Victor agreed with Maverick as he suggested that they leave the guard alive. There was no need for excessive violence, and they could probably learn something from the brute. The Bard silently nodded his approval of...

Oh wait no killing him was just fine too. Yup, yup, no reason not to kill him, nope. Vic had made the correct decision definitely, definitely, the Bard would have done the same himself, yep.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and followed Maverick into the next room, keeping a wary eye on his namesake. But he tried to forget. Instead, he jumped up onto the podium next to the rest of the Apostles... and as far away from Vic as he could be.

Saber felt his wounds heal over and life return to his form as one of the Apostles lent their assistance. Rejuvenated, he got to his feet, dusted off his chest, and looked up to see a rather intimidating blade falling towards him. He reached to his side for his own saber, but found no hilt to grab. There it was--twenty feet away where he had first fallen. Having nothing left to do but stare in shock and horror, Saber saw his life--or...something else--flash before his eyes--and then he couldn see no more. Well, except for brightness. Lots and lots of brightness, oh how it stung! Rubbing his own eyes, he heard a little more general chaos before his sight returned. The guard was dead, and everyone was leaving. Sabertache ran after the distant backs of the Apostles, grabbed onto the edge of the podium, swore, ran back into the first room to pick up his saber, ran after the even more distant backs of the Apostles, grabbed onto the edge of the podium, and climbed up. The mercenary tried to think of something to say, but nothing came.

"...nice battle?"

"Yeah, it was a nice battle," chuckled Deagan Roth as the Apostles and adventurers stood on the glowing podium. "At least, until the end there. I wouldn't normally behead someone, especially from behind. But, what can ya do, right? Our little friend's head would have popped off like a dandelion if I hadn't done something."

His voiced trailed off as he remembered more of what had happened in that frenzy. "Besides," he said in a disturbed tone, giving Kuro a lofty pat on the back. "After what this kid did to that one guard... my kill doesn't look so bad."

Maverick coughed and butted in. "Neither of those 'kills' were overly devastating, as they were carried out in the name of self defense. It was a kill or be killed situation." He gave the rogue Apostle, Vic, an icy glare. "Vic, we know that you aren't one to show mercy to an enemy, but if you go so far as to slaughter helpless men in the name of blood even once more on this mission, I'll send you home with more than a hurt ego to think about."

Turning to the Apostle who's ascending volume and excitement had alerted the guards to their presence to begin with, the senior cloaked scholar smiled warmly and spoke forgiveness to the boy. "Rais, try to keep your voice down, alright? I'd like to avoid any more run-ins with these people."

Rais Jager nodded solemnly and looked at his feet, clearly kicking himself mentally, knowing that the entire scuffle could have been avoided had he contained his excitement. "Yes, sir..." he murmured apologetically.

Eyra, the half-sized girl who had accompanied the Apostles to this tower, was standing at the base of the podium, fiddling with an odd panel just off to the side. She pulled a glowing purple cube from the stone podium and smiled at the others, lobbing the power supply to the closest Apostle, Roth. He pocketed the gem carefully, not wanting to mess around with it too much.

"Powerful stuff, Calatian engineering," he explained to Saber and Kuro. "A lot of magical energies in this little rock. Rub it the wrong way and we've got a mess."

With the stone removed, the podium powered down. The surreal purple glow dissipated and what remained was a bare, white surface. Eyra pulled from her cloak a similar stone, however it glowed not a bright purple but an eerie green. Placing it in the slot where the Calatian stone had been set, she was essentially just switching the two. The podium glowed the same color as her stone, now, and she grabbed Vic's hand as he hauled the halfling onto the lift, punching an out-of-place block into the structure as she went. The podium detached from the floor and began to rise slowly into the air.

Eyra explained, of course.

"They're very paranoid about just anyone going up a few floors. That purple rock I removed had a special incantation on it that would prevent us from trying to go up without the proper identification..."

"It detects life forms. If you belong on floors two to fourteen, away you go," interrupted Roth. "If not... out you go. We'd have the remainder of this place's night watch on us within minutes."

The lift stopped at the second floor. Judging by the ceiling, this was as far as they could ascend at this point. Maverick slid a similar glass door out of the way and motioned for the others to step through. It was dark in the room. The mage signaled for the adventurers to be silent, careful, and attentive.

Saber had no idea what was going on. He just nodded as he was spoken too, trying his best not to jump as various whirrings and clickings meaning he knew not filled the air. The podium changed color several times, hopefully obscuring the mercenary's own change of color as his face paled. He may have lived through the fight, and been saved from death by Eyra, but he was still incredibly weary. If that was just the bottom floor...maybe it was best he just let the Apostles do most of the fighting. He would play a support role through the rest of the mission, most likely. The fact that seemingly everyone else knew magic was another discouragement to his battle participation. Whatever these guys did to get so strong...maybe I'll try to stick around them a bit more...might learn something.

