.

I believe this now more than I have ever believed it in my life. Pain, suffering, loss; these are all tools that chip away at our false sense of self. You may think me a cynic, but you would be wrong. I do not see humans as the low-scum of the earth; from the lowest street urchin to the holiest of priest, I see us as equals. Equals that are lost and misguided, confused and afraid. Good and evil are but words attached to something so that we can identify it. Good and evil are merely the product of the decisions we’ve made. For what can be good to one may be deemed evil by another, there is only one universal truth.

But perhaps I should start at the beginning and when I am finished perhaps you will understand why I view the world the way I do. If you are lucky you will have the insight that I have garnered. But! And I warn you, do not mistake this insight as some universal truth, that by coming to this understanding you will become wiser, closer to knowing yourself or your deity. Because if you do, if that is what you come to know … well, then you’ve missed the entire point of my rambling.

My name is Nicoli Ezio Salvatore, I was born to Machiavelli Salvatore and a mother whose name I do not know and whom I’ve never met. I can tell you that I was born during Deep Winter, when the suns visits seem but fleeting moments and the night sky remains like an unwelcomed guest for hours upon hours. I also know that my mother, the gods bless her soul, had taken ill weeks before I was to be born. I am told that had she not been pregnant she likely would have survived child labor.

My father, being who he was, would not let any man or women of any deity come place their blessings on her. I would later come to find that he did not trust any power that was given and not earned. I know now that I am not to blame for what happened, but it took many years to reach this understanding. My father blamed me until his last days.

Whereas most fathers in mines position would take their sons and find within them a piece of the love they had just lost Machiavelli did not. I am told that after my mother’s death he did not even look upon me. I imagine that as an advisor to a King it was quite easy to say that he was too busy. There were tutors and nannies to take care of the task of raising a child.

As a young child I cannot recall seeing my father much, though I was told a great deal about him. The servants of the castle were always there to remind me of his greatness, of the importance of his task and how powerful of a Wizard he was. Yes, my father was a Wizard and the Kings adviser to all things eldritch and arcane in nature. It wasn’t until I was about seven that my father spent any real time with me, even then I now realize that it hadn’t been what you would likely say is quality time. They were tests, mental puzzles mostly. My father wanted to see if I had a gift, he had told me that he had solved each puzzle by the time he was seven.

I passed. Each puzzle brought on a new challenge, and in solving those puzzles I got to spend more time with the man I had not known. So I passed each and every test, I hungered for them. Each time I passed one more quickly then he anticipated I was given praise and every time I solved one too slowly I was faced with what he called ‘consequences’.

When I was ten I faced another test, a different sort then I had been accustomed to. This time my father taught me personally. It was the most dreadful but rewarding portion of my life. I was being taught how to wield magic, or at least I was building up to the task. There were hundreds of things to learn before I would even be allowed to attempt to conjure up my first spell. My father was a harsh teacher and he punished me with clever and sadistic magic. If I failed to remember something or repeat a word back correctly my body would be wracked with horrible pain but not a mark would be left on my skin.

I learned very quickly to not be wrong and was progressing through the studies faster than even my father had. He was pleased and all was right in the world. At least, until I failed to cast even the simplest of cantrips. No matter how hard I tried, it simply could not be done. Even my father could only bring so much pain unto a small child until his frustration caused him to quit. I was deemed a loss, a waste of time. I do not think anything had ever hurt so much.

The lessons with my father came to a halt and I was back to studying with tutors. I went back to learning history, science, math, philosophy and all the other mundane subjects that those in my privileged position had to learn. My favorite subject among them was military tactics, it reminded me of the puzzles I had solved when I was younger.

It was slightly before my thirteenth Name Day that I was required to attend a tournament the King had put on, in celebration for his own sons fifteenth Name Day, the day he became a man. It was that week of martial competition that sparked my interest in weaponry and personal combat. As was my father’s custom I was allowed to request one thing on my Name Day, all previous requests had been to spend a day with my father. This time that wasn’t what I ask for, this time I wanted to learn what I had seen during the tournament.

The very next day I began my fencing lessons and I couldn’t remember a time I had been happier. There was something about fencing that spoke to me. My father had a say in my training of course and he had the very same instructor that taught the Prince train me as well. Like a fish to water I took to it, when I wasn’t attending another class I spent my free time practicing. The lessons were far to slow for my liking and so I studied manuscripts on my own. When I say that I learn things quickly you must understand that I am not boasting, merely stating a fact, and I learned fencing at an accelerated rate even based on my own standards.

