Atrophy

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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“No. The Queen wishes to speak with you now."

Hazel’s mouth drew thin. For an alleged utopia, the hospitality in Exusia was just as cold as anywhere in Deadwood and a hundred fold unearned. Hazel formed with the lot as they were marched to the throne room, feeling more and more like a prisoner heading to the judge for sentencing than a guest answering a call to arms. She turned her head and balled her fist as she saw servants cleaning the ground behind them. She wasn’t upset at them but their overseers, so disgusted by the presence of underworld filth that they couldn’t even wait until they were around the corner to start sweeping it away. Hazel fell in step behind Nakala and walked in her footprints to ease the burden of the servants.

Hazel noted the increase in knights on their flanks as they were led through a pair of opulent doors that revealed a line of more knights that led to a throne. Hazel stood tall as they were beckoned in front of the queen. She met Tabitha’s smug smile with a polite one of her own and turned her head ever so slightly so the dry blood caked to one side of it was less upfront. The smile lost its luster but remained as the Queen’s tone flirted the line between teasing and insulting. Hazel closed her eyes and inhaled sharply as the Queen questioned the worth of money in a way only someone who had too much of it could possibly ever think—or was she so disconnected from the world below that she believed they couldn’t even manage currency anymore?

“I don’t really care for riches, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want the chance of some kind of safety,” said Hazel after clearing her throat. The Bone Clans hadn’t been the only people trying to kill her this week. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued, “However, my main motivation is to learn from the mages here in Exusia. I’d one day like to use my magic to make life a little better on the, er, Lower Realm, but…” Hazel lowered her head as if she was embarrassed by subject matter. “Anyway, that’s a long ways away.”

Hazel took a step back to allow others the floor.

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Percival arrived moments later as if Solange had summoned him by his name alone. She began to shuffle in her seat to stand and assist the dogged barkeep but stopped and sunk down ever so slightly at the sight of the woman behind him. Solange’s lips parted the tiniest of slivers as a curse gasped its last breath right upon the tip of her tongue, escaping her mouth as nothing more than an almost silent rattle. She didn’t really know Nora, but she’d spent plenty of time around another person like Nora that she knew loyal lap dogs were the most likely to snap off the hand of anyone beside their owner, regardless of the type of treat it had offered. She was a complication to any future plans that Solange had yet to even partially process.

The large Tork man behind Nora, Skarsat apparently, normally wouldn’t intimidate Solange in just about any other scenario. Men weren’t nearly as simple as some of her peers told her they were, but most had similar weaknesses and none were as terrifying as a woman like Fontaine could be. Plus, his name was one she’d never heard Vargas mention before, which meant Skarsat was either a total stranger or regarded as small time by someone who he himself was already small time. Normally this would be a good thing, but if he was Nora’s man then that meant he was dangerous, especially depending on what kind of man he was exactly. Solange gave him a smile, but held back on tossing a hook out at him before fully understanding his connection to Vargas’s enforcer.

“Impeccable timing, sweetie. We were all dying of thirst. Thank you,” said Solange to Percival, touching his elbow as he placed the pitchers and bumping him ever so slightly with her shoulder. The little bit of affection might stop him from throwing himself into the sea that night, but Solange had only been hoping it’d unnerve him enough to get him to drop a pitcher so they could all have another show. Shame. Perhaps next round. Solange eyed Y’vanna. At the rate she was going, there would be plenty of opportunities.

””I’ll go with your offer. Even if the price is worse, it still beats getting on Nora’s bad side. You don’t want to know what that vixen does to people that piss her off,” said Neh’miah.

Solange returned the flirtatious smile and started to lean in to whisper something into his ear but Nora called him out like a schoolmarm shouting at the bad kids in the back of the schoolhouse. Solange couldn’t help but grin, her eyes revealing that she was holding back a laugh as she abandoned the attempt to whisper and sat back in her chair.

“I’m afraid I might witness it soon enough, dear. It appears you’re already on her bad side,” said Solange. She held up a finger to shush Neh’miah in jest and winked. “I would absolutely hate to see what she’d do to an asset such as yourself. However, if you truly did want to give up more of your share to Lord Vargas and myself then I’d be an idiot to refuse. Still, we can discuss it later.”

“Our apologies,” she said to Nora and Vargas for getting sidetracked. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, and nodded to Vargas to show that he had their undivided attention. Solange had an inkling as to why Vargas had summoned Nora and her goon, and she was concerned that she was right. She glanced over at Neh’miah and reconsidered what he said as she peeled back her bottom lip. Solange was afraid that Vargas wanted Nora to join the expedition, but if she was here for another reason...shit. Now she was concerned that she’d read everything wrong. The faintest tap could be heard from her end of the table as she knocked on it, praying that Vargas wasn't about to remove her for that business partner comment.

