A Fae, A Warrior and a... What is That Thing!?

[Lasair Anubail]

There came a point in almost everyone’s life where they sat back and took a long hard look at where they stood, wondering how they could have ever gotten there. All of their choices laid bare before them for only their mind to scrutinize and analyze as if all the thought in the world could fix it. All the decisions and all their accomplishments. Lasair was not at that point in her life. Mainly because she knew how she got where she was, she just didn’t know how she was going to leave. It was a long story and a mystical tale, filled with mystery, intrigue and danger that lurked around every corner, ever ready to pounce. Ever ready for that one moment when her enchantment would fail on her and she’d be sent to this place. Might as well explain now that it’s even been mentioned...

It was a dark and stormy night...sort of. For starters it wasn’t night, but deep clouds of grey and black covered the sky, threatening to let lose a downpour unlike any other. Yet their threat seemed hollow and empty. As the hours dragged on no rain touched the ground and no lightning or thunder rent the tumultuous sky. It set the stage though, a wonderful stage, a majestic stage as one lone Fae adventurer stood before the towering Comb Mountains, staring her Fate right in the eye and dar—

“Lasair, please don’t tell me you’re lost again.”

The once rigid and sure shoulders of the petite woman fell slightly as she sighed and dipped her head, locks of hair streaming down across her shoulders and chest like rivers of blood. As soon as the uncertainty took root within her heart, her head shot back up, knocking the little man made of cloth from her shoulder and sending him spiralling to the rocky ground below.

“I’m not lost! I’m standing before an expanse of rock known as the Comb Mountains; therefore I know where I am.”

She nodded her head, shaking those rivers of blood that flowed down her back, the only brightness of an otherwise droll day. The small man she had knocked off her shoulder quickly flew back up and hovered inches in front of her face. His tiny and detailed body intricately and lovingly made of cloth looked exactly like her best friend Tristram right down to the last scale on his cute little wings.

“Remember what happened the last time you said you knew where we were?”

Lasair paused for a moment, raising her hand to tap her finger against her lips. “Oh, I remember! We got trapped inside of a village cursed by malevolent forces that wanted to steal our souls and keep us in that hellish nightmare, only with the help of Jame and Sivienna we eventually escaped our own certain death!”

Tristram bowed his head, realizing that for some reason, she was actually proud of how she’d handled that whole scenario; despite the fact that she’d poked a ghost in the face and called it cute.

“Come on, onward to the Cave of Wonders!”

“I don’t think the man called it that...” Tristram mumbled under his breath.

Having not heard him, Lasair quickly headed off towards the base of the mountain, grabbing onto the rock and hefting herself up.

“Uh...Lasair, there’s a path over here...”

“Oh!”

Hoping down from the rock, the small Fae headed over towards the path and began humming as she practically skipped up the side of the mountain.

Sometime later...

Lasair lay on the side of the mountain, a small plateau of nearly flat rock, her nearly flat chest rising and falling with her quick breaths as she stared up at that same sky. Her dark purple dress was strewn all around her as her limbs lay whenever they’d fallen and her rucksack rested against her thigh.

“Go on without me Tristram... I can’t make it... live... Tristram...” She said between desperate gasps for air.

The small plushie Draconian shook his head, “But Lasair, the cave is right there.”

“Huh?”

Immediately she perked up, grabbed her rucksack and rushed over to where Tristram was, floating in front of a cavernous and gigantic black opening in the rock face. It looked like the wide mouth of a monster ready to eat her. Oblivious to this fact, Lasair merrily skipped into the cave opening, with Tristram quickly catching up.

“Make a light, please.”

Tristram quickly did as she asked and the soft glow of a tiny orange and yellow flame cut through the darkness of the cave, creating harsh shadows along jagged rock. With him lighting the way, the two of them began exploring the darkest depths. After a time, the two of them came to a massive opening in the cave and in the centre of it a gentle, blue glow filled the room, clashing with the orange light of the flame. At the centre of that glow lay a cluster of crystals on a small stone pedestal.

“There they are, Tristram...”

