The Satyricon (Closed)

[Duffy]

The Satyricon

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tqzcq1BY0&ob=av3e)2584


Closed to Silence Sei. Set following the events of Two Peas in a Pode (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23587-Two-Peas-and-a-Pode&highlight=two+peas), Night of Debauchery (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24066-The-Night-of-Debauchery&highlight=night+of+debauchery), and Alms For Arias (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23945-Alms-For-Arias-(Closed)&highlight=alms+for+arias)...


There was a pleasing solitude to be found in travelling alone that Duffy had yet to replicate. No matter how many new skills and hobbies he pursued, nothing came quite as close to the sense of serenity the open road instilled in the bard. On the highway, in the cluttered carriage, and on the wings of Great War eagles Duffy found truth in silence. In that silence, on his way to the sanctuary of Ixian Castle, he had found a new respite from the trials, troubles, and testaments of his existence.

In recent months Duffy had saved countries, souls, and soldiers. He had brought people back to life, saved lost kin from the dark shadows of the al ’Thayne, and formed alliances that spanned continents. He had danced, sung, and performed in front of royalty. He had colluded with paupers, princes, and thieves. He had recited highbrow drama and low blow comedies alike. He had laughed and joked with close friends and new found family, and punched enemies in the gut with a half hidden dagger. He had especially enjoyed impaling many a deserving vagabond and delivering justice on the twist of his blade.

He had never considered all this hive of activity would come to a head with a visit to Sei Orlougne.

“Greetings Captain,” Duffy nodded to the cloaked man at the gate. He wore a white feather in his helmet and a phoenix pinion on his breast. The man had been saved from death by Ruby when the castle had been invaded almost a year ago. He and Mrs Winchester had grown close, and in turn, he had taken to wearing a pinion from Mrs Winchester’s hair as a token of her favour.

“Good lord, Captain Bracken, it is a pleasure to see you return to us!” he stepped aside, hesitant to prolong the man’s arrival any more than convention called for. “Will you join us in the barracks this evening for a hand or two?”

There was a certain amount of hesitation in his offer. Duffy’s reincarnation had changed him enough to cause people to flutter, but his attire, and the familiar sight of the Katarhna confirmed his identity. Duffy nodded, his travel worn expression fading away into a bright smile.

“You can count on it Captain. I have even brought you a deck of new cards to break in, just for the occasion.” He rummaged in his pocket and tossed the man the deck. He caught it expertly.

The man laughed, and waved up the vast walls of the castle gatehouse to a colleague hidden from view in the battlements. There was a brief pause before the vast gates cracked open and caved inwards. A thin sliver of light broke through the opening, and the torchlight and glow stones in the courtyard beyond illuminated the dusk of the Corone wilderness with a warm and welcoming ambiance.

“Thank you very much. I look forward to it Captain, in you go now, get yourself rested. Master Orlougne is waiting for you in the war room when you are ready.” Duffy nodded, but the Captain stepped forwards and extended his hand, gesturing that he had not quite finished. “Should I…inform him you have arrived?”

Duffy shook his head.

“Very well then, Captain, in your own time.” He bit his lip, but went back to his vigil in front of the smaller door to the left of the gate that lead into the tower and the barracks. At this time of night, there would be a bustle of activity as the night shift prepared them and donned their hauberks and steel capped boots. The castle, even when empty of its namesake’s presence, was always alive with hustle and bustle.

Duffy had been apprehensive for days after he had received the summons. The troupe had been back from Emprea for barely a month when the red ribbon and seal of the Ixian Knights had dropped through the letter box of the Prima Vista. Duffy had known who it was from well before he had knelt to pick it up. At first he had assumed it was another assignment, fresh from the desk of their esteemed commander. When he had read it aloud to Ruby they had both stared blankly at one another.

“He wants drinks?” they had both mouthed, aghast, horrified, and surprised.

The last time the two had spoken they had argued extensively. They had bickered over and over about their respective roles in society. Heroes or villains, vagabonds or creators…neither of them knew the other well enough to accept they were just being stubborn. Duffy was an anti-hero, and Sei the epitome of goodness. In the chaos, a wedge had been pushed between them after Duffy’s attempts to solicit his allegiance had failed. He had thrown his friend’s lives onto Sei’s blades, and Sei had struck him hard for daring to challenge the man’s morals.

As he walked across the courtyard, gravel scrunching softly underfoot, Duffy tried to run through the inevitable first few moments of their reunion. Since they had last met Duffy had died several times. He had been reborn, as much as a blessing as his immortality was, but it felt like a curse now. He would have to explain to Sei why he was so radically different. His hair was wet, naturally greasy and black and slightly curled. He had a more mature face, though Ruby often joked that it was only a mask, and his arms were not as lanky or lack lustre as they had once been.

He also walked with a cane.

“He will still think I am a fool,” he grumbled, clambering up the grand staircases that lead into the armour hall. The welcoming corridor to the Ixian Castle was bedecked with a hundred suits of armour from across the skeins of history. There were Akashiman kendo sticks, Fallien hide glass armour and malachite blades, and Great War axes from the steppes of Berevar on show.

The cold pang of dusk faded as he entered the castle.

“No matter how many satyricons I undergo…” he dropped his backpack against the first column to his right, and started to undo his travelling cloak. The thick brown and itchy wool had done its duty, but he would have to show his colours to gain entry into the inner sanctums of the Orlougne family residence.

Beneath the old officer’s jacket that he had acquired from Leopold Winchester he was wearing a tight fitting dark blue shirt. It had a golden trim around the arms. There was a row of golden buttons down the front, four in all, which served no purpose besides decorative. It was a traditional Akashiman training vestment given to him by Arden when he had returned from warring with the Komodo; a gift of sorts. It had come into its own when his features had become more akin to the natives of Corone when he died. It suited his crippled physique well, a war veteran still buried in war.

“Captain Bracken?” a voice interrupted his preparations from further into the hall. A wiry sprite of a man appeared from behind a column.

Duffy turned swiftly; hand on the hilt of his blade on his hip. He relaxed the moment he recognised who the bug like spectacles and crooked back belonged to. There was a hesitation in the man’s voice, but the white feather pinned to Duffy’s right shoulder as a brooch, combined with the blade recognised on two continents did its work.

“I am so pleased to see you sir,” the Keeper shuffled down the hall, his straw sandals scuffing the polished marble tiles that gave him an even grander sense of importance. His footsteps echoed high into the lofty rafters, disappearing into the cavernous silence.

“It is good to see you Walter, I trust Sei has been keeping a close eye on you?” the bard beamed a smile, dimples forming and arms flexing to truly give the impression of gladness. The Ixian Knight’s head butler was a man as venerable as he was kind, and a man that was to be respected without hesitation by everyone and anyone who wandered the halls of the castle.

It would have toppled decades ago if it was not for Walter’s logistical genius and imperative desire to find perfection in everything. When the old man reached Duffy’s presence he took the bard’s hand and patted it gently.

“The master does as the master wishes, Walter merely serves,” which Duffy took as a veiled no. He rolled his eyes and patted the man’s hand in kind.

“Come, I will show you to the chamber you have been assigned. I am afraid that in your long absence in the field there have been some considerable changes to the machinations of the Order.” Walter turned and shuffled away with uncanny speed before Duffy could object.

He scooped up his back pack; made certain everything was in its place and hobbled after him. It was a considerable sore point to Duffy to be slower than a man as old as Wilfred was.

“I do not know Walter, I leave for five minutes and everything falls apart,” he clucked mockingly, and the old man laughed with whispery and coarse breath. It smelt of stale beer and tobacco.

As they ventured deeper into the castle, the sense of impending doom became fever pitch in Duffy’s chest. His ribs almost felt as if they were going to burst outwards from the pressure. There was a weight on his shoulders already that he had not expected. He would have to be very careful indeed how he treaded around Sei, though his performance was exemplary in the service of the Ixian Knights, he could not hide the doubt in his mind that this was not a social visit…

The echo of his cane striking against the cold stone of the castle halls followed them through the gloom.

[Silence Sei]

Meanwhile, in Sei Orlouge’s private quarters, the leader of the Ixian Knights was busy doing what he did best; make strategies. He paced around his large redwood table, small blocks of red and blue scattered about the polished furniture. The mute held a small stick in his hand, slowly pushing a block ever so slightly here or there. It was a physical manifestation of possible war scenarios that would play out in the coming months.

He carefully examined each piece for several minutes before making any move. There were, after all, many facets to consider when planning for a battle. One of the highest priorities was the rate at which the Ixian Knights gained and lost members. While most people who stayed in the castle were happy to do so, eventually they would just up and disappear. It seemed that any potential that the mute would find for a good leading officer quickly vanished due to this turn around rate.

His quarters were quite large, given that it only held a bed, a closet, and the ridiculously large table that the Mystic was encircling. The lights from the various candles flickered in the darkened room. Anita and Kyla had both insisted on strawberry scented candles for the room, so the smell of the fruit wafted around his chambers. They were met with the smells of cherry and watermelon, smells picked out by Emma and Ella Orlouge, respectively. Most people found the scents pleasant and even Sei had to admit that the candles did seem to calm him while he planned strategies.

Sei was broken out of his mindset by three large knocks on the door. He could hear the voice of Jensen Ambrose as he argued with Tobias Greenleaf over something. The telepath shook his head at the bickering of the friends. “What is it Jensen?”

As if the two had been caught in an embarrassing moment, the arguing quickly vanished. This brought a smile across the features of the Mystic. While he tried not to use his telepathy to pry into the minds of others too much, he had to admit that the skill did command a respectable presence among his peers. “Duffy’s back,” the rough voice of the enigmatic immortal spoke matter-of-factly, “You want I should tell him to meet you in the war room?”

“That’s quite alright,” Sei said, moving around another piece as he spoke, “send General Bracken here. I’m in the middle of some things.” Though he could not see it, Sei had been around Jensen Ambrose to know that the warrior was nodding, as well as mumbling something under his breath. As if on cue, Tobias Greenleaf busted out with a fit of laughs which slowly started to leave ear shot of the strategist.

Duffy Bracken, eh? Sei thought to himself, looking at his board of imaginary war, I hope this won’t turn into one of our games of mental cat and mouse….

[Duffy]

Duffy found himself in a small, modestly decorated room in the eastern tower. It was no more than a simple square set into the foot of the spire. On the opposite wall to the doorway there was thick frame pine bed. On the curvature of the outer wall there was a glass paned window and a desk, wardrobe, and a coat stand rested against its eastern counterpart. A trunk rested at the end of the bed.

“This will be more than sufficient,” he said to the butler, who gave the captain a nervous and expectant stare. “Do not worry, Walter, it is quite alright.” He smiled at the old mine, relieving him of his anxiety and impeccable sense of duty. On previous visits Duffy had stayed in the more lavish rooms in the central keep, but most of those had been filled with the Orlougne family as they drew ranks in hard times.

“Could I get you something, sir? Perhaps a drink, some food, or maybe some clean clothes?”

Duffy entered the chamber and walked to its centre. He felt the cold stone fade and a soft, springy sheep skin rug, which from its size belonged to something more monstrous than a sheep appear underfoot. He felt lighter standing on it, buoyant, weightless. His cane furrowed several lines into the shag as he thought for a moment, drawing shapes with his frustration with a black lacquered length of wood.

“No thank you; I am quite alright. I will eat with the guards in the kitchen after I have visited Master Orlougne.” He glanced over to the butler who hovered in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, smile still beaming from behind his spectacle inducing spectacles. “Ruby packed me a sandwich you could club a horse to death with,” he added, which Walter chuckled along with.

“Very well Captain, I will leave you be,” he bowed and retreated from the doorway. Duffy waited until the sound of shuffling had faded from the corridor beyond before he hobbled to the left sift of the heavy wooden bed frame. With a thud he relaxed and fell onto the mattress quite exasperated from his travels.

“Oh my fucking goat balls!” he exclaimed, the pain finally too much for his calm, theatrical façade to hide.