By the time my fourteenth Name Day came around I had such a firm grasp on fencing that I could defeat those that were a decade and more my senior. The very blade was an extension of my arm, yet… I wasn’t satisfied. Fencing was good for sport and duels, but in my mind it had no place in actual war. I wanted more, I wanted to learn more weaponry.

My next request was to learn to fight as the Soldiers in the Kings army do. That of course was not something my father could permit, no son of his would train with the common footman. So, I began my apprenticeship under a knight, I became a Squire. My master was the Kings own brother, Sebastian of Alexandria, who had half-a-dozen squires under him and like me they came from rich families. Unlike me they did not have the hunger to learn, the passion needed to succeed.

I did every menial task with a smile and in return I was shown basic things, like how to care for a horse, armor and weapons. I was grateful for everything I learned, and as fate would have it my Master came into the stables one late night and found me practicing with my rapier against a dummy made of straw that I constructed. His booming laughter broke me from my trance and he sauntered on over, took my rapier from me and snapped it over his knee.

From his own saddle he produced a finely crafted longsword and gave it to me. From that night on I practiced with the heavier weapon, as well as spears, flails, shields, cross-bows and any other weapon I could find in the armory. Sebastian, as he preferred to be called, made a deal with me then. If I could show as much dedication to every task I was given as I did to the sword he would train me to be the finest Knight he could. Like many times before I poured every ounce of myself into doing exactly that.

I vividly remember the other boys jealously. Some had been serving as a squire for years and I was less than a year in myself and was given special treatment above and beyond them. It seemed Sebastian was also aware of their displeasure because after a couple months of training he allowed them to challenge me, one at a time in honorable combat. I defeated each one with ease. I was always a step ahead, thinking faster than them and striking more swiftly. After that day they left me alone, probably for the best.

A year and a half as a squire, now fifteen, Sebastian was being called for war. As the Kings brother he was expected to lead his armies into combat and I would be there beside him. Surprisingly enough my father did not object. The time leading up to the War came fast and now that I think on it I do not remember seeing or hearing from my father once. Again, probably for the best.

I remember preparing to go to war, especially the drinking beforehand. I listened to the stories of old war veterans, I asked questions, wanted to know why they would try certain tactics when others were clearly better. I simply got laughed at and didn’t understand why. The sound of the horse’s hooves ringing on the cobblestone as we exited the city in a parade like manner is memory I’ll never forget. We were ushered out like we had already won, it felt good.

We traveled east, through forest and towns, over rivers and through winding mountain trails. As I was at the head of the army I did not see what sort of damage something that massive does. But let me assure you that an army traveling through the country-side is nearly as destructive as war. I at well, slept well and found time for practicing with weapons and studying. The same could not be said for the common soldier who trudged along behind on foot, but such is the benefit of being raised in a privileged position.

It was morning and the rising sun was just burning away the late night fog. We were standing at the crest of a hill, a fairly open valley lay before us. I remember looking left and right, seeing all the mounted knights in their shining plate-mail. I remember looking across to the barbarians in ragtag formations with their crude weaponry and hide armor. I remember thinking to myself that they don’t stand a chance.

After the horn sounded the very earth trembled around me, thunder it seemed had found its place among us. It was nothing like the stories, nothing at all. The screams, the smells, the sights. I am fairly certain I vomited right on the back of my horse.

It had been a slaughter, with Sebastian issuing orders from atop his mount. It had made me sick. The second, third and fourth battles were more the same, but watching became easier and easier. The barbarians lost hundreds to our tens, they lost ground and were routed at every turn as the Kings generals expertly navigated the battles.

It was those long days that I found solace in my weapon forms, in the art of what I was doing. It was so beautiful when I was doing it, nothing like the hacking and slashing I was witnessing on the field of battle. There was no art in the thick of combat, only the need to survive as I would soon find out.

On what would would be the final battle in the year long war started off as a beautiful morning. I remember waking up early, before the sun as usual, to tend to Sebastian's gear and horses. That was when the first flaming arrow struck the camp. I watched it rise into the sky before it began it's descent, I stood transfixed as it came down and to my surprise landed on the tent that I had just come out of. Shouts and screams went up around me, the panicked neighing of horses and then I heard the hissing of a thousand angry wasps, I looked up to see hundreds of flaming arrows follow similar path as the first. At this point I was no longer transfixed and I dived for cover under a wagon that had been propped up to be fixed.