Quickly, Lasair hurried over to the crystals, slipping her rucksack from her back and placing it on the ground. Using both her hands, she wrapped her little fingers around the ice cold crystals and picked them up.

“Lasair?”

“Almost done.”

Opening the top flap of her rucksack, she gently lowered the crystals inside, cutting off much of the light and casting the room into darkness. As she did, Tristram began tugging on her dress.

“Give me a minute.”

“Lasair!”

Closing the flap on her rucksack, Lasair turned with a curse on the tip of her tongue, one that quickly crawled back into her throat and died somewhere along the way. Just feet away from them lay ten pairs of glowing red eyes attached to narrowed faces covered in white fur and hiding long, pointed sharp, fang thingies protruding from long muzzles.

“Meep.”

Reaching into her rucksack, Lasair wrapped her fingers around an escape talisman and pulled it out, quickly slamming it on the ground and breaking it. The world around them exploded in white, warped and then everything ceased and left her with no senses.

She came to sometime later on a small dirt road in the middle of a village with a number of children and adult humans staring at her in fear, wonder and worry. The second thing she noticed was how cold it was and the strange, white fluffy things that gently fell from the sky.

That was how she ended up here, in this cute and tiny, bright and cheerful tavern. The enchantment on her talisman had malfunctioned and sent her here and here happened to be a town called Denfrai in the region of Salvar. She knew of the region but had never been there before. It seemed barren to her though. Cold and barren but at least the humans were friendly, once they got past the wings and the talking plushies that kept her company. Talking plushies that were perched on the bar counter next to her, drinking down pints of the local ale. Avery was practically on the verge of passing out as he boasted to Tristram that he could drink him under the table. Godhand just ignored the two of them and sat on the other side of her, quietly drinking his ale and keeping a wary eye out for those in the tavern. He always acted like a bodyguard for her and she just thought it was so cute! It made her want to hug him until his head popped off.

He didn’t need to though. The townspeople had been nothing but nice to her, especially as the only person currently staying in the Inn. Well, she had been anyway, but this morning a group of men had shown up and quickly rented out most of the other rooms. Some of them had worn odd robes while others had looked like soldiers. Most of the townspeople had been wary of them, though Lasair didn’t know why. She’d barely seen them since they showed up. They spent most of their time away from the village as if looking for something.

Reaching for her glass, Lasair took a small sip of the sweet liquid—ice wine as the locales called it—and picked at the platter of bread and cheese in front of her. Soon she would need to figure out how to leave this place, but right now she was enjoying the peacefulness that seemed to surround the village.

[Max Dirks]

(For continuity's sake, I moved the thread back here since, though it is largely unrelated, it does happen during the events of the FQ)

“Are you the one?” Max Dirks asked extending his hand to an old hag sitting at a table. The criminal was a shadow of his former self. Once clean and well kept, Dirks now wore an old, ratty cloak to disguise his crimes. “The shaman?” he clarified.

“Yes,” the woman said. “Come, boy, please sit down,” she cracked. Dirks complied slowly, hesitant to trust the woman. Eventually, he dropped his hand and crawled into the chair across from the hag. “Now tell me, my son, what is it that ails you?”

“You’re the witch,” he spouted, “You tell me what’s wrong.”

At this, the woman cackled lightly then responded, “I can only tell you what you want to hear, dear boy. I am fortune teller, not a mind reader.”

“This is pointless,” Dirks mumbled under his breath. The hag took offense to this and started to climb from her seat. When the criminal saw her, he conceded. “I’ve been having these dreams. Night after night, I see myself in situations…” Dirks coughed. “And in each one of them, I die.”

The hag paused for a moment and then sunk back into her seat. “Interesting,” she chimed.

“Am I going to die?” Dirks asked, puzzled.

“Of course,” the woman spouted, causing Dirks to jerk back in his chair. “Everyone dies, child. Such is the way of the world.” When she finished, she reached forward and snatched Dirks’ hand. He was pulled over the table, knocking a plate to the ground. Several other patrons noticed the commotion, but the hag continued regardless, “There is death in your future, Max Dirks, but it is not your own. Soon you will be reunited with your friends and against your enemies.”

