I fits, I sits (or, "I spies, I tries.")

Two years had come and gone.

Those same hollowed, amber eyes stared on as the barkeep poured another ale. Stalt listened to the sound of the liquid as it filled out the container, still far louder than the other patrons. Their eyes shifted uncomfortably and moved over the dark clad man. If he strained, Tobias could still taste the ashen fate that befell Archen some three years past. The rafters were charred and black, but they held the roof aloft somehow. Snow fell in patches through several large holes, though the area where it piled remained desolate. There was a single, blackened table there, a monument to ruination.

Murmurs cropped up from the silence as the brown haired mercenary lifted his drink, and Tobias let his eyes slide shut. A bitter flavor flooded his senses, the same Salvic ale he remembered. It tasted how their winter felt. "Word has it the Sway's abandoned Archen," one man murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "After that bonfire when everyone died, they lost their foothold. That's what the tradesman from Knife's Edge told me."

With a hard swallow, Tobias let out a quiet sigh. It was never that simple with the Church. "Shit," one of the others spat. "If that's the case, we may have cause for celebration." The man flourished in an overly dramatic gesture, indicating their surroundings. "They left us with so much to be thankful for."

All three of them grew quiet.

"Archen wasn't always this morose," the barkeep told his newest customer after several moments became dominated by booze and awkward quiet. "There was a time when the worst we saw was a Witch Hunter ever few months, and at best he'd have a drink and be on his way."

Tobias' eyes flickered open and found the graying man's kind, azure gaze. The wrinkled features split into a gentle smile as he topped off the mercenary's drink. "They're right, though. I barely make enough to keep this inn open, and I'll never be able to afford the repairs. I apologize for the cold."

Stalt took his drink and sipped it. "You should have seen her then," the elderly fellow spoke wistfully, his thoughts far away. "It's always been remote, so we never got much business from foreigners. It's nice to see we've attracted the attention of an adventurer." When he placed the drink down again, Tobias reached into his pocket and produced a gilded coin.

"Meat," he drawled. "Don't care what kind."

The old man's eyes grew wide. "Oh, right away, sir!" He accepted the small fortune and hurried toward the back. "I'll have something ready for you in short order," he called.

"That was a mighty nice thing you did," one of the patrons spoke, and Tobias turned his head slightly. He made out the features of a tough customer, someone he might have feared to pick a fight with, once. "T'ain't too many folks make it out this way what have gold to flash around like that. Maybe you have some more to spread around?"

Tobias let his gaze linger on the man for a moment, then turned back to his drink. "Maybe you didn't hear me," a chair skidded across the wooden floor and clattered. Several quick footsteps approached. Tobias took another sip. "I asked if you wouldn't mind sharing the love, little man."

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Tobias' lips drew a flat line. "Money won't buy you happiness," the mercenary replied. "It's a long, lonely road you're walking down."

"Listen here, you little cunt-" Forcibly whipped around, the golden eyed man stared blandly into his aggressor's soul. There was less than nothing in those eyes, and the larger man saw it. "...what the hell is wrong with you?" the brute asked. "I'm about to rob you blind, you understand that, don't you?"

"You want my money?" Stalt asked. "My life?"

He was raised from his seat by a tight sensation that restricted his breath. Tobias did not emote. "There's people in this town," the marauder seethed, "struggling to survive, stealing and killing just to exist. I gave up my wife and daughter to get them well away from this hell, and you're looking at me like none of this is worth anything. You really piss me off, asshole."

"Are you finished?" Stalt reached up and wiped flecks of spittle from his face where the man had graciously plastered them.

The blow took him in the jaw. His blank gaze persisted. "I don't give a damn about your money," the bandit growled. "Scream! Cry! This life means something, don't you understand that?" The man's features twisted, as if he were about to break down.

Tobias tilted his head. "You still believe that?" the mercenary asked. "After all you've seen?"

Saltwater streamed down his cheeks as the assailant shook Tobias. "Come on," he sobbed weakly. "We're trying to hang on to our reason for living. We're doing all we can right now, and you ask me that?"

Tobias' mouth twisted into an unfeeling smile. "So you don't believe it," he confirmed. The man stared at him in disbelief, his mouth agape. Dryness struck him as he dropped Stalt and fumbled dumbly for his drink. He tried to sate the thirst, and even grabbed his friend's drink in the effort.