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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At first it seemed that instead of a fortress Hazel had conjured a city. No, had she teleported them? Since when could she—no, of course it had not been her. She snapped her book shut and lowered her hand. There was a warmth on her face that wasn’t the blood and she looked up to see the sun as her eyes readjusted from the sandstorm. A gentle breeze rustled her hair as she looked around her, mouth going slightly slack as she took in the structures around her, alien in appearance due to how pristine they looked. Where was the rotting woods and burnt out landscape? Where were the hard faces and broken bodies? Where was the death and misery? Gone, all of it.

Hazel lowered her head and smiled to herself. So, she had actually made it to Exusia. She looked back up at the people encircling their little band of fighters, with their soft skin and ornamental armor. Many Ember Makers, especially when whiskey added fuel to their zealous fire, boasted about how they one day dreamed of making it to Exusia so they could liberate the people from the evil magicians that kept them oppressed. Hazel clutched her book to her chest. These people lacked the coarseness to them caused by the friction of being forced against the ground by a tyrant’s boot. Perhaps it was an actual utopia after all. Hazel huffed. She knew better than most that appearances often only ever existed just to deceive.

Take, for example, the knights surrounding them with weapons drawn. Not a single blade had a nick on the edge, not a single piece of armor had a scratch. Hazel would find it hard to believe that they’d seen any action outside of the training ground, and even then she doubted the difficulty of their regimand—for example, how quickly the tent guards had been bested by a wild pack of raiders. The knights demanded they hand over their weapons, but what could they do if they didn’t? Hazel saw images of the spearmaiden pushing her weapon through the paper armor of the scroll reader, of the crossbow bolts bouncing harmless off of the golem, of the short man gleefully pointing to the next victim as his animated construct ribbons the first knight foolish enough to lift a sword against him.

She felt herself tense as Nakala didn’t hand over her spear, and the breeze grew cold as visions of a slaughter continued playing out in her mind. The magicians would quickly fall to the arrows of the sun elf and the superstitious hunter, while the crafty Kaimerian and her sneaky human friend would unleash some ploy to distract the rest. She could hear the mad man laughing in harmony with the bug as he jumped into the fray, and she could feel the heat on her skin as the citizens surrounding them revealed themselves to be the true mages of Exusia with an explosive fireball that consumed them all.

Hazel drifted back to reality and suspiciously eyed the crowd. Hazel met the eye of a child in the crowd that stared at her with something more than curiosity. An invitation to a bunch of opportunists to be granted an audience before an insane Queen who’d harbored a bunch of magic users before tearing her city away from the world; they’d have to be crazier than the Queen to believe that the only dangerous ones around were the ones with fancy swords and flowing robes. She stared at the child and smiled, who was quick to turn and tug on her mother’s sleeve. I see you. The mother glared at Hazel, picked up the girl, and walked away. Only then did she remember that she was drenched in the blood of a dead clansman and they were probably the first killers that child had ever seen.

Hazel felt her eyes water and looked nervously at Nakala. Please, hand your weapon over. Instead, the elf who’d snuck in past the clansmen was the first to do it, setting off a chain reaction of others giving in to the demands of the knight. Hazel jumped in line as she returned her book to her bag before handing it and her weapons over to the Exusians. She stepped to the side, glanced back at her compatriots that were still wiping the blood from their blades, and folded her hands behind her back.

“Sorry, I’m sure this is a stupid question, but we aren’t truly expected to meet before anyone, let alone the Queen, looking like...this?” she asked the knight, meeting his eyes as she gestured to her sand-covered, blood-soaked companions. “It’s just that we've had a bit of a day and I do want this meeting to go well—not just because I am fond of my stuff, either. I think we'd all do better with a moment to recuperate. Just..." She picked a red globule of viscera out of a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes and stared at it as she grew quiet, her gaze growing distant as the howling of wind and flames deafened her hearing. "...I, I need a moment..."

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Solange smiled as the woman took the bait and snatched the glass of wine, downing some of the drink without even a sniff of the contents or a question of intent. She had no answer to the question of how Solange could be so sure things would run smoothly outside of knowing that it would be smooth if everyone were so eager to follow her lead like Y’vanna was eager to drink the shite wine. Fortunately, there was no need for her to find a way to word the thought in such a way that didn’t seem so desperately power hungry as Vargas joined them at the table and shifted all eyes on to him. Solange sat back and squared her shoulders as she watched him with one raised eyebrow and tried to get a read on how he reacted to Solange giving herself a promotion.

She was happy to see him play along with the act as she was happy for holding her tongue instead of burying herself alive or digging herself out right before hitting gold. Solange hid her smirk behind her fist as Maréngo did a number crunch. From what she could tell, Vargas wasn’t angry with her at all. In fact, she bet the sucker was so head-over-heels for her that he’d let the whole fake partnership thing become a reality. What an idiot! If only she dreamed so little that sharing success would satisfy her. Solange had no desires for a real partnership with anyone, let alone someone as small time as Vargas. She was much more interested in acquisitions. In due time…

"...unless of course you know someone else who can gather up all your gear and have you ready to leave harbor by the noon time tomorrow? Eh?"