He stretched as the podium rose, a little nervous thinking about what awaited them at the end of their journey. The podium arrived at the next level and Maverick opened the door. Moving far more slowly than necessary, the nomad tiptoed out as silently as he could, barely remembering to breathe at a normal rate lest he pass out from lack of air.

Victor forgot his purpose for a little while as he pondered why they were going up in this elevator if they weren't allowed to. It all seemed rather mean, really. But it wasn't his first count of breaking and entering, so, he went with the flow and tried to enjoy the ride upwards, keeping a wary eye on Vic the whole time. He was beginning to doubt Maverick's control over the rouge.

When they arrived at their floor, the Bard scrambled to get off of the podium. No need to stay on, lest there be other security measures that might cause it to fall. This was all very new territory for Victor and he didn't want to make a bad impression, particularly the kind on the ground floor surrounded by a pool of blood. Still, he watched Vic, and clung to the wall furthest from him, slowly bringing his boomerang back into the open, readied in the event of an enemy attack... or a betrayal.

Kuro watched in intrigue as the female Apostle switched out the little glowing cubes. So this is Calatian engineering, Kuro thought. It's definitely interesting. Kuro got a lurching feeling in his gut as the magical contraption began to rise. It went away quickly, only to come back again when the elevator stopped. This time however, it seemed to stay much longer, as Kuro was quite worried about being jumped by more huge guards, and, since this was a higher floor, they would probably be stronger.

Oh, goddesses.

Kuro's hands went to his swords as he began to walk off the large device. He tried hos best to stay near the Apostle's, but still far enough to avoid getting mercilessly killed by Vic. In other words, he was as far away as Victor was, and breathing and moving very silently to avoid being caught by a guard and end up dead. Either way, it didn't look good.

Kuro looked around the room to see what he could, which happened to be nothing much. He wondered if the Apostles even knew how to get to wherever they were going. He tried to reassure himself that everything would be okay, as he waited for the Apostles to give an order.

<center>Wish he would stop glaring at me so.</center>

Vic did not appreciate the third degree he had been getting. A simple soldier of the Apostles; that was all he was. Doing his job to the best of his ability, however gruesome the requirements may be; that was all he was able to do. It bothered him to no end that he could not pursue his own ambitions. They did, after all, fit loosely with the Apostles’ ambitions.

<center>Wish he would stop staring at me so.</center>

He was well aware of the bard. He was also well aware that he was the mistrusted of the group. It did not surprise him. Turning to the bard, he made it quite clear that he didn’t need or want to be observed like the odd man out.

“Can I help you,” he asked with the slightest tone of dark amusement. “If you’re going to stare, do so in the direction of Roth, Midores, Jager or Maverick. They look no different. You’re making me uncomfortable.” He spoke this last word with great emphasis. It was like a subtle and yet still very direct way of telling the bard to bugger off.

As Saber’s tiptoeing toes struck the floor of the tower’s second tier, the entire area became suddenly well-lit. Looking down, Saber might have seen raised tile his foot had made not-so-raised. It seemed to have triggered torches that lined all four walls, and the entire room was now very easy to navigate.

Not that it would have been a problem to begin with. The entire floor, in its entirety, was just an open space. Save for a desk in the very center of the room, there were no furnishings at all. A man was lying in a chair, sprawled out over the desk and drooling quite unattractively on his arms. His sleeping hands managed to clench, quite tightly, a large bottle of some kind of brown liquid. The bottle, despite being quite large, was only an inch from empty. He muttered strings of inaudible, nonsensical ramblings as he slept.

Maverick stared on, puzzled.

“Let’s just… keep going.”

Unfortunately, the glass door on the opposite end was the proud owner of its very own lock. And what a lock it was! It seemed that a key was required, and in a room such as this, it could only be found in one place.

Victor's mouth hung agape as Vic addressed him. He began nodding stupidly, his bottom lip bobbing along carelessly. He then attempted to look in every direction but Vic's. At once.

He was right behind Maverick when he moved toward the door, hoping to move through this mission as quickly as possible and hopefully avoid Vic for the rest of his life as requested. But no. It was locked. Had the Bard felt he could make a sound, the rest of the group may have noticed that he was beginning to sob lightly.

