Wyglacio van'Iffgen the Unseen, Imperial Shadow

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Role

Chapter 5

The more Wyglacio's treasure horde grows, the more he gives away. It's
meaningless if it isn't moving - quickly flowing gold is essential to its
value.

Ahhh, yes, the lovely language of gold.
Gold could say: "Thank you." "You're mine." "I need you." "I will miss you."
"You are appreciated." "You earned this." Anything - depending on the
context. But an exchange of gold is always binding. No one alive likes being
in debt. And no one is fool enough to assume gold is free. This is the dark
side of the language - these statements can never come without expectations.

In his age he has developed a patient, staring eye. His nights were spent
drinking alone, quietly watching the crowd. So Wyglacio could see that good
work was rewarded, without cost to the Empire. He's been around long enough
now to know how to work quietly - and enough to know a Blade that's
inexplicably fifty, or a hundred, or three hundred gold richer than his peers
was likely to remember why. Thus rang that old Udgaardian proverb: "Always
tip yer bartenders, lawrmen, and goons."

Role

Chapter 4

Wyglacio's keyphrase didn't only unlock riches - it bound him to a world of
violence and struggle. The big times had arrived - but he hadn't had time to
think about it. He just fought - and drank - and swore - and bullied - and
from time to time the Buster ran. Most of all - he fought back his secrets,
memories from long ago that burned and festered, desires that had only
intensified in the decades after his gang had slipped away. But busy work
with the knife and a constant supply of booze was the only cure for that
disease.

His achievements had brought him power and confidence - not satisfaction. The
enemies of the Empire worked tirelessly from every angle, and he was a long
way from the top. Meanwhile - the goons of the Empire schemed in the dark -
envious, angry, yet sickeningly confident of their designs. Deals were being
made - palms greased - black market items exchanged. Corners of Thera were
being searched far and wide for all of its secrets.

It was the dawn of a new Order, and Wyglacio's long stare was taking it all
in coolly. His payoffs were long-awaited - yet, nigh.

Role

Chapter 3

But things weren't well with the old crew, when he got out. There was a new
gang in town, and his gang was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't long before the
caught the rumour - a new gang of felar from the wastes had moved in, and had
taken out all of the competition in a streetfight, including Wyglacio's gang.
Wyglacio didn't think it likely, but he didn't see any point in sticking
around either. Despite his grief, he hit the road, immediately looking to
carve a new angle.

He'd have to go professional. There was no bigtime without a team. And he
didn't just need bruisers - if he wanted to be anything big, he needed to
throw in with the biggest crooks in the land. The Imperials. He'd heard tales
of the Empire in prison - the army of Darkness and Order whose soldiers go
where they please, and take what they will. Their massive walls are said to
be practically inpenetrable by common men. They would have everything he'd
need - it was practically a no-brainer. And he had memorized the key phrase
that would unlock these resources.

Role

Chapter 2

"Well maybe you ain' hearda the Buster." POW! Wyglacio "The Buster"
van'Iffgen throws a mean right hook into the Bartender's jaw. The same hand
grabs the booze - and Buster's out the door, as his mark topples into the
bar's bottle-lined shelves.

That's what it was all about. Power. Never blinking. That's good - because
it's never about you. It's about all the other grunts who want to be better
than you. That's what his brothers in the Loke had forgotten. If you aren't
taking - somebody's taking from you. And that was the essence of a heist -
you relied on distraction, surprise, deception, and so on to get what you
want and get away with it. You never lift from a weak point - that's how you
get caught. Of course, Wyglacio always felt the best way to strengthen his
position was to beat your mark's face in before he gets his arms up, but
anything works, and that's how you get nicknames. And free bottles of beer.

Unfortunately, you were smalltime unless you had a team. You need ruthless,
coordinated experts. Real killertypes who can work on your level. Buster's
level was about being really scary and beating people up. And occasionally
you have to be the fallguy. But in prison, you perfect the art of looking
mean, and working the system. Guards, bosses, inmates and their gangs -
Wyglacio had things to learn from all of them. He learned how to organize,
how to fall in line, everything he needed to be a better criminal. He was
well on his way to being bigtime.

Role

Chapter 1

As Wyglacio drinks, the room shimmers and swims - the oranges and browns of
the bar forming a pleasant backdrop for dark memories. Years later, and he
still can't shake it - he's obsessed with every detail of the ordeal. The
stench of sweat and booze - incredibly strong hands pushing him and shoving
him and gripping him and opening him up to -

He slams his bottle down - shattering it, and startling everyone in the room.
He ignores them and signals for another one. These days, he thinks of himself
as "The Buster." But he's nobody's Buster anymore - the men he'd wormed for
and scraped for and fought in the streets for were all dead. All dead because
of that stupid greedy cat and her meddling cronies. He had loved them,
despite what they did to him. A secret love, hard as granite in his throat.

He didn't like to get choked up - it made him feel weak. And weakness didn't
help anybody in this world, least of all Wyglacio.

And there they were again - the abs, the pecs, the pumping pulsing muscles.
The bartender returned with the bottle, and Wyglacio failed to notice. He was
squirming on his barstool.

"Maybe you've had enough."

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