Atrophy

The Nightmare of Dunwick Manor

Three days.

Head hanging low, her gloved fingers peeled and picked at the chipped, rotting wood of the bar’s countertop; a barely touched plate of food that resembled gruel and tasted like sawdust sat next to the growing pile of flecks of wood. It was a mix of nerves and impatience that drove Tanis to slowly dismantle the dilapidating bar chip-by-chip. The woman was tucked away in the furthest seat from the door, her shawl draped over her head as if it were a barrier shielding her from the rest of the tavern. On the first day she had sat as close to the door as possible so that she could discreetly inspect any of the greedy miscreants that walked through the creaky doors of The Lovely Maiden and perhaps even engage in some pleasant small talk. On the second day she busied herself at a table with her mortar and pestle as she eavesdropped on the conversations and the concerns of the treasure hunters around her.

The third day, however, she kept to herself. There was something about this town that was weighing down on the Fae woman that just exhausted her, as if she spent her hours lugging around a heavy pack full of herbs instead of sitting around a dumpy tavern or taking long walks through a sad, little village. The atmosphere in Roses was peculiarly heavy, largely from the shadow of the manor looming on the hilltop above like a guillotine’s blade. However, the rest of the backwater added to her unease as well, from the humid air to the shifty peasants. She almost felt ill, although perhaps that was just a minor case of food poisoning—three days in a row she had dined in the tavern, although only because she was certain the fat, greedy owner would rent her room to another (perhaps one that’d buy two or twelve of his overpriced drinks like the rest of the riff raff that seemed to be drawn to this place) if she did not spend any extra coin.

Tanis knew what the real problem was, however, or at least she convinced herself that it was the source of her discomfort. It wasn’t the dark and dreary hamlet, nor the unfriendly and suspicious hayseeds, nor was it even the throngs of cutthroats and cutpurses that surrounded the elven apothecary in that rundown, hodunk little town. It was because Tanis believed that she, the little Fae kitchen girl from a foreign empire with a nasty habit of biting the hand that feeds, was the most, if not the only, educated person in the area. There was a disturbing sense of loneliness that came with that arrogant thought, and it was a sadly common feeling she had while travelling in the countryside. Roses was uncivilized; Tanis decided once she was done here she’d go to more civilized cities, and then she chuckled under her breath at the ridiculous idea—as if the “intellectual” people in cities were civil to the Fae. She was just as likely to hang swinging from a beam in the ritziest of hotels as she was in a dump like this, with the only difference being the quality of the rope.

No, there had only been one place, or rather in a place with one person, that she felt both equal to and at ease with, and that person was now gone thanks to the same damned cretins that filled this shithole. Her yellow eyes glanced up at the mirror behind the bar to cast a spiteful, judgemental glance at what she assumed to be a room full of mercenaries. One of them, certainly, possibly, hopefully knew who were responsible for the slaughter of the Ashworth Company and the murder of her, her—Tanis felt her chest ache as her throat tightened. It hurt as much to think about it as it did to try and forget it. Taking her shawl, she dabbed her eyes clear and picked up the wooden spoon that was desperately trying to escape from the gruel before reluctantly shoving it into her mouth. It was disgusting and cold and strangely sour, but the nasty taste was distracting and she needed to eat to settle the acid bubbling in her stomach.

A mug clanked down in front of Tanis, startling her with a jump. She looked up at the grimy, overweight man as he fixed on her a frown. Quickly her eyes darted back down to the countertop.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, unsure of why she was apologizing outside of the fact that it was a force of habit nowadays. “But I didn’t order this. I don’t drink,” she clarified, as if it would somehow matter in resolving the bartender’s error.

Yet clearly the man did not think he made a mistake or he just did not care; already he was dropping mugs off at other tables. Tanis sighed and sunk into her seat, gazing into her own reflection in the dark mug of ale before her. She had only ever drank once before, and that was only because a human lordling that had wandered down into the halls of the kitchen in a pathetic attempt to seem caring had insisted that the staff join him in a beverage. It had made her sick, and years later when she was studying for her trade and read more about alcohol she became convinced that it was absolutely idiotic, no, suicidal to ever imbibe in such a thing. What sort of lunatic would fill their body with a weak poison that lowers motor skills and impairs judgment? When she left her sheltered world from the Roth’s Estate and saw the effects of booze on men in full force, Tanis was absolutely certain that she had made the correct choice in never touching the swill to her lips again—although ale did serve as a good agent for masking the flavor of other, more instantaneously lethal ingredients.

And they had all been drunk the night of the attack.

All of them but her, of course. She pushed the drink away in disgust only to slosh some of the liquid over the lip of the mug and cause it to splash down on her wrist. Grumbling and quickly grabbing off her glove so that the ale did not seep into the material, Tanis lifted the mug up and pulled out the napkin beneath it. A rose petal fell free from the cloth and beer dripped from her wrist as she looked at the message scrawled upon the napkin: Stable. She smiled and shook her head, but wasted little time in dropping a few coins onto the table, drying her hand and gloving up, brushing her pile of woodchips unto the floor where they mingled with the rest of the garbage, and standing up with a stretch. The sooner this was all down with the better; she had already wasted three days in Roses and at the rate the innkeeper charged for the dives that he called rooms she would not be able to justify three more. If this all proved to be a kind of hoax, a dead end, then at least she’d already be in the stables: her saddlebags were already packed.

Tanis took a look around the room before she headed towards the door, curious to see who else had been chosen by the innkeeper. It was a fast, unhelpful glance because almost instantly her yellow eyes met with the stare of a haggard, pale man and quickly her view returned towards the floor in front of her. Quickening her pace, the Fae pushed through the door and stepped out into the nearly abandoned hamlet of Roses. The dying light of the sun hit her directly in the eyes. The added warmth forced her to pull the shawl down from her head as she shielded her eyes with her palm, her hand unintentionally brushing her hair to the side allowing for her scars to peak through. Her boots stomped through muddy excuses for streets as she made her way to the stables, passing by a few silent households and a bucketless well that had seen better days.

It wasn’t shortly after the stables came into view that the uneasy feeling inside of Tanis arose again and forced her dead in her tracks. There wasn’t anything particularly unnerving about the stables themselves, really. It was no more rundown than the rest of the village, and she had been there days ago to drop off her donkey and secure her supplies, yet the sight of it now filled her with an inexplicable dread. Taking a deep breath, Tanis tried to pretend that the feeling wasn’t there and pushed forward until she was upon the darkened entrance. She couldn’t hear the sounds of her donkey braying or chewing on hay and that struck her as odd, for usually the animal was anything but quiet. Apprehensively, with every bone in her body screaming and straining to force her muscles to turn and go the other way, she set one foot inside the doorframe, followed by her hands gripping the edge, a curtain of brown hair, the tips of her ears, and her golden, shaking eyes.

“Hello?” she called out into the dimly lit stables. A sudden concern gripped her: she hadn’t actually been invited. True, the letter was vague, but the letter sender might have sent it only to certain people. Quickly, she spewed out her cover story into the air: “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, but I overheard some mumblings and thought that perhaps I could maybe offer some small assistance. I know a thing or two about medicine and, uh, I...”

She clammed up and there was an unnerving silence. A chill ran through her spine and the woman stepped backwards away from the entrance, shaken by her mind playing tricks on her. This pathetic, oppressive town was getting to her. She smiled at her own childlike behavior and took a start towards the entrance only to reconsider before her boot even pulled fully out of the mud. Embarrassed at herself even though she was certain nobody was watching, Tanis pretended to be distracted by digging through the contents of her bag. Surely one of the others from the tavern would arrive shortly and then she would follow after them into the stables, but there was no way that she would go in alone. Absolutely not. Call it a sixth sense. Call it a woman’s intuition. Call it whatever you like, Tanis knew what it was. It had been creeping around her these past few days, and now it had finally made itself apparent.

She was afraid.

The Nightmare of Dunwick Manor

Hey I wasn't last!

The Nightmare of Dunwick Manor

Name: Tanis

Age: 34

Gender: Female

Race: Fae

Position and Trade: Tanis is an apothecary by trade, although due to her being a Fae she is a rather underappreciated, underpaid, and sometimes even unwanted one.

Appearance: Tanis is exceptional amongst the Fae because the first thing most notice about her are not her long, knife-like ears, but the hideous, cracked web of burn scars peeking out from behind her hair that spreads from the right corner of her full lips, up her cheek, and end around her right ear lobe. Her brown, tangled, sun-bleached hair is parted in such a way the it spills over the burnt side of her face, and at the right angle Tanis can almost look like a halfway decent catch. She has a sharp, elven nose, high cheekbones, and bright yellowish-orange eyes that resemble the color of gold. Her smiles consist of white, somewhat crooked teeth, and lines have begun to form on her forehead and next to her eyes on her lightly tanned skin.

