View Full Version : The Long Game
Open to Luned and Warpath
This thread takes place some weeks after Chasing Ghosts (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25408-Chasing-Ghost), once Resolve has returned from Fallien (Shards of Suravani (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25179-Shards-of-Suravani)), and Otto from Salvar (Business, Pleasure & Pugilism (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26770-Business-Pleasure-and-Pugilism))
The door was varnished mahogany, a rich, rust-coloured wood which gave the impression that someone had managed to put a shine on old blood. Grimhold spent a short moment examining the intricate scrollwork (and vowed that one day he would possess such a grand status symbol as this) while he ran a soft hand through his chestnut hair, then rapped smartly against the wood.
"Enter," came a voice from the other side.
Jerome Grimhold clutched the slender brass handle, thrust the door inward, and stepped into the pleasant office beyond. His eyes ached as glaring sunlight hit them, fed into the room by a series of tall, latticed windows along one wall. They illuminated a long, richly patterned carpet, leading to wide desk - mahogany again - that was suspiciously void of clutter. Sandwiched between that and a tall-backed leather chair was a man, seemingly composed of hard edges and unadulterated middle age, and next to him, a distinctly younger fellow with a lieutenant's stripes. He had slick black hair, sallow features, and was bending down to hold a muted conversation with his seated superior. Grimhold stepped up before the desk and stood to attention.
"Captain Grimhold reporting, sir," he said.
Colonel Marcus slowly rose from the seat. "Patterson, step outside for a moment," he said to his adjutant.
The lieutenant collected some papers from the desk, and stalked along the carpet to the door, which he shut softly behind him. When they were alone, Marcus sagged wearily against the leather cushioning of his chair, though Grimhold remained rigidly to attention.
"You needn't be so formal, Jerome," the colonel grumbled. "I am a friend of your father's, after all."
"As you say, sir," Jerome replied, and eased his own stance. "On that subject, have you heard how he's faring?"
"The major isn't doing so well, I'm afraid. That unfortunate business with the dwarf persists, despite what we've done to slow down procedures. As a result, your father's position is in jeopardy, unless we can effect stronger measures." Marcus stood up again. "Care for a drink? Bradbury whisky. Single malt."
Jerome nodded, and accepted a small tumbler from the man. "Thank you, sir." They both took a sip, taking their time to cradle the taste. At length, Jerome took a gulp. "I was under the impression that you want my help."
"Yes. We want you to take up the major's position in our organisation, at least until we can get him in the clear. To be honest, we have been considering extending an invitation for a while now, as your father made sure we always kept an eye on you. Until recently, we've only nudged matters here and there, greased a few cogs of progress in that great machine that is the military hierarchy... congratulations on the promotion, by the way."
"Thank you, sir."
"Mmm. However, I think you'll find the benefits of these additional duties to be much beyond anything you've enjoyed so far."
Jerome stared thoughtfully into his drink. "I assume the penalties should I refuse would be equally great...?" he said, ponderously.
But Marcus just spread his arms wide, and smiled at him in a friendly fashion. "Why on earth would you even consider saying no?"
"Pardon me. It was just idle curiousity. I would be interested in any case, even if it weren't for the fact that it helps my father." Jerome sighed. "I accept, of course. But what do you need of me?"
"Someone close to the ground. Someone who can carry out our orders in the rapidly changing field without having to refer back up the chain of command, and who can perform the actual legwork. You'll act as a buffer between the rest of us and the results of these actions, but as I said, the rewards..."
"Indeed, sir. Anything specific in mind?"
He was answered by the ruffle of paper. Marcus pulled out a crisp sheet of the stuff, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and started to scratch away. "The lead investigator is someone we're currently working on, as it's a matter of some political finesse. However, there are a few key witnesses we want you to deal with. We can afford to be a bit more... crude in our methods with them. These two in particular."
The colonel quickly blotted the page and passed it over. There wasn't a great deal on it, but the contents caused Grimhold to frown, and Marcus gave him a strange look.
"Something the matter?" Marcus prompted.
"No..." said Jerome at last. "No. I just thought I may have encountered one of them before. I feel like I should remember."
"Something to think about, perhaps," replied the older man. "Commit the contents to memory as soon as possible, and then dispose of the paper. It would also be best if we kept communication between ourselves to a minimum in this troubled time."
"Yes, sir." Jerome took the cue, and nodded his assent.
"We're glad to have you, son," said Marcus. "And good luck."
The library had felt so empty lately. There were times Luned didn't mind this; the quiet made work easier. But at night, when that work was all she had for company, she found herself dwelling on things best left alone in the dark.
It had been some time since Luned had felt truly bone-weary. She supposed she could have been grateful on that count, but to dredge up the physical and emotional exhaustion which followed Duffy's death sapped any hint of positivity from her entire being so easily these days. She felt the loss of an invaluable comrade keenly, but even more painfully, she watched helplessly as it wore down some of her closest friends.
Chronicle had a revolution on their hands –– with plans already in motion, they couldn't afford to grieve. With Leopold busy with what she assumed was an attempt to contain his inconsolable wife, it had been left up to Luned to replace Duffy in their triad and keep things moving. She acknowledged this with a sense of duty and without complaint, as it was the least she could do for her friends. But she was tired, so very, very tired, and her thoughts kept circling back to the one person she wondered if she'd been stupid enough to lose in life.
If there was one good thing she could credit to the tragedy, it was that she would never take her friendship with Resolve for granted ever again.
One late evening, after a day touched by premature spring, Luned found herself down in the kitchen brewing yet another cup of chamomile. She stood against the counter and watched the courtyard thaw, glittering droplets catching the moonlight as they fell from ice that had collected on the roof. She watched for a long while, losing track of time between sips of tea until she realized there was nothing left in her mug.
As she set it back on the counter to abandon it, she hesitated. Someone had stepped into the courtyard from the gated corridor which led to the street; she always kept that locked, and very few had a key. For a moment she wondered if it was Flint, but no, that couldn't be right –– he wasn't to arrive until tomorrow, and the shadow-obscured figure stood far too narrow. Then who…?
Without warning, it vanished, and Luned drew her heavy robe tightly around herself to soothe the prickle of goosebumps. She stepped back, then suddenly realized there was a new presence behind her.
"Hello, Lune."
The scribe spun in place to see a girl several years younger than she, copper complexion deepened from weeks under desert sun. Even in the pale light of the small lantern on the counter, the silk of her Fallieni tunic shone brilliant in all the subtle shades of sunrise. Her presence filled the kitchen with exotic perfume and smokey incense, warm and familiar and so wonderfully welcome.
"You're back," Luned gasped, eyeing her friend. "And you're… different."
Indeed, Resolve had changed in her time in Fallien. Once sparse markings on her skin had seemingly multiplied, scoring a fresh design which blossomed white from her chest and down her arms like creeping vines. Most remarkably of all, her once pale blue eyes held the slightest influence of red, tinting them to a strange lavender.
"A bit," the exorcist smiled. "Do you have time to catch up?"
"Always."
"It's good to be home," Anvil sighed.
Otto grunted in the affirmative, though without much conviction. Most of his attention instead lay towards the steel broadsword he held, angled so it caught the different points of lamplight. He rubbed it down with a cloth every now and then, but it already gleamed magnificently; the warped reflections of the wicks and hearth stood out crystal sharp and yellow against a backdrop of inky black. It was largely free of ornamentation, except for the symbol of the CAF stamped upon the pommel and the strange, almost rope-like design on the crossguard. It looped and entwined in the middle, like a knot beneath the blade.
The orc held it out before him in both hands, squared his feet, and whispered something at the weapon.
"Doturogat," he muttered.
He stood there, stock-still, staring expectantly at the blade. Yet as the seconds turned into minutes, nothing appeared to happen. The coals dimmed, though they lent little enough light to the forge to begin with, and a patch of shadows shifted curiously around one corner of the building. Otto remained standing there, watched by a mangy grey cat half-hidden in the shadows and dust, until a good few minutes had passed. Then he suddenly sagged, as though the weight of the sword was dragging him down. He lifted it back up with trembling arms and lay it to rest on a nearby bench, and took a seat for himself.
Acmon spoke from the corner, in a voice like buckling sheet metal. "You're getting better with that."
"It's lasting longer, yes," Otto replied. He wiped his sweaty brow, leaving behind a greasy black smear in the process. "Almost five minutes by my count, and it was more... absolute."
"Good. I was worried your skill would dull during our trip. Playing wainwright and farrier offered little in the way of challenge."
Otto nodded and picked up a lukewarm mug of tea from the bench. As he did so, his eye caught on a small stack of sealed letters and envelopes by the side. That had been another thing to come of the CAF-sanctioned excursion, courtesy of a few strings pulled by his friends in the Chronicle and interested parties in the Trading Company: the mail had piled up while he was away, and though he rarely received much by the way of letters in any case, there had been a few waiting for him upon his return. He sifted through them until a familiar hand caught his eye and made him freeze. He sat there for a little while, as still as when he had held the sword, then careful opened up the envelope and unfolded the letter within.
Dear Mr Bastum,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that your voyage from Salvar passed without too
much incident. We are living through sad times, and I have come to believe we must treasure our
friendships while they last.
I write to you in order to extend to you an invitation for another one of our dinner parties, to be
held Tuesday evening from six. We would be greatly honoured if you could make time to attend, and
we look forward to the pleasure of your company.
Kindest regards,
Luned Bleddyn
Otto stared at the page for slightly longer than was necessary, and the first of increasingly troubled thoughts began to ferment in his brain. The wording was a sort of code, with the actual meaning to be gleaned from the thinly-veiled subtext. Otto wondered why Luned bothered with it in her letters to him, as the image of the orc being invited to pseudo-posh dinner parties was absurd enough to make anyone immediately suspicious. But the gist was clear enough: she had called a meeting, and refusal to attend was not an option. It suggested dire news.
What had happened in his absence? His first thought was that their plan had been discovered - but no, here he was, back in the CAF forge, and not the dungeon beneath the keep. The next thing that came to mind was not so easily dismissed, and it filled him with an unshakeable sense of anxiety.
Did it have something to do with Resolve?
Not now, he prayed. Not so soon after what happened in Salvar. He had tried to put the feeling to rest, but a sort of hollow, gouging bitterness scraped away inside his chest as he thought about his time with the Berevar orcs, and before that, his increasingly worried search for the girl. The anger was only compounded by the fact that he still felt concerned about her.
Otto shot up out of his seat. "Come on," he said to the lurking spirit. "We have a lot of work to do."
He was not going to commit the night to brooding over such things. Not again.
It took hours to describe the wonders and perils of Fallien's exotic landscape, how it felt to finally meet her father, and the highs and lows of her Astakan training. They sat together in the parlor until the first glimmer of sunrise brightened the cold windows, Luned curled up on one end of the sofa, Resolve sprawled across the rest. She'd strewn her legs across her friend's lap and laid back against the cushions, her reluctance to move betraying just how starved she'd been for affection in her time away. The girl basked cat-like under Luned's quiet attention.
"Was it everything you'd hoped?" the scribe asked, her voice gentle as the yawning sun softened shadows in the cozy room.
Resolve shook her head. "I… I don't know. It wasn't what I expected," she admitted, as if in defeat. "I made a mistake in trying to use my power without guidance, Lune. An unforgivable one. We were able to right some of it, but… as much as I've learned, I feel like all this has accomplished is make me realize just how little I really do know. I'll never catch up to everyone else."
Luned smiled wistfully. "Bleddyn has always said that to acknowledge one's own ignorance is a sign of true wisdom."
The girl groaned, unappreciative of the aged librarian's insight, and then they both fell into pensive silence for a long moment. Eventually, a bird whistled somewhere outside. "I missed you," Resolve finally sighed.
"I missed you, too," Luned replied easily. "And I'm sorry to have let that rift grow between us."
"Me, too." Resolve smiled in relief, months of discord finally washed away.
Well, not quite. "Resolve… I won't ask you to like Flint, but I hope you can at least learn to tolerate him… for my sake."
The mention of that name earned melodramatic disgust from the exorcist. "He's not here now, is he?" Upon Luned's shake of the head, she relaxed again, perhaps partly sulking. "Fine. I'll think about it."
"We really should get some sleep," the scribe insisted, patting the girl on the knee. "Are you free in the evening? I'm hosting a dinner here and I'd really like you to come. It's… well, it's important."
"I'll try," Resolve considered halfheartedly. She had priorities. "To be honest, I was hoping to hunt down Otto."
Luned blinked at the mention of the orc. "Funny thing, actually –– he's to be our guest of honor."
This piqued her interest. "Oh? How's that?" Resolve finally sat up, releasing Luned from the prison of her long legs, and drew them under her as she leaned in. "This is a Chronicle thing, isn't it?"
"You'll see," the scribe smiled mysteriously, then she reached out and thoughtfully brushed some dark strands of hair from the girl's face. "I didn't realize you two had become such good friends."
Resolve chewed her lip. She'd been busy enough in Fallien that the implications of Otto's silence hadn't settled in until now. At this point she realized, quite unhappily, that she had reason to worry. "Did… did he ask after me while I was gone?"
It was Luned's turn to have her interest piqued, and her brow lifted just slightly as she nodded; never in a hundred years would she have expected this. Considering the exorcist's past interests largely consisted of pretty girls and even prettier boys, an orc was a fairly glaring outlier. "Once, before he left to accompany Leopold on a mission to Berevar," she replied, suppressing a grin of amusement. "He's only returned just recently, I haven't seen him since."
"I ran out of time to say goodbye because we were in such a rush to leave," Resolve explained, squeezing a pillow to her chest. "I left him a note, told him that he could contact me through you… but he didn't." Even just saying it hurt.
Luned wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. "Don't over think it," she advised, coaxing them to their feet so she could guide her to bed. "You've both been busy, but that just means you'll have all the more to talk about when you see him again tomorrow."
Sunlight bloomed a little stronger, rolling out across the rest of the waking city. It struck the bleak grey battlements of the eastern garrison which sat upon a gentle slope, and built up until it finally overflowed into the expansive yard beyond. The interior was was as dull as the walls, a carpet of heavily-beaten dust and dirt spotted with the odd stone building. There were already figures down there, roused since before the crack of dawn, each one crimson-clad and sporting at least a faint glimmer of metal. Some moved in formation while others made shifting rows and sparred with each other. Small groups would frequently split away and head out the gate, to replace the incoming patrols.
Time passed, enough that the sun almost reached its zenith. Somewhere, atop the tall keep in the middle of the fortress, a bugle sounded over the parapets. Otto picked his sparring partner up off the ground by a dusty arm, then the two of them fell in line with the rest of their company, each one facing forward towards the keep. All around them, the other units were doing much the same.
The bugle called out a few more slow notes, melancholy in their simplicity, and eventually faded into silence. After a brief pause, the shouts of NCOs filled the yard, answered by the single unified movement of a few hundred soldiers saluting with military precision.
"Dismissed!" the drill sergeants shouted back, and the organised masses broke away in a tangle for their respective destinations.
For the most part, this consisted of the barracks' spacious canteens. Otto was buffeted through the door by the press of hungry bodies, and barely had time to grab some crockery from the stack before he had been pushed past it. The queue shuffled lamely along after that point, only as fast as the cooks were able to dole out rations. It took a few minutes, but Otto finally sat himself down at a long, stained bench with the rest of his squad, a bowl of stew in one hand and a stout rye loaf in the other.
A blond half-elf to his right pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it over to the orc.
"Our work orders for the day," said the slim fellow, while he tore off a hunk from his own loaf and dipped it in the steaming glop. "Plus their point of origin."
"Thanks, Orlannes," Otto murmured distractedly. As his eyes scanned down the hastily scribbled note, he did his best to block out the background pandemonium and focus on the words before him. "Repairs and standard-issue replacements for First and Third Company... blimey, a baton as well? Kingsley must have got that promotion after all..."
Orlannes shrugged. "Probably. Still don't quite know why you're interested in where our stuff ends up. It's not like we ever see it again, in any case."
"Simple professional pride, I suppose." Otto folded the note back up and returned it to his colleague. "You might as well hold on to this. I've been granted the night off."
"Oh, aye?" Orlannes probed. When Otto looked over, the half-elf had a wide grin plastered across his face. "You must have a bit of catching up to do with a certain someone now you're back, mm?"
"Yeah," Otto replied. "Something like that."
Warpath
03-10-14, 07:29 PM
“There’s a new wreath in the foyer,” Agnie informed him.
“I saw,” Flint said. After a moment of hesitation, he added: “It looks lovely.”
He was relieved when the mad little fae beamed at him delightedly. She was apparently oblivious to his deadpan tone, which was a boon. She had developed a habit of announcing every new trinket and gewgaw she’d purchased with his money. He, in turn, humored her by acting as if he appreciated her choices.
In truth, her abilities were invaluable. He didn’t miss the money, but he would sorely miss Luned without an easy means of traveling to and from Radasanth. It hadn’t been easy to regain Agnie’s affection since he and Luned trashed her parlor in a brawl, but between his funds and Luned’s social graces, the trio had been able to reform a chilly business arrangement.
So he paid the minimum due, took the tour, politely refused tea, and excused himself. It was not an unfamiliar process at that point, but he was still relieved when the door closed behind him and he found himself in a clean, well-lit stairwell.
“Oh, hello!”
Flint raised his eyes, and found himself face-to-face with Agnie’s neighbor: a compact, voluptuous brunette in a loud dress. For some reason Rosie found him remarkably amusing, and he understood she was a friend of Luned’s so he made an effort to seem normal.
“Off to the library?” she asked politely, sliding her key into the door.
“Indeed,” Flint said as he closed Agnie’s door behind him. He knew if he opened it again, he’d find naught but brooms and buckets. He tried not to let that bother him. “I understand there is to be a social function.”
“Oh really!” Rosie began to push her door open, but stopped in thought. “I wonder why I wasn’t invited.”
Flint tensed, and thought of all the reasons he shouldn’t have mentioned the meeting. Socializing was dangerous. “I believe it is a business…thing.”
Flint almost smiled and nodded to himself. It was a smooth recovery, he thought.
“Oh! Well, fair enough,” Rosie said, paused a second, and then suddenly began speaking in rapid-fire: “Oh! Once you and Luned are finished with all that, you should stop by Moody’s before you go! We’ll make a night of it, have some singing and dancing, we’ll invite everybody. Oh that reminds me, would you be a peach and ask her about Resolve? It’s been ages, I’m so worried about the girl, I could really do with some news. Will you ask her for me?”
“A peach. Er, yes. I will ask. About Resolve and…and dancing.”
“You’re sweet,” Rosie gushed, bustling inside. “Bye now! Give Luned my love.”
“Yes,” Flint said, and he exhaled slowly when she waved and closed the door.
Quickly, before he could run into more social acquaintances, Flint hurried down the stairwell and out onto the street around the corner from Moody’s. He left it behind at a brisk pace for fear of running into any more of Luned’s friends, but when there was a fair bit of distance between him and the pub he let himself return to a more leisurely pace. Or, at least, as leisurely as Flint ever walked, which was really more of a march.
It was a cool morning muffled beneath a light haze, but the newly risen sun was piercing it admirably. The brute wore hulking leather boots and loose military pants in the Aleraran style, full of pockets and hidden pads, and he wore no coat over a thin white shirt. He was accustomed to the frigid conditions in Rubble Town now, where the weather mages did not bother to work their magic. Radasanth’s chill, thus juxtaposed, seemed downright tropical.
He understood that Agnie could have teleported him directly to the library, but Flint had not yet taken her up on that. He liked these walks and the chance to acclimate to the city – to relish in suddenly being somewhere warmer and quieter, safer and saner. It was disingenuous to leap from the chaos of Knife's Edge right into Luned’s sanctuary, to go from Salvar’s Flint to Luned’s without a period of transition.
He arrived at the gate and produced his key, and then turned and locked it again once he was in the courtyard. There were birds singing above and Flint thought of Bleddyn’s finches, but they wouldn’t be back for a few months yet. The thoughts, in tandem, made him frown. He wondered if he could buy bird seed and sneak into the old man’s study without Luned finding out.
The library was quiet, and when Flint announced himself there was no answer. Being paranoid by nature, Flint checked the windows and the door to the scribe’s room, which was closed, but did not concern himself very much. She was generally awake to meet him, but in times like these she tended to throw herself headlong into work and lose sight of the sun.
That was fine.
Flint slipped out of his boots and padded into the kitchen to quietly make tea. It was an automatic process now, the tea was here, the mugs here, the kettle there. His hands worked while his mind looked ahead to a warm bed and a sleepy young woman, and he was not at all adverse to the idea of taking a nap with his face buried in her hair. He put two mugs on a tray and balanced it easily on one hand, walked back to her room, and silently eased the door open so he could slip inside.
There was Luned, stretched out beneath the covers, a halo of hair having worked itself loose from its braid to frame her face and the content smile she wore in dreams. Flint was ready to set the tray down, slip out of his shirt, and slide in beside her, except he stopped when he realized someone had already done that.
The scribe was not alone. There was a dusky-skinned body alongside hers, narrow but muscular. The usurper’s face was buried in Luned’s neck so he could only see a mop of black hair, but the shoulder was most certainly bare, as was the long thigh that snaked out from under the sheets to wrap possessively around Luned’s legs.
Flint blinked. Luned stretched and sighed contentedly, blinking her eyes open to look at him. “Oh, Flint,” she said, dazed and pleased all at once. And then the rest of her situation occurred to her and her eyes widened. “Flint!”
She tried to jerk upright, but her companion whined and dragged her back down into bed, and Luned struggled, giving Flint her best and most awkward smile. “It’s…it’s um…Rez, would you please.”
Resolve whined some more and lifted her head, blinking through a veil of her own hair. She looked at Flint, then immediately flopped back down onto her pillow again, at which point Luned gave her a fierce kick, a shove, and shouted her name. “What is the problem?” Resolve growled.
She lifted her head again, and this time made eye contact with Flint, who blinked in perfect incomprehension. The exorcist froze as her eyes widened, and then she twisted in bed, using one hand to pull the sheets tight to her chest while she grabbed a mug from the bedside table and threw it viciously in Flint’s direction, all the while screaming “Eww!” a few times in rapid succession.
Flint’s free hand snatched the projectile out of the air effortlessly, and he added that mug to the pair already on the tray. The liquid that had been in that mug, however, splashed on the far wall behind him.
He pointed at Resolve sternly. “You are cleaning that up.”
The day grew longer. For Otto and Keeves, it had meant a patrol down sweltering streets, surrounded by brilliant white buildings which forced them to squint against the glare. As the sun was almost directly overhead, the only respite came in the form of a gentle sea breeze funneled through the streets. By the time it had reached them, it had added so many nuances of city life to its original cargo of salt and fish-stink that Otto was almost compelled to shield his nose as well as his eyes. Young Keeves, on the other hand, might have been completely unfazed. It was hard to tell if the scowl adorning his face was the result of his sustained squint, or if it was simply one of his selection of dour resting expressions.
They hadn't said a word to each other the entire time. Otto preferred it that way.
Now, he was out on the streets for the second time, rinsed free of the sweat and dust of a day's work and garbed in civilian's clothes. Among the few things he had kept on his person were his badge, tucked away in a pocket, his dagger, secured at his belt, and of course his smithing hammer. He was very careful to take that particular item with him wherever he went, for fear that someone else might come across it. Not that he was worried about it getting stolen, as such. No, it was better for everyone involved if he kept the thing out of anyone else's reach.
The various street-side buildings were no longer so harshly lit, but tinted softly with tulip hues. Though their rising edifices blocked a clear line of site to the horizon, Otto could see a fractured neon sunset reflected in the upper storey windows, each one a mismatched jigsaw-piece of the whole. It offered the orc a serene distraction - until he felt his foot land in something unpleasantly soft. After he had done scraping the sole off as best he could on the kerb, he muttered a few choice oaths under his breath and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the cobbles. By the time he turned from the thoroughfare into a quiet backstreet, his feet guided along a shortcut, the light had dimmed considerably.
He walked on for about half a minute, then swore again.
He had gotten into the habit of keeping attuned to iron while outside the forge. It was another means of staying aware of his surroundings, particularly the bits he couldn't see, and he had begun to form a clearer picture of the sorts of things Radasanth's populace carried about their person. Tradesmen with their tools were a common enough sight at practically any hour, except of course during curfew. And almost everyone carried a knife of one sort or another, a useful little implement in a variety of situations. Actual weapons, now - such as daggers - were not as common, although by no means were they rare; you couldn't always put your faith in the watch, so many citizens had learned to rely on themselves to handle trouble.
It was just suspicious that at least one such dagger had been following him since he'd stepped outside the garrison gates.
Now he could pick out three of the weapons, each one spaced far enough apart to suggest individual owners. Though he hadn't sensed more than one before, they now moved close together and in unison. Otto supposed the limited visibility in these winding lanes had forced each one to close the gap, so that they didn't lose their quarry. Still, they seemed happy to keep their distance and wait for a more secluded locale in which to make their final move. Unfortunately for Otto, he knew one of those was indeed coming up: a T-junction where the relatively wide street intersected with a tunnel-like alley between the houses. He tightened his woolen coat about his shoulders and continued to stare dead ahead, while the three bright points of iron bobbed a little way behind him.
Once he reached the junction, he took the turnoff leading away from the library, and ran.
He could sense his assailants had also picked up the pace a little, but they soon fell out of range. There was a flimsy little wooden gate ahead and on his right; it probably led into someone's backyard, from where it would be a matter of fence-hopping his way to freedom. Otto changed tack and kicked the gate in hard enough that one of the rusty hinges gave out.
Back on the street, the three drab-clothed men glanced at each other when they heard the crash. Their shared look lasted only for a moment, and then they were sprinting around the corner, down the deepening dark of the alley and barging through the still-shuddering gate. They stopped there to mill about uncertainly upon a small stretch of damp lawn, surrounded on three sides by stout brick walls and the sheer face of a simple two-storey house on the other. A small birdbath in the centre caught a gently rippling bowl of pink sky on its surface.
One of the men signaled for stillness. The other two froze, and their eyes scanned along the direction pointed out by the first man's finger.
"No other tracks," muttered the first, as the three of them stared at the pristine grass. "He didn't come this way."
Just then, and on the edge of hearing, they fancied they heard the receding sound of running footsteps. But by the time they had rushed back out, stillness and shadows had settled thick upon the alley once again. The three men stood there and peered into the murk.
"We'll not pick him up again," said one at last. "Not tonight."
But they tried, anyway.
"Well, at least it went better than I expected," Luned mused as she set the table. "Neither of you ended up concussed or bleeding this time. I'd call that progress."
"Or dead," Flint recalled their first fateful meeting during the Lornius Corporate Challenge. Their team had faced Resolve's in the first round and the exorcist had deemed him her arch-nemesis since, convinced that he was the sole source of the growing distance between herself and the scribe. She'd been partly right, and to her credit, it was somewhat easier to cope with a failing friendship with a scapegoat to pummel. At this point, they had engaged in fisticuffs thrice, and he had yet to get the best of her. He owned up to a little disappointment that, if Luned had anything to do with it, he'd never get the chance to even the score. To him, it had become a game of sorts.
"Exactly." Upon completing her chore, Luned stood next to the tall wingback chair at the head of the table and looked around the study. Over time, she'd organized the clutter and packed it away with utmost care, just in case its owner returned to claim it. The top of the large desk was clean and polished for the first time in eighty years, its meticulously shined surface reflecting early evening sunlight from the large windows behind it. Both of them still couldn't help but imagine the white-bearded enigma sitting there, poring over parchment with a posse of hungry birds on the windowsill for company. "It still feels weird in here without Bleddyn," she sighed.
"Where is he now?" Flint asked, stepping over to the chess set in the corner to right a pawn which had fallen on its side.
The scribe frowned. "I haven't heard from him in weeks. I think he's gone to Eluriand but didn't want to worry me."
Flint thought carefully before responding. "It sounds to me that he is making peace with his past while he can. He knows what he is doing," he reassured her, "and so do you. Your time and energy is best spent worrying on other things, such as where that strange friend of yours has run off to."
"Oh, I'm not concerned about that," Luned laughed softly. "She'll turn up as soon as our guest does."
Resolve
03-11-14, 11:40 AM
With the sun already low in the sky, the breeze bore hints of a true winter night's chill, and Resolve found herself shivering for the first time in ages. She wrapped her arms around herself, willing what meager warmth she had left back into her core.
From where she sat, she could see much of Radasanth, the waterfront a thin glimmer in the distance. Resolve had discovered this sanctuary many years ago, soon after Luned had adopted her as student and she earned free reign over the library. It was an odd structure with nooks and crannies she imagined Bleddyn had planned purposefully to store his vast collection of artifacts, but many of which remained empty. She'd claimed one as her own over time, a neglected corner on the top floor where the window offered quick access to the roof. Today, she remained on the sill, the window and her mind opened to the fresh air.
Resolve had been trying to meditate, though with questionable success. Learned in Fallien, it had saved her from herself a handful of times during training. But here, away from guidance and discipline, taking some time for herself had only encouraged her to stew with her worries in a more concentrated fashion. She simmered on that windowsill, knees squeezed to her chest as she glared out over the cityscape.
She'd made a sort of mental truce with Flint at Luned's insistence, but the girl knew how obvious it had been that her heart wasn't in it. After a grumbled apology for throwing stoneware at his head, she'd abandoned the library for the day, intent on checking in with Rosie and finishing settling in at her flat. Except, without thinking, she'd started on the long way home, her subconscious sending her on the routine path which circled by the watch house. Shockingly unlike herself, she allowed her anxiety to get the best of her and she ended up avoiding the place –– and Otto, along with it.
That anxiety had grown as a sickness in her center, but she still couldn't help herself from waiting for his arrival. As it neared six o'clock, Resolve reached out with her sixth sense from her high perch, tracing the streets for his presence. Before long, she found him, and she held onto his signature as he approached.
Why was he running?
Concern banished everything else she felt. Resolve slipped off the sill, closed the window behind her, and vanished.
A split second later, she found herself down on the streets, tucked away in an alley. A familiar figure was just huffing past and, after steeling herself with a deep breath, the exorcist took off after him. It felt good to run, her body warmed by increased circulation and mind cleared by the rush.
Everything would be fine. She could do this.
"Otto!"
He didn't seem to hear her. She pushed herself, quickly closing the gap between them. They were only a couple blocks from the library now.
"Otto!" Resolve caught up, the orc saw her, and he staggered to a halt. Queasiness quickly replaced the adrenaline as she realized he was not particularly pleased to see her. "What's wrong?"
He stared at her as he caught his breath, then glanced behind him. No one appeared to be following; he'd escaped range of their iron, and hopefully their ability to track him as well.
The girl's brow crinkled with worry. "Did something happen?"
"––Running late," Otto finally replied, "for dinner. At the library."
"Me, too." She stared back, the tension palpable, then scrambled to somehow normalize the situation. "Can I walk with you?"
He blinked, nodded, and turned to go. Resolve followed, and it took her some painfully quiet minutes to scrape up an attempt at conversation. "Luned said you just got back from Salvar," she said.
"Mm," Otto confirmed.
"How was it?"
"Cold."
They rounded a corner and the library came into sight, its bleak gray facade dominating the side street. Resolve held the gate for him, and as they passed through the arch which led to the courtyard, she reached out to grasp his forearm. He stopped and glanced back at her, albeit with reluctance. The deepening shadows made him look tired and, as she looked up at him, it took her a moment to find her words.
"After dinner, do you think…?" she trailed off.
"We shouldn't keep them waiting." He slipped his arm from her grasp, stepping away and into the courtyard. Only a small amount of snow remained in the flowerbeds, dead foliage climbing in skeletal arms up the well of stone. Otto passed through and into the open kitchen door, where Luned and Flint waited.
The next moments passed in a flurry of introductions and final preparation. "So glad you could make it," Luned smiled to Otto as he walked in. "This is Flint," she gestured to the man who tended the fire. "I think I've mentioned him before."
From Resolve's descriptions of the brute, Otto had imagined rather a grotesque monster; instead, he found someone impossibly muscled, but still very much human. He offered his hand, which Flint accepted in a strong shake. "Good to put the name to a face," Otto greeted him.
"Could you please bring this to the table? Careful, it's hot," Luned interrupted, handing Flint a covered dish swathed in cloth. "And Otto," she captured the orc's attention, "would you mind?" He took the basket of bread from her and allowed her to shoo him into the hall, where Flint led him to the study. She followed shortly thereafter, and Resolve crept in behind her.
"As much as I look forward to hearing about your adventure in Berevar, Otto, I'm afraid I'll have to cut to the chase," Luned said as they settled in around the table. "We have a lot to talk about tonight."
He nodded in understanding, shifting in the chair at the head of the table. He hadn't expected to be the center of attention. "Chronicle business?"
"Yes." Luned considered her words carefully for a moment. "Forgive me for being so straightforward, but after some discussion, Leopold and I were hoping you'd take Duffy's place in our little trinity. We have a lot of respect for you, Otto. There's no one else we'd trust more to help us run Chronicle."
Otto just about choked on his wine, unprepared for such a question. "I'll have to think about it," he deflected.
"I understand," Luned smiled. "Please know that we would never hold it against you for declining. Take all the time you need to consider it, and if you decide to accept, we'll make it official with Leopold present. Until then, however… there's one other thing I'd like to ask of you. I'm afraid it's a rather big thing, but know the same conditions apply –– we would never, ever want you to feel obligated to do something if you aren't truly up for it."
From the other end of the table, Resolve sat in silence, watching as Otto's face contorted in hesitant curiosity.