The long journey on the newly paved roads through the countryside, a fortunate addition to the ever expanding empire of the Ixian Knights had served to numb Duffy’s senses. The lack of bumps in the road had given his leg time to rest, to grow weary, to become dormant. He had felt a twitch the very second he had dismounted from the carriage, and back on terra firma it had only increased with every step.

“This is going to be,” he hissed, “difficult to explain.” Whilst some days were perfectly normal on all accounts, others were an uphill struggle. Reluctantly, Duffy let the cane fall with an unceremonious clatter to his right and leant forwards. He delicately tugged the bottom of his black cotton trousers out from the safety of his heavy, steel toed boots.

Greeted with the sight of reddened bandages Duffy’s spirits plummeted. He had only renewed them two days prior at the start of their journey. He guessed the dormant state of his body for so long had tricked him into thinking he was finally making progress to recovery. He was a fool for thinking it, even for the slightest second. He let the trouser leg fall back to the rim of his boots.

“Very bloody difficult,” he reached for his cane, and used to it to right himself so that he rested his weight on it with its length between his legs. He clenched his buttocks several times to test the spring of the bed and then patted the mattress and the thick, woollen over blanket that covered the feather duvet beneath. Though the room was meagrely decorated in comparison to the central chambers, he could not doubt that the bed would be more than comfortable.

He wanted to fall back into it and fall asleep there and then, but it would be many long hours before he was given the chance to finally relax. With great reluctance, he righted himself, tapped his right leg on the floor to give it a reason to feel alive then approached the wardrobe. He teetered around the bed with a slight dizziness. He was ignoring his hunger until the ordeal with Sei was over; if it went sour, he would find comfort in the debauchee cakes and pasties the guardsmen received from their absent lovers and wives, who sent them food parcels instead of the kisses they could find no messenger for. If it went well, he would be too drunk to care.

Several awkward minutes passed as he stared at the mahogany panels, his fingers half outstretched to reach for the handle. A doubt caused him to hesitate in pulling it open. He heard footsteps, and quickly disbanded the energy that kept his cane at his side. It disappeared with a flash of white light. He quickly pushed out his free hand to lean against the wardrobe, quite casually, quite naturally.

Jensen Ambrose, Duffy’s blood brother and eternal rival appeared in the doorway. His eyes, smile, and body were all gleaming; a strange mixture of mania and muscles.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” said the enigmatic immortal, unable to restrain his happiness. He bounced over the sheepskin and in the candlelight, embraced the bard.

Duffy seethed as the weight of his brother pressed down onto his leg. He restrained the urge to whelp and grimaced whilst they hugged. There was much back patting and congratulations on a stream of recent events that they had written to one another about of convention and a need to brag from the safety of another continent.

“Despite the dragging, I am still better looking than you,” Duffy retorted.

The brawler stepped back and looked the bard over with a pensive expression.

“You do look…different, that is for sure…I want to know why, who she was, and what she did…” he cackled, a laughter as demonic as it was infectious. Duffy instantly felt nostalgic.

“It has been…an eventful month, to say the least.” He smiled churlishly, whilst he made a futile attempt at straightening his hair after being pressganged into Jensen’s company.

“Tell me all about it, as soon as you have been to see the boss man!” the immortal wagged his finger as he retreated to the doorway. “He is in the Strawberry Boudoir,” he chuckled, “I have to go and show Tobias how to fight like a real man before she gets too old to beat on, kitchen an hour or so, let us wager money out of the guards and catch up, you down?” the brawler did not wait for Duffy to sputter his reply.

“Apparently so,” Duffy whispered, shortly after he stopped hearing Jensen bouncing with thunderous footfalls down the cold stone corridor.

When the bard was certain he was alone he could finally whelp. He lifted the weight from his leg, clicked his fingers, and pressed his good leg down into the lean of the cane as it fluttered into view. Perspiration had started to form down his back and on his forehead from the anxiety. He would tell Jensen, soon enough, but he at least wanted to get a few double measures of their favourite fire whiskey down their throats before the tears and the insults started to fly between them like punches, sparks, and satire.

“He will think it is all a game,” he muttered wistfully, turning back to face the wardrobe. He knocked on the wood, said a few babbling and innate sentences in the tongue of the bards inaudible to those not born from The Aria, and then pulled on the door.

Inside the empty, dusty wardrobe there were two things. There were firstly, quite a lot of dry husks. Mothballs, Duffy assumed, though he had never seen so many without the presence of clothes to nibble. The second were a pair of steel short swords, which he had named after the famous lovers Tristan and Isould. They gleamed in the tendrils of light that struck them, for just a moment, before Duffy shut the wardrobe and sealed them away once more.

Most brave men slept with a dagger under their pillow, but Duffy liked to go one further. Somehow, the blades had called to him all the way through the forest. After every twist and turn in the road he had seen two things. One was a man duelling with a sparring partner, and the other was a goat. He could not quite piece it together but somehow, he knew that the swords had to be here.

“Right then,” he walked to the door, double checking his belongings to re-assure himself that they were at the foot of his bed. They would be waiting for him when he returned, somewhat drunk at an hour unspecified. “Let us get this over with…” he started to whistle, a way of taking the edge of thought from his injury, and his sweet melody echoed in the stonework long after he had turned a corner and faded from view.

As he advanced, the bard did not notice that the silhouette of his head as it was cast onto wall and tapestry alike by torch bracket and glow stone.

There were two grand and curled protrusions issuing forth from his shadow's skull…

[Silence Sei]

By the time the door had opened to Sei’s room, the mute had cleared his table of his strategy pieces. The light from outside the castle pierced through the dim room, hurting the mute’s eyes for a moment. The mute took a moment to cover his eyes as he heard his friend switch on the lights to the room. This continued to blind the telepath, who could only hear the footsteps of his general as he approached. Something was different about the way the thief walked; his steps were heavier, not as nimble as Sei had grown accustomed to.

“Good to see you again, Sei,” Something was odd about his voice as well. Sei had gotten used to the thick accent that the Tantalum leader used casually. There was also a slight drop in the man’s voice. Sei could notice these things easier than anybody else, because when one grows up without being able to talk, one starts to pay attention to everything and everyone around them. The fact that Duffy was attempting to avoid his Scara Brae accent meant that there was something Duffy needed to talk about as well, something of dire importance.

Sei’s eyes finally adjusted to the light, his vision settling upon a brown haired man. He wore a rather thick jacket. His hazel eyes did seem to have a familiarity to them, but Sei’s instincts took over none the less. The mute quickly stood from his chair, throwing the wooden furniture into the cane of the stranger. Wood fell upon wood, and this Duffy Bracken imposter was sent slamming into the floor. Before this fraud could make another move, Sei jumped towards him, grabbing the closest thing he could find on his rather scant table.

When Duffy’s hazel orbs would find Sei’s again, he would also find a butter knife being pointed at him. Ironically, it was the butter knife Sei kept on him at all times, the one he had named after Jensen Ambrose. Though the weapon itself looked rather ridiculous, Sei’s blank face and steady arm most certainly did not. He wore a look that told the faux Bracken that he had the strength and ability to run the blade through him if the opportunity so called for it.

“Who are you,” Sei spoke into the man’s mind, half-tempted to paralyze his body temporarily to get answers, “How did you get past the knights, and what have you done with Duffy Bracken?”

[Duffy]

Duffy thought about doing two things as Sei Orlougne accused him of mimicry, deception and, for all he cared, murder. The first was to vanish, and to drop through the floor to safety. He could then re-enter the chamber and try a little more tact and forcefulness with the mute. The second was to draw the dagger he kept in his belt strap and run the bastard through with it. That did not seem appropriate, given Jensen was poised to investigate his chest cavity if he even came close to trying. To the bard’s disappointment, he went for a third option that he had not considered.

Begging for his life, or at least, for this one. Duffy raced through all the snippets of information and history he could levy in his defence. With the weight of the mute pressing down on his once acrobatic body, he could only struggle feebly, writhe in agony at losing his grip and the weight atop his shins. He decided to answer each question in turn, and go from there.

“I am Duffy Bracken, Lord Regent of Scara Brae, patriarch of the Tantalum Troupe and part of the al-Thayne Tantalus.” Simple enough to know, given his infamy in many dark corners of the world, but Duffy did not give in. “I got past your so called knights, because I am Captain of the little operation you like to call a Reformation, and thus, I have every right under the sun to walk these halls.” He struggled again, but went completely limp. There was no use fighting Sei anymore, at least not with his body. “As for what I have done with Duffy Bracken,” the bard raised an eyebrow and sparked a cheeky grin, “that is for me and my five friends,” he brought his hand into view and wiggled his digits, “to know, and for Stephanie to fi-”

Duffy’s punch line, off-putting and useful for leverage against the uptight mystic under any other set of circumstances, was rewarded with a very, very stern slap across the face. Sei’s hand drew across the bard’s face, right to left, and slammed his cheek sideways onto the cold floor. It had been a long time since Duffy had felt so humbled, a long time indeed.

“Don’t ever say her name in vain again, do you hear?” the mute whispered into the bard’s mind. There was a menacing tone in his mental projection that Duffy had heard once before. It was the sort of fear, mingled with anger, which came when a loved one died.

“Wh-what has happened, Sei?” he turned slowly, his curly, matted hair and shrew like nose wrinkled with an awkward expression of apology. His breathing started to push against’s Sei’s garb, muscles and sinew, and his nerves and anxiety continued to grow.

Content that the man beneath him was in fact his wayward Captain, Sei righted himself stood back. His imposing presence in the room, despite the lady like scent in the air cowed Duffy. He turned his back on the bard, and displayed his wings as a snub.

“Things have…changed, since you’ve been away.”

Changed meant worsened, in Duffy’s book. He struggled to curl onto his side, but managed, slowly, to push himself up onto his knees before he sighed with frustration. “Help me, would you?” he pleaded. Sei turned again, and realised he had, in his careful need to secure his family, cannonballed into a crippled man. He frowned.

“It would appear you have changed also,” he reached out a palm and helped Duffy to his unsteady feet. He embraced him and attempted, as one might when one sees a man in distress, to guide him over his shoulder and walk him to the chair that was placed in front of his desk. Duffy pushed him away, and teetered on his left leg, placing his full weight on it to avoid agitating his injury further.

“I can manage,” he rasped. He clicked the digits of his left hand, then his right. The cane reappeared in the bard’s hand. He set it down with a satisfying clip on the cold stone and hobbled, with a little more finesse to the chair. He spun it about with his left hand, and then quite literally collapsed into it. The relief for his journey fatigued body was instantaneous. The echo of the heavy oak legs scraping the ancient granite rattled down the hall for several awkward moments.

Sei circled the desk and sat back in his own, considerably grander throne.

“How come you look so…different?” the mute’s question was carefully timed, put forward just as Duffy finally found a comfortable position and clocked the mute’s glimmering eyes.

The bard sighed, “I have some…bad news Sei. I have some very bad news. It has been, for want of a better way of putting it, a really shitty month.” Duffy Bracken did not often swear, when he did, he meant it.

“Before you bore me half to death with melodrama, there’s something you need to know…” Sei leant forwards, plucked up a sheet of parchment and then flicked it over the desk. Duffy managed enough leverage to reach across and pick it up. It was crisp and dry, as if it had been tempered in flame. He let his eyes adjust to the reddened ink on the fading leaf before he read what it said.


This is a message from your leader, Sei Orlougne. I apologize for leaving many of you out in the dark for the sudden call to high alarm. However one of our members was captured by Cassandra Remi and killed. Please take a moment of silence to mourn a loss dear to us.

Please, remember the great loss of Stephanie Ambrose…

“Oh fucking hell…Jensen…” Duffy suddenly felt like a monumental idiot, but then, why had his brother not said anything when they had crossed paths not moments before? “When…Sei…when?” with a sudden determination and none of the meekness of his entrance, Duffy glared at the mute, lips puckered, teeth grinding. He felt like he could explode, there and then, or at the very least, start a witch hunt.