Standing just below five-foot-five, a teetotaler lifestyle combined with frequent walking left Tanis with a lean figure. She dresses for travel and tends to stick to more masculine clothing for sake of avoiding any long gowns getting snagged on brush. Usually she wears a somewhat soiled cotton tunic with tattered sleeves and dark pants that fit a little loose that she tucks into heavily worn boots. Around her neck she wears a black string as a necklace that has a simple silver ring looped through it that she tucks into her shirt for safe keeping. Tight brown gloves protect her calloused hands from thorns and irritants when picking ingredients. A sash tied high around her waist keeps her shirt from billowing and she rarely goes out into nature without throwing on an indigo shawl to provide her head with some protection from the sun when necessary. Tanis loops a well-worn satchel over her shoulder and across her chest so that her hand almost always rests upon its flap, protecting the herbs, vials, and bandages tucked inside.

Personality: Tanis carries herself as a woman of demureness and modesty. She is polite, well-mannered, and soft spoken, and seemingly comes off as a hospitable, earnest, and hardworking individual. She does not curse and does not imbibe in drinking, gambling, and other “crass” matters. If Tanis ever does have to speak ill of someone, she generally tends to muddle her words with euphemisms instead of through direct insults. An early life of servitude has embedded her with a habit of lowering her head and avoiding eye contact in social situations, as she is cautiously well aware of her position in the world as a Fae. Despite her apparent meekness, Tanis is far from a shrinking violet and enjoys hearing tales about perilous travels and trials of combat. Likewise, she could talk somebody’s ear off when it comes to her passions, be it herbalism, alchemy, or cooking, although questions about her past life will often result in her clamming up or quickly excusing herself.

Beneath the surface, Tanis is a venomous woman consumed with bitterness and anger that she keeps bottled up tight. Her main motivation in life, and the reason she needs the promised riches of Dunwick Manor, is to extract revenge on the mercenaries who have wronged her. Being unable to determine who these mercs actually are has driven her to view most sellswords with suspicion and disgust. Likewise, she is slow to trust humans and tries to always be aware of her environment in case the local uneducated riff raff turn hostile upon encountering a Fae peddling her “witch magic in a bottle”. Tanis is not quick to lose her temper, but she does not have infinite patience and under stressful situations it is not uncommon for her swallowed rage to spew forth—even to the point of violence.

Tanis considers herself to be a realist, and in return has a rather pessimistic and skeptical view on the world in a whole. Although she will express sympathy to strangers, she is uncharitable and will always politely refuse to give out handouts when it comes to her medicine. Likewise, she when she commits an act that has repercussions she only worries about her own well being and will only after the fact express regret for inconveniencing or even endangering others. Really, it is quite possible that her entire purpose for seeking revenge is to not exact some kind of justice, but to ensure that her own neck stays thoroughly protected. In the end, she sees herself as a petty women with lofty goals and little hope of ever achieving peace—and, admittedly, being filthy rich would be a rather nice perk to have as well.

Boons: Cuisines - Tanis is a talented cook. While the more folksy type of people will say that a well-cooked meal could lift one’s spirits to help them overcome even the toughest of challenges, Tanis just tends to think that it’s best to have somebody around who can make the limited ingredients found around a camp become nourishing meals that don’t taste like dirt and twigs. Plus, it’s always nice to know exactly what has gone into your dish.

Prescriptions - As a trained apothecary, Tanis is able to whip up salves and potions that can heal minor wounds, ailments, and treat shaky nerves assuming she has the supplies. She is also capable of stabilizing more grave injuries, setting bones, and producing antidotes and antivenoms. Her speciality, however, is poison, and she has crafted a hybrid oil that, upon entering the body, is almost always fatal.

Recollective - Tanis also has an incredible memory, and rarely forgets anything she has ever seen or heard. Largely helpful when it comes to preparing meals or medicine, she also has a rather uncanny ability to find her way through seemingly identical city streets and wandering forest paths assuming she has been to her destination at least once before. Likewise, she never forgets a face or a name.

Vices: Cowering - Tanis favors flight over fight and tries to avoid being directly involved in conflicts that are both verbal or physical. While she will not back down from her goal and can defend herself if needed, Tanis cannot be completely relied upon to help others when situations turn sour and is not above throwing others to the wolves if it means that she will momentarily not be hounded—yet she wonders why there are none she can trust to completely have her back when something wicked falls upon her.

Pursued - Unfortunately, Tanis is right to be suspicious of others. There is a small but worthwhile bounty placed on the head of the woman in the Valedean Empire by the son of her former master, although the description of elf with burn scars sadly (and fortunately) fits a number of escaped and freed servants—although there is only one who worked for the Roth’s. As well, mercenaries still spread tells of the Fae poisoner that worked for the Ashworth Company and many would do drastic things to get their hands on her formulas. She is forced to keep her history tightly under wrap and is not the most convincing of liars.

Retributive - Tanis doesn’t just never forget, she also never forgives. Grudges steer her life and influence almost all of her decisions, from great plans of revenge to downright petty stubbornness. Due to her somewhat volatile fury, her retaliations often overshadow the original sin and even with her capable memory she fails to see that these plots often lead her towards self-destruction.

History

Tanis had a joyless childhood of indentured servitude spent in the kitchens of Roth Hall, hurriedly rushing back and forth between pantry and prep stations to assist the cooks as they prepared lavish meals for the Roth family and the frequent visitors that came to the settlement of Adderbury. Her only reprieve was stories she heard from the visitors servants that would come and relax downstairs when their masters were in private talks, tell stories of the world outside of Adderbury. Tanis’s was particularly interested in the stories of those connected to mercenaries, for they sometimes involved Fae like her. She’d scrub the floors while daydreaming about a handsome Fae mercenary, who was a gentleman despite his line of duty, coming to the house one day, waltzing into the kitchen, falling in love with the elven girl instantly, and whisking her away to live a life full of adventure and other childish bullshit.

Of course, that would never be the case and even Tanis knew it. An exceptionally bright child, at least when compared to the other kitchen girls, Tanis learned much of the ways of the world during her youth despite rarely ever setting a foot outside the walls of Roth Hall. She learned it was always best for those like her to keep her head down and to address her betters with the utmost respect. She learned that those considered to be her betters were not just the well-dressed people upstairs, but those downstairs as well as long as their ears were shaped like spoons instead of knives like her own. She learned to never make this mistake in front of Lady Roth, even if her son wanted to get handsy with the elves, and with this she also learned the difference between humans and Fae: humans got scolded, Fae got scalded. After all Fae were, in the words of Lady Roth, intellectually inferior and bound to make the same mistakes unless they had a constant, burning reminder.

Her lessons did not stop there, although Tanis would consider it perhaps her most important one. She learned that nobody cared about a kitchen elf with burn scars on her face, and she learned to treat others with the same disregard—although she was wise enough to keep her bitterness locked deep inside of her and appear focused on her important work of churning butter and kneading dough for some time to come. Tanis also learned how to subtly express her frustrations, slipping secret seasonings of rat poison into certain dishes that were, to the knowledge of the rest of the kitchen staff, untouched by her. Hearing of Lady Roth’s maladies filled Tanis with her first taste of schadenfreude, even if it meant half of the kitchen staff being thrown out onto the streets with no hopes of finding work in any of the other kitchens in the city. What did Tanis care? They had given her no sympathy and she, the ever diligent and hardworking kitchen girl, was forced up through the kitchen hierarchy. Lady Roth’s stomach illnesses stopped soon after Tanis began handling the main courses, and no suspicions were ever cast upon the ever-polite, ever-subservient scarred elf girl.

In fact, her favor turned even more fortunate as the new head chef recognized the talents that Tanis’s former head chef had overlooked: the girl had the most profound memory. She could accurately recall any recipe that she had ever learned, including those that they had only made once for a foreign guest with peculiar tastes. Why the girl was wasting her time in the kitchen was beyond the chef, and he petitioned Lady Roth to have Tanis apprenticed in a more fitting role inside the household. Lady Roth, who believed that Tanis was the miracle cook that had prepared the dishes that had calmed her tormented stomach, agreed much to the surprise of the elf girl. This taught Tanis a new lesson: people were to forget their transgressions and even quicker to underestimate those they thought to be beneath them.

