Tapestra's Tasks

[Tshael]

The coastline sparkled in the moonlight as every kiss the waves gave to the sand was frozen in the air of the winter night. The snow that glazed the sand that the waves could not reach had fallen earlier in the day, leaving the sky clear now for the stars to sparkle above. Too cold for bird or beast, the silence was left to the delicate rushing of water as it broke over the frosty bank, as diligent and relentless as a summer lover. It was a scene of iced beauty, peaceful and sincere in the way it stood still against the motion of the clock, but would all too soon be broken.

From the waves, a dark figure emerged, breaking the crest of the water as it slowly pulsed closer and closer to that crystaline shore. As he reached the shallows, his journey to dry land grew ever more erratic, from a slow swagger filled with heavy breaths, to a near run as he fought against the drag of the current. He was human - or at least had been at one time. His weak and weary walk was upright, though hunched over a small box that he clutched to his chest. While his arms and chest looked as though he was unaccustomed to heavy work, his legs were powerfully muscled and nearly as thick as his waist. Long hair hung down over a face that even in the darkness of night, a mother could easily deny. Hair hung down all over him from the crown of his misshappen head to his strangely elongated feet. Claws stabbed down through the ice and into the cold sand below, leaving a disturbing trail from the water's edge and onwards over the flatlands. After he had gone, the waves rushed up to clear his entrance onto Corone, though the path through the snow ahead still sang of the rape of that pure scene. In the distance, under the eyes of only the cold and uncaring moon, a lone howl rushed across the horizon, towards a small forest that lay huddled and defenseless along the plains.

Tyrra was the sort of forest that was often forgotten. No road nor river ran near it, no lantern lights of homesteads brightened it's clearings. It was a lonely patch of life in the middle of a sprawling nothing. Most of the creatures that lay within it's confines were too hungry to beware the scent and danger of humanity, most of the plants were poison, and the wood rotted nearly as soon as it was cut. It was a cursed place, a barren avenue of things rejected, and it was what the wolfman sought.

As he dove deeper and deeper into the forbidden wood, the snow receeded, leaving it's only touch upon the canopy far overhead. His hot and slavering breath came in bursts of fog, his wet fur froze matted to his form, but he moved as if the cold meant nothing to him. He had one purpose, one desire in this life and that was to meet face to face with his Queen again. Soon, white began to appear on the fringes of the path again, though it was not the sparkling patches of snow he'd left behind. Instead, thick webs began to coat plants and the corpses of animals who'd never had the proper decency to stay away. The webs glistened with frost, but it was hard to tell if they were thick with the ice or perhaps out of sheer strength. A toothy grin appeared on the wolfman's face. He knew his way now, he could smell the heavenly breath of his prize.

The webs grew thicker, until slight tendrils of white grabbed at his feet as he began to stray from the path, moving to a place where the trees grew tallest, and the forest itself seemed to whisper. It was here that flowers grew not from rain and sunlight, but the old magics that still fed this place from a time when the race of Man was harder and harder to find, and easier to kill. Just as he thought he'd lost his way and stumbled into a trap of silken lies, the path cleared, and he fell to his knees.

"My Queen!" he sobbed, his forehead touching the ground. When he looked up at the figure before him, strands of spider-silk clung to his brow. "I have finished the sixth task that you gave to me."

As he spoke, he pushed the box he had carried so gently forward and looked eagerly into a pair of deep brown eyes that had watched him soundlessly thusfar. Ringed in an altar of the tallest trees that Tyrra had to offer, a woman sat upon a natural throne. It had once been a tree who had fallen without a witness in the forest many years ago. Rot had hollowed it out and a cushion of spidersilk now lay within it. Upon the cushion, a woman sat. She looked young, and had looked that way through many centuries now, with long brown hair pulled back from her face, a few shorter strands falling before her. Her eyes were blank, dark and warm while remaining aloof, and she stared at the wolfman without revealing any thoughts, though he was sure she loved him. The only thing she seemed to be interested in was a tapestry that lay across her lap, hiding her naked waist and legs. Three pairs of arms worked without rest on weaving the tapestry and mending tears in the knotwork that had appeared over the years.

Reluctantly, she stopped her weaving, letting the tapestry fall to the ground and she stood. The myriad of arms that she had waved awkwardly as she walked, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them all. She stopped just short of the box, bending down and opening the lid with a single hand. Within it's teak exterior, coins of many kinds gleamed, still wet from their rescue from the ocean's depths. Several pearls gleamed among the monies, and the wolfman looked expectantly for her opinion of his hand-picked additions. She said nothing, but nodded in approval and turned to go back to her weaving. The silence stretched on for several long moments as the wolfman picked himself off the ground and looked around in confusion. He stared at the box and then again at the Weaver before his voice came, meek and questioning.