But right there was other stuff to do. Victor rubbed his eyes along his sleeve and turned to the desk, which he approached with haste, still avoiding Vic at all costs. He checked over the desk, carefully searching around the sleeping man's form - he envied this man, oblivious to Vic's presence and his likely death at his merciless hands within due time - for any keys, or drawers that could possibly contain keys, or anything really. Anything at all. Please, Goddesses, anything. Even a mite of whatever was in that bottle was sounding good around then, anything to ease his nerves...

Maverick was pleased that Victor was taking the initiative to seek out the glass door's key, however he hoped with all of his soul that the sometime foolhardy bard would not be cursed with his sometimes foolhardy luck at that moment. He knew that having Victor in the Apostles was a smart decision, as the young man was obviously very handy when he needed to be. The mage sometimes worried about his subordinate, though.

As Victor neared the desk, Eyra kindheartedly whispered a "careful!" after her fellow vagabond. It was certainly an obvious thing to say, but the vertically challenged Apostle knew Victor had a reputation for tripping at just the wrong time. She looked towards Maverick and shrugged. He gave a return shrug, smiling beneath his hood. At least he was not the only one with his worries.

There is only one drawer on the desk, but much like the door at the far end of the hall, it too is sealed by a well-made lock. If there is one thing that can be noticed about the man who lay drooling and drunk in his office chair, it was that his clothing was devoid of any sort of pockets. The key, it seemed, was nowhere to be found. All that littered the desktop was a variety of unimportant documents and ledgers. And a pictograph of the man and his family.

Before the bard could turn back, Lady Luck would yet again slap him square in the face. The sleeping man gave a few wet-sounding hiccups, and turned his face to the side. With a rough cough, he spewed forth a rancid concoction of whatever had been inside his stomach only moments ago. The others looked on in horror as the scene unfolded, and Victor's feet, ankles and shins were left in a state of unmentionable distress.

The man snapped awake for a moment and looked down.

"... clean it up *hic!* inna morn'...

His head hit the desk and he was out.

OOC: If there's anything that makes me feel warm inside, it's the way you treat Victor

IC: Saber turned away, all wishes that he had brought food upon this journey no longer wished. There was still a key to find, however. Possibly two. What kind of irritable dolt requires someone to get a key just so they can get another key? Unnecessary and aggravating, really.

Digressing the previous point, the mercenary sighed and again examined the situation. His first wry thought was that they should just get that big hulk of an Apostle to break the glass door down with his murderous brow. But no, that would compromise their position far worse than the Bard's footprints being left in a pool of vomit. His next was to just burn the desk down, or break it to get past the lock. But no, that would probably wake the inebriated guard. Though honestly, he probably wouldn't be much trouble in his drunken state, especially with Vic about.

So then the question was how to keep the fool unconcious whilst they searched his pockets. One could hope he would sleep through the search, but he may be ticklish, who knew. Sighing, Saber drew his blade, holding the pommel a few inches over the man's head. "Can we just knock him out?" He stated bluntly, an eerie chill creeping up his spine. This room made him uneasy.

Oh, Goddesses damn it!

Victor had shut is eyes and been hoping that the man would upchuck on his desk, or perhaps on an empty spot of the floor, but when he felt his pant legs grow noticeably heavier, he gave up and looked.

Goddesses damn it Goddesses damn it Goddesses damn it Goddesses...

The Bard gave a few weak little kicks, to try to remove as much of the slime as possible, but it was no use. He wondered if he would have to purchase new shoes. He didn't even know of any shoe shops in Hyrule.

... damn it Goddesses damn it Goddesses damn it Goddesses damn...

There wasn't even any reason for it, no keys to speak of and only a second lock found. A complete waste of an unfortunate event. Scanning the desk once more, briefly, in a desperate attempt to find some unnoticed key, Victor saw the near-empty bottle. Near empty.

"Goddesses damn it."

Speaking for the first time in however long it'd been, the Bard had juts given up. He stopped caring about his pants, about Vic, about getting into or out of any damn towers. With an angry swipe he took the bottle and downed the rest of the liquid. What better device to aid in forgetting a horrible situation than mysterious brown alcohol.

Maverick watched as Victor resorted to alcohol as a means of quenching his despair. The mage held out his arm and shouted "Wait! Victor!" to the bard as he took a desperate swig. It was only a gulp or two. The scholar shouldn't have cared that much...

If Victor had read the label on the bottle before reading, he would have had some sort of idea on the potency of the drink he had taken. Although he likely had very little interest in drunken debauchery and knew little of anything in related concepts, the large "151 Proof" should have some indication that he was making a mistake. The horrendous burn in his throat would have been some sort of consequence to his drink-first-think-later idea.

