Avarein: Vant

Chapter 2: Burn

"I must thank you, Gareth. Your town is very... home-y."

Valsh, the leader of the technologist squad kicked his feet up on the table as his took a sip of the wine that he had requested. Gareth stood nervously as several B-47 semi-automatic rifles took lazy aim at his chest. His attempts at standing tall and proud weren't doing him any good, eventually leading to the combination of the arrogant sipping, shining gun barrels the stress of gravity brought him to his knees. Valsh put the glass down upon the table and lowered his other hand flatly as he collapsed, eyeing his squadmates. The group complied, lowering their firearms, leaving Gareth to fight through his fear to stand back up. Valsh silently relished in the conflicted sense of fear on the man's face.

"Say, Gareth. I'd like to know where you keep your letters from your representative. I'm sure you know him. Real creepy dude, lived thousands of years, jumps through shadows. Pretty normal for you mage freaks, I'm sure."

Gareth looked around nervously, unsure of what to do. The shackles on his arms were much too tightly attached to the floor to be able to reach into his shirt, but he couldn't find any strength in his voice. Before long, Valsh slammed his hand on the table, and stood up, making his way to Gareth. Gareth stepped backwards, but after a few steps, he back made contact with the wall behind him. End of the road. Soon, Valsh's walk turned into a short bound into a kick straight into the mages stomach, forcing him to the floor.

"Gareth, buddy. Let me tell you a little story. One day, there was a struggling group of refugees who came to the land of 'Avarein'. They were inventors, engineers and scientists. Then asked the magicians for help. They needed assistance in their time of desperate need. They begged and begged, and the mages gave them NOTHING"

In his burst of anger, Valsh kicked the wall beside Gareth's face. His foot left an imprint on the wooden surface, which served as a convenient foothold for him to glare down menacingly from. Gareth attempted to lift himself up, but failed, falling back onto his behind painfully.

"Gareth, my good boy. I believe that one should treat others the way they want to be treated. So if mages want to treat us technologists like trash, I guess that makes you garbage in my eyes too. Filthy, mage garbage who doesn't deserve the air they breathe. So, Gareth, what'll it be. Telling me what I want, or would you prefer dying a painful death where I burn your family alive in front of you while sawing you apart limb by limb?"

Valsh grabbed Gareth by his collar and forced him up, pushing his back against the wall, the mages head directly next to his foot. Gareth quickly started desperately pointing his fingers at his chest and pointing at the desk, alternating between them. Valsh took a moment to ponder the signals before tearing Gareth's shirt open, his cruel grin becoming a bit warmer as he did. He had discovered a small key, attached to a belt-like ribbon that was difficult to see from the outside.

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

Valsh whipped out his trusty knife and cut through the ribbon, not even bothering to loosen it beforehand. A small wound oozed open on Gareth's skin, but he paid it no mind. He made his way to the desk, before spotting a particularly nice looking lock on one of the compartments. He twisted the lock and opened it to find numerous letters, stamped with the official seal of the Averain high council.

"Well, lookie here. A jackpot."

+++

"Faster. I haven't got all day."

The soldier pushed the barrel of his rifle into the back of a middle aged female mage, who was carefully surrounding a piece of ground with her hands, channelling her mana into it. Her cuffs had been shifted from her arms to her legs, which was particularly painful since the soldier had decided to stick with the normal technique of partially cutting off the mages circulation.