His eyes had grown wild and desperate. "There is meaning to it all," he muttered fanatically. "There has to be a meaning, or why would we even be alive?"

"Come on, Petrov," one of his friends grabbed him by both arms. "Calm down, buddy. It's not that serious. Calm down..."

Tobias shook his head and turned back to his drink, his eyes shut once more as he reeled back in the malign energies that had afflicted the man. "Ahhh, soups on," the old man chimed happily as he brought a stew from the back to offer to his best and favorite customer. "I hope you weren't waiting too long!"

I didn't quite hear her over the howl of the arctic wind. "I'm sorry, Hype. Did you say something?"

Hyperion, the first of my Briarbane, turned to face me as we walked the snow-covered streets of a ruined city. "I asked if you were alright?"

No.

No, I am not.

I've fallen back into a life I tried desperately to leave.

I've discovered things that I thought I fixed have only fallen into further disrepair as the months passed.

I'm kept awake at night by the vengeful ghosts of all who have died by my hands.

I've lost touch with the one thing that both gave me life and purpose and tried to take them away from me.

I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to run away. Far, far away.

Far from everyone. Far from everything.

I want to disappear forever. I want to be forgotten about.

And I can't.

Ever.

"Yes," I managed to say. "I'm alright."

The crunch of fresh powder underfoot filled the silence that grew between us as we drew closer to our destination. There wasn't much that still stood in the city of Archen, the Gateway to the North. The soft amber glow of Hyperion's eyes flickered off the edges of my black hood as she continued to stare a hole through me. "Are you sure, Madison? You're awfully quietly lately. You have been since you accepted Lichensith's invitation."

I waved a gloved hand dismissively. "Yeah, I'm fine."

If she had eyebrows, she would've cocked one in disbelief. She may have only been less than a year old, but the briar-born horror had developed a sense of compassion and empathy that allowed her to sense my every mood swing. She could read my mind better than any telepath could ever hope to. She knew that I was in a miserable state right now. Didn't even have to ask.

I trusted her implicitly, of course. What had started out as a bold lab experiment to create a new form of humanoid life turned into one of the few beings in the world I could confide in. Hype developed this sort of... Gods, I don't even know what you want to call it. Her budding morality and innate compassion--something I suspect she picked up from the corpse of the woman I used as a host for the Briarbane parasite--had taught me a thing or two about all the horrible shit I've done in the name of science. Her insatiable curiosity allowed her to compartmentalize some of my darker and more twisted experiments, but it had also made me question why I was doing them in the first place.

She made me realize that my own designs were being manipulated by malevolent forces who needed a pawn through which they could enact their horrible plans.

And yet, here I was, jumping blindly back into a situation I wanted no part of.

It tore me apart to answer his summons. Hyperion knew this too, and did not like it one bit, but she did not question my decision.

Maybe we both knew that, deep down, I desperately craved a purpose--and that in the absence of a certain Red Witch, working for the newly-revived Crimson Hand would give me one.

I felt Hype's briar-knit arm slowly crawl across my shoulders. "What are you--"

She immediately spun me around and pulled me into her, squeezing just a little bit too tight as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Hype--!"

The briarbane grabbed the back of my head and pushed my face into her neck. "There, there," she said. "Everything will be okay."

I struggled against the bear-like hold she had on me. The scent of forest and flowers and a hint of decay filled my nostrils. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I read this in a book once," she cooed in my ear, her razor-sharp teeth clicking softly as she spoke. "If I hold you like this and say, 'There, there, everything will be okay,' it will make you feel better." She patted the back of my head a bit harder than necessary. "Also, it is scientifically proven that hugs release serotonin, dopamine, and endorphin; which will in turn trigger happiness and joy and make you momentarily forget about everything that's troubling you."

"I'm fine, I promise," I grumbled, the frosty metal of my mask inhibiting my speech somewhat as it was pressed between my face and her collarbone.

She squeezed me even tighter. "Clearly you are not. We're going to stay like this for as long as it takes for you to cheer up."

After several seconds, I gave in and returned her embrace, silently thankful for her continued presence in my life.

--------

Normally when you open the door to a tavern, you're greeted with the warmth of a brilliant fire in a pit and the cheery cacophony of companionship and camaraderie. Someone is always ready to offer you a slap on the back, a frosty mug of ale, and questions about the welfare of your family.

