Maddel is one of my favorite side characters ever; I think I love him largely because he's secretly a raging pyromaniac. He's also one of the very rare characters in my head whom I can picture clearly, in detail. There are days when I have no idea what Silverlock and Blaine look like, but I always know Maddel's face. (Aya is like this too, but only because she's the perfect image of Rianna, who has been a visual entity in my head for years.)
This occurs in the middle of the main action, after Silverlock is rescued and the group splits up. Blaine becomes the Avatar of Venani (that name is still in the process of changing) after Foxbird kills Mandhatri, and they split up when they realize the Guildmaster and the Shrive have betrayed the city and the Guild.
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"Fancy meeting you kids here." Maddel stood in the middle of the tunnel, surrounded by tall metal canisters. A pair of goggles were pushed up his forehead, and a pair of heavy leather gloves were tucked into his belt. "Got promoted, Torkehaav?"
"Something like that, sir." Blaine's eyes no longer focused on the material plane, and his voice echoed with the sound of unearthly hissing, but he still inclined his head respectfully to the master healer.
"Any word on the situation topside?" Silverlock could feel their pursuers getting closer; they'd grown in numbers since the chase began, and the majority of them were Riftspawn.
"Messy. Riots and monsters in the streets; the Guildmaster had everyone evacuate- the librarian, Lady Ivy, and I are the only ones left." His ears swiveled, and he narrowed his eyes at Silverlock. "You two brought me some trouble, didn't you?"
"Don't we always?" Water welled up out of the cracks between the paving stones and ran in rivulets around Blaine's bare feet. The air shivered with aether.
Maddel rolled his eyes. "Trouble, I can deal with. What I can't deal with is you flooding my tunnel because you can't keep yourself in check." He hefted one of the metal cannisters onto his back by a carrying strap; there was a canvas wrapped hose attached to it, and a spray nozzle. "You'll be wanting to follow the Guildmaster, if you're looking for more trouble. He took the low road, and if I know him at all- which I do- he'll be heading towards the Tower."
The water slowed to a halt and seeped back into the cracks in the floor. Blaine grinned. "Good. I've got a few things I need to say to him." His feet left wet footprints on the stones as he strode into the darkness behind Maddel.
Maddel took out a long, thin cigarette and put it in his mouth, but did not light it. He frowned, glancing sidelong down the darkened tunnel after Blaine. "Think I liked him better when he was twitchy and insecure."
Silverlock chose to ignore that comment, and fingered the hilts of his knives. "There's a nest of Yrkathi and their thralls coming this way, old man. You should look for higher ground."
The old elf pulled on his gloves. "Look after yourself, boy. I'm not going to die at the hands of some half-assed Rift-scum. Ah, wait." He fumbled in one of the many pockets on his vest and held out a ring. "Here. This is yours, by rights, and you ought to have it before any more of us die. Beziemyanie'i Mech Ordeni- Order of the Nameless Sword. Belonged to your mother, rest her soul."
"What?" It was a heavy signet ring, inscribed with a variation on the too-familiar broken tower of the DeLavrey family, crossed with a broken sword. Shock turned to anger as he clenched the ring in his fist. "Old man, if you're about to tell me you're my sire, I don't want to hear it," he warned, voice tight.
"Hardly." Maddel grinned around his unlit cigarette. "If you were mine, you'd be taller."
That accorded him some small measure of relief, though he resolved to make Maddel pay for the comment on his height. Later, though. "I don't have time for this."
"Indeed you don't. I can explain it all later, but right now you'd best catch up to his Holiness before he drowns in his own power. You're the only thing keeping him grounded at this point."
"I know." Silverlock threaded the ring beside his Guild tags on the chain around his neck. "Try not to die, old man. We have things to discuss."
Maddel nodded, and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. "Stay alive, boy. And if there are any Riftspawn loose on the streets, you're like to find your sire in the thick of them. Send him my regards if you find him."
He was gone before Maddel finished speaking, gliding silently into the darkness of the low tunnels.
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Maddel kicked most of the canisters down the tunnel; if this failed on the first shot, they wouldn't do him any good. Then he sprayed the contents of the rest across the walls and floor for a good thirty yard stretch of tunnel. Preparations made, he sat down on the last full canister and waited, ears straining to hear the sounds of the approaching mob.
They came quickly, which was a happy thing; he'd just doused the tunnel in high grade medicinal alcohol, and his tolerance for the fumes was not a thing he cared to test. He stood and swung the last canister with a spray nozzle onto his shoulder.
The Yrkathi came around the corner en masse; the nest was a moving swarm of limbs, teeth, and tentacles. Maddel smiled around his unlit cigarette. Elsewhere in the city, the other members of the Order would be taking down whatever Riftspawn they came across; this was what they lived for.
The nest slowed when it reached the hallway, confused by the vapors in the air. "Come and get me, you fatherless sons of bitches," he called out in a sing song voice. "Come and get me."
The Yrkathi snarled at him, and lumbered closer, kicking cannisters out of the way.
"Too easy," he muttered, and pulled the trigger on the nozzle. A snap of his fingers, and the spray ignited, belching forth an enormous blue-white fireball.
The fumes and the alcohol dripping from the walls caught with a roar, and ghostly fire washed up and down the corridor. The other cannisters were under pressure; they exploded when the flames reached them. Soon the roar of the flames was joined by the screams of the burning Riftspawn. Every few seconds the fire would flow back down the hall as it found more vapors to burn.
Maddel perched on an empty canister, surrounded by this inferno, and calmly lit his cigarette.
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In soviet Elvish forest, flame throws you! I can't believe my elves actually speak Russian. *facepalm*
The Order of the Nameless Sword is a secret society founded by a few elves at the end of the Second Era; they're dedicated to keeping the Rift shut and protecting the middle plane from Riftspawn and the lower gods. Basically, they're supposed to prevent the very thing that happens in Toggle, with Rekashi and the Guildmaster and Dekar. (I have plot that almost makes sense. This excites me so much.) It isn't unheard of for non-elves to be inducted; there was a time in the Third Era when anti-elvish sentiment was at its highest that the Order was composed almost entirely of humans.
Maddel is one of the oldest members in the Order, and he's the head of the Shaivhen chapter. He's not Silverlock's father (thank goodness, because what, none of that), but he is close friends with Tyrrick Ridelaine, who is. Tyrrick is the elvish representative to Parliament, and a longstanding member of the Order. He's also something of a sap and a very outspoken Emancipationist. (There's angst there- when Silverlock was born, his mother sold him off without consulting Tyrrick first, and Tyrrick never forgave her for that. She eventually died of natural causes, after living to a decent human age.)
I don't think Tyrrick and Silverlock will ever meet; they would have nothing to say to each other. Silverlock would get annoyed, Tyrrick would get depressed, and it would just end badly all around. Tyrrick and Blaine meet, but only when Blaine is half crazy from being turned into an Avatar.
Silverlock gets his magic and much of his looks from his father; they're both short and stocky and vaguely Asian-looking, and they're both leechmages. Tyrrick is an occultist (something like a summoner or elementalist), while Silverlock is an eclectic with specializations in destructive necromancy. (The urge to indulge myself and write the fifth-era "everyone is reincarnated as a grad student" story to explain the magic system grows with every passing moment.)
I'm fond of Tyrrick; he's a terrible politician, but an amazingly competent mage and demonslayer. He really just needs to quit his day job and go into heroing full time.
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