Luned glanced to Flint, then back to their guest. "As you are already aware, Chronicle plans to… 'handle' what remains of the Assembly," she began. "Your affiliation with CAF makes you an invaluable connection, as you can imagine. We hoped we could convince you to help us infiltrate their security. This means we'd need you to go in sooner than later to find out what we're dealing with," she clarified. "Then we can use that information to make sure the main event goes as smoothly and peacefully as possible. With your help, we may be able to avoid bloodshed, and I truly believe that potential is worth the risk."
"Yes, well," Otto replied, "bloodshed's how Corone got into this mess to begin with. Ethics aside, assassination might just give the remaining Assembly more grounds to consolidate power."
He spoke to Luned, but aimed for cordiality by acknowledging the others with an occasional and carefully blank-faced glance in their direction. Resolve's meal sat untouched as she continued to stare at him between gleaming candlesticks, and was at odds with Flint, who was instead calmly working his way through the starters and appeared more or less oblivious to the taut atmosphere. Luned nodded at the orc's sentiment, and took a sip from her wineglass.
"You understand, then," she said, setting the drink down on the linen tablecloth. She shot him an enquiring look. "While we're on the subject, how is your other work progressing?"
Otto tried to avoid Resolve's increasingly piercing glare as he answered. "Good. I've pushed the effect's duration up to five minutes, and it's strong as ever."
"How many have gone out?" Flint asked, apparently of his soup.
"I can't say, exactly," Otto replied, turning to the man. "But I would guess about one third of the Assembly guard have been issued at least one item so far. We're lucky it's not a job that command just rotates soldiers through, and that they have their own standard-issue equipment which stays in the department. Otherwise it'd go out into the city watch as quickly as it went in."
"Risk?"
Otto shook his head. "None, as far as I can tell. It was tricky finding a way to arrest speech and still allow for breathing, but I've managed to-"
"No." Something close to a scowl flittered across the bald man's face. "To us."
"Ah. Well, I've taken pains to shield the spells from sight, but... the sooner we act, the better."
Luned had, by now, begun to direct uncertain looks between Otto and Resolve. "Well, you may have a chance to do just that," she pressed on, letting the matter lie for the time being. "We need to start figuring out guard placement, patrol schedules and the general layout of the Assembly. We think you'd be the best man for the job, for obvious reasons, but you won't act alone. Resolve's talents are- oh, dear. Here, use mine."
Luned passed her serviette over to the orc, who was furiously mopping up the puddle from his spilt mug. It had been his bad luck to reach for the handle when Luned mentioned who he would work alongside, but between the two cloths, Otto managed to get the puddle under enough control to stop it spreading.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Don't worry yourself about it," Luned replied. "I had planned to do some laundry tomorrow in any case. Please don't feel pressured into agreeing, if it concerns you this much-"
Otto grunted and shook his head again. "It's... not that," he said, growing hot under Resolve's continued stare. "I'll do it."
Luned smiled in reply, then leaned over and patted his hand. "Thank you," she warmly intoned, before pulling away. "Perhaps it would be better if we move away from such talk for now. We have all night to discuss this, after all."
It was now several hours in, and things hadn't much improved.
The candles were now stubs, and the tablecloth had become slightly more spotted after the main course. Resolve had, at last, grudgingly attacked her meal, though her uncharacteristic silence was making Luned about as upset as her lavender stare was making Otto. Flint appeared to be the only one at ease, perhaps because he was devoting the majority of his attention to the food; the man seemed to have found a sort of tranquility amongst the peas, which Otto could only envy him for.
It was clear that no amount of smalltalk nor strategy planning would defuse the atmosphere. So, once the plates had been scraped clear and the bones picked clean, Luned flashed a brittle smile at the table and stood up.
"I'll go sort out the pudding," she cheerfully exclaimed. "Flint, would you help me with these plates?"
Otto made to push his chair out. "I can help-"
"Nonsense!" Luned interrupted him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You're our guest of honour. Flint would be more than willing to lend a hand."
Flint looked up from some lingering carrots. "Hmm?" he said.
"Grab the plates, Flint. Please."
The man nodded, stood, and began to pile the spent crockery alongside Luned. Otto settled uncomfortably back down in his chair, his eyes fixed first on the rapidly moving hands of his hosts, then their retreating backs, and finally, the paneled door which closed firmly behind them. Now it was just him and Resolve, alone and sitting opposite each other at the table. He tried to find something to occupy his attention; an interesting painting on a wall, or the lace pattern at the edge of the table cloth.
Then, as quick and sharp as fracturing glass, an urgent thought burst through the fogged memories of their awkward meal. It didn't matter how he felt - this was something he had to share with Resolve. His eyes shot up and, finally, met hers.
"There's something important I need to tell you," he quickly stammered out.
Something like hope glimmered in her eyes, but it was replaced in an instant by an expression of worry. He could see her tense slightly, as though what he said next might carry with the force of fists. Since when had she become so afraid of anything?
"Some people tried to follow me on the way here," he went on. "I'm surprised it's taken them this long, but I think Wright's superiors have finally decided to act. You need to..."
He trailed off uneasily as he took in a shift in Resolve's body language; the concern in her eyes hardened, the lines on her face grew taut, and her shoulders sagged with weariness. She almost seemed disappointed by the news.
"Is that all?" she softly asked.
A perplexed frown creased Otto's forehead. "I don't-"
"What's going on, Otto? I'm not talking about Whitestone, or that bastard Wright. What's happened to you?"
Resolve
03-12-14, 03:12 PM
The question took Otto aback and he stared at her for a moment, eyes wide and brow creased, until something changed. Tension multiplied as his gaze narrowed, heated frustration hardening the lines of his face. "Who are you to talk?"
That was all it took for Resolve to bristle. "What do you mean?" she asked through her teeth.
"You know very well what I mean," Otto glared. "You disappeared for weeks without explanation. I worried about you. I looked for you. Then I hear from Luned that you're on the other side of the world with some guy."
The girl gaped. "Is that what she told you?"
"I hadn't realized you cared so little," Otto continued, then faltered. "And I thought you would… would at least let me explain…"
"Wait… explain what?" Resolve stammered. Then it was like a switch had been flipped, all the effort to control her emotions gone as easily as Otto had said those words. She knew anger made her stupid, but at this point, she didn't care. It hurt, and if there was one thing she couldn't tolerate, it was secret keeping. She'd had enough of that distrust from Luned for a lifetime. The girl jumped to her feet, chair falling back with a loud thud against the floor, her knuckles planted hard against the tablecloth. "You're not the person I thought if you've been keeping things from me. I tried to be honest with you, and I thought you'd understand why I had to go," she said, her tone somewhere between accusatory and pleading. "Did you even bother reading the note? Or did you just throw it away, glad to finally be rid of me?"
"I know what you're doing," he said in disappointment. "It won't work." Otto remained sullen and still as she squirmed, which only provoked her further.
The exorcist snapped. "Fine," she huffed, standing up straight. "Forget it. Forget everything," she threw her hands up with a shrug. "Obviously this was a waste of my time and I should have just stayed back in Fallien. If Luned needs me, she knows where to find me."
And then, in a startling display of passive aggression, Resolve abruptly vanished from sight.
Rosie was relaxing in bed with a book when the exorcist let herself into the elegant little flat. The woman glanced up to the doorway with a bright smile, "Rez, you're back!", which quickly faded into a concerned frown. "What's wrong?"
The girl threw herself down next to her friend, uncaring that she'd landed directly on top of the reading Rosie had set aside. The spine of the hardcover tome jabbed against her ribs as she gave into despondency, her only reply a pitiful groan.
Her shorter, curvier counterpart rolled onto her side, gathering Resolve up in her arms as she nested them into the plush mountain of pillows which overwhelmed the luxurious bed. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed. "What's happened?" Rosie rubbed her back, the Fallieni silk of the girl's tunic liquid under her touch.
Resolve buried her face into the woman's warmth. "Otto wants nothing to do with me," she sighed, words muffled against Rosie's bosom. "I thought for sure that he'd understand. You gave him my note, right?"
"Of course I did," Rosie confirmed, then faltered. "Er, well, sort of." She felt Resolve tense and quickly explained herself before unleashing further drama. "I figured he'd see his family before I'd manage to catch him, so I gave it to Kat at one of our tea dates. She said he'd gotten it later, though, so nothing to worry over. Why…?"
"Never mind. Doesn't matter anymore," Resolve muttered, then fell into thoughtful silence as she absorbed some of her friend's calm. She resigned herself to the fact that it really was true, that it really didn't matter now –– he obviously didn't trust her, even after she'd admitted the greatest mistake she'd ever made to him. It didn't feel good to be punished for honesty, though the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she couldn't blame him. She had a habit of making an ass of herself and hurting people, maybe he was smart to keep away. "Rosie… could I stay here with you?"
The woman sighed. "Alright, but only tonight. You're really too old for this, we can't be making a habit of it again." Now that she'd earned permission, Resolve burrowed into the covers as if to hibernate, disappearing under the down and sheets. "You hear me, Rez?" Rosie repeated herself, lifting the blankets to make sure she had the girl's attention. "One night. That's it."
"One night," Resolve confirmed, though she continued to settle in as if she planned on spending the rest of winter there. "I… just don't want to be alone right now."
Alone and in the gloom, some of Otto's smouldering anger grew dim, his mind less tempestuous. Resolve's words had been like the breath of a bellows which stirred the coals to life, but now that his head was cool, he could lay his hands on his thoughts and untangle them without fear of being burnt. And as he did so, something monumental occured to him.
She hadn't known.
The door opened carefully, allowing some of the dim light from the corridor beyond to spill inside the study. Luned walked in with a steaming tureen clasped betwixt her mittened hands, from which emerged the hot scent of sweet pastry and spiced apple. She stopped before the table, and swung her head about in search of Resolve.
"Otto?" she asked. "Where's Resolve?"
But Otto just kept staring into the middle distance.
She hadn't known.
"Otto...?"
* * *
Several figures lounged around the campfire. It crackled lazily within a bed of small stones, the light from it and its myriad kin painting the dull walls of numerous little tents. A stink filled the air; a smell of shallow privies, unwashed men, sour wounds and burnt meat. It also carried a distant babble of subdued chatter, and the odd thump and clang of some menial task being performed.
Otto watched a young man approach the fire. He wore a travel-stained crimson tabard, and carried a cast iron pot in both hands. A large basket was slung in the crook of his elbow.
"Sarge says we'll split away with Second Company tomorrow morn," said one of the soldiers. His eyes were two gleaming points in a mask of grime.
A few of the other men nodded. They looked up as the newcomer approached, and held out their wooden bowls. The youth went slowly around the circle, doling out bread from the basket and filling each dish from the pot. Otto vaguely wondered why it was always the male camp followers who did the chores around the soldiers' section, but further thought was curtailed as the lad ladled out steaming brown stew into his bowl.
"Where to?" asked another.
The first speaker shrugged. "Just some village in the sticks, I think. We'll be taking carts and looking for supplies."
Otto ate, and listened, but didn't speak. No one spoke to the rookie.
* * *
"... are you alright?"
Otto blinked. The campfire faded away before his eyes, to be replaced by struggling candles, a bare table, and Luned's anxious face. As the reverie continued to withdraw, the scribe's worried queries pressed home at last.
"Yes," he mumbled, and then in more confident tones, "Yes. Fine. Sorry."
Luned cast another glance at Resolve's empty chair, then set the dish down in the centre of the table. Flint emerged from the doorway, a large tub in one hand and a stack of bowls in the other. He plonked himself unconcernedly down in his seat and immediately began to pile crumble and cream into his own crockery.
"Where's Resolve?" Luned tried again. "She hasn't left already, has she?"
"Er, yes. Sorry. I... mentioned something that happened to me on the way here, which reminded her of some business she needed to take care of."
It was a lame, spur-of-the-moment thing, and the best he could do - but if Luned was sceptical, she didn't show it.
"Oh, dear," she commiserated, filling a bowl and passing it to him. "Is it anything serious?"
Otto shook his head. "No. Just some ghosts coming back to haunt us," he replied.
Resolve
03-13-14, 05:55 PM
The soft, periodic rustle of Rosie's page turning lulled Resolve into relaxation at long last. The woman's free hand had found its way to her back, a constant, gentle presence appreciated through the blissful warmth of down and satin. With a sigh, the girl finally decompressed and fell into a restless doze. She embraced it; she was tired of thinking.
But it didn't last long. Resolve's eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the pale lamplight, her friend's curvaceous silhouette dark against the rest of the room. "Did you hear something?" Resolve asked quietly.
Rosie glanced over to her, red-brown curls worn in a fuzzy halo against the light. "No. Were you dreaming?"
"No," Resolve said, creeping from the bed on bare feet. The hardwood floor sent a chill through her, but she managed to ignore it as she focused on the encroachers. She could sense two people standing on the landing out in the main stairwell, quiet as could be, still in deliberation. Then they ascended the second flight, boards creaking underfoot. What disturbed her was that she didn't recognize their astral signatures; whoever it was, she didn't know them. She assumed, quite astutely, that they weren't friends. "Shit," she mouthed, earning a concerned look from her hostess who remained at the edge of the bed, book closed in her lap.
"Who's that?" Rosie silently mouthed back, hand raised to her mouth in puzzlement.
The exorcist shook her head, brow furrowed, and then she jumped as a loud bang reverberated from above. Whoever they were, they'd broken into her apartment. They were looking for her and hadn't expected a polite invitation. She should have heeded Otto's warning.
"I'm an idiot," Resolve finally spoke in a hoarse whisper. "Rosie, get your coat. Now."
The woman nodded and slipped out of the bed, hurrying to find some outerwear as Resolve rushed to grab her boots. Her fingers fumbled with the laces, worsened every time she heard noise through the ceiling.
Her mind raced. If they were who Otto suspected, they knew how close she was to Rosie. They weren't safe here. But it was late now –– close to curfew, if not past it –– and if the men were associated with the corruption, it wouldn't be safe to go the City Watch.
The only thing Resolve knew for sure was that they'd be safe at the library.
"Come on," she urged Rosie, guiding her to the back door through the shadowy kitchen. To her friend's credit, she'd gotten ready in admirable speed, apparently accustomed to upheavals in her comfortable routine at this point. After the first time these ruffians had broken into her apartment, she'd been prepared for it to happen again. The woman had buttoned a red wool coat with fur lining over her dressing gown, stockings and boots donned in record time. Under her arm she carried a bag, the spine of her book peeking out of the top.
"We really need to get you some winter clothes," Rosie tsked, eyeing the girl's flimsy tunic.
"Later," Resolve brushed her off. "Quickly," she urged, ushering the woman out the door before her.
The cold night air bit hard at their fingers, their cheeks, their lungs. The exorcist took caution not to accidentally outrun her slower companion, her legs longer and stronger than Rosie's. "Don't panic," Resolve warned her, "but they're following us. We're ahead enough for now, but if I tell you to go on ahead without me, you do that without question. Got it?"
Rosie held onto her arm for support through their brisk walk, fair face flushed as she struggled to catch her breath with the air so thin and dry. "This has to do with what happened before, doesn't it? The smuggling?"
"Otto thinks so," Resolve confirmed, staring straight ahead in concentration. "I suppose it was only a matter of time… corruption runs deep, and the ones who're left can't afford–– no, this way." The exorcist dragged Rosie into the next alley, guiding her through even darker side streets to avoid a run-in with the neighborhood's night guard. As she did so, she felt the signatures of their pursuers close in, and she knew time ran short.
Just a few blocks from the library, they lost it completely, and Rosie had slowed them down too much to make a break for it.
"You have to go," she explained to her friend. "From what I can tell from here, the coast is clear. Here's my key to the rear gate. Go."
Rosie gave Resolve a little squeeze, wished her luck, then ran as fast as her short legs could carry her. The heels of her boots echoed off the empty street and soon she disappeared around the corner, narrowly avoiding a patch of black ice on her way.
Meanwhile, the exorcist met their tail halfway.
The two men slowed as she approached them in the dingy street, a narrow corridor she'd chosen for its lack of shopfronts and foot traffic. If things went south, she wasn't about to let whoever was on night duty catch her in a skirmish if these happened to be members of the watch as well. Something told her that would go worse for her, even if it had been in defense.
"What do you want?" she asked, just loud enough for her voice to carry against the wind. Resolve couldn't make out much of their appearances, the tall cluster of buildings blocking most of the moonlight, but she could track their every movement through intuition and that was enough to sustain confidence.
One of them quickly proved to have more gall than his partner. "What sort of girl goes out after curfew all by her lonesome? Unarmed, at that," he added, and something metal in his hand glittered like a lone star in the frigid alley. "Almost like she's looking for trouble. Wouldn't be hard to believe if she found some."
"You must be fucking stupid," Resolve groaned. "Fine. Come on, let's get this over with."
It didn't make sense. Resolve had to have found something out about him. What other reason would she have to pack up bags and run to the other side of the map?
Otto stalked away from the dim bulk of the library, himself a vague grey shape in the darkness. Every now and then, he passed close enough to a lamppost for the warm glow to ignite his twisted features, but for the most part he could only be picked out by the dusting of moonlight on his shoulders and the angry thud of his footfalls. He walked carelessly amidst the night, his amber eyes not so much looking without as within, but it was largely irrelevant. Any potential mugger who got close enough to jump him would also be able to make out his size and bulk, then slink quietly away in search of more simple pickings. So Otto walked on, undisturbed by anything but his thoughts.
It - a revelation about his past - hadn't been his first worry. He hadn't known what to worry about to begin with, or even that there was reason to. Resolve was somewhat erratic, so to lose contact for a couple of days was no cause for concern. He had meant to ask Rosie about it, but he'd been so busy throwing himself back into training that he had little enough time on his hands; the injuries he'd sustained from their assault on Grimhildr's headquarters had been slow to heal, and he'd had to work twice as hard to regain the strength he'd lost while confined to bed. And aside from that, the couple of times he had managed to visit the woman, she'd been busy with work. So he'd left that delicate situation and gone to visit Marten and Kat, but neither of them had heard a peep from the girl.
That was the start of his real concerns. He knew Whitestone's accomplices would come after the both of them. Orman knew it too. It was just a matter of time, and at first, he'd thought that time had come - at least for Resolve. The memory of it still made him sick. It was too big, he'd realised. Orman was chipping away at them as best she could with the book, but their enemies weren't hampered by that. So he'd risked an unscheduled visit to the library in order to speak with the scribe, and to get help from the rest of the Chronicle so that he might visit wrathful vengeance upon any and all who had been complicit in Resolve's disappearance.
And then Luned had sat him down, poured out the tea, and told him that Resolve had taken up with some man in Fallien.
It just didn't make sense. Not for a another few days, when the niggling worries flowed together and made themselves felt. Rosie had told him that the girl had worked with the CAF before, that she was even aiming for a position in the Force herself. And, furthermore, she spoke to the dead.
Who had told her? One of the soldiers who remembered him from Irinham? A ghost risen from its ashes? Both? Not that it mattered. She knew what had happened, and it had caused her to run as far as Fallien to get away from him.
It hurt. Gods, did it hurt. But he hadn't blamed her.
Now, though?
She hadn't known.
What had her motive been, then? He'd thought better of her, unpredictable though she may be. Perhaps she did send a note after all. Perhaps it wasn't a trick... only, there hadn't been one waiting for him amongst his letters, and nobody he'd spoken to had mentioned one, either. Marten and Kat, and Rosie too, all knew he'd been looking for her, so if she'd sent word they would have passed it on. He thought about her lying out of malice, and just couldn't picture it. Remorse, perhaps?
The orc turned away from the river and set out for the north. Radasanth climbed up a gentle hill this way, which let the garrison halfway up its slope look out over much of the city. His boot met a discarded bottle hidden in the shadows, and it skittered away over the narrow street's flagstones with a brittle sound.
Stop, he told himself. So what if she feels sorry? Maybe the two of us weren't as close to begin with as I thought. Question is, has anything changed?
He had to put it to rest, at long last, to stop agonising over the what-ifs, and just move on. He'd handled rejection poorly last time, and run off to Berevar with the vague hope of finding some sort of kinship with the orcs there. Then, to his amazement, he discovered he was as out of place amongst them as he was amidst the humans. It was time to acknowledge that neither would see fit to truly claim him as their own.
And as he slowly lost himself down in the mists of memory, he wondered if it was such a bad thing...
* * *
Corone's Comb Mountains were... pleasant.
Words like 'majestic', 'beautiful', and 'terrifying' - they might apply to such fearsome peaks as the Jagged Mountains to the north, but the the gentle, almost hill-like crests and valleys of that border between Radasanthia and the south were a place of modest tranquility. Grasses blanketed the slopes, and here and there were small shrubs and bushes brilliant with flowers. Bees droned placidly about, buffeted by a cool, caressing wind. Soldiers' heavy boots crushed the stalks, and put fractures in the massive silence.
The air was pure crystal. Otto happily let it all wash over him.
Part of the chorus of stamping feet detached, and headed towards him. Otto looked up at the approaching man: Private Gavin, a scarred veteran of unknown battles, part of Otto's own company, but someone the orc had traded few words with.
The man nodded at Otto. "Bastard," he said, by way of greeting. It was something one of the other soldiers had noted about Otto's surname, that it was one given to illegitimate fruit among some parts of Corone. Though archaic, the moniker had stuck.
"Hail," he replied.
Gavin matched the orc's pace. "Know anything about where we're headed?" he asked.
"Irinham?" Otto shook his head. "No."
"Brass are saying it's been fortified by the Ixians." They walked on, mulling this over. "I heard this'll be your first fray," Gavin added after the pause. Otto nodded, and the other fellow flashed him a small grin. "Don't worry. The others mightn't act much like they care, but we'll have your back. It's always the same."
"What is?" said Otto.
"I used to be in the same boat as you," Gavin replied, with a little gesture to the rest of the marching company. "Just some rookie left out in the cold. But all you need is a chance to prove yourself. You stand beside us and pull through tomorrow, well, you'll be one of us, and all these men your brothers. So don't you worry."
And then he slapped Otto on the back. For the rest of that day, and even through the chill night, the orc carried a bit of that moment's warmth in his chest.
Resolve
03-15-14, 01:18 AM
The quieter man was tall and gangly, but his reach didn't help him as he swooped down at the exorcist with that blade. As quick as any of her other enhanced reflexes, Resolve conjured a shield of crackling energy and cranked it against his weapon, jarring his wrist and knocking it from his hand. He growled in pain and lashed out again, this time with the stout club he carried in the other. She hadn't noticed it in the inky darkness, but that didn't matter; the swing wasn't his best with his dominant hand still in shock, and the girl threw a blast of energy at point blank range into his gut. He folded in on himself like a rag doll, collapsing into a wheezing mound on the ground. She kicked his knife away across the frosty dirt.
The mouthy villain hung back, wrestling something from a pocket. He clenched it in his left fist as he invited her to approach with a flick of his own starry dagger.
There was nothing the exorcist wanted more than to take out her frustration on him, but she knew leaving a couple bodies in a back alley wouldn't do her any favors. As much as she hated to admit, she needed to find Otto and figure things out with him before making any rash decisions on her own. Knowing herself, she'd just worsen the situation.
At a loss, Resolve laughed in disbelief. "Really? After that? Alright, here, I'm feeling generous tonight. Grab your friend and fuck off to wherever you came from, and I won't have to break both of your gods-damned legs." She threw up her hands in truce. "Deal?"
"Not a chance," the man replied, and in spite of the night's heavy presence, she could have sworn she saw his teeth flash in a cocky grin. Then, quite stupidly indeed, he attacked.
Uninterested in drawing things out, Resolve attempted to end the skirmish efficiently with another energy blast. She thrust it square at his swiftly approaching form, accuracy ensured by her sixth sense, but just when it should have collided and knocked him off his feet, it faded into ineffectual nothingness.
Somehow, he'd negated it.
Stunned, the exorcist faltered, failing to avoid his following assault with her usual deftness. The blade sliced hot across her bicep as she dodged, directly through her attempt at a shield and the beautiful Fallieni silk. She inhaled sharply, hissing through her teeth. And then, not for the first time that night, she gave up her meager grasp on self control.
The man sidestepped and, before he could turn for another go, Resolve reached out to grab the sleeve of his blade-bearing limb. She used her grip on him to manage his mobility as she leapt at his back, looping her gored arm tight around his neck. He struggled against her, but she continued to prove herself faster and stronger even without resorting to energy manipulation. And, through his useless attempts to wrench himself free, she noticed something amusing, if not odd: his left hand, free to fight back against her, pawed at her vise-like arm in a fist. He held onto something quite tight and insistently, even through the threat of losing the ability to breathe.
Resolve wasn't above fighting dirty, and as far as she was concerned, he deserved it. A sharp knee from behind crippled him from waist down and she forced him to his knees, then pushed him forward. As the man caught himself on his hands, she released his neck just long enough to grab his shirt by the scruff, pinning her weight on his back as she stamped down hard on his knife-bearing hand. Grinding her heel into his knuckles, she held him down as she wrestled his left for whatever it contained. Of course, he wasn't keen on cooperating.
"Give it to me," she snarled, "or I'll stomp your ugly fucking face against that fucking curb, you fucking piece of–– there. See, that wasn't so hard."
An elbow to the ear had accomplished what she needed and he finally relented, his fingers giving way to her own. Resolve pried something small and rounded out of his palm, stepped back, and gave him one last kick in the stomach before letting him be. She lifted the object in an attempt to catch it in some light, but failed to find anything adequate; she relied on touch, discovering it to be a piece of stone-like material but not much more than that.
"What is it?"
He didn't respond, too occupied in finding his breath. She tested it by trying to manipulate some energy in that same hand and felt as the crackling dissipated, the substance effectively neutralizing her magic.
"Whatever. If I see either of you again, or if I hear you've bothered anyone I know, you're a couple of dead fucking assholes. Got it?" Resolve tucked the stone safely away, then glanced around. The tall man appeared to have gathered most of his breath and some of his wits but wasn't about to start something again, still prone on the ground. The girl wondered if she'd managed to break a rib or two, from the way he clutched his side. "Ah. Looks like you won't be needing these," she said, stooping to add their knives to her new collection of cutlery.
It took considerable effort to ignore the strange sensation of her blood running cold down her arm as she walked away. "Have a good night, fellas."
Warpath
03-16-14, 08:31 PM
Flint was happy.
It took him a moment to recognize it, and most of dinner to pinpoint the cause, but it was unmistakable. He was happy - blissfully content - for the first time he could remember. He sat up straight and let out a long, satisfied sigh as he finished his dessert, eyes closed.
"That was perfect," he declared.
Luned blinked and stopped fretting with the lace at the edge of the table cloth. "The meeting?"
"No," Flint said. "The meeting was painfully awkward. I believe I am relishing the fact that I am not enduring what they are enduring."
She gave him a look.
He gave her a small, apologetic smile. "They will be fine. If you and I managed it, so can they. He is more pleasant than I am. That said, she is far less pleasant than you."
The brute made a thoughtful sound, and Luned shook her head. "It's not just that," she said. "I mean, yes, they've clearly got some things to talk about, but this mess with the assembly, and the trouble they went through before Resolve left..."
Flint nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps I will take a walk, then."
Luned shook her head. "You don't have to do that. I'm sure I'm just being paranoid. All this cloak and dagger stuff is starting to wear at me."
Flint shook his head and crossed the room to bend down and press a warm, fierce kiss to Luned's forehead. "Don't drive yourself crazy," he murmured. "I am proud of what you are about to accomplish. If my methods and my overt presence would not taint the legitimacy of your efforts, I would aid you all more directly. The least I can do is keep an eye on your...our friends."
Luned peeked up at him. "Resolve is your friend, now?"
Flint paused, thinking. "She took an interesting and unexpected step toward impressing me tonight. I may even stop antagonizing her."
"Oh? What's that?"
"She brought home an orc," Flint said. "I imagined it would be an elf. I find myself feeling proud of her, too."
Luned laughed quietly, and Flint ran his fingers through her hair as he began moving away from her and toward the door. "I will be back shortly," he said. "I have an interest in ensuring their collective wellbeing."
Luned smiled, shaking her head. "The whole world is on its ear," she said. "Resolve is in love with an orc, I'm a revolutionary, and you're a budding matchmaker."
"This night could not possibly get better," Flint said, and he left with a genuine smile on his face.
Warpath
03-16-14, 10:01 PM
This was taking Flint back to his days as a thug of a more common cut.
Radasanth's night-chill was threatening to challenge Flint's salvic blood, aided by his questionable decision not to bring a coat. Otto was clearly paying more attention to his wandering in memory lane than to whatever street they were physically on, and Flint was just comfortable enough to follow suit. He could not recall stalking an orc or a member of any city watch, but this was most certainly not the first time he'd followed someone home undetected. His previous good mood carried over, giving relatively foul memories the patina of nostalgia.
Flint was just beginning to consider turning back when subtle movement caught the corner of his eye, and he hung back. There were three men holding conference in the mouth of an alley. They were predators of a lower class, scrappers, and that Otto caught their attention was curious. Flint gradually stopped walking and cloaked himself in the deepest shadows between lamp posts.
Otto was big, and nothing in his body language suggested vulnerability or the caution associated with the carrying of valuables at night, with or without confidence. He should have been of no interest to this type of lowlife, and yet their discussion seemed already to have progressed from should we to how should we. This wasn't robbery: this was either a targeted attack or a message waiting to be sent.
One of the trio hurried out of the alley to fall in some distance behind Otto, and he managed to do it without being noticed. A second began to follow the orc at a closer distance on the opposite side of the street, and the third disappeared altogether. Flint suspected he was going around to get ahead of Otto. It's what he would have done.
He realized he'd been wrong in the assessment he gave Luned: his night just got better.
The man between Flint and Otto received the silent signal from the one across the street, and began to jog to catch up to the orc while he fished for something inside his jacket. Flint began to jog after him, slow and silent at first, and then progressively faster, timing his footfalls with those of his target as he came closer. The man on the far side of the road began to cross, and something in his hand glinted in the lamplight.
The brute resisted the urge to let out a triumphant whoop as he neared Otto's yet-unseen foe, and then he dropped into a baseball slide at breakneck speeds. His extended boot caught the ruffian in the heel with enough speed that bones shattered as his leg shot out straight, and then up, and he went down on the back of his head. Flint doubted the man would wake up again.
Disappointing.
Flint regained his feet and turned to deal with the second man, and was further disappointed. Otto already had the thug on his knees, and the orc was twisting his wrist until the knife fell out of his grip. Flint looked ahead, and saw that the third attacker had already realized their failure, and was turning to run away. He sighed.
"I ain't gonna talk," the ruffian growled, struggling against the pain Otto was inflicting on his wrist.
"That's fine with me," Otto said lowly. "I already know who you work for."
Flint glanced up at the orc, then loomed over his captive. "You might save your wrist," he suggested. "You need only answer a harmless question. Can you write?"
The ruffian glanced at Flint incredulously, and Otto tried not to mirror the look. Flint stared blankly.
"N-no," the man finally managed to choke out. "No, but I..."
"No fear," Flint said. "That was the answer I wanted."
He hammered the armored side of his forearm down into the thug's jaw with resounding force, which sent him immediately down to the bricks. At first Flint worried that he'd broken the man's neck as well as his jaw, but no, the thug went on breathing. Murdering a man in front of an officer of the city watch would complicate things, Flint imagined.
"He saw me," Flint explained when he caught Otto staring. "If his employer asks who helped you, he will be unable to describe me. The runner was too far and it is too dark, he could not have seen me in detail."
Otto nodded slightly. He wasn't sure why it mattered if they saw Flint or not, but he paused just before questioning it and instead said, "Thank you. How did you...?"
"Luned had concerns," Flint said, turning to look back at the other fallen attacker. He wasn't moving.
"It's a good thing she did," Otto said, frowning. "It's strange that they were able to sneak up on me this time. Wait."
"I hear it," Flint said. Someone was coming, hard-soled shoes clapping on the bricks. The brutish pair shared a look, and then hurried toward the sound.
They neared the corner of a building just as a small, brightly dressed woman rounded it, started at the sight of them, and then leaned heavily against the nearest wall with her hand on her chest.
"Rosie?" Otto said. "What...?"
"Resolve," she managed to gasp between heavy breaths.
"No," Otto growled, and he set off at a sprint.
"Get to the library," Flint told Rosie. "Luned is there. She can protect you."
The woman nodded as she panted, but Flint was already on Otto's heels.
The cloying haze vanished from Otto's mind. He ran, first without thinking, then let his training fire up and kick in.
So Resolve had been with Rosie. That meant the girl must have gone home near Moody's after she had disappeared from dinner (also, he would have to ask her about that new little trick). It took a little while for his sense of direction to emerge from the lingering daze and align itself, during which time he ran blindly on, with Flint following at an easy pace behind him.
As they passed under a softly burning lamppost, Otto pointed one finger at a barely visible opening between the buildings. Neither wasted breath with speech, but instead just darted down the aperture.
The smooth, oddly-shaped flagstones gave way to a more haphazardly cobbled surface, which curved gently around so that they couldn't see the end of the street. A series of irregularly-placed lampposts and wall-mounted torches arced away out of sight, each shedding a little pool of flickering yellow light amidst the cloying blackness. Otto did his best to stick to the shadows, avoided staring at the light, and began to lope forward at a half-crouch. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Flint had disappeared again, though the man must still have been close.
Otto faced forward and ran on. The only sounds he could pick out were the noisy thump-thwack of his boots and the low roar of wind across his ears, and the only thing he could see was the dilapidated street, picked out by flame and whatever weak moonlight wormed its way between the buildings. Though he stretched his ironsense as far is it would go, he could pick nothing out from the road ahead. He thought he could sense Flint by his belt buckle, moving along the other side of the street, but the man's own glimmer of metal seemed abnormally weak.
Yet, he hadn't been able to sense the other three men at all, though they had carried steel on them. Not the most comforting thought, now he pondered on it.
