Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191021182359/@comment-5543592-20191021221048

The Scaldor Method
There were three things in this world that Scaldor hated. Disloyal people. Bad music. And failure. Scaldor especially hated failure.

The rose every morning, but Scaldor always rose before it. He started his day with conditioning. Aerobics, calisthenics, stretching. He was old, even for an elf, and it was important to maintain his strength. Avoid weakness. Scaldor didn’t mind weakness in others, thought it was fucking funny, but hated weakness in himself. In an inn, it would be in his room. On a ship, he went up onto the bow. He liked to do pull-ups and practice his balance on the bowsprit.

Conditioning ended and Scaldor smoked a morning’s helping of Skooma to stave off the pain all his old injuries caused him. The hairline fractures in his vertebrae from the hangings. The aching pain in his liver from when it had been perforated. He had to clean out the gunk that gathered in the poorly healed hole in his arm, reminiscent of smegma. Arm cheese, Scaldor called it, and saying the words aloud always made him laugh.

He put on his shirt, dressed for the day. He laid out his jacket before himself and went about inspecting his little arsenal, made sure everything was in working condition.

There was a reason Nyasia had two bodyguards for the same reason anyone might have two bodyguards--two was more than one. But there was more to it, more to Magnus’ planning, more to when the prince had ordered Scaldor to safeguard what he valued most in the world.

Baldr was the conventional bodyguard. Strong, imposing. Most, who would not leave Nyasia be on her name alone, or wanted to do her harm, would leave her be because Baldr stood next to her.

But Nyasia was a monarch, and for that reason there would always be a good number of the people in the world who wanted her dead, for any variety of reasons. Keeping these people from being successful was Scaldor’s job. As Baldr and Nyasia ingratiated themselves, developed relationships, lived their lives, Scaldor kept his eyes open. He did not have friends because he did not believe in friendship. You could like a guy, like him just fine, and acknowledge all the same that you needed to stomp his fuckin’ brains in. Anything but an acquaintance implied a bond. A pact. Scaldor hated havin’ his loyalty split.

They were a group of good kids. Lysilde, Alvoran, Helian, even the batty Khajiit. Scaldor might’ve even been a little bit impressed with them. But he’d pull them apart, guts, eyes, dicks and all, spread ‘em out to the sky--and enjoy it, mind you--if his job called for it. Morality did not exist for Scaldor. There was only the work.

There were things he kept on his person for the hard targets. Fire resistance potion for Shrava, scrolls of dispel and silence for Lysilde.

Kashya being Brotherhood made her an annoyance to account for. Her loyalty could flip any day. A letter could come in, and she’d lace Nyasia’s clothes with poison, shank her in her royal guts, and then be gone before Scaldor could get his hands on her. A counter for her wasn’t a weapon; was caution. Scaldor didn’t like caution, had never needed it. It was one more complication.

Alvoran, Cade, Emile Clodagh--the rest of them were soft targets. Squishy. Threats even Baldr could deal with. Sure, Alvoran could fly, but if you pancaked his testicles, how much fighting could he really do? Cade was big, but if you threw a box overboard and told him Helian was in it, how long would he hesitate before jumping? And there were a thousand Garrans, a thousand Emiles. Everyone knew how to kill one ov’ them. Ye needed to get as violent as possible, as fast as possible. The more someone knew you could and were going to hurt them, the less likely they’d want to fight you. And Scaldor really liked hurting cunts.

Jacket went on, so did a smile. It was important for Scaldor to appear lazy, to appear bad at his job. Perhaps the most important part. Let people think Scaldor was a knife. Sharp, dangerous, but simple. Something with a single use. Let them not realize how much he enjoyed the looks of contempt they gave him. It was easier to tell how much of threat someone was if they were your enemy as opposed to your friend. Enemies showed you their hand from the get go--friends held it back long enough to stab you from behind.

If Scaldor was honest with himself--and he was, he was good at finding his own truths--there wasn’t much he got enjoyment out of anymore. His life had been long, and showed no signs of ending anytime soon. Nyasia was a soft target. Keeping her alive was a challenge. And Scaldor liked a good challenge. There wasn’t much left inside of Scaldor but that. Hate, maybe. A lot ov’ anger. Hate and ambition. But there wasn’t much.

The sun rose off the water. Scaldor watched it climb, leaning against the bow’s railing. He liked these quiet moments to himself. He liked to talk, but a moment with his thoughts every morning didn’t hurt. It reminded him of who he was. Beneath the scars and what his exterior had become, Scaldor saw himself as someone different. A boy who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even if it killed him. The person had eventually turned him into this.

“What are you doing up?” Scaldor turned from the bow to see Nyasia approaching, sword in hand to do her morning katas.

Scaldor stuck a smoke in his mouth, lit it. “Ye know, highness. I was younger than ye are now, when I was given my first command. Proudest fuckin’ day ov’ my life.”

Nyasia paused, realizing she was experiencing a rare moment of candor from Scaldor. “Oh? In Valenwood?”

Scaldor nodded. He puffed on the smoke, let the ember grow. “Led my men straight into a massacre. Witnessed their deaths first hand.”

Nyasia said nothing. She couldn’t think of the words.

“Made every mistake in the book. Fuck, the shame I felt. Would lie awake at nights, think about it.”

That did not sound like the elf she knew. “You got over it.”

“Eventually.” Scaldor said. “Thought I was hot shit then, thought I was goin’te make my mark on the world. Get te remember, though: the world was here first. She’s got seniority.”

“And that’s why you’re like this?”

Scaldor shook his head, stepped away from the railing. “Nah. It’s a good story though.” He passed her, headed back below deck.

Nyasia watched him go, and then took her stance, forcing Scaldor’s words to leave her mind. That was important for the fight. The best fighters knew you had to put everything out of your minds.

She spun into her katas, mindful of that.

The best fighters were empty.