“I know of one,” said Solange, narrowing her eyes and raising her head as she stared down her nose at Vargas. He would know that she was referencing Fontaine. She had said it only to make him squirm. Vargas might be good, but Fontaine was better—and so much more dangerous. Admirable, if she wasn’t the enemy. Solange chuckled ever so lightly and relaxed her stare, “But she’s sitting right here.”

“Honestly, dear, it’s a better deal than what I would’ve offered, and considering you already gave me the what and the where regarding this potential treasure horde you should really consider it a blessing that an offer is even being made at all,” said Solange, turning to Y’vanna. “A less honest and greedier man would’ve laughed you out of the room and then chartered a ship to keep the coin all to himself. Might’ve even gutted you to avoid any kind of competition on the way.”

Still could, she thought and smiled at Vargas, curious to see if he could read her thoughts.

“I would say we should raise a glass in toast for sealing the deal and getting rich in the future, but as you can see,” Solange gestured to the missing drink that should be in front of her. “I might have to get them myself if Percival takes much longer.”

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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There was a growing number of dead, but none of them appeared to be from the ranks of the would-be adventurers. Hazel appeared to struggle as she held up the weight of the large, dead man, turning ever so slightly to get a better view of the fight. Arrows were loosed, spears were thrusted, notes were taken, laughter was had, tiny constructs vivesecuted, and a rope was cut. Hazel twisted her partner to take the blast of sand that snuck up under the loosened part of the canvas and watched as more and more clansmen filed in through the hole in the side of the tent and attempted to push past the mountain blocking the entrance. It seemed as if the clansmen were as numerous as the sand itself, more appearing the moment a grain was discarded. Hazel doubted the desert would run low on sand before her companions exhausted.

The voice sounding like an avalanche crushed the sound of fighting, "We require a more robust defensive position. Who here has knowledge of battlefield tactics or the acquisition of defensive fortifications?"

Hazel frowned, but when even the creature with rocks for brains knew the situation was turning desperate then she really could no longer justify holding back. She continued to hold up the Bone Clansman as she spun with him towards the overturned table that had once held the ever-so-coveted map. When the dancing duo got there she yanked the dagger from free his chin, pooled blood cascading down her arm, as she gingerly crumpled to the ground with his body. Hazel nudged it up ever so slightly, hoping that both the corpse and the table would block her from the sightlines of any clansmen, and then sat on her knees. She’d seen how they had descended on Azariah for his magic, and feared the repercussions that’d come with her having to rush her spellcasting.

Uncertain of how hidden she truly was, Hazel planted the dagger into the ground next to her and unlatched her satchel. She wiped the blood on her hand on the cloth of her sash and then snaked her hand around the inside of her satchel to reach into the hidden compartment. She glanced up as she pulled the ancient leather tome out, drew her elbows into her knees, and cracked the book open. She heard the mad laughter of the preacher man still as a few men in bone armor stormed past to rush at Artur’s group, but none seemed to notice her yet. A gust of wind made it appear as if the pages flipped on their own as it opened up to about midway through the tome. Hazel pinned the book open with one hand as the other reached out from her balled-up body and began to claw at the earth below her.

Hazel dug deep so the blowing of the sand would not interrupt or transform her ritual. First, she laid out the blueprint for the barrier. It would be a round bastion of earth about fifteen feet high and just larger than the tent, with one entrance wide enough for Fourteen to squeeze through. The outer walls would be smooth and difficult to climb, while the inner walls would tiered like the seating at a coliseum to allow those inside to get to easily step-up to the top of the parapets and fire down from above. Then, she drew a circle around the design and began to write words of power around the border in an incomprehensible runic language. Almost finished with her ritual, Hazel lifted her head to shout a word of warning at the others.

“Everyone, fallback! Stay within the fire! It won’t harm you!”

Hazel rose her hand and slammed it down into the middle of the design. As the sandstorm continued to tear through the lacerated tent a bright beacon of white flame erupted around Hazel’s palm. The flame produced no heat, no smoke, and didn’t even bend with the wind as it spread from her hand towards the middle of the tent. From there the flame splintered off throughout the tent, diving into the sand and visibly traveling just below the surface before arriving at the outline of Hazel’s fortification. Jets of harmless magical flame began to emerge and burn a few inches out of the ground to denote the border of the fort and form a literal line in the sand of where their crew would want to be once the ritual was complete.

Hazel grabbed her spellbook and rose from the ground, hand outstretched. She raised her hand into the air and began mumbling in some otherworldly language. As she did, the flames surrounding the tent began to rise up as well—one foot, three feet, five. Wind began to wipe white flames around her feet and spiral around her up to her waist, her hair and clothes blowing in the tempest as it eradicated the ritual circle next to her once the spell began to truly form shape in reality. The others would feel the ground quake just below the surface as the earth shifted, the barriers ready to erupt once the flames had hit their peak.

