[h2][color=brown]Falk and ‘The Stranger’[/color][/h2]
A collab between Shiver and Tangle
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rv3Nl-Od9YU]Ambiance[/url]
[hr]

As the rest of his new companions walked, and in one instance crawled, up the stairs, Falk instead chose to settle in at a small booth by an open window. He didn’t need much sleep as of late, so he decided to take in the sounds of the sleeping city. After the commotion caused by the Viceroy’s death, and perhaps more significantly the lynching mob von Wolfram had gathered, a blanket of silence had prematurely fallen upon Ardent’s Fall, as if a fresh snow muted the ambient noise. It was likely the city guard forced everyone into their homes following the murder, and locked up those who wouldn’t end their celebrations on such short notice. Though Falk welcomed the solitude, he couldn’t help but miss the bawdy tunes of the city’s minstrels. He even loved the cat bard’s drunken shanty, and couldn’t help but tap his foot as she sang despite their perilous situation. Falk went many days on the road before hearing a melody of any kind. He didn’t like to linger long in small towns filled with superstitious locals, he could no longer play his flute, and the birds refused to sing for Falk in the wild. No, they all fled save for vultures, ravens, and other dark creatures, and sadly his raven couldn’t carry a tune.
 
Even the tavern had grown silent; only a few patrons remained on the warm ground floor, either sullenly sipping at their mugs or sprawled out on the dusty ground. Mira, the barkeep, hummed silently to herself as she cleaned up after the drunks, sweeping the floors. She gently kicking one who had fallen asleep, and the brash man ogled and attempted to charm his gracious host as he woke, though she kindly rejected his advances. Falk felt a flare of anger – [i]insolent, lecherous degenerate[/i] – but even the drunkard’s antics couldn’t sully his mood. He was part of a team now, however brief it may last, and though they had barely met the lone hunter felt their comradery. With a warm feeling in his empty ribcage, Falk turned back to gaze out the window. 

[color=630460]“My… are we feeling disconnected from the world,”[/color] A voice spoke softly, and as clear as day. It came from a male sitting in the other seat of the booth. He had made no sound, or reflection in the glass that could harold his sudden approach.

The male appeared to be a mortal of Brithian descent. The keyword being appeared. While it is true that Brithians often had massive genetic variety when it came to species of cat, they tended to resemble large cats that were capable of living in well enough in the cold, and large in size. This one broke that norm several times over. For one, on first glance the man bore a feminine look to him. A long mane that hung loose past his shoulders on one side of his head while the rest was tied back by a ribbon. It wouldn’t be hard to mistake him completely for a female with a few drinks or just a quick glance. All together, though he appeared to be a desert cat. A serval. Large rounded rectangles for ears, and an angular face.

For clothes… he had the attire of someone whom had been in the desert. He wore no shirt, but a simple red shoulder drape that wrapped around his neck and shoulders, hid his chest and fell down his left arm. His pants were incredibly baggy and bore vibrant hues of red and gold. They were held up by a silk belt, and the ankle’s cuffs had been tied off.  His eyes are a pale yellow color, that stared to the other with humor. And sitting in the seat next to him, towering over his head, an arch lute.

He remained silent, judging the other’s reaction with a soft smile, then continued.[color=630460] “I couldn’t blame you. A fate like yours is rare and often unheard of. Often.”[/color]

Falk shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He hadn’t heard the man approach his table, nor did he enjoy the company. Grey cawed at the Brithian and flapped away, preferring to nest by the fireplace rather than Falk’s shoulders. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one unnerved by this uninvited guest. The hunter’s blood ran cold when the cat spoke, obviously aware of his hidden nature. [i]Was it that obvious? Who else knows? Did he tell anyone?[/i] It was times like this that Falk wished he kept his knife on his belt rather than his boot, for he’d very much like it in his hand. For the moment, the hunter’s eyes substituted his dagger as he stared at the man in silence.
 
[color=burlywood]“Two cats in one day? To what do I owe the pleasure?”[/color] Falk said stiffly, ignoring the Brithian’s comments. If the cat was indeed some sort of undead hunter, he’d need to proceed very carefully. The skeleton had dealt with their ilk before, and in each case they were no laughing matter. 

[color=630460]“Yes, two cats. Did you plan on adopting,”[/color] The cat chuckled softly before waving the tavern keeper over. While she made her way closer, he began to fumble through a coin purse. He mumbled softly to himself as he dropped some ancient and incredibly dated coins onto the table, and fished out a few -proper- coppers. Once he had enough he offered them off to the lady, [color=630460]“A loaf of bread and some pork if you have any please,”[/color] The feline chirped with a smile.