I heard arrows striking the wood, but I knew I would be safe for several moments before the whole thing went into flames. That's when I saw what was happening, those same Barbarians came swooping down into the encampment but it just wasn't the poorly armored men we had been fighting along with them came beasts out of my very own nightmares.

The very trees walked in their wake, large cats strode about on two feet, powerful maws tearing at skin and claws rendering armor with ease. Within the blink of an eye I saw Sebastian, who had come out of his tent with only his sword, get attacked by two of those cat creatures. I thought him doomed, these creatures that stood as tall as a fully grown man but each one with the rippling muscles of a hunting panther.

It wasn't until I was swinging a sword of my own that I realized what I was doing. I hamstrung the first creature and when the second looked away for a moment Sebastian ran him through with his sword and then pulled forth a dagger to plunge into back of the one I had crippled. I remember the look of approval he had given me then and despite the terror I felt it was a look that said more than any words could have.

Sebastian and I each took our swords and a buckler and began to retreat, towards where we knew the mages we had brought would be fighting. I saw the first flashes of lightning and fire before we had made it a hundred feet. That was where the attack was concentrated, where the fighting was the thickest. I charged in behind Sebastian not because I was brave, but because I was afraid of what might happen if I left his side.

I can not tell you personally what happened at that point. The fray of combat was chaotic and despite my own thoughts on 'the art' of battle, I was hacking and slashing my way forward, instinct and the few years of training taking over. It's true, what they say, you fight how you train. When you have nothing left you fall back on what you know.

We made it to the mages, three of the five were still alive and so Sebastian, myself and several others formed a ring around them, to try and give them time. Time for what I was not sure, but Sebastian believed that only they could save us and I trusted his judgment.

The fighting ceased then and the barbarians and creatures of the forest stepped back, we were surrounded, and I could only assume everyone but us had been slaughtered. Then, from among them, a single black clad figure emerged, and in his hands he held a finely crafted staff so powerful that even I could see the gem on top pulsating, warping the area around it.

He waved a hand and one of our mages dropped to the ground, gurgling as maggots erupted from his mouth. It was then that Sebastian threw a dagger he had been keeping concealed, though that action cost him his life, the dagger spun end over end and though it missed its marked, deflected by some unseen force, it pulled the hood from the dark figures face.

To my horror, both in seeing Sebastian filled with arrows resembling a pin-cushion and that the dark hooded figure was my father. There are no real words to describe what went on in my mind at the time. It was a shock, I did not feel like me, I felt as if I was a hundred feet above myself staring down at the scene below me.

When I snapped back to reality I looked around and noticed that everyone but me was dead or dying, arrows protruding from throats, eyes and hearts. I heard my father speak to me and then he barked something in another language. I was beyond words then, I felt numb inside as I struggled to digest all of this information.

I realized after a moment that I was be pitted against someone, a boy the same age as me only he was dressed as my father and carried a similar staff, though his held no gem at the top. My father patted him on the shoulder, smiled and spoke, he whispered words of encouragement to him. I remember him pointing his staff at me and that I was struck by an unseen force, lifted off the ground and hurled back onto the bodies of the dead, of the mages we had tried to protect.

Lightning was next, it sprang from his finger-tips and danced across my skin. I could smell burnt flesh as he roasted me. Blood welled in my mouth as I bit my tongue from convulsion. I laid their for what seemed an eternity to me. The numbness I had been filling rushed out of me and was filled with a rage of the likes which I had never known, it brought clarity, gave me a sense of purpose. I was angered at the death of Sebastian, of the knights and footmen around me. I was angry at the betrayal of my father, but most of all I was furious that this boy no older than I stood where I should have been, that I had been so easily replaced.

As the boy drew closer to no doubt strike me down I rushed to my feet and tackled him. He might have had magic, but I knew that only the most powerful wizards, like my father, could use spells without speaking. So, without a weapon in hand and too afraid to relinquish my hold on the young mage I did the only thing I could think of. I ripped out his throat with my teeth.

I remember standing and watching the boy die with an emotional detachment that would later frighten me. I spit a chunk of flesh from my mouth and looked up to see my father staring at me, eyes wide and face white, I believe he shook with furry. I remember smiling back.

He raised his own staff to strike me down but a clawed hand appeared on his shoulder and one of the large bi-pedal feline creatures spoke in firm words to him. I watched as the attention shifted from me to my father, something was happening then, something I didn't understand.