“It was many weeks ago now, though it is still very raw in our minds, and in our hearts.” Sei was not often sentimental to Duffy, but when he was, he meant it.

Duffy swallowed the lump in his throat. Whilst he had not spent much time with his brother’s wife, his first true love, from the fond way in which the enigmatic immortal spoke about her (all the damned time) this was grave news.

“Why did nobody tell me?” he said, somewhat selfishly. There was half a tear in the corner of his eye. It rolled down eventually, down the bridge of his nose and onto the parchment. It splattered into a little circle. “I…I would have…I would have done…” he deflated, “done nothing...” it did not sound like there was anything any of the Ixian Knights could have done. Cassandra Remi was known by many murderous names for that precise reason.

“Do not concern yourself with blame, Duffy. You will see Jensen soon enough to console him.” Duffy was too distraught and in two minds to realise it was not a request or a statement, it was more like an order. “We have much to discuss. Before I tell you the reason I called you here…tell me, what happened?” Sei leant back into his throne, placed his fingers together and pressed his lip against the dual tip of his index finger – it was a scholarly position used throughout history to indicate that he was listening, very closely.

“A month ago,” riled to determination, Duffy’s tone turned sour, “I was attacked by someone we both fought hard to destroy.” He dropped the letter onto his lap. He needed a drink, now. “I am afraid Sei, that I have come here as a refugee as much as I have to answer your order. A month ago, the Prima Vista was destroyed, and with it, the peaceful status quo of the island.”

“The playhouse…is gone?” Sei looked woefully surprised.

Duffy nodded.

“Lucian is alive…”

Somehow, Sei did not react to this statement. Instead, knowing Duffy all too well, he rose, walked to a small cabinet along the back wall and poured two small porcelain cups of Saki. Sei did not drink, but when he did, it was for the sorts of occasions that required it. When he returned to the desk, he set one down in front of the bard, and then slumped back into his chair. Duffy, upon taking it, raised it in a toast and downed half of it there and then. It was sickly sweet, and clearly it had been sitting there for some time, but it was perfect.

“Then now is the perfect time to locate Capricorn…” Duffy blinked. Sei took a sip of his own measure of Akashiman liquor before he continued, “we are beleaguered on all sides, Duffy. Would you help an old man fulfil a prophecy, as I once did yours?”

Duffy felt a strange need to reiterate that his home was destroyed, his old enemy, who could devastate more than just one of the Ixian Knights with little trouble had returned, and that he was lame…but, his instincts told him that, for once in his life, Wainwright Jones could wait.

He was needed here. Sei Orlougne did not often need people…but when he did, you answered his call with all the passion left in your heart.

Althanas depended on it.

[Silence Sei]

Duffy’s nod brought a smile to Sei’s lips. The mute wrapped his hand around the tiny cup of sake and poured it down his throat. The warm apple flavor seemed to warm every bone in the Mystic’s body upon downing the liquid. Because he did not drink much at all, Sei had a low tolerance for alcohol, though he was completely aware of his own limitations.

“Before I continue on what I ask of you, I must first offer Ixian Castle as a home for you and the troupe,” Sei spoke before pouring himself another cup of Akashima liquid, this time taking only a sip of the stuff. “Ruby, Lillith, Blank, all of you are welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, forever if it requires. I’ve always wanted the lot of you to think of this as your second home, and that proposal still stands as strong as it does for Dorian.”

The mute looked at the man’s hazel eyes. Though Duffy and Sei had their differences in the past, the mute was not so cruel as to deny his home to the former rouge. Duffy Bracken had done some horrible things in his tenure under the Knights, but he was far from irredeemable, far from being Cassandra Remi. Thinking about the Gisela Reaper sent a shiver down Sei’s spine, negating the warmth that the sake had just provided his body.

“That being said, I have gained reports that there is a man in Radasanth who possesses a Zodiac Weapon. There’s a chance that there is nothing to his boasting, but I can not take that risk, not when there is talks of a suspected attack from something on the horizon. I called you in here because, as one of the few generals left without a Zodiac Weapon, you are a good candidate to escort me to see if there is truth to this man’s words. If what he says is indeed fact, then we will attempt to buy the weapon from him. If his claims are false, we will simply be on our way.” Sei took another sip of his drink, the quietness in the air seeming to enhance the fruity smell of his personal quarters.

“Normally, I would advise you to get dressed in a more appropriate attire. However, given your change, your typical unsavory appeal seems to no longer be an issue.” The last comment, though not meant to be, was more insulting than anything else, “I expect you to go back to your quarters and prepare. If you can, I would advise hiding a weapon in case things take a turn for the worse.” Sei stood, taking the bottle of Sake and placing it back in its rightful cabinet.

“You are dismissed, Lord Bracken.”

[Duffy]

As Duffy rose, his lip curled, he thought about the conversation that had just unravelled. He turned, clicked his departure out rhythmical on the cold floor of Sei’s office with his cane, and then hovered in the doorway. Something, though the bard could not quite place what, was not right. He looked over his shoulder, mouth open as if to speak, but realised his words would not be heeded. Sei Orlougne was already in full swing with his stratagem, his hands feverishly moving the wooden pieces on the great map that depicted the world of Althanas that were sprawled out over his desk.

“Never mind, then,” he said softly, before waltzing out into the hallway with a weight on his shoulders and a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. It did not take him long to come to his senses. He stopped with a start, slammed the tip of his cane into the granite, and then turned. He made several steps back along the corridor towards the office, but then stopped.

“No, no, you have to meet Jensen,” he reminded himself. In a split second, a quick turn, and a twinge of pain, he continued his advance back out of Ixian Castle’s inner sanctum.

The warm light of the bracketed torches lit Duffy’s path through the chilly tunnels, each one flickered in his wake as he streamed towards his destination. Though each step was a tortuous ordeal on his awakening injury, his stamina did not wane beneath the corroding influence of the mystic’s words.

“What are you up to, old man?” he asked aloud, his Scara Braen twang bouncing along the cobbles of an inner courtyard as he waded out into the soft moonlight. He crossed the spidery trail, which wove through hawthorn, rosemary, and apple trees in well-kept planters, and dove into the corridor on the far side. Birdsong, owl warble, and the distant chatter of servants, soldiers, and old friends began to permeate the silence of the fortress. It dawned on the bard’s mind only then that Sei had insulted him. He had been too aloof and thought ridden to notice.

“Unsavoury appeal?” he snapped. “I’ll show him,” he continued. His clicking grew louder and louder as his cane was driven harder into the floor as his anger grew to fiver pitch. He had expected sympathy, tea, and a lot of catching up with the mute before he had been so casually dismissed onto some trivial, lie riddled errand. Was his new appearance really so miraculous as to command militaristic respect and duty? With a shrewd smile, Duffy supposed that it did.

He turned a corner, and then wove through a second courtyard which was sparse and dying. Though the castle was, by all accounts, a spectacle to behold, some of the sections were left in the shadow of the Ixian Knights’ constant conflicts. Bent, crooked, and long dead branches wavered in the cool breeze, and a leaf clogged fountain at the centre of the open air retreat might once have trickled with crystalline waters. The juxtaposition weighed heavily on Duffy’s doubts as he came at last to the divide between the inner fortress, and the section he had been housed in upon his arrival.

Somewhere just beyond the last barracks before the respite chambers of the castle’s card, his blood brother, long time confident, and of course, his esteemed drinking partner awaited his presence. From what little he had gleamed from their previous encounter, there would be tears a plenty, a bundle of cussing, and lots to talk about. Whilst he continued to stream through the castle, nostrils flaring, tired heart aching, one question above all sprang to the front of the bard’s mind.

Why had Sei Orlougne sent the bard to retrieve a Zodiac Weapon, when Capricorn was already in the bard’s possession…?

[Duffy]

Duffy set his shaking hand onto the worn handle of the guardroom, and hesitated for a few moments. He tried, and failed, to settle the racing thoughts rushing about his mind. He was scorning, shouting, and struggling to come to terms with the possibility that he was being manipulated. Not once in his furtive glancing, argumentative inner dialogue, and his curled lip, did the bard consider that he was feeling now, exactly as Sei had down when he had been manipulated by the so called ‘squeaky clean’ Duffy Bracken. The irony would have been lost on his tired body.

He turned the handle.

“Who the fu-” the question eased off when the door slid open and Jensen and Duffy crossed paths. The brawler pounced up from the small circular table at the centre of the room and embraced his brother. Duffy, uneasy on one good leg tried and failed to return the favour.

“Whoa there, goes easy on the leg.” He mumbled, wishing he could have revelled in their customary punch up greeting. His grammatical slip showed his comfort with the plucky, cussing, and eternally on the go warrior. He felt suddenly, contently, and quite impeccably at ease and home around him. “I ain’t what I used to be,” he added. The immortal stepped back, looked the bard in sheep’s clothing up and down, and then rested his hands cocksure on his hips.

“You really do look different, you know?”

Duffy did know, and he hated the fact. Times were changing too quickly.

“You look drunk,” the bard replied, with as much bitterness as sarcasm. He pushed past the brawler and made for the empty chair already set out for him. “That is exactly what I want to be very soon.” He sat at the table and with a flick of his erudite wrist; he disbanded the Eraclaire Cane into The Aria with a rush of silence and white skeins of light.

The three men at the table all blinked absent minded signs of discomfort. Duffy nodded to each of them in turn. He did, he hoped, need to introduce himself. They continued to slowly set their cards down onto the table, taking their turns on instinct, rather than strategy or luck. Jensen bounded across the flagstones and pulled his chair back. Before he sat, he cocked his head, chuckled, and broke the ice.

“Something on your mind, Duffer?” he sat.

The guard room was a meagrely furnished room near the foot of the tall, indomitable, and well protected tower that served as the first line of defence to gain entry to the castle. At its heart was the table, the poker hub of the Corone wilderness. In each of the four corners there was a simple wooden frame, lined with thick cotton sheets, a woollen mattress, and a layer of elegantly arranged items that Duffy assumed were the paraphernalia the guards required for their morning inspection. A roaring fire blazed in the wall opposite the door, and several trunks sat at the end of each bed. It was a functional room that served to keep the guards stationed on watch on the tower comfortable, but not idle. It was a perfect atmosphere to gamble away the night.

“I know you just lost your wife, and I my home and job…” Duffy apologised mentally for being so uncouth about it, “but…” he nodded to the senior guard, the Captain of the current watch who was identified by a red sash about his steel breastplate, “deal me in George.” He paused, looked into Jensen’s chiasmic eyes, and sighed. “Why did Sei Orlougne just send me to Radasanth on a fool’s errand for a Zodiac Weapon?”

The three guards shuffled in their seats nervously. The captain did his due, gathered up the spent hands, and shuffled out three cards to each of the new game’s participants. The crackle of embers in the dying hearth served as accompaniment to the awkward silence.

“I do not know. Maybe it is because there is a Zodiac Weapon in Radasanth?” Jensen shrugged. He slid his hand secretively over the worn, beer stained, and rickety table top and sneaked a peek at his lot.

[Duffy]

“That is what I thought whilst I walked out of the office, then it dawned on me, and I started to wonder.” Duffy looked at his hand, calculated his odds, and then rested his cards in a fan against the table edge. He kept them guarded, but from his two tens and an eight, he didn’t seem all too interested in the game itself.

“Duffy, you are not making much sense…as usual.” Jensen tossed a card from his hand into the middle of the table, and drew a fresh one from the stack, once the captain finished his elaborate and dextrous shuffle of the dog-eared deck. “Just spit it out, we have got drinking, talking, and no doubt, dancing to get through yet…”

Duffy shook his head. “I already found it…”

Jensen looked at the bard, gestured to his hand, and leant back on his stool. He, though not as bright and wiry as Duffy, read very much between the lines. His brother was accusing Sei of lying, of conceited errands, and of deception. When Duffy shot a glance back, he knew that he was right to doubt Sei’s motives. The prophecy of the Nine had foretold that Duffy would become a champion of Ares. Ares, the capricious Thayne, was symbolised by the twin horned goat. It was the same goat that had followed Duffy all the way through the mottled groves, the winding roads, and the autumnal glades on their exodus from Scara Brae.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Jensen stood and made for the trunk in the back right corner. Whilst he noisily retrieved a tall, chunky, and cut crystal bottle from the innards, Duffy took several deep breaths. He was glad Jensen was alert enough to realise that the coming conversation would require their usual tipple; Fireball Whiskey. The guards nodded with wet, smacking, and thirsty lips.