One of the shadows split away and stepped into the light as he approached. The lithe shape was almost instantly recognisable, though it was little more than a silhouette to his eyes. Otto let out a sigh of relief and drew cautiously up until they were perhaps ten feet apart.
"Did you see Rosie?" Resolve asked him as he got close.
Otto nodded. "She's heading on to the library," he said. "You ought to do the same."
Resolve made to move, but hesitated for a couple of seconds. "I'm not going to let some sack of shit like Whitestone throw his weight around like this. He pulls something like this again..."
"We can speak later," Otto interrupted. He cast a wary glance at the darkened buildings about them, black edifices spotted with a few dimly lit and heavily-draped windows. "This isn't the time or place. There'll be patrols along soon enough."
Resolve frowned, and looked over to her side just as Flint stepped into sight. "What's he doing here?" she asked.
Otto glanced over at the man. "He was, uh, walking me home, I suppose. I ran into a spot of bother myself."
"They're gone," Flint reported. "How many were there?"
"Just the two."
"We can expect more in the future, I'm sure of it," Otto replied. He cocked his head, and began to sniff the air. "Wait. Are you bleeding?"
Resolve started to walk forward, and the orc could now see that her arm shone wetly in the lamplight. "It's nothing," she replied, moving past him.
Now that wasn't right, either. There was enough blood there that he should have been able to sense it, as easily as he could feel the dagger at his belt - but it was another blind spot. Was his ability failing him?
Flint watched her go, then turned to the motionless orc. "You're going back to the garrison?"
"Yes," said Otto, slowly. "Eventually. I should head somewhere else, first. There are some people I need to speak to."
"Are they in danger?"
Otto shrugged. "I don't know. They might be, which is cause enough for me."
"The others will be safe now," said the short brute, reaching a decision. "I shall come with you."
"You're not afraid of being seen?" Otto asked pointedly, but Flint just grinned.
"I am fear," he replied.
Otto gave him an appraising look that went on for a few seconds.
"You don't say?" the orc mumbled, after a while.
OOC: let me know if you had other plans than a visit to Otto's folks, War. I'm happy to rewrite any part of Flint's role here.
Rosie greeted Resolve in the courtyard in a flurry of concern. "Your arm!" she gasped as Luned stepped out to join them, her forehead crinkled with worry.
"It's fine," she shrugged her off, stepping past and toward the scribe. "Do you know what this is?"
Luned pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders to keep out the chill and reached out to accept the strange little stone. She analyzed it with her fingers and eyes, aided by the glow of the kitchen window. "Ah," she said in thoughtful recollection, "it's magicide. Rayse had some back in Salvar. Where…?"
"They had it on them," Resolve frowned. "It cancelled out my magic. This isn't good, Lune –– what if they have more?"
"It's not exactly commonplace," Luned reassured her. "I've never seen it in amounts much larger than this. Even if they do have more… well, let's get that arm taken care of first."
The three women filtered back into the kitchen, where Luned deposited the magicide on the far counter and sat the injured one in a chair by the hearth. Rosie hovered anxiously. "Do you think you could make some tea?" the scribe asked her with an apologetic smile. Rosie nodded and gladly redirected her nervous energy, scurrying off to the other side of the room where she busied herself with the kettle.
The exorcist glowered into the coals as Luned tended to her arm with gentle hands. Within seconds, the hot pain vanished as easily as the blade had scored her flesh, healed along with the silk. Not even a stain of blood remained and Resolve ran her fingers over the traceless remains of the cut, still unused to the scribe's mysterious power. "Thanks," she muttered, her gratitude returned with a freckled little smile rendered uneasy by the flickering firelight.
"How did you do that?" Rosie gawked as she appeared with a cup in each hand, which she offered insistently. "You have such curious friends, Rez. Wherever do you meet these people?"
Resolve couldn't help but laugh, though it quickly dissipated into apprehensive quiet. "What will we do?" she finally spoke again, her voice soft over the snaps of the hearth. "If it was just about me and Otto, we could manage, but they've threatened our family and friends before. What if…"
"So it is about that," Luned frowned, pulling up a stool. Rosie followed suit, settling in with her own mug nearby. She retrieved the poker and stoked the small blaze, coaxing a bit more warmth out of it.
Resolve held her tea in her lap as if she'd forgotten it was there, her gaze still fixed in the hearth. She watched unseeing as some sparks danced across the brick. "I feel bad enough that it's uprooted Rosie again, but what about Otto's family? Marten has the forge to worry about, it's not like we can hide them away too."
"There's nothing to feel guilty about on my account," Rosie spoke up, mug pressed to her bottom lip as she blew away steam. "I involved myself when I agreed to see Fred, his appearance is what started the whole mess… the Smiths are the innocent ones. I couldn't bear to see them caught up in this," she frowned, "and I can't imagine how that makes poor Otto feel. I'm grateful to have found a friend in Kat when you had me stay with them before, but not at this cost."
"We'll figure it out with Otto and Flint," Luned reined them in from the precipice of despair. "If worse comes to worse, no amount of magicide could possibly undo the enchantments Bleddyn left on the library. We're safe here and the Smiths would be, too, if it comes to that."
Warpath
03-30-14, 04:33 PM
There was a crude wooden fence here, hewn from what one might sooner call logs than boards. Flint cautiously rested his weight back against it and found it sturdy, and so that's where he stayed: leaning with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes turned to the mud. This place filled his nose up with soot and smoke, and he hawked and spat a few times to no avail.
Blacksmiths were working folk, not fighting folk. He respected them on an ideological level, but that didn't mean he understood them. Or liked spending time with them.
Flint kept his head down and raised his eyes to glance in Otto's direction, chewing omnipresent grit all the while. It was too far to hear, but body language said enough: Otto was trying to convince the man in the doorway to leave, the man in the doorway was shaking his head. There was a woman fretting in the background, Flint caught glimpses of her as she paced, pretending not to eavesdrop maybe.
This was a unique setup. The brute began to mentally piece Otto's likely story together, questions answered and curiosities laid to rest. But why the uncomfortable distance? It wasn't Otto's nonhuman nature, Flint was sure - that would have been an issue long before now. Nothing in the situation suggested fear of him, so it wasn't as if the famous orcish temper got the better of him once and drove a wedge between him and the good humans that loved him.
A brother, then. Flint nodded slowly to himself and his eyes began deftly searching for evidence of it. Not a sister, the dynamics didn't add up - there had to be a boy born of their blood, after they'd taken the orc in. Flint was still playing through the scenario when Otto's approach shook him from his musings.
"I am guessing," the brute said, "that they will not come."
"No," Otto sighed. "And I have to get back to the garrison."
Flint shook his head. "I believe you can rest easy. If the family was what they wanted, this is where they would start. They did not. They do not want to control you, they want you dead. And it is a desperate want."
Otto blinked. "Oh good."
"Yes," Flint said, apparently oblivious to Otto's tone. "Your fight will be cleaner, simpler. Still, I have an influential friend in the city. I will have word put out that this place is off limits."
"Not that I wouldn't appreciate it," Otto said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, "but I thought you were trying to keep your name out of this. I don't want to trade one bullseye on this house for another. No offense."
Flint shook his head. "That is why I shall rely on someone I can trust. I am trying to keep a healthy distance between my name and Chronicle. It is a young organization with the ability to do good work. That work might be impeded by affiliation with me. Luned should not have to answer questions about my methods. Nor should you, as a member of the constabulary."
"Fair enough," Otto said, "but I don't think this is related to Chronicle. This business goes back to something Resolve and I got tied up in."
Flint shrugged. "As a leader of the organization, all of your business is now Chronicle business."
Flint stood up straight off the fence. He began adjusting the vambraces on his forearms while he looked sidelong up at the orc. "Do not fear for your family, Otto Bastum. Focus on your war."
And with that, the enigmatic thug turned and strolled into the night just as if it were three in the afternoon on the most stress-free day summer had to offer. Otto watched him go and let his shoulders slump.
The little fucker made it sound so easy.
"Who was that?"
The voice made Otto startle, and he whirled around towards the source. He hadn't noticed Emric standing in the yard before, but there the young man was now, leaning languidly against the rough wooden fence. Otto glanced back towards where Flint had been walking, but the bulky fellow seemed to have already slipped away into the night.
"I'm not entirely sure myself," said Otto with a shrug.
Emric digested this. "Is what you told Marten true?" he asked, changing tack. "Someone might come after us?"
The orc turned to look at Emric again. He tried to study the lad; find a clue in his expression perhaps, or his body language, as to what he was thinking. But the boy was hard enough to read in good light. Veiled by darkness and warped by moonlight as he was, Emric was about as illusive as the shadows around them.
"Maybe," Otto said at last. "It seems unlikely now, but I'd be a lot happier if you were all... somewhere else."
He heard Emric sigh, and saw the outline of his shoulders sag. "Why, Otto? Why put my parents in danger like this, and for what? To bust some weapon smugglers? That's our job, Otto, making those things. And what's more, you put them to use. So why do you care?"
Otto hesitated. He felt the truth of an answer lurking somewhere deep inside him, but he couldn't quite find the words. True, they had started by following leads to a criminal weapon smuggling operation, but that had just been a prelude to the real objective. Orman had set her sights on the gang's competitors within the CAF's ranks, an in-house organisation whose members had put profits over the lives of their subordinates by selling arms to both sides of the civil war. As a conscript who'd been given no choice but to be dragged along to fight for such men or be hanged, the revelation had rankled with Otto. The reason he and Resolve were in such trouble now is because they were gunning for the ringleaders; those corrupt men, who had sworn to protect the realm, knew the noose awaited them in turn.
"The investigation of CAF personnel involved in the weapons dealing operation began over a month ago," Otto began, slowly. "Of the men and women we have been able to convict, three have been proven complicit in the murder of various witnesses of their operation. Four more were found to be collecting protection money from local businesses, as well as bribes. As for the weapons, some have been traced to known pirates and the bandit gangs which emerged across Corone. These robbers systematically targeted fleeing refugees and crippled settlements, where they continue to happily rape, murder and steal from civilians. So that's some of why I'm doing this, I suppose."
It seemed to do the trick. Emric didn't offer any retort, so the two of them just shared a short, awkward silence.
Eventually, Emric stirred. "How's that girl of yours? Resolve, was it?"
Otto shot him a nasty little look, which went unseen. "Not very good at this small talk, are you?" he said, more sharply than he intended.
Emric just shrugged in reply. "Suit yourself, then. Good night, Otto."
"Yeah," said the orc. "Alright. Bye."
He turned his back on the man and stalked off down the wide, empty street.
* * *
The journey back to the garrison passed without incident. Otto had made it to the imposing fortress and was about to step out onto the street before the gate when he froze, and withdrew into the shadowed lee of a house. His eyes flitted across the inky black street, its flagstones and towering houses dusted silver by the moon. It was only when a patrol emerged from an intersection that Otto stepped out into view and progressed up towards the gate. He moved just ahead of the squad, well within their vision, but it wasn't a foolproof plan. If his enemies had stationed men on gate duty, they could easily order him into the seclusion of the gatehouse before they made their move... but no such thing happened. The sentries just logged his arrival and waved him through to the yard beyond.
Once within the walls, he relaxed. Making a moving against him inside the actual garrison would be too risky, too suspicious. It would just fan the flames of the investigation. Outside, on the other hand, he was liable to be mugged, run down by a cart, inadvertently poisoned by a careless chef, to stumble into the river and be dragged down by his mail, crushed by some machine or other in a tragic accident on the docks, or done away in whatever other scenario the men like Whitestone could dream up.
He reached the barracks and eased his way inside, careful not to wake the rest of his squad as he slipped into the dorms. While he changed out of his clothes, he pondered further assassination attempts, and decided he would have to remain vigilant during forge duty and training exercises. Life within the fortress wasn't exactly risk-free, either.
His mind buzzed with plans and schemes. The scenarios slowly took on the surrealism of dreams, and slowly dragged him down to fitful sleep within their clutches.
Resolve
04-16-14, 05:08 PM
"We really need you, Resolve," the scribe pleaded with her, brow knotted with worry. The evening shadows washed the freckles from Luned's pale skin, the left side of her face lined with golden highlights from the fireplace. "Could you get past whatever issue you have with Otto, just for a few days?"
The girl crossed her arms. "I'm not the one with the issue," Resolve frowned, then conceded with a sigh. "But yeah, I can. I understand how important this is."
Luned offered her a gracious little smile, then turned in her seat to face the door. Bleddyn's study sat empty aside the two women, whose relatively small figures did a poor job of filling the long table. In front of each of them rested an untouched cup, dried Fallieni tea flowers blooming at the steamy surface of the water. Between them rested a pocket watch, wound tight and ticking away into the wee hours of the morning. "Flint's late," she observed anxiously.
"No, he's not," Resolve replied, failing to conceal her impatience. "It's a bit of a walk from Smiters Row." The brute had volunteered to check in on the Smiths regularly, what with Otto's current predicament, and that reassurance offered a slight amount of relief to their growing clan of coconspirators. For this occasion, they'd convinced Rosie to entertain herself with some books upstairs, but it had been difficult to keep the woman from embroiling herself further into their Chronicle-related plots. At this point, they may have well just inducted her as a member of the organization. "Otto's probably waiting," the girl said. "I'm going to check in."
Luned nodded, watching as the exorcist settled back into the old armchair. Resolve took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and as she exhaled, her form went slack against the cushioned upholstery.
"Hush," Otto gently urged his raggedy feline companion, who'd managed to sneak out of the barracks with him. They currently occupied a storeroom which sat distant enough from the sleeping quarters to allow him some time undisturbed, but with the cat's yowling, his efforts may have proven for naught.
Lamplight from outside offered meager visual assistance as remnants spilled in through the small windows near the ceiling, illuminating stacks of crates and shelves of supplies. The orc had been tempted to rest atop a throne-looking assembly of wooden boxes, but didn't trust himself not to fall asleep. He blinked the ever-growing weight of drowsiness from his eyelids as he waited.
Nuggetchop suddenly ceased in his chitchat, interest piqued as he glanced toward the center of the room with the sort of instinctive reflex only stupid animals seemed to have. His fur and whiskers ruffled at nothing until a dark, feminine figure materialized in the empty space.
"Hello," Resolve said, her projection briefly faltering as she tried to save her energy.
"Hello," Otto offered in return, his voice low.
The exorcist bit something back before speaking again. She clenched her fists reflexively, arms hanging at her sides. "Anything new to report since last night?"
"No," he shook his head wearily. "They know better than to try something while I'm on duty or here at the garrison."
"Of course. They're getting smarter about things," Resolve admitted unhappily. "The men I bumped into last night even had some anti-magic material on them. We've got a real problem on our hands if they have access to something like that."
Otto didn't find this news particularly encouraging. "Anti-magic?"
"Lune said it's called magicide –– it cancelled out any weapons or armor I tried to conjure against the guy who was carrying it." With this twist of events, Resolve had begun to realize how much of her past successes had hinged on being underestimated by her enemies. This was a mistake their current adversaries wouldn't be likely to make again.
"I see," Otto replied, turning it over in his mind.
The cat filled the next moment of tense silence with a howl. Otto stooped to pick him up, coaxing Nuggetchop's noise into a deep purr instead as the creature nested into his arms. He found it difficult to read Resolve's expression through the gloom.
"Either way, we can't afford to waste anymore time," the orc finally spoke up. "We should go ahead with Luned's request as soon as possible. Tomorrow, even."
"What about––"
"What about them?" Otto interrupted, though his aggravation was caused more by their lack of an obvious solution more than her question. "Really, what can we do? This can't wait –– we can figure out the rest when it isn't hanging over our heads. My head," he clarified. "This could all go very badly if we don't make our move soon."
Resolve acknowledged the many layers to that comment. "I know," she said simply. "Tomorrow it is. Just tell me when and where to meet you and I'll be there."
"What took you so long, matey? We bin waiting fer 'arf an hour."
Captain Grimhold slowed his walk momentarily as he emerged into the courtyard, taking the time to throw a sharp look at the speaker.
"Then I'll pay you overtime," he replied, sardonically. "What do you have for me?"
Empty buildings rose on all four sides of them, vacated from collapsed businesses or simply due to the end of the working day. The courtyard and its entries were an unofficial affair; just a space which had been left between the properties by mutual agreement, perhaps as a place to dump trash over the fence without upsetting the neighbours. It was not a feature which showed up on the city maps. At the moment, it held about half a dozen bedraggled fellows, plus a plain-clothes Grimhold. The thugs had the look of down-on-their-luck dockworkers, weather-beaten and grizzled by labour and liquor. Grimhold's gaze swept over the sorry little sortie, and halted upon one bleary-eyed man whose lower face was swaddled in bandages.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
The leader of the group - a man who went by the name Tacker - stopped picking at a pine fence plank and turned to face Grimhold. "Bastards broke Nik's jaw summat awful. They 'ad friends with them, 'e said. Not watchmen."
The captain gave the one named Nik an incredulous look. "'Said'?"
Nik did his best to scowl under the wraps, while Tacker sauntered over. "Nik 'ere can't write, but 'e did us an 'elpful sketchy-doo. Take a gander."
The man passed a crumpled piece of paper over the Grimhold, who unfolded it. He found himself studying a rather crude portrait done in smudged charcoal.
"Your man," began the captain, slowly, "was attacked by... a potato?"
"Har har. I don't know that bloke, 'cuz you didn't tell us about 'im. Just the orc and the girl, and that ain't no orc."
Grimhold gave the sketch another dubious look. "You're sure about that?"
"Aye! We are. Some squat bald bastard, apparently, but we ain't got more'n that to go by. And if you want 'im dealt with as well, it's gonna cost more." Tacker ripped the sketch from Grimhold's hands and stalked back towards his men. "The orc's wilier than you let on, and you never told us that chit were a hellraiser neither. Few of us sportin' our share of aches and pains after last night, and doctorin' don't come cheap. You want us to keep at it, then we'll need a raise."
Grimhold listened to this with a blank expression, nodding vaguely here and there. When Tacker had finished, he let the angry silence cool a little before he replied.
"You're already being paid handsomely, not to mention the supplies that are at your disposal. If three or four of you can't handle some... snake-oil peddler, when you even had the drop on her, then I don't think you'll be worth paying extra for. No, you have one more opportunity to get some results, otherwise we'll withhold the other half of the sum and find other contractors for the job. Until next time, gentlemen."
With that, the captain turned on his heel and strode back down the lane.
Resolve
06-11-14, 11:13 PM
The next night, a suspicious pair congregated within the very heart of Radasanth.
This neighborhood stood unsettlingly still in the first moments of morning; it hosted towering, gray institutions of great political import, lacking in the residences and taverns that gave the rest of the city color and life even in its quietest hours. The buildings slept along with the people in them, with a meticulous –– but avoidable, with the exorcist's talents –– system of patrols to keep that sleep a safe one. Luned's library sat a mile eastward from where Resolve's boots rested upon frosty flagstone; the soles of her feet itched to return, so she shifted her weight. Even the Assembly's alleys were fancy, she mused as she waited in the shadows, impressed by the lack of refuse in the meeting place Otto had designated.
The girl watched her breath until her nose grew cold, and then she drew the collar of her jacket up around her face. She'd borrowed it from Luned, as she'd given into the fact that bright silks would be more of an eyesore than a statement on their mission. She didn't feel much like herself in the drab wool.
The orc arrived perfectly on time, skulking down the street with decent stealth for a creature of his size. Resolve admitted silently that she may not have noticed him if she relied on mundane senses alone, and that reassured her somewhat. Their relentless pursuers had her on edge, but she knew she could rely on Otto to know what he was doing. He certainly wasn't inclined to put them in serious danger, and their task was an important one. She exhaled a breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding.
With her sun-deepened skin and even darker clothing, Resolve nearly disappeared into the night, save the faint glimmer of the freckles across her cheeks. But Otto had his own talents, and he knew she was there a full block away thanks to the lingering smoke of incense that clung to her clothes and hair. She turned her pale eyes up to him as he arrived, lamplight catching on them like two concerned, little moons. "Have any trouble?"
"No, surprisingly," he replied, his deep voice filling their nook in spite of his effort to speak softly. She couldn't make out his expression, only his silhouette amongst other dark objects in that narrow alleyway. "They must think they know my habits by now."
"Lucky us," Resolve sighed in relief, shying away from eye contact. "Now, you're the one who knows what we're doing. Lead on."
They approached with cautious confidence. The hall where the Assembly met sat just a few blocks away, a formidable structure that grew like a great, black behemoth of stone against the muddy, overcast sky. The real moon shone from somewhere behind the clouds, offering just enough light with the street lamps to create alarming shapes in the corners of her eyes.
But, to Resolve, the distractions –– and even the anxiety –– were welcome. It kept her mind off all the things she wished they could talk about.
"There's a gap in guard at the south entrance in the next five minutes," Otto finally whispered. "This way."
Resolve nodded and followed.
Otto led them slowly and carefully along meandering network of alleyways and side streets. They moved far away from the streetlamps, and in close proximity to a number of handy doorways, skips and other forms of cover, should the need arise to hide from sight. Otto had committed what he knew of the patrol routes and guard stations to memory, and although security this far out from the Assembly building was relatively sparse, it would only take one unexpected sentry to raise the alarm. Should that happen, then even if Resolve and Otto evaded the ensuring pursuit, the area would be locked down for some time to come. Fortunately, the odds were on their side; they had a pretty good idea on where the watchmen would be, their drab clothes blended in well against the dull stone buildings around them, and the felt pads that Otto had that day cut out and fixed to the soles of his boots were doing a commendable job of muting his cautious footsteps.
The big orc came to a halt some way before the end of their current, narrow lane. Sticking to the shadows, he sidled close enough to peer out at a tall building opposite, and soon felt Resolve do the same behind him. Otto took out a little hourglass for a moment and squinted at it in the dark, then resumed his watch. After about thirty seconds, some of the shadows atop the roof shifted. The silhouette of a man sauntered away and out of sight, towards the other end of the structure. Otto gave the street a quick glance to make sure it was clear, and dashed out of the intersection and over to the other side. Once he was safely in its lee, he felt the subtle swirl of air currents as Resolve materialised beside him.
"Almost there," he whispered.
The pair started up their gentle movement along the frigid flagstones, before pulling into a gap down the side of a looming and darkened repository. They could see their current street intersected with a much broader and well-lit thoroughfare about a hundred feet ahead, lined with cast-iron lampposts down the centre and bordered by well-manicured jacarandas. Only a few tenacious blooms lingered on their otherwise bare branches; the rest had long since fallen to form a wilting blanket across the street, the brilliant purples dulled to amber-grey by the lanterns' pale glows. On the other side, Otto and Resolve could just make out a rising brick wall, which extended up and out of the lampposts' range. Otto took out the hourglass again and glared at it.
"Two minutes early," he said lowly.
They remained crouched there in the shadows, taking turns to look for activity. A minute passed without incident, and then another. And then another.
And another.
Resolve glanced at Otto, though he could only tell which way she faced by the faintly luminescent dots on her face. "Perhaps the timer's wrong?"
The orc shook his head. "Not this one," he whispered back, certainty etched into his low rumble. "I made it myself. From iron."
He noticed then that Resolve was no longer looking at him. She had craned her neck to stare down the thoroughfare, where a patrol of six guardsmen marched out of the darkness. Their mail jingled noisily above the murmur of a soft wind, and glimmered beneath the streetlamps. They moved quickly past Otto and Resolve's hiding spot, then took a sharp turn and followed the wall on the opposite side of the street as it turned away from them. The position had been well chosen, as this meant their stretch of road was immediately obscured as soon as any guards rounded the corner. It just left them with the small problem of scaling a brick wall before the next patrol came by and spotted them; difficult enough for two, but likely impossible for an invading force, at least without some help. Otto made to leave their cover and head towards the thoroughfare, but Resolve's hand snaked out and latched onto his thick forearm.
"Above," she whispered to him. "On the roof. A guard."
Otto mouthed a curse, and eased back into the shadows. The distance to the roof was just too far for him to sense anything, but well within range of Resolve's abilities. But they were essentially stuck between buildings while the guard above watched on. Several more minutes went by, during which time another small patrol stalked down the wide street ahead of them. Unlike the previous one, this squad appeared on schedule, which suggested an element of erraticism to the overall timing. Otto suspected that this was entirely intentional, in order to make the very thing that he and Resolve were doing difficult: obtaining a reliable system of avoiding the region's security in order to enter the heart of the government.
They ended up waiting for an hour, but whenever a patrol had rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, one or two guardsmen took up position on nearby rooftops. Eventually, Otto gave up; he led Resolve back up their street, made another hair-raising dash across the exposed surface, and the two of them retreated into the night.
Resolve
06-27-14, 08:39 PM
The exorcist returned to the library to find Luned hard at work in the study, her concentration so intense that she didn't notice her guest at first. She'd created some sort of contraption from what appeared to be a pocket watch, an odd invention built of intricate Aleran parts and engraved with minuscule threads of writing. In its center sat a familiar stone-like substance.
"You're back early," Luned observed with a blink. Firelight caught on the many edges of the metallic device, and it glittered as she set it down.
"No dice." Resolve shrugged out of her borrowed coat as she sat on the edge of the ancient desk. "Nothing bad happened, we just couldn't get in. Otto said he might have another idea… we'll try again tomorrow."
The scribe nodded. "Understood. As long as you're safe… and, well, despite the concerns it arises, tonight's failure does have some convenience. I think I've figured out how to use the magicide to our advantage."
"What does it do?" Resolve asked, glancing to the contraption.
Luned yawned behind her hand. "In theory, if hidden within the building, it'll at least partly disable some of the wards to allow us easy entry when the time comes. Still needs testing, but it's worth a try."
"Hmm," the exorcist eyed the device.
Her friend leaned forward, weary but unrelenting with this project to keep her awake. "Did you two get a chance to talk, or…?"
Resolve's posture bristled as she slid off the desk and onto her feet. "Did Rosie go to bed?"
"Hours ago," Luned nodded, brow furrowed at the swift change of subject.
"I think I'll follow. Don't stay up too late, now, Lune," the girl said, twisting toward the door and disappearing into the dark hallway.
Luned sighed.
Rosie wasn't pleased when she felt an arm snake around her middle, stealing her out of a particularly pleasant dream. A familiar form pressed against her back, strong and affectionate. She couldn't help but sigh, as well, eyes opening to the early morning darkness.
"Not tonight, Rez," she groaned into her pillow, attempting feebly to pry herself out of the girl's embrace. "Don't you have your own bed just next door?"
The only response was a tightened grip as Resolve burrowed deeper under the covers. The girl buried her face into her back, and Rosie felt the warmth of her breath through her nightgown.
The woman fell still. "Resolve… are you alright?"
Silence.
"Oh, honey," Rosie relented softly, hugging the girl's arms around her and closing her eyes. She relaxed once more as she felt Resolve do the same. "Deep breaths and sweet dreams."
Soft, slow, and silent; Otto lumbered gently through the curfew-emptied streets, with an easy stealth which belied his bulk. Flagstones gleamed silver beneath his boots, flowing on like a river between a shambling gorge and studded with pale orange lanterns. He raised his face to the sky, its moon now high and bright and freed of the clouds which had begun to make their way back out to sea. The night had turned too bright for further forays, and the true shadows banished to just the deepest corners of the city. It had been difficult enough work before, but now it would be hopeless.
Still, it had gone better than he had expected. The demand for stealth had spared them of all but the most rudimentary and relevant conversation, so the pressing probes and questions that he had feared from Resolve had not materialised. Bad enough their words before, bad enough the fresh wounds re-opened...
A keen observer would see the shaggy behemoth falter in his step, shake his head, and resume a slightly angrier stride.
Focus on your work, Otto forced himself to think. Their apparently best option looked like a no-go, although they might need another night or two of reconnaissance to be certain. There were one or two other sections of wall which were also worth investigating, and of course, the possibility of an undercity entrance still existed. The lords of the Empire still needed to shit and piss like everyone else, and even if a fair portion of it seemed to go into the legislation that flowed from the Assembly's chambers, that waste needed to be extricated somehow. And the gong men could only do so much.
As an extra distraction, Otto pulled the little iron hourglass from his belt, and peered through the crudely-blown glass. Sand was still pouring down from when he last turned it over. He did so again, and the flow of granules turned with it, defying gravity and pooling sand at the top of the timer.
Anvil had taught him well.
Better, in some ways, than if he had stayed with Marten. Some might debate the cost - Otto included - but there was nothing to say that the orc would have to end up just as twisted and malicious as the spirit in order to wield brand of expertise. Marten was still far superior than the orc in most matters of the forge, but he would never be able to do even this. Nor would Otto ever attain that mastery of steel unless he struck out on his own: while apprenticed to the old man, he was ever the secondary receptacle of knowledge behind Emric. It was undoubtedly an arrangement that pleased Marten's successor no end. Otto had lost count of all the times that Emric had reveled in the orc's failures - or had even caused them for the chance to - as a basis by which to compare his own success. All the sabotaged workpieces, the missing tools... Emric had even warned potential friends away from him when they were younger, and people listened to Emric. It had been just like him to ask after Resolve, given what had happened between Otto and her-
Once again, a sharp-eyed watcher might see the orc freeze mid-step for a moment. After a much longer pause this time, he eventually began moving again, but at a slower and more ponderous pace.
Resolve
10-22-14, 11:37 AM
The sun rose too soon.
"Why don't you come downstairs? We can make breakfast," Rosie enticed the girl from the doorway.
Resolve's only response was the muffled groan of a drawn out "no".
"Suit yourself," the woman shrugged, tightened her robe, and left.
With a sigh, Resolve rolled over and sprawled out over the bed, her long limbs twisted in the sheets. She stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, creamy plaster and ancient beams of dark-stained wood unseen by her half-lidded eyes. Bleddyn’s magic coddled the library even in even the coldest depths of winter, but she could feel the slightest draft from the nearby window and it prickled her skin.
Maybe she should just give up, she wondered. Maybe she never knew Otto as well as she thought she did. And maybe, after her mistake, he decided she was too young and stupid for him to waste his time with her anymore. Arguing over something like that would only make it worse, no matter how tempting it was.
The girl groaned again and muttered to herself. "I never should have come back."
“You can’t mean that,” Luned piped up from the doorway.
Resolve heard the door latch and the scribe’s weight shift the bed as she sat down by her feet. A warm, gentle hand smoothed the goosebumps from her right leg in a meager gesture of comfort.
The exorcist rolled over toward her friend. “Did you finish your project?”
“Think so,” Luned smiled wearily, then she drew the device from her pocket. From a couple feet away, it appeared to be nothing more than a pocket watch. “All you have to do is hide it somewhere while you’re in there –– on the bottom side of a table, perhaps. That’s all.”
The girl nodded, forgoing her right to pry. Though she and Luned both practiced magic, Resolve’s was an innate, instinctual sort; the scribe’s scholarly approach generally went right over her head. “I can do that.”
Luned offered her gratitude through a yawn. In the past, all-nighters were pretty much her job... but even so, she was getting a bit old for them. “Would you like to talk?”
Resolve brushed her off yet again. “You should get some sleep.”
With a sigh, the scribe obliged, and the bed shifted once more as it lost her weight. She paused in the doorway. “Let me know if you need anything… alright?” And then, with a little smile, she disappeared to her own room for some hard-earned rest.
Some minutes later, Resolve sensed Flint’s appearance drift up the stairs to join his companion, and she grimaced. “Ugh, gross.” The girl rolled out of bed, gathered her clothing from the floor, and vanished.
"Oh, Otto! Come in - I was just making some tea."
Kat's surprise at seeing the orc on her doorstep quickly shifted to matronly hospitality. She bustled off towards a shrill whistle resonating from the kitchen, without waiting up for him. Otto stepped over the threshold, which momentarily let the mid-morning sun cast a skewed slab of amber onto the subdued rugs in the entryway, before he gently stoppered the old door behind him. Even so, the horseshoe Marten had nailed above the doorframe rang faintly with the impact.
The kettle's scream had begun to abate as he entered into the kitchen. It was a long room, with a sturdy table running along the middle and a work bench, drawers, and sinks skirting the walls. It was softly lit through the line of windowpanes by an indirect sun, a light that diffused into each corner and chased the shadows away. A vase of azaleas situated at the centre of the table lent their colour and grace to the otherwise plain and pale room, though a fuddle of scents made it striking enough to the orc in its own way. Right now, the strongest of those was steam, stewing tea, rich milk and sugar.
Kat turned around from the stove, kettle held uncertainly in one hand and cup in the other. "You do have time for a brew, don't you? Sorry, I should have asked, first..."
Otto smiled gently in reply. "I have the day free, so yes. Thank you."
Water poured into a teapot in a bright, tinkling crescendo. "Oh, that's excellent. You've been so busy of late, Marten and I haven't seen as much of you as we'd have liked. Will you stay for morning tea, then?"
"Of course."
"Lovely. Marten and Emric should be taking a break quite soon," Kat said cheerfully, while Otto took a seat. Then she turned to the doorway and called in a loud voice, "Kevin, Rachael! Come to the kitchen, please!"
Otto turned in his chair as a couple of children, both perhaps nine or ten years old, tottered uncertainly into the room. He had dark brown hair and near-black eyes, and she, ginger locks and freckles. They hovered just inside the doorway once they had caught sight of the orc; their inexperience in social etiquette compounded in the face of a bearded, grey-skinned behemoth with tusks protruding from his bristles. He smiled at them, to no discernible effect.
"Kevin, Rachael, this is Otto," Kat said. "I've told them all about you, you know."
"Oh?" Otto took note the of the heavy ink stains on the childrens' fingers. "That sounds ominous."
Kat turned indignant. "Of course it doesn't! And you two - where are your manners? Say hello to Otto."
"Hello," the children chorused.