I learned later that the Kesh'la'tar, the name the feline creatures gave to themselves, declared that I had won my freedom by a trial of combat and was free of harm while I remained in their lands. That my father, by initiating a one on one dual, had invoked one of their great laws of war. I had earned my freedom. But freedom to go where? I knew that I alone survived and that once I left the battlefield I would be struck down and that there would be nothing I could do about it.

It is then and there that my time among my own people ended, I decided to stay in the safety of the woods. Unfortunately I did not understand the Kesh'la'tar's customs and by staying I submitted myself as a prisoner of war, and as such I would become a slave and remain so for five years and a day to the day of the battle. So, on the next morning my five years and a day as a slave began.

At sixteen years old I was well aware of what slavery was and I dreaded the thought of it. I knew how cruel humans could be, so I thought rationally only the gods knew how cruel these beast walking as men could be. These creatures, whom I'd seen nearly rip men in half with their bare hands. I was awake all night thinking that perhaps letting my father kill me would have been the better of the options before me.

I woke with the rising sun, to the Kesh'la'tar or Kesh as I learned to call them, I learned that the sun rising signified a new beginning, a fresh start. So my new life started clean, yesterdays events were put behind them. To my surprise my day started out like it had many times before, I was set to do tasks. The first of which was to retrieve water from a nearby waterfall.

Not a single task I was given was menial or cruel, each one was with purpose and would either better the whole of the clan or myself. The Kesh were not petty creatures. Vicious? Certainly. Barbaric as far as I was concerned, but they were not without a sense of honor.

Day in and day out I performed these tasks. I learned that as a prisoner of war I belonged to the clan chief and that as his only he could issue me tasks and punish me. I was like a ghost among them, not spoken too or noticed. The opposite was not the same, I watched them closely, trying to learn their strange customs. The Kesh warriors were fascinating to me and nearly every Kesh was a warrior, unless too young, too old or crippled. They fought with claws and teeth, some used weapons made of bone or other natural material and these were more a symbol of status than a tool for killing, and were never used on one of their own.

Their chief, Kor'ne'tuel, which translated to Black Sun Summer, noticed that I took more than a passing interest in his people and he responded in kind by taking interest in me. I was invited once every cycle of the moon to eat dinner with him under the full moon, where he asked me questions of his own people then of my own.

I first thought that he was trying to learn secrets, find a way he could defeat human armies in combat. After the third time I pushed that notion aside and understood that he was teaching me, trying to guide my thoughts so that I found my own answers. I now realize that he was teaching me how to think, which questions were important and which weren't.

Two years passed by and despite being a slave, or what they called Huin'tal which meant White Wanderer, I was enjoying the simplicity of life. I knew what tasks I had to perform and I did them because I wanted to, not because I would be beat like the slaves of humans. Actually, the Kesh do not physically harm Huin'tal, instead they have them perform a task for varying lengths of time.

My first offense, dropping a bucket of water, had me standing under the crashing waterfall for a night so that I could better understand the importance of water, and respect it. My second offense, which came when I became to comfortable and said words I should not of, had me standing one legged on a pole until the sun finished its path through the sky.

These punishments allowed time for reflection, but I saw them as challenges and told myself if I failed I would be allowing them to think they were better than me. Like the puzzles presented before me as a youth I did not allow myself to fail.

It was after two years that the frequency I met with their Chief increased, and our meetings went from simple conversations to practical exercises and to explanations on their culture, in response I explained the difference in our people and went as far as to explain the concept of slaves. To which he laughed deeply and commented on the waste of such energy.

When you spend years with someone you can't help but find things you like and dislike, when you spend years in a foreign culture you have no choice but to adapt to survive. It wasn't in my nature to be ignorant and so I adapted and found myself thinking as one of them at times, I thought less of myself.

While cleaning near the end of the day I bared witness to the same barbarian men that I had fought a couple years back enter the camp, though I merely looked upon them slight interest, none of the hate I had felt before resurfaced even though I felt it should have. In confusion I followed them to the Chiefs hut and it was then that I learned that Alexandrias army was on the march again, this time it was being lead by the same dark wizard that had allied with them in the past.

I was rather foolish and wasn't thinking when I rushed into their meeting, mouth opening to speak before realizing what I had done. One of the barbarians bared his teeth and raised his hand to strike me, though his hand was halted by one of the silent guards near the entrance. I was Huin'tal, and I was not to be touched or acknowledged by any except the Chief.