“I found Capricorn months ago, though I only just realised what it is.” He set down his eight faces up on top of Jensen’s nine, and drew a fresh card. He paid it little attention, but gestured politely for the snub nosed recruit to his left to take his turn.

The brawler strolled with swagger back to the table. He set the bottle down, then slid onto his chair, and then fanned out his hand. He was from what little Duffy had seen, quite at home round the card table. He did not look at Duffy, but he was clearly deep in thought from the furrows on his brow. The cards continued to drop and be drawn fresh around the table, until the Captain took his turn, and then cleared his throat.

“Jensen…” he mumbled.

The brawler shook, looked up, and then smiled. He set a card down, and then rested his right hand on his knee to cock his hand away from the other players. He stared at Duffy with the sort of accusatory stare that judiciary used to sentence criminals. His eyes glowed with the halo of fire shimmering around him from the hearth beyond.

“Your go…and then you tell me exactly what you mean…” the tone was severe enough for Duffy to play to his strengths, set down a card, and then clears his own throat. The game continued whilst their increasingly heated exchange continued to smoulder. This was not the reunion the bard had hoped for.

“I brought two magic swords from the bazaar in Scara Brae long ago. I never really, you know, got a feel for them because I’m more at home with my daggers.” He stared longingly down at his shattered shin. “Of course, I quite like the Katarhna, too, but changing times mean I tried to throw away Tristan & Isould.”

Jensen’s eyebrows peaked.

“It seemed like a good name for them at the time,” the bard chuckled. “When the dreams started about a month ago, and then Wainwright appeared, it became increasingly apparent that Sei’s prophecy of The Nine was, in fact, utterly true.” Duffy clicked his fingers, concentrated on the contents of the wardrobe in his room, and closed his eyes.

[Duffy]

The twin blades Tristan & Isould vanished from the dark recess of the cupboard in Duffy’s meagre quarters. They travelled through time and space, as if they were destined to be with their master, and appeared in a plume of white light on the table. A ring of still filled the humid chamber as the swords dropped the last few millimetres to the surface, caught the light of the fire, and clinked together.

“That is a new one,” Jensen chuckled. He cocked his head at the blades, shot some of the whiskey, and then held out the bottle to Duffy. The bard took it all too eagerly.

“This is Capricorn.” He said flatly.

Jensen furrowed his brow. “No it is not.”

“Of course it is!”

“No, no, no.” Jensen took the bottle back before Duffy’s lips could get even close. His eyes shone in the twilight with a conviction the bard knew all too well. “Zerith is Capricorn; Sei would not shut up about it for a month. This,” he prodded a sweaty finger at the smaller of the swords, “this here is Ares.”

“You mean Ares the warrior, also known as the Ram?” Duffy frowned. He was certain he had seen a goat on the road. He thought about it some, snatched the bottle forcibly, and drank from it thirstily. The fiery concoction rolled down his throat like a painful, but very much welcome old friend. The more the room span, the more it became apparent that the goat had in fact been a ram. They were all fluffy, horned, and useless animals to Duffy. They belonged between bread, and not out in the open countryside.

“It must be, because I distinctly recall Capricorn being, well,” Jensen tried to gesture with wide arms at length, “that long, and a hammer.” This, for Zerith to have acquired it, made sense. Jensen flapped his arms onto the edge of the table, and fiddled with his cards. He was trying to keep the game flowing, so he set a card down to end his turn, and passed to Duffy.

The bard set down his ten, drew a queen, and then nodded to the awkward looking guard to his left. The three men they had joined for their game were becoming increasingly sheepish around the boisterous captains. Whilst Jensen and Duffy had never gotten quite enraged enough outside of the Citadel to toss potatoes around like wildfire and to smash up the canteen as the Immortal and William Arcus had done, with drink involved, you could never quite tell.

“So why Ares is on the table in front of you…what is Sei hiding?” Duffy did not need to narrow his gaze, but he did it anyway. His deep blue eyes, jet black hair, and his altogether more mature looking appearance served as a potent guilty weapon against his blood brother. The plays continued around the table with increasing pace, until it was Jensen’s turn once more. From over his shoulder the sound of the last full log cracking in two broke the silence.

“He is…” he set down his card, and punched the air, hoping the victory would distract from the question levied at him. Whilst the guards flapped their hands onto the table with a disgruntled trio of sighs, Duffy remained observant as a hawk. “Oh for the love of god, you persistent little shit!” Jensen bounced up from the seat, as if he had just been hit by lightning, “Sei’s starting a war!” his voice boomed around the chamber, and the guards all flinched in unison.

Duffy, quite beside himself, rose after Jensen. He took his cane and leant to his right, his left hand remained clutching his hand. He looked at it absent minded, and then dropped it into the centre of the abandoned play. He traced the pattern of the grain on the wood for a few heavy breaths, and then stared into his brother’s eyes. To even begin to conceive the notion that Sei Orlougne, the supposed protector and hero of the people, would go as far as to start a war irked Duffy. It did not make sense.

“Sei is starting a war, with whom?” he asked. There was considerable oppression in his tone, which tried to break down Jensen's slowly intoxicated defences.

Jensen downed another unhealthy glug of Fireball. He gestured to the door with the bottle, and then looked at the guards. They did not need further instruction, and slipped away from the table in a chorus of armour scraping, cloth rustling, and clearing of throats, glasses, and wagers.

[Duffy]

When the door leading out into the dark corridor finally closed, Duffy glared at his brother with the wrath of ages. His contempt, it seemed, knew no bounds. Even though the Immortal had done no wrong, he was to be blamed for his leader’s transgressions. In Sei’s absence, Jensen would have to answer for his crimes.

“With Corone,” Jensen clucked, and made to correct himself. “Or rather, Sei is starting a war with the Empire.”

“Who does he fucking think he is?” Duffy looked genuinely flabbergasted. He pushed himself away from the table and stormed to the fireplace, two heavy boots and a cane tapping against the stone. Jensen watched, unable to quite find the words. He tilted the bottle and held it up to the firelight. It shone amber and gold for a few precious, beautiful, and harmonious seconds; until Duffy blocked the heat and the light as he came to a stop before the dim hearth.

The bard stooped uneasily to pick up one of the moss covered logs from the large wicker basket set to the right of the fire. He groaned, seemingly in pain, and then dropped the tinder unceremoniously into the embers. He rose, stepped away, and then rested both his shaking palms onto the silver ball on the top of the cane. He caressed it fondly, using its memoirs to calm his nerves, his anger, and his frustration.

It took Jensen a while, but when he started to close the gap between them, he spoke the perfect counterpoint. “He’s Sei Orlougne, that’s who he thinks he is.”

Duffy darted a glare over his shoulder, but it did not last.

“I can’t believe I just stood in his office and he said nothing. Was he really going to send me to Radasanth on some fool’s errand, and then, once I arrived, make some big hurrah about open warfare?” Duffy grits his teeth. When Jensen stepped up to his left flank and held out the now half empty bottle, he suddenly forgot what he had asked. It did not take long for a fiery glug to slip down his throat and make everything seem a little bit better. He shook the bottle, chuckled, and passed it back. “I’d have done it, too. If he had told me, even after what I told him and hearing about…” he paused for thought.

“It’s okay,” Jensen chirped.

“Is it?” Duffy balked, “is it Jensen?”

The two men stared at the flames that danced around the log, and both found their awkwardness consumed by the conflagration. The moss died in a rush of red, yellow, and smoke, and then the log cracked and fell into the embers. It would not be long before the sudden gift of life into a dying soul demanded more of its slaves. The warmth returned to the room, replacing the stagnant humidity with a vibrant and soothing temperate climate.

“It has to be.” Jensen said eventually. Duffy nodded.

“I am sorry.”

“What for?” the Immortal looked up at Duffy’s ear. He swigged from the bottle, and with a dusty shoulder, he bumped into the bard affectionately. It was a subtle nudge in the right direction, a desperate bid to pull the conversation back to the long overdue reunion they had promised one another a few hours prior, when Duffy had returned to Ixian Castle.

“For going off on one like that at you, when you have done nothing wrong. I am sorry for shouting, for not letting you talk about her, and for being selfish.” The bard smiled at his brother, but stood his ground. “I’m just, well, sorry for everything.”

“And so it is said,” Jensen began, his voice suddenly regal and flamboyant, “that the great Duffy Bracken, Lord of the Tantalum Troupe and Thayne eternal, apologised to the world for everything!” he clapped boisterously.

[Duffy]

“How do you stay so chirper, Jensen, when you have just had your world turned upside down?” the bard asked, ignorant of the Immortal’s attempts to lighten the mood. Whenever the going got tough, Duffy couldn’t help but admire the brawler’s eternally happy and pleasant mood. It was as if nothing got him down, ever, and that was something to be admired.

“Do you remember the last time we drank like this?” he swigged from the bottle, ignoring the turn taking convention good friends often adhered to, before he passed it to his right. Duffy snatched it eagerly, taking his cane into his right hand to lean on whilst he tilted his head back. The room span slightly, half through heat, half through inebriation.

“I threw up for nearly three hours in the canteen,” he replied meekly. Ruby had not been enthusiastic about letting Duffy near any sort of alcohol, no matter how weak, for quite some time after that. He shook his head and coughed.

“I told you something was the answer I was looking for.” Duffy furrowed his brow.

“Do you remember?”

“You…” he pursed his lips, passed the bottle back, and then returned his gaze to the crackling flames. The stonework of the hearth danced with orange and yellow light, a veil of colour that served to form a mysterious ambiance. “You told me about what it was like, to have lived so long as you have.” His thoughts became pensive, shallow, and selfish.

“Yeah, and that is why I am always on top of the fucking world!” he threw his arms wide, only narrowly missing slapping Duffy square on the nose.

“But…its Stephanie…the woman you said outshone every other star in the sky.” Duffy paused for thought. He was treading on dangerous ground, or at least, he was teetering on the edge of abyss that he threatened to throw himself off out of a false observance of respect. “How can you just soldier on?”

Before Jensen spoke, Duffy was one step ahead of his brother. He knew what the answer was.

“Azza.”

The bard rolled his eyes. Of course there was Azza. The one thing any self-respecting gentlemen would die to protect, second to his wife, was his child. Defeated by his brother’s chipper attitude, the bard returned his thoughts where they were most welcomed; Sei.

“So if you fight on regardless, I assume you will be taking part in this conflict?”

The awkward silence that followed demeaned the occupants of the guard room. Neither man was ready to admit loyalties would be frayed by the coming conflict. From Jensen’s awkward body language, a bundle of jittering, twitching, and wiry taps, Duffy assumed the assumption was true.

“I do not know…yet.”

“Has Sei told you why he is doing this?” Duffy had a few ideas, but he did not want to jump to too many conclusions in one evening. He turned and pointed at the table with the tip of his cane. It clicked against the stone, marking his advance back to somewhere noticeably more comfortable. His leg was becoming sore, though not as sore as his heart and loyalties were becoming.

Jensen trailed after him. “He wants to do the right thing by the ‘innocent fucking people’, or something.”

Duffy clucked, rolled his eyes, and sat back on his former chair. This time, the only hand he played with was his own as he adjusted his golden band and checked that the cane had not caught his skin again with its rugged mould. Jensen bounced across the last few stones, back blazing with the colour of hell, and eyes aglow.

“Yeah,” Duffy dropped his head to the floor. “That sounds about right.”

“I take it that is a look of disinterest, Duff?” Jensen sat with a thud next to the bard. He glugged from the bottle, gargled the fiery liquor, and held out the now quarter full bottle to his brother.

