Ravan traveled by foot to Mael, but truly he didn't mind the trek. It provided him time to plan, devise, contemplate while ignoring the colorful succulents surrounding him. Normally the scenery would help to relax him and bring him peace, but there was no peace to be had for Ravan anymore. He was sick of the struggle in his pursuit of happiness. He much preferred to be with his family since now, what more did he have left to live for? Literally there was nothing. Ravan felt he had reached a hopeless low from which there was no way to be uplifted, but before he would end himself and join his family, he resolved to be sure he'd bring along with him those who had brought him down into this hopeless void.

At times, a piece of Ravan would consider that perhaps he may not actually desire revenge. Maybe it wasn't worth the risk, the time, or the malignant reputation it would bestow upon his name. It wouldn't bring back his family, so what was the point? It wouldn't make him happy and he could possibly die in the process. Ravan would pause in his step and genuinely consider these thoughts, but then he would remember that he had absolutely no problem dying for this cause — he even planned to off himself once his mission was complete. Perhaps revenge wouldn't make him happy, but he wasn't happy then either so his supposed "happiness" wasn't at risk. Of course revenge wouldn't bring his family back, but what sort of argument was that? Nothing would bring his family back; he didn't seek revenge for that reason, he sought it because he deserved justice that would not be obtained any other way. Each time Ravan stopped to second-guess his designs he managed to talk himself out of his own arguments. Eventually, Ravan got to the point where he ignored any nagging doubt which slowed him down in his journey back to Mael, and resolved himself to a path for vengeance.

Ravan arrived at Mael long after noon. Naturally the trek to Mael from Ignis should have been less than half a day, but Ravan was too depressed to make haste. As he passed through the familiar town, he caught sight of Mobe's brownsmith, the traitor who had brought the attentions of the centurions to him years ago. Ravan crinkled his brow at the man and decided that he would begin his pursuit for payback with Mobe. He wouldn't kill the smith, his transgressions weren't so heinous, but he would certainly make life more difficult for his former employer.

Ravan hid in the shadows of a narrow alleyway and patiently waited for Mobe to close shop once the Northern sun had set. When darkness enveloped the town and the lanterns were the only source of light, Ravan glanced up and down the street and opted to wait just a little longer for most everyone to go home. He had time, plenty of time to be patient and practice caution. Then once the streets were mostly empty, Ravan casually made his way to the brownsmith and entered through the back way.

Once inside, Ravan ignited a fire in the palm of his hand and tossed it into the large furnace. He spent the next few hours melting all the metal in the shop together. Not just the metal scraps and sheets, but also the project orders Mobe had pending. During this time, Ravan decided to smith a project himself just to leave behind so that Mobe knew who exactly had ruined his life. He crafted a lovely copper and zinc human spine with a small dagger going through it. On the base, Ravan engraved, "From Ravan of Rivas, to the Coward of Arderé." Then Ravan placed it openly in the center of the counter for everyone to see and left the shop.

For whatever reason, Ravan didn't feel the need to return the next morning to view the fruits of his labor. Probably because he was well aware of the extent of the damage he had caused and didn't require assurance. So he moved on to his first order of business in his quest for pay-back and while he casually walked to Chateau Westerlay, Ravan outlined what he would say to the count. Oddly enough he had not done this during his journey to Mael the day prior. He had been too caught up in thought, and then too distracted with his revenge against Mobe. There was no problem though; he had plenty of time — all the time in the world.

Ravan didn't recognize the steel-plated berserker sentries who guarded the silver-lined double doors when he arrived, and it appeared they didn't recognize him either. It would seem that the count had many various sentries manning this post throughout each day.

"I'm here to have an audience with His Lordship," said Ravan.

"Was this arranged previously?" asked one of the guards as he eyed Ravan's ratty brown and gray attire.

"No, but if you simply inform him that a gentleman is here to collect a debt, he'll know who you're talking about."

The guards glanced at each other before one decided to go inside and ask his employer what this man was talking about. It wasn't long before he returned with an arched eyebrow directed at Ravan.

"It appears he does know who you are," he said. "Follow me please."