This was not the case here.

It was only marginally warmer inside than it had been outdoors. The only hint of a fire was the heavy scarring the conflagration that tore through Archen a couple years ago left on the roof. Several holes that the blaze left behind hadn't been repaired, allowing the chill of the northern air in. The tavern was sparsely decorated; a single blackened table with mismatched chairs sat in the middle of the room. It was occupied by a small group of locals who were consoling a larger man who had his face buried in his hands.

The group looked up at me and Hype, their gazes lingering on our masks for an uncomfortably long time before they apparently decided that whatever their friend was sobbing about took higher priority.

We also caught the wary eye of the elderly man who stood behind the bar, who just handed a hunched figure a steaming bowl of food. He was a bit on the wiry side, and the wrinkles on his face showed that he had seen better days long ago.

He forced a smile as we pulled out a couple stools next to the man he just served. "Welcome, welcome." His eyes flickered between myself and Hype--two figures in heavy furs covering what might have been the robes of some weird religion, our faces hidden behind mythril. That's not to mention the glow of our amber eyes, too. I could hear the gears of his brain cranking, trying to assess how much trouble we might be. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"Any ale's fine," I responded politely. "With a straw, if you have one."

"I'll see if I do," the barkeep said hesitantly, taken aback by the rough feminine tone of my voice. He quickly turned to my briarbane companion. "And you?"

Hype cocked her head to the side. "Do you happen to have tea?"

The elderly man blinked. "I..." He was having a bit of trouble processing that request. Most everyone who walks into a bar is there for alcohol or a fight, and the briar-knit horror always seemed to forget that.

"I don't have any here in the tavern, but I might have some in my quarters," he finally replied.

I reached inside my coat and produced a couple gold coins. "Could you get it for her, please? My friend doesn't drink alcohol." I pressed the money onto the stained surface of the bar and nudged it towards him. "This should be enough to buy more the next time traders come through."

I caught the glint of the metal in the old man's eyes. "Y-yes, of course," he managed to say after several seconds. His voice was distant, distracted. "I'll go look right away."

"Thank you very much," Hype said cheerfully.

The barkeep gingerly picked up the coins, slipped them into a shirt pocket, and immediately went around a corner and through a door. With him gone, a sudden peaceful quiet descended on the bar, save for the soft whimpering of the man at the table.

I folded my vine-woven hands on the bar in front of me and relaxed. It was going to be a quiet night. For that, I was thankful. That being said, I hadn't made the trek to Archen for no particular reason.

"Hello," I said to the figure beside me. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

It was a voice that piqued his interest, albeit muffled by a mask. His vacant gaze remained on the ale in front of him as the woman had a back and forth with the inn's proprietor as he gauged the vocal patterns and confirmed his suspicions. Again, the innkeep rushed to the back to fulfill a request, and his pockets were fatter for it. "Gods bless you both," the old man called back as he disappeared into the recesses of his establishment. "If this stroke of luck keeps up, Archen may be on the cusp of an economic revival!"

While his spirits were decidedly up, those of the weeping man behind the three foreigners continued to plummet. Shivering hands clawed at his face in desperation as he stared about frantically. "Gork," he rasped through a sob, "I-I can't..."

His friend's hands gripped him suddenly as he spoke, concerned. "Petrov," his voice was firm, and he shook the madman once. "What the hell is wrong?" Gork slapped his face, but Petrov rocked and buried his face in his hands. His sobs degenerated into anguished wails, and he collapsed on the table.

"It has been," Stalt spoke in a calm, clear voice. He seemed disinterested in the display behind him, and even less in the rest of the world. "I admit, I have missed you dearly, Madison," Tobias turned his face toward her, a vacant smile playing at his features. If there were any feeling at all within the monster before Freebird, it was not visible. "I have missed all of this western world," he ran a finger along the rim of his glass as he spoke, a careful, slow, calculated movement.

Petrov screamed. Tobias slowly lifted the ale to his lips and moved his eyes slowly toward the man as his friends tore frantically at his arms in futile attempt to wrest them away from his throat. Arterial spray exploded from where fingernails dug deep into his carotid, a fevered attempt to be free of his torment.