It would only be a matter of seconds before Hazel finished fulfilling Fourteen’s request for defensive fortification beyond the scope they had called for and shifted the fight from a desperate assault to an easily-defended siege. However, seconds was more than enough time to absolutely slaughter someone, and Hazel had just turned herself into a bright, unarmed magical beacon begging to be fed a blade.

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

Solange managed to maintain the air of confident authority she’d set forth despite the telling stare from the other woman. It was a look that Solange was all too familiar with from working in the brothel. She still found herself annoyed by it even after realizing the power that look gave her, but she’d still take that card and tuck it up her sleeve to turn a losing hand into a winner anyway. Solange didn’t break eye contact from Y’vanna until she fumbled her words, and then instantly she looked away. She shifted her interest onto the sailor, both to drive a little spike of jealousy into the other woman’s heart and to get a sense of him. The sailor chuckled; he had clearly caught on too. Solange smiled at him, unable to resist sharing the moment of superiority.

Naturally the word “lucrative” drew both of them back in. She imagined greed was something all of them at that table shared in common. Solange’s shone eyes as bright as the oil lamps they reflected as the woman spoke of the job. She looked away just once to acknowledge the presence of a new arrival and give him a head nod, as if she was giving him permission to join them at her table. As she listened she idly traced her thumb along the bottom of her lip, her other hand resting over the top of her glass of wine. The thought of an untapped treasure horde was enticing, but there were a few things that concerned Solange. She held them for now and lifted an eyebrow as her latest admirer poured another horn and toppled the empty pitcher upon the table.

“Allow me to take care of that, love,” said Solange. She rose from her seat—Vargas’s seat—and leaned over the table to grab the pitcher and set it down gently.“Once we have come to terms my partner will provide funding for the ship and I will accompany the crew to represent our interest. Oh, my apologies. We haven’t had the pleasure yet. I’m Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas’s business partner,” she said to Neh’miah. The more times the lie was repeated the more comfortable it felt. “I believe what you said about being more valuable than any gods to be true,” said Solange with a smile and a once over. She’d always found value in stroking those with a big ego. Now if only the sailor would reveal himself to her. In due time, she supposed. She glanced through the partition, saw the Vargas was pretty much out of hot air and would have to wrap up shortly, and remained standing.

“We can burn all of the offerings and say all our prayers, but I rather make our own fortune by relying on talent than hoping for a miracle,”she said as she began to circle the table, leaving the chair for Vargas as if it had not been touched at all. She paused behind Maréngo. “Now, we have the captain and myself to get us there.” Solange moved on to the empty chairs, stared at them with a frown, and twisted her hair. “We’d definitely want some more muscle if that other crew pulls together.” Finally, she walked behind Neh’miah and traced a finger along his shoulder as she stared past him to Y’vanna. “And I have an idea as to what the two of you are capable of doing.”

“However, before that—!” Solange twisted around Neh’miah and gingerly slid into the seat opposite the head of the table. That knocked pitcher had given the redhead another theory, and she just couldn’t resist the temptation to toy with it. Solange’s brow darkened as she set her full glass of wine on the stained wood of the table and gently pushed it towards Y’vanna. Her eyes narrowed as she gave the woman a mischievous smile. “Your drink is low, dear. Have mine, it’s untouched." Her face lightened as she leaned back and glanced between the pair of thieves. “Now, I’d love for either of you to tell me that my hypothesis is correct.”

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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Most of the travelers were quick to agree to Tisa’s terms, some impatiently so. Only one of the strangers had the nerve to even question the delegate. Hazel imagined the shakiness in the young woman’s voice was caused by the rattling of her spine. Of course the person plastered with protective pieces of paper that were likely meant to be some kind of ward would be the one to bring voice to caution. Hazel gave her a soft smile accompanied by a look that balanced between sympathetic and pitying. Even if Tisa had given the girl a satisfying answer and a promising word it wasn’t like any of them would know if it had been wise to trust them until the moment for betrayal had passed. In a way, it would be much like the girl’s talismans—good for the ease of mind, but ultimately nothing more than a false comfort. Hazel found it funny how quick the woman was to rush to calling for the teleportation ritual after even a single voice had questioned their intent. A good omen, surely.

However, the ritual was never completed. Hazel drew in her breath and held it as a screaming person harmonized with the howl of the wind. She did not blink as she saw the body slump against the tent, nor did she avert her eyes as the tent was torn open and sand kicked around as the Bone Clans assaulted their gathering. Hazel watched, her eyes stinging, as a spear was shoved through Tisa’s gut, her only reaction being the slightest raise of an eyebrow. Hazel had thought an Exusian mage would be harder to take down. Turns out, they fell just like everyone else. She didn’t even have time to think about healing the emissary before a robed assailant slit Tisa’s throat. Well, at least their wouldbe killers were merciful. She’d never seen an Ember Maker make it quick.