Ravan said nothing as he was once again led through the black and green mansion with the familiar gold accents. Even after all these years they still reminded him of his short life at Firebrush Manor. Ravan was shown to the study just as he had been last time where Count Pierce poured himself a drink at his mini bar. The nobleman glanced up at his visitors.

"Leave us," he said to the guard.

The guard left without a word and Ravan was at last alone with the count.

"How was your journey?" Ravan asked.

The count sipped his drink. "How did you know about that?"  

"I attempted to speak with you last month."

"Oh, I apologize." The count took a seat at his desk. "If it makes you feel any better, I do not enjoy leaving the comfort of my home for extended periods of time."

"It doesn't make me feel better, but that's all passed now. Anyway, I'm here to cash in that debt."

"What is it that you would like?"

"I would like to be trained in combat."

The count watched Ravan, waiting for some explanation. "Of everything I have to offer, that's what you wish to request?"

"If I had requested it years ago, my family would be alive today," Ravan replied.

The count raised his eyebrows at Ravan, but opted not to question it further considering it was clear that the wound was still fresh. He set his drink down.

"Very well, I will once again assign my best to the task. If we are to do this, we shall do it right. You will live, eat, and breathe like a natural soldier on my estate, and you will do everything my captain tells you. You are to be a squire like every other squire. Are you truly dedicated to the soldier lifestyle, sir?"

"As dedicated as one could be, my Lord," said Ravan.

"Then so be it." Count Pierce stood from his desk and approached the door to his study. "I will show you to your lodgings."

                                                                  ~~~

Morning came early and unpleasantly for Ravan when Captain Ilya, who had been delegated the first task of learning about the status of Ravan's mother, entered the room and shoved Ravan off the bed.

"Let's go, Soldier, your first lesson is now."

Ravan glanced around the small, dank room through his eye lashes and noticed that candlelight illuminated the space rather than sunlight.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Time is irrelevant to a soldier," Captain Ilya answered. "Yet we're never tardy. So get up, get dressed, and meet me outside in five!"

Ravan would have to learn to get used to this strict routine and brutal treatment somehow if he was to take this training seriously. He didn't want the captain to feel as though he wasted irrelevant time, nor the count to feel as though he wasted a room in the squires' barracks.

When Ravan emerged into the cool morning air, the first rays of the Southern sun grazed the pink morning sky and he tried to remember the last time he had rolled out of bed this early. He stood before the captain and a few other soldiers in full metal gear who waited for orders.

"Let's see where your skillsets lie first," said Captain Ilya. "That way I know how much you have to learn."

"I know nothing about combat, Captain," Ravan confessed. "But if you insist. Do you have a sword?"

"First of all, where's yours?"

"I am neither a squire nor a soldier, sir. I do not have one."

"Well you're a squire now, so get one. Secondly, we're not starting with swords. A soldier first and foremost needs to know how to fight without one. You will be fighting Sagitus here with nothing but your own body."

Ravan glanced at the soldier to whom the captain gestured and shrugged his shoulders. Sagitus appeared very closely to Ravan's size, so at least it would be a mostly fair fight. Ravan and Sagitus squared off and Ravan let him attack. Ravan attempted to counter Sagitus but quickly found himself flat on his back gasping for air and wondering... how? Sagitus offered his hand to help Ravan back onto his feet.

"I'll give you the benefit of a doubt and let you try again," said Captain Ilya. "Perhaps you're still only waking up."

Ravan knew that wasn't the case, but he wanted to know what he had missed. He let Sagitus attack again and this time felt his feet lose purchase before he was on the ground once more.

"Very well," said the captain. Sagitus helped Ravan onto his feet again. "We're starting from the beginning. At least you know how to fall."

"The beginning" in Captain Ilya's training was exercises to improve Ravan's reflexes and hand-eye coordination, after which they got into hand-to-hand combat. About half a year later, when Captain Ilya felt Ravan had mastered the first two areas of training, he finally allowed Ravan to start practicing with the very simple sword he had been gifted from the count since he hadn't the money to purchase one. During this time, Captain Ilya also taught Ravan certain meditation techniques meant to keep peace in the hearts of soldiers. While it didn't remove the burning desire for revenge from within him, it did help to improve his patience. What also helped his patience was checking up on Mobe's brownsmith, where Ravan discovered that Mobe had gone out of business entirely. Learning the outcome of his more recent claim of pay-back kept his hunger for more at bay. He wanted to be sure that his pursuits were distanced so that the amusement would last as long as possible.