She began training underneath the family’s apothecary as a nurse, learning what herbs did what and how to prepare them into salves that would ease aches and pains among many other things. Her apprenticeship lasted many hard years, where in the morning she would assist in aiding the apothecary nurture the Roth family, visitors, house staff, and farmhands, evenings she would specially prepare Lady Roth’s meal (who insisted that only the burned girl could please her sensitive taste buds), and nights she would teach herself to read by paging through materia medica by candlelight. After many years she was as well qualified as the apothecary to provide medicine and aid for the family. In Lord Roth’s eyes she was even more qualified, because unlike the apothecary the indentured burned girl cost no more than a few meals and a bed.

It seemed like a rather brilliant idea in his mind, and Tanis was fast to agree. After all, now there was nobody but her that could access all of those useful components locked away in the walls and walls of cabinets. Say, for example, she wanted access to something with a little more kick than rat poison; the only person to know it was removed would be her. Tanis acted as if it was a major honor for an elf like her to be entrusted with such an important duty. She even said more or less the same thing out loud, and Lady Roth had gone out of her way to chide Tanis for belittling herself. “It is because you are an elf like you that you’ve been given this task; I would certainly never entrust it to some other elf, nor some humans for that matter,” Lady Roth had said. Tanis almost considered it sweet that the Lady of the house considered that to be some form of compliment, although her mistress’s words did little to change Tanis’s plans of revenge. She had already palmed the bottle of cantharidin extract and was ready to spike the Lady’s drink with the poison when the Lord went away for business.

Yet the Lady did not stop with her comments there. She kept pouring praise on Tanis, mentioning how she considered her a beacon to her kind and would even, in private, consider her to be a friend. Tanis, unmoved by the words, fell into her usual pantomime of smiling, nodding, and thanking Lady Roth. And then Lady Roth began to apologize to Tanis for a great wrong she had done to the elf some two decades ago. Tanis’s scarred face turned to stone as anger welled up inside of her. The bitch had already taken her beauty away from her, and now she was going to try and take away her revenge by apologizing. Tanis’s refused to give her the opportunity as her frustration that had been kept locked down for years finally overflowed and erupted from her body like a volcano or the blood blossoming out from Lady Roth’s neck after Tanis had ventilated it with a nearby letter opener.

Feeling strangely unsatisfied and knowing that there would be no way she could spin the blame of the attack onto someone else, Tanis pocketed some of the Lady’s personal belongings, hid her face beneath a hood, and fled from Roth Hall. She traded the stolen goods for a small room below the deck of a merchant ship, as well as purchasing a few small medical supplies, and sailed from her home in the Valedean Empire to the Star Kingdom. Knowing it was unsafe for an elven woman to travel alone in the Star Kingdom, even one that was a capable poisoner and quick with a knife, Tanis quickly attached herself like a leech to the side of a man-at-arms in a human led but largely Fae mercenary band called the Ashworth Company that, at the time, was of little note.

She wouldn’t say that she was happy, however. Tanis had actually enjoyed quite a large amount of freedom underneath the Roth’s despite her seething anger directed at the Lady of the house, perhaps even more than the so-called Free Elves living in the Star Kingdom. Likewise, her sweetheart, short, portly, and ugly, was nothing like the man she had dreamed of as a child, although he did seem to care about his little scarred flower and she was courteous enough to pretend to not be disgusted by his presence. As the weeks in the band turned into months and years Tanis could not shake the feeling that she had made a huge mistake by putting her heart in front of her mind. In Adderbury she had a promising, if somewhat gray, future. Here, she had nothing but hope that she’d find a life better than trudging along behind the mercenary band swathed by peddlers and prostitutes looking to make some coin.

But Tanis put herself to work. She wasn’t a fighter and had no desire to ever be one, but she did have skills that the band direly needed. As they travelled Tanis had taken it upon herself to pick herbs, fungus, and other components from nature and stockpile the items so that she could begin making medicine for the mercs. Also, due to her years of running a pantry, she took over the supply lines and helped cook meals that didn’t give the fighting men and women food poisoning the day before an important battle. However, it wasn’t until she introduced an oil for their blades and arrows that was coated in a fast-acting poison that the Ashworth Company began to see her true worth. Tanis soon found herself riding in the front alongside Calder Ashworth and his captains. Hushed rumors spread throughout the camp that the burned woman had been seen entering Calder’s tents late at night and leaving before dawn, and the quick end to her relationship with the portly man-at-arms all but confirmed it.

She wasn’t the first person to ever think of poisoning a blade, but she certainly revolutionized the art by introducing a few choice compounds into the poison to help bolster its effects. Naming it Ashworth’s Bite in honor of her new lover, the Ashworth Company quickly rose in notoriety for their ability to unfairly turn the tides of any battle. Of course there were plenty of dissenters who cried out that they lacked honor, but they made up for it with coin and results. One noble deploying a band from the Ashworth Company on field, with its black-and-green banner of a dead tree, often resulted in the opposing noble’s hired mercenaries packing camp and marching in the opposite direction. After all, nobody who fought for coin wanted to painfully die on the field because an arrow nicked their cheek. The Ashworth Company had become the most feared mercenary group in, and it was largely in part due to a Fae kitchen girl who had taken up the hobby of tainting dishes more than twenty years ago—and they were ruining the business for the other mercenary groups. Human-only bands were especially bitter that a bunch of elves led by a Fae fucker were the ones responsible.

It was a moonless night in late autumn that the other bands came to collect on their lost pay as well as steal the secret weapon of their largest rival. The Ashworth Company had just come off of a great victory and were celebrating by getting blind drunk in a swamp, oblivious to the enemies that had snuck into their camp, until the fires broke out. Men came charging out of surrounding forest and fell upon the unprepared soldiers like rabid wolves, and when the fire burnt through the barrels of poison created a deadly miasma that fell all in its path. After the smoke cleared the Ashworth Company was no more, and to this day the water in the swamp is littered with bloated bodies and toxic from the poison that had not burnt up fast enough. Calder Ashworth was found burnt to a crisp in his tent, notably unaccompanied by his elven mistress whose body was never found, survivors of the Company fled and melded into other groups, and the coalition of mercenaries never acquired Ashworth’s Bite. For a time, the deadly, fast acting poison was lost.

Tanis spent the next year in serving as a wandering, nearly penniless apothecary. Most of her supplies had been lost in the fire that had consumed the Ashworth Company, and at first it was a daily struggle just to get enough copper to purchase some moldy bread or find an only somewhat damp corner in a barn. However, in time she was able to stockpile a fair share of components and offer more services to the backwater slackjaws that she catered to, assuming they did not label her a witch and try to throw her on a pyre like some of the more suspicious villages. It was a life, but it was not the reason she went on living. Tanis never forgot the wrong the other mercenary groups had done to her family, and just as she had been when she was a younger girl facing against Lady Roth she would have her revenge even if it destroyed what life she had managed to scrape together. After all, it was just like her Ladyship had said: Fae were bound to make the same mistakes unless they had a constant, burning reminder—and Tanis had escaped from the Ashworth massacre without being licked by a single flame.

Only she had next to nothing regarding information on the mercenaries that had wronged her. Most were fairly unfriendly unless pressed with coin, and coin was something she hardly ever held onto—and if she wanted to buy an audience with the men and women who had ruined her life so she could slip a coated blade between their ribs she’d have to hold a lot of coin. The answer to her money troubles came to her, from all sources, a mercenary. Despite her growing displeasure for every sellsword, she still treated them in hopes of finding information (and to open up opportunities for a bit of malpractice if none were there to watch over them). One man, in a fever state, began prattling on about a letter he received regarding a place called the Dunwick Manor.

She humored him as she did with most mercenaries, who even in a healthy state she believed to be always a bit cracked, and to prove that he was telling the truth he showed her the letter. She read over it, her eyes lighting up at the promises of gold and the distant possibilities that those in service of the ones that had crossed her would too pursue the ridiculous claim. Tucking the letter into her robes, Tanis fed the man a cup of tea brewed from belladonna leaves and left immediately for the Roses. Surely, the brave men and women who responded to such a thing would be pleased to hear that a traveling healer had coincidentally come to town the same time they were about to set foot in a potentially dangerous trap. Somebody had to make sure that they were well fed and kept safe from harm, and it might as well be the former kitchen girl who never, ever forgets.