"Hello," Otto replied.
"Good," interjected Kat, still at the stove. "Now go wash your hands. You too, Otto dear."
Kevin and Rachael jumped up onto their seats and leant bodily over the table towards a ceramic bowl of rosewater. Thin black coils unwound from their digits and quickly mixed into the liquid as they splashed it about, before the pair then leaft faint inky smears on the handtowel that they used to dry off. Otto dipped his fingers unceremoniously into the water once the children were done, wiggled them about a bit, and wiped them off on the now slightly damp cloth. Kat continued her rummaging around in the background; Otto heard the scrape of cupboard doors and the well-known ring of the biscuit tin being extracted from its obscure hiding place. Either the sound was unknown to Rachael and Kevin, or Otto's unfamiliar presence was putting them a little on edge, because the children both stared meekly at the wood grain of the table.
"So," Otto began cautiously. Testing the ice. "Has Kat been teaching you your letters?"
They nodded in unison.
"What are you learning at the moment?"
Silence followed for a few terse moments. Then Rachael spoke up in a small voice.
"We're reading a poem," she said.
"Oh?" Otto exclaimed. "Which one?"
The answer was shot back to him at breakneck speed - not by Rachael, but by Kevin, who was now keen not to let his peer hog the limelight. "I Know Why the, the-"
"-Caged Bird Sings-" Kat supplied, setting down a plate of shortbread between them.
"-Caged Bird Sings," Kevin concluded triumphantly. "It's really good," he added, with a wise nod.
"I remember when Kat taught me that one," Otto remarked. "I would have been about your age, too."
"How old are you?" Rachael asked.
"I'm..." Otto thought for a moment, and fancy took him. "A hundred. And fifty."
"What?" Kevin exclaimed. "You can't be."
"Sure I can," Otto continued. "A hundred and fifty years is no time at all for an elf."
"You're not an elf! Are you?"
"Well, I'm obviously not human, am I?"
Rachael gave him a stern, critical look. "Elves are tall-"
"-I'm pretty tall-"
"-and, and slender."
Otto reached for the plate. "I eat a lot of biscuits," he replied, while munching on a slab of shortbread.
"Elves don't have beards," Kevin stated victoriously.
"We normally shave. I forgot today."
"That didn't all grow today."
"That's the problem with being an elf," Otto sighed mournfully. "Our beards grow like mad, just overnight. That's why we have to shave all the time, especially the women. We don't like to talk about it."
Kat walked over with a tray, on which sat a teapot, milk jug, strainer, sugar pot, and several fine china cups. She set them down and began to pour out drinks for everyone, serving Otto with the addition of a reproachful look. "I think that's quite enough, dear," she instructed in a stern voice, before he had the chance to sow doubt about his gender next.
"But he's grey," Kevin insisted.
"I'm half Alerian," Otto answered. He got one more glare from Kat for his trouble, but considered it worth the price. Check mate.
Kevin and Rachael looked a lot less certain than before, though still not entirely convinced. It was only a matter of time before they picked up on the numerous flaws in Otto's story. Then they all heard the front door open again, and further debate over Otto's lineage was curtailed as two men entered the kitchen. They appeared almost like mirror images of one another, but separated by a score of years: tall, athletically built, possessed of a severe sort of handsomeness, and light-haired.
"Marten, Emric," Otto greeted them. "Hello."
Resolve
10-31-14, 01:35 PM
The mouth of the river drank in frigid air from the sea, which chilled Resolve’s extremities as she perched at the end of the dock. In the mercantile section of Radasanth’s waterfront, this space was permanently reserved for Our Hyacinth when she was in town, but today, it sat empty. Small clusters of ice sloshed under the girl’s feet as she breathed deeply, counting to ten with each inhale and exhale. She wished now that she’d been more earnest in her study of meditation while in Fallien; in hindsight, it seemed like such a useful tool.
Concentration took longer to achieve than it should have. Only after many minutes of careful breathing did the echoes of the waves and gulls and people fade away, replaced with the comforting rhythm of her own pulse. The overcast sky shone bright through her eyelids, and she saw nothing as she searched for a safe place.
Her flat no longer fit that description after she and Rosie had fled, and Luned’s library had since filled with tension. And as much as she liked Astaka, nowhere in Fallien would ever feel like home.
The girl’s mind wandered to the galley of her mother’s ship and its always-warm hearth. It formed the cozy belly of the vessel, its heart, full and fond and never without Blue. The dwarf served as den mother to anyone who called that place home, and the daughter of her employer had been no different. Memory flooded Resolve’s senses and she could almost smell the cinnamon of her famed apple bread.
Her eyes blinked open and the water came back into focus, dark and green and etched with white lines reflected from the clouds above. What would Blue say?
Blue had no patience for nonsense. Her brand of comfort came in the form of warm baked goods and a pat on the head to ease the sting of her brutally honest advice. It didn’t help that Blue also had no patience for men or romantic quarrels in her own life; Resolve knew, without a doubt, that the dwarf would tell her to get on with her life and just be glad for whatever good memories had come of it.
Resolve sighed, fresh air and relaxed heart rate helping her come around to such a possibility, and then her stomach growled with the pain of someone who hadn’t the room in her brain to remember such important things as breakfast.
Marten smiled mildly. Emric gave Otto a nod.
"Ay-up, Otto," the elder of the men said. "How are we today?"
"Not too bad," Otto replied. "Had the day off, so I thought I might drop in and catch up."
Kevin and Rachael grabbed at some shortbread and began to dunk them into their cups. Marten and Emric grabbed a couple of biscuits for themselves as they sat down, and the kitchen soon filled with the regular rattle of china, crunching shortbread, and discreetly sipped tea.
"How's business?" Otto asked.
Marten blew on his tea before answering. "Doing well enough," he said, speaking over the cup. "A little slower than I'd like, but I think we've nearly made up for all the armaments lost in the war. I can't lie, it was good business while it lasted, but we can still make do. I'll still get the odd commission for a replacement, or promotion gift."
Otto nodded sympathetically. "It's the same up at the garrison. Not much call for new equipment. Mostly maintenance work. Still, we've enough bodies in the CAF that they go through equipment pretty fast."
They heard an exasperated sigh from the end of the table. Kat rolled her eyes at the shop talk, and leant in. "Heavens, you two - is that all you can talk about? I'm curious to hear how Otto's friend is doing. Where was she off to, again? Fallien?"
The orc took a long, measured drink of his tea. "Aye. She's back now, actually. We've caught up."
Kat's eyes sparkled with her own brand of motherly mischief. "Oh, that's fantastic! You must bring her around again. We can have dinner and talk about her trip."
"Where's Fallien?" Kevin asked, between biscuit crumbs.
"A long way away, over the sea," Kat replied. "As the sun rises. I have some poems from there we can read next, if you like."
"What's it like?"
"Hot and sandy," Otto said. "Not like Corone at all."
Rachael frowned at this. "It doesn't sound very nice. Why did she go there?"
Otto set his cup down on a saucer. "I don't actually know. That's one of the reasons I came by today, to be honest - did Resolve leave a note for me before she left?"
Now it was Kat's turn to crinkle her brow. "Actually, Rosie came by just after Resolve had gone. We meet for tea about once a week, that's where I heard that Resolve was out of the country. Anyway, she dropped off a letter from Resolve for you. Rosie said she hadn't had time to give it to you herself... I think the ship was due to leave at short notice. I gave it to Emric so he could run up to the garrison." She turned to her son, and the frown deepened. "You did give it to Otto, didn't you?"
Otto had been keeping an eye on his foster brother, but if he was hoping for this to catch the lad out, he was disappointed. Emric just bit down on a biscuit and nodded. "He was out on patrol or something, I think, so I left it with some guards at the gate," he said. "They said they'd make sure he got it."
"Oh, Otto dear," Kat sighed.
"It's okay," Otto calmly intoned. "These things happen. They probably thought there was something valuable inside."
But he couldn't keep from staring at Emric as he said this.
* * *
Luned awoke to a frightful bang coming from the spare room. She struggled out from under the tatters of a fleeting dream and found herself nestled against Flint's body, in a little hutch of warmth beneath the blankets. It was tempting to stay right there, but the periodic thumps which came from Resolve's temporary quarters kept dragging her back to consciousness. Now she was fully awake, the light seemed too bright to be restful - even the small amount that wormed past the curtains - and the comforting warmth had begun to edge upon sweltering. She groaned and wriggled her way out of Flint's clutches, poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on her dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed with her face held in her hands. Another dull whump echoed through the walls.
"That... silly girl," Luned moaned. "What on earth is she doing in there?"
Flint grumbled something against the mattress. The scribe just responded with another sigh, gulped down her water, and shuffled over to the door. She grabbed a gown off its hook and draped it about her, then set off for the source of the noise.
"Rez," Luned uttered, pushing open the door, "what's going-"
She stifled a small scream as she took in the broad, muscular back of a stranger looming in the middle of the room. Its owner whipped around at the noise, and she saw the much more welcome features of Otto Bastum staring wide-eyed back at her.
"Luned, I..." he glanced behind him at the mild mess he had left of the drawers and wardrobe. "Have you seen Resolve?"
"Not since I went to bed, no. Why, what's the matter?" Concern started to creep through her fatigue, and it entered into her voice.
Otto pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing. I mean, nothing serious like that. I just need to speak to her."
A gentle sound caused Luned to look back over shoulder, where she saw Flint step lightly in behind her. He locked eyes with Otto, offered the orc a nod of recognition, and seeing the lack of danger, ambled back outside. Luned heard him start to make his way over to the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Otto," she said, turning back. "If she's not here... I can't think of where she would be, exactly. Have you tried Moody's? Talked to Ags?"
"I popped in on the way over." Otto slid open a dresser drawer and began to poke about. "No sign of her-"
"Otto!" Luned gasped. "Those are her, her things."
The orc shook his head. "No, this is just stuff. Her 'things' are over there," he replied, pointing to a seemingly undisturbed dresser. "I, er, made sure not to rummage around once I saw what was there. Please, I just need something of hers. Something made of iron. Damnit!"
"Why do you... oooohhh," Luned said, comprehension dawning over her face. "I can't think of anything. Wait - she brought a few things over from her place... the only thing I know of that should still be here is her knife set. It's in the kitchen."
Otto blinked. "She brought her knife set?"
He was answered with a grin. "Of course. She's always deplored the state of the kitchen here. Her cooking supplies started to appear here soon after Rosie did."
"That - that sounds like her. Hmm," Otto stroked his beard. "That could work. Now, do you have a map?"
* * *
Flint Skovik had busied himself with making tea, when the kitchen door creaked open and Otto stalked inside with a large roll of paper under his arm. The Salvaran calmly strained the teapot's contents out into three mugs as he watched the orc clear everything off the kitchen table, pick it up, and walk it over to a bare patch of wall. Otto set it down on its side, then proceeded to unfurl the paper across its now vertical surface. Flint filled a small dish with sugar cubes and set it on a tray. Luned ambled meekly in, offering Flint a weak smile, and walked over to the bench. As Otto began to peg the map down flat, Luned drew one of Resolve's precious knives from its holder and walked over to the orc. He accepted it wordlessly.
Luned returned to the bench with Flint, who pressed a steaming mug into her hands.
"Thank you," she said. They turned around and watched the orc.
When Otto had gotten the map to stay in place, he stood up and took a few paces back. He closed his eyes, muttered a few things under his breath, raised the knife up high, and threw it at the map.
It bounced away, clattering to the floor.
"Bugger," Otto growled.
Flint took a draft of tea. "What were you aiming for?" he enquired.
"I don't know," Otto replied, fetching the knife from the ground. He repeated the ritual for a second time: eyes closed, something intoned, and blade hurled at the map. The knife clanged down to the floor once again, and Otto's curse was a little more irate this time around.
"This is pointless," he growled.
"I don't know about that," Flint replied, staring into his drink. "You managed to hit the docks twice in a row with your eyes closed. Not bad."
Otto's eyebrows raised up high. "The docks?" He turned to Luned. "What's at - wait, doesn't her mother have a ship?"
Luned nodded. "Hyacinth, but it's not in port right now. Still, I know where it usually berths. I'll write it down for you."
Resolve
11-01-14, 02:08 PM
A familiar presence broke Resolve out of her second attempt at meditation. She waited until he'd walked halfway down the dock to acknowledge his presence, not bothering to look his way as she spoke. "It's not safe to be wandering around on your own," she reminded him.
"I could say the same," Otto replied, his voice low as he drew near.
Resolve pulled her knees to her chest and crossed her arms over them, eyes still fixed on the cloudy horizon. A breeze swept up between the boards and prickled her skin. "What is it, then?"
Otto stood not far behind her, and as he shifted his weight between his feet, she heard a low rustle. "I came here to apologize." That earned the girl's hesitant attention and she slowly turned, glancing upward. The orc towered over her with what seemed to be the entire contents of a florist's shop spilling over his long arms, and the bright colors glowed vibrant against the gray of winter. "I'm sorry." His brow knotted tightly as the bouquets framed his sheepish, slate-hued face, and she noticed that a spray of small flowers had entangled itself in his beard.
"Why?" Resolve stared up at him, angst whisked away by a sense of true and utter befuddlement.
"I never got your note," he explained. "I didn't know there was one until today. I had found it easier to be angry than to listen to you when you got back. So… I'm sorry. And I'm here to listen this time."
The girl blinked. "I thought…" she trailed off. "You don't know what happened, then, do you?"
Otto shook his head. "But I'd like to."
She frowned, turning toward the water once again. "If I tell you, you might take it back."
The orc knew her well enough to know she would have told him without question if his presence wasn't welcome and could have sighed with relief. He set the flowers on the dock and settled down beside her, his feet hanging off the end with the water churning beneath. "What happened?"
Resolve thought for a long moment, avoidance of eye contact giving away her unease. "Luned found some information about my father's tribe," she began. "About my abilities… it turns out that they're really dangerous. She thought that if I didn't get help, I'd grow corrupt and turn into a devadi –– a demon –– myself. But I was still mad at her at the time, over Flint and everything else, so she contacted me through Rayse, who was going to Fallien anyway. I didn't know what else to do, so I went with him."
Otto nodded. "And that's what your note said?"
The girl finally looked at him again, albeit briefly. "Yes, but… it wasn't that simple. I… I'd been doing it wrong." She paused.
"Doing it wrong?"
She rubbed her neck. "When an Astakan warrior exorcizes something, they absorb the corruption, which releases the purified spirit. Then they have to remember to purify themselves, in turn, so they don't turn into devadi, too." Resolve buried her face in her arms. "I hadn't been doing that," her muffled voice continued. "I'd been releasing them from this plane and, without realizing, sent them somewhere else. I'd trapped them there, and they'd decayed into a… I don't even know how to describe it. They'd melded into a monstrosity, this horrific behemoth, where they stewed with their pain and anger until it changed them. My father showed me what I'd done, and I… I couldn't believe I'd created such a thing." Resolve took a deep breath, long and slow, and couldn't bring herself to see her friend's reaction. "I'd sent people there, Otto. People I thought I was helping. My father helped me release them, but… the damage has been done, you know?"
Her confession was received by silence. She waited, then cautiously turned her head so she could peek up at Otto. He watched the waves quietly, brow knotted in thought.
"You're a lot of pleasant things," Resolve muttered against her shoulder, "but most of all, you're a good person, Otto. I like spending time with you because you inspire me to work hard to be good, too… or at least better. I thought I was learning from you, how to slow down, how to think about my actions. But it turns out I haven't learned anything, have I? You deserve better than that."
Resolve waited for an answer. Little ice floes supplicated themselves against the dock's stout posts, ponderously nudging and retreating with the rippling water. She braved a look at the orc, to see him gazing stoney-faced out across the harbour. The wind teased a couple of petals out from his beard, and a steady stream of colour was likewise bleeding away from the bouquet. This debris fell into the water, where it disappeared amidst the cold, iron-grey mess bobbing about there.
Resolve shivered, and sighed. "Yeah. Sorry," she said. "You probably didn't need to hear that. I should..." she looked around wearily, and stood up. "Thanks for the flowers, Otto."
She began to walk her way back along the pier, hunched in on herself against the cold.
"Resolve."
She paused, and turned back to the orc. Otto still sat there, facing out to the sea, almost drooping over the edge. He picked up an iris stalk between his fingers and twirled it idly back and forth. Resolve waited, but Otto appeared to be struggling to find more words. Seconds passed, and then he twisted around to look at her.
"I understand," he said, softly.
Resolve waited some more, not wishing to divert Otto from this course.
"Telling me this... I know it was hard," he went on. "I couldn't do it."
"It doesn't change things, Otto. It doesn't undo my mistakes."
Otto's yellow eyes lost some of their focus. "No," he replied. "Nothing really does."
Resolve hung her head. The orc cursed inwardly at himself.
"I didn't mean- look, Rez. I don't blame you for that. I have no right." Otto turned back to the sea. He dropped the iris into the lapping water, and watched it get carried out of sight. "You mean the world to me, Rez. Did you know? Thaynes, that's what makes this so hard. And I don't mean what you just told me."
She lifted her head.
"Do you... remember, when you first came back?" Otto went on. "We fought at the library."
"I remember."
Otto let silence lull back in for a few seconds. "I have to tell you something as well," he said at last. "It's only fair."
Resolve teased a few strands of hair away from her eyes. The breeze was hostile, and part of her wanted to be away from here. But the other part had to carry this through. So she walked back over, and sat, and listened.
Otto stood over the elf. The villager still lay sprawled on the dirt from where he had fallen off the palisade, and his thick black hair was sodden with blood. It had probably only just stopped trickling from the vicious gash in his neck, where a well-aimed bolt had ripped the flesh.
"Oi! Bastard!"
Otto turned away from those dead eyes to see Gavin striding towards him. The buildings on either side of the road were already starting to blaze, and screams could be heard over towards the northern forest.
Gavin put a hand on the orc's shoulder. "Come with me," he said. Without waiting for a reply, Gavin began to steer the recruit along the open streets and through a thickening haze of smoke. They were heading south, away from the village centre, but still within the confines of the palisade. Once or twice they passed houses from which came the sound of heavy-handed ransacking. Another one emitted muffled, pleading screams.
Gavin pushed them both onwards.
After about a minute, they came to a small timber yard against the wall. Scarlet-clad soldiers surrounded a central, open space, and each one held a weapon in their hand. After he noticed them, Otto saw the prisoners.
There were about ten, hemmed in by the soldiers and on their knees in the dirt. There was a mix, of humans and elves, of men and women, of young and old. Their faces were as blank as those of their guards, and their eyes were downcast to the earth.
Gavin gave the orc a little push, and let go. "Sarge!" he yelled out, while Otto tottered forward uncertainly. One of the soldiers broke his vigil and walked calmly over, until he was a few paces from the pair.
The sergeant glanced between them. "Big 'un, isn't he?" he remarked to Gavin. Then to Otto: "Weapon out, private."
Otto fumbled with his belt until he managed to extract a hammer.
The sergeant spoke while Otto did this. "Gavin tells me you've not seen any action 'til today. But in the CAF, everyone pulls their weight." He turned his head towards the prisoners. "Captain Jeffreys has ordered that all Ixian conspirators are to be executed."
Otto watched the sergeant, a nonplussed expression scrawled across his face. The NCO waited expectantly for a few seconds.
At last, he sighed. "Kill them."
Otto looked at the stricken group. "Sarge?"
"Kill them."
Otto hesitated. "I..." he stuttered.
Gavin sidled up to him, and whispered in his ear, "Look, captain's ordered them dead, so if you don't do it, someone else will. This is your chance, matey."
The orc looked at him helplessly. "But - "
"Private!" growled the sergeant. "Disobeyance of an order given by a superior officer is insubordination, which carries the maximum penalty of death. You have five seconds to step lively!"
There were more soldiers behind Otto now; he heard their boots crunch across the dirt, and the whisper of steel being drawn.
"Five!"
Otto looked to the prisoners. The closest one to him was a woman, maybe thirty, or perhaps just aged beyond her years by a life of hard work under the sun. Her dress was torn, and she was missing the shoe on her left foot. She raised her head to see what all the noise was about, and fixed her brown eyes upon the orc.
"Four!"
She must have noticed Otto's hesitation. Her expression shifted from a pale, resigned mask, to something that wrung Otto's insides dry.
"Three!"
She stared at him, hopefully.
"Two!"
And then, behind him, he heard the soldiers draw closer...
"One!"
* * *
Irinham was already some way behind them. They might have seen it during the day, but the massive column of smoke would be visible at night for miles and miles around. It was like a giant, skyward river, with a legion of smaller tributaries winding their way together until it formed one giant, glowing pillar holding up the dome.
Private Gavin rode with his squad in the back of one of the wagons. It had been piled high with loot from Irinham, mostly foodstuffs that would keep for the journey back to Radasanth - grain and flour, cured meats, even a few prized jars of pickles. There had also been a great quantity of ale and wine liberated from the settlement, but the officers were keeping a close eye on that.
Gavin excused himself from the others, and crawled across heavy sacks towards the back of the cart. He stared at the distant, undulating cloud for a while, then sighed.
"Don't you worry," he said. "You're one of us, now."
Gavin slapped the other figure on the back, who sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the cart, then worked his way back towards the front.
Otto watched Irinham fade away.
Resolve
11-02-14, 11:47 AM
Resolve listened in quiet astonishment and concern, watching his downcast face as the beginnings of tears rippled her vision. "Gods, Otto," she gasped in place of all the other words she failed to find. Tentatively, she reached out a hand for his forearm… and this time, he didn't flinch or pull away. Her heart felt so full and heavy that it hurt, and she couldn't keep herself from climbing to her knees and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders.
Otto suffered the death grip of her embrace for a moment before reciprocating, his arms coiling around her and pulling her close against the warmth of his woolen coat. She slid into his lap and they stayed that way for a long time, bundled securely together against the cold. Resolve buried her face in his neck, where she counted her breaths to fend off the temptation to have a good cry right then and there. Her efforts were successful until she felt a sob seize his large frame, then another, and she followed suit. Their grasps on each other grew more desperate as they both shed hard-earned tears.
Minutes passed and, eventually, they grew calm again. The waves hushed their weeping, and they held each other in a state of gracious and weary comfort.
Then, in quite untimely fashion, a groan emanated from the girl's stomach. In spite of herself, she let out a weak little laugh. "So hungry," she mumbled into his shoulder, then sat up. "Have you had breakfast?"
He shook his head, hands pressed to her back. The silk of her tunic felt cool and slippery beneath his fingers, and she raised her own to brush some of his tears away.
"Let's go back to the library," Resolve smiled gently. She noticed a tiny, white flower still hostage in his beard, and she left it there. Her hand came to rest on the side of his face where her thumb traced the line of his cheekbone. "I'll make us something and we can catch up properly. I want to hear about Salvar."
"Aye," Otto agreed, then pulled her back in tight. "In a bit."
Resolve relaxed, her hand finding itself at home in his hair while the other rubbed his back in slow circles. As someone who constantly craved touch, his rejection days before had hit her hard. Now, wrapped up in his arms and warmth and a kaleidoscope of flowers, the weight disappeared. The exorcist had never cared for feeling small, but if it was with Otto, she didn't mind. She closed her eyes and focused on the creak of wool, the faint smoke of the forge, and the scratchiness of his beard against her neck.
The wind carried a faint whisper, and she nearly missed it before it blew away.
"Thank you."
Warpath
11-02-14, 12:22 PM
Flint wandered the streets in the voluminous robes of a priest of Wyron, eyes hidden behind a blindfold of dyed and modestly stretched cheesecloth, doubled over. As long as the sun didn't hit his face directly, it gave the illusion that his eye sockets were empty beneath and, more importantly, it allowed him to perform surveillance without being noticed himself.
He kept his hood pulled forward and tapped the cobblestones in front of him tentatively with the base of his staff, chin tipped forward and up. Luned wasn't thrilled with the way he'd let his beard grow a little wild of late, but it helped his image now, and he wore pads over his middle to give every indication of gross corpulence. The sleeves of the robe were overlarge, necessary to conceal his vambraces, and he cried out in the most bombastic approximation of a Radsanathian accent he could manage.
The more he hammed it up, the better his alms. If he thought about it too much it rankled, this perverse nationalism that ruled the Coronic mind. They loved the sight of a fat, demanding beggar, like he was somehow evidence that they were doing well as a people. The more he played the part, the happier they were to dump coins into his outstretched mug. They wanted him fatter, healthier, louder.
At first, Flint had to restrain himself for railing against them for coddling the weak and deceptive, but now he made a game out of it. Every half-common they gave to him was one less coin in their pockets, and one less going to a real priest or panhandler. He saw the gods as little different from the nobles he so loathed, so it delighted him to figuratively spit in their faces.
Of course, he was fairly certain they couldn't exist. If they did, surely he would have been struck down hours ago.
He could make out silhouettes in fair detail through the blindfold a majority of the time. When he needed more color or clarity, it wasn't out of place for him to pause and tip his head back - ostensibly to listen or smell the air, but in actuality to peer beneath the underside of the blindfold. This, too, he'd mastered: he affected a bad back and leaned on his staff in those moments as if lost in his own small world of agony, and people looked away.
The Smiths hadn't gone unwatched since the night Resolve and Otto had been attacked. Even when Flint was away, the agents of a trusted friend were near - selling nephina or red flux tobacco from alleyways. The area's reputation was a small sacrifice for Otto's unbroken focus...or so Flint told himself.
He had chosen the choicest watches for himself, and today his criminal expertise paid off. Flint was in the middle of lavishing praise upon a stranger's misplaced generosity when he caught sight of someone rough approaching the Smiths' door. He very nearly abandoned the charade in favor of heroic violence, but a gut feeling held him at bay for the moment.
The newcomer was young and dressed in a street rat's motley, but nothing in his bearing suggested ill intent. In fact, he seemed comfortable and concerned neither with being watched nor with putting on a threatening air. Flint had expected a lurker or a leg-breaker, but this seemed to be a legitimate visitor.
Flint lowered his head to hide his smile within his beard when Emric stepped out, glanced around, and invited the tough in.
Warpath
11-02-14, 12:26 PM
Flint had abandoned his costume in an alleyway between districts, a necessary sacrifice. He was operating on the hunch that Emric's visitor was a messenger, and the theory felt like a safe one. The ruffian was hurrying across the city, one eye perpetually cast over his shoulder, and no fat, blind priest could be expected to keep up.
It was quickly made apparent that the messenger was in the employ of an old hand, experienced and careful. Four times he doubled back and paused to watch the street for ten minutes at a time, and only luck and quick thinking kept Flint from notice. At every opportunity, Flint's prey passed through crowded markets and gang-friendly flophouses, and never through doors or entryways on opposite sides.
It was only the ruffian's own inexperience that kept him in sight - he had followed his master's instructions, but clearly didn't understand them. His tactics were clever but mistimed, used at random rather than with purpose. Sure, Flint lost sight of him more than once, but he was never concerned about losing the trail: the ruffian was heading in one obvious direction, no matter how winding the path.
Even if not for Flint's natural street wisdom and experience, his superhuman nature made the contest exceedingly unfair. As quickly as the ruffian could duck into a hideout or warren, Flint could climb a tall building or wall and simply watch from on high until his young charge reappeared. Dead ends and traps were anything but, and any advantage won by trickery was lost by inhuman speed and the ability to leap from rooftop to rooftop.
It was clear they were getting close now: the runner was getting careless, taking fewer detours, watching his back a little less often, getting a little more comfortable when the crowd thinned around him. Flint dropped onto a high balcony and leaned on the railing as if he'd just stepped out for some fresh air, and he watched the ruffian approach.
"Come now," he muttered, "give me an address...show me to your..."
And then two men in military garb stepped out and intercepted the ruffian, grabbing his arms and shouting intelligible questions at him. Flint cocked his head to one side, frowning, and watched as his prey was taken by another predator.
Warpath
11-02-14, 12:28 PM
It was twilight by the time Luned could summon Resolve and Otto back to the library. Despite the fact that Otto was as subdued as he ever was, and despite the familiar scowl Resolve had ready for the brute, he could tell something had changed between them. He would have to ask Luned about it later - all the details of their relationship were related to him secondhand, and he thought he preferred it that way anyway.
"Your family had an interesting visitor today," he said by way of greeting.
Otto raised his eyebrows, and Flint immediately launched into his story.
He only had to pause once. When he explained his priest costume, Resolve held out a hand to interrupt him and said, "Really?" He smiled and fished a handful of coins out of his pocket. "I have many talents," he said, letting the coins drop onto the table before continuing.
When he reached the end of his tale, Flint unfurled a map of the city on the table, pinning the edges down beneath candles. He pointed at the street where he witnessed the ruffian getting detained by the police. "They arrested him here," Flint said, "and brought him here."
Otto shook his head. "There's no checkpoint there."
Flint nodded. "I suspected as much. They took your brother's visitor to a small house, apparently for sale. He went inside, they waited outside the door. Half an hour later, he slipped out through the cellar in the back. The guards waited another twenty minutes, and then went in separate directions to another block, where they met up again and escorted a third man in military garb. From there, they returned to your garrison."
Flint held up the index finger of his left hand, and hastily drew an insignia on a piece of scrap paper with his right hand. "He wore this," Flint said, and Otto frowned deeply.
"You're sure?" the orc said. "You're sure of the number of stars?"
Flint nodded, tapping the picture, and then his heart. "He wore that, here."
"What did he look like?"
Flint told him, and Otto blinked as if lost.
"You know him?" Luned asked tentatively.
"I think so." The orc raised a spade-like hand to rub his weary face. It came away with a tiny white Galanthus betwixt the digits, which Otto gazed at dully. "Sounds like young Grimhold. Leopold's run into him as well, actually. In any case," he continued, tucking the flower into Resolve's curls, "I shouldn't be surprised. His father's a major... name came up a few times during the investigation. I believe he's been suspended, placed under house arrest while this whole thing pans out."
Luned glanced between Otto and the other girl. "So, what does this mean, exactly? Should we be concerned?"
Otto shrugged. "We knew this was going on. Now we just have a few more details as to who is involved. Actually, I'm more interested in what that other bloke had to say to Emric, but there's no way he's going to tell me if I ask."
"This," Resolve interrupted, "is something we should discuss over a meal. It's getting late, and there's no point in standing around. I'm guessing Flint still has eyes watching the Smiths?"
Luned nodded. "I'll set up the table. Flint, why don't you pick out a bottle of wine and get the fire going?"
"Alright then," Resolve exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
She strode off to the kitchen, with Otto in tow. Luned busied herself with retrieving the cutlery, crockery and placemats from a dresser in the dining room, while Flint trudged back and forth from the wine rack. Cork squeaked stubbornly against glass, but yielded to the stout man's pressure, and he had started to pour out the ruby liquid into a decanter when a yell shot out from the kitchen.
"Who," Resolve shouted, "has been doing what with my knives?"
* * *
Flint nudged a thick log over the crumbling remains of its predecessors. Heat roared out from the hearth, prickling his forehead with perspiration, though the fire crackled meekly in its bed. He gave the fuel a couple more prods with the cast iron poker before standing up, setting the tool back in place, and ambled back towards the dining table. A couple of candelabras contributed to the room's soft glow, and were reflected off the myriad crystal facets of decanter, wine glasses, and silverware. He drew a chair out from Luned's right and sat down, then proceeded to steeple his hands in front of his face and lean in to them ponderously.
He became aware of Luned coiling a finger through his beard. His eyes darted over her way questioningly.
"You know, that was a nice look Otto had going back there," the scribe murmured. "I wonder how many flowers we could fit in yours, though?"
Flint blinked. "How many would you like?" he countered lightly.
A grin widened across her features, but just then, a clatter from the doorway announced the arrival of dinner. Resolve and Otto walked in, carrying between them a pot of braised pork, buttered potatoes, and fresh beans from the garden mixed in with some carrots. A wonderful aroma of onions and garlic rose from the sauce, and Luned and Flint's stomachs did somersaults in joy. The scribe poured out two more measures of wine in front of Otto and Resolve's places, while the chef began to dole out portions to each plate.
"So," Luned casually said to the pair across from her, "Do you still believe the Chronicle takes priority, or would you prefer to put this information to use in your investigation?"
Resolve and Otto looked at each other. "I don't know how long the investigation will take, even with this," Otto said at last. "I think the best thing we can do is keep sussing out the Assembly."
Resolve snapped her fingers and muttered something under her breath. "I'm sorry - I forgot to tell you... Luned's come up with something."
She took out the small device and placed it in front of the orc. He picked it up, stroking the seams and outline with his index finger. He seemed perplexed by it.
"How does it work?" he asked the scribe.
Luned took a sip of Merlot before answering. "By remote. I've used Prevalida as a counter-agent to the magicide inside - think double-negatives. That was... tricky to do, but I've tested it a couple of times, and it seems to work. There's a small Damascus trigger that I can activate at will, and when that happens, it will flip the Prevalida's function from an antagonizing effect to an augmentative one. In short," she concluded, "It'll create an anti-magic blast that will knock out the Assembly's protections for a short period. Long enough for us to teleport people in. All you need to do is get it past those protections to begin with, and somewhere it won't be found."
Resolve
11-03-14, 08:09 PM
With full bellies, the four planned their next steps. Otto deduced from his research on the Assembly that the next night should be conducive to another attempt at a stealth entry, which left that evening to investigate the lead on Grimhold, Jr.
Flint began collecting dishes without fuss, and as Resolve watched, she eyed him suspiciously. She wasn’t particularly convinced of the ruse he claimed to have pulled, dressing up as a priest and making a spectacle of himself. Something she was sure of was the fact that she’d be cautious of all vagrants she’d cross paths with in the near future, in case one of them turned out to be another of his concerning attempts at thespianism.