A year and a half into his training, vengeance was calling Ravan's name once again. Mobe's restitution had faded within him and his thirst for retribution stewed long and hot in his heart. Soon, Ravan could wait no longer and the next victim on his list would be one that required little fighting skillset: Omid, the Butcher of Rivas who ran the slaughterhouse he had slaved at.

                                                                  ~~~

Ravan borrowed a stallion from the count's stables and rode to the slaughtering grounds on the outskirts of Rivas. He gazed at the snowwood buildings under the gleam of the orange moon and dwelled on the many years he had spent laboring, killing, coldly slaughtering for this man who gave him little, if anything, in return. Finally, Ravan left the horse just outside the property, donned his brown, bear fur hood, and strolled up to approach the butcher's home. As it turned out, Omid had not learned his lesson the last time Ravan had entered through the window to the living room as the window was left unlocked once again. Ravan was more agile crawling through it this time and with the presence of a shadow he slowly ascended the stairs to enter Omid's bedroom.

Once there, Ravan pulled up a chair and took a seat at the foot of Omid's small brass bed. The subtle scraping sound of the chair across the wood floor awakened the butcher, who gazed over at the dark hooded figure sitting at the foot of his bed. He sat up with a start and quickly lit every candle and lamp in the room with his fire elemental abilities. Still, Ravan's face remained hidden in the shadow of his hood.

"Who goes there?" Omid demanded.

"Get up," Ravan stated simply.

"What for?"

"Because you're at my mercy and I demand it."

Omid slowly climbed out of bed. "Why won't you tell me who you are and what you want?"

"You haven't gathered that for yourself yet?"

Omid stared blankly at Ravan.

"Very well," said Ravan as he finally stood to approach the butcher. "Let's see if we can jog your memory."

Ravan snatched Omid by the back of his nightgown and dragged him to the barn where years earlier the other boys had beat Ravan and hung him from a high beam. He kicked the barn doors open, lit only a couple of torches, and tossed Omid to the hay-speckled ground.

"Perhaps you may remember years ago, finding a little boy stripped naked, hanging from that beam up there," Ravan explained. "After cutting him down, you scolded him for being weak, then told him to wash up and go to bed. Ring any bells, sir?"

Realization showed on Omid's face. He gazed up with wide eyes at the cloaked man who paced around the barn, and he felt it was probably wisest to remain on his knees.

"Then when that boy turned twenty, you refused to set him free though you had released many boys before him," Ravan continued as though taunting the trembling butcher. "In fact, you laughed in his face. You really never expected that he would run away eventually? Oh, no, of course not. Because he was too afraid, too weak. He had no backbone, isn't that right? Well it appears that you had underestimated that boy, because he eventually did run away. He had a spine after all! And that just made you livid, so what did you do? You went and reported his escape to the Baron of Rivas! Isn't that so, sir?"

"Please, Ravan," Omid muttered almost inaudibly.

"Oh, so you do remember me!" Ravan manifested a terrifying smile enhanced by the flickering firelight. "Am I so loved? No, I suppose it simply goes to show how severely outraged you were to learn how grievously you misjudged me."

"Listen, Son —"

Ravan landed a powerful blow to Omid's face which nearly sent the butcher back to sleep. "Now here I am, thirty-one years old, stronger than ever, ready to show just exactly how grievously you've always misjudged me."

Ravan proceeded to remove a coil of rope from the wall and dipped it into a barrel of fire retardant.

"I've always known you were strong, Ravan!" Omid insisted. "But I couldn't afford to lose you, you were my best worker!"

Ravan socked him again. "So pay me! Show more respect! Acknowledge that I'm not as weak as you would have me believe!"

Omid spat blood from his mouth. "I couldn't... afford..."

"Well that was a dilemma which was your responsibility to resolve." Ravan quickly bound Omid's hands in front of him. "I don't appreciate being the one forced to pay for your mistakes."

"What are you doing?" Omid asked with a shudder in his voice.

Ravan tossed the other end of the rope around the same beam from which he had been suspended, raised Omid from the floor, and secured the rope to a post.