"M..my Queen?" She paused, looking up at him and he finally realized just how cold it really was. She opened her mouth, and his heart seemed to stop.

"You've done well, Roen. For your seventh task, take half the jewels and find a mercenary." She began to weave again, her mouth moving into the faded remnant of a smile. "Tell the one you hire that the same amount will be given when he reaches me, and give him directions."

"Is there a particular mercenary I should look for, Magesty?" he asked. She looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.

"Look for a man who needs money more than he needs his morals."

[Osato]

‘A man who needs money more than he needs his morals.’

To tell the truth such a person was probably easy to come by. Any back alley or side street would hold some vagabond that would kill for even a fraction of the gleaming coins and jewels. But Roen was not a stupid individual. His queen had given him another task, another chore to garner her favor. The man was most eager to please her too, and it would take something more then a half-starved, broken, and dirty individual to do so.

The answer had come to him quite readily. Radasanth. When one wanted to find someone of a certain… darker caliber or needed one for an rather precarious or dangerous task the city could offer only the best. In its depths were mercenaries, assassins, and even ronin’s. Time and again Roen had been told of the slums of Radasanth, the people that could be found there, and even how cheap the whores were. The final did not matter much to him, the only woman that he could imagine bedding anymore was his queen, his one and only love.

‘Fool,’ he thought as he scolded himself and looked around one of the man corners of the town. Darkness hugged him tightly like he had been a lost child, finally returned from so long an absence. Roen was anything but foolish. As a wolfman the humans would see him as a threat, dangerous and potentially deadly. He had entered the city at night, under the cover of darkness, and through the sewers. A stench was about him that could kill a horse, but he did not care so much about that as he did about finding the perfect sell-sword. ‘Such ideas of love are foolish… the queen… she loves no one. It is only a silly wish.’

The hunched man-beast turned another corner, his package carefully tucked against his chest. Even with the box closed and covered by a thin layer of hair he felt that every eye that strayed his way was a knowing one. The random passerby, as long as they were not the Watch, was given a wary distance to walk by him as he watched their every step. His ears were sharp enough to pick up their stride, sometimes if they were too close or not enough distance could be granted he could even catch the rise and fall of their breath… or the beat of their heart.

A Jewel’s Heart

The tavern was before the wolfman. It seemed as dirty and run down as any other, so he saw no reason not to enter. If there was going to be a mercenary of the caliber he was looking for, one who could accomplish their first task for the most beautiful queen then he figured it would just as likely be there. With a darting, uneasy glare in both directions he zipped across the road. The waning moon overhead only gave a little peak between heavy, snow-laden clouds. As least the buildings acted like a forest, blocking most winds—except for some of the alleys which were more like wind tunnels.

When Roen entered the tavern he expected eyes to focus on him, hands to grab for his precious package, and a fight to ensue. Instead only a single pair even bothered to rise to meet his. ‘Him,’ the once human male thought.

The man was out of place. His hair was a soft violet color, his eyes (though slightly glazed with alcohol) were near black, and his skin was a delicately pale color. He looked to be a pretty-boy, or perhaps one of those types that liked other men. Whatever the case he had a blackened longsword behind him, resting against the wall. His blackened gauntlets were wrapped around a dirty mug of—more then likely—watered down and stale ale. Roen could see his physique was of a peak physical condition. His clothes were form fitting, his shirt a tight pure white color and his pants tight black color.

Without waiting for his eyes to fall Roen allowed his own glowing golden eyes to lock and he crossed the room. Long clawed toes clicked against the rotting and worn floorboards, and a rather inapt smile found its place across his face. “You sir look like you could use a job,” his voice was pleasant, despite his face looking like a team of horses had lined up to kick him one after another. His hair was brushed out of his face off-handedly, the first time a hand had left the box since he had entered Radasanth. “And I have quite the reward for you. Are you interested?”

After the rather disgusted look had passed from the boy’s face, as he could not have been more then twenty years old, he leaned forward. His eyes, not black but possibly the deepest blue Roen had ever seen—the color extended almost to the edge of the eye—locked on the deep brown box. ‘Yes,’ Roen thought as he placed the thing at the edge of the table, keeping one hand atop it. ‘I can see that you are more then interested, you are almost hooked already.’