Maverick shook his head in sympathy. He had once been young and naive, too... although not to this extent. "Eyra... if you wouldn't mind..." The girl looked at him for a moment, unknowing. He pointed to the mess on and around Victor's feet. She clued in, nodding.

Before he could object, Victor found himself drenched from head to toe.

The leader mage couldn't help but laugh. It was not what he had been expecting, after all. "Eyra... I think just the feet would have been good," he reflected while giggling. The shorter of the two was also laughing, trying to squeeze out what sounded like "Yes, well, this was worth a chuckle or two."

Rais had to turn away from the others to hide his amusement. Roth stood straight and stern, noticeably shaking as he fought to stifle his desire to burst. A very uncomfortable expression was all over his hooded face. He felt sorry for the bard, but this was too much. He hoped things started to look up for the poor boy. Vic said nothing, and chose not to laugh, although he, too, found it quite amusing.

Victor was soaked, but at least he was clean.

When the laughter had ceased, Maverick turned to Saber. "There isn't really a need to... He hasn't got any pockets. Sabertache, is it? Perhaps you could return to the lobby on the first floor and search those guards. Vic, would you please assist our friend here?" The mage turned around to talk with the others, leaving the duo to their task.

"As you wish."

Of course, because splitting up is always the best option.

Keeping the thought to himself, Saber sheathed his blade and headed towards the lift, more and more bad feeling creeping into his mind. This just didn't seem right. What was the point of this desk? It had to be some kind of elaborate trap, or else whoever built the place had a fetish for complication.

Without a word, he leapt back onto the lift, afraid to speak lest the fear be evident in his voice.

A few moments later and the effects were setting in. Victor... was a lightweight.

He blinked a few times, but the fuzziness around him didn't go away. Woah... wasn't quite used to this. He should... he should probably drink more often. You know, for situations like this.

He looked happily at the bottle still in his hand. He thought, "Thank you, bottle. I love you," and grasped it even tighter. He'd need it later, probably.

Being drenched with water felt good. It was like, ahhhhhhhh. The murkiness along the lower half of his legs had vanished, replaced by fresh, cool, magical wetness. His pants sloshed now, like what was left in the bottle. Ha!

The Bard tried stepping forward, tripped on nothing, floated for a bit, then gained his footing about an inch ahead of where he was before. A triumph! He raised his new friend to the Goddesses in praise, then turned to the rest of the group.

Saber and Vic were leaving. Yay! He waved his bottle at the duo, wishing them silent luck. Then he focused on Maverick, or the shape that represented Maverick at least. Maverick was so cool. He was like, the best guy. Victor smiled awkwardly at the leader and took a few haggard steps toward him, extending his arms in a friendly manner.

"C'mere, Mavs. You're tha' best guy."

He wrapped his arms tightly around the cloaked figure in a friendly embrace, patting his back happily.

As Saber and Vic stepped out of the second floor hall and into the magic-powered lift to begin their descent, the silent Apostle caught wind of the uneasiness in the boy's stride. He set food on the elevating podium, and the mechanism behind it activated. The lift began its slow drop to the first floor/

"There is nothing to worry about," he said calmly, but coldly. "I can tell that you are not interested in separating from the majority of our operatives. However. Unless there are enemies coming through the front door, that lobby is no danger to you. The others will stop any guards who might even think of trying to follow us down. We are searching for a key amongst a pile of corpses. That is all."

The lift halted as he finished speaking, and the hostile Apostle stepped off. He beckoned for the mercenary to follow him through the glass door and into the lobby of the Calatian tower. The scene remained unchanged.

Soot from bombs powdered the floor in several places, and the marble tiles had been desecrated by the explosions. Once beautiful flooring had been shattered and distorted into a mess of rock and shale. Four guards lay slain across the room. One had a thumbnail-sized hole directly through his head. Another had no head at all. The third was laying dead in a heap, his skull cracked and his brain damaged. Another lay decapitated as well, slain by a ruthless man. A puddle of black liquid was all that remained of the fifth. Vic stared at it in wonder.

"Well, let's get searching," he said in an annoyed tone as he began to kick over the carcass of a mutilated guard.

Above these backtrackers, Maverick and co. were having troubles of their own. They were now dealing with a severely intoxicated bard. And as everyone knows, bards tend to break into song. The remaining intruders prayed that this one would not go into a drunken hysteric that he called music.

Maverick stood still as Victor wrapped an arm around him and began to speak his nonsense. "It's good to know you think I'm that great, Victor. You're not half bad yourself," he joked, humoring what was now appearing to be a new burden on the mission. While he certainly did not appreciate his new nickname, he said nothing. The bard's breath was atrocious.

Rais played along. "Hey Victor!" he shouted. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

The boy never even raised an arm.