"Do you know what the baron's men did when they found me?" Ravan asked.

"Yes," Omid replied solemnly. "The entire country is aware."

"Oh good, so we're on the same page then. To answer your question, I'm seeing to it that you share some of the consequences for your mistake. And to be completely forthright with you, you'll still have it much easier than I."

Here, Ravan ignited a fire in his hand and sent it at the pathetic butcher suspended from the ceiling like slaughtered swine from a meat hook. He was immediately consumed in a raging inferno and the whirring of the flames nearly snuffed out his screams completely. Ravan stuck around to watch as Omid shrieked and kicked while the fire slowly devoured him to the bone. Unfortunately for Ravan, it wasn't long before Omid stopped flailing about and quieted. Even then, Ravan lingered for a bit and watched while Omid's flesh dripped from his skeleton as he quickly reached a point of disfigurement. At long last, there was nothing more to burn and the flames flickered out.

Ravan's final task before quitting the property was to free the children of the slaughterhouse. He entered the sleeping quarters and immediately lit every torch in the building at once.

"Everybody up!" Ravan demanded. "Get up, get out! You're all free, Master Omid is dead!"

At first all the boys were confused, but once they realized that Ravan spoke the truth, they scrambled for their belongings and shuffled out the door. One child, whom Ravan assumed to be the youngest, stopped just before exiting and looked Ravan in the eye.

"What's your name, Mister?"

Ravan paused wondering how to answer, but decided there was no harm in providing the truth.

"Ravan."

"Thank you, Ravan sir."

Ravan hesitated, not having expected this. "You're welcome."

Without another word, the young boy fled with the others. After a short moment to ponder the simple, yet pleasant exchange, Ravan returned to the barracks at Chateau Westerlay and dreamt of his victorious night.

                                                                  ~~~

The following day, Ravan meditated in the count's rear courtyard, but instead of focusing on the cool breeze against his face or the small birds singing in the trees, Ravan focused on the revenge he had acquired the previous night: Omid cowering on his knees, pleading for mercy, screaming in pain. Slowly, a subtle grin stretched across Ravan's face, but his pleasurable rumination was quickly cut short when Captain Ilya snuck up behind him.

"What's this I hear about the Butcher of Rivas?"

Ravan sighed through his nose, irritated by the interruption. He stood to face the captain. "I couldn't say, Captain. What did you hear about the Butcher of Rivas?"

"He was strung up from the ceiling in a barn and set aflame."

Ravan released a snicker. "Tragic indeed."

"Are you going to attempt to deny your involvement?"

"What evidence do you possess to make you certain I'm involved?"

"Soot on a saddle which wasn't there yesterday," the captain explained. "Not to mention both Mael and Rivas are singing their praises to one they call, 'Ravan the Great,' for freeing all the children."

Ravan couldn't help a proud smirk in response to the compliment attached to the new moniker.

"I don't need you to confirm anything for me, Ravan," Captain Ilya continued. "I only need you to keep a low profile. His Lordship can't be exposed for aiding you, so this can't happen again. You understand, of course?"

"I understand, Captain," Ravan answered.

"Good, let's begin your training."

This wasn't a problem for Ravan. Considering the fact that his revenge against Omid had been sweeter than that against Mobe, Ravan expected he would remain satisfied for much longer. There would be no need to seek another fix for the remainder of his training, to which Ravan remained ever dedicated. It wasn't long before he fought with the ferocity of a berserker, the agility of an elf, and the swiftness of a valkyrie, causing Captain Ilya to feel wary that teaching Ravan was a good idea at all. This was especially the case when the captain taught Ravan some rare fire-wielding techniques which he mastered with ease. Ravan ended up completing his training just a few months before he turned thirty-two. He thanked Count Pierce, bid Captain Ilya farewell, and made his way to Rivas to spend what he figured would be a number of years patiently completing his quest for vengeance. Once he arrived, Ravan didn't possess the funds to rent a room for an extended period of time. Additionally, Ravan was well aware that soldiers and centurions would be hunting him down, so it was probably better that he not have permanent lodging.