Hazel stepped back towards the middle of the tent, hand on her sword but blade undrawn. She was a master swordswoman when it came to slaying untrained fieldhands and frail old medicine women, but against actual warriors it was basically a decoration anyway. She watched as Artur began issuing commands, thankful that someone was there to rally them. It gave her a second to observe as the others sprung into action.Hazel glanced over to see one of the clansmen try to take out the Golem. She couldn’t help but snort and shake her head as the stupid idiot got what was coming for him. The short man called forth some kind of mechanical monster to come to his aid, shredding apart the clansman that had attacked its master. It only spurred the fury of more clansmen. The questioning girl raised her crosswbow while another saw to hide, crawling out from under the tent and likely being eviscerated by the enemies outside—a karmic end for fleeing like a coward.

If Hazel had the option she would’ve continued to be an outside observer to all of the carnage and bloodshed, but the warriors of the Bone Clans didn’t respect her wishes. She sighed and rolled her eyes as she drew her sword and dagger as a clasnman rushed her. There wasn’t enough time to pull out her book and even if there was it would be a bad idea. At best casting a spell would make her a priority target for the raiders; at worst it would turn the whole tent against her, or at least what was left of it. The clansman lifted his axe, howling with the wind as he brought it down to split Hazel’s skull with a powerful blow that she caught with the crossguard of her sword and dagger.

Hazel locked the weapon in place as the clansman continued to wail at her, his spittle wetting her face. The axe slid and cut her hand but it did not break free from her guard. Hazel bit her lip as the larger man struggled with her. She backed up as he pushed and pulled against her, and didn’t even blink as one hand let go of the axe to wrap around her neck. She dove her chin down into the hand, a fruitless effort to stop the man from strangling her, and glared up at him as she choked. Her eyes watered as they met his murderous gaze. She grinned. The man was probably strong enough to snap a neck in half if given the opportunity. He didn’t get the chance.

With a surge of strength Hazel kept the axe held back with just her sword as her dagger hand freed itself from the guard. In a flash the blade bit through the inner wrist of the outstretched arm and sliced towards the elbow, cutting open the man like a letter. His howls shifted their tune ever so slightly as his grip around her throat fell. She stepped forward and flicked the dagger up, silencing the sound forever as the point of the blade pushed up under his chin and deep into his skull. Hazel twisted and put her shoulder into the heavy man to keep him propped up as he began to go limp and left her dagger in him to free up her hand so that she could keep his own from falling away from the axe.

Hazel grunted as she continued to tango with the dead dance partner, hoping that the illusion of her still being engaged in battle would give her a quick respite from any other raiders. Hazel turned her attention to the others as the blood dripped down the hilt of her dagger and splattered on the side of her cheek to sense the tide of the battle. Public spells were for desperate situations only, and so far the losses had been anywhere in the range of acceptable to cathartic. There was value in a culling every now and then. Were any more of their would-be adventuring party dead yet, or had the Queen been blessed with a better stock than her own?

Winds of Fate - A Thieves' Adventure (Semi-Tabletop)

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Solange - The Faded Lantern Tavern & Inn

^{A person is only ever as important as others believe them to be.}

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Solange seemed a paragon of patience as she lounged at the bar, her scientific note taking shifting into a rough, idle tracing of Percival the barkeep. The faintly sketched image was marked with the occasional heavy, dark line, brought upon by the brief moments when her actual frustration at being kept waiting seeped through to the surface. She was quick to cool her head with a sip of wine and a nibble of cheese. The cheese, like the wine, was an expected disappointment, but she felt obliged to attempt to eat it anyway.The food had been a collective gift from the girls, paid for by the coin of the sailors.

Solange hadn’t intended for her visit to the Faded Lantern to turn into a chance to expand her market, but it seemed that word had spread amongst the girls of the tavern. A few more of them had drifted over to her individually after the first one, all with different approaches to similar problems. The exchanges were more brief than the first, and by the time the fourth or fifth girl had sauntered over to drape an arm across her shoulder Solange already had a fold sheet of paper ready, the prescription sliding up from between her long fingers to quickly be plucked away by the other girl as she whispered into Solange’s ear.

Her wrist felt like it was cramping from all of the writing by the time Vargas finally entered the bar proper. She straightened her back and turned in her chair to smile at him, a look that wavered as he turned towards the door. Silently seething, she snatched her goblet and sauntered through the crowd to see what future dead man was keeping her payday away. She lingered behind Vargas, far enough to not be seen as eavesdropping but close enough to attempt to get a bead on the conversation. However, a swell of music and a rowdy cheer from the card table made the task a difficult one. By the time Solange made a move to close in, the other man was already gone.

“Miss Belgard! It has been too long,” said Vargas, stepping in to embrace her.