Dirks snapped back his hand and sat back in his chair, looking cross at the senile old woman. A moment passed and everyone else returned to what they were doing. “How do you know my name?” Dirks growled. She did not answer so the criminal continued, “What else do you see, witch?” Dirks asked intently.

“I see everything,” the woman said. “I see…a girl in your future.” She paused and quickly glanced at the bar. “A red-headed girl,” she said, more loudly. “A red-headed girl and her friends will be your undoing.”

Dirks turned his head and looked at the bar. A redhead had just received a drink from the bartender and was taking a sip. He turned back to the woman and scowled. “Now you’re picking about the room?” he laughed. “You’re sure she’s the one?” The hag didn’t respond. She merely glared back deeply into Dirks’ eyes. Impossible, he thought to himself.

“Well then, I bet you didn’t see this one coming.” In an instant, Dirks was out of his chair and running towards the bar. He reached into his robe mid-stride and pulled his patented Beretta 950 from its holster. Dirks unattached the robe and it fell to the ground as he ran, revealing that he was still wearing his clean, un-damaged jumpsuit.

When the hag caught wind of which direction Dirks was headed, she jumped from her chair and yelled “No!” she continued to chase after him, screaming. Everyone was looking now.

At the bar Dirks grabbed the back of the redhead’s hair and pulled her to the ground. She cried out, but her scream was muffled when Dirks forced her head into the stone floor. He pressed the gun against the back of her neck. “You damned Royalist whore, repent to St. Denebriel for your sins or her wrath will mean your death!” he screamed. The hag had frozen in shock.

In the heat of the moment, Dirks did not see the other, much more petite redhead sitting at the bar right next to the fray.

[Lasair Anubail]

That coveted peacefulness shattered. It broke upon the ground and scattered, like so many pieces of glass. In one moment the jovial carelessness of the tavern evaporated into a tense silence so thick one could eat it, though there were probably far more tasty things out there in this world. Lasair and her plushies were not immune to those intense feelings either. Sitting so close to the poor woman that was so suddenly and mercilessly thrown from her chair and onto the floor, they practically had a front row seat. If Lasair had learned anything during her short time travelling, it’s that someone needed to stand up for truth and justice and help that poor human. And that someone probably shouldn’t be her, but the rest of the room did not appear to be moving. In fact, they seemed as if stuck to their seats with sap, their eyes wide and focused upon two figures touching the grimy tavern floor.

Hopping down from the rather high bar stool, the petite Fae squared her shoulders and stood as tall and as straight as she could, which considering she was a petite Fae wasn’t very tall.

“Unhand that human!” She said in a surprisingly firm voice, bolstering her bravado.

The strong words echoed throughout the silence of the room and then slowly died down. As first silence seemed to be the only thing that followed them, then the single scraping of wood on wood filled the room. It seemed too loud in the stillness. Quickly it was followed by even more scraping as the men closest to the dispute rose to their feet and the woman began to back away. Every day items scattered around the room found new reasons to be held in hands, ready to be used as weapons. Few of them carried any real weapons and instead turned chairs, platters, cups and even cutlery into branded items ready for use at any time.

Lasair didn’t really notice though. She felt brave, invincible, untouchable, people were ready to back her up and smite the stranger where he stood if he so much as—the man slowly raised his head and levelled deep, green eyes at her that looked distant and perhaps a little dead, as if the burdens of too many things she didn’t understand lay within.

Brief moment of bravado fading...

And kicking back in! She wouldn’t let a human with a gun and scary looking eyes get the best of her. She’d stood up to worst, like Dan Lagh’ratham. She just found him cute, more than anything. He just liked to play tough, like most men. They bruised something if they didn’t, not that she remembered what. Personally, she barely understood it anyway, but Tristram said it was a male thing.

“You better let her go, Mister, or I’ll clobber you to within an inch of your life!”

Narrowing her golden eyes upon him, Lasair stubbornly planted her hands on her shoulders and then turned to the bar counter.