"They are a people seized with the struggles of life," Tobias spoke apathetically, "I envy them that," he admitted. "There was a time when I believed in the worthwhile nature of that battle, as well."

Crimson pooled around the collapsed form of Petrov as his body trembled with spasm. His frosty eyes searched Tobias, begged him for a simple kindness. "To your good health," the mercenary muttered a quick toast before he sipped the remainder of his drink from the flagon. The fearful fool sprawled out on the floor sobbed, strangled by his own viscera.

"Petrov!" Gork cried out as light slowly flowed from his friend's gaze, in perfect harmony with the fluid from his throat. "Petrov!"

The sound of ceramic clattered as the old innkeep dropped his teacup. "Gods fend," he murmured in a quiet voice. "Poor Pet. I had expected the depression had got him for months, but I never expected him to act on it. Not publicly."

He shook his head as Tobias turned about, and he placed the empty container back on the table. "I'll be back quickly," kind old eyes moved to the mercenary apologetically. "I need to get another cup of tea for the lady." As he turned and disappeared in haste, Tobias turned his gaze back to Madison.

"I sincerely hope that our time apart has treated you well," he bowed his head respectfully. "You did me a great kindness. I repay my debts."

Hyperion stood up as the man named Petrov punched his own ticket, fearful concern flickering brilliantly in her amber eyes, illuminating the edges of her polished mask. His dying cries echoed against the barren walls of the tavern, and she made a move towards him. I reached out with a briar-knit hand and touched her on the arm. The horror paused, searching for a reason why in my own distant gaze.

"He's dying", she pleaded.

"He's already dead," I muttered solemnly.

The precise spot on the neck that he dug his nails into, the amount of blood gushing out of the wound... There was no saving him. Hyperion glanced back at the Salvic man's twitching body, calculated the odds of his survival in her head, and slowly sat back down on the rotting stool.

Even if there was anything we could've done to save him, I doubted that he would've accepted the help. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, and it was enough to break him.

It was something I could identify with, to be honest.

The barkeep was quick to return with another cup of tea for Hype. His face was pale and eyes frantic from the tragedy that was unfolding before him, but he softened somewhat when the briarbane thanked him for the drink. "Do you happen to have a mop and a bucket of water," she added. It wasn't so much of a question as it was a demand. "I will help clean up."

The older man's gaze darted back and forth between the masked stranger and all of that blood on the floor. "I couldn't ask you such a thing," he answered with a sad smile.

"No, I insist." Hype was dead set on doing something to help, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop her.

Our host took a deep breath to choke back his fluctuating emotions and exhaled. "You're too kind, ma'am. I'll be back in a moment."

As the old man turned to fetch something to clean up with, Hype took the opportunity to slide her mask up her face and chug her steaming cup of tea in one gulp. The boiling heat of the drink caught her by surprise as it burned all the way down her throat. Darkened droplets sprayed from between her dagger-like teeth all over the surface of the blackened bar as she coughed and choked, willing her body to overcome the stinging pain that comes with, y'know, drinking an entire cup of tea fresh off the stove in a single go.

While she cleaned herself up and slid her mask back into place, I turned towards Tobias with a shrug. "She tries," I whispered to the mercenary.

He simply nodded, his hand still firmly gripping his empty mug.

Several seconds of silence grew between us, while the one called Gorv wept over the corpse of his dead friend ten feet away. I couldn't think of anything to say to my old friend and comrade. The last time I saw him, I pushed a coin purse into his hand and sent him off to infiltrate the Church of the Ethereal Sway and rise through the ranks until we needed him for a plot that never quite came to fruition. I heard faint whispers and rumors of some of the atrocities that were committed by the Church while he was among them, but could never fully confirm whether or not he was involved.

And then, he fell off the face of the planet around the time that I freed Lichensith Ulroke from his mountainside prison.

We could probably burn the next week or so sharing stories about what we were both up to in the years since we last spoke, but with the aura of world-weariness I picked up from him, I doubted Tobias would've wanted to share any of them. And I sure as hell wasn't up to recounting how I fell under the influence of a pair of dead Forgotten Ones and how I broke myself free. Too many bad memories, and I was desperate to move on and start a new chapter in my life.

"So," I finally said to him, "Ulroke's getting the gang back together. I assume you got your invitation to lay your head down in that miserable fortress of his?"