“I could be,” he sounded rude, but it was probably the alcoholic slur that was giving the impression. Beneath the gauntlets were black gloves that stopped at the boy’s elbows, but if Roen knew the type he was looking at there were only perfectly un-calloused manicured hands beneath. One hand brushed a stray bundle of hair back behind his ear while the other set the mug down and rested atop the table. In the ambient, dull-burgundy light the boy’s smirk seemed to leave a glint in his eyes. “What is in it for me?”

[Tshael]

Triumph! Roen could barely supress a gleeful cackle as he slid into the seat beside the boy. His sensitive nose was burning from the stink the sewers had washed into his furr, but it didn't matter now. The boy had taken the hook, and now if he could just pull him in, his seventh task would be done. While he knew that completing the task would mean he no longer had a purpose for his Queen, ignoring her orders was unthinkable. Besides, within his eyes was a strange dark light as his mind was ever focused on his promised reward.

Roen didn't push the box forward, but he did lift the lid just enough that the light from the bar's one lantern caught the gleam of the gold and flashed it for just a moment. He was teasing the boy, he knew, and it was part of his plan. A taste is all that was needed to bring the prey into the Spider Queen's nest - the wolfman knew this from experience.

"I have in this box," he growled, lowering his voice to keep to the privacy of the boy and himself, "a treasure of great value. What is in this box is only half of the full payment that my Queen is offering you." He opened the box now a little more.

"This alone is estimated at three thousand Coronian coinage worth. They're old coins, you see. Their worth has only expanded. There's another three thousand worth with my Queen. All you have to do is complete seven tasks." He shut the box with a louder noise than he'd expected before going on.

"The first task is to find her."

[Osato]

Osato was not always the easiest person to get along with. His eyes always seemed to be drifting away from the conversation, his hair was often the focus of his thoughts, and in general his tone made it seem he was aloof. To say the least the man was a bastard, but many more descriptions could easily be pinned to his feminine charms and holier-than-thou mannerisms. At that particular moment the attitude was pulsing, the imps within were tossing—neigh recklessly throwing—logs into the flames of vanity.

Before the pretty-boy mercenary was a man. Sure he seemed like a good enough chap, with his hair dirty and pasted to his head, his vile tongue stroking a mouthful of what could have once been considered teeth, and a set of long grubby nails on each hand. But for some reason the young sell-sword was having trouble placing a finger on why exactly this ‘Roen’ character was—for some reason—giving him the feeling of nausea.

After placing the mug down atop the table, which sounded way beyond worn—more towards rotting from the inside out—Osato showed little interest. His face was as impassive as could be. His high cheekbones gave him that royal appearance, that better-then-the-common-man appearance. A quick hand stroked his chin before tucking a rogue strand of pristine violet hair back behind an ear. Unfortunately the boy was young. His eyes were a dead giveaway. People said that a ‘persons eyes are the keys to their soul’. If Osato had had a soul then he could have helped those people with their obviously in-depth research.

Being a soulless being had its perks though. It was harder to discern their thoughts or emotions by looking at their eyes. It was neigh impossible to cast spells that affected the soul, emotions, and the stronger they got it also translated into anti-though spells as well. It was also impossible to pin a gender to them. Of course people supposed one or another, through their outward appearance. Soulless creatures did not reproduce in the same manner as normal humanoids; instead it was a complex and often sickening process.

“Find her?” Osato asked. If it was not apparent from his tone earlier the man had come at a bad time. It was nearing the middle of the night. Behind the boy was a botched job, and with it no pay. The fact that he was in that bloody tavern at all was because of how little he was making as a mercenary. And now this guy, some ugly fool, walks in with a box full of jewels and a malice grin. “You were sent to find me and now you want me to go find her?”

“Ok,” he said after an exaggerated sigh. “Where is she then? Is she true royalty, or do you just call her that to inflate her ego a bit? And is there anything else in this for me?”

“Seven tasks,” the man said at a tone so low that it seemed guttural. Osato would later swear, when he told his ‘grand adventures’ to small children, that the man had a voice lower then an ork and creepier then a zombie. “Complete these and my Queen will be pleased and release you. But you must complete all seven! Fail or desert your tasks and you might as well kill yourself.

“My Queen can be found if you go north. Follow the quiet winds until you smell the ocean. Go west to the forgotten woods. Follow the worn path, but beware the webs.” Osato sighed. The night had grown longer, it seemed, and the moon’s face had been hidden behind clouds. Snow would be gathering more and more and the trip would be no easier the longer the sell-sword waited.

“Done,” he had remarked, scooping up the box before the wolf-beast could argue or speak further. His sword was strapped to his side once again and a final, finishing drag of the mug drained the dirty glass. It was a tone of loathing that came next, with an undertone of disgust that was almost as strong. “I hope never to see you again.”

[Letho]

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