But still, he’d gotten them good information, even if she hated to admit it. She worried for Otto and his family’s involvement just as much as she wished she could beat some sense into Emric. She would have said so, as well, if she didn’t read a similar sentiment in the way Otto fell in with his thoughts during the lulls in conversation.
“We’ll clean up,” Luned offered. “You two go see what can be done about that Grimhold.”
“Thanks,” Resolve replied as she stretched her legs, then glanced to Otto. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Carrin. Do you think he’s missed me?”
He laughed in quiet sympathy for his friend. The young man had never really come around to Resolve’s unique brand of character after he’d unwittingly entangled himself in their last debacle.
The icy evening would have made for a cozy stroll if the pair wasn’t obligated to keep their pace up. They’d been lucky enough to evade their pursuers all day thus far, but they knew better than to tempt fate. Otto and Resolve trekked the moderate distance to the garrison with swift caution, pausing rarely, always close.
They’d spent what seemed every minute since breakfast talking; they had much to catch up on, after all. Now, they had finally run out of words, and each other’s company felt as familiar and welcome as it ever had –– if anything, they felt closer. As the tension diminished, comfort returned, and Resolve took Otto’s arm for the last block to the garrison.
“Missing Fallien?” he asked, noticing how she fidgeted in her borrowed coat.
“Too hot there,” she said, “but sleeves are still the worst.”
The entrance to the garrison was far busier than it should have been on a usual weeknight; distracted bodies rushed in and out in a flurry, and one of them caught Otto’s eye. A slender elf in uniform hesitated at the doorway, noticed his comrade, and detoured to the newcomers. He offered a polite nod to Resolve, but his mood was entirely businesslike this particular evening.
“What a day to be off,” Orlannes greeted Otto a bit more warmly, and then he lowered his voice. “The Grimholds were found dead not an hour ago –– both of them.”
Resolve’s jaw dropped and Otto cursed under his breath. “Is Orman in?” the fellow watchman asked.
“Should be. If you hurry, you can catch her before she sneaks out to see the mess for herself.”
Otto trudged through the portcullis a minute later, his form wavering beneath the torches strung along the gatehouse, footfalls bouncing back at him from the stone walls. Then he swept into the open air of an expansive yard beyond the fortifications - cold, and black, and still. As he powered on over the packed dirt, his eyes flashed back and forth in the darkness.
"Tell me you're there," he murmured to the sky.
"I'm here," Resolve answered him.
He couldn't see her form, but that was good - no one else would be able to, either. "Are you safe?" he asked. "Can you keep an eye on your surroundings?"
"It's fine, Otto. Don't worry about me." Resolve paused, but not for long. "What the hell is going on? I thought you said Grimhold was working for them."
"I don't know. I need to see what Orman thinks, what they were doing just now - how they died, too. Even I can tell this wasn't accidental."
Otto could see a knot of activity around the keep, now. Soldiers were darting in and out and around the tall stone building, their forms given away by the glimmer of torchlight on burnished steel helms. The orc nodded at a couple of guardsmen who dashed by him on the path, while Resolve's voice continued to whisper in his ear like a breeze.
"Was it Grimhildr's people, I wonder? Fred?"
He shrugged. "Possible. Maybe not Fred, but we didn't get all of her croneys... anyway, we'll find out soon enough."
Corporeal orc and projected Astakan fell silent as they approached the hubbub. Otto stalked up the stairs, between the gaze of two beady-eyed sentries, and into a converted entryway. Rows of plain, spindly chairs lined the front wall, facing a partition of desks staffed by duty officers and low-level administrative shitkickers. Most citizens visited their local watch house if they needed the authorities, but since it was the hub of CAF activity, even the city garrison had been organised to handle civic complaints. Otto went by unnoticed by a mess of NCOs; they all saw the badge pinned to his tunic, or recognised his massive frame, and let him be on his way. He started to climb a sweeping staircase to the side of the room, up to an open gallery.
As he neared a plain wooden door, he became aware of muted conversation on the other side. He gingerly pushed at the brass knob, and slipped into the small office his squad used for their infrequent meetings and paperwork.
"... take Keeves with you, they're going to want as many bodies getting statements as possible," a tall, grey-haired woman was saying. She appeared to be directing this at William, Otto's peer in terms of rank and experience. "You're to report to Captain Inverness. I'm wanted over at the Grimhold estate - so send a message there if it's urgent. Otto, you're on duty now," she concluded, turning to the orc. "You're with me. Got everything?"
Otto scrounged a notepad and pencil stub from the closest desk. "Yes'm," he replied.
"Good. Everyone, you're dismissed."
The team immediately began to stream back out the door. Otto's catch-up with his mates thus consisted of a couple of nods and exchanged looks of incredulity, before he too was scurrying away behind the lieutenant.
"Looks like you'll be able to join us in the flesh," he whispered.
Orman snapped a glance back over her shoulder. "Did you say something?"
"Er, I'm a little in the dark here, ma'am," Otto said. "Both the Grimholds?"
Orman nodded. "Both."
They burst out into the rapidly chilling night air of the yard. Orman had picked up a lantern along the way, and now its jolly yellow light bobbed with them through the darkness. Day was a watery grey smudge on the western horizon, barely glimpsed above the walls. Otherwise, the night was looking black: the clouds had lingered, and blocked the moon from plying its gentle trade. Orman set her determined course by the flickering torches which had been brought out in force. Despite this, even Otto's nocturnal gaze had difficulty judging the distance and shape of things. He could only imagine what it was like for the lieutenant.
"The major's estate was under surveillance. It doesn't sound like they saw anything, though, but we have yet to talk to the help. As for the captain, we know even less. Nightsoil cart came across it in a heap of - well, you can imagine."
Otto frowned. "That... almost sounds like something personal."
"It's a possibility, yes. The body wasn't hidden, and even if it was, the perps must have known it would be discovered pretty quickly. Dumping it on a midden seems like an insult."
"Cause of death?"
"Stabbing. Poor bastard copped it from a few sides. Same story for his father, too." Orman huffed angrily. "And yes - same cause of death, at about the same time. We're thinking very much related."
Otto was silent while they passed under the walls. The small, arched space here trapped the light from its torches; where it was dark and seedy by day, by night it was awash in dancing, amber glow. The sentries on duty at the gate saluted the lieutenant as she swept past, and then she and Otto were on the streets.
That was when he realised he was unarmed, save for a dagger and his hammer, and unarmoured.
Orman froze. She turned to the corporal.
"Is someone following us?" she hissed.
Otto spun around, his blade already in his hand, legs wound and light on his feet. A hazy figure stepped out from around a building, but his nose told him who it was before his meagre eyes had the chance. He lowered the dagger and relaxed his stance.
"Hello," Resolve said, walking into the glow of Orman's lantern. "Dark night out, isn't it. Mind if I join you?"
Resolve
11-05-14, 08:12 PM
Resolve’s offer to help may not have been expected, but Orman remembered their previous adventure with treasonous side of the watch well, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise.
“There’s no way you will get into the estate,” Orman said as they walked, “with or without me. Your willingness to help is appreciated, but…”
“But you don’t have to get me in,” Resolve interrupted. “I can handle that myself. You just have to get a few minutes alone with the body and I’ll meet you in there.”
Orman looked skeptical at best, eyes always facing ahead. “And how do you plan to manage that? The place is on lockdown.” Before she could finish her sentence, Resolve had vanished from her side and appeared directly in front of her, posture confident. The taller woman stopped abruptly in her tracks, but her stare never wavered. “Is that a new trick, Miss Curie?”
The exorcist grinned. “Possibly. So, will you let me help?”
Brows lifted, wrinkling Orman’s forehead. “You may have helped in the past, but you’re still a civilian,” she reminded her as if in warning, then stepped around her to keep walking. “So let’s just make sure we keep this off the books.”
Resolve glanced over to Otto, they shared a little smile, and then they continued after Orman deeper into the night.
Appreciation for the uncomfortable borrowed coat grew as minutes passed, no matter how tight the shoulders fit. Resolve waited in the shadows a block away, hunched into herself against the cold and a picture of impatience. She felt the estate out with her sixth sense: a good number of men had been stationed outside, at least a pair for every entrance, but not many made it past the foyer of the large house. A large group had assembled there, and she wondered if that was where they had gathered staff for questioning. Orman and Otto remained outside, assumedly speaking with whoever was in charge of traffic into the premises.
Even from this distance, Resolve already knew which room contained what was left of father Grimhold. Second floor, perhaps? From her current position, she had trouble deciphering much, but it would only be some minutes before she’d get her opening.
Winter fog was an eerie thing, clammy and chilling, but it did her a favor that night as people passed by without noticing the small presence tucked away in the deepest part of an alley between two houses. They stood appropriately tall and pristine for the neighborhood, and Resolve held in a sigh of relief when the maid from one didn’t notice her as she cleaned her shoes by the servant’s entry. The tips of her nose and toes began to burn from the frigid air, her usual excess warmth quelled by unusual stillness, and she wished her companions speed.
Some more minutes passed and then finally, at long last, Resolve noticed Otto and Orman on the move once again. They moved vertically, strumming the nerves of the exorcist’s psychic web with each step, until they stopped and someone let them in.
“Come on,” Resolve groaned with a shiver when their chaperone stayed longer than her extremities would have preferred. Another minute, then another, and… finally!
She vanished.
Resolve
11-05-14, 11:11 PM
Grimhold’s study was a gloomy, claustrophobic sort of place, dark with heavy furniture much too grand for its size. The only good lighting came from the fireplace, and even with it stoked, the flames simply cast long, gruesome shadows over what was left of the man: a mortal shell, laid straight on his back in a pool of inky blood. He had obviously been disturbed since the event. The trace scent of cold iron tickled Otto’s nose, and the orc grimaced.
“So this is him, eh?” Resolve said quietly, appearing at his side.
“Better be quick about it,” Orman urged her.
The exorcist stepped up to the corpse, gazed at it thoughtfully, and then her curiously violet-tinged eyes crossed the room to the dead man’s desk. The lamps there glowed low over a cold and empty chair. “He hasn’t gone far,” she announced. “Have you, Grim?”
She couldn’t see or hear him yet, but she could definitely feel him. He’d only been dead for a couple hours, now, and she imagined there was some confusion to work through before he could manage polite conversation.
“I am a medium,” Resolve continued. “If you tell me what happened, I can relay your account to these fine investigators. We can see to justice where it’s deserved.”
What seemed to be silence to Otto and Orman apparently held much more, as Resolve visibly bristled.
“Listen up,” she hissed at nothing. “I am your only shot at getting back at whoever did this to you before your shitty, old-ass body is dumped in a mausoleum until the spring thaw––”
A voice sounded from down the hall, footsteps quickly following. “Is everything alright in there?” the man asked, his face peeking around the corner. It was easy to tell he didn’t much care for the duty of watching over the dead, as his line of vision quite purposely avoided the floor.
Otto cursed under his breath; fortunately, Resolve had already vanished.
“I think we’re done here. Thank you, private,” Orman addressed the young man, then walked out into the hallway after him. Otto joined, and he noticed a tension in her shoulders that put him on edge.
Out on the street, Orman simmered. She had begun to walk back to the keep, her gait that of someone quite unhappy to have wasted her time. “That girl would be far more useful if she had a single iota of professionalism in her.”
Otto followed, brow furrowed. He remembered that Resolve had spoken of working on investigations in an official capacity in the past, but after this, he had a feeling the chance of convincing his superior to consider such a thing had gone from slim to nonexistent. The walk was long and tense and quiet, with Orman absorbed in her own thoughts and Otto in his. They both understood the danger in this old trouble with the watch’s internal corruption resurfacing; they had been involved the first time around, and that put them in a particularly precarious position. With the first blood had been spilt, how quickly would these invisible adversaries move to silence the rest of the potential leaks?
“Hey,” Resolve piped up. She jogged up behind them out of the mist, her breath in clouds. “Wait!”
Orman slowed and stopped, turning halfway to view the straggler.
“I got him to talk,” the girl explained. “I’d never met him before but he knew exactly who I was, it was weird –– and he wouldn’t talk until I told him about his son. I almost felt bad,” she frowned, “but man, what an asshole.”
“Keep your voice down,” Orman came around. “What did he tell you?”
Resolve brushed some hair out of her face. “His son was hiding evidence to use against the smugglers. He didn’t know about it until recently, and they must have thought he was in on it to do him in like that. I pressed him for more information, but he really, really didn’t seem to like me,” she added, as if an amusing aside. To find humor in such a situation may have been insensitive, but she earned some leeway considering she was one of the few to have a grasp on whatever nothingness or infinity came after life.
When they returned to the garrison, Orman went in, and Otto took a moment to say good night. The bustle outside the entrance had slowed somewhat, but the unease of the news remained. The pair stood around the corner in a recess between buildings, out of the wind and out of the way.
“Good luck,” Resolve said, stepping in close with her numb fingers forced deep inside her pockets. “And thank you for today… all of it. I know things aren’t easy yet with all of this going on, and maybe it’s naïve to think they’ll ever be, but I’m really happy to have another chance.” She rested her head against his chest. “I really missed you, Otto.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “I missed you, too.”
“I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure Orman’s waiting… be safe, alright?”
“Same to you,” Otto muttered into her hair. “We’ve been lucky so far, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there somewhere, lying in wait. Maybe we could find a place for you to sleep here…?”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Resolve lifted her face to look up at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re too tall.”
“Erm… sorry?”
She pulled away, glanced to the ground, and lifted her foot. Something crackled underneath it, followed by a sheen reminiscent of the energy crafting she used to forge temporary weapons. She lifted herself up onto the makeshift step, then another. Soon, she was just about Otto’s height, and she grinned.
“Is that a new trick, Miss Curie?” Otto asked, his hands resting on her hips.
“This is probably an entirely inappropriate occasion for a kiss goodbye, but I’m going to do it anyway,” Resolve warned him, and then she leaned in. Her lips pressed against his and her fingers found their way into his beard and hair, and she felt his arms wrap around her waist to bring her closer into his warmth. To give into such a temptation inspired some guilt, but surely they were allowed a few blissful seconds. “Good night, Otto,” she whispered as she brushed some strands out from his eyes, and then she disappeared.
In the seconds after she left, Otto held the pose. His fingers curled through the empty air, then his arms dropped, and finally, he straightened up. The knowledge that he couldn't linger here grew in urgency; he needed to catch up with the lieutenant, share information with the rest of his squad, receive his assignments... and get out of the dark city streets before he had another run-in with the CAF's own criminal element. Now that he thought about it, it seemed strange not to have run into any trouble yet, going to and fro the garrison. It was one of the few places he could be sure to visit, and he knew they had been keeping their eye on it since his first encounter. With both the Grimhold's dead, it looked like they were willing to make their moves.
So why had nothing happened when Orman, Otto and Resolve were out on the streets tonight?
The bright, guttering torches of the garrison entrance came into view around the bend. Indistinct banners rippled on either side of the gate: crimson field broken by the CAF's sword and feather on each (though you wouldn't know it unless you got on top of the things, not on this night). For the second time that evening, Otto strode through into the courtyard. It was only a minute before he was back inside the keep, up the stairs, and walking inside the office.
William and Keeves hadn't returned, but the rest were there: boyish Carrin, violet-eyed Orlannes, sun-weathered Fadime, and a greying Orman. The NCOs had taken up relaxed postures in their seats, or parked on the edges of their desks, while the lieutenant stood at the front of the room and flipped through some notes. Otto moved to his allotted workspace, pulling the notebook from his pocket as he did so.
Carrin had been speaking, but the lieutenant motioned for him to pause. "Otto," she said, "grab a copy of everyone's notes when you're done and bring yourself up to speed."
Otto nodded, and set about making duplicates of his own. The rest of the squad continued to talk around him about the night's events.
"From what the other squads have reported, Jerome was killed this afternoon," Carrin continued. "His body had been lying in the midden long enough for rigor mortis to set in, so they're thinking it happened about five hours before he was discovered."
"The scene at the estate was pretty fresh," Orman remarked. "Probably just an hour or two old. So they did the captain in first, then moved on to his father."
"Looks like they used rondel daggers on the major," Otto said from the back. "Narrow incisions, clean punctures with no sign of slashing, and fairly deep wounds from the look of it. Still, we never know what the post-mortem will uncover."
Fadime spoke up. "Not very helpful - half the city carries those. The people with the best motive are probably Grimhildr's gang, but we've seen no activity from its remainders since the flower shop bust-"
"A... source informed me that it was the CAF," Orman interrupted her. "The same element of it that Major Grimhold was involved in. It looks like they got the son to work for them, he figures his integrity is more important, they find out he's double-crossing them, and they deal with him."
The office was quiet for a little while as they all digested this titbit. Otto dispelled the silence when his chair scraped back, and he made his way towards the front of the room. As the orc gave out some scribbled pages to his colleagues, Carrin shifted his weight upon the desk.
"Makes some sense," he said, at last. "His estate's being watched, though. I thought they were restricting people's access to him, CAF especially, because of the nature of the charges."
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" Orman snapped back. "All it would take is one compromised checkpoint, just for a couple of guards to look the other way. Given the nature of the charges, this is exactly the sort of thing we need to worry about." She sighed, then, and rubbed her face. "There's going to be a meeting tomorrow morning: all investigating personnel are to attend. It'll give us the opportunity to get up-to-date with what the other teams have found out, but I also intend to push command to dig into the backgrounds of whomever was rostered on to watch that estate."
"Why kill the major, then?" Carrin asked. Orman sighed again.
"They might have thought he was in on it as well - granting cooperation in return for leniency. And even if he wasn't, could they trust him to keep mum after they killed his son? In either case, the end result's the same. But there's something else. For now, it doesn't leave this room."
Carrin, Orlannes and Fadime leaned in curiously. Orman gestured Otto towards the door; he stepped lightly over to it, quickly peeked outside, then ducked back in. The orc nodded to his superior, and clicked the portal shut behind him.
"Jerome Grimhold is supposed to have compiled his own evidence against his father's associates," she went on. "We don't know if they're aware of this, but I suspect so. What's much less likely is that they know that we know about it. That's why I don't want any mention of this source, or what they told me, to come up during the meeting tomorrow. We have the opportunity to catch them by the danglies with what we might find, and bring this to a swift conclusion. So. I'm going to assign extra duties to some of you to follow this up, but as I said - keep this under wraps. Understood?"
The squad nodded, as one.
"Alright then. Get some shut-eye. It's going to be a long few days ahead of us."
Resolve
11-07-14, 11:02 AM
When Rosie woke the next morning, she was surprised to be alone… as well as mildly concerned. The woman rubbed the sleep from her eyes, pulled on a heavy robe, and stepped out into the hallway, where it only took a few more to reach the door next to hers. She raised her fist to knock, thought twice about it, and lowered her hand to grasp the knob. It opened with a click and she peeked inside, worried she'd find the bed empty.
To her relief, Resolve had not been captured by an enemy, nor decided to sleep somewhere questionable after a lovesick-fueled bender. She found her sprawled out over her borrowed bed quite deeply asleep, long limbs snaking out from under the twisted sheets.
"Thank goodness," Rosie sighed, then invited herself downstairs for a cuppa.
The library had another early riser. Flint sat at the table in the kitchen where he appeared to be mending a garment, though the colors were far too garish for it to belong to his or Luned's wardrobe. Rosie eyed him curiously as she set about her morning routine, and was pleased to find some hot water still in the kettle from the brute's breakfast. "I never pegged you as the domestic type," she commented in good humor. When the man failed to respond, however, she wondered if he'd taken the wrong way. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Sorry, I didn't––"
His intense stare caused her to lose track of her sentence, and he caught her gaze with his as a snare might trap a rabbit. "You've seen nothing," he said straight-faced, then gathered his project in his arms to take it upstairs. Rosie watched him go with a blink.
"Well, then."
The woman made a mug of floral tea, then settled in at the table with some fruit and a book. Before long, she became absorbed into an edition of The Bawdy Adventures of Miss Fanny Price, a particularly well-loved volume she'd borrowed from Resolve about the time the prolific heroine journeyed to Dheathain and tamed a feral man who wore naught but a loin cloth.
"Ah, that's a good one," a sudden voice concurred, and Rosie looked up to see Resolve standing over her. "I like the part where they fight the dragon woman. That, and the dirty bits," she grinned, then strolled over to the stove where she poured the last of the hot water into a mug with some dried peppermint leaves. "Hmm," the girl sounded, then turned to rummage through the cupboards. "You like Blue's apple bread, right? I've had a craving lately… maybe I'll make a batch."
Rosie marked her page and set the book down, folding her hands on top of it with a warm smile. "That sounds wonderful." One of her fingers fidgeted along Fanny Price's worn spine. "You seem better this morning. Did something happen yesterday?"
Resolve set a saucer of milk and butter atop the stove to warm. "I got back late because there was this terribly gruesome double homicide," she said nonchalantly as she added some cinnamon sticks to steep. "I went along for part of the investigation. Sorry business, they found one of the poor saps in a––"
The elder woman cleared her throat. "I meant with Otto," she clarified.
"Oh yeah," Resolve replied innocently, pausing in her flurry of baking to tighten the sash of her bright, silk robe. "Yeah, we talked. I guess it was all just… a miscommunication."
"And how are things now?"
The girl had disappeared into the pantry and reappeared with an armful of shiny, green apples. She placed them onto the counter to set about peeling them, but she paused to inspect one. Just the smallest section of this apple had blushed a deep, luscious red as it had ripened in the sun and it looked delicious, so she took a bite. "Better," she finally responded as she began peeling. "I guess we won't really know until this whole mess blows over, but I think we can work it out."
Rosie's smile widened. "Glad to hear," she said as she picked up her own mug of tea for a sip, and fell quiet for a thoughtful moment. "…And you still have those things I gave you, right? Do you remember how they work?"
Resolve tossed her a sidelong glance of irritation over her shoulder. "How many times have you had this conversation with me now?" she asked. "Several times a year for the past ten. I'm pretty sure I remember, thanks." The next apple suffered a bit for that.
"Well, it is my job," Rosie offered defensively, "both as a professional and as your friend. Besides, this is probably the first time you've actually needed it, so it doesn't hurt to remind you."
"Wait, what do you mean by that?" It was Resolve's turn to get defensive, but the edge to her tone was softened somewhat by the fragrant scent of hot, buttery cinnamon.
The woman chuckled. "Otto is a man, you know."
"I've dated men!" Resolve argued through a cloud of flour as she mixed the dough with a bit too much muscle. "What about Edgar?"
"He barely counts. He was prettier than any of the girls you've walked out with," Rosie stifled a giggle with her mug. "You pursued him for what, a month? And he was terrified of you."
The exorcist glared across the kitchen. "No, he was just playing hard to get. I'm not that scary."
Despite all her efforts, Rosie burst out laughing. "You're one of the most intimidating people I know, Rez," she gasped, "and that says a lot after meeting Flint. This morning he looked like he was planning my murder just because I caught him with a sewing needle in his hand."
Resolve's expression dropped to something which read to Rosie as an unsettled mix of disgust and foreboding. "No," she groaned, "not again! Ugh, why does he have to be so weird?" Never before had apple bread been made with such intensity, as she forced the dough into a ceramic pan and shoved it into the oven.
When the clouds of flour and sugar settled, and Rosie had gone back to her book and the girl had finally returned to her tea, the woman asked for one last reassurance. "Are you sure you don't want me to explain how it works again?"
Resolve flared, bit back her response, then smiled coolly. "He was working for the pirates the whole time," she teased, "Fanny turns him into the dragon queen in the last chapter. Oh, and they do it his treehouse and it's really hot, but now you'll know what the foreshadowing is about and you'll be too distracted by the fact that he's secretly evil to enjoy it." Then, with a smirk, she vanished.
"Th-that's––" Rosie huffed in stunned silence, slamming the book down onto the table. "Not fair, Resolve!"
"This might take me a while," Otto had told Orman. "Do you think you could clear me for overnight leave? I have a couple of places to stay outside the garrison, closer to the crime scene than here. And I won't wake up half the barracks when I come back in."
To which the lieutenant had nodded her assent. "Just make sure you get back by sunrise."
The morning meeting had just concluded, without much new to report: there were no witnesses at either scene. Jerome had appeared to be moving alone, in such a way to avoid prying eyes, which worked out better for his assailants than himself. And the major's household was large enough that one cook, a couple of maids, a manservant and a stableboy couldn't watch every nook and cranny. All they had were a few bootprints beside the garden path, which suggested just two people - few enough to evade notice and ensure the deed was done. Orman had put forward her idea to do background checks on the guardsmen stationed to watch the estate, an idea that was met with some dissent. Her growing reputation as a crusader within the ranks was starting to work against her.
After the meeting, the squad had reconvened within the office. One by one, she gave out assignments with her own little addendums: the brass say this needs looking into, say - but while you're at it, see if anyone matching Jerome Grimhold's description was seen making frequent visits to the area. Or has been renting lockboxes at the bank. Et cetera.
She had told Otto to go to the site where Jerome met his ignoble demise, and see what he could uncover. Odds were that it wouldn't be much; the blood would be dry or rinsed away, evidence would have been picked through, and any scent on the air would be long gone. The CAF had already interviewed all the witnesses they could find, and turned up nothing. The middens were understandably kept out of sight and out of mind, usually along a lane behind the houses. Between that and the fact most people were out working that time of day, that line of inquiry had turned up nothing useful. No, the odds were that Otto would be done and dusted before he knew it.
"This might take me a while," Otto had told Orman.
He left the hauberk where it was, in the footlocker at the base of his dorm bed. He opted instead to keep his fresh linen clothes, overcoat and boots. Their dull hues would blur in with the grime, and flax made a heck of a lot less noise than jingling chain - however snug you pulled the hauberk. He tucked his badge away to the inside of his coat, fastened his dagger to his belt, and fixed Anvil's tether to it as well, at the small of his back. It was late afternoon, and Otto had a long way to go yet.
He paused just outside the garrison entrance. The sun was making a brave appearance on its way out. Shreds of cloud twisted by it, streaming in fuchsia and ultramarine from the west. The last light did practically nothing to ward against a chill wind, however. Otto sniffed the air with disdain. Try as it might, he wouldn't be turned back early from the night's work. He set off for the city.
They had found Jerome's body down around the Millrucks, Otto's part of town. When he reached the place within an hour, he found it deserted. There had already been a proper search through the place during the day, when the light was good, but the teams involved looked to have wrapped up by the time Otto entered the narrow lane. He was assaulted on all sides by the coprolitic stench of recently-emptied middens, but he pinched his nose and carried on.
The spot Otto was looking for was easy to find: scuff marks, dog-ends and dried blood littered the cobbles around Jerome's fate. Otto did his best to pick out spray and smear patterns from the mud, but it was hard going. Say Grimhold had been coming from the garrison... this route would take you back towards the empty house that Flint had found earlier. Otto picked out some ruddy-looking splotches on the stones, and rubbed his finger against one. The smell definitely told him he was looking at blood. Splashback from the initial wounds, flicked off the blades as they plunged in and out. They had come at Jerome from behind.
He straightened up and looked about: the midden heaps were kept separate from each property by some basic fencing. Plenty of spots to hide and wait for your mark to come by. He returned his attention to the cobbles, and followed a much more prominent smear which trailed away and around into one such allotment. They'd dragged the body over - makes sense, you'd get less blood on your clothes than if you carried it - and, yes, dumped it here. The midden pile had been untouched by the gong men, and Otto could see the faint impression that Jerome's corpse had left in the muck. It also looked thoroughly picked through: no doubt the team had had the pleasure of sifting through the garbage for anything relevant. The orc spent a few minutes doing the same in and around the pile, but to no avail. The only thing he took away from that exercise was the lingering aroma of domestic refuse.
What was Jerome doing here? Why did he need to come back to the house on the same day? Maybe he had been summoned. Otto took out his notepad and scribbled down a reminder to see who had visited the man just before he left.
Otto sighed. He'd been right; there was nothing else to find here. He contemplated going to the house, but quickly overruled such a risky course of action. He'd be better served going in with a few people at his back, either Rez and Flint, or the rest of Orman's squad. It was a tough choice. Orman needed to know what was in that place and who had visited it, but at the same time, Otto didn't want to bring attention to his after-work activities. Speaking of which...
The orc turned in the direction of Bleddyn's library, and set off down the street. It would be another long and arduous night trying to get inside the Assembly walls, but first, he'd have a nice long bath.
Resolve
11-08-14, 12:16 AM
The relative safety of the previous day had Resolve confident, so she braved an adventure out to find some weather-appropriate attire that actually fit properly. It went as uneventfully as she anticipated, and she returned to the library comfortably warm for the first time since she came home from Fallien. She managed the miracle with heavy socks that reached past her knees, a woolen coat with a long, charcoal hem, and a soft scarf in searing red as a compromise for losing her usual vibrance. She had briefly considered trying real trousers, but the thought of stifling herself even further put her into a state of weather-made distress, and that was where she drew the line.
When she arrived at the library, Otto had already been there for some time, and he sat in the kitchen with Luned and Rosie where they talked over a light supper.
"That looks much more reasonable," Rosie commented in her usual motherly fashion.
"I made another stop, too," Resolve said as she pulled a hardbound novel from her left pocket. "I haven't read this one yet, so you can revenge-spoil it if you want." The woman accepted the next installment in Fanny Price's adventures with a pleased little smile, and all was well between them after their morning awkwardness.
The group spent the rest of the evening resting and socializing; they had finished planning, so it was just a matter of waiting for the opportune time. Otto opted for a nap eventually, as he would sorely miss a full night's rest when morning rolled around, and then Rosie absconded to read, leaving Resolve and Luned in the study.
"So, what are you doing now that you're home again?" the scribe asked as they watched the fireplace together. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, but she was determined to stay up long enough to see them off.
Resolve shrugged. "I guess I didn't really think about it. I could have stayed and trained more, but… I was homesick."
"I don't blame you," Luned sighed. "But you worked toward your journey to Fallien almost your whole life. Had you thought about what came next? What about making a name for yourself as an exorcist?"
"Sure, I've thought about it, but…" the girl trailed off into a moment of pensive silence. Some embers scattered across the hearth with a snap, but she didn't pull her toes away, determined to absorb as much warmth as possible before their moonlit stroll. "That won't work. The exorcist thing, I mean… after learning about it, I don't know if I can handle that level of responsibility right now. Sometimes I think I might like to work as a private eye, my skills would do most of the work for me and I could help people. But I think I've gotten my fill of it for now, and I keep learning again and again that I couldn't do that type of work alone."
Her friend leaned back, where she drew her shawl tight. "Work for Chronicle –– we have some missions coming up to fight the slave trade in Salvar. We could really use you."
Resolve bit her lip in thought. "I'll think about it."
An intricate Aleran clock chimed from the mantle, its music filling the room as it rang for midnight. As the last echoes of its mechanisms faded, Luned turned to Resolve. "About time to wake up Otto, isn't it?"
The girl fidgeted with the fringe on her scarf and glanced to the woman, then averted eye contact back to the fire. "Could you do it?"
Luned hesitated, then leaned forward again, catching Resolve's gaze. "I thought…?"
"Please," Resolve pleaded, burying half her face into the fabric coiled around her neck.
The scribe narrowed her eyes. "Fine, but you're telling me why later." She stood, adjusted her shawl, and strode out of the room, allowing a draft in after her. Resolve wallowed in a state of flustered confusion for a good long minute or three, dwelling on an unfamiliar sensation for someone who generally didn't over think things, before she decided that her energy would best be spent making one last hot cuppa for the road. She dragged herself to her feet, enjoyed one last second in front of the hearth, then left to the kitchen.
A light tapping on the bedroom door sent Otto's eyelids fluttering up. It was well into night, now; another dark and cloudy one, judging by the matte black square that was the room's window. Otto's gummy eyes drifted towards the light which flickered softly under the doorjamb, then upwards when the knocking recommenced.
"Otto?" Luned's voice, from the other side. "Are you awake?"
A weary groan forced itself up his chest. "Barely," he replied.
"There's tea down in the kitchen. I'll make you some... you should give yourself a few minutes to wake up properly before you both head out."
The scribe's footsteps retreated down towards the kitchen. Otto rubbed his eyes, then fumbled around the dresser for a candle and tinderbox. He soon gave up and decided to just shuffle through the darkened room, rather than waste good tallow. Heaving over the carpet, scrabbling for the doorknob; Otto staggered down the stairs and into the softly-lit kitchen. Luned had busied herself with straining tea into a dainty little cup, and there was Resolve, sitting hunched in on herself at the table. Otto pulled back the chair across from her and sat down. He flashed a tired little smile in her direction. She hesitated, but returned an equally dogged one to him. He reached out a hand and wrapped it around hers.
He thought back to the pier, how she'd crawled back into his arms. And he'd cried at that. Not at recalling Irinham... Otto had dark suspicions that, despite everything, he wasn't human enough in the head to be affected by it properly. What's more, it would have felt like an insult to the dead. Crocodile tears.
He'd cried for selfish reasons, because he was happier at that moment than he thought he had the right to be. He wasn't sure why Resolve had been crying. He didn't, actually, know what she was thinking.
Otto slowly withdrew his hand. Luned interrupted the terse moment by setting down the fine china cup in front of him, and took a seat for herself at the head of the table.
"I've spoken to Ags," she mentioned, mixing her tea about with a spoon. "You can use the door to number three in Butcher's Lane to take you to a safe place nearby, if you need it."
The other two nodded, and sipped their drinks.
Luned pressed on. "What do you think about this plan, though? After you came back the other night, it seemed like things could be harder than we expected..."
Otto put his cup down. "We're in a much better position," he stated. "Finding a way to quickly get a task force in was going to be tough, and doing it completely unnoticed, impossible. But now it's just us two, well. It'll still be tricky, but I'm confident we can pull it off."