“My Lord Vargas! I was beginning to worry it would be longer still, darling,” said Solange, welcoming the hug and giving Vargas a quick peck on either cheek. She pulled away rather abruptly, keeping up the act that she was afraid Fontaine would do something if she saw them being friendly. In reality, she didn’t enjoy the company of Lord Vargas very much. Sure, he was a bit handsomer than a majority of the men she dealt with and certainly wealthier than a number of them, but there was just something about him that just annoyed her. She leaned back and looked towards the door. “What was all of that ruckus about?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about, my dear. I took care of it, as I always do. Let us talk in private,” he said.

Solange allowed Vargas to take her arm in his and lead her through the tavern. He started to hold a conversation with himself, interrupted by her occasional probe to continue his mindless prattling, as she began to iron out exactly what it was about Vargas that she did not like. Part of it was his condescending nature that he thought to be chivalrous in the way he’d protected her pretty little head from the dark details of something interesting. Part of it was how he had the pretense to call himself Lord, a title he’d bestowed upon himself instead of others giving it to him. A lot of it was how easy he had been to snare, proving to Solange that he didn’t deserve to be a pawn in the game, let alone a major player. Vargas was in love with her lie, and she loathed him for it. Solange motioned to Percival to bring them drinks, the thought of listening to Vargas fawn over her while sober beginning to prove to be a daunting task, as she was pulled upstairs to his personal table.

“...and, I must say, it was truly a marvelous letter, but why didn’t you just come and find me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Solange, pausing at the top of the balcony to look down at the crowd below. It always felt right. One of the working girls waved at her. She smirked, and turned to Vargas. “That reminds me. You know the woman who delivered the letter?”

“Yes?”

“She confided to me in secret, and while it pains me to betray her trust I couldn’t possibly allow for such a thing to go on behind your back and ruin the reputation of your fine business. You see, she’s got—oh, I’m too embarrassed to say,” said Solange with a choke, dramatically turning her face so that her hair hid her smile as she swallowed a laugh. “She’s got a gift that no man would want, and if they learn that present came from here then it’d be a disaster. I worry not only for your business, but her life as well. I’ve heard stories of men who kill women over less. If one of your girls was taken out for something like that it’d just be absolute ruin. I don’t want you to fire her, but it’s the best thing for her safety and the safety of your business”

“Oh you precious thing, I can see on your face how difficult it was for you to tell this to me. I will take care of it, as I always do,” said Vargas, biting into the bullshit sandwich Solange had fed him. The only thing difficult was to not guffaw at her own ingenuity—serves that woman right for bothering Solange when she was trying to have a nice evening.

“Could you make up some other excuse? I would die if she found out her trust was misplaced. She’s a bit advanced in age, perhaps you found a younger girl that would draw more of a crowd...”

“If I had that I would’ve fired her years ago,” said Vargas.

“I have a few I know. Can you from any lost profits.”

“Then consider it done.” As they continued towards the table Vargas said, “As always, I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“The appreciation can wait until after everything I do to you, love,” she said with a wink and a sing-song voice as she spun free of Vargas’ arm, grabbed the sliding partition to the private table and open it with her back to it, and then gestured towards the table where her business proposition would be agreed upon .“But first —” Solange’s voice fell flat as she looked into the room to notice a man and a woman in their spot “—ugh! Why are you here?”

It was precisely at this moment that Percival arrived with the drinks Solange had ordered, allowing for the situation to be explained briefly before Vargas grabbed him by the arm and escorted him out to the hall. She heard Vargas yell at Percival from the hall, asking him if he knew what the word “private” in “private table” meant. The corner of her lip twitched up. She liked Percival, but not as much as she liked hearing someone get belittled. From the lambasting that was happening outside, it seemed like it would be a moment before Vargas joined them.

Solange saw an opportunity and took it. She walked to the head of the table and took the seat that was normally reserved for Lord Vargas. She sat straight, shoulders back, her fingers bridged as she looked down the table at the two. She tilted her head up towards the sailor and gestured for him to take a seat, and then she turned her head to the woman. Solange lifted her nose ever so slightly and smiled at the woman as she acted as if she were a person of any sort of importance instead of just a frustrated prostitute looking for a new gig.

“I apologize for the uncomfortable moment there; Lord Vargas and I had this room reserved for our own private meeting. Seeing as how busy we always are it’s rare for the two of us to have a moment alone to consult one another on operations. My name is Solange Belgard, Lord Vargas’s business partner. Anything you want to say to him can be said to me,” lied Solange, her eyes twinkling with the slightest bit of amusement while sitting with an otherwise affirmed stance that portrayed the fabrication. “Don’t worry, dear, as a favor from one woman to another I will convince Lord Vargas to not give either of you the same treatment he is giving to poor Percival right now.”

“So!” Solange clapped her hands and rubbed them as she leaned back with a hungry grin. “What were the two of you discussing before we so rudely interrupted?”