“Godhand, go get ‘em!”

Most of the people in the town had seen Lasair’s animated dolls before, but a lot of them still found it disconcerting the way they moved and talked like living things. Spurred on by her command, a large tankard of ale hit the bar top with a loud thud, one that caused a few people in the room to jump. From behind it a twelve inch man wobbled, dressed in a brown leather trench coat and dark pants that contrasted his grey hair and red eyes. Around the waist of the tiny warrior lay a belt and four replica guns, which he proceeded to adjust. Moving to the edge of the counter, Godhand held up one hand and let out a belch that would beat most of the men in this room. Then he toppled over the edge, too drunk to properly walk on two legs.

The room shuffled uncomfortably and some of the men closer to scene began moving in, their courage brought forth by their numbers. Yet scared of that gun and how much damage it could do to them. Lasair knew firsthand how powerful they were. The stool that Lasair had originally been sitting on, the one still beside her, wobbled slightly. It screeched and dragged as someone forced it across the stained tavern floor, before suddenly being lifted up on seemingly unsteady, yet invisible hands. Looking down at one of the legs, Lasair spotted Godhand precariously balancing the heavy stool. Shuffling closer to the man, the plushie lifted up his arms even closer, swung the stool up and then prepared to slam it down atop the man’s head and back.

[Max Dirks]

Dirks smirked when the small redhead mustered the entire bar against him. At first, Dirks thought he would have to do it himself, as the hag was still standing dumbfounded in the aisle, but this little firecracker had proven most useful.

The criminal watched as the crowd grew closer, periodically dodging beer bottles that were flung towards his head and screaming religious curses directed towards the woman. But when the crowd was nearly upon him, Dirks stopped paying attention to them and started looking beyond them. His eyes immediately fell upon a middle aged man that was inching towards the exit.

Lesair spoke, but her words were lost amongst his concentration. Dirks only released the captured woman’s hair and lifted his index finger to his mouth, indicating for Lesair to shut up.

Moments later, Dirks caught eyes with the man in the back. He looked frightened and confused, almost as though he’d been severely messed up by Dirks’ ploy. The next moment was etched in time as Dirks was struck in the shoulder by a bottle. He did not move, but his smirk turned into a frown. Then the man broke for the door.

“Regina!” Dirks called out. “God damn it, Regina, that’s him.” Dirks pointed to the man with his free hand. Dirks began to chase after him, but quickly found himself trapped behind the crowd. “Move!” he called out.

Then there were two thuds, nearly in unison. First, Dirks was struck in the back of the head by a chair swung by the miniature Godhand. As he fell to the ground, Dirks watched between feet as a second body fell to the ground. Regina, the hag, had finally snapped out of her daze and swung her bag into the unsuspecting man. The two gazed into each other’s eyes as Dirks lost consciousness.

-----

Dirks awoke several hours later in one of the booths of the tavern. It was later in the evening and most of the crowd that had surrounded the criminal had gone. Still dizzy, Dirks sat up in the seat and grabbed the back of his head. “Damn, that hurts,” he mumbled.

“You’re lucky you’re alive, you idiot.” Regina said from behind him. Soon she appeared at the side of seat and threw his gun onto his lap. She no longer looked like a hag, but rather a very beautiful young, blonde woman. “It took me an hour to explain what you were doing…”

Dirks grinned.

“But then again…I’m not even sure I knew what you were doing.” She said, scratching her head.

“You got your man, didn’t you?” Dirks asked, placing the gun back into its holster.

Regina frowned. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Dirks continued. “I can’t believe you seriously thought that little girl with her dolls was the spy. She has to be like…eight. Are you seriously that xenophobic now?”

“Look, I had my suspicions. No one comes to Salvar anymore, tourists as least. They want nothing to do with the war so they avoid the townships at all costs. And she did come alone…”

Dirks laughed. “You know, you kind of owe her.” He put his hand against his head again. “If she wouldn’t have rallied the troops, your spy probably would have gotten away.”