"Once we're inside, we'll have to get out the hard way, too," Resolve stated.
"If we get in, we can get out," Otto assured her. He grinned. "And we can handle a little game of chase, I'm sure."
* * *
Another black night. Torchlight vied pitifully with the shadows, and lost. The streets were littered with vague, flickering outlines, the odd halo of brightness around a source of illumination, and seas and seas of obstinate darkness. It was a good night for thieves, muggers, burglars and other trespassers.
"I can't see a damned thing," Resolve muttered.
Otto gave her hand a little squeeze and led onwards through the winding avenues of Radasanth. The layout became wider, more organised, and tidier as they neared the assembly; laneways opened up to promenades, and stretches of green decorated the public spaces. But every row of posh houses had its back alley, where the gong men plied their trade. Also, there were still relics of older, more haphazard public planning even here - inexplicable staircases which led below the street, overpasses, and no man's land between estates. Otto and Resolve made their way towards the Assembly complex with little incident.
Where Otto had the edge when it came to not tripping over things in the dark, Resolve had a keener sense of nearby dangers. Once or twice, she alerted him to an unexpected patrol, and the early warning let them evade notice with ease. Slowly, but surely, they worked their way to the walls.
"This is a pretty open stretch here," Resolve whispered in Otto's ear.
It certainly was. He'd brought them to the middle of a long length of road below the walls. They would technically be exposed for quite some distance, but any onlooker would have to possess superhuman eyesight to make out two figures on the flagstones, especially if they kept away from lamp posts. Moreover, the lanterns each patrol carried with them would give away their position long before they became aware of Otto and Resolve's. An obsolete point for the exorcist, perhaps, but not for the orc.
From the safety of the houses, they looked up and down the street. It was empty.
"A guard on the wall," Resolve informed Otto. "About twenty feet south of us. Heading south, now... but another sixty feet to the north, inbound."
"We can reach the wall and hide under it fine, so long as no one comes down the street. We'll wait for the ones on the wall to pass, give ourselves as much distance from the next incoming guard that we can, and go over."
"How?"
Otto pressed some rope into her hands. She kneaded the course material between her fingers doubtfully.
"Better than nothing, I suppose," she said at last. "Ready when you are."
Resolve
11-10-14, 12:01 AM
This time, the plan worked. Such a novel concept seemed strange to the generally ill-fated pair and they kept vigilant watch of themselves, but still they managed to gain entrance undetected. They skulked the building, Otto took mental notes on the information he needed, and Resolve planted Luned's device under a loose piece of moulding where she imagined not even dust would find it.
As they wrapped up their mission, Resolve hesitated. "When do you think Luned wants to go through with it?" she whispered. Even if she didn't have Otto's nocturnally-inclined eyes to observe their surroundings well, she had her other senses, and what she felt made her nervous.
"Soon," Otto answered, leaning down to speak. "A couple weeks, maybe."
"… And what then?"
He wasn't sure how to answer that, so he didn't. "I'm sure we'll all have a lot to talk about, both before and after. For now, we should get out of here before our luck runs out."
Hand in hand, they made to sneak out the way they came, but Resolve tugged Otto to a halt at the doorway of the next corridor. "Wait," she breathed, taking a moment in an attempt to feel out the route… but the Assembly's protections against magic were formidable, and they had entered a dead zone. "I thought someone was coming, but… now I'm not sure."
Otto offered her a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We can rely on my enchantments, if need be. The tricky part is getting in and out, and we've managed half of it."
"Right," the exorcist sighed.
It took a couple close calls to get out, but they got there. By the time they emerged into the fresh air again, Resolve was frazzled and tense, and they took a short breather under the wall. As they stood there, she felt her magic return, and for the first time, she realized just how much she took it for granted. Such a revelation may have seemed obvious –– gifts such as hers were unique and deserving of appreciation –– but she really had never tried to do something without depending on them. Every new trick she learned changed the way she lived her life, and she had always just considered that part of her growth.
What if she lost them?
The prospect sat heavy and sour in her gut, so she pushed it out of her thoughts. "Coast is clear," she said to Otto, and he handed her the rope.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that this was the first evening they'd had together in far too long that didn't end in arguments or corpses, but it passed in a blur of adrenaline and butterflies and warm glances that left the girl dizzy. Before long, they neared the library again, and the finish line that would designate their success.
As they approached the back gate, however, they found it swinging open, and something rustled within the courtyard's dead foliage. Resolve's sixth sense didn't offer her the information she expected; there didn't appear to be a person, but what if something about the Assembly's protections had caused her ability to go haywire?
The duo approached in silent caution, the exorcist a step ahead. She was just about to peek out from the safety of the stone wall that led into the garden when a strangled yowl sliced through the thin night air, and she nearly leapt out of her skin. Poor Otto suffered the brunt of her nerves as she squeezed his hand a little too tight, and she released him as he knelt to greet his little beast.
"He must have followed me here earlier," the orc said, offering Nuggetchop a friendly scratch behind the ears.
Resolve's heart rate took a long moment to slow to something healthy again, but as she leaned against the wall and watched Otto greet his strange, little adoptee, she couldn't help but laugh.
Otto grinned up at her, but the cat made a point of turning away from Resolve and flicking up its tail. She felt vaguely annoyed at Nuggetchop for a moment, then at herself for caring about being snubbed by a mangy stray. Otto gave it a final tickle behind the ears, whereupon a look of worry crossed his face.
"Has 'oo had din-dins?" he murmured to the critter. "Poor thing, out on a night like this-"
Resolve snorted. "Please, Otto, fawn over the cat once we're inside. And somewhere I can't hear you do that voice, either."
Otto stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees. Nuggetchop watched him with bright, eager eyes, like a charmed thing; apparently it had a vocabulary, and the word 'din-dins' featured prominently in it. "Come along, then," Otto sighed. He paused, sniffed the air a couple of times, then made a sour face. "And I can give you another bath afterwards, you horrible little thing."
* * *
Otto stayed up for what was left of the night. If he went back to bed, odds were that even his hard-drilled conditioning wouldn't get him back up before sunrise. So he coped by scraping together a little snack for himself and Nuggetchop, commandeering the laundry to give the feline yet another much-needed scrubbing down, and then snuck back into the kitchen with a book that he'd seen lying around. He sat in front of a hospitable little fire, Nuggetchop slowly drying upon his lap, and read.
The sky eventually began to lighten, and he had to set the book aside. This irked him somewhat; the narrative had been building up to this amazing tree house the wild man apparently had, but Otto had to bail just as the protagonists were going inside. At least he could come back to it later.
He gently ushered the snoozing cat from his knees, then made another light snack to keep him going until he could get his hands on a proper breakfast. After some thought, he gave Nuggetchop a few preserved sardines, and left a note on the table. It explaining the cat, and that Otto would grab a few things for it the next time he was over.
Duty beckoned. Otto slipped outside into the frigid morning air and set off for the garrison. He was surprised by how awake he felt. Maybe it was the success they'd had the night before that gave him a buzz, or perhaps it was the hope renewed that he and Rez could work things out. Maybe it was the four litres of tea that he'd guzzled down in the last few hours, and his bladder's way of reminding him that he had to keep moving towards a latrine or risk acute embarrassment.
The clouds continued to gift Otto their boon. Not with the secure shroud of a moonless night, this time, but as a canvas for the rising sun on which to throw its paints. Sol was going for simplistic, contrasting hues this morning, Otto could see. A gentle gradient of gold to scorching reds and pinks, flecked with midnight blues where the inverted topography cast its shadows. The light was warm, but the wind was cold, and Otto tried to make himself as small a target for it as was possible.
As before, he made it to the garrison unmolested, unless one counted the funny looks the sentries gave him. But once he was inside the walls, he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to spare much for assassins.
The plan was set to go. They had people, and tools, and a way in. They could change the city in a matter of minutes.
He felt light-headed and giddy.
He felt hungry. Normally he would have to wait until the first bout of morning drills were done, but he would be exempt from exercises now the squad was on a case. Yes, a trip to the mess was in order. The deliveries should have been in by now, and he'd have first claim to the servings. Eggs, certainly, with salt. Toasted bread, with butter. Potato pancakes. Lots of potato pancakes. Cooked onions and mushrooms, and bacon - don't forget the bacon. If he was really lucky, they might even have some coffee available...
... but before he could do that, he had to check in with the lieutenant. Orman had wanted him to report for duty first thing in the morning, and you never knew when something big had popped up. If he was busy stuffing his face while they were searching for him, he'd be in It. Deep.
Otto nodded at the guards around the main keep, and got some more strange stares back. Now it was starting to bother him. He picked at his beard as he climbed the stairs to his office, expecting to find something embarrassing lodged between the wiry coils, but turned up nowt. He was caught up in the exercise enough that it took him a moment to notice, upon entering the collective office, the presence of an unknown officer in the middle of the room. But Otto quickly recovered and stood to attention.
The colonel was facing the rest of Otto's squad, who had all been herded to the back of the room, and were sans Orman and Carrin. William and Orlannes cast bug-eyed looks at Otto, Fadime appeared to be quietly seething, and Keeves openly scowled. Furthermore, there were a number of other guardsmen lining the room. Two had been on either side of the door, and now stood a little too close for comfort at Otto's elbow.
The colonel slowly turned away from his address of the squad, and faced the orc.
"Ah, such providence," he said warmly. "I, Colonel Marcus, am arresting you on suspicion of falsely accusing members of the CAF, the falsification of documents, and the murders of both Captain and Major Grimhold."
Resolve
11-11-14, 05:26 PM
Resolve woke after glorious sleep to a knock on her door and the generous offer of breakfast. She stretched, washed, and dressed, and when she bounced downstairs to the kitchen, not even Flint’s looming presence got her down.
Rosie wasn’t much of a chef by any stretch, but one thing she did well was a mean scramble. Flint pored over the newspaper as he ate and not far off, Nuggetchop slept by his own empty saucer in a warm spot by the oven. Leftover apple bread had been sliced, buttered, and now toasted fragrantly on a skillet, and Resolve stole one right out of the pan.
“Careful,” the woman warned her, “it’s hot.”
“I know,” Resolve brushed her off as she grabbed a seat across from the brute, and her growling stomach convinced her the corner was worth testing. As she bit into it, she realized her mistake, but it was too late –– Flint had seen, there was no turning back. She chewed and swallowed, doing what little she could to minimize the urge to wince.
As if psychic, a glass of water appeared before her, and then Rosie went back to the stove. "What are you up to today?"
The girl shrugged as she took a big sip. "Not sure. Something from the investigation needs followup, but… I should probably let Otto do his job."
"It's been terribly dull, cooped up in here," Rosie said as she joined them at the table. She carried two plates, one of which she set in front of her friend. "Perhaps you could keep me company?"
Resolve smiled. "Gladly. I just need a little fresh air, first."
Rosie wasn't the only one who found the library claustrophobic. Resolve missed her flat dearly, with her things and her own bed and real freedom. The strangely warm morning had dried a spot outside her favorite attic window and she perched up there, enjoying the sun and breathing the air as she fantasized about going home.
Something about the concept of Chronicle concerned her. Otto’s involvement in the Assembly plot reassured her somewhat, but something about the situation still didn’t feel quite right. Maybe it was because, as much as she loved Luned, she’d learned to question her when she never had before. She’d have trusted Luned with her life, but somehow that didn’t necessarily mean the full trust they’d shared just a year prior. They’d both experienced things that changed them significantly as people since then, and perhaps they had to get to know each other all over again.
A particularly brisk breeze cut across the ledge and Resolve shivered, draping her scarf around her shoulders. The crimson weave bled harsh against the murk of winter below, and she closed her eyes.
Someone was coming.
It took her a moment to recognize the signature. Familiar, yes, but not someone close to her. It grew in speed, insinuating urgency, and as it drew closer, it grew clearer.
What was Emric doing there?
Resolve blinked from sight, appearing on the pavement in front of the encroacher shortly thereafter. The young man stumbled to a stop mid-jog, startled. He clutched his heaving chest, hands still blackened from his work in the forge. “Resolve!”
“What’s wrong?” she asked sternly.
“Something happened back on Smiters Row,” he began as he gasped for breath. “My parents, they–– and Otto tried to help, but––”
Resolve’s fists clenched. “Go tell the others at the library,” she commanded, “they’re all there. Quickly!”
The panicked man nodded, and they took off in opposite directions.
Resolve
11-11-14, 06:18 PM
Labor and artistry mingled on Smiters Row, and traffic bustled as business continued as if any other day. Resolve may have questioned Emric’s report, but there was something strange: a fair number of bodies had gathered in the Smiths’ forge. She couldn’t feel Otto’s presence, but something blurred the clarity of the signatures she picked up, serving as a reminder that she couldn’t always trust her senses. The thugs had proven themselves to be at least somewhat forward-thinking after the magicide –– maybe they were using magic to cloak whatever mischief was happening inside?
The exorcist dashed around back where the forge faced the Smith residence to find that the door had been left wide open. It clattered with the wind against the brick siding, and inside the building stood a familiar face; one of his hands was still heavily bandaged and splinted from the last time they met. Behind him, two men crowded their hostage, whom they had bound to a chair and covered with a hood. It wasn’t Otto, she knew that from his much more human build, but still her senses blurred –– was it Marten?
She stormed up to the entrance, but hesitated in the threshold. Something felt wrong. If she could simply stall whatever they were doing, Flint would be here any minute––
“Hello again,” the man with the injured hand greeted her. “If you cooperate, I think you’ll find things will go much easier.”
“What do you want?” Resolve glared.
He smiled. “As if I would spoil the surprise,” he goaded her. Behind him, one of the other men extracted a length of unfinished iron from where it had sat in the flames. It burned a deep, hot red, and he swung it dangerously close to their captive’s bare forearm. “But if you won’t help us, maybe old smithy here will.”
“Touch him and you’re dead,” the exorcist sneered.
So concentrated was she on the contents of the structure that she had neglected what went on outside. By the time she heard the thug approach from behind, he was already on her heels, and he threw a large, weighted net over her.
“––the fuck?” Resolve almost laughed, but her breath caught in her throat when she readied to plane walk… and nothing happened. When that failed, she attempted to conjure one of her magical weapons, and failed again. She hesitated, staring dumbly at her empty hand.
Instead, it was the bandaged man’s turn to laugh. “The look on your face,” he guffawed, arms circled around his gut as if he couldn’t contain his mirth at such a sight. Behind him, they released the hostage, who pulled off his hood and joined the rest of the sordid little party.
The girl moved to pull the net off of herself, but the man behind her wrapped his arms around her shoulders to keep her contained. She struggled to discover that at least some of her strength remained, and so she slammed her head back and up against his chin. His grip loosened enough in the shock for her to slip away, and she spun in place to knee him hard between the legs. He grabbed for her as his knees buckled under him to no avail, and with a heavy strike to the head, he fell aside and out of her path to freedom.
Resolve had taken two mere steps when she felt pain explode in her left shoulder, then a second bolt hit her right thigh. She nearly fell, and as she gripped the frame of the doorway for support, an arm wrapped tight around her neck and dragged her back into the building.
She clawed for freedom and gasped for breath. The goon threw her at the feet of the bandaged man, and before she could look up, something heavy hit the side of her head. When she opened her eyes again, she was on the ground. The limited light shocked her eyes, only making the throbbing in her skull grow unmanageable. Out of nowhere, a boot kicked her hard in the chest, knocking her onto her back. The movement pushed the metal spike further into the muscle of her shoulder and she cried out in pain.
After a moment, her eyes remembered how to focus, and over her swam the laughing villain. He bore one of the Smiths’ hammers, an artist’s tool for shaping beautiful, useful things, and he lifted it at the ready with his one good hand. Only then did she realize his foot now pinned her right forearm to the ground.
“Eye for an eye,” he smiled down at her, “hand for a hand.”
The girl had never felt any pain like it. She couldn’t tell if she was screaming, because she couldn’t hear. She couldn’t tell if her hand even still existed, because she couldn’t see. When the world decided to exist again, her blurry eyes brought her a vision of the man with the hammer raised once more, his shrill voice filling her head.
She was dizzy –– so very, very dizzy –– and there was only room for one thought in her brain at a time. Right now, that thought was the very certain realization that she was going to die.
“––vidence,” Resolve choked out. “I’ve got the evidence.”
The man hesitated, then dropped the hammer to the ground next to her head. She winced.
“Well, shit. Where is it, then?”
She couldn’t answer because she didn’t actually know, but he took her silence as rebellion.
“Listen, Chap,” one of the other thugs spoke up. “We ain’t got time for this, some other bastard’s got a watch on this place. Let’s move it to the house, eh?”
Chap cursed under his breath. “Fine,” he conceded, then looked down at the girl. She tried to get up, so he made sure she couldn’t with a sharp kick to the gut. She gasped and groaned. “Someone shut her up.”
Resolve watched as two men approached with the hood, and then she saw nothing.
Warpath
11-12-14, 06:05 PM
Flint had a sprawling map of Radasanth laid out on the dining room table. He wandered leisurely around the table, barefoot, reading crime-and-incident reports pilfered from who-knows-where. Every few moments he'd pause, collect a colored tack, and place it on the map before resuming his pacing. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to his choice in color or location.
He was in the midst of this process when Rosie entered, worrying at one of her sleeves with both hands. She cleared her throat, quietly, but it seemed to her that Flint remained oblivious. She was ready to do it again, a little louder, when Flint spoke without ceasing his pacing or looking up from his document.
"You may speak, Madam," he said.
"Oh," Rosie said with a small, relieved smile, "you can call me Rosie, if you'd like."
Flint paused in his pacing at last, looking up at her without lifting his head. To Rosie, the moment seemed to stretch into eternity.
"Er...well, there are some, uh...some men asking after you out front," she offered at last. "They seem a bit rough to me..."
Flint narrowed his eyes and snapped his document closed, then tossed it onto the map without ceremony. He was already crossing the room. "Stay inside where it is safe, Ma..." he paused for a fraction of a second. "Rose," he allowed, and eyed her to be sure the middle ground between the formal and familiar was acceptable to her. Her smile grew a little more comfortable, and Flint nodded almost to himself, pleased.
"I may have to kill these men," he said simply as an afterthought, promptly ruining any rapport they were developing.
"Oh," Rosie said as Flint left the room.
He crossed the library serenely, padding out to the garden where two rough-hewn men stood waiting for him. As he stepped out onto the stones they turned to face him, and glanced to one another without making a move.
"Uh...you're Flint, then?" the first said.
"Yes," Flint said.
"Bor said to come to you first if we saw anything at that place in the Row," the talker said. "So we two came here first."
Flint relaxed inwardly, though nothing changed in his demeanor. His visitors did not immediately realize that they had been very near to severe bodily injury or death, nor that the threat had abruptly passed.
"What did you see?"
"Well, we're not exactly sure," the thuggish visitor said with a sheepish shrug. "There was a commotion, right? Lots of people in there we never saw before. Then a girl shows up and goes in like she owns the place. A long time passes and nobody comes out, so we go snooping and the place is empty. So the boss splits us up: him to Bor, another to keep watch, and he sends us two out here to find you."
"Describe her."
"Who?"
Flint narrowed his eyes. "The girl."
"Oh, uh...I don't know? Swarthy thing, arms like a docker, but not dirty, you know. Nicer clothes, but all crazy colors? Foreign, I guess."
Flint growled to himself. The big man would need training on intelligent hiring practices, he decided.
Warpath
11-12-14, 06:26 PM
Flint finished lacing his boots and shook his head. "I need you here," he said.
Luned crossed her arms and gave him a look. "Really?" she said. "That line? On me?"
Flint shook his head, rising to run his fingers along her cheek and into her hair. "I'm not leaving you out of bravado, Lune," he said, softer. "There are only two of us, and one must stay to watch the library. I am better suited to hurting people."
Luned frowned, but her eyes softened. "What are you going to do?"
"First, I will tell Otto what I know," he said. "He should be able to bring his friends in the watch down on this gang. I understand that kidnapping is frowned upon in Radasanth."
"But how will they find her?" Luned said, brow furrowing. "Even if we're right about who took her, there's no telling where. And if they took her in the first place, they must have used magicide. Flint, she might not have a lot of time..."
Flint leaned up and pressed his lips to the scribe's hairline, and whispered against her skin. "We will find her." He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Trust me."
Luned nodded slightly. "I do," she said, sighing. "You know I do. Be quick. And keep me updated, please."
Flint nodded solemnly, well aware that his allotted time was limited: he did not have long before Luned took matters into her own hands.
So he went to work.
The shackles were too tight. They pressed hard against Otto's wrist, to the point that he could feel bruises developing down to the bone, but at least he could still feel. He flexed his hands a couple of times to keep the blood coursing through them, and leaned back against the cell's cold, hard stone wall. They'd left him with his basic linen shirt and trousers, but had taken everything else. Opposite him was a corridor-facing row of black iron bars, stretching from floor to ceiling, and through which came the pale light of a couple of torches. It was enough for him.
Carrin and Orman were being held in separate cells. They were spaced equally along the cell block; if any of them tried to talk to each other, the sentry on duty would be bound to hear and interrupt them. Or so he supposed. He'd heard Carrin call out when Otto was first brought in, but there hadn't been a peep from Orman. Still, it was clear they were going after everyone who had brought the original investigation to fruition, so there was little doubt that Orman had been arrested as well.
Arrested for conspiring against fellow members of the CAF. Otto snorted. He'd always thought the world had a twisted sense of humour. Well, he was part of a conspiracy, but it was the one that he was being framed for that had got him locked up. Whoever was behind it all was trying to kill two birds with one stone: by discrediting the investigation itself, they could also take out the people associated with it. A serious crime like this would warrant the hangman's noose for all of them.
At least Resolve and the others were safe at the library.
Otto raised his bound hands to his skull, and brushed the thin scar at the back of his scalp. It was a souvenir from his last stint in captivity, mildly less legal in nature, and from which he had managed to break free. He began to pluck a few wiry hairs from around the mark. Every now and then he'd discard one for being too thin, too weak, but soon had a selection of thick black strands. Then he put his hand in his mouth and bit down hard enough to make him wince. One tusk had pierced through to the flesh, and blood began to well up from the wound. He slicked the strands in it, then started to twine them around each other into two thin braids.
There was still hope. If he could get his hands on whatever information that Grimhold Jr had been accumulating, maybe he'd have a chance to exonerate himself and the others. But who could he trust to bring it to? Perhaps the documents themselves would help him in that regard. He needed names.
Otto tapped the long, freshly-dried spikes against the frigid flagstones. They made an unlikely high-pitched ringing noise, like a pair of pins, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Normally, he needed a majority of iron in an item to be able to work his magic, but blood was special. And for the hair to be taken from that old wound, and what it signified... it seemed that there was enough history in them for the magic to catch.
Slowly, and with awkward care, he twisted his wrists around and slipped the impossible lockpicks into the manacles' keyholes. He was no better than a novice at the task, but most people who did this didn't have the advantage of being able to see the pins slide up as they worked. It was challenging work, and took him about five minutes to push the last one into place.
The shackles clicked open.
Otto eyed the door. He could try the same trick again, if he didn't mind being seen. Not a very practical solution; he'd have half garrison alerted and coming down on him like a ton of bricks before he even made it out the cells. Of course, there was a much better solution available to him. Once again, he suspected the gods enjoyed a good chuckle from time to time.
"Hey," he called out.
"Shut up," the sentry grumbled back.
At least they had responded. A real soldier wouldn't have given his wards the time of day.
"I have something I need to tell Colonel Marcus," Otto insisted.
"That's nice. 'Fraid I can't help you there, what with me not being Colonel Marcus and all."
"Well why don't I tell you, then, and you can decide if it's important enough to send a runner to the man."
Otto waited. His breaths came shallowly. His heart thumped anxiously against his ribs. But he heard the man's footsteps after a few seconds, who was soon standing well back and in front of Otto's cell. "What's the message, then?" the warden asked.
"I'd rather we weren't overheard. Could you...?"
Otto saw the grin spread across the man's face. He put one hand on the hilt of his sword, and made a show of inspecting the cell door. It was so obviously a trap, and they both knew it, but the sentry bore the same expression as an audience did in front of a magician. You can't fool me, it said. And I'd like to see you try. Otto would need a pretty good trick; the sentry had found the cell door to be firmly locked, and its occupant was sitting down against the far wall in chains.
The guard drummed his fingers impatiently against the sword hilt. It was a fine blade, with the symbol of the CAF stamped upon the pommel and a strange, almost rope-like design on the crossguard. It looped and entwined in the middle, like a knot beneath the blade.
"Doturogat," Otto whispered.
The guard's fingers froze, as did his expression with its shit-eating grin. Otto sprang up and forward, throwing the shackles aside as he darted towards the bars, and quickly reached through for the keyring at the warden's belt. The lock clicked, Otto swung the door open, and then carted the silent, rigid figure inside. As much as Otto would have liked to take the man's uniform, there was no way to free it from the fellow without destroying it, since he was as stiff as stone. So Otto just closed the manacles around the guardsman's wrists, fashioned a crude gag from his tabard, and made for the exit... but not before taking the fellow's boots.
Of course, when you went to see a magician, you didn't expect actual magic. Otto walked away feeling like he had somehow cheated.
Resolve
11-15-14, 08:19 PM
Resolve came to in a cold, dark place. The earthen floor under her sapped the last of the warmth from her body, and every shiver brought aches that reminded her of the beating she had taken… how long ago? She didn't know, and trying to figure it out made her head hurt even worse.
She laid on her side, wrists bound behind her back. She knew her hand was still attached because testing her binds inspired it to throb something fierce, even if the chill had stolen sensation from much of the rest of her extremities. Someone had taken the precaution of tying her knees and ankles together, too; her greatest fortune until now had been the fact that her enemies had underestimated her, and that luck had officially run out.
The hood obscured the girl's vision and she felt the net's weight still wrapped around her limp form. Resolve had grown so accustomed to feeling the world around her, even when she couldn't see it, that the loss of her sixth sense disconcerted her more than she could have imagined. She wasn't sure if she'd ever known what it was like to be truly trapped in the dark until today, and now she understood why the darkness held such fear for others. "Magicide," she muttered vindictively.
Someone stirred nearby and she froze. They never spoke, and she listened in tense silence as heavy footsteps carried them up a creaky set of stairs. A door closed overhead, leading to low voices too muffled to make out over her violent heart beat.
She had evaded the obvious murder they'd planned, but for how long? All she could hope was to drag it out long enough for the others to find her… that was, if they even could in the first place. Maybe all she accomplished in mentioning the evidence was to draw out the pain and humiliation of her own demise.
Seconds later, the door opened again, and two pairs of feet descended into the cellar. One approached her and she felt hands grab her roughly by the arms, pulling her up and propping her back against the nearby wall. They slipped the hood off her head and, finally, she could see.
"Good morning, sunshine," an unfamiliar voice greeted her.
Resolve blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. While the accompanying man hunched under the low ceiling, the woman who addressed her stood confident. Her height and build hinted at dwarf heritage –– a grandparent, perhaps –– but she stood as if she was eight feet tall, and Resolve naught more than a roach.
"Allow me to explain your situation," she continued without waiting for a response. The leather she wore bore nickel studs that glittered in the jaundiced glow of her lantern, and her dark hair was cropped short with long locks in front of her ears that drew lines like sideburns down her broad face. "We know you're a tough cookie, and that'll work against you. As you can imagine, we've got at least a couple men here who'd like their piece of revenge before we toss what's left of you in the Niema. That could make for a long day for all of us."
The girl's stomach churned at the prospect, and her head drooped as she swallowed back the urge to vomit.
"However, if you cooperate and tell us where Jerome's stash is, I will give you the honor of a quick, clean, and relatively painless death."
At this point, despite all her legendary self-righteousness, Resolve almost wished she had the details to give. But she didn't, and that left her in a sorry spot, indeed.
"And don't lie to us, dear. There's no need to make this worse for yourself by drawing it out. Take a cue from Mr Bastum and accept your fate with dignity."
That got Resolve's attention, and she lifted her head to stare wide-eyed at the woman. Her throat was dry and her voice came out hoarse. "…What do you mean by that?"
Warpath
12-01-14, 12:41 PM
The hardest part was pronouncing the Ws right.
The sound didn't exist in any of the Salvic dialects Flint was fluent in, so it had always given him trouble. It hadn't been a problem on the street, when he could shout and holler and people wanted to ignore and avoid him. But here, now, infusing a V sound where it didn't belong could end in blood.
He knew he was inside the garrison, but the details of the place were largely a mystery to him. This was by design. He was under constant and intense scrutiny, so every glimpse under or through his blindfold was a risk. He kept his eyes closed as much as he dared, letting himself stumble where appropriate, letting himself linger a little too far back, or stand a little too close. Not so unsure that one could think him recently blinded, but still off enough that one could buy the disability.
"Says he's one of Wyron's," his escort was saying, some paces ahead. Someone responded too low for Flint to hear, but the escort spoke again. "Yeah, he checks out. A couple patrolmen say they've seen him around Smiter's Row preaching a few months now, at least."
That wasn't true, but Flint was pleased his dedication had paid off. He had been in the Row so consistently as to become a normal feature of the place - one would have to stop and think of a time when he hadn't been a fixture there, and that distorted the memory.
"...here to administer last rites, it seems. A promotion for the old goat, I guess. Yeah alright, that's what I figured, but I wanted your go-ahead first, what with all this shit with Bastum and all that. Gotta cover your own ass, right? Right. Thank you, sir."
Flint prodded the cobblestones with the end of his staff, letting the rings at the top jingle as his escort returned. "Okay there, friend," the escort said. "Sorry about that. Things are a bit tense around here, is all. Come on, then, I'll show you down."
"Bless you," Flint said. He even smiled.
The escort took him by the elbow to guide him, and it took an act of will not to wrench away and break the guardsman's nose. The man muttered an apology, perhaps thinking he'd simply surprised a blind man, and they went on their way without incident.
When they descended a steep set of stairs, Flint made a show of turning himself sideways, poking at each step with his staff, and leaning heavily upon his escort. As the show went on, he breathed just a little heavier, until he was apparently huffing with the effort by the bottom.
"A moment, if you please," he gasped, patting his escort awkwardly upon the shoulder.
"Of course," the guardsman said. His voice was even, but Flint could see the man sneering and rolling his eyes through the blindfold.
They reached the first gate shortly after, where two guards stood at attention.
"What's this, then?" one of them asked as he unlocked the gate from the outside.
"A priest of Wyron," Flint's escort said, "here to administer last rites."
"Bit late, isn't it? Well enough, if the sergeant gave you the go-ahead. I'll take you in. Here, Myron, you have the gate. Come on, then."
Flint waited patiently as the gate was unlocked, and when they proceeded through they were joined by a second watchman. He heard the third locking the gate behind them after they'd proceeded through, and now the new addition to his escort was speaking.
"Now," he said with authority, "I've never seen you down here before, Friar, so I'm going to tell you what you need to know. These men I'm taking you to see are condemned and they know it, and that'll make them desperate. You do not approach the condemned under any circumstances. I'll keep you out of reach of the condemned. At no point should you move past where I guide you, and at no point should you attempt to touch the condemned...wait, did you see that?"
Flint could see both guardsmen reach for their hilts, suddenly alert and facing down into the hallway. There was a large splotch of light bleeding through the blindfold to his right - a torch on the wall, then. "We saw you! Come on out with your hands above your head!"
The brute took a half step back and reached up to pull his blindfold down just enough to watch over it. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the blurred but unmistakable silhouette of Otto Bastum stepping out into the open hallway, clearly ready to fight his way free.
"Good," Flint said.
He lashed out with the bottom of his staff, sweeping the first of his escort off of his feet. In the same graceful motion, Flint brought the top of the staff back and into the face of the second man. He then spun, raised the staff, and threw it as he would a spear. It passed between the bars of the gate and collided with Myron's nose, and he went down in a heap, clutching his face and screaming.
The brute wrapped up by kicking his first victim in the chest, hard enough that his body left the ground and collided with the nearby wall. He hit the ground with broken ribs, but he'd live.
Otto approached very cautiously, and when he entered the torchlight Flint saw that he had one eyebrow raised. His incredulousness only increased as the brute began to strip off his disguise.
"It's not that I don't appreciate it, but..."
"They took Resolve," Flint said, tossing the first layer of padding to the ground.
Otto tensed. "Who did? Where?"
He shook his head. "I do not know. I am not yet familiar enough with the city's players. It occurred to me that I could use the talents of a detective."
Otto nodded vaguely, already lost in thought. Flint kicked the shed components of his disguise aside and flexed his fingers. "We need out of here, first," Otto said at last. "All of this has to be related..."
Flint nodded. "Agreed. And it would be best to minimize your visibility in this escape. I am sure you would prefer to remain in the country when this is over. Ideally, you will still have a job in the guard."
"What's the plan, then?"
The brute shrugged. "I am a blunt instrument. I will create a distraction in one direction, you will escape the other way."
"Flint, there are a lot of guards here, I..."
The brute smiled.
Otto shook his head and sighed. "The east gate would be the easiest, I suppose, I just...try not to kill anybody. I have friends here."
"Collateral damage only," Flint promised. "I am going west and then north. Give it ten minutes or so for the garrison to react. Meet me at Moody's once you are clear. It will take me some time to lose them."
"React to what?"
Flint turned and rolled his shoulders, crouched down, and then started down the hall at a quiet sprint. It started off so mundane - a jog down a dark, empty hallway. When Flint reached the locked gate, however, he twisted at the torso and through his shoulder brutally into the bars. He should have bounced off of them, but he didn't. He went through them. They wrenched in their moorings in the ceiling and floor with a thunderous metallic clang, and then a screech, and then he was on the other side. He left bent and shattered bars in his wake, but he did not slow. Myron screamed and curled up in a tight ball as dust and sparks rained down on him.