Weapons/Equipment/Supplies: Tanis’s shoulder satchel is nearly exploding at the seams with miscellaneous leaves, twigs, pastes, vials, bandages, paper pouches, and a mortar and pestle for the preparation and preservation of medicines and toxins. She also keeps an emergency supply of food rations tucked in the smaller secondary compartment to prevent any accidental contamination. Tanis hangs a large waterskin from her sash next to a small bulge that betrays the location of her hidden coin purse. She carries two knives in her sash as well on the opposite side from where her satchel rests. The first is a broad, slightly curved knife that she can use for butchering, cutting stems, or striking flint to create fire. The second is a small stiletto, the tip of which has been coated with oil from the vial of Ashworth’s Bite that she keeps hidden underneath her tunic alongside other poisons and antidotes. As well, she has more than enough medical supplies strapped in the saddlebags on her donkey to last her for some while as well as a week’s ration of food and water, a bedroll, rope, and a heavy cloak in case of bad weather.

The Contract

Wind battered against the shutters and cut through the cracks in the walls, threatening to snuff out the candles as they made shadows dance like strung marionettes across the small storage shed located behind a rundown tavern in some one-horse town. The chilly breeze did little to dissipate the old stench of mildew and manure, although it did manage to kick the smell of blood and rot off of the slowly breathing man strewn out across the table. It was a sadly nostalgic smell to the elven woman hunched over on a stool in the corner, a blue shawl draped over her head. She had spent nearly the last decade and a half of her life surrounded by the smell, and part of her was glad that she had yet to grow used to it. She pulled the perfumed cloth closer to her nose and continued mashing a concoction of purple flowers into some sort of bitter smelling paste.

Tanis had not come to this town to sell her wares, let alone to spend the night trapped in some shed with a dying mercenary. She had always been cautious of small settlements, as they were often cesspools rotten with bigots, halfwits, and humans, and a recent event where she was nearly lynched for, allegedly, consorting with demons and, definitely, for being born a Fae had convinced her that she would no longer waste her efforts on backwaters. True, in larger cities she had to deal with giving a “courtesy tax “to everyone and his brother, but at least there the citizens have heard of hygiene and the only thing likely to tie her up was red tape from an overzealous censure with a bruised ego to repair when she tried to get her peddler license. However, Tanis was quick to make an exception to her new rule after a well-armed man had approached her when she had stopped inside of the tavern to ask permission to use the well out back. She doubted he would take refusal well, and he had even promised that he would waive the convenience fee for the well if she saved his friend's life. It seemed like the fairest deal a Fae could hope to get.

And so, Tanis had spent the better half of her evening stuck in some rotting shed patching up the man’s friend. At first the man had stood vigilant beside his comrade, but soon grew antsy and proceed back into the tavern where Tanis could only assume he had proceeded to get belligerently drunk since he had not been back in many hours. She was grateful for this, truly, because it meant that she no longer had to suffer from his constant, prying questions as she patched up the infected wound on the dying man’s gut. Between the injured man’s gear and his worried friend’s demeanor Tanis could tell that they were mercenaries. She had heard a day ago about a recent battle between nobles in the area, and the wound was old enough to fit the timeframe. Besides, nobody living in a town like this would be able to afford steel swords, let alone be crafty enough to think up of some lie about a convenience fee.

And, despite her doubts, she needed to know if they were her mercenaries or not.

A sputtering cough drew Tanis’s attention away from her work. Setting down the mortar and pestle and smoothing her clothes as she stood, she cautiously approached the writhing man on the table and peered down on him with cold eyes. He might’ve been considered handsome if not for a large scar that bulbed his nose and the leathery skin of a man who had spent his life out in the sun. The new bandages across his stomach were still mostly clean, and unless Tanis had missed something he would likely recover after several days of rest once the fever broke and leave well with a scar and a story. The coughing stopped and the man settled back down into a restful state. She removed her glove and touched the back of her hand to his forehead—only for the man’s eyes to bolt open as her cool hand touched his burning scalp. His hand lunged forward and wrapped around her wrist before she could pull it away as a startled shout escaped from her throat.

“Who the fuck are you? Where’s Danners?” barked the man, his voice dry and rasped.

“I’m nobody. Just a healer,” said Tanis quickly, trying to maintain a composed voice as his hand squeezed on her wrist. Her eyes darted everywhere but onto his hard, near delirious gaze. She assumed Danners was the name of his friend. “Danners asked me to take care of you, good sir. I meant no harm by touching you; I was only checking your fever.”

The man offered no reply and let go as he was overcome by a coughing fit. Grabbing her waterskin, she offered it to the man before rubbing her wrist and pursing her lips. He drank greedily from it, nearly draining all she had left before handing it back to her with a pained groan as he began to sit up. Jolting forward, Tanis placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to ease him back down.

“You mustn't move yet,” she said in a calm, collected voice, “or you may reopen your wound.”

“Sod my wound. Where’s Danners? Bastard abandoned me and went after the treasure himself, the worthless prick,” he said in protest, although he hadn’t the strength to resist her gentle push and allowed her to ease him back down. “I need to go. The treasure. It’s waiting.”

“The only thing that needs to be waiting is you, sir, at least until your fever breaks and your wound seals,” said Tanis. Clearly, the man was more feverish than she thought. She dipped a rag into a cool bowl of water and dabbed at the man’s forehead in hopes that his brain had not been completely cooked before she had gotten her answer to her question: had these men ever associated with the butchers and bastards that had cowardly eradicated the Ashworth Company? “Your precious coppers will be able to wait awhile longer.”

“Coppers? Are you daft, you Fae bitch?” She narrowed her golden eyes. “I’m talking treasure. Gold, relics, things you can’t even put a price on. Enough of it that you’d make that fuck Romshire shit himself with delight if he ever even saw a tenth of it,” he said.

Tanis couldn’t help but frown. If such a thing existed then the Master Censure, if he was anything like his charges, would have already found a way to tax more than a third of it—two-thirds if it had been discovered by a Fae. The man saw her frown and grew angry, thrashing around on the table and yelling that he’d show her if she didn’t believe him as he groped at his chest for something that wasn’t there: his jacket. She had removed it when dressing his wounds. She grabbed it as he began to writhe even wilder, like a worm trying to escape from being fried by the sun, and handed it to him. He thrusted his hand inside the breast pocket and pulled out a soiled letter, unfolding it as he began to read out loud to her as if she were a child before he succumbed into a fit of coughs.

“I can read it,” she said, eyeing the peculiar broken seal as she held out her hand. The seal was unfamiliar to her, although there were so many minor nobles these days that it was hard to know them all—but she would know if she had seen it before.

The man hooted with a pained laugh and handed her the letter. “Now ain’t that something, a Fae with half a brain. What next, they going to start letting you become doctors?”

“I—” Tanis swallowed and changed her tone as she reminded herself that the man was delirious from his fever, although she doubted he’d be any more pleasant with a clear mind than a sick one. She let out a sigh that could be disguised as a polite laugh, baring her teeth in an almost smile. “Quite right, sir. That’d truly be an incredulous sight.”

Tanis stepped away from the man, both to get a better light and just for the sake of being away from him. The wind was still whipping violently against the shed, but the sound soon dampened as she began to read the letter. It was a kind of call to arms for the exploration and excavation of the Dunwick Manor. The name rang familiar to Tanis; she remembered one of Ashworth’s men from the bay telling ghost stories about the place around the campfire one night. She had dismissed it as hogwash then, and dismissed it as hogwash now. She knew for a fact now that the Censure knew about the manor because the man had acted as if it was some big deal for them to redact information, as if it wasn’t in regards to how much money that had more or less pilfered like common grave robbers.

Yet between the vagueness of the letter (it had been addressed to “whom it may concern”, implying that it was a call on mass) to the fervent determination of the wounded mercenary it had caused a pique in Tanis’s interest. Not because of the promise of riches, although she wasn’t opposed to the idea, but because it would draw a kind of simpleminded people who hunted after money instead of trying to make an honest living as part of a society. With so many mercenaries in one place there was a chance one of them might be connected to the attack on her former company. It was a long shot, but long shots were better than anything else she had to go on these days. She folded up the letter and looked over at the wounded man who was staring back with expectation.

“So you and Danners are going to Roses together to hunt this treasure?” she asked, scooping the paste from her mortar into a cup and mixing it with the last of her water. She had put her gloves back on.

“With Danners? Hell no, I never told him. I’m abandoning that pigfucker the minute I can. Nothing but dead weight. He’d just slow me down, and I’m not letting any others beat me to my treasure. Something like that gets out and all sorts of bottom feeders start crawling out of the swamp,” he said, another cough escaping his throat. Tanis nodded, secretly pleased by his answer as he struggled to sit up. This time she didn’t stop him, and a pained yell escaped from his throat before he was all of the way there. Quickly she came to his side and steadied him with her arm; it was as if she was actually concerned about him.

