Tyr'riel - Twists of Fate

[RollinsCat]

The address is an alleyway, shaded from the evening sun.  Thankfully.  Ty scans, smiling a little, humming.

"Don't look like you're doing what you're doing."

Another smiling glance around.  A meat pie vendor selling his last wares; three kids with their mother; two stevedores headed toward the docks.  He walks into the alley as if he means to, which he does, but not for the reasons he hopes people assume.  There is a window to the left as his instructions say and it is open.  Another stroke of luck.

"Luck's a friend but don't count on it, ever.  Just thank Deliar when you get it."

A whispered thanks to the halfling god as he walks past the window.  He has a look as he passes.  He sees two women, hears a man and some other men's laughter.  They're in the living area beyond the hearth room since the weather is warm.  No one in the hearth room that the window opens into.  Scan surroundings -- no one -- turn, walk back.  

It's not a large window and he's not small, not anymore.  A few fingers shy of six feet, with muscles born of daily sword practice and Damon's instruction as well as nature's blessing.  He's still nimble though -- sit on the sill, curl legs up, spin, in.  There is a prep table under the window; he turns again, thrusting his legs out with his palms on the sill to brace.  The thump he makes sounds loud to him.  The laughter continues and he takes cover beside a cupboard to scan.

"Look quick but look good.  Got to think about what you want and keep your eyes for what you might need too."

Knives, forks; fruit in a basket; bread cooling on a counter, the hearth has soup on to boil.  The cupboard is closed.  The floor is swept and the room organized and neat.  The piece of deep gold parchment on the floor looks out of place.  

Footsteps; he sinks back, out of sight from the archway into the room.  The steps stop at an open shelf cut into the archway.  Male hands pulling a bottle of wine off the shelf, and he hears a woman calling for 'the good red!'.  The man heads back to the living area.

Ty crouches and picks up the paper by one corner.  Two words; Hale's storeroom.  He cannot know if they saw the paper or not, so he returns it to where he found it.  Either they saw it and decided to deal with it later, or they'll think it blew in.

"Don't take anything.  Fix it in your mind or copy it, you can write good, so do that.  Most people don't notice when things goes missing right away but eventually they will so don't take the chance less you have to."

Hale's?  That's a flower shop.  He waits until he hears the cork pulled from the new bottle of wine before checking the window exit.  Not clear, a man's relieving himself against the opposite wall maybe ten feet away.  Rude; they're going to smell that.  The man finishes and walks off, hiking up his pants.  Ty checks the alley then turns, palms down on the sill, and pulls himself backward to a sitting position with legs hovering over the prep table; curl; spin; out.  

Not too difficult, that one.  Just a matter of keeping quiet.  He heads to the opposite end of the alley from where he entered.  Hale's is two streets down in that direction.  He picks a medium pace although his nerves tell him to hurry.

"Rushing'll kill you.  Don't rush.  Rushing makes noise; rushing makes mistakes.  Go easy."

Hale's is a corner store straddling two busy streets and well-known.  His father buys flowers there when he needs to decorate for a party.  Ty enters along with three people fussing loudly over zinnias and carnations versus roses and irises; he immediately turns, back to Mister Pierotti the shopkeep, and examines a display of lilies.  The door to the back room is on the wall opposite the entrance.  It's closed.

"Lyndra!  Zinnias!"  Lyndra, a cute blonde tending clippings by the window, jumps at the man's bellow and dashes through the storeroom door.  There are decorative pots on that wall and Ty moves to examine them, near the door Lyndra ran through.  The floor of this shop is not swept and not neat after a day of commerce.  There is a decent sized wood chip and a few smaller ones scattered among the dirt and petals.  When Lyndra comes out a minute later with sprays of flowers in her hands, he kicks the wood chip between the door and the frame.  It does not latch.

Now, patience.  He picks up a pot, examines it as he's seen his father examine pots, puts it back.  They're not as nice looking as the ones his grandparents sometimes send but they seem solid enough -- he can't really tell.  He doesn't know clay.  The cluster of socialite want-to-be's behind him are haggling over quantity and price, and they are in a clot around Mister Pierotti and Lyndra as the bouquets are arranged.  Ty toes the door open and slides through.

A short hall to a cool room with one shuttered window.  On shelves and tables are cut flowers in vases of water and dried flowers on racks.  The room smells overpoweringly floral.  He doesn't see any paper.  Another scan as he stands behind the door -- wait --

"Doors, kid, don't stand behind them less you check how far they open.  See, most people open them all the way and if the hinges allow they'll hit the wall.  Or you, if you're trying to hide behind it.  Yup, I know that from experience.  So less you know the door won't open all the way, find a better place to hide."