So Ravan searched Rivas for a decent, temporary, cheap lodging; preferably someplace with a good view of the town from above (an even better view of Firebrush Manor), and not too far from a tavern. Ravan figured that since the tavern was the one place where people from all walks of life gathered together, it would be the one sure location where he could keep up to date on the town gossip and news. As he strolled through Rivas for something which met his specifications, his eyes fell onto the belfry. That would certainly have a fantastic view of the town, it was reasonably close to a tavern, all there was to do was check to see if it had good view of Firebrush Manor.

Ravan opened the rotting, creaky, wooden door and glanced around the small foyer. It was apparent by the dust and leaves that this belfry had been out of use for some time. A stale odor of old parchment and molding stone surrounded Ravan and forced a couple of sneezes from him. Once he gathered what information he could from the foyer, he continued up the deteriorating stone steps, careful not to put too much weight on the wooden railing. All the while he considered what he would do when the soldiers discovered this was where he was sleeping. He wouldn't be able to sleep down in the foyer because he would be caught off guard and trapped. He imagined he would have to sleep in the bell gable itself, or at least at the top of the stairwell just before the entrance to the gable.

The bell gable was just as dirty and riddled with leaves as the rest of the building. Ravan decided he definitely would be sleeping in the hallway. He'd set up an alarm system that would signal whenever someone opened the door downstairs and he would have a means of escape prepared from the bell gable. Ravan peered out over the tall amber and adobe buildings of Rivas and spotted exactly what he wanted to see: Firebrush Manor standing regal above them all, and it was a perfect visual too. Indeed, he would put up camp at this belfry for as long as he could.

Ravan spent much of his time in Pieces Tavern listening to gossip, news, and bits of people's personal problems. Every once in a while, his happy moniker would echo off the walls, but mostly, he was listening for the Baron or Earl of Rivas to come up, or even the captain who worked for the baron. It didn't help that Ravan didn't know the captain's name, and soon he realized that he would have to take another approach if he wanted to learn the identities of all the centurions among the baron's unit.

That night, Ravan closely monitored the baron's estate and waited until most of the residents took to bed before he snuck onto the massive property. He fought to be agile and light on his feet as he scurried through the flowery courtyard and dodged all flickering torches and posted sentries. Without making the slightest sound, Ravan picked the lock of a window and climbed through in to the baron's grand and vast study. Now where would the baron keep record of his employees? Ravan tip-toed over to the cedar cubby, which lined an entire wall of the baron's study, and he used a small flame on the tip of his finger to illuminate the titles on the scrolls. Any scroll which wasn't labeled he unrolled and read and any scroll which did not contain the information he sought he tossed to the floor. After some time, Ravan learned that such records were not kept in the cubby.

So Ravan moved to the ornate cedar desk and jimmied the lock on the drawer. There were a number of untitled scrolls in here and he searched through all of them only to come up empty-handed. Ravan considered the possibility that there was another building on the property which housed squires-in-training like the count had, so he climbed back out the window and scaled up the side of the baron's white stone mansion to the roof. He scanned the property in the light of the violet moon and found nothing which resembled what he searched for. With a sigh of frustration, Ravan called it a night and returned to the belfry.

The following day, Ravan carefully hatched a plan to sneak onto the Rivas Centurion Base to search through their records for the identities of the soldiers who slaughtered his family. It wouldn't be an easy feat, but Ravan welcomed the challenge. As he waited for nightfall, Ravan roamed the town, mapping out escape routes in his mind and ways to throw off pursuers, he even prepared a number of traps just in case. Just the thought of making these esteemed soldiers look like fools excited him on a number of levels; he almost longed to be pursued.

At long last, night fell upon the wealthy town of Rivas and the streets were quiet. Ravan tested his elaborate escape route several times and once he felt satisfied with its inevitable success, he quickly made his way to the base where the adobe buildings were lit up like day with torches, flambeaux, and large glass bowls of fire. Unlike the town, the base was lively with third shift, confirming the unlikelihood for successful trespassers, but Ravan was not perturbed. He sat upon the rooftop of the Rivas Town Hall and scanned the base for any area which appeared to hold the information he sought. His eyes fell upon a single building marked, "Records Bureau," and a wicked grin spread across his face. This was his stop. Figuring he'd be quieter on the ground rather than jumping from rooftop to rooftop, Ravan hopped over the wall and began his daring prowl toward the records building on the Rivas Centurion Base.