His gaze returned to Falk. Though he remained quiet for now. His ear twitched, flicking a few earrings through the air as he listened to the woman’s footsteps. And once he felt she was far away enough he spoke again. Though this time, his smile grew slightly wider.

[color=630460]“No pleasures. I’d offer to pay for your meal, but… well you don’t have the stomach for it.”[/color]

Falk did not laugh at the Brithian’s joke, feeling far too vulnerable for the cat’s quips. He noticed the coins that fell from the stranger’s purse, bearing ruined faces of rulers long past he’d only read about as a youth. Curious that one would carry around such antiquated currency, perhaps as a sort of memento, though the hunter felt that this odd creature wasn’t keeping them as part of his collection. The Brithian’s next comment secured Falk’s suspicions; he knew, and that made the skeleton shiver. If it weren’t for the padding in his clothes, one would hear his bones rattle. Had the two been at some solitary tavern on the road, Falk would have cut the cat down right at the table, but here? No. Too many witnesses, too much attention drawn to him.
 
[color=burlywood]“You’ve a keen eye, friend. Tell me, what gave it away? I’m always looking to improve,”[/color] Falk replied, crossing his arms. 

For the moment… the nature of the feline’s smile changed. It did not change in shape, it made no visible movement. Rather, the emotion changed behind it without a single twitch of a muscle or a word. It went from humor to a small pang of pity as the creature shook his head slowly.

[color=630460]“I am afraid I cheated in some ways. But… if I had not known before our conversation. Then I’d have to say it’d be my ears. Nothing falls short of a cat’s ears.”[/color] He dropped his coin purse on the table, then one by one pinched the coins and dropped them back inside.

Falk leaned back into his seat. If this Brithian was in fact a hunter of the undead, he certainly enjoyed taking his sweet time. Though the cat could simply be playing with his prey, a trait unlike the others Falk had encountered. They simply charged headlong towards him; with the gods on their side and good steel in hand, how could they ever lose? This Brithian, on the other hand, carried no weapons at all, or none that Falk could see, unless a lute could be considered one. Perhaps he misjudged, and this was simply some knowledgeable companion of the drunken cat upstairs. What struck Falk as odd was how the stranger had discovered his condition. Very few knew of his fate, and those who did were sworn to secrecy by his father at the risk of execution. In the annals of his family, he simply disappeared. Even then, he was certainly not recognizable as the swarthy Vasan Greyward by any eye.
 
[color=burlywood] “Hmph, I’d like to hear how you learned this. What’s your name, stranger? I’d tell you mine, but I’m sure you already know.”[/color]

The cat’s smile faded for the moment while he calmly lifted his coin purse by the drawstring. He watched as the loot closed it off, and moved it to secure it back to his belt. If he was a hunter of the dead, he was definitely delibrately taking his sweet time. He looked as if he was about to speak. But was quickly cut off as a platter of fresh bread and cutlets of pork had been plunked down in front of him.

[color=630460]“Ah! Thank you dear,”[/color] The feline chirped with a warm smile to the woman. Once she left, he returned to his ritual of silence. He sliced a piece of the pork with his fork, and brought it to his jaws. He quietly chewed. Slowly. Then swallowed.

Finally he spoke.

[color=630460]“Pork… it’s sweet, and savory. Full of juice that explodes in your maw when you bite down. Fit for warming a man in the cold of the night, and fighting back the pain of hunger. Unfortunately, one of those sensations are lost upon me, as they are you.”[/color] The cat hummed softly.

He smiled again and cut another slice delicately. He showed no desire to add context as he moved to the next topic. [color=630460]“Mmmph…”[/color] he mumbled through another bite, [color=630460]“You’re welcome to call me anything you like. It won’t make much difference for me later. The other cat called me ‘Old Man’ though.”[/color]

This would definitely be an odd nickname to give someone like him. He looked quite young actually. A male probably just entering his thirties.

A tinge of hunger struck Falk as he watched the cat chomp away at the plate before him. Of course, he didn’t need to eat, but like an amputated limb that still ached, so too did Falk’s absent stomach long for some form of sustenance. Just like his parched throat cried to be wetted, his eyes begging to close, and his loins… Well, Falk’s humanity was long gone, but he still remembered what it felt like to be alive. Perhaps one day he would return to flesh, or maybe just forget what it was like in the first place. Either way, he wasn’t fond of the cat’s teasing. The Brithian’s mention of their shared curse certainly caught his attention, and he cocked his head. [color=burlywood] “Really? You don’t strike me as an undead, though looks can be deceiving,”[/color] Falk muttered, giving a slight nod to his own appearance.
 