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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Tisa snatched the map away from Hazel like an impudent child not wanting to share her dollie. The former witch hunter managed to stop her hand halfway as it shot out from behind her back to grab at the coveted map, noticing that yet another detail was off on the western shores of Lanced Lake. She let the look of surprise fall from her face as she politely smiled, the embarrassment clear but the bruised ego hidden, and stepped back from the table to make it obvious to the others that Hazel wasn’t in any position of power—and there were so many others here now than before when she’d started to mess with the map.

The hopefuls that wanted access to Exusia or the riches the Queen would provide were a motley bunch. As Hazel had been talking Tisa to tears about topography she’d watched from the corner of her eye as the new arrivals arrived one after the other. At first the lot of travellers seemed mundane enough as normal human after normal human crossed the threshold. Of course there was never anything normal about humans, especially not the kind who were stupid or desperate enough to seek out quest. Still, things shifted as an elf brought his horse into the tent, and the people that followed—a bug, a madman, the earth, and a mother of monsters— seemed like part of a long setup for a bad joke with an off-color punchline that was only told after two looks over the shoulder. At least the bug and the madman were aware enough to laugh at the gag they were taking part in.

Hazel felt her temple pulse as she stood back now and looked out over the others as Tisa talked, taking the time to study them. Hazel’s hand twitched and rested at her hip, a few inches away from her scabbard, as she watched the Kaimerian broodmother. An Ember Maker primary target was always witches, but that didn’t stop them from putting so-called monsters to the torch when there weren’t any “dangerous” midwives around. Hazel grimaced and tired to shake the thought away, but it’d already sparked. She felt a cloud of black smoke swallow and choke her mind as she looked around the room, seeing a monster and a heretic in every corner as the immaterial smoke began to blind her eyes.

Some devils were more obvious than the others, but any Ember Maker worth their salt could always create one from almost nothing. The Kaimerian and the Gi-Syn-Yi were abominations through and through, guilty simply for existing. The Golem was a creature created by magic and therefore a puppet of witches, best to be ground into sand before allowing them to pull a single string no matter how polite they seemed. While the Sun Elf had bizarre customs and treated a horse like an equal, the real problem was their fae blood meant they likely had a knack for magic or could pass on a knack for magic and should be best turned into a short lived star for safety’s sake. The Short Man skin seemed to have changed since he had first arrived, hinting that he was some kind of shifter and a danger to all of society. One Human had covered herself with the markings of strange arcane runes and writings, flimflam sold by charlatans and a sign of a corrupted mind.

The other Humans were guilty by association alone, if not for with these devils then for with the mages they had all sought out. The best thing to happen for all of Deadwood would be for this tent to catch ablaze this instant and turn all into ash, and if not that then perhaps she should pull out her sword and start lopping off heads until they overwhelmed her. Hazel winced and coughed, the ghost of old hatred taught to her by the Ember Makers escaping from her lips. Stupid thoughts implanted in her brain by stupid people, which made her all the more the idiot for ever believing in them. Destruction only led to more empty destruction, while understanding had actually been fulfilling and there was so much more she needed to know.

Hazel gave the ground an apologetic and guilty look, which might’ve been misread as a negative reaction to something Tisa had said as it lined up right when she mentioned relinquishing materials for magic. An accidental betrayal, enhanced by Hazel smoothing out her stachel and tightening the latch. She hadn’t expected them to actually be taken to Exusia and given an audience with the Queen, and while she understood the precaution she couldn’t imagine anyone being insane enough to attempt regicide. Assassinated rulers always served as rallying points, strengthening the resolve and the unity of a people. A better way to kill a ruler was to make their people hate them and those who had supported them. It’d been the go-to tactic for Ember Makers when a provincial mayor gave them pushback.

There was a moment of hesitation as Hazel considered that perhaps she should be the one worried about getting killed, going weaponless and magicless before a Queen that people declared to be insane. The thought that she could be killed was insane in its own right. She paused and huffed at the ridiculous idea as a few of the people agreed to the terms and conditions.

“The terms are fair, Lady Iruve,” said Hazel softly, tossing a glance towards the Gi-Syn-Yi. She didn’t have the heart to point out that they were, in fact, not fair, thanks to some of her compatriots having natural weapons like the Gi-Syn-Yi’s pincers. Instead, Hazel just linked her hands behind her back and hoped that by playing nicely the delegate would let her have one more look at that busted map.

Deadwood: Hope, Death, & Misery [Closed]

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Blue eyes glanced up over the top of an old, yellowing book at the sound of the tent flapping open, took account of the new arrivals with thankfully unfamiliar faces, and lingered as a hand swept a page back and forth to continue to the illusion of reading. Hazel had arrived early to Hope Passage and found herself a cozy corner of the tent to make herself at home in, her lumpy satchel serving as a makeshift ottoman for her to cross her legs upon. Her travel through the Bone Sea had been quick and without much peril despite her avoiding the path of pilgrims and future martyrs—Hazel understood the sense behind safety in numbers, but certain things were easier when she was alone. Once she’d lost the Ember Makers back at the bordering lands of the Bone Sea there had been next to no excitement with the notable exclusion of seeing Exusia for the first time and finally having a moment of respite to plow through a few chapters of her book.