“Not disinterest, no,” he sighed. The bottle found itself in the bard’s hands quite on instinct alone, and the liquor in his stomach on an autonomous whim. He set the tall crystal decanter onto the table, which left a moist ring on the back of several dogged and abandoned cards. “More like disappointment.”

“You are disappointed with Sei?”

Duffy chuckled.

“Disappointed that I cannot stand by his side and help him…” Duffy tapped the table, relishing the pain that jolted up his finger as his tired body connected with an upended nail.

Jensen frowned.

“Oh…”

[Duffy]

It pained Duffy to even consider turning and running, especially as he had only been in the castle for an evening. No sooner than he had calmed down, he realised that if Sei was truly about to embark on a grand serenade, then he could not bring his family here. They had gone through too much, too soon, and without reason to arrive at the eye of the storm.

“I just watched Wainwright destroy my home before my eyes.” A flashback rocked his senses, flames, fire, and abyssal night marring the horizon of Scara Brae. “He made us watch, Jensen. After five centuries, he decided to just roll up, not thank us for freeing him of his own soul’s taint, and destroy everything we have worked for.”

Jensen blinked.

“Shit.”

Duffy rolled his eyes, though he was not quite sure why. It was perfectly natural for Jensen to resort to cussing in times of awkwardness, rage, and of course, excitement. He was sure he had never used to swear, before he had met the Enigmatic Immortal. Then again, he chuckled at the thought of Jensen being more erudite and pronounced after their first encounter in The Citadel. It was a mutual exchange and flowering development between families.

“It was the most torment I have ever undergone. By all means,” the bard flapped his hands, and let his cane fall against the edge of the table. “It is not as harrowing as losing a loved one, but dark all the same.” He glared up at the roof. The coal stained stone offered no sanctuary or inspiration. For once Duffy was flying solo.

“That is still pretty shitty though, I mean, it is the Prima Vista, man!” Jensen slammed a fist onto the table, but someone found the composure to scoop up the bottle and more or less finished it. He left just enough to offer to his brother as a consolation prize. Duffy could not resist, and finished off the bottle with a full tilt of his head, a rippling Adam’s apple, and a very satisfied smack of the lips.

“A home, Jensen, can be rebuilt. It can also be moved to another suitable location.” He would have liked to have found his new home, at least for the time being, in the stoic walls of Ixian Castle. “Two days behind me, the rest of the troupe is travelling by a long caravan, courtesy of Leopold. I told them, in a speech worthy of kings, that we would recover from this grievance. I told them that Sei Orlougne, of the Ixian Knights, would offer us sanctuary.”

“That fairy fuck turned you down?” Jensen looked, for the first time in his life, genuinely shocked. When Duffy shook his head feverishly, he relaxed. His muscles, which had flexed into boulders returned to their normal flaxen state. “So why the glumness?”

“I cannot bring them here, Jensen. Unlike the incident on the Tower when I used you and Sei to save Scara Brae, this war seems…callous.” This was perhaps was too strong a word to use when he had heard so little of the full story. He felt a terrible hypocrite for even bringing it up, but somehow, the bard was justified, in his own thoughts, because his endeavour had succeeded. Because of their sacrifice, Scara Brae had been saved.

“This might surprise you, but I have been having severe doubts myself.” Jensen, for once in his life, seemed quite sincere. Duffy could only mouth silent words of surprise whilst he tried to calculate the implications of what the brawler was saying. “If you are not with us, and William is not with us, then I think I need to move on…”

“Wait…William’s gone too?”

Jensen nodded.

“So despite his family being by his side, Sei is going ahead trying to save Corone…ignoring the fact his so called ‘prophesised saviours’ are turning on one another?” the prospect of The Nine coming undone was oddly quite ironic to Duffy.

“That about sums it up. I mean, I would like to, but I do not think I could.” Jensen tapped the hilt of the masculine blade of Ares inquisitively.

[Duffy]

“Times really have changed whilst I was gone, I guess,” Duffy said glumly. He watched Jensen investigate the dual swords that had served him well over the year. They were a simple pair of steel blades, one shorter than the other, but perfectly balanced for parrying, striking, and dual thrusts. “Where will you go?”

“Go?” Jensen sat back on the stool. “Oh, I do not know if I am going. If I do,” he shrugged, “I will find somewhere that needs me. I am, after all, a lea-”

-“f on the wind,” Duffy finished the sentence. They stared at one another for an awkward moment, and then both of them burst out into a round of raucous, drunken laughter. “However, you might be a leaf on the wind, but you cannot float away without telling me what is on your mind.”

Jensen glared, “I am sorry?”

“Ha, you really think I would not notice, brother?” Duffy had noticed, like a hawk, and digested what he had discovered several months ago in Emprea. He had not quite gotten around to putting what he wanted to say into appropriate words. He doubted, given the circumstances, that he ever would.

“Notice what, Duff?” Jensen looked quite perturbed. He shook the glass, tossed it over his shoulder, and didn’t flinch when the glass shards danced over the stone. They shone like a tapestry of stars across the guard house. Duffy could only shake his head at the recklessness. “Come on, do not do that to me!”

“You have more people that care for you than you realise…” he reached into his pocket and fondled the dog-eared corner of the letter that had rested there since he had discovered it in the cold heart of Emprea’s grand castle. He hesitated, just long enough for it to count, then withdrew his hand. “A lot more, and what is more, you should think about them before you go off gallivanting to save the world again.”

“What are you not telling me, Duffy?” Jensen took his turn to glare, his lip curled, his shaggy hair eschew, and his dusty leather clothing shining with the revitalised flames of the roaring hearth.

“I am just being sentimental, brother. I do not know when I will see you again; I guess I just want to make sure you are, you know…” he cocked his head, “alright.”

“I think you have got nothing to worry about, to be honest. Sei is not stupid, though he can be a little stubborn. The Ixian Knights will go to war, save Corone, and we will all come back together again to pat each other on the back and forgive each other for our sins.” Jensen seemed horribly sure with himself, or as Duffy might have put it, horribly deluded. He could not fault his brother’s confidence, after everything they had been through, he had no doubt that the Ixian Knights would indeed endure.

“It is not you I am worried about…” Duffy mumbled, just low enough to not be heard. When Jensen pricked his ears and looked up, Duffy smiled. “Hey, since I will be gone by morning, I guess I have some gifts to give out!” he tried to look excited, adding a clap, a slap of his thighs and far too much enthusiasm to his announcement.

Duffy stood cantankerously, wobbling slightly, and trying not, from the look on his voice, to vomit violently. He had drunken a little too much for even his acting talent to disguise. He chuckled, “Well, I guess that is a little stronger than I remember.” He stumbled away from the stool, coming to rest on a lean to on his cane just in time to stop himself falling flat on his face.

“You got ugly, and you got old,” Jensen chided.

“Come on, you,” he patted his pocket, clicked his fingers, and as Ares vanished in a web of white light, Duffy too vanished from the chamber with quick steps and a summons to his brother to follow him out into the dying courtyard.

Jensen sighed, bounced up from the table, and galloped after the bard.

[Duffy]

Out in the cold night, Duffy felt considerably more sober than he had in the humidity. His cane clicked against the stone as he wove through the dead flower beds and the skeletal bushes. The sound of the brawler’s well-worn boots clattered behind the bard. The noise was accompanied by an exchange of cussing, laughter, and well-placed attempts at cheering each other up. When Duffy turned, the Immortal stopped instantly, nervously, and with a grin.

“Okay, sod it; I cannot wait until we get to my chamber.” The bard clucked. “I wanted to give this to you for what you did in Raiaera, because frankly, your deeds made it possible for us to return there without attracting a whole fuckton of pain,” he chuckled. Jensen cocked his head inquisitively, but the moonlit expression of concern on his face was lost on Duffy’s enthusiasm and bourbon blossoms.

“Ermm okay Duffy, do go on?”

With a click of his free hand’s shaking fingertips, Duffy drew on Leopold’s Vernal Vault ability, and drew from his own private chamber a dagger that was aglow with malefic, shining with fear, and brimming with power. He took it firmly into his left hand’s grasp, and then wrenched it from the shadows. It appeared in a swirl of white ribbons, the colour displaying the hue of Duffy’s soul, and held it out gingerly. Though he had wanted to give it to Jensen under better circumstances, this was as good a time as any.

“What, the fuck?” Jensen half-shouted. He took it, but the look on his face expressed sheer reluctance and disgust at the thought. “Duffy, this is…” he twirled it in the fingers of his right hand, tossed it to his left, and then twirled it with doubled enthusiasm.

“Wainwright’s Riposte, yes, I know.” The bard watched it for a moment as it moved silently in circles. It was the dagger that had scarred Duffy’s right hand so many long years ago, when he had been a street runner with the gang that had started him on a path to recovery. Its history extended much further back through time than that. It was the dagger the once heroic Wainwright Jones used to kill the Thayne Tantalus, and sunder the god’s spirit into four avatars. “It is the dagger that gave birth to me, and since,” he tapped his cane onto the stone, “I am no longer able to fight with such mobility anymore, I think it is only fair,” he was interrupted by an owl’s tweet. “Only fair that, well, you have it.”

Jensen did not quite know what to say, so he resorted to the one thing he did know how to do. He laughed.

“I am glad you find it so funny…” Duffy pursed his lips. Standing still for so long apparently had to outcomes, pain down his shin, and a sudden succour nature. He was starting to feel drunk again, and he was starting to smell like it.

“It is not that, bro, it is just…well, and I always thought this dagger was pretty neat, I guess now I know why.” The thought of something so small giving rise to something as powerful, wonderful, and heartfelt as Duffy’s soul amused the Immortal. It was just a dagger, after all. “How could it kill the Thayne?” he added.

Duffy rolled his eyes, “I thought you might ask that.”

“Dude, you cannot give me a god killing pig sticker and not tell me how to use it…you know what my long term wish is!” he was started to sound increasingly less like a doting older brother, and more like a child in a sweet shop.

“I do, Jensen, I do,” the bard turned. He made for the far door without another word. His sudden movement left the brawler in suspense, and that was precisely where Duffy wanted to keep him, at least until they got to the chamber where he was going to stay. Before dawn’s rise, many more gifts, of wisdom and material worth would be given. At the same time, to teach those unlearned souls wise lessons, Duffy had many more things to take away before the sun rose on the emptying halls of Ixian Castle. “Another time, maybe.”

[Duffy]

Trailing a blaze through the long corridors of the castle, even Jensen found it difficult to keep up with Duffy’s pace. For a man that walked with a cane, he had surprising land speed. The Immortal kept pausing, for thought and favour, and twirled the dagger longingly. He simply could not work out why Duffy would give him something the brawler presumed meant the world to his brother. It was the same as Jensen tossing Duffy the last baked potato in the canteen.

“Come on, Jensen. I want to be gone before sunrise, and before anybody notices I have left,” the bard turned, clicked his cane dramatically, and glared. The torchlight that illuminated the narrowing thoroughfare through the last courtyard and back into the central fortress flickered with his motion. Duffy saw the look on his brother’s face and relented. He had perhaps been a little too hasty. “What is the matter?” he eased his stance and slouched.

“This dagger does not just mean everything to you, Duffy, it is you.” The immortal levelled its well-used tip at the bard’s chest, just above the heart, and just below the collarbone. “You just lost your home, you are leaving in a hurry, and you are giving everything you hold dear away…” The implication Jensen was levelling at his brother was clear as day, unhidden, and truthful. Duffy shook his head.

“No, I am not going to kill myself,” he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“So…” Jensen pursed his lips. He finally tucked the dagger into the inside of his battered leather jacket, alongside his throwing glaive, and his emergency liquor. “What is this about, then?”

Duffy flapped his arm. “I came here as a refugee, right?” Duffy didn’t wait for an answer, “the moment I turn up at the door, despite it being at Sei’s behest, I find I am being sent to Corone on some fool’s errand.”