“Now now, don’t push yourself,” she said, keeping him upright as he coughed. Her eyes lingered on his bandages that were now running crimson with blood, but she made no mention of it. She grabbed the cup with her free hand. “You’ll need your strength if you’re going to get your treasure.”

“Barely even hurts. I’ll live. Thank you,” he said and then turned to look at her. She quickly looked downwards, stopped by his momentary appreciation for her. Tanis couldn’t remember the last time someone had thanked her for doing her job. She hesitated and lowered the mug in her hand. “Half of a brain and half a decent face, I’d say you’re not half-bad,” he said with a choking laugh.

“You’re half right,” said Tanis, tightening her grip on her mug and her resolve as she felt a rush of heat flush over her scarred face.

The feverish man continued to chuckle to himself. “But really, Danners can go fuck himself, but I wouldn’t mind tossing a few coins your way if you kept me company. I heard Fae are absolutely wild in the sack. Comes with being savages, I suppose.”

“I’m flattered, really, but I think my husband, Calder Ashworth, would disapprove,” she said, giving the man a quizzical look to see how he’d react.

“Yeah, and my wife the Queen would too,” he said, giving another laugh and shaking his head with a snort. “Calder Ashworth, shit. You can just refuse; I know I’m no looker.”

She quietly laughed as well. They hadn’t actually gotten married, certainly not in the eyes of the law anyway, but a lack of an official certificate hardly ever bothered her. However, those involved in the attack would have certainly reacted in a different way to a burned Fae claiming to be the widow of one of the most notorious mercenary commanders in recent history. If this man had been there he was either too low on the totem pole to be of any circumstance or the greatest poker player in the all of Argas.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t risk him mentioning it to anybody.

“Shit, laughing hurts,” he said, wincing in pain.

“Here, take this,” she said, lifting the mug up to his lips. “It’ll help ease the pain.”

“Really, you should come with me,” he said, the fever talking as he swallowed the tonic, unknowingly sealing his fate. “I don’t care if you’re a Fae. You’re different than the others.”

She smiled, said nothing, and got up as the man began to cough and sputter, choking to death on his own poisoned blood.

---

“You’re different than the others.”

Not one word had been uttered to Tanis since she had entered the hamlet of Roses, although the burning, vicious looks that the backwater peasants shot the Fae as she had led her donkey through the muddy streets already said quite enough for the elf to know that she wanted little to deal with these cretins. Even the rotund tavern keeper that glistened with some sort of perpetual sweat hadn’t addressed her when she had ordered a cup of tea and a plate of bread and cheese, although he finally did nod in acknowledgement once she had produced some coin. Tanis had sat there lost in thought and exhausted from her trip, eating her stale bread and dried cheese while drinking what might as well have been a cup of sludge, and thoroughly enjoying the silence that had just been stripped away from her. She stirred, sitting up properly so that her shoulders were no longer hunched and adjusting her shawl so that it now fell around her neck.

“I beg your pardon?” she said to the tavern keeper, tucking her hair behind her ear. She had learned long ago that pretending to not be a Fae was pointless; humans were good at spotting what made them different. She supposed this made up for them failing to be able to tell what made them all the same.

“The point of ‘em long ears if you can’t even use ‘em?” said a mouthful of black teeth bared like an animal ready to strike. “I said you’re different than the others.”

A polite smile appeared on Tanis’s lips; the same kind of smile one she had on her face when they she had been stuck in conversations with nobles’ young, inbred, and idiotic children that could not understand why her ears were pointed while their doting parents glared at her, waiting for a slip-up. It was a smile Tanis wore quite well if one disregarded the web of scars. She had not seen another Fae since setting off to the town of Roses, and Tanis ventured a guess that the residents of this mire perhaps only knew of Fae through the stories of travellers (although she assumed these stories would be quite abridged, as the oppressive air around the town did not make one want to relax and chew the fat for some time).

“Than what others, sir?” she said in an attempt to bait out some clarification. If she was going to be operating out of Roses, she wanted to know what the odds of her hanging from a tree were.

“The outsiders,” he said, casting a shadow across her as he loomed above.

Tanis glanced up and quickly averted her eyes, turning them instead to look at the other patrons that had filed into the bar as she had relaxed against the far wall. They wore the hard look of fighting men and women, and were weighed down by heavy, well worn battlegear. So, it appeared that her dying friend had been right: others were coming for his treasure. The polite smile faded back as her lips set themselves tightly together, her eyes slitting at the harrowing prospect that she was about to spend quite a large amount of time playing the good doctor with a bunch of legal thieves and cutthroats. She turned back to the tavern keeper, although she kept her head inclined in such a way that her view was filled up with nothing but his massive gut and the dirty floor behind the bar.

“In more than one way, actually,” she said, nodding. “I’m an apothecary, not a fighter. Although I must say that it’s good fortune that I arrived here when I did—people are often in need of a healer after mercenaries come to town. Which reminds me, sir, would you know of anyone in town that would be in need of my services? Anyone who is haunted by some sort of malady? It’s not too expensive, rea—”

“You can’t help anyone here,” said the tavern keeper, and he lumbered away from the elf.

Tanis slouched down in her seat again and sighed. It was a downright lie, of course, she had seen the telltale signs of disease and rot on the same villagers that had cast evil eyes in her direction; they were in a desperate need of some relief. Of course, she wouldn’t do it for free—the one similarity she counted between herself and mercs—and with the grotesque owner’s quick dismissal of her once she had mentioned prices informed her that nothing, not even gratitude, would be reward to her for helping these hayseeds. Not that it bothered Tanis, much, as the keeper proceeded to return to ignoring her and did not show any sign that he was secretly whipping up an angry mob to storm the lone Fae out of the village. She returned to her foul meal and, once again, found herself lost in thoughts of revenge.

College: PASS YO' Knowledge

Go for four or more years, get a degree, a socially-acceptable alcohol problem, and the dark realization that all of the debt you racked up for a piece of paper is utterly useless because every career hiring in your field not only requires a four-year-degree, but also seven-plus years of experience which is utterly impossible because the only way to get experience in said field is to work in said field which requires the degree you went to college for in the first place so instead you're stuck working for minimum wage just so you can afford to pay your parents rent.

_{Ha ha, I'm joking of course. It's a joke. Ha ha...ha...}

-Go to class. You're paying for them and you're paying for your big, expensive textbooks that you'll never use.

-Speaking of textbooks, don't buy them if you can get by without them. There are plenty of means online to getting whatever information you need from a textbook.

-If you're picking between commuting or dorming, dorm. Commutes are a drag, and living in the dorm gives you more opportunity to one, become independent, and two, meet new people. When you're in the room leave your door open (just don't be the prick who plays things at too loud of a volume). People walking by will poke their head in and be like, "Oh, damn son, you like the Shins?" and you'd be like, "Yeah man, the Shins are my jam", and they'd be like, "Tight. Let's be best friends!" and then you have a new best friend who likes the Shins even though you don't really like the Shins, it just happened to come on your shuffle at the time and you felt bad saying otherwise.

-Go to class. Seriously.

-After a night of drinking, drink at least two bottles of water before going to bed. You'll feel better in the morning. Also, stick with the same type of drink for the night. Mixing beer with jello shots with rum and Coke is a good way to end up being that jerk who's locked in the bathroom throwing up into the hamper while the rest of us really, really need to pee.

-Also while drinking: remember the buddy system.

-Also, if you drink so much that you're really hungover and can't make it to class then just throw up and go to class anyway.

-Talk to your teachers. Use office hours.

-As you get further into your field, try to find a way to get an internship because that thing about places not hiring people with degrees because they lack experience? Yeah, not really a gag. A solid reference is probably more important than a certificate that shows that you're really good at committing to things and memorizing factoids.

-If you ever feel overwhelmed, remember that literally nobody in the world actually knows what the hell it is that they're doing and that they're just pretending to understand things because that's what all the other people are doing. Your friends, your teachers, your parents, strangers on the internet, literally everyone is making it up as they go.

But, you know, I dropped out so maybe my advice isn't the best.

Oh, and...