He moves to the corner on the door wall; it's dark, and if he crouches he's completely in shadow.  Crouching brings the space under the large metal drying rack in view.  There is a piece of deep gold parchment far back.  Only one corner is illuminated by the light leaking through the shutters.

Well, hells.

"Use what's around when you can.  Less you take with you, less you got to worry about, and it keeps your head up and alert.  So see what's there before you start fussing through your kit.  You got your head in a kit looking for a pick, you're not paying attention."

Tongs, on the wall.  He listens -- nothing but the braying of the three women over those zinnias and carnations -- and scurries to the wall, grabbing the tongs and holding them just above the floor to snag the paper.  Done.  Footsteps -- hurried -- heavy -- Mister Pierotti.  He puts the tongs back where he found them and slides to his corner, back resting on the cool brick, feet under him.

"If you got to hide, make sure you're comfortable as you can be.  Don't get all contorted, it's going to hurt, but try to be in a position to move.  If you can get your back to something that helps.  Figure you're going to have to man through some muscle cramps though."

"PEONIES!  TELL THEM THEY CAN HAVE PEONIES!  Who in right mind want zinnia in a bouquet?  Crazy!  Crazy, I say!"   The white-haired flower vendor throws up his hands as he bellows his way into the room, the last sentence repeated to himself as he plucks pink flowers from a vase.  Ty relaxes, not looking directly at the man, taking deep, slow breaths.

"Don't watch people.  Most of them won't notice but a few, they get that tickle in the back of their neck when they're watched.  Keep them in your side seeing, but don't look right at them.  And breath slow, keep your mouth open.  See, you breath through your nose, maybe you're going to want to sneeze or maybe worse you're going to want to yawn, that happens to me.  Best way I found is to take slow deep breaths with your mouth open so you get enough air but you can take it in quiet."

Mister Pierotti leaves, still muttering.  He never looks in the corner.  Ty waits until he can hear both the owner and Lyndra in the shop.  He checks the window; dusty, but the shutters have been opened recently.  The window is locked though and he can't re-lock it behind him so the door it must be.

Heading down the short hall he hears the muted clinking of True in a pouch.  He can't scope without possibly catching a stray gaze so he just walks out, bold as brass.  Lyndra notices him, frowns, shakes her head and mouths 'employees only'.  She's not concerned.  After all, there is no money nor any expensive goods in the storeroom, only flowers, and who would go through that much trouble to steal them?  He nods at her with a sheepish grin, shrugging.  

He's been made so he might as well find a reason to be here.  There's aloe in decorative pots in a medicinal plant display and he takes a nice fat-leaved one to the counter.  Clarisse will like it for the clinic.  Lyndra takes his coin and he's free.  He waits until he's down the street before checking the paper.

Crimwell and Sons.  He stops in the middle of the sidewalk.  By the gods!  He knows about the security in that place, he's been there with his father, it's a bleeding vault.  He's not that good!  The second line reads -- red handkerchief.  That's all.  

Crimwell and Sons is back on the docks so he turns down Longshore Avenue, aloe in hand, keeping his easy pace.  It feels like hours and minutes both until he sees the huge warehouse.  He's not sure they'll even let him in, and he's right.  The two hefty chunks of muscle outside ask him his business -- he's at a loss.  He didn't think about that.

"Always have a reason.  Watch your dad, he's good at that.  Always know why you're anywhere and who you are and what you intend to do.  If it means lying, well, keep a few names and personalities in the back of your mind.  But most important, always have a reason."

He tenses.  Failure -- this close...and he's failed.  He tries to make up a quick lie about doing some shopping for his father but he's standing there with the aloe plant still in his hand.  Okay, the talking, the lying, he's not so good at yet.  The sneaking is easier.  Lunk number One says to tell his father to come back when he's done playing favorites with Denock and he nods, turning...

...a red handkerchief.  In Lunk Two's right pocket.  He's still learning that art, and it's one Paddy teaches with many caveats, so he's not good.  How can he get it?  Grab and run?  He's about to do just that, the Lunks are staring harder at him, when he hears a sniffle from someone nearby.  A sniffle...

"Ahh..."

"Hey kid.  Not on my shoes."

"AHH...ahhhHHH...."

He's rearing his head back, finger under his nose, really selling it.  Lunk One laughs and Lunk Two yanks the handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to him.  Ty sneezes violently, briefly sick from the slimy feeling of what is probably an earlier Lunk Two sneeze drying on the rough cloth, then wipes his nose.