“You are an Ixian Captain Duffy…” Jensen’s pursed lips curled into a meek expression of bemusement. He walked towards the bard slowly, stepping to his right so that he stood side by side. “What did you expect exactly?” he shrugged.

Duffy continued his journey back to his chamber, sighing, wheezing, and wishing he was anyplace but here. He was hoping for a quick exit, to be gone long before emotions grew to a fever pitch, and long before he had to prolong any difficult goodbyes. His emptying heart began to mimic the meagre décor of the castles under croft. The flickering torches illuminated nothing smooth stone, cold pavings, and two lonely, immortal souls wandering through the twilight.

“I expected Sei to understand, for one.”

“Sei has a lot more to consider in his life than one of the Nine.” Jensen’s reply seemed almost autonomous, rehearsed, and not his own.

“Pffft,” Duffy spat, “after what you said in the guard room, I have a hard time believing a word you just said.” As the pain in his shin began to ease off through use, the bard dispelled the cane with a click of his fingers. It vanished in a stream of white light, a verdant melody, and a flourish of rhythm that was as old as the castle and the ground it stood on. He flapped his arms with a sudden sense of freedom. He made a note to drink more often, if it offered him a greater degree of flexibility and movement.

“Is it really that hard for me to show loyalty?” Jensen screwed up his face.

“By loyalty brother, do you in fact mean servitude?” Duffy didn’t turn to indicate his amusement, but pushed against the last door before his corridor with a struggle. He felt weak in front of Jensen, because against the barrier of wood and iron, his words would do nothing but irritate.

“It feels like that…” Jensen began, wistfully, and took the door from Duffy’s shaking fingers. He knocked it inwards, waited for the bard to scuttle ahead, and then skipped through unhindered. “Only sometimes, though. I am here because I wanted to be.”

“Wanted?” this time, Duffy couldn’t help but glance across his shoulder with a cheeky grin. He advance along the corridor, passing three locked doors that lead to similar rooms to his own, until he came to a left turn in the smooth rock that snaked away to the northern tower in which he was housed. “That is woefully past tense, Jensen. It seems like I am not the only one planning to leave the throng of the Ixian Knights…” he could not help but appear pleased with him, and he made a flamboyant, overly dramatic show of flicking his lacquered hair from his eyes. He gestured royally down the corridor, and Jensen curtseyed ironically before he disappeared with a canter along the tunnel.

[Duffy]

Padding into the meagre chamber, Duffy did what came naturally to his tired body, and circled the left side of the bed. He turned, flopped, and bounced up and down on it in a star shape. He sighed, for dramatic effect, and waited for Jensen’s inevitable witty retort.

“Wasted already? That is not the bard I knew from yesteryear,” he chided. Duffy rolled his eyes.

“My right shin feels like it has just been dropped through two flights of a playhouse onto solid rock.” Which was technically true, and it would feel that way for quite some time, until he found a way to permanently remove the cursed energies that course through his limb. “The alcohol makes it all okay, though.” He added re-assuredly.

“Shame we are all out,” Jensen mock patted himself down. “Do you have any more stashed away by any chance?” he appeared leering over Duffy, eyes maddened, grin ablaze. Duffy moved to kick him in the shins, but he was far too slow. Jensen was stood by the door in the blink of an eye. “Guess not, then.” He said glumly.

“Hey, hold your horses. Look in the wardrobe,” he pushed himself upright and leant back on his pins. “I made sure to stash away the two most important things before going to see Sei.” He watched the brawler as he cleared the bed, pressed his grubby hands against the handles, and pushed them down. They clicked, popped open, and were swiftly pulled outwards by a childish bout of enthusiasm. When Duffy had seen Jensen’s face pop around his door frame, he had secretly conjured the bottle into place. It felt like he would need it.

The inside of the mahogany ottoman was dusty, mostly empty, and divided into two equal halves. The left side houses a large, human height compartment with an iron rail, for hanging garments. The right side was divided into five cubby holes, for folded clothing, boxes, and other trinkets guests might wish to bring with them on their travels. In the bottom of the left side, the short and long swords the bard had produced in the guard house were propped haphazardly against one another. Their tips were digging into the splintered wood, their simple handles pressed together on the left corner. They caught the torchlight as the doors were pulled apart. In the right side, on the third shelf, there were two bottles.

“Ambrosia Gin, you know me too well!” Jensen chuckled. He slipped the bottles from the shelf, taking one into each of his hands with much enthusiasm. They were cut crystal, elven like in design, and full with the most expensive gin one could buy on Althanas. It was the favourite tipple of the troupe, and one that had caused as much mischief as any strong liquor might. Jensen and Duffy were already imagining the almond balm slipping down their throats and dragging away the course after taste of the Firebrand.

“Look again,” Duffy prodded back at the wardrobe.

Jensen turned back to look, and settled his gaze onto the swords. “Those are the twin blades of Ares, what about them?”

“It has taken me a long, long time to work out why they never did anything other than cut and thrust. Now they are here, I think it is time they were returned to their rightful owner.” Clicking his fingers, Duffy produced his cane, and righted himself against the edge of the bed frame. “I want you to take them, and give them to whom they belong.” Duffy’s voice was dry, venting authorities, and devoid of emotion.

Jensen set the bottles onto the chest of pine and iron brackets that rested at the end of the bed and returned to the wardrobe. As soon as he picked up Isould, he felt angry. When he took Tristan into his second palm, he felt enraged. The emotions faded, but he staggered backwards in shock all the same. They were not exactly ornate weapons, nor where they particularly menacing. He swung them in clumsy arcs, and felt at ease. They were, despite their lack of beauty, perfectly formed and balanced.

“You are supposed to be one of The Nine Duffy. These belong to you.” Jensen seemed to miss the point.

“I am not a war mongered son of the Ixian Knights, Jensen. Bringing the blades here as forethought was entirely circumstantial. I had a nagging doubt when we left Scara Brae in a hurry that I would need them here, with me, today.” He shuffled around the bed to the bottles, and clicked his fingers. He felt the fatigue from overusing his ability start to set in, and yawned to disguise the fact that he could drop dead at any moment. Two small flutes appeared next to the bottles and rattled on uneasy footings. “I realise now that the Ares blades belong to Sei Orlougne. They belong to he who would wage war; they belong to the horned hero of myth.” It was a strenuous connection to the prophecy, but it worked in Duffy’s mind.

When Jensen pieced everything together, all the skeins of their conversation of the last hour, it suddenly all seemed to make a twisted sort of sense. He chuckled.

“Why is fate always fucking with us?” he chuckled louder still, and tossed the swords onto the bed. “A question I believe we can toast to!” he approached the trunk, and as Duffy measured out to reckless glugs of the rainbow tinted liquor, the enigmatic immortal felt a change within.

In the dark, a goat headed deity laughed loudly.

[Duffy]

Shaking the glass in a haphazard spiral, Duffy could only frown. Fate was, as Jensen so aptly put it, fucking with them. He did not like to admit it, but he was only just holding the threads together. One false move, one misplaced conception, and his entire grip on reality threatened to come undone.

“I am still part of The Nine,” he affirmed. He was, as far as he could tell, still very much a part of Sei’s grand prophecy. “I just think the role need to be addressed; perhaps Sei needs to look at the chronicles again.” He shrugged.

“He will not like that,” Jensen, knowing Ambrosia to be stronger than his usual tipple, took a delicate sip from the poncy glass. “He will not like that one bit.” The thought of telling Sei that Duffy was not his ‘idol of reformation’ sent a shiver down the brawler’s spine.

“I think he will have to deal with it in his own unique way.” Duffy wrinkled his lips. “In much the same way that I will have to come to terms with having to find a new home.” He did not quite believe what he was saying, but he said it all the same. Times were changing, quickly, and Duffy would no doubt have to change again and again to keep up with them.

“You have a home here you oaf!” Jensen sprang to life, his dusty jacket rippling with barely contained muscles, and an aura of aggression forming about his body. The air felt electrified. “What is wrong with the castle?”

Duffy downed the rest of his gin, much more used to it than his brother. He set the glass forcefully onto the chest, took his cane firmly into his confidence, and then strolled to the opposite wall. Stood across from the wardrobe there was a small dressed with an oval mirror. It was dusty, cracked, and long abandoned, but Duffy looked into its surface all the same. He saw a shrewd, noble, and haughty man look back at him. The face was that of Lysander Brandybuck, the Bladesinger that had fought alongside the Rangers in the furtive years of the Corone Civil War. It was an endless source of irony to the bard that the only jacket he had left that fit him was his military overcoat.

He was a soldier, running from war.

“I will not stand by Sei whilst he interferes with the affairs of others like he intends to. War, Jensen, as you know all too well makes a mockery of life.” He looked over his shoulder, eyes shining with blue inner flame. The Aria was singing in Duffy’s soul, and the melody soothed his contempt for his mentor. Sei had chided Duffy many years ago for playing people against one another, and now here he was, doing the same. “You said you wanted to stay here, do you want to come with me?” his offer came in earnest, but too sudden for Jensen to take with anything put sudden surprise.

“What?” he coughed.

“Come with me,” Duffy rose, turned, and took up his position by the chest. “I am riding out within the hour to meet the caravan on the road. I want to warn them and turn them about. Leopold will not like us using his wagon so whimsically, but I dare say he will approve of seeing Ruby sooner than he thought.”

“What wagon?”

Duffy nodded, “Wainwright was erroneous enough to forewarn us of his intentions. We evacuated the Tantalus Menagerie before he could destroy the playhouse. It, and the troupe, is about two days behind me.” They would no doubt be cold, dishevelled, and terrified. Duffy pitied them, having come so far, and gone through so much in the last month. When he turned up and broke their short lived dreams, he did not know quite how to handle it.

“So you are just going to keep running through the dark?” Jensen shrugged.

“No, I know where I will go now.” Duffy had never dreamed of having to resort to his emergency plan. When they had fought Lucian, they had operated out of an ancient castle on the waterfall cliffs overlooking Radasanth. Brandybuck Castle had served as Lysander’s base of operation during the war, before the Empire had cornered his forces on the plains outside the city. He had died in a ball of fire, his wife in his arms, and Duffy had never been able to stay in the castle for long without falling into sorrow.

“The Brandybuck Castle will always be open to you, brother.” He nodded, and Jensen returned it double.

“So I give the swords to Sei, and use this dagger, though you have not told me how to use it…and then what?” Duffy poured himself another ample measure, and held out the bottle at an angle to Jensen’s glass. He lowered it to accept the offer.

“Who knows what the future holds Jensen. These are spurious times by all means. I think we can safely say that I never intended to depart on these terms.” With a soft exhalation of gin stained breath, the bard prodded a finger at the wardrobe. “Close that, would you, it is always polite to leave a room as you found it.” A tear formed in the corner of Duffy’s right eye socket.

[Duffy]

Jensen tapped the edge of the wardrobe door, and felt the silence in the room intensify. With a casual flick of his wrist, he spun elegantly, and ran his hand through his dishevelled hair. He smelt of alcohol, sweat, and decadence. The immortal would not have it any other way, life was a cabaret, Duffy had once said, in strangely familiar circumstances.

“You intended to leave at some point, I take it?” he looked to the bard without concern, malice, or afore thought. “Or are you just mincing your words.”

Duffy nodded. “I think I always had my heart set on travelling, either with the troupe, or just to get a sense of the wider community of the world. I guess I have Wainwright to thank for that, now I have no choice.” He was to run, and he would run with all his might. “Next, I am afraid I have something to give you that are not quite as exciting as Riposte.” He shook his glass, as if the clichéd motion was his crucible, and sighed. The crystalline liquid calmed his nerves, sated his emotion, and put the man at ease.

Jensen loosened his shoulders and approached the right side of the large, but meagrely covered bed. He flopped onto it, and with his forehead cupped by his hands, he raced his thoughts to try and prepare himself for just what could be coming his way. The last time the pair had a drunken evening of revelation, they had left things poignant but brutally set against the stark backdrop of life. Given all that happened in recent months, the immortal was not sure he could take another bout.