Go to class, man.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Shadar and Vesta

Vesta was silent during their ride to the small village, guarding the rear of the group with a knitted brow and a perpetual frown as she fumed over this and that. It would be an unbearable, herculean task to go into what was currently upsetting the rather dour woman. The problems were seemingly endless, from the large issues, like how they were now consorting with demons as well as asshole paladins, to the small issues, like how they were now stuck playing babysitter for some sorcerer's apprentice. Her mood soured even further as they arrived at their destination for the night, her eyes narrowing in quiet judgment as she saw their hostess's outfit—only for her ability to keep her tongue in check to finally fail after the woman's innuendo.

"Brought us to a fucking brothel," said Vesta, muttering into her glove as she tried to hide an annoyed laugh by converting it into some kind of sigh.

She hung around inside of the inn just long enough to grab a flagon of something before realizing that, in a strange turn of events, she did not want to drink. After what felt like the proper amount of time to stare into one's drink, she pushed herself away from the bar and headed towards the exit (dropping off her beverage at a table claimed by her travelling companions as either a sign that she was coming back or an open invitation to a free drink). On her way out she collided with Dalious, or rather the pirate collided with her as he attempted to stand up straight to show off in some way that would likely end horribly, and briefly she regretted not getting as plastered as the man as she turned her back just in time to miss his shot. Wrapping her cloak around her, Vesta glanced over her shoulder before walking out into the night air.

She didn't know where she was going at first, her body subconsciously leading the way. It wasn't until she had reached the stables, bridled her horse, and began leading it by the reins that Vesta realized what she was doing. Stopping, Vesta found herself in the middle of the street with the inn, filled with her promises and worries, to her left and the road, full of potential freedoms and (likley) failures, to her right—and, since reuniting with the Serios, she found herself unable to decide which was more important to her.

Shadar was pissed. This was clear to anyone who had taken a second to even glance at the giant man as he traveled with the group, his entire being giving off a feeling of 'Fuck off before I kill' since they left. The reason for this anger was unknown, but the fact that, in the night before they left and some of this morning, there had been quite a bot of arguing between the giant and his magical brother. Lots of shouting and breaking of objects had been involved, followed by a few minutes of silence as they read through the other's responses, which had been written in an extremely old language that Drosil had found, and as far as he knew, only he could translate. The rages of each individual also was done in language strange, foreign, and alien to most people and would likely be understandable to no one. Whatever the case may have been for the argument, it ended with Shadar owing the queen a few things from their temporary dwelling . . . like a wall, for one.

When the group had arrived at the Inn, Shadar had chosen to to stay outside feeling that if he met an idiot inside of there, he was likely to kill the fool in a fit of barely controlled rage.

What was that idiot thinking? When will he learn to not just leap into a nest of vipers just because he might learn something out of the whole ordeal! Can't he just take a second to remember that he's not the only one affect by his terrible decision-making? Shadar had always put up with his brother's impulsiveness for the pursuit of knowledge, because he always believe that Drosil would be able to keep it in check, and for the most part he did. But during the attack, just because he got a sliver of what another Divineborn was capable of when compared to himself, he fucking leaped straight out of the pan without a moment's hesitation.

The idiot didn't even considered bringing Shadar into the deal, probably because he knew that Shadar would've told the lady to fuck off, and took his chances jumping off the side of the castle walls. Nothing good could come from this deal, and the fact that she mentioned the Serios only made that extremely more clear than it had before. While the giant didn't feel any particular loyalty to the Royal Family of Barcea, he could tell that they were good people, the queen especially so, and he didn't wish them any harm, nor did he want to be the cause of it, even partially. Drosil was a fool thinking that he could just use these people to his advantage, and all Shadar could do was run damage control.

Letting out a sigh, he felt a slight nudging to his side. Looking down, he saw Sir Mauls looking up at him from it's current curled up position in the stables, letting out a soft series of comforting clicks. Letting out a soft chuckle, Shadar gave the giant insect a scratch behind the head, right where he liked it, and was rewarded by another series of clicks. His attention was drawn from the creature however, by the sounds of footsteps approaching the area. Looking up, he saw vesta walking by with her horse, only to stop in the middle of the street, looking between the Inn that her charges had gone to and a road to somewhere far off. Normally, Shadar would just leave well enough alone, but with Drosil being such a loose cannon and the fact that she seemed to be the only other person in their group with even a lick of common sense, he didn't think it'd be a good idea to let her go off without even attempting to talk to her. Besides, she made for an interesting subject for his drawings.

"Not that it's any of my business, but where are you going off to?"

Vesta started at the sound of Shadar's voice, her hand flying to her blade before her better senses eased her edge. She blamed the darkness for her missing the giant and his bug companion, although truthfully she knew it was because she had been distracted by her thoughts. Cursing, she raised her shoulders and pushed her hair out of her face, giving Shadar a look that, even in the pale light from the moon, read as only slightly contemptuous—and really, it was only due to his rather odd relationship with his "brother" more than anything else. Well, that, and how she viewed pretty much everyone with some vile, deeply rooted prejudices. For a moment she thought of getting on her horse and riding away without an answer, but that would mean that she had come to a decision on what is was that she felt was best for her (albeit only by lying to herself that it was best for the others). Turning to the large man, she tightened her grip on her horse's reins as she followed her arms over her chest.

"You're right," she said, her voice worn but not betraying the guilt and shame she felt for having been caught. "It is none of your business."

Her tone came out more rude than she had intended it to be. Pursing her lips, she moved to make some kind of apology but found it impossible to form the words. Her horse felt its owners discomfort and snorted, prodding Vesta with its nose and stamping its hooves—or perhaps it was just antsy being so close to Sir Mauls. She exhaled with a sigh and dropped her shoulders. It was the closest she would get to saying sorry.

"I was just going for a late-night ride," she said with a lie easily detectable by any slightly observant person, as her horse had been packed for several days on the road. Her eyes darted up the sky, falling on the subject that every poor conversationalist went to as a crutch. "It's actually kind of nice out, considering the time of year. The moon's pretty full, too. Well, once the clouds pass. Uh." She tugged at her cloak uncomfortably. "You're welcome to tag along, if you'd want. You're always drawing. There's bound to be something picturesque you can sketch around here."

Plus, if somebody came with her then Vesta knew that she'd be forced to stay. If only for the night.

"I see . . ."

Shadar was silent for a bit, his thoughts unreadable as ever given how so little of his features could actually be seen, but he soon rose from his position with a light chuckle. Walking over to the woman, he made a motion for Sir Mauls to stay put as he saw the creature getting ready to uncoil itself. He knew that the poor creature was feeling a bit cooped up, but he also knew that Sir Mauls would probably make the horse much too jumpy with his presence.

"Never took you for the type, but if that's what you're doing, that's what you're doing." Shadar, being more than a little observant, knew the woman wasn't planning on going for 'just a ride', but he saw no reason in pointing that fact out, as that would only serve to embarrass and belittle the woman, not something he really felt like doing. Instead, he'd play along with the lie, follow her around a bit, then lead her on back. Besides, it wasn't often that he got to talk to other people."And since you offered, I guess I'll join you. Not sure how many sights I'll see worth drawing around here though, but hey, I could use the exercise.

And I need to take my mind off my idiotic brother fora bit, lest I lay into the next poor fool to get on my bad side.

With that said, Shadar would wait for Vesta to choose a direction before following her and her horse, easily keeping pace with the beast's canter as he entered a light jog. The clouds would certainly part before long, but as of right now, the dreariness of their area was unmistakeable, with the only speck of light and color being that of the Inn they were currently leaving behind. After a short while, Shadar would speak, not wanting silence to rule the late night escapade.

"So, Vesta, you seem to be rather close with the Serios, so I feel the desire to ask, what's the story behind that? If it's something you don't wish to tell, then don't feel beholden to do so, just something I've been curious about?"

"You're curious," she said with a huff, pulling back on the reins to stop her horse as they came upon a small creek. Easing herself down from the saddle, she tied her ride around a small tree. Vesta took a step towards the creek before pausing as she remembered how she had lost her horse the first time she had met Shadar. She took an extra moment to double check the knot, giving it a hearty tug before finding herself satisfied, and then turned her back to Shadar and limped over to the dark waters. She stared at her shadowy reflection in the trickling waters as she mulled over how much information was the safe amount of information. At this point she doubted anyone would care if they found out she had been a bandit—anyone but her, however.

"Where to start...I knew them before even Ayano was born. I joined the Kingsguard when I was seventeen—Kori was just some prissy girl and Cyril was still clinging to his mother. Being a Kingsguard wasn't what I really wanted to do back then, but what I want never really mattered and it was better than eventually being forced to marry some third son. Things were different back then. Tougher—shit, I sound like my father, but it's true. The greenhorns the Prince surrounds himself with now wouldn't have made the grade twenty years ago. Have you seen the Direwolf fight?" she asked, looking back towards Shadar. "He's the same even in practice. Nearly cut off my damn arm the first day."

