Gradak had been in Kefkaburg for at least a year, his talents wasted on the idiotic peasantry that called the place home. Back in Vector, he was a talented spy, he had been rewarded by Lord Kefka himself on one occasion. It had been the first time he had seen the man - all dressed up like a clown with a party to attend. He had considered commenting on it later to his fellow spies, until he heard his Lord and master's laugh and looked into his crazed eyes. Of course, there were the rumors that Kefka was more than the human form that he chose to wear. And those rumors were downright terrifying. So Gradak had bitten his tongue, but backbiters being what they were, when a mission with his "friend" Terlon went wrong, Terlon had thrown him under the caravan so fast he didn't even see the wheels coming.
He had been stripped of his medals and barely escaped the label of traitor. Kefka's generals did with him what they did with all the Vector military wishing to get back into good graces. They sent him to Kefkaburg and left him to languish there - content that the only force needed to control the swine was a few desperate soldiers. Sure, he did some things that might be questionable by other militaries, but the people in Kefkaburg were worthless. The only reason he knew of that they held onto the garbage heap was its location in the Great Realms. Trade. Money. And, of course, they couldn't easily walk into Torregiano without having a fire at their hides.
So, Gradak waited. He patrolled. He instigated. He made indiscriminate slaughters of bums that were too drunk to know not to ask him for change. He didn't know how long he was going to be stuck in this hell, but he would show, he would prove he was worthy, and once back in Kefka's good graces, he would punish Terlon.
It was as he stood, dwelling on the favorite form of torture (slivers of bamboo beneath fingernails), when he felt the tremors in the air. Not real tremors, no, but the tremors of change. Something wasn't right, and his elven blood sensed it. "Hey, Rhay, can I take a break?"
"For what? And don't tell me for a piss, you can use the goddamned street for that, this whole place is a toilet."
"No, I have some needs to tend to."
"You have fifteen minutes then I better see your ass back at the gate or so help me, Kefka, you're going to be roasted."
"Right. Right."
Gradak entered the tower and slipped off his armors, putting his cloak on once more. He uttered a word and vanished. With stealth, in his element, he slipped through the streets, his half-elf ears pricked. At last, Nisstyre's Tavern, he heard the voices. He heard the tremor. "Word is they're getting ready."
"Ain't they been gettin' ready for years? Ain't nobody comin' Lou. No one gives two," here the man held up a drunken three fingers,
"shits bout this place. They came and left and came and left."
"Well this time it's real I tell you. Those fanatics and hell comin with em."
"Friend, you need another shot. You're delusin... delusun... crazy."
"I swear it's true. Brock said he heard Frey say he heard Howie say that they was gonna come. They was gonna stop these bas-"
Gradak looked up as the men went into sudden silence. Is'Kal had strolled in for a before shift drink. Is'Kal - the golden boy of the sky guard. Gradak wouldn't be sad to see something bad happen to him. Even the sound of his voice... no matter. The threads of the web had been disturbed. Perhaps if he could take the information back to Vector, he would be rewarded. If something was going to happen and they were ready... he'd be adored.
He slipped from the tavern and back to his heap of armors. He slipped them back on and went back to his post at the gate. Tonight, he would inch around the town, he would listen, he would do what he did best, then he would take all his findings straight back to Vector. This would be his redemption.