“Do not look so disheartened, Jensen.” Duffy chuckled. He let the Ambrosia roll down his gullet with a hearty toss of the glass into his lips, and rolled his head with the sort of ecstatic relish that came with either food perfection or sexual gratification. Lacking genitals, the bard had to settle for picturing the heaven in his stomach and the fire in his heart as the liquor took its toll on his failing senses. “I want to give you advice.” A weigh dropped off the bard’s shoulders. He set his glass back onto the trunk and dug his hands into the pockets of his military overcoat. The thick wool was comforting to his cold, skeletal fingers.

“That is precisely what I was afraid of,” Jensen looked up, over his shoulder, and then flopped back onto the bard. His arms slammed back, and he formed a crooked stair on the springy mattress.

Duffy produced the letter slowly, calmly, and with the sort of reservation that came with the magnitude of the potential fallout. He had carried the folded paper with him for months, across continents, oceans, and deserts. He had tried, so very hard to get rid of it. He had stood on cliff tops, spires, and on the edge of fire pits with it in his fingers. He had shaken with nerves, screamed with frustration, and danced in agony. Whatever he did, it did nothing to relinquish his ownership of the letter he had found by chance in the Empyrean castle.

“I found this in Emprea, the night before we made to depart the country for the return journey.” The tone of his voice was not accommodating, friendly, or pleasurable for Jensen to hear. The brawler rose slowly, pushing himself up from the woollen over blanket with tight, muscular pins. “You have to promise me two things before I give it you.” There was no question in his voice, it was a firm, authority’s statement that Jensen would be hard pressed to resist.

“What is it?” he asked as he stood. He padded lazily around the end of the bed and stood opposite Duffy. “You know me fucking hate reading Duffy…”

“It is a letter, intended, I think,” he hoped, “for you.” He flicked it into his left hand like a whip. “I want you to promise me that you will not open it.” He looked into Jensen’s eyes expectantly.

Jensen frowned. “You are giving me a letter I cannot open?” he clucked. “Thanks a fucking bunch.” With the return to cussing, Duffy could only assume that the immortal was sobering up. He gestured to the last glass worth of gin in the bottle on the trunk. It was the sort of point that dispensed with curtsy, and suggested the brawler just drink straight from the bottle. “Oh, I do not mind if I do sir!” his mock noble accent made Duffy smile, but it soon faded as he watched his blood brother finish the gin that weighed in at a hundred gold a bottle.

“You cannot open it yet…” he added, his voice finally taking on some sort of emotion, warmth, and kinship.

[Duffy]

“Alright,” Jensen said with little conviction in his words. Duffy was almost certain the immortal would tear it open the second he had left the chamber, but there remained hope in his heart that their bond of brotherhood would weigh on his mind. “I promise.”

“Sure you do…” Duffy whispered sarcastically. He made a sudden motion towards the left side of the bed, to distract Jensen’s reply and give him time to get away with it. “Now,” he mumbled, “I want you to give me about a half hour head start before you tell Sei.”

Jensen twirled, jaw ajar, and heart racing. “You want me to piss Sei off?” he grumbled. If Duffy had not known Jensen any better than he did, he might have been mistaken in thinking the look of concern was genuine.

“I think it is only fair for him to know that I have decided to leave. I am not however in a position to tell him that myself,” he rummaged in the bedside cabinet, checking to see if he had left anything behind. He rolled his eyes. With a click of his cane on the stone floor, he turned to the end of the bed, and set his gaze on his discarded rucksack. “Ah,” he exclaimed, remembering that he had not had time to unpack properly.

“You are a coward,” Jensen spat. The gobbet splattered onto the floor, only to be smudged into non-existence with a well-trodden heel. “You flatter me with gifts,” he padded his jacket, “then make me do all the shitty jobs too!”

“Jensen,” Duffy began, only to stop to wheeze as he leant forwards and scooped up his satchel. “I would do the same for you. I am only not freaking out right now because we have had enough liquor between us to knock out a small army.” This was a fortunate side-effect of their respective immortality. It took considerably more liquor to get either of them drunk than any normal mortal, even though it cost them dearly to do so.

“Is it that bad?” he raised an eyebrow, bounced away from the bed, and strolled haphazard over to the doorway. His shoulder, exposed by the short sleeve leather jacket pressed against the rugged stone. Though the walls of Ixian Castle’s inner sanctum were smooth to an onyx polish, the passages had been constructed in a hurry in a bid to rush completion.

Duffy slapped his one free hand onto his thigh, and stood upright. His satchel rattled as he adjusted it over his shoulder. The sudden application of weight onto his shin brought all the pain, or at least the recognition of it flooding back. He grimaced, but took the strain off by leaning on the cane’s lacquered length. “Yes, actually, it bloody well is.”

“War is inevitable.”

“War is a choice!” Duffy snapped. His sudden flare of aggression took even Jensen by surprise, which made him step away from the frame smothered in defeat.

“I would have expected a more eloquent reasoning from you, Duff. You are a man of words, yet here you are, bereft of something to say.” The irony of Jensen defeating Duffy’s logic with oratory intellect was not lost on the bard, who could only smoulder in contempt, hunched shoulders, and an aura of self-loathing and pity.

“This war was Sei Orlougne’s choice, Jensen. As one of his captains, I have but two options available to me. I either fight blindly at his side, a puppet to his ideals, or I leave on hiatus to further my own family’s survival on a new adventure.” Though he was resolute in his choice, the prospect of finding a new home for the Tantalum Troupe did not exactly seem any easier than delivering justice, peace, and freedom to the island of Corone. “Do you understand why I have to choose my own over the Ixian Knights?”

Jensen shrugged.

“I did not think so,” Duffy scuttled forwards, ushering the immortal out of his way and down along the corridor ahead. “You can see me to the gatehouse, if you so wish, but then you have to pretend you never spoke to me.” His words hung in the air furtively for several twists and turns through the gloom. The more than walked, the more it dawned on Duffy that it would be impossible for Jensen to disguise the fact that he had waylaid any attempt by Sei to tempt Duffy to stay. Jensen, after all, was not a man to keep shiny new toys hidden from view.

“Actually, scrap that. Sei will know either way. Just tell him I bullied y-…no,” Duffy chuckled. That would not work either.

“I will tell him I found reason in your words, honesty in your departure, and hope in your decision.” The humility coming out of Jensen’s gin stained lips took Duffy aback. He had no reply for the brawler for almost ten minutes, by which time, they both had broken out into the night sky, the cold air, and the wide courtyard lined with straw that served as their amphitheatre of exodus.

[Duffy]

“Oh lord, stoppit.” Duffy said flippantly. “You are starting to sound just like me!” he added, his voice peppered with trills and dramatgicism. They clipped and clopped together over the courtyard like a pair of cantering mares, neither brother willing to spur ahead of the other. They kept a steady pace, to account for the bard’s injuries, and took deep breaths of the night air to still their swaying senses.

“I just want you to know that I appreciate all you have done for me.”

“No, really, it does not suit you,” the bard glared to his left, catching Jensen’s cheeky smile just as it faded. “Oh, fucking funny.”

Jensen’s jaw dropped. It was a display of mock surprise at the out of place cuss word that produced itself from his brother’s lips. When Duffy swore somebody somewhere had outwitted him. When it did happen, it happened with such force it engrained itself in the wood of one’s memory. With a heartfelt sigh, Jensen puffed out his chest and pointed at the tall tower on the distant wall of the courtyard. It was the gate by which Duffy had arrived, and it would be the portal through which he departed.

Their time was nearly up.

“I will come and find you, if this letter is some soppy love shit,” he said sternly, patting his pocket where the envelope had been stuffed.

Duffy chuckled. If only Jensen could have foreseen what he was going to one day discover, he would have bitten his tongue. All the same, the bard let the immortal rattle on as they approached the gate and passed through it with ceremony. The ramshackle defences, abandoned for sleep at this ungodly hour melted away on cue as the slumbering guard cranked the level to open the great portcullis. Stepping out into the wilderness, Duffy and Jensen turned to face one another, stopping thirty or so feet on the other side of the castle wall. It had been barely a few hours since former Captain Bracken had announced his arrival.

“Well, here we are at last.” Duffy said flatly.

Jensen rolled his eyes, “I mean it. I will find you. It does not matter where you hide, I will find you.” He added a glare for good measure, but relented when Duffy broke into a pallid, half hearted, and lacklustre chuckle. There was clearly more pressing matters on his brother’s mind than whatever revelations awaited him between the folds of the parchment. “God, come here you,” he stepped forwards with a bolt of speed and encased Duffy in a reluctant hug. The bard squirmed, half with pain, and half with awkward notions of distance.

They embraced for a minute or so, beneath a gaggle of manly stares from the guards in the tower, who peered out from arrow slits with misunderstanding eyes. Moustaches, torchlight, and stale bread filled the spiral staircase within alongside the jealousy of the immortal kinship the Captains shared.

“I was under the impression,” Duffy spat dust from his lips, and turned his head to one side to speak freely. His cane hung loosely by his side as Jensen practically squeezed him and picked him up. “That big boy does not in fact cry.”

He felt himself come back to earth promptly, and with a jolt of pain.

“I am not fucking crying!” he proclaimed. “I am not a fucking leaf licker,” he added, between bounced on his springy heels and slamming together of his fingerless gloves. Whilst they had sobered, the languishing after effects of their excess was taking away their bodily resistance to the cold. “It might be an age before we meet again,” which was a literal statement coming from the immortal.

“I will be back, Jensen. I am not leaving the Ixian Knights for good.” Duffy turned to the road ahead, and remembered fondly the winding curves it took through the dense tree line of Concordia. Distant echelons of evergreen, pine, and eucalyptus trees called to him, reminding him of the increasing verdant heart of the castle’s environment.

“Somebody I will return, perhaps tomorrow,” he turned back; “perhaps next week…” he paused for thought.

[Duffy]

“You do not know when you are coming back…do you?” Jensen dropped his head, let his hands hang loosely by his sides, and gave up being vibrant and resplendent in the drab cloak of midnight.

Duffy tried to think of a realistic scenario in which he could return. After tonight, he doubted that Sei would even want to see his face again. The mute seemed distracted when they met, and though he now knew why, Duffy could not help but feel as if something else was afoot. He shook his head. His blackened curls flopped over his forehead, and his shrewd smile faded into non-chalant stone.

“I really do not know. I wish I could say. I have to house the troupe, establish us elsewhere, and care for those amongst us who cannot care for themselves.” He referred to the many orphans, homeless adventurers, and theatrical vagabonds that had little experience beyond the red velvet curtains of the Tantalum. “They are my priority now, surely, as a family…” he paused, lips snapping shut with regret.

“Hey,” Jensen cracked a smile, “it is okay. Though she has passed on, I still have another woman in my life that deserves every inch of my respect.”

Duffy blinked, somewhat mortified, shivering, and bewildered.

“Hey, get your head out of the gutter punk!” Jensen stepped forwards and ribbed Duffy in the gut. He spluttered, but felt no pain from the mock insult to his body. “I am talking about Azza!” he spread his arms wide like wings and cackled. The enigmatic namesake of the immortal reared its bountiful head for the first time in an hour.

Duffy could only nod with understanding.

“I understand you have to put your family first, Duffy. Really I do. I only wish you the best of luck in running from Wainwright. That leaf licking punk will get a smack down one of these days, right?” he chuckled. It was a nervous laugh that conveyed uncertainty to the bard and a heady dose of emotion that Duffy was not used to experience from his brother. At least, he was not used to witnessing it whilst they were relatively sober.

“Oh, shit, before I forget!” Duffy slung the rucksack around to his front with a flick of his shoulder. It rustled in the half light, tinkered in the gloom, and rapidly fell open with the bard’s clumsy fingers. He dug through the cloth, books, and the trinkets of his exodus until he found what he was looking for. He produced to Jensen a fist sized bundle of red velvet, which the immortal recognised as a fragment of the curtain that surrounded the Prima Vista’s stage. He took it gingerly, and weighed it expectantly.