Despite herself, she chuckled and shook her head. "I guess that's why Olain had me train his son instead of Alsius—well, that, and I was actually better with a sword than he was. Still am, I bet. Anyway, although I didn't necessarily want to train Cyril I knew that it was supposed to be an honor, so I put my all in making sure he wouldn't get himself killed. I always gave my all back then—I guess I bought the whole line about sacrificing yourself for your duty and all of that knightly nonsense. It worked, though. Somehow found myself in charge of the entire Kingsguard after a few years."

"And then we went to war to liberate the West from the God Kings, the Gifted beat us back, and when we came back I was no longer in the Kingsguard," she said, bending down and grabbing a stone. "And now, the fucking bastards are travelling with two of Olain's children while I keep my mouth shut and try not to think about my King as he rolls over in his grave." She skipped the rock across the water and sighed, grabbing another one. "More fitting to say I was close to the Serios. Now? I feel like I'm more of a bothersome reminder of a legacy they'd rather forget...maybe they should."

She frowned. It felt strange to talk this much about herself.

"So, I sated your curiosity; it'd only be right if you did the same for me. What's the whole deal with the brother situation? I only ask because I have five other siblings and I would dread it if I somehow started swapping places with them," she said, skipping another rock across the surface. "It's not just a spell, is it?"

You've had quite a life, it seems. Not any get to train princes. He seems to have turned out all right so far too, bit cocky if I say so myself." Shadar said with a bit of lightness in his voice, but he was mostly trying to buy himself time to think of a way to not talk abut the situation or at the ver least, give a more convincing lie, but with a wit as sharp as vesta's he soon found that any option he could think of on such short notice wouldn't hold up to scrutiny. Besides, one could turn deserved another. He'd asked her for her life story, and it was only fair that he give her his in return. Prepping himself to talk about the subject, Shadar took a seat next to the creek where they stopped, taking a rock in his clawed hands and tossing it up in the air a few times before letting it fall into his palm.

"My brother and I, as the Paladin had the lack of discretion to announce a little while ago on the ride to Gurata when Drosil once again made a fool of himself, are Divineborn. As you may have guessed, I have no great love for the Divines, and feel that those like the Paladin are fools of the highest order. The Divines do not care for us, not truly in my opinion, and I've heard less than nothing from my own Godly Parent. It was probably for their own sick amusement that they not only made it so me and my brother must share the same space at any moment, with only one of us ever truly living there life at any time . . ."

As the giant spoke, his words became more strained, filled with anger and frustration, his fingers clenching into a tight fist as he struggled to contain himself. Once he felt like he'd calmed down enough to continue without raising his voice, he unclenched his hand, the rock that had been there before now crushed into pieces that he let fall into the water.

"While the other must live their life on the scraps of memory they get once they come back, always forced to go along with whatever nonsense the other has gotten themselves into, never being able to live a life on their own. Not to mention this damnable body of mine, which was made to do everything I despise. I can't stand killing, I hate fighting, I hate the entire idea of it all, but what else am I to do in a body like this.What else can I do to keep that idiot alive when he pulls reckless stunts and experiments like what he did in the arena."

"I felt nothing but disgust for myself after what i did to that Guratan girl, hell, I feel disgusted for every life I take. It's grisly, sick, twisted . . . and in this monstrous form, it's much . . . much too easy." Shadar wondered, for a moment, why he was telling all of this to Vesta, before he realized the'd never really had anyone to talk to about . . . well, anything like this in a long time. His thoughts turned towards their caretakers, how they helped him understand what he was, what he could do. . . and that he wasn't the monster he thought himself to be.

You're a kind and gentle soul, Shadar, and I know you'll do great things one day. Just be sure not to let your brother lose his way while you do so, okay? He needs you, more than either of you truly now. The Wife had said that, mysterious and cryptic as always. And now, years later, he felt like she hadn't been able to see the reality of his situation. There was nothing kind or gentle about him, and he was the one who got left to the way side, living in the shadow of Drosil, never able to truly live his own life, just hang on the vestiges of another. After a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke again, his tone having gone from raging, envious, and full of a deep self-hatred to despair and depression.

". . . I know you aren't one for romance, but. . . I've alway wondered what it would be like to love and be loved. It was, and please don't laugh at me when I say this, my dream and the only true desire I ever had. I believed in all of that crap about how it is what's on the inside that matter for all of my childhood . . . until the first time I tried to talk to a girl. Even now, I could still feel the fear, the apprehension, and the slight undertones of disgust. She had wanted nothing to do with me, especially after me and Drosil told her our secret. We were young and dumb, so easily trusting of her pretty face. She turned us in to a local slaver gang for a quick buck the very next day. She'd been attracted to Drosil, but not enough to prevent her from stabbing us in the back."

Shadar let out a sigh, the memories of his first and last attempt at love flitting through his mind. The nervousness, the apprehension . . . and the gut-wrenching sting of betrayal followed by seething hot anger.

"I killed for the first time that night, all of the gang and the girl too . . . because it was what hd to be done to keep me and my brother safe. The worst part of it wasn't the act of killing them, however, but just how easily I was able to. I killed a group of about 20 men, ill-equipped and untrained they may have been, and only suffered a few minor injuries. I was only 15 at the time, yet couldn't help but feel dirty and filthy after what I had done. I still see their faces in my mind, along with the face of every other man I've slain since that day. If I ever get that chance to learn their names, I keep them, remember them. . . because I'm the reason that they'll never be spoken again."

"Well, I told you what you wanted, and more, so I hope your curiosity has been similarly satisfied. And . . . sorry for talking your ear off, but I don't get the chance to talk to people often, especially about myself. Not very good at stopping myself once I get started."

"I can tell," said Vesta, tossing a rock up in the air and catching it with her other hand. She offered Shadar a half-hearted smile as if to say that it wasn't an issue, and then her smile warped into an actual grin. She had been able to hold off laughing during his story, but the thought of the giant being a hopeless romantic was too much even for Vesta. "But if you just want to be loved all you need is some low standards, a lack of self-respect, and a few coins," she said with a smirk. She narrowed her eyes as if she just remembered something painful and whatever mirth there was dropped from her voice. "Trust me, you end up feeling just as shitty either way once it's over, regardless if the love is real or not."

Vesta didn't allow a silence to fall over them, fearful that Shadar would push her for information. She decided to try and reassure him, only if because she felt guilty for laughing at him.

"Nobody enjoys killing, Shadar, at least nobody that isn't a complete monster or a complete idiot," she said, not mentioning how she actually enjoyed the thrill of fighting—although she was actually able to pull her punches and avoid most unnecessary casualties. "Unfortunately, there are a lot of monsters in our world and even more idiots. That's just the way it is. We can't go more than a decade without a war, and even during times of peace there are places like the Arena or even tournaments thrown by so-called noble houses where those bastards can sate their bloodlust—and there will always be assholes like us who aren't good at anything else but to please those pricks. And personally, if I had the choice I'd much rather have that exoskeleton of yours than a body of soft flesh and brittle bones."

She sighed; she wasn't painting a very positive picture.

"What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't let all of that guilt weigh you down. That stuff will kill you." She realized how hypocritical the statement was. "It's not your fault if somebody is stupid enough to cross a guy as big as you," she said, adding, "Shit, you're probably doing them a favor."

"Hmph, you certainly have an interesting way of looking at things, Vesta." Shadar said, shaking his head slightly as he considered what she thought of his romantic nature. During the conversation, he'd ulled out his sketchbook, finishing up the last few touches to several drawings he was working on. Vesta's and Thurya's were both finished and looking rather impressive, while he ha one of the queen and her family standing together in the works, still having to work on Ayano a bit more to get her likeness just how he liked it. On another page he had a drawing of the castle from the outside, and next to it, a grim looking image of a group of dark-clad men raising of the ground, their bodies broken and maimed, yet their eyes were set with a haunting white glow, exerting naught but a cold emptiness on any who dared look upon them. "Still, I can't help but wonder what that Paladin would have to say about my Godly parent's decision to give me such an inhuman form. Knowing how his type is, he'll say that I'm like this for a reason and should trust in the Divines like a lamb trusts in a shepard. Following which, I'd tell him to fuck off, then probably punch him in his face, mostly cause I know it likely won't work. Zealot he may be, that man is ridiculously skilled. Drosil was a fool to challenge him and he paid for it."