[i]Old man? A glamor of sorts perhaps?[/i] The hunter considered this as he gave the lithe creature a second scan. An odd name for an odd cat to be sure, though Falk wasn’t entirely convinced that the other cat bestowed the name in an unironic fashion. [color=burlywood] “Old Man? Could have fooled me. Wouldn’t mind picking up a few of your tricks, [i]Old Man[/i]. Hmm, think I’ll call you Valkav. I had a cat with that name as a boy, looked just like you, just little smaller,”[/color] Falk said with a slight chuckle. [color=burlywood] “You said no pleasure, so what business brings you here?”[/color]

The cat drew another sliver of pork from his plate. His eyes never blinking, remained fixed on the skeletal male across the table. He lazily licked the morsel from his spoon. Those many barbs lining his tongue easily caught the scrap by the flesh and drug it into his maw. He didn’t chew this time, only swallowed.

[color=630460]“Just thought that I’d give you some insufferable company,”[/color] the cat chuckled as he pondered the name he was given. [color=630460]“Valkav… I like that. However… that is oddly... “ [/color]he trailed off for a moment. His head rolled from side to side in a steady tempo as he tasted over his words.

[color=630460] “... intimate. The cat you speak of. You loved the creature. Though it was a wild animal, and doing well on its own… something about it fascinated you. Perhaps it was a graceful predator? Perhaps you were a boy with a kind heart for animals. Regardless… the two of you grew quite close. You were inseparable. As dog to his master, you were cat to his boy. Every night, he’d lay by your chest. When you shook and fretted in your sleep from night terrors, it licked at your nose. When morning came, it’d paw at your ears. Where you went, it went. Sadly your father grew careless. The hounds cornered my feral kin, and tore him to pieces. Those ravenous, clacking, lusting jaws did horrid work. Rip and tear till it was done. Till his pelt was removed from his flesh. And till his mewling ceased. And all that remained were torn limbs, scattered organs, and tuffs of matted fur. Perhaps if he was in a more suitable environment, he’d have been safe. He left his mark though… like all of my kin they do not die without a fight. It destroyed an eye from one, and caused the eventual act of mercy to the other.”[/color]

The feline’s eyes had not left the other, though his smile did fade. He remained quiet for the moment. Then he sat up straight. [color=630460]“Very well, Valkav it is. Perhaps I’ll fill that empty void where your heart is supposed to be.”[/color]

[color=630460]“Now then… to address the curse. There are similarities… but there are discrepancies. I am alive… but not quite. My condition is unusual. It is no curse, it is no blessing, and it certainly is no boon. I’ve come to terms that this will be how I remain… till the last of the stars fade to black. Fortunately, you needn’t to come to such conclusions.”[/color]

Falk had almost grown used to the cat’s company, until he released his sick little tale from the man’s youth. He hadn’t thought about the feral cat’s demise in a long time, the memory of blood and violence both repressed and replaced with so many other deaths, but his new companion’s vivid knowledge of Falk’s past chilled him. As Valkav ended the story, the hunter felt disgusted with the man seated across from him. He shook his head and moved to leave, but something drew him back in. [i]You needn’t come to such conclusions.[/i]
 
Slowly, Falk returned to his seat.
 
[color=burlywood] “Well then, enlighten me of how I might avoid your fate, Valkav. The night grows late, but that is of little concern to kindred spirits such as us, yes?”[/color] he replied bitterly. His mind was racing with who, or what, was sat before him, happily chewing and teasing. Falk had read more than his fair share on undeath, immortality, and curses in the past few years; he was growing to become something of an expert. Yet nothing he learned even hinted at the nature of this omnipotent Brithian. Perhaps he was some sort of mind reader? Or maybe Falk had truly gone insane, visioning his childhood cat as an anthropomorphic creature that signaled his first steps into total madness. Either way, he found himself repulsed, yet enraptured by every word that spilled from Valkav’s mouth.

And like that, the cat’s friendly smile returned with a blink of the eyes. He tore into his bread, a bit awkwardly as a cat obviously lacks the correct teeth to eat something like this easily. [color=630460]“Though you control your path like many others, the winds guiding your sails will not lead you to the same mistakes I’ve made.”[/color] He paused, and repeated the word mistake to himself. Like he was unsure of if he’d even call it that. There was a shrug.