“What is it?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

Whilst Duffy strapped the flap of his bag shut and tossed it back onto his shoulder, he tried to pick the right words to sell his final gift well. It was to add poignancy to the content of the letter, to mould the course of history, and to hopefully give his brother a nod in the right direction when his defining moment arrived. He mouthed silent thanks to Ruby’s idea to steam the letter open with a kettle, and then re-seal it with a well forged seal stamp, and Arden’s ability to re-write ink.

“Open it.” He said flatly. He adjusted his cane in his sweaty right hand, and tried to forget how painful the return journey to the head of Leopold’s wagon would be for him. “See for yourself.”

Jensen tore at the gold thread that tied the scrap of fabric shut and careful tossed the folds to one side. When his eyes settled on the contents, they wrinkled with confusion, and his lips puckered sourly.

“It is a little gay, Duffy.” Jensen sounded woefully serious.

“That is Wainwright’s Heart. I will not bore you with the details of the immense power it holds. I will however tell you that soon, a time will come when someone close to you will reveal the truth in their heart.” Duffy paused to allow his statement to start to sink in. With a chorus of owl song drifting out of the trees, the stillness of the night lifted the moment of fever pitch and beauty. “You must present to them this necklace.” He prodded an idle finger at the exposed spidery design and the gold threads that made up the ancient relic.

[Duffy]

“Okay I will play your game of riddles,” Jensen said in defeat. He tied the cloth back over the necklace and pocketed it. It joined the letter, a duo of potential that left a burning weight in the immortal’s battered leather jacket. He had all sorts of ideas running about his gin frazzled mind, none of them entirely appealing. “Reveal my heart, do not open the letter until you feel right, and tell Sei you are a morally indignant bastard.” His tone was flat, but from the curve in his lips, he was clearly joking.

“I am so glad you remember.” Duffy replied with a flatter tone still, “do I need to write it down for you?” he raised an eyebrow in good humour, and they both burst into a chorus of chuckles, cackles, and chest puffing.

“I will manage,” Jensen guffawed.

Duffy handed his brother a letter, signed and sealed, and addressed to Sei.

There was an awkward silence for a while, before each brother instinctively stepped forwards into one another’s personal space and embraced in a bundle of cane, leather, alcohol poisoning and half formed tears running down subtle skin. They patted one another on their respective backs, hearty slaps of kinship, and then pulled away from one another.

“I am going to miss you, I hope you realise that,” Duffy jabbed his cane into the soft ground of the open road as if it were a royal declaration.

Jensen nodded. “I know.”

“When we cross paths again, I think it is about time we settled our little wager, do you not?” his eyebrow raised, but it was more with curiosity than sarcasm. They had engaged in the Citadel enough times to have gauged they were relatively well matched by now, but Duffy had seen a change in Jensen, and Jensen a change in Duffy – it would be a different battlefield when they next met. Perhaps, given their ageless bodies, it would be another age altogether before they drank by the fireside in the soft touch of night again.

“I will not hit a cripple,” Jensen almost looked hurt. “No sir,” he added. As if the clarification was not enough on its own.

Duffy smirked, “I may not be able to roll and tumble like a monkey anymore Jensen. He whipped his cane in a cross through the air, which cut the night with ease, and then set it down by his side again. He slumped onto it, though with little in the way of body language to show his discomfort. “Lysander was the greatest duellist to fight on the side of the Rangers in the early and furtive days of the war. His Recanting Orison has become my foray now.” He turned his smirk into a broader smile, and half wished he had the strength left to conjure the Katarhna to his side and show Jensen that he was no longer just a puppet for his former lives. Ruby had given him Lysander’s sword arm permanently. He had been reborn, metamorphoses, and given a new lease of life.

With the Ixian Knights no longer a safe haven for the Captain, he now started to see Wainwright’s attack as a blessing in disguise.

“Until next time, then,” he said flatly. He nodded.

Jensen nodded back, and folded his arms over his muscular chest.

“Until next time.”

Duffy turned with a slow momentum, which, after a brief show of indecision, spurred him away down the road away from the castle. The sound of his boots clipping against the rugged road was accompanied by a strike of his silver tipped cane on the wilderness of Corone. Jensen watched the bard shrink in size for almost fifteen minutes, lost in thought, before the natural curve of the road and the density of the Concordia forest that surrounded the castle stole him away into the dead of night. He could not quite believe what had just happened.

“I promise…” he repeated his earlier declaration, but dug into his pocket all the same. He felt the parchment between forefinger and thumb and slipped it out of his jacket. It felt warm, as if it were ablaze with mystery. “You should know I rarely keep promises if adventure is afoot,” he chuckled.

As he tore open the letter, Duffy smiled in the distance. He had been counting on the immortal’s inability to bide his time. Though fate had dealt him an early hand and pushed away from the home he had hoped to make his own, he felt righteous for being able to make someone else’s life better. He looked up to the night sky, and counted the stairs, longing, wishing, and praying he could see the look on Jensen Ambrose’s face when he read the contents of the letter he had found in the Emprea Castle.

Jensen Ambrose, never one to disappoint, tore it open and began to read.

His jaw dropped.

His eyes widened.

His lip quivered with flamboyant, macho style.

He did what he did best in times of trouble.

“Fuck me…” he mumbled, hands shaking, heart beating, and world turned upside down.


Spoils:

Wainwright's Riposte & Wainwright's Heart now belongs to Jensen.

Tristan & Isould now belong to Sei.

Duffy is currently on hiatus from the Ixian Knights.

-100 gold for the Ambrosia Gin.

[Silence Sei]

Hours later, Sei sat in his office, Duffy’s letter in one hand, a small cup of sake in the other. The mute hated to drink alone, and the warm sake had been cooled by now, but the Mystic was not one to waste things. His eyes carefully read each line of the letter, the gift that came with them lying upon the table he was sitting at.

Sei,

There comes a time in everyman’s life where he stands at a crossroads. Spread before him are three pathways, and one behind from whence he came. I have the choice now to follow you blindly into this war you sought to conceal, stand my ground and try and stop you, and leaving. I have no stomach left for war, not now, not with my family so distraught, homeless, and shattered.

He could understand the reluctance. After all, family was the most important thing to Sei as well. If any member of his kin had asked him to give up his incoming attack upon the empire, the mute would have done it without hesitation. However, not a single Orlouge spoke up, and the plans were made to make sure Corone was once again a land of peace. He brought himself back from his trailed off thoughts and continued to read.

So I take the road to the unknown, to find a new home that is safe until this blows over. I love you to bits, and have all the respect in the world, but I cannot stand by and watch you tear Corone apart. Perhaps you do it for the right reasons, perhaps not, it does not matter – when you are done with this madness, I will return, if you would have me.

So Duffy had indeed found out the Mystic’s true intentions. Sei sipped the drink, reflecting on his need to protect the actor and his people from any danger. He wanted them to be able to claim they had no hand in the necessary evil that Sei wrought in the country. Then, if things had taken a turn for the worst, Duffy and the others would have inherited Ixian Castle. Receiving a castle for going on a wild goose chase, either way the war went; Duffy would have been the victor.

The swords are yours. They are the Zodiac Weapon Ares. For a god of war, they are a fitting tribute to you, who would lead his people into the very heart of War itself. I have no use for them, as I am sure you noticed. A long time ago you told me what it meant to be a hero…do you remember, in The Cell tournament? I died in those flames to prove myself to you…please do not fall into similar flames just to do the same…

The visions of the Cell flashed in his mind. His swords as they pierced through the best of Duffy Bracken, the horrors that he had witnessed afterwards, even his own death sometime later in the tournament. The thought of the brutality of it all caused the Mystic to shiver. He took another sip of the cold sake, his head growing a bit woozy due to his low tolerance for alcohol.

We will meet anon.

Duffy

He put the letter on the table, looking down at the blades before him. The mute looked across the room to his bed, where his own Zodiac Weapon, the Gemini Blades, rested still. They shone with a large blue aura, a telltale sign that the swords before him were indeed one of the zodiac kin. He stood, taking his sake and walking over to one of his walls. The mute pressed his hand hard against the wood, causing the whole wall to slide underneath a barely visible slot below it.

In Sei’s secret room were a desk, a few papers, a chair, and most noticeably a large window that made up the back wall. All in all, the room was very small; he never wanted anyone to suspect that his bedroom was not where he did his most important work. He walked over to his chair, his ears filled with the sounds of the wall rising back up to hide him. Sitting down, Sei turned the piece of furniture and looked out of his window. Duffy would have been long gone by now. There was no reason to pursue.

Duffy was out of harm’s way; his family would now be the safest it could possibly be. Sei smiled as he looked to the sea of tree tops that made up Concordia forest. He raised his small glass of sake to the air before he placed it to his lips and drank the rest of it. Sei had, in his own way, ensured that Duffy Bracken and the Tantalum would not be harmed.

That in and of itself, would be one of this war’s greatest victories.

((Spoils – Sei gets Duffy’s daggers. Also, as a result for discovering another magical zodiac weapon, Sei’s own Gemini Blades now allow his doppelganger to last 5 posts, as well as gives it access to casting Octopus’ Garden))

[Revenant]

Plot (21)

Storytelling (7) – You definitely had a beginning, middle, and end to this story and followed through with it in a way that felt very fluid and solidly planned. Though there wasn’t anything in the story terribly surprising, I didn’t feel like I knew what was going to happen throughout the entire thread.

Setting (7) – You were in the castle, and the variety of scenes you had within it were well written. But though they were well written, they didn’t always add as much to the proverbial meat of the story as they could have.

Pacing (7) – Your thread progressed with a natural rhythm, but there were times when I felt that the dialogue bogged it down and it dragged a little too much.

Character (21)

Communication (8) – The communication was pretty much the main focus of this thread. Your dialogue was excellent, really doing a good job of conveying emotion and depth to the characters, but at time dragged a little too much.

Action (6) – The actions of the characters in this thread were good but were really overshadowed by the dialogue. Also, I never got a feeling of your characters increasing drunkenness over the course of the thread.

Persona (7) – You went into good depth of Duffy and Jensen’s characters through the course of the thread, but the general feeling of Sei’s character didn’t match with the general sense of character that was portrayed.

Prose (24)

Mechanics (8) – I could probably count the grammar and spelling mistakes in this thread on one hand, on the other hand, Sei’s last name is Orlouge, not Orlounge. It’s right there on his profile but Duffy got it wrong a whole bunch of times. Sei, on the third hand, got his name right. Duffy should take a lesson.

Clarity (8) – Not having read everything you’ve written together left some questions that went unfulfilled, but not enough to detract from the story in anything more than a superficial way.

Technique (8) – Good use of allusion, some foreshadowing, and enough outside references were subtly made without creating and real holes.

Wildcard (5) – A solid, well written thread.

Total: 71

Duffy Bracken receives 3994 exp and 355 gp.
Silence Sei receives 650 exp and 40 gp.

Spoils:

Wainwright’s Riposte and Wainwright’s Heart now belong to Jensen
Granted, but seeing as Enigmatic Immortal wasn’t actually a part of this thread, he must write a thread of his own to claim these items.

Tristan & Isould now belong to Sei.
See Sei’s spoils below.

Duffy is currently on hiatus from the Ixian Knights.
Uh … granted.
*shrug*
Was I supposed to say no?

-100 gold for the Ambrosia Gin.
That’s some expensive hooch! Denieded. Consider it a gift from a secret admirer.

Sei gets Duffy’s daggers.
Sei gains Tristan & Isolde, the Ares Zodiac Weapon. But since Sei isn’t Ares, they don’t function as anything more than normal blades for him should he decide to use them. They cannot be sold and can only be given away to their rightful wielder through a quest, at which point their true power can be awakened.

Also, as a result for discovering another magical Zodiac Weapon, Sei’s own Gemini Blades now allow his doppelganger to last 5 posts, as well as gives it access to casting Octopus’ Garden.
Denied since you have the weapon but not the rightful wielder to awaken their true power.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.