Well, I think that's enough of a pit stop. As my caretaker use to say: 'never stay too long in anyone place, lest you find yourself rooted in place' . . . on second thought, that doesn't apply much to this situation, does it?" Shadar let his head fall a bit in embarrassment before he rose up, stretching a bit as he waited for his companion to rise. He thought offering assistance, but decided against, as the woman doesn't seem like the type who'd appreciate a reminder of her injury and weakness. You mentioned you had brothers of your own before. Have you tried to contact them recently, or is such a thing no longer possible, for whatever reason.

"Hah!" she said with a snort as she struggled to her feet. "I doubt they'd want me, and I rather like not having to show up for birthdays and holidays to have forced conversations while pretending we'd rather be anywhere else but in the same house. You don't have to share the same body to grow to despise someone; sometimes it just takes a roof. I'm pretty sure I passed my sister while in the Capitol; we both pretended not to recognize one another."

She stretched her back and groaned when something popped, taking a moment to steady herself before marching over to her horse and removing the reins from the tree. The moon was high in the sky now, free from the clouds that had caged it earlier, and illuminated the land around them. It was far from picturesque. The trees were gnarled, the creek was brown with runoff, and the ground was more weeds than grass. Lights from the village could be seen on the horizon. It wasn't a far ride, but it'd be a decent walk. Leading the horse by the reins, she nodded to Shadar and began heading back to town. Vesta knew she'd regret the walk in the morning, but for now she wanted to continue their talk. She still needed to clear her mind, and there was something that had been bothering her for a while.

"Why are you here with us, Shadar? It's not that I mind having you around—compared to the others, you're actually tolerable. I know Drosil dragged you into this shit with his grand delusions of somehow finding ultimate power or whatever it is that all mages are always going on about, but you could just make him leave. And you say that you dislike fighting and dislike killing, but I'm sure you understand that this is just the start of the violence," she said, unsure of what case she was actually trying to make. The next question she asked to Shadar, although it might as well been directed towards herself: "So why do you stay?"

"Everything you say is true, no doubt about that. The night of horrors at the castle was more than proof enough that hanging around the Serios is bad for one's health in these times. . . but strangely enough, while I do consider leaving, I can't bring myself to do it." Shadar rubbed his helmeted head in exasperation as he let out a sigh, looking across the grim landscape with a hidden grimace before he resumed speaking again. "For a while, I've been unable to figure out why, and using Drosil as an excuse, but after the night at the castle, I took a long hard look at the situation and realized that, for the first time in our lives, we actually have a purpose to our lives. I'm only as old as Drosil, really, a few years younger if we're being honest, so the thought of going back to our aimless wanderings is less than ideal. I do hate killing and fighting, more than anything, but it's going to happen regardless of what I do. . . might as well have a better reason to do it than just to save your own hide, right?"

Even with his face hidden away by his heavy exoskeleton, one could tell that the giant was feeling a bit embarrassed by his reasoning for staying with the party. HE couldn't help but fidget uncharacteristically and his hand seemed to be glued to his head as he kept on rubbing it. "*Tch, Damn Cyril, his idealistic crap seems to be getting infectious."

As he walked, feeling frustrated with his inability to keep his mouth shut now that he's let his guard down, a deep sense of regret and disgust filled his core. While what he said was true, the real reason why he had stayed after that massacre at the castle was Drosil's idiocy. If his brother hadn't decide to make a deal with those Divineborn bastards, he would've left the very next day, choosing to live a long and happy life far away from messed up shit like that. But now he and Drosil were involved with very dangerous people, and he wasn't risking drawing their anger by ditching the target they wanted Drosil to stay near . . . not until he knew exactly what they wanted at least. Drosil made this bed, but i'll be damned if I'm just going to let him lie in it. I'm going to find out as much information as possible from these bastards, and when the time is right, em and Drosil are out of here, with Cyril learning about a group of Divineborn that seemed to be very interested in starting this war between Barcea and H'kela. Hopefully, we don't end up 6 feet under because of it.

"Anyway, now that that's been explained, can we move on from this topic, yeah? And never tell Cyril, hell, never tell anyone I said any of this. I've a reputation to uphold, if nothing else."

A purpose to our lives. Shadar's words echoed through Vesta's head as she nodded along as he talked. It made sense. She looked around at their surroundings. They were closing the distance between themselves and the inn as they talked, and road behind them seemed even more uninviting in the moonlight than it had when it was in the shadow of the clouds. Vesta knew she couldn't go back to a life of aimless wandering; she was amazed and disgusted with herself for even considering it. She had to be here, even if only for there to be someone to keep Cyril's infectious idealism from clouding the better judgment of others. Arriving in front of the inn, Vesta put her hand on her horse to ease it to a stop and turned to Shadar.

"Nobody would believe me even if I told them. You should head in. We've been gone long enough already that I'm sure that pirate will need somebody to carry him to his bed...or the stables. I'll be in shortly," said Vesta as she began walking to the stables, only to pause for one second to turn and give Shadar an almost friendly look. "And thank you."

"*Hmph. . . Glad to be of some help. Good to know that being around Drosil all my life has given me some conversational skills." Shadar replied, a small smile of his own present in his words if not his eternally stoic demeanor, though the disgust inside of him only grew as he waved goodbye to her. It was a crappy situation that his brother had gotten them into, and if possible, he wished that he could give the summoner the good knock upside his short-sighted head that he so desperately needed. But, such a thing wasn't possible until the damnable Divines had their fun and decided to separate the pair, an option the the giant wasn't really holding his breath over. As he walked towards the Bar, he decided that he'd had enough discussion for one night, especially since he felt like he was lying to good people that he was basically spying on them, and decided to switch over to his brother, the blinding light that accompanied the switch. flashing around him, most likely catching Alice and Dalious somewhat off guard as he'd entered their general area once he'd down it.

Drosil would stand frozen for a bit, dressed in his usually robes and whatnot, with his staff in hand and a puzzled look upon his face, before he shook his head and made his way past the two with a hastily muttered apology . . . only to get somewhat floored by the presence of the barmaid and her rather revealing attire. He stared for two seconds longer than he should have before taking an abrupt turn to make his way upstairs, asking the other woman in more modest attire where his room was. Once there, he'd let out a soft sigh, going over the content of Vesta and Shadar's talk, noticing a few holes that lasted too long to be just silence, meaning that Shadar was intentionally keeping those memories a secret from Drosil. It was an annoying thing, but it's not like he had any right to truly complain if Shadar wanted to decided something for himself. Looking a bit disheartened, he thought back to the night at the castle, thinking of all the different ways it could've gone if he had tried to simply bide for time or had actually decided to trust his brother and switch over to him. He ceased because, in truth, their was no point in wondering. What was done was done, and he knew that the Advisor or one of her group would find him one day and give him his assignment. Now it was only a matter of discovering what he was willing to do for the knowledge and power he sought.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Currently finishing up a collab with @Raijinslayer. So, uh, don't do anything drastic.

@The Darklight ProjectYou...you replayed through the first Assassin's Creed? How did you manage to do that? Game's a great proof of concept, but shit, if I ever have to slowly follow behind someone just to eavesdrop on them ever again I might have an aneurysm. Then again, I did replay through the Mass Effect series under the pretenses that I'd do things completely different to experience an entire new story. I just ended up picking the exact same choices because nobody can stop my love for Garrus nor my love for killing party members, so who am I to judge?

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

_{Um, if anyone wants to get Overwatch for PC, I'll be right over here actually able to headshot stuff as the sniper lady although not really because we always need a support or a tank and, no, it's cool, I mean, I picked that character first, but yeah, go ahead, I didn't want to play as Pharah anyway.}

On the brightside, I'm now real good at shooting dudes with Mercy's pistol.

@PetiteAmbivertDid that for Diablo III, it was great.

@The Darklight Project

Witch Doctor, right?

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@KingfisherAw bummer city! Who needs to pass exams, anyway?

Well, I'm keen to hang around if the others are. Worst case scenario, just give me a shout when you realize that school's unimportant if you're just good a faking it til you make it.

The Nightmare of Dunwick Manor

Okay I've received a few more sheets and my flight will finally leave tomorrow after being pushed back several times. Also I just like to post here every few days to let you guys know this is all still going and I haven't forgotten about any of you!

I hope I haven't lost interest from anyone from the length of time it's taken to get off the ground. I would like to start this next week, as early as possible, so if you are still writing or making adjustments please try to get it done this weekend so I can start off next week with an IC!

@Savage

*Makes a loud, rather obnoxious whooping sound*

What were the first three video games you played?