To my surprise the Chief invited me to his side and gave me permission to speak. It seemed he knew what I was going to say before I did. This was my first real act of betrayal and it was difficult to speak at first, but gradually my words came faster and faster and I found myself drawing out formations on the maps, explaining military tactics. I spoke for hours, my throat too parched to say another word when I finally looked up.

The barbarians looked at me in disbelief while the Kesh were doing what I can only describe as smiling. I had laid out everything I could for them, every detail I had ever known and studied. It had poured out of me like a flood. The only wild card I explained, was my father. I simply did not know the extent of what he could do and I felt a twinge of regret because of that.

I was sent back to my duties after that out-burst, but every night from there on out I was invited back to the Chiefs tent and we would speak in detail of combat. Not things simply relating to the oncoming war, but of its every essence, it's necessity. He showed me how the Kesh fought, with their hands and teeth, hit and run tactics and how to move in silence.

Weeks passed and I saw a variety of forest creatures coming to greet the Chief. More Kesh and even stranger bi-pedal animal like beings. Stranger still were the faerie, with their beautiful complexions and gossamer wings. Their tallest stood a head shorter than me and they appeared frail to the touch, I was mesmerized by their beauty.

Then like what happened nearly three years ago I went out towards battle, only this time I had real reason to fight, I knew what to expect. I acted as an adviser to the Chief and ran supplies and messages to his warriors, I felt apart of something.

The day finally came when the first battle was soon to be underhand, this time we rode out to meet them and fight on a ground of our choosing. There would be no skirmishes, the Kesh wanted to end this in one decisive victory.

I stood like I had before, on a hill-top above the battle, except this time I was not merely watching but calling out my advice to the Chief. We countered Alexanrias every move, tactically we were always a step ahead of them. Until the mages entered the fray. No matter our course there was magic to counter our counters, so we retreated back into the woods so that the Kesh and allies could fight using their skirmishing methods.

That night I found my destiny once again changing hands, I woke to a hand clasped over my mouth. When I took a breath in panic I realized that I also inhaled whatever the hidden man had been holding, I faded to unconsciousness hearing the deafening roar of the Chief as he threw himself into battle against his assailants.

I awoke sometime later, chained to a wall in what I knew to be a dungeon. I knew then that I was in a city, likely Alexandria. I was certain that magic had played a part in getting me there so quickly and my suspicions were confirmed moments later when my father emerged from the shadows, flanked by two men wrapped in ink like darkness that swirled about their forms.

When I looked upon his face I realize that I felt next to nothing for the man. Anger and fear were there, but barely noticeable, only pity remained for him. Pity that he could not see how things how I did, that he could not understand what I did.

I have explained that my father is a Wizard of the highest caliber, but I have not explained exactly what that means or what sort of feats he is capable of. I did not understand the scope of his abilities either, but I would soon learn them.

My father wanted my knowledge, he wanted me to give him what I had given the Kesh. I refused of course. Even his attempts to torture the information from me were met with the steely resolve and determination that he had taught me as a youth. But there was something else he could do, he had a magic that I had never witnessed. He could enter ones mind and do what he wanted.

While I resisted his magical intrusions the best I could there was little I could do against his pervasive magics. It hurts me to say that in the end he got what he wanted, he reached into my mind and tore the information from me at the risk of mentally crippling me. I do not know if you've had information ripped from your mind, but I assure you that you have never undergone that sort of pain, there are no words for it.

I was a gibbering wreck, worth nothing to him and something that he would have likely disposed of had those shrouded men at his side not spoken up. They knew my story and with how wrecked and broken I was they deemed that I could be molded into something formidable. If Machiavelli would grant them this request they would consider the payment he owed them fulfilled. He agreed and so I was handed over as a broken man.

One thing you must understand is that while I paint a clear picture to you now it wasn’t the case at the time. My father was a powerful wizard, as I have told you many times, but he was especially powerful with enchantments. I wasn’t simply handed over to these men cloaked in darkness my father first used magic to scramble my memories, cover some up and rearrange others. More than that though, he stripped me of my very identity. That night I died for the first time, Nicoli was no more.

I should also remind you that at the time I was but a sixteen year old boy. By the standards of the day I was a man, old enough to die in war, but I really knew very little of the world at the time. I was handed over as a blank canvas, or perhaps a better analogy would be that I was but a stone block that could be chipped away until I became what they needed.