Flint took the steps three and four at a time. Someone in uniform stepped out to bar his way, but Flint stiff-armed him, and he glided bodily out into the courtyard and slid twenty feet on his back. The brute thought he was alive, but couldn't be sure. Collateral damage, he reminded himself, but still, he hoped Otto hadn't known the man well. This was going to be...difficult.
It took some effort to turn himself west. His momentum was an alien force he had to rein in, an unnatural weight pulling him forward in his originally chosen direction, and it took a long moment to shift it. He had meant to go through a doorway, but he clipped the brick wall to the left of the hinges. The wood exploded into splinters, and a cloud of shattered bricks filled the air behind him. He twisted and almost stumbled, but the momentum carried him on, and in a second he was righted again - just in time to leap through a window. Glass was a great deal easier to go through than brick or iron.
The brute ran wild in the garrison for what felt like a small eternity. He was a bull in a china shop, except the china was bricks and mortar and steel and wood. He dodged human bodies as often as he was able, and made every effort to avoid load-bearing architecture, but it was going to take months for the city watch to rebuild after this. There were screams and shouts everywhere, and arrows rained on him wherever he went, but he never stopped. Motion was life for himself and freedom for Otto.
Only when he was sure enough time had passed did Flint turn for a gate. Someone threw a bola, but the line snapped around his calves. Someone threw a net, but he dragged his captives after him as he plowed through the wooden barricade and escaped into the city streets.
Flint let the momentum carry him straight out away from the garrison for a ways, and then he slid to a stop and let the force dissipate. He risked a glance back, noted the small army surging out into the streets after him, and then smiled. Later he'd wonder why the chaos gave him so much pleasure and what that said about him as a person. Now, he gloried in it, and leapt from street to rooftop in a bound.
He hadn't fully considered the ramifications of his rampage - he was a blunt instrument, after all - and it took longer than he thought it might to reach Moody's. Losing the guard wasn't difficult, but he hadn't accounted for the increased patrols. Normally a goodly number of the guard would be asleep in their bunks now, but his little constitutional now had every single man and reserve wide awake on active duty.
By the time he stepped into the alley behind Moody's, still pulling quarrels and arrows from their shallow new homes in his back and shoulders, hours had passed.
"Well," Flint said to the large, orc-shaped silhouette peering out at him from the dark. "That was fun. Now what?"
Otto's boots made a faint squelching noise as he stepped into the light. His own escape route had taken him to the back of the forge, where a little finesse and some applied force had let him squeeze out through the channels they used to import water to the building's cisterns. Eyeshine glimmered in the dark as he tracked Flint's hands moving back and forth, plucking out shafts and discarding them on the ground.
"Are you-?"
"Unhurt," Flint stated. "Where should we go now?"
Otto was mesmerized by the stoic display. "We... um, I think we need help. But we have to move fast, whatever we do."
Flint nodded, and threw the last dart on the pile. "Luned may be able to..." a vacant expression overtook the man's face, and he rummaged around in one of his pockets. He drew forth a small sheet of paper, glanced at it, and handed it over to Otto. The orc's brows knitted together as he mumbled his way through the text.
Flint: swept known locations for signs of Rez. Dead zone at abandoned house: magicide.
Check there first. Be careful. Write back immediately before moving in: I will take delaying
action. BE. CAREFUL.
L.
Otto looked up. "The house you followed Emric's visitor to?"
"We ought to hurry."
* * *
Winter nights came on quickly. It seemed just a handful of hours earlier that Otto was running full-pelt down the back street lanes away from the garrison, and already the light was turning grey and thin. The duo passed a lone torch-bearer going from streetlamp to streetlamp, who bore a sheltered little flame at the end of a pole. Where it touched the cast iron spires, little amber glows swelled and bloomed in the murk. They gave just enough light to guide a normal man along Radasanth's causeways, but Otto was more than comfortable in the gloom. His gaze could pierce the shadows, and the shifting breeze told him something new about their surroundings with every passing second.
"A pre-dawn attack would be safest," Flint mused, by his side.
"No time," Otto replied. It was also the best time to kill someone: the neighbours were asleep, no witnesses were around to see you move a body, and the corpse was fresh enough that you didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of rigor mortis.
He curtailed those thoughts, and kept walking.
"We need a plan," Otto muttered.
Flint nodded again. "Move fast, watch out for sentries, cover the exits." The orc looked at him askance.
"Done this sort of thing before?" Otto asked.
Flint looked down at the cobbles. Then he glanced up at the wilting sky. After a while, he sniffed, and set his gaze straight ahead.
"We're almost there," Flint finally said. "Split up. I'll take the front."
"Alright. See you inside."
Flint had given him two minutes to slip behind the house, spy it out, and make his way in through the back. Otto counted down the seconds under his breath as quietly as he could, and stepped with utmost care down a pitch-black alley. This part of town was dead; it seemed as though every second house had been emptied, there was nothing green to entice the crickets to stay, and even the stray dogs had moved on. There nothing to soak up the noise that he made. Otto tried to avoid brushing against the sheer brick walls to either side of him, and probed gingerly into the dark. A questing foot nudged against a pile of bottles, hidden in the murk. The whole thing clinked ominously as it teetered back and forth... but it held. Otto took a deep breath and lifted himself over the thing.
Those glasses probably hadn't been left there by accident. Someone wanted to be kept aware of when they had visitors on their turf.
One minute left. Otto reached the end of the alley and peeked out. The house in question wasn't on this street, but it did border another property here. If Otto was lucky, that one would be be vacant as well. No matter if it wasn't; all he needed was a few seconds to get over the fence. He darted out onto the road, kept himself crouched and below the fence line, and dashed over to a gate set in the weather-worn timber planks. Otto looked through a hole made for the latch. H saw a beaten dirt path running down the side of a house, to where the fence turned back in along the rear yard. A tall ash, behind it in the next property, shivered in the breeze. When Otto tried the latch, his hand closed around the cold, hard curve of a padlock. He swore.
Thirty seconds left. Otto vaulted over the fence and landed with a thud upon the track. The wooden fence trembled and rattled behind, but he left it behind as he loped quickly down to the path's end. He jumped on top of the partition, then flung himself forward into the ash tree's swaying embrace. His thick arms found purchase about its trunk, and he clung to it like a frozen sloth. A door opened in the property he had just passed through. He thought he heard footsteps, but they faded away after a few seconds. The door thudded shut again.
Otto worked his way around the trunk just enough so he could get a good glimpse of the place. It wasn't promising; a stout brick building with one back door and boarded-up windows on the ground level. There was a second storey window looking out over the rear yard, curtains drawn back, and a couple of lights set down in the garden. It was a good set-up for a sentry to keep an eye on things.
The breeze picked up while Otto pondered. It shook the boughs about him, and set the lantern wicks to gutter below. The gust slowly died off, but as Otto watched, he saw the curtains in the upstairs window blow outwards almost horizontally. He heard a sharp bout of... violin? The notes were harsh, almost noise-like, and made his eardrums shrivel. Though it felt like music, it was not in any style that he had heard before.
Otto blinked, and the violin stopped. The curtains settled back down, and the garden lights burned steadily by the bushes. He rubbed his groggy eyes. He'd been awake too long - his thoughts were moving as though through treacle, and now his daydreams were taking on a vivid edge. He would have to be doubly alert, or he might be walking out of here on his own two feet.
There was nothing for it. He couldn't sit here all night, and Flint was probably making his move in any case. Otto slipped down the trunk, and made a heavy dash towards the building's door.
The meagre iron deadlock gave way with a crash. Otto shouldered past the juddering wooden door, into a dimly-lit corridor beyond. He had taken a few purposeful steps inside when he first heard something crunch underfoot. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and at first he thought that he had stepped on some broken glass. But as the shadows lessened, and he bent down to inspect the floor, he saw that the passageway was in fact filled with...
"... sand?" Otto murmured.
He pinched some between two digits and rubbed at it curiously. He raised it to his nose and gave the stuff a sniff: bland and gritty and dry. Beach sand. Had the people here been tunnelling? But no, they were too far up from the actual coast to hit dunes. Radasanth was largely built on loam, thanks to ages of Nieme-borne silt from down the mountains.
Otto straightened up; he was wasting time. He also needed to keep aware of his surroundings - there was no way that his entrance had gone unnoticed.
Where would Resolve be? There must be cellar. It would be naturally soundproofed and inconspicuous. Perhaps that's what they had been digging out. And where would a cellar entrance logically be? The kitchen, of course, so you could easily access your stored perishables, wines, and ales. That just left one question: where in the blazes was the kitchen?
Otto heard a thud come from a room down the corridor on his left. Flint, perhaps, or a resident. He should meet up with the former, and he could extort information from the latter. The orc picked up the pace again and ploughed down over a grit-encrusted carpet, closing in on the rhythmic thudding. The handle turned in his grip easily enough, and he launched himself into the room.
He was immediately blinded.
His eyes, now fully adjusted to the dark of night, shot through with pain as daylight assaulted them. Otto squeezed them shut tight and kept charging, using the brief image he'd seized of the room as a rough guide for his movements. He launched himself behind a table and immediately upended it towards the source of the noise - an improvised shield which would hopefully buy him a second or two to adjust.
The thumping didn't stop, or even change. Otto risked a peek around the table's edge, and only saw a glaringly-lit kitchen, devoid of any other occupant. Rough shale tiles sat coated in dust and grout. Crude oak shelves and benches lined the walls from floor to ceiling, broken up by a cracked porcelain washtub, grey stone oven and mouldy lace curtains. As he watched, a breeze eased one of the window panes open, which swung back shut with a bang.
Keeping one ear out for approaching trouble, Otto stood up from the crouch and walked lightly over to the window. It was still a little too bright for comfort, but at least he could see. A wary grey paw quested out to brush the curtain aside, and afforded him with a worrisome view.
"Oh, Luned," he sighed. "What have you done?"
The outside air, as he had last tasted it, smelled mutedly of effluence, old fish and seaweed, damp, and night-blooming moonflower. Now a rich aroma of salt and grass and chalk assailed his nostrils like a syrup. It was little wonder, that: the ground outside appeared to be coated in a short, dense lawn, but which quickly fell away after a few metres. Otto was now at the tip of a point on some coastline, but not one that existed around Radasanth. The drop curved away to the horizon and revealed looming, white-faced cliffs, which descended sharply into a bright sea. A large white sun dominated the blazing blue dome above it all.
Otto backed away from the sight in a daze. There were no other buildings out there, nor any other sign of habitation. Wherever, or whenever this was, it wasn't the city he had been in a few minutes ago. But the house still existed. The things inside still existed. So where were the guards? And where was Flint?
No use worrying about that now. Those things could hopefully take care of themselves. Otto's eyes scanned the room, until they alighted on a weatherworn timber trapdoor in the corner. He heaved it open, revealing a broad stepladder which descended - much further than it had any right to - into darkness. Otto left it for the time being, and instead scrounged the kitchen for supplies. His efforts turned up a box of matches, a small brass candleholder, and a bundle of associated low-grade tallow sticks. He added a wickedly sharp filleting knife to the arsenal, almost as an afterthought, and which he held reverse grip in his hand.
Otto was as ready as he could hope to be. He lit a candle and began to plod down the ladder, into the depths. Flint, the kidnappers, and all this madness could wait. Resolve couldn't.
Warpath
12-14-14, 01:19 PM
Though Flint prided himself on not being as stupid as he looked, his plans did tend toward the simple. In his line of work, surrounded by the people he was typically surrounded by, simple was safe. He supposed now that he, Luned, and Otto might have come up with something a bit cleverer but, well, too late was too late.
He was lingering across the street from the house, giving the orc a moment or two to get into position. In the meantime, he dug the sheet of messaging paper back out of his pocket. It took another short moment for him to find something to write with - a tiny, broken chunk of chalk - and he scrawled a short message.
GOING IN
He stuffed the paper and chalk back into his pocket as he crossed the street. There were still kinks in his neck and shoulders where the quarrels had struck home, but the house was only so big, and could only be full of so many thugs. His concern was what they might threaten to do to Resolve if they felt trapped.
So he was giving them an out.
He approached in the open, quick but not too quick. They'd have a chance to raise the alarm, get some men to the front door. Flint reminded himself to take his time with them, so they'd have a chance to fetch their hostage and attempt to make a run for it through the back...where Otto would be waiting. They'd be trapped between a rock and an orc.
Or at least that was the plan.
Flint raised his boot and kicked the front door in, and it was about that instant that the universe lurched.
Warpath
12-14-14, 01:33 PM
Something was wrong.
Flint was in the foyer, but the foyer wasn't where it was supposed to be, in any sense. The brute was on the floor, and his stomach rebelled because it felt like down was up and the entire house was drifting lazily to one side. He wasn't alone. There were thugs here with him, the ones he'd come to beat and kill, and they were just as disoriented. One of them was puking up his guts. Two more were shuffling backward away from the doorway, wide-eyed and pale. Even on their hands and knees they seemed unsteady, drunk, like the very concepts of gravity and weight were broken.
Because they were.
Flint twisted to look over his shoulder, and sighed, and it seemed to him that his breath hung in the air in front of his face - invisible but heavy. He should have been looking back into the street, but he wasn't. Instead, there was an inky blackness, black as the void but full. He couldn't see through it - the darkness had density and weight, like it was a physical thing - but somehow he knew things lurked within. He reached out and nearly fell, but caught himself, and then he pulled the door closed on its partially unmoored hinges.
"Gods damn it, Luned," he growled.
The house swayed and creaked, not unlike a boat, and the shadows began to seep in through the floor boards: rising like smoke but moving like blood.
And then the screaming started.
Warpath
12-14-14, 02:17 PM
Flint recovered faster, either because of his superior physical state or because he was becoming disturbingly familiar with magical mishaps. It wasn't easy. It was difficult to stay on his feet because gravity was inconsistent here: each step needed a different amount of force from the last, and each square foot had its own unique air pressure and resistance. He stumbled down the long hallway in slow motion, using one wall to keep himself steady, and even that was not entirely reliable. At one point the entire house turned, and Flint found himself colliding with the opposite wall.
There were bodies everywhere. Resolve's kidnappers had expected a fight. They were all still alive, but wholly disorientated. Those that could sit up were looking around in a terrified daze, some staring at their own hands. Most of them were curled up upon themselves, weeping or retching or both. Flint could hear them calling out every so often, but sound traveled wrong here too, warbling and warping, muffled and tuneless. A man could scream from right next to him and his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, but someone was weeping upstairs and Flint could feel it vibrating the wood in the foundations.
It was hard to breathe because the air moved wrong, hard to think because thought moved wrong. Light and darkness were inverted: the inky stuff that leaked in everywhere was the natural state, and the absence of it glowed eerily in the atmosphere. The entire house felt like it was sinking in something or, maybe, rising through. It creaked and groaned and shuddered, and he could see the boards in the walls bend and flex.
It was difficult to survive inside the house, an island in this twisted universe, and Flint was more than sure it would be impossible outside the house. He propped his back against a wall and dug in his pocket for the paper and chalk, and it took longer than it should have. He had to concentrate hard to write something that made sense, and even then he couldn't be sure.
SOMETHING WRONG
VERY WRONG
More screams from upstairs, and now Flint was beginning to think they were more than just fear of the unknown. There were large windows upstairs, he remembered, not boarded up like most of the ones on the ground floor. He turned and looked back down the long hallway toward the foyer, and realized the door was still mostly open, resting cockeyed on its hinges with large gaps between door and frame.
He looked at the paper. Symbols began to etch themselves onto the paper, warping and twisting unnaturally, spiraling madly over themselves, struggling to lift themselves from two dimensions to three. Flint knew that Luned was writing him back, but he couldn't make sense of it - any of it. Was it even common? Could she write him back here? Was his communication getting through any clearer?
He looked up at the door again, and felt his heart sink. It was slowly drifting open. He heard more screams from upstairs, and another from the back of the house. No time. He closed his fist around the paper and pushed himself off the wall, launching himself from one wall to the opposite side and forward. He had to go down - the cellar, where there were no windows. There had to be a cellar, he prayed.
And hopefully it was still connected to the house.
He shoved himself toward the back, toward the kitchen. There was a window there, and someone - something - standing immediately outside the house looking in. It was skeletally thin and composed of shadow except for huge, round, empty eye sockets, brimming with that ethereal anti-light. It watched him, head cocked to one side. He didn't stop to examine it further. He had to get into the cellar, down the stairs. It wasn't as simple as falling: going down took effort, like gravity pushed instead of pulled. Something was tapping on glass, and the screams were everywhere.
There were gaps in the wood slats on the walls, and skinny fingers reached in from outside, seeking. Flint crouched at the base of the stairs and his vision swam. He dug in his pocket and produced the paper again, and willed himself to focus.
too went soon too you door door door find soon you too you go find fast close you behind go go go
Flint raised his eyes and saw a door, but there were shadows leaking from it and screams from beyond it. Footsteps on the floorboards above, and a figure standing at the top of the stairs behind him, empty eyes full of not-light.
The brute shoved his way through the door, twisted, and pulled it shut behind him, and caught a glimpse - just a glimpse - of an alien face just before it slammed closed.
Warpath
12-14-14, 02:40 PM
Otto found Flint, inexplicably, sitting at the base of the stairs in the dark. He was utterly drenched in sweat, swallowing mouthfuls of air with an unseemly level of greed.
"Flint! How...are you okay?"
The brute nodded slowly, and reached out to point. "Go," he managed to say. "Go get Resolve. She will be alone."
Otto nodded once, solemnly, and hurried through the doorway and into the cellar. Flint, for his part, dug in his pocket again.
He could not read what he'd written moments before, it was just scribbles, but now everything Luned had written him back made perfect sense.
You went in too soon
go find a door close it fast behind you
He was searching for his piece of chalk as more words appeared:
WHAT IS HAPPENING
write me back
Rauk
please write something
Flint scrawled carefully on the paper, hands still shaking:
I am alive. What happened?
There was a long pause, and then the words began to fill the paper.
I meant to move the three of you to Carcosa and leave everyone else behind. You must have been walking inside when I completed the spell, so you were caught somewhere between Althanas and wherever Carcosa is now. I am so sorry. Is everyone okay?
"Otto!" Flint shouted. "Is she there!"
"She's here!" Otto called from somewhere deeper in the cellar. "She's okay!"
Got Resolve. He wrote. All alive. How do we leave?
Front door will take you back to the street. Hurry back.
Flint grunted, moving shakily to his feet.
Resolve
12-14-14, 10:33 PM
The woman had bluffed; they didn't have all day to torture the girl for information she wasn't going to share. Resolve realized this when she laid into her, herself. The villain had only just begun, however, when suddenly their victim wasn't the focus anymore. Shouting resonated from upstairs as an unlikely whisper of music drifted into the cellar. From then on, Resolve wasn't sure what was happening. She just knew she was inexplicably left alone and found considerable relief in that happy turn of events.
Mercifully, the time that followed slipped past swiftly for the girl. Her head injury had the world drifting gradually in and out of existence, gifting her respites from the cold in a quiet, dark place where she began to feel more and more at home. The moments she laid awake were to know pain, but eventually even that hit a threshold and transformed into a constant, aching numbness. She didn't have cohesive enough trains of thought to work herself up over what the woman had said about Otto, and that was probably for the best.
Once in a while, Resolve came to well enough to take in her surroundings again. Sometimes, the room seemed to have stretched into a different shape; perhaps a new, unseen source of light would glimmer in the corner of her eye; or she'd even swear she could hear waves over the noise from upstairs. She attributed it to the concussion, reality coming to her in unsteady ripples of darkness and chills. Little did she realize it was her magicide-laced bonds contesting with whatever spell Luned had devised.
Much later, heavy footsteps hit the stairs and she tensed at the sudden sound. Losing her sixth sense still had her on edge, she was so used to feeling people approach before she could see or hear them. But then this person became very still, and there was a long silence between that and the descent of a second.
Then she heard their voices, and she could have wept if she had the energy.
Otto appeared as a tall shadow, form hunched under the low ceiling where his hair collected cobwebs as he took step after cautious step. Conveniently, his eyes managed the dim light much better than hers. He knelt down next to her, and the warmth of his fingers brushing hair from her face seared against her frigid skin.
"She said something happened to you," Resolve choked out.
It was then Flint interrupted with his shout, and Otto replied with his own in the affirmative. He gathered the girl up into his arms, offering quiet apologies for every wince and whimper the movement elicited, and carried her to the stairwell. This marked the first time she'd encountered the brute without an accompanying glare or insult –– a milestone in their budding friendship. Instead, she accepted the help of his knife as they cut away the rope.
"Front door," Flint reiterated to the pair. "Let's go."
This time, when the man emerged on the ground floor, it remained steady under his feet. The house sat eerily quiet as they trekked to the entrance, and when Flint opened the door, they discovered something quite different than the street he'd been promised.
"Oh, thank the gods," Luned sighed heavily, as if she'd held her breath for hours. "Bring her here."
The door had opened into the parlor of the library, where the hearth greeted them with a friendly crackle and Rosie was just pouring some tea. Petru, an old friend of Luned's and local physician, stood anxiously on standby. Next to him bounced a young fey woman in loud clothing, her jaw agape in titillated concern.
"Oh goodness, you weren't kidding," Ags covered her mouth, mottled eyes following Resolve as Otto laid her down on the sofa. "Poor Rez!"
"Seeing as Otto's a wanted man, I figured it would be best if we offered a shortcut," Luned explained, nodding to Agnie. "Found her just in time. However you want to help your friends back at the garrison, she can get you there. You and Flint should discuss how to go about that while we help Rez."
The orc blinked and nodded, barely noticing the hot refreshment Rosie had pressed into his hands. "Sit down for a moment, dear," the woman urged him, but he just stared through the fragrant steam.
Petru had crouched down in front of the injured exorcist to check her eyes and the side of her head where some blood had dried in her hair. Luned strode up behind him to join in assessing their patient, hands on her hips. "Let's see what I can do before you get started. But first, those bolts need to come out." Her tone was almost too matter-of-fact, and as the two joined forces to remove the projectiles, Rosie excused herself from the room with a queasy utterance.
The scribe knelt and held a reassuring hand on Resolve's side as Petru leaned over them, bracing one hand gently against the girl's shoulder and wrapping the other firmly around the bolt. "One, two," he counted, then instead of three, he plucked the metal from her muscle with surprising deftness for such a gangly fellow. Resolve cried out, grasping Luned's arm so hard that her knuckles went pale, and the scribe smoothed her hair with whispered words of encouragement. The scent of fresh blood stung Otto's sinuses.
"She will be fine," Flint offered nonchalantly, stepping up next to the orc as he sipped his own tea.
Otto glanced to the shorter, broader man. "And what about Luned?" he asked, barely in a whisper. "What she did today…"
Flint eyed her in a way that could only be described as concerned pride. "Indeed," was all he had to offer in regard to that comment. "Now, about your friends."
"My...? Oh." Otto rubbed his face, as though that might wipe the weariness away. "Yes. Them. That."
He closed his eyes and let the steam just caress against his lids. Orman. Carrin. The others would be under suspicion, too. He needed whatever Grimhold had acquired, and he needed it fast. But that didn't tell him where it was. He might have a chance at tracking it down if he had something to go on, but he had nothing.
Not quite nothing, actually. He had a name.
Otto's eyes fluttered open, and fixed on Ags. "Anywhere, right? You can get me anywhere inside the garrison?"
"Well, no," Ags admitted. "I can only link to doors that I have already seen. If I were able to get a glimpse of one in particular, though-"
"How would you do that?"
Ags looked a little affronted by Otto's poor etiquette, but graciously let his interruption slide. "All I would need is something small and with an opening for me to look out of to be brought to the door in question. Something as simple as a box."
"Easy enough," Otto nodded. He turned to Flint. "I'll need your help, though. We need to contact someone inside the garrison by the name of Aaron Coppercut..."
* * *
The garrison was still bustling. Patrols had been doubled inside the fortress and without, both to try and track down the escapees and to be on guard against them. Many soldiers were grumbling at the loss of free time. Many more, however, talked nervously to each other about hunting down something that was strong enough to tear the stones right out of the walls. Even the added presence of battle wizards to the soldiers' ranks didn't do much to remove this pall of apprehension.
It was quiet in Colonel Marcus' office, though. His aide-de-camp was absent from the room, at Marcus' preference. A small fortune in candles and oil was burning in strategically-arranged chandeliers and lanterns, so that there were no true shadows to be seen. Marcus had rounded off this cosy atmosphere with a small fire in the hearth, which helped subdue the winter chill. There was no sign of sunrise yet. The large windows acted only as inky black mirrors at this time of morning.
Colonel Marcus glared at the pile of papers on his desk. Everything from that treacherous Grimhold's office had been requisitioned here, but the young captain had been too clever to make it easy for them. His betrayal rankled with Marcus, it really did. They'd done so much for Jerome, and then they find him trying to pass warnings to that Bastum prick. Marcus had trawled through reams of paper all night, and all he had to show for it was a cryptic, unfinished letter to that orc. Marcus couldn't make head nor tail of it, but it was the key, he knew it.
His stomach growled and clenched. Marcus sighed; he'd think better after some breakfast. The others would be convening at the officers' mess about now, and they would be wanting to know how things were progressing. He stood up, slipped the letter into his desk drawer, and locked it shut. He stalked over the long carpet and exited the room, also closing and locking it behind him, and began to walk down the corridor towards the mess. He passed an NCO going the other way, a corporal making some delivery. The man stood rigidly to attention at the sight of the colonel. Marcus ignored him completely, and continued to power on.
The lid of the package in Aaron's arms wavered slightly. "Was that him?" came Otto's voice from inside it.
"Yep," Aaron replied. "Looks like you'll have a clear shot."
"Going to be hard to repay you for this, Aaron."
The corporal shrugged, and moved on. "Don't be so crass. You know it's not about that."
Aaron stopped in front of Marcus' door. He pointed the box at it, opened the flaps, and stood there for a moment. "That all you need?" he asked.
"That's wonderful, dear, thank you," Ag's voice drifted up.
"Alright," Aaron stated. "I'm out of here, then. Good luck."
He strode off the way he came. The corridor fell completely silent as Aaron's footsteps faded away, except for the faint sizzle and occasional pop from the lanterns on the wall. Then came a faint 'click', as from a door's latch being opened, the press of hushed footsteps on carpet, and muted voices.
"Here we are," Otto whispered.
Ags peered around the sumptuously-decorated room. "Oooh," she cooed.
She found herself suddenly alone. Otto had already made his way to Marcus' desk, and was appraising the haphazard stack of papers with a critical eye. If he rifled around in that, there was no chance that he would be able to put it back just as they had found it. The colonel would know someone had been in here.
He almost jumped when Ags spoke from right behind him. "Why not check the drawers first? If this man has found anything significant, I doubt very much that he would leave it in the open."
Otto nodded. "Good idea."
He walked over to the other side and rattled at a drawer. It was firmly locked. Otto swore, clasped at it with as strong a grip as he could, braced one leg against the top of the desk, and prepared to wrench the thing right out.
"Wait!" Ags squeaked. "Just... wait. Here."
She walked around and brushed Otto to the side. She squinted theatrically at the desk drawer. Then she looked at Otto. Specifically, the top of his trousers, which she subjected to an equally intense glare.
"Um," he began.
Ags looked up at him, all smiles. "Pocket," she chirped. Otto blinked slowly, and she sighed. "Reach into your pocket."
Otto did as he was told. But rather than feel the tight pull of linen and the firm muscle of his thigh, he felt hard, flat wood. He probed further, and his hand brushed over something flimsy, which rustled drily. When he extracted his hand, it was gripping a small slip of paper with a couple of lines inked upon it. He looked around it and into Ags' beaming face.
"There!" she exclaimed.
Otto smiled back. "You're brilliant, Ags. Thank you."
He held the letter up to the light, struggling to read its brief contents through gummy eyes.
Corporal Otto Bastum,
If you have received this letter, then I have passed the torch on to you. I have something you need, but you will need to find it. Think on what caused
me to sway, and you will know where it is.
Grimhold
The orc's lips moved to the words as he read through them. He frowned. He read through them again, with no change in expression, and again. But on the fourth try, he froze as he scanned over the last sentence. The furrowed brow eased, and his cheeks bulged as broad lips pulled back in a grin. Otto began to chuckle - harder than he would have were he not so terribly sleep-deprived, he was sure, but he couldn't help it at this stage.
"What is it?" Ags enquired. She bore an empathic grin herself. "Something useful?"
"Yes," Otto wheezed, as he slipped the letter back through the pocket-portal. "Yes, I know where to go. But don't ask me to explain... it'd just kill a joke that's not really funny to begin with."
Glencombe Road hadn't changed much. Same dilapidated shambles sagging every which way, same deserted grey street. Otto and Ags stood out of the wind in the deep-set arch of some crumbling townhouse, staring over the road at an even larger, more decrepit three-storeyed building. The last time Otto had been here was, what - almost a year ago (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25294-Dread-Sovereign-%28Closed%29/page2&highlight=Dread+Sovereign), now? The house opposite them had been cordoned off the last time Otto had seen it, and the flagstones outside jammed with pall-covered carts. It had taken the CAF all day to move the bodies.
"It might be better for you to stay outside," he said meekly to Ags.
She gave the dismal street a distasteful sweep with her eyes. "I doubt it could be any more ghastly in there than it is out here."
"Alright." Otto shrugged, and set off for the door.
He held it open for Ags to traipse eagerly inside, and then he shut the portal firm against the wind. It was unlocked, naturally. He'd have been much more surprised if it wasn't; Radasanth had many more abandoned houses up for grabs, most of which were in better shape. And if that didn't do the trick, knowledge that the house's previous tenants were a serial killer and the bodies of about thirty of his victims tended to get prospective home-owners to move on. The place looked about right for it, too. The paint was peeling with damp, the woodwork was all scuffed, and dust hugged everything in sight. You'd need either a modicum of light or Otto's eyesight to discern this, though, and one of those was lacking.
Ags bounced ahead towards a crack of light. "What a dreadful place," she despaired, pushing open the kitchen door. Cold winter light trickled through to the entry. "I shall get a fire going, at least."
"We shouldn't be here long," Otto replied.
He eyed the stairway suspiciously. It swept upwards on one side of the hallway, before disappearing into the dark. Then he chided himself: there was nothing here left to fear but ghosts. He started to climb.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Ags called out from below.
Otto cleared the first flight. He was in a gallery now, running parallel to the ground-floor entry way. All the doors were closed; even he was blind in this murk. But he knew that the second set of stairs were directly overhead the first, and just a few steps down the gallery. He kept one hand brushing along the balustrade as he made his way along, and his fingers encountered an opening before long. He swung himself onto the landing. The wood groaned underfoot - very old, very damp, definitely starting to rot. Very bad.
Good thing he wasn't wearing his mail.
Although Otto moved with a watchman's infamous speed, he made it to the top without problem. Memory also told him there was a door right in front of him. He quested out, and found a handle; memory was correct. But he switched it off before he went through. He did not want to have recollections about the room beyond.
The handle turned, the mechanism clicked, the door swung open. Otto's heart began to pound.
The top room had a few grimy windows set under the eaves, so there was enough light here to avoid stubbing your toe. There, in the middle of the room, was a table. And on the table, a waxed-paper parcel. It had to be new. Incompetent as the watch could be, Otto doubted that they could have missed this when they combed the place a year ago. He approached it at a wary pace that made his descent up the stairs look like a rocket launch. It was a struggle to bring himself to open the thing, for fear that he was mistaken about the contents. He didn't think that he could handle the soul-crushing disappointed after having gone this long without sleep.
Floorboards creaked at Otto's back. He spun around and saw Ags there with a lit candle. "What is this place, Otto?" she asked. She sounded troubled.
The orc turned his focus back towards the table. "This is where Jerome and I first encountered each other," he answered levelly. "Leopold lent his aid to a murder investigation. We followed some information to this house, sussed it out, and... well, we found a score and a half dead bodies up here, in this room."
"Oh!" Ags exclaimed. Otto hesitated; that hadn't been horror in her voice, but plain fascination. Still, he ploughed on.
"This place was being used by a senior member of the Church of the Ethereal Sway, Hugo Montserrat. Wealthy. Influential. Religious. Well, so he claimed. Hugo tried to dress the murders up as divinely sanctioned, but he wasn't fooling anyone. His father knew, too, but didn't let on..."
Maybe that was when young Grimhold had begun to change from his sycophantic ways. He'd come up here and seen the bodies in various stages of dismemberment and decay. It had probably been the first time the sheltered little then-lieutenant had seen a corpse in his life, let alone career. That sort of thing tended to stick with you. And then it turns out that Hugo's father had known almost all along, had even been roped into the latest murder by his son (although the experience had twisted the old man into a crazed mess) - and then Montserrat had the gall to nearly escape!
So when Jerome had been approached to help his father and his friends, the man had probably thought one thing: I've seen all this before...
Didn't stop him sending assassins after Otto and Resolve, though. The orc was glad that Jerome seemed to have selected the most incompetent gaggle of dockside drop-outs that he could, but Otto was probably still seen as an acceptable casualty. He was a soldier of the CAF: expected to die when duty demanded it. Well, so too had been Jerome.
Otto tore the package open. Scraps of paper slid away atop a thin ledger and diary. Otto picked the topmost one up while Ags approached with the candle.
"And what is that?" Ags pressed.
Otto briefly read through the sheet. "It looks like a list of contents. That's Jerome's journal... and his father's is there, too. Harbour warehouses, ship names, captains. A list of intermediaries. Jerome's tagged a lot of CAF equipment leaving the armouries and tracked it right to when it comes back around to us as cash. Looks like the Salvarans are big buyers."