[color=630460]“My ailment is of no one else's will but my own. And by my word, I’m bound. It’s a pittiful existence. To be forgotten with time, again… and again… and again… again. With not much more than my songs as my breadcrumbs. But it is mine. And I enjoy it when I have it.”[/color]

The cat then grinned, quite broadly. He gave the skeletal man a wink, [color=630460]“But shouldn’t you be more concerned about yourself?”[/color]

[color=burlywood]“Nothing is more easily broken than words,” [/color]Falk muttered, thinking back to the Lanzknecht’s Oath. The Brithian’s riddle swirled in his skull, a riddle he hoped to unfurl in time, perhaps a piece of the puzzle to the being’s mysterious nature. Falk had never been one for mincing words, typically blunt and to-the-point, but something in Valkav’s words drew him further, both mentally and physically, leaning onto the table. The cat enjoyed playing this little game, and Falk would play along, but perhaps not as willingly as Valkav would like. 
 
[color=burlywood]“Well, despite what you say, it seems to me we bear a similar burden Valkav. Knowledge is knowledge, and what helps you may help me.”[/color] Falk shifted closer. [color=burlywood] “Besides, I’m sure if you knew how I could shed [i]my[/i] burden, you’d have already told me, right old friend?”[/color] he continued wryly. 

The feline smiled, and shook his head slowly.[color=630460] “I don’t do spoiler’s sweetheart,”[/color] the cat chuckled softly. He raised a hand, and with a flick of a wrist a tarot card appeared. He rotated it between his index fingers. First, it showed death - dressed as a fool and laughing with a bow in hand. Second it showed a Hanging Man, bound upside down by the ankle from his own will and at peace with his decision. And finally, it was blank. The cat laid it down on the table and scribbled his new name on it. Afterwards he pushed it towards the skeleton and slipped out of his seat.

He slung his long lute over his shoulder, and looked down to the man with a soft smile.[color=630460] “I’ve traveled further from the border’s of my kingdom than any man under my charge. To lands where my title and birth right of King sings no tune, and fades away in silence to the ears who listen. I stepped barefooted and without steed across scorching heats, so nature may humble me to the hardships of life. I waded rains and sundering winds till the color of my clothing faded, and the rags I wore had all but rotted. I treaded lightly to lands unknown, of vivid color. And there I saw it… A beacon of light. A grand city of immortals. City of gods. Tomb of the damned.”[/color] With that, the cat cut the recitation of the story short.

[color=630460]“It… is typically not my style… I prefer giving parables. I enjoy watching people squirm as they search for the meaning. But I am afraid this one will strain you more than any other story I may tell. With that… I bid you a good night. And… please… do not tell Raux of my presence. I’ll see her again soon, but not now.”[/color] Valkav gave a brief nod and made his way out through the tavern door.

[color=burlywood]“So long, old friend…”[/color] Falk muttered as he watched the cat saunter away. He turned to the window to catch one last glimpse of Valkav, but he didn’t get one. Almost immediately, the hunter retrieved his battered journal, scrambled towards the end, and started scribbling away. The riddles, the cat’s appearance, the card, everything he documented as best he could. Falk was a fairly learned man, having read much both modern and ancient literature, but none of what the cat said alluded to anything he possessed knowledge of. Perhaps with time, the meaning would come, but in the moment, Falk was lost, a ship adrift on a foggy night in foreign seas. Like it or not, the man was fully enveloped in the cat’s game now, and though he wasn’t squirming, he certainly felt… Uneasy. 

Falk closed the journal, satisfied he’d taken note of everything worth writing down; he even made a rough sketch of the cat in charcoal. The hunter kept the card in hand though, twirling it absent-mindedly as he thought. Falk was tempted to rouse the drunk bard from her sleep and demand an explanation of her curious comrade, but he decided against it. There was little to gain, and more than likely he’d just look mad. Eventually, the cloaked skeleton made his way upstairs to the room the Talon Company had so graciously covered for him. The room was modestly decorated, a little plain perhaps, but Falk was easily impressed after spending years resting beneath trees. He settled down on the soft bed, his unblinking eyes staring at the rafters. He wished he could shut them, just for a moment, a brief respite from the world. More than sex, food, or drink, Falk missed sleep, that blissful dream world where one could escape from this one. For him, there was never any escape, only the tenuous meditation he barely managed to achieve that was becoming harder and harder to achieve. The skeleton sat up and began clearing his mind of the day’s events, of his thoughts, of everything. This was as close to sleep as he’d ever come.