However, the arrivals were distracting her from her the old Moon Elf piece of historical literature that was so chock-full of needless character development, flowery and overly-descriptive scene dressings, and extremely graphic and prolonged passages about undressings that it made the political and historical views from the author seem unreliable. She sat perfectly still and watched from her corner while mostly blocked from their sight thanks to the woman reading the map. The short man whispered something to the larger woman, but Hazel couldn’t make it out and nobody was paying her to be an eavesdropper anyway. Her eyes glanced back down at the faded novel, read the random paragraph she’d flipped to, and they widened. Oh no...

A plume of red rose to her cheeks as she snapped the book shut loud enough to alert the others of her half-obscured presence. Carefully, Hazel kept her hand over the title of the book as she slid in into her satchel, heaved the bag up onto her lap, and kept it there like it was cuffed to her wrist and filled with precious gems. She cleared her throat, took a swig from her waterskin, and felt the heat in her face die down. Now it made sense why she’d found the book hidden under a mattress. The title ought to be changed. The Trysts and Temptations of the Moonlit Kingdom? It was clearly referring to political affairs and the trade of consumer goods, not the smut found present in chapter three. Hazel felt more in danger of being judged for having such a book on her than her spell tome here that the thought of burning it crossed her mind.

She inhaled deep and collected herself. The idea of destroying something just because she didn’t like it or understand it were the thoughts belonging to an Ember Maker. She slung her satchel over her shoulder as she stood and stretched, her knuckles popping like a wet log in a flame. Just two years ago and she would’ve seen fit to turn this whole desert encampment into a burial mound of twisting glass and burnt bodies. The Ember Makers tolerated the Exusians solely because they stayed locked up in their city and because, secretly, they were terrified of their capabilities. Only Magistrates like Hazel would have the spine to dare stand up against them and their magic, and Magistrates like her were becoming a thankfully scarce resource these days. Despite their boasting of unity against evil they were little more than just another creature of destruction bent on keeping Deadwood from ever regrowing. There was no doubt in Hazel’s mind that this little request of the Queen would be deemed heretical for some reason or another. Not like it mattered; the Ember Makers couldn’t excommunicate her twice.

Hazel walked towards the table in the room. She acknowledged the other arrivals with a head nod but not a single word out of fear of interrupting their conversation—although she was deeply curious as to what they were saying. They seemed to be human like Hazel. She pretended not to notice the amusing nature of their extreme height difference and suppressed a smile as she approached the delegate. Here, she would be able to listen in on the conversation while still making herself appear to be of some use. Hazel freed her map case from its hook and set it down on the table, careful not to disturb any of the work the other woman had done.

“Excuse me. You’ve been studying this for awhile. Mind if I look?” asked Hazel to the delegate, her voice low and scratched. She didn’t wait for permission as she leaned over the table. After the briefest of beats Hazel sighed and shook her head. “I feared as much. This map is a little outdated.”

With a flick of her wrist Hazel unscrewed the cap to her map case and retrieved a stack of rolled papers. She undid the ties on a few that still looked a bit crisp and stuffed the rest back into the case. She pressed the maps flat out before herself and the delegate, knitted her brow, and bit her lip as she studied them. Slowly, she began to pinpoint with her finger the discrepancies between the map on the table and her own stockpile.

“Here. This mountain passage is now collapsed. Better to strike off back here and skirt around the rot grove, otherwise you waste a day or two’s travel before having to either turn around or cut right through it—not ideal. This crossing is still accessible but extremely dangerous to attempt due to one of the Bone Clans claiming it as some kind of holy land. There’s another shallow crossing to the east that they don’t watch right about...here. This town, this town, and this town have all been abandoned. The refugees have formed an outpost called Treloch here that might serve as a respite, assuming you have goods to offer.”

Her hand had grabbed a quill and was about to start marking the map when she finally looked over at the delegate and stopped, carefully setting the feathered inkpen back down. With a sheepish grin she said, “Sorry, I have overstepped my position. Mapmaking is a bit of a hobby of mine. Is this even the planned route for the excursion?” She took a step away, her arms folded behind her back as her thumbs wrestled with one another. “Feel free to consult these maps either way. I’ll, uh, just quietly observe, if you don’t mind and...”

Hazel felt her eyes get drawn back down to the map. She shifted her weight and grimaced before her hand struck out like a cobra, jabbing at the name of some salt lake before it retreated back to being clasped behind her back. “That’s dried up. Sorry,” she whispered and then looked away, aware of the nuisance she had already become.