There was more: Otto had prayed for salvation, and it looked like he had been answered. He reached the bottom of the page. Jerome had written a declaration, signed it off, and imprinted the document with his signet.
"Alright, Ags," he said, bundling everything back together. "Back to see Aaron..."
“You’re fortunate, considering,” Petru spoke softly as he wrapped Resolve’s hand. “I half expected the bones to be crushed after that story of yours, but between what strong stuff you’re made of and Luned’s… when did you learn healing magic, anyway?” he asked aside.
“Ah, it’s… not quite like that,” the scribe shook her head. She sat next to Resolve, one arm wrapped gently around her good shoulder for reassurance. “Rather, I tried to reverse some of the damage. It also works well on spilled ink and burnt toast,” she offered a little smile, though the humor didn't quite make it to her voice.
The young man glanced up, offered her a perplexed blink, then got back to work. “Due to the unusual nature of this ordeal, I expect to see you daily at first, Resolve. Your wounds shouldn’t reopen, from the look of them, and that knock on your head seems superficial enough… but we can’t risk these fractures healing poorly, and hands are especially tricky. From the weakness in your arm, I suspect there’s been some stress on your collar bone, as well; I’ll fit you with a sling and we can reassess as we go. You are forbidden from use of this limb until you have my permission. Is that clear?”
Now that he mentioned it, Resolve realized that her head had cleared considerably since Luned had comforted her. She nodded in cooperation.
“I should check on Rosie,” Luned offered the pair another little smile as she stood. “Can I get you anything?”
Petru concentrated as his long, thin fingers tied the linen brace in place. “No, thanks. I think we’re just about finished here, anyhow.”
Luned discovered the woman in Resolve’s bedroom, where she directed Flint as he set down a large basin of hot water she’d enlisted him to carry up from the kitchen. “They’ll be done soon,” she told her. “She’s fine.”
Rosie nodded, hands clasped anxiously. “I’m sure she is, I just… this whole situation is so… will Otto really be alright out there? What if he gets caught? And his colleagues…”
“That’s why we have Agnie,” Luned reminded her calmly. “We’re all on standby to help when he needs it. We won’t let anything happen to any of them.”
“Like what happened to Rez?” Rosie retorted weakly. Her complexion had gone nearly gray in the absence of her usual flush and smile, worry-drawn lines making her usually elusive age apparent. Her perpetual bubbliness had finally been obliterated by stress.
Realizing this sat heavy over Luned’s chest and the strain could be heard in her words. “I’m truly sorry for that. It won’t happen again.”
The woman simply nodded apologetically and brushed by to return to the parlor. Luned stepped out into the shadowy hallway slowly after her, Flint close behind. “Maybe I should go to the garrison,” she mused. “Make sure sentencing doesn’t happen before Otto can––”
“Lune,” the brute interrupted, pulling her backwards to hold her against his chest as if that might contain her. “What happened to the thugs who took Resolve?”
His breath tickled her ear, but her posture remained strong against his embrace in subconscious conflict. She stood still, not moving to escape him, but not offering an answer, either. Her silence spoke volumes.
“Otto has friends in the watch,” he continued. “I do not think we can trust Carcosa to acknowledge that if it is unleashed there. We will do as he asked: wait until he returns and move from there.”
Several long and tense seconds passed before Luned finally relaxed, leaning back against him in defeat. All she mustered in response was a deep, troubled sigh.
Resolve
12-20-14, 01:05 PM
The hot water felt so wonderful that Resolve would have crawled straight into the tub, if Rosie wasn’t keeping watch over her bandages. “It’s a wonder you didn’t get frostbite,” the woman said as she gently washed dry blood from the girl’s hair. “Or even worse, hypothermia. Luned said she’d never felt a person’s skin so cold…”
True enough, Resolve’s fingers and toes burned something fierce as feeling gradually returned to them, but they thawed thoroughly intact. And even then, that discomfort paled in comparison to the agony Petru had caused as he set the fracture in her third metacarpus. The throbbing had just finally died down to something she could nearly ignore, though she wondered if the swelling might cause her hand to simply burst out of its tidy wrapping job.
“Mm,” the girl mumbled into the basin she leaned over, where she breathed steam and battled drowsiness. The growing heat of the new fire bathed her back in warmth, and she felt guilty for enjoying those comforts knowing Otto must have been bone weary. And poor Carrin… but there wasn’t much she could do for them right now, was there?
“Much better,” Rosie sighed as she gave Resolve’s head a final rinse. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks; she was much more in her element fawning over friends than fretting, that was for sure. She guided the girl to sit up, draping a towel over her shoulders as she helped dry her face.
Resolve watched as Rosie rubbed a few drops of perfumed oil onto her palms, then closed her eyes as she massaged it into her hair. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” the woman smiled and pulled a comb from her pocket. “It’s not much different than one of our spa nights, if you think about it.”
“Not just for this,” Resolve clarified, her arm fidgeting in its sling. “For everything. Your business might be hurting because of me, and I know I’ve imposed…”
Rosie untangled the last snarl, then placed a tiny kiss on the girl’s forehead. “You’re like family, Rez –– through thick and thin, and all that nonsense. But if it makes you feel better, you can get me some of that expensive rosé I like and we’ll call it even.”
The girl smiled in relief. “I can do that.”
“Good. Now, let’s get the rest of this grime off you.”
"Over here."
Aaron glanced back the way he had come: nothing to see but a grey mutt scavenging in the gutter, and a pair of bickering seagulls on a crumbling brick wall. He stepped off the alleyway's uneven flagstones and ducked into a doorway which, during the evening, was unlocked to admit traffic downstairs. The cellar's owner was a candle merchant who leased the space outside trading hours to several boxing clubs, seedy life-drawing classes, and a couple of aspiring bands. It was locked now, but that's not why Aaron had come.
The squeeze was exacerbated by the presence of two other figures. "Hullo Otto, hullo Ags," Aaron muttered.
"Gosh," Ags squeaked. "How exciting! Very cloak-and-dagger."
Otto smiled weakly. "Aaron." He pressed a wax-paper bundle into the other guardsman's hands. "Here. Take this Captain Reinhardt. He can be trusted."
Aaron rotated the package over in his hands. His fingers whispered drily over the smooth wrapping. "What's in it?"
"Names. Addresses. Receipts... the usual. A lot of stuff that should complement the flower shop evidence. Most importantly, though, it lists the forgers Marcus used to alter those other records. Aaron - this has to reach Reinhardt."
"Easy," Aaron assured the orc. "The old dog's been put on overtime up at the garrison. Something about a city-wide manhunt for two dangerous fugitives..."
Otto put on his best commiserating face. "Sounds serious, alright."
He and Ags were treated to a brief, acquiescing smile before their intermediary turned his back and sauntered off. They watched his glimmering mail sleeves swing in the scant late sun. Then Aaron turned the corner and was gone. Ags looked up into the sombre grey visage above her.
"So," she mused. "Shall I be taking you back yet?"
Otto didn't seem to hear her at first. Just before she had a chance to put the question to him again, though, he blinked and shook his head.
"No. Not quite. A couple more visits, then we can go."
* * *
When Otto stepped into the bar, the already muted conversation inside it hit a lull. Most adult orcs had this effect. Even those born and raised in the city hadn't all acclimated to the social environment; it was a nefarious tradition of his people to get wickedly drunk and find something to break - the bigger, the better. Otto looked around the low-ceilinged room, with its dodgy plaster walls (a good punch would split the boards underneath), and spied a familiar back turned to him at the bar. He shuffled over towards it, pushing a chair out the way (one good smack against the counter would reduce it to splinters) and skirting a couple of tables (heavy-duty affairs, you'd have to slam a couple of patrons down on them before they cracked) along the way. The man at the bar looked over with bleary eyes as Otto pulled up a stool and sat down next to him.
"Hello, Emric," Otto murmured.
His foster-brother directed his gaze back to the mug of porter he had before him, and took a gulp.
"Thought you'd be helping Marten at the forge," Otto continued. "But I guess you can breathe easy now that I'm locked up..."
Otto risked a glance in Emric's direction. The delay drew out a little too long for comfort, and then Emric said, "Say again?"
The man's words dripped with casual innocence, plus a healthy dollop of familial indifference. Otto had expected as much; Emric had always been a consummate liar. The barman had sidled over by now and was giving his newest patron a wary, but inquisitive glance. Otto waved him off and waited until the fellow was a safe distance away before resuming speech.
"We need to talk," Otto stated. "Let's go out back."
Emric shrugged. "Why? We're fine here."
"No, we're not. Not unless you want the bar to hear about what you've done to Rez and me - or what I plan to do to you."
The edge in Otto's voice put any number of his blades to shame. Emric's eyes hardened at this, so that he appeared to be staring daggers into his ale. He weighed out his options thoroughly, but at last he scowled and nodded.
"Fine. Let's go, then."
Otto got up off the stool and led them to the rear of the building. He ignored the barman's stare, and instead pushed through the delivery entrance and into the empty street behind.
"Alright, Emric, you've got some explaining to do-"
Any other time, he should have seen it coming. But his creaking brain was on its last legs.
Emric stepped up behind his brother and wrapped a bracing arm around his chest, and before Otto could register this turn of events, Emric's dagger was plunging into his back.
Emric was having some troubles of his own, namely, the ghosts of three pints of Radasanth bitter which were coming back to haunt him. The dagger's tip snagged Otto in the ribs and bounced off. Otto was too shocked to cry out. His brain still didn't quite know what was going on - but his muscle memory had him covered. He didn't need to think about twisting like so as the dagger came back in and gashed him along the side rather than plunging deep, nor about wrapping one arm around Emric to pin the other man's limb down. Emric was treated to a short-lived view of a broad grey forehead approaching at speed. There followed a sickly crunching sound, a rose of pain stemming from the middle of the man's face, and the warm dribble of blood out two flattened nostrils.
Otto made to repeat the action. Emric flinched, and the orc used the opportunity to escape his grasp. Otto twirled out of the dagger's range, but used the momentum to lash out with a solid hook into Emric's chest. Otto had aimed for just below the ribcage, but the punch went a little high. Emric staggered back with an 'oof' sound escaping his throat, though he wasn't winded. He launched, bleary-eyed and streaming blood, right back at Otto with the dagger.
Emric came in with a forward-grip thrust. Otto brushed the arm aside, grabbed the wrist as he did so, and yanked hard. The extra momentum sent Emric careening into the opposite wall, but not before he twisted an ankle in the gutter.
He went to get up. Dr Otto remedied that by prescribing a stout kick to the kidneys.
"You complete and utter bastard," growled the orc. Emric had held onto the dagger despite the odds, so Otto crushed his hand beneath a hefty boot. "You sad, sorry sack of shit! At least you finally got the guts to try and do it yourself!"
Emric found it in him to gurgle a retort. "What could I do? You were both going to get us all killed! Marten, Kat, me-"
"I tried to help, but I didn't see you talk either of them into accepting..."
"You know how stubborn the old man can be, Otto. And you weren't so slow to throw us to the lions, either."
Otto held the pose. He was cogitating, clearly unsure as to what to do next. But after a few seconds, he eased the pressure off of Emric's hand.
It was a mistake.
Emric curled a leg behind Otto's shin, pushed up off the ground, and shoved the orc in the gut hard enough to send him staggering backwards. Emric's well-placed shank tripped Otto up and he fell, the alley's sheer facades spinning away to reveal the thin, wavering crack of sky above them. A shadow blocked out the light: Emric diving on top of Otto, dagger in hand, and ready to finish what he started.
Otto lifted his knees. He caught Emric by the wrists - then kicked up. Both his boots planted themselves on the man's chest and denied the man his landing. The force sent Emric sailing overhead back towards the bar's back door. An untidy thud told him that he had successfully found the floor.
Otto scrambled to his feet. There was a plank fence edging off one property's rear nearby; he yanked off a tall board to the protesting screams of old iron nails. He looked back and saw Emric was up and rushing him again. Otto calmly swung the plank in and took out the fellow's knees. As he stumbled, Otto stepped back, swung the board up, and brought it smartly down on top of Emric's noggin. Emric backpedaled, so Otto pursued. It was a feint - his opponent tried to launch himself around the improvised weapon and get in close. Otto let him, then swung the plank around at the last moment and smashed the bottom end into Emric's temple. Emric jabbed out wildly with the dagger, but Otto had already skipped back. The board tip cracked against Emric's fingers, and he finally dropped the dagger.
Otto replaced his grip on the board with one on Emric; he grabbed the younger man by his lapels and slammed him against a brick wall. Emric's eyes glazed over momentarily with the pain.
"Remember what I told you?" Otto snarled, one inch from his brother's throat. "Any trouble from you, and your name is going to come up in the investigation? You might have heard that that's been fixed, but I can guarantee you, that's the case no longer. All your friends in the red are going to be in chains by the end of the day, and you'll be joining them - if you stick around."
A confused look entered Emric's eyes - then hope.
"There's a ship set to sail from the north harbour in an hour," Otto continued in a softer tone. "Dappled Cutter. I've paid for your passage on it. If you run straight there, you might make it."
Emric frowned. "Where to?"
"Knife's Edge."
"Salvar?"
"It's that or the noose! At least in Rubble Town you can do some good - for once in your life. They need people to help rebuild."
Emric somehow found it in himself to sneer. "I'm not some pig-iron bashing hick playing at a blacksmith, Otto."
"Then you're dead!" Otto threw him aside, away from where the dagger glinted maliciously up from the stones. Emric stumbled aside and cast Otto a panicky look. "I'll take you to the gallows myself if I have to. Don't think for a moment that I'm doing this for you!"
"You wouldn't-"
"I already have, Emric. They'll be searching for you within a couple of hours. I've given you an out - take it!"
Emric stared at Otto for a second. Then he began to edge away, turned, and started up as fast a sprint as his battered body would allow.
Ags delivered Otto back to the library where they discovered a pacing Luned. She hesitated as the orc stepped heavily into the room, a draft drawing sparks from the hearth at Flint's feet.
"How did it go?" the scribe pressed.
"The evidence has been delivered. It could take days for them to sort things out at this point, but at least they have what they need," Otto sighed, his vision blurry with need of rest. "I'll try not to sleep through all of it, but I can't make any promises."
As the orc staggered toward the hall, Luned noticed the blood on his coat. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly over his back, and with a touch of magic, the pain from Emric's wound eased considerably. He glanced down at her in silent gratitude and she moved aside, allowing him to leave.
"Anything else?" the fairy princess spoke up from her place by the other entryway.
"No," Luned shook her head, "not for now. But please keep an eye on communication just in case." Ags nodded and turned to leave. "Thank you for your help."
The fey offered a little wink, then disappeared behind the door.
In the moments of quiet that followed, they heard the others settle into their rooms in a series of distant footsteps and creaking hinges. Finally, it was time to rest after a long and miserable ordeal, but Luned remained where she stood. Something kept her there, unable to put her busy thoughts to bed.
Flint could see it on her face; as much as she'd changed in recent months, she would never be good at hiding things. "What are you thinking about?"
Luned looked over to the man, who leaned forward in his armchair next to the fire. Its light reflected bright off his vambraces. "Nothing," she lied, then immediately corrected herself. "Everything."
The man considered, leaned back, and gestured to her. "Come here."
Something in her resisted, but after another moment, the scribe relented. She joined Flint at the fire, allowing him to pull her down into his lap where he wrapped his arms around her stomach. She rested back against him but her mind remained distant, her gaze lost in the embers at their toes.
Flint couldn't shake the feeling that she was headed somewhere faraway and it would be hard to get her back. It was a slow, invisible sort of journey –– she wouldn't get there overnight, and perhaps not even in a month –– but he felt it ever drawing nearer. Or was this ominous destination simply creeping closer to them?
"You could have healed Resolve entirely," the brute spoke softly into her hair. "Why didn't you?"
She took her time to answer. "I can only do so much in a day. What if something happened to Otto? What if I had to…"
"To what?" Flint probed. "We both know that if it was a reasonable solution, you would have already handled the Assembly using Carcosa. But you have not, because it is not."
Slowly but gradually, he sensed her return to him. "If I could control it, I could do anything," Luned muttered as if sharing some great confession. "Anything, Flint. But I don't know how to get there."
His vendetta against magic only worsened with the prospect that he might lose her to it, and his arms tightened around her.
Resolve
01-04-15, 02:46 PM
"Orman's already back to work, of course," Otto recounted. The pair walked arm in arm along the familiar route from the library to Moody's, stepping around ice and huddling together against the cold, and it almost felt normal again. "Carrin didn't handle the ordeal well, though. He's off on leave, spending time with his family and taking a breather from everything. The squad will still feel a bit disjointed until he's back, I imagine."
"That's understandable," Resolve commiserated. "And what about you?"
He frowned up at the seagulls and their afternoon racket overhead. "They offered me some time, but after how things panned out, it's not like I can use it to visit Marten and Kat. At least… not yet." He felt her arm squeeze in sympathy around his, and his opposite hand reached up to hold it there.
"Ugh, Emric," the girl's words dripped with disgust as she glared ahead, her other arm fidgeting in its sling. "You did the right thing for everyone, Otto, even if your folks need time to sort it out for themselves. I really am sorry it had to be that way, though."
"Aye," Otto replied softly, and they rounded the corner where Moody's Ale Cellar greeted them with its dusty windows and weathered sign. "Me, too."
They both fell quiet, allowing their thoughts to wander to darker places, until they reached the side entrance. Resolve paused in the front hall so he glanced down at her, and only eyes as keen in the shadows as his could have caught the hint of a grin on her lips. "You could stay with me," she suggested.
Before he could consider such an invitation, a merry voice interrupted. "Welcome home," Rosie spoke down from the second floor landing, where she and Ags had congregated between their front doors. "Thanks to Agnie's help, our places are as spotless as we left them," the elder woman shared in glee, pleased not to have dusting to deal with after her time away. "Goodness, am I glad to be home."
"With you on that," Resolve smiled as she ascended toward her friends. "Thanks for all your help, Ags. Sorry to drag you into that mess."
"Oh, my pleasure," the strange little woman blinked up at her with a concerning grin. "I quite like messes."
Resolve nodded as she continued past and up the next flight of stairs to her attic apartment. Otto offered his own polite greetings to the ladies, then followed.
It felt strange to be back after leaving so suddenly for so long; she hadn't really had much time there since before her journey to Fallien many weeks ago. Just as Rosie had said, everything was in its place as if she had only been gone hours instead of days, welcoming them in a bright collage of exotic textiles and luxurious furnishings. The only thing that seemed off was the lack of incense hanging in the air. Someone had even built a small fire in the parlor in anticipation of her return –– perhaps that's what Rosie and Ags had been up to on the stairs –– and it had just begun to chase the last shivers of winter from the room as they entered it.
"Gods, I missed this place," Resolve sighed as she collapsed onto the sofa and into a pile of throws and pillows. Her companion followed suit, albeit in more considerate a fashion, and they fell quiet again as they thawed. The sun had already begun to sink behind neighboring buildings, wrapping the flat in a cozy dimness. "Thanks for walking me home," she finally spoke again, and abandoned her nest to wedge herself in under his arm.
"Of course," Otto said simply as he adjusted around her.
"Otto," the girl spoke again, "what do you want? Chronicle, blacksmithing, the watch… do you see yourself going somewhere with all of that?"
He took his time to consider her question. "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. Perhaps selfishly, what I want out of Luned's scheme is an opening to leave the forces, along with anyone else who was conscripted for the war… but after that? Who knows. I'll always be at home in a forge, at the very least."
"Hmm," the girl sighed thoughtfully, and once again the crackle of the hearth dominated conversation. "If you find yourself in need of a home, I'm sure Luned would have you at the library. But you know, I meant what I said."
Otto offered her a questioning glance and she sat up, leaving her coat behind. Surprisingly nimble for someone with but one functional arm, she slithered over and straddled his lap.
"You could stay here."
Resolve
01-05-15, 10:30 AM
Skip this part if you blush easily!
Something intangible had changed in Resolve's tone, but before Otto had time to suss it out, her hand had drifted to the bottom hem of her long, silk tunic. She lifted it, baring brown skin of her stomach already familiar to him from her warm weather saris, and his eyes only widened when he realized she didn't intend to leave it at that. The girl pulled her shirt up further, revealing her small, full breasts and the white, lotus-like design that had blossomed like filigree on her skin between them, and his face flushed so fast his head spun. He was so stunned, in fact, that it took him a bit to realize that she'd paused with the tunic over her head.
"Uh," she mumbled, quickly realizing her folly in trying to disrobe without first removing her sling, then she laughed. "Are you seduced yet?"
Resolve waited for a long, rather painfully embarrassing moment –– she liked to imagine she was smoother than this –– before she felt tentative hands come to her aid. Gently, he untangled her limbs from their sleeves, which had become twisted up into the sling. As he replaced it on her bare shoulder, his fingers shied away from direct skin contact, and they hovered in anxious indecision.
"Are you sure?" Otto asked, meekness arising in his deep voice.
She chose not to respond with words. Instead, the girl grasped one of his hands, guiding it to her chest as she stole a long, deep kiss. When she rolled her hips against him, that was all the convincing he needed, and he swept one massive arm around her as he caressed new territory. Her skin went hot under his touch and she ground against him more, inspiring groans from both impassioned parties. Resolve's moan devolved into a growl, however, as she wrestled futilely against his clothing with her one good set of fingers.
Realizing this, Otto helped her help him out of his heavy, wool coat, discarding it without a thought on the floor nearby. His linen shirt soon followed, and enthusiastic lips and teeth explored his chest and shoulders. Resolve's hand drifted appreciatively over his nakedness as she desperately wished she could ravish all of him at once, but perhaps being limited this way was a form of mercy for the orc. His own hands found themselves tangled encouragingly in her hair, running flustered over her smooth, toned back, and perfectly full with the curve of her rear through the tight, thin fabric of her leggings.
Resolve relished the way he felt against her. The hair on his chest teased her nipples hard, and where almost bare, his skin was surprisingly soft. She discovered some scars along the way –– superficial things, mostly –– save a particularly deep one in his gut. The girl paused at that, tracing the mark with her fingers thoughtfully as she leaned back to look.
"That's from the raid on Grimhildr, isn't it?" she asked, her gaze drifting up to his face. She watched him shift self-consciously under her.
"Aye," he replied softly.
Her brow furrowed with concern just briefly, then she leaned forward and kissed him again. Her mouth trailed across his jaw through his beard, down his neck to his chest, and as she lowered herself toward the floor, she pressed her lips warmly to the vicious scar that seemingly started it all. He returned the gesture with a tender embrace and she rested her head against his stomach, cozy and relaxed…
Until his body suddenly tensed and a sharp breath hissed between his teeth. "Rez!" Otto gasped at the unexpected touch.
The girl had capitalized on her new position as she knelt between his legs, her hand having wandered down to press against the front of his trousers. There, she took him into her palm and caressed through cloth, taking a long moment to enjoy the involuntary reactions she elicited. Need finally overcame the butterflies in her stomach, and she looked up at him with a coy little smile. "Shall we take this to the bedroom?"
He nodded.
Warpath
01-13-15, 05:19 PM
Flint and a particularly tall, corpulent man stood dockside staring out over the Niema at sunset. A small gang of rough-looking toughs stood away behind them, smoking and swaggering and talking amongst themselves.
"Your spies were indispensible," Flint admitted. "Thank you for your help."
Bor nodded, fleshy chin to his chest as he stuffed a mixture of greens into his pipe. "It was the least I could do, old friend," the big man rumbled amiably. "My resources are yours. I do apologize for the hiccup, there. I trust the orc's family is doing well, in any case? And the girl?"
Flint nodded. "Resolve is recovering. The Smiths are no worse off, but they and Otto will have a great deal to talk about, I imagine."
"A shame about the brother. You're sure it wouldn't have been wiser to intercept him?"
Flint shrugged. "If Otto wanted him dead, he would be dead. I respect his decision even if I do not understand it, for Luned's sake."
"A-ha," Bor said, taking a few short draws on his pipe as thin wisps of smoke began to waft out of it. "And how are things with the young scribe?"
Flint grunted.
"Hmm? Oh now, I see, trouble in paradise, as they say? I can give you some advice, you know, Little Miko and I still have our tiffs..."
Flint scoffed, shooting the still-larger man a sidelong glare. "We did not argue. We have been talking. About Carcosa, and the things she can do. And cannot do. It is making me...think."
"That is bad," Bor agreed, nodding solemnly.
"It will take months to repair what I did to the city watch," Flint said. "But I could not find Resolve, or foresee Emric's betrayal, or root out our enemies. Someday, perhaps soon, I could kill the entire assembly myself before anyone could stop me, but the city would fall through my fingers like sand. Unlimited power was meant to be the solution."
Bor puffed away silently for a long moment, staring out over the water. "Sometimes I remember things as they were, before...before I came here." Flint turned and looked at the man, the interest plain on his face. Bor never spoke of his otherworldly origins directly. "Do you know why we had to hide, Shasande and Talus and I? The components of the Host are forbidden from interacting with any lesser individual, forbidden, so as to prevent fondness or attachment."
Flint let the silence stretch, afraid that Bor would remember himself. Eventually though, he couldn't let the question stand unspoken: "Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? All the power in the world can't change free will, my friend. Talus could have conquered this world in hours, righted all its wrongs, and made Victoria the ruler over and very purpose of every life here. But would that have made her happy? Would that have made her love him? And could he help the resentment that would bloom in the hearts of everyone else?" Bor shook his head. "Force can solve many problems, but only temporarily. Eventually you will learn that unlimited power was never a lasting solution."
Flint sneered. "Then what is?"
Bor smiled and shrugged his big shoulders. "Patience, wisdom, and the love of a lot of good friends, perhaps."
"How surprising," Flint said dryly. "A list of things I do not have."
Bor chuckled, turning to begin walking away. He nodded at his men, and they began to disperse. "I'm not so sure, old friend," the big man said in parting. "Does it feel like you failed?"
Flint turned to say something biting, but Bor was already gone.
Warpath
01-13-15, 05:30 PM
The brute turned down a dark alley on his way back to the library. The shadows were long and getting longer, but he was deep in reflection and he thought the city had nothing left to give him pause.
He was wrong.
A silhouette stepped casually out into the alley some ways ahead, tall and thin and clad in spikes. A red ember at the end of a lit cigarette flared, casting a bloody glow on a mouthful of moist cutlery.
"'ello Basher. Been a while. 'ow's about an 'ug for an old mate?"
Philomel
01-30-15, 10:53 AM
Thread Title: The Long Game (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27119-The-Long-Game)
Judgment Type: Condescended Rubric
Participants: Otto, Luned and Warpath and Resolve
Firstly, I apologise for the lateness of this judgement. Secondly, I want to say for the length of this story I really did feel it was the right size and well balanced. For the time it took to write it is really and truly wonderful, with clearly a lot of effort to put into it. I want to thank you for letting me read it. I would say more than I have done, but have tried to keep things concise to encapsulate the whole thing. If anyone wants more commentary, however, please feel more than free to PM me.
Story: 21
General: This story was peaceful, and had a great sense of tranquility all the way through it. Though there were times of tension, especially with the raid, it read something of a suburb town tale, one that might live down in legend for those of later generations to hear. The pacing perhaps was a little slow in the middle, and came to abrupt stop around page 7 (posts 67 - 69), though for all of you writing each others’ actions and characters seems to go well. You all have similar writing styles and clearly trust each other enough to use the others’ characters. Point to point and scene to scene was more or less well done. With a story as lengthy as this it would have been easy for it to have dragged but overall it did not and kept up with pace as well as it should, apart from the slight abrupt tension snag around page 7. With Otto and Luned more or less beginning, then Resolve and Warpath tying off their ends on the final page it was an equally balanced piece, mirrored in this respect. In a sense it felt as if Luned should have begun the story, with it being she the hostess of the dinner party, but this did not entirely matter. One perhaps expected more battle and fighting, especially with Otto the orc brawler beginning, but it was a delightful change to just have subtle action and hurt take place amidst a social outing of friends, if the story can indeed be called that. What was possibly best was the rise of tension, growing in the tunnels from posts 58 (ish) to 65, and building up of actions.
The general weakness for all of you was the lack of setting in general, that could have been used more and mentioned more, rather than focusing on the interaction between your characters, but it was not entirely forgotten, which was good. One wanted to know the weather at times, and how this might have affected your individuals in their plans, and also the time of day as sometimes the movement and action distracted somewhat from knowing this - however, these are more suggestions rather than severe critique.
Overall I am omitting from individual analysis on this section as I felt more or less you wrote together, as a unit, and this is a strength more than a weakness, however, here is a brief word on each: Otto had considerable strength opening the piece with his excellent setting description, and Luned continued it well with the planning and almost side-exploits with her character and Resolve’s. Resolve had particular strength in linking the other stories previously written to this one, and hinting at various things that could occur. Warpath closed well entirely, bringing the story around to a new edge, with the cheery words of Aurelianus hinting at another story altogether about to begin.
Character: 21
General: This is written with focus as to how each writer wrote their own character.
Otto: You have a good hold of your character. There are various sides to him shown in this piece, from “meek” in post 69, to commanding when dealing with the other soldiers/guards. He has a clear soft side also, and is incredibly loyal. In terms of the Persona, therefore, you show a great variation of emotions and sides in this long thread. Dialogue does, to an extent, add to the strength of the differences, crossing over into persona with post 61, ‘he saw that the passageway was in fact filled with… "... sand?" Otto murmured.’ As you carry the storytelling over into your character’s own personal words, you create a harmony of writing that is beautiful and an example of good skill. Though sometimes lacking in terms of clarity in your actions, you do seem to understand your character, and never make them too unbelievable, despite the many facades he shows in this thread, so well done here.
Luned: With the fewest amount of posts in this thread compared to the other writers, the material to judge your character’s writing against could be called limiting, but more or less it is just dwarfed by them. It is particularly strong, your sense of character in your writing. In some sense you could have done with more dialogue to really bring your character out into the open, but she has a consistency in her tone. You write a definite sense of kindness in her, a longing to be with her friends especially in your opening post of post 2, but in general it feels you could do a minor amount of development on her. True, you seem to know her well, however there could have been more persona hinted at, underlying thoughts or sub-conscious actions which could have led up to the revealing of her plan to the other characters. A way to improve could be to imaging how you in real life might act in terms of subtle habitual actions, and maybe add even more the the rise of tension in the piece.
Warpath: What is always intriguing about Flint is his strong, tough exterior with the heart of a softie tucked away inside. Through dialogue and action especially you show the boldness of him, but with hints of a kinder man that not many others perhaps see. In post 54 you have the part: ‘"I may have to kill these men," he said simply as an afterthought’ which was particularly good at displaying not character through persona but dialogue also. All in all you do seem to rely on the former more, so a good balance of this along with interior thoughts and habits may be something to think about in future - yet overall, well done.
Resolve: Unfortunately, in this thread, you seem to concentrate a lot more on the other character than of your own. The other writers do respect your skill enough to trust you with your characters, however, so this is indeed a hint at a strength of your writing itself. In general you rely a lot on action and the overarching plot of the story to carry yourself from post to post, which is good in of itself, yet it would have been good to see more inside information on Resolve and her feelings during this whole adventure. Try to remember who your character is throughout. This being said, though, there is no deviation or mad actions that were noticeable, that fell in any way out of line of normality, so you have good consistency and a sociable ability that encapsulates the whole group well.
Writing: 20
General: All four of you have particularly strong and enticing writing, with very few spelling errors that are visible to a patient reader. The sentence structure is standard, and correct, with commas and other punctuation flowing as easily as they come. Sometimes dialogue carries on from a line of action, where a new speaker should have their own paragraph for dialogue, but this is not often. It is better in terms of visual represenation and technique. At times, also, there are full stops (periods) in amongst dialogue, where there need be only commas (from posts 8, 9 and 23, 71 and 72 in particular) but this is somewhat of a minor detail that did not reflect your overall score.
Otto: Your opening, in particularly connected to your setting, was captivating and really held open the door well for the others to take their place. This being post 1 it is always an important place to ‘get things right’ and most certainly you did. Your word choice throughout was vast and somewhat seemingly thesaurus-inspired which is always great, so well done here.
Luned: Your greatest strength in this piece in all of your writing was your use of descriptive, phrases, such as in post 3 with, “earned melodramatic disgust.” Though perhaps, at times, it would have been good to see hints of imagery amongst the metaphors you had, you definitely shone in terms of technique.
Warpath: You write in a form that is obvious and crude at times, but in a style that works for your character, reflecting his stoicism. You have a style that you stick to and are constant with, that is precise and clear. In general you could perhaps experiment a little more in linguistic techniques but kudos here for the power of the strong and brave.
Resolve: You do have a good hand at description, and for keeping up action and plot development, which is important for every writer. At times you tend to use large paragraphs that somewhat block your general clarity, but not to the extent where the reader is confused. You seem to forget sometimes about general description and the fact you can do such, so I would encourage you really to think about balancing plot with simple description of setting, scene and subtle details, such as the way Otto strokes his cat and so on. However, you do have the beginnings of great description so well done.
Wildcard: 8
Wildcard here goes to near perfection in terms of length, plot and captivating power. Though this thread was long there was not one moment where the reader gets bored or is allowed to lose their mind in confusion over the various characters being written simultaneously by all four writers. Strongly, the four of you, coming together in this tale of quiet romance, couples and raid affairs have an excellent ability to balance style to style and create a harmonious thread that was not only a delight to read but an honour to judge.
Total Score: 70
Rewards:
Otto (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16653-Otto) receives:
4920 EXP
435 GP
Luned (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16108-Luned) receives:
1050 EXP
100 GP
Warpath (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?15200-Warpath) receives:
2690 EXP
225 GP
Resolve (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?16124-Resolve) receives:
3360 EXP
3340 GP
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