“If you want to thank her, do it yourself.” Regina quipped, she pointed to the bar where Lesair sat. “We kept her for questioning after she knocked you out. She didn’t know anything, so we let her go. But for some reason she hasn’t left yet…” Dirks glanced at Lesair and then turned back to Regina. There was a long pause.

“Look,” Dirks finally said. “Any idea when you’re going to have my money this time?” He stood from his chair a bit quickly, as all the blood flowed out of his head, making him dizzy.

“I’ll have it soon.” She responded.

“That’s what you always say.” Dirks frowned. “You don’t think I do this out of the goodness of my heart, do you?” She began to respond, but Dirks brushed her away and walked to the door. Before he exited, he stopped and shook his head. Then he exited to the cool Salvar night.

[Lasair Anubail]

Lasair felt bad. She hadn’t really understood what the man was doing when he attacked that poor, innocent woman. She’d thought he was a bad man, another one of those guys just out to kill someone for no reason, or to take what they could and leave them in ruin. She’d seen it a lot since she’d left Dheathain. She was rather certain it even happened in her own region from time to time, but she’d never experienced it before. Donnalaich always seemed like such a peaceful city, nothing like that of Radasanth, which at times seemed a little scary. Not that she was scared of anything that Radasanth could throw at her. Nope, nope. She’d been involved in a war and been kidnapped already for being in that city. Those were other stories though, ones she didn’t need to worry about right now. What she needed to worry about was the poor man that Godhand clobbered with a stool.

The lady that had been with him—Regina—had questioned her for a long while after they’d captured their spy, though she really didn’t know what a spy was. She hadn’t really minded the questions, in fact she loved answering them and she may have talked a little more than the woman wanted her too. Eventually she’d seemed to grow rather frustrated with the situation and how much Lasair was talking, but she never told her to stop. She just started rubbing her temples more and more and sighing a lot. But boy had that woman ever asked her a lot of questions. Where did she come from? How did she get here? Why was she here? What were her plushies? How did they talk? It had taken quite a while for her to answer all the questions and eventually the woman had stopped asking them. She had so much more she wanted to talk to her about though. Dheathain was such an interesting region and she hadn’t properly detailed how she synthesized things! It must have been enough for Regina though, for she moved away and went back to the unconscious human lying in the booth.

That was the real reason Lasair stuck around instead of heading up to her room. She wanted to apologize to him. Maybe she’d make him see that she wasn’t really that bad of a person. In fact she was really, really nice. She was and she’d make him see so.

“Lasair, he’s awake and appears to be leaving.” Godhand said.

“Hmm?”

Perking up, the small Fae turned and looked back to find the tall human heading towards the door.

“Excuse me sir, wait!”

Jumping down from the stool, Lasair stumbled but quickly caught herself and hurried towards the man, her wings fluttering behind her and casting an orange glow in the light of so many candles. She caught up to him once he was half way out the door.

“I just wanted—I mean what happened earlier with the chair and everything...Godhand, apologize to him!”

The small plushie on her shoulder blinked and looked over at her as if she had sprouted three more heads.

“Why do I have to apologize? You’re the one that told me to do it! Do you want me to stop listening to what you say?”

“Yes.”

Godhand just stared at her rather unbelievably before throwing his hands up in the air, jumping down from her shoulder and heading back towards the bar.
Placing her hands on her petite hips, she turned to him, “Get your butt back here!”
He ignored her and instead joined Tristram who was still sitting upon the counter top, drinking a pint and warily watching Lasair.

“Well, then I apologize on behalf of Godhand and I’d like to make it up to you!” She practically jumped and clapped her hands together, causing her wings flutter once more. “Would you like to rest and spend the night here? It’s the only Inn in the town and I’m sure you could use a chance to recuperate after what went on tonight. If you don’t want that I could find something else, but I’m not really sure what...” Her perky little voice slowly trailed off at the end, lined with uncertainty as her golden eyes looked up at the tall human.



(In your next post I need you to have the soldiers return, looking a little worse for wear and some of them quite worried and aggitated.)