They fed me lies of course, about who I was and how I’d come to be in their family. It was explained to me that I would need to do undergo their training all over again, so that they could make sure that I hadn’t forgotten their ways. These were the Veiled-Ones, a sect of hired killers that were infamous for their efficiency at killing as well as their Radiim technique.

Those early days wit the Veiled-Ones were strange, even by my standards. I was more akin to the sort of sentient constructs that mages created than to any human. My new masters cared nothing for the sort of academic knowledge my father had, they cared about one thing only. How proficient of a killer could I become?

My fathers techniques were, thankfully, not perfect. I still retained my instincts, my fine motor skills and eventually a drive to succeed that surpassed what I had shown before. I had nothing holding me back at the time, no history with which to compare events and no experiences to learn from. I was little more than an animal that could speak.

I'm sure you can imagine some of the horrors that a secret organization with no morals and facing no repercussions would force someone to do. I can not and will not go into the specifics, because I still hold loyalty of some sort to them and do not wish to bring down their wrath. But, I can describe to you some of what I felt during the Radiim process.

If you've read my ramblings this far you know that I am no stranger to pain, but at this point in my life it was not so much that you would think anything of it. But, pain was soon to take on an entire new meaning to me. The Radiim were masters of torture and the scars that my body bares are a testament to that.

The Radiim prefer the traditional methods of torture. That is to say that they usually did not use magic on their victims unless it was for the purpose of keeping them alive. They started off small, by lighting my left hand on fire and forcing me to watch as I screamed in horrible agony. I watched the skin charcoal and melt away, I saw tendons melt. Still, it was nothing compared to the process of healing that occurred after.

After a certain amount of time the body simply detaches itself from the pain, ignores it. It can't handle that much pain, it's a shock to it and enough pain can mentally cripple worse than a physical injury. This is the line that the Radiim rode and often times crossed , one in five victims became useless at some point and were disposed of as failures.

Days became weeks, weeks to months and months to years. I did more than endure their training, I welcomed it. Over those years I realized I was different then most. When I was tortured I did not cry out for a deity, nor my parents or anything at all. My shouts were simply those of pain. I never wished to make pacts with dark powers to make the pain stop or threaten my torturers.

Do not think I did not cry out, my tears, pain and blood were all as real as the man next to me. But I always asked one question. Why? To which I always got some response, a calm and measured answer that explained that question no matter how many times I asked it.

'Why' became mine, I asked it always and always got an answer. I found a certain comfort in that knowledge. My words might not make sense to you, but if you ever become someones captive you will understand how important the small things are.

Mundane torture gave way to magical torture and that eventually gave over to spiritual torture. I am sure you are asking how can ones spirit be scarred and tortured, and I would tell you if I could. But I assure you that my soul is no less scarred than my body.

The torture was done not because the Veiled-Ones were sadistic or evil, though I will not argue any of those points. But they were in preparation for what was to come. They taught in mastering the body through pain, purification through sacrifice of flesh. It was only once those that completed their initial training and had made the needed sacrifices could they learn to master themselves, to break down the self-imposed limits and reach your true potential.

Once I realized this and understood it, once I saw the effects of the training and the different levels of skill that were involved I latched on. This was something else I could latch onto, I could make my own and individualize myself based on technique and skill.

When you train as a Veiled-One there is no end, no light at the end of the tunnel. Merely steps that the Grand Master sets before you when he feels you are ready. He alone will come to you and guide you on your path, and rarely are two paths ever the same.

So it was that he came to me after my many years of being forged. He was a man that wasn't simply shrouded in shadow, to me he seemed to be built of them. I recall that he was never seen in more than the light of a torch. But what sticks out most was his mere presence, it was humbling. I averted my eyes, took a knee or bowed out of pure instinct. He was my better in every way. The seniors often referred to him as The Watcher because of how often they would come upon him doing just that. One moment there was nothing there and the next he would be standing there watching the training, though he never spoke at those times.

But, let me go back to what had meant to say about the first time he approached me. I remember him laying an ungloved hand on my shoulder, then on my cheek. He did not say anything but all others in the room had turned to give him their attention, then in barely a whisper that echoed with power he spoke.

“D'Angelo is ready.”

When those words were spoken he removed his hand and walked away, back into the shadows. I had been named and proclaimed ready by the Grand Master, that same day I was shown to a new sleeping quarters where eighteen others like myself lived. I was given my first charm, shown to the armory where I could outfit myself and then sent on my first task.

(WIP)