"Dank you."  He offers it back; it's refused.  Thank you Deliar, again.  They wave him off.  He's giddy as he turns in the direction of the Silver Buckle, just catching a shared grin between the two men.  What was that for?

Ah well -- the red handkerchief is his.  He gets out of sight of the men, strolling swiftly and with purpose, then finds a place to rest and check the cloth.  Disgusting.  Under his forced mucus and Lunk Two's actual expectorant is the name of an outdoor café near the Buckle.  No specifics.  He continues as he's going, looking for the telltale rainbow awnings that mark the eatery.

Paddy is sitting at a small table, hair combed, wearing his usual plain brown.  Ty slips into the opposite seat with a triumphant grin.

"Took you a while."

"I didn't rush."

"Good."  Paddy smiles and pushes a cup of tea toward him.  "Any problems?"

"The girl in Hale's saw me come out, I played dumb and she seemed to buy it.  I couldn't come up with a good excuse to get into Crimwells so I had to fake a sneeze to get the handkerchief."  He's still proud of that bluff.  Paddy notices.

"Bet they enjoyed that."

"They kind of did..."  Paddy's sudden grin made him squint.  "They weren't in on it, were they?"

No response but the grin didn't stop.  "So just under two hours.  Good work.  You got talent."

"Hey."  Ty pauses to sip his tea then looks at his mentor and friend.  "You're good, Paddy.  Why do you do security for dad when you could be out making lots of money?"

"Who says I'm not?"

"Like what?"

"I do the odd job."

"For a guild?"

The older man narrows his brows, sips slowly then sets the cup down with a single clink before responding.  "What I do, what I'm teaching you, isn't theft.  I catch you stealing, Tyr'riel William Reid-Dragonheart, I'll rip your nuts off, then tell your dad, THEN tell your mother."

Ty pales, fingers twitching a little.

"What I'm teaching you is useful for better things, not just stupid petty theft.  I'm above that.  You're above that.  Don't make me think I was wrong."

"Nosir."

Paddy nods.  "And I'm not that good.  Not Crimwell good.  I can't get in there either."  He grins again.  Ty relaxes a little.  "And you know I'm soft as Elly's biscuits over Helly, figure having a nice safe job most of the time will keep her happy."  Paddy lowers his voice.  "I asked.  She said yes."

"By the gods, congratulations!  When?"

"Soon as we get a time figured out.  Your dad'll want us to have it at the Buckle I'm betting."

"Good bet."

Paddy pushes the empty tea cup aside.  "Got business to attend to.  You did good.  I'll see you later."

The Silver Buckle security head leaves, dropping coin on the table.  Ty stays a while.  He did good, but he has so far to go.  He enjoys staying with his father, but it's almost time, he can feel it.  He has to get out and learn on his own...soon.

[Lareth]

The sun had not yet risen, but Ty had been hard at work for over an hour, by this time he'd worked up quite a sweat, and was, though he would never had admitted it, completely exhausted.  The slim dark haired elf was working him hard.

"Come on master Ty'riel, another fifty strikes with each hand if you please.  Alternate hands if you will, and change your levels, don't fall into a pattern that becomes predicatable."

Ty, dutifully obeyed his fencing master, whilst he was tired from having been rousted out of bed early by Master Damon, he enjoyed the exercise, and besides he'd never give him the satisfaction of admitting that he needed a rest.

"Finished Master Damon!  Whats next?"  Ty said with a grin.

Damon smiled imperturbably as he approached, a long wooden case in his hands, which he carried with a care that bordered on reverence. Taking he practice foil which to this date Ty had been training with, he turned and clipped it into the rack on the wall of the exercise room. Running a hand along the top of the box, he flipped open the catches that held it closed and opened the box to reveal a simply forged and yet still elegant sword.  Near to the quillons that formed the guard, a flowing elvish script was etched into the blade.

"Tyr'Riel, it is time that we gave you a blade to use in your training, as there is a world of difference between the feel of a practice foil and a real blade.  So it is time for you to continue your lessons with me using a real sword.  This is 'Lealv eo Laemmeam' whilst this does not translate to well into your language the closest I can come is 'Song of Desolation'.  I hope that she serves you well as we learn."

With that he presented the blade and scabbard to Tyr'riel.

"Now, enough of your lollygagging young man!  Back to work with you."

"Slave driver!!!" Ty muttered under his breath..

"I heard that young sir" *Damon laughed* "If slave driver it is, then we shall see how I can live up to this for you.  Come follow me, lets make you really work."

Damon, with Ty in tow led him through a gruelling series of striking and movement exercises, which tested his fitness and coordination to the limit, especially with the added weight of his new sword.  Ty knew that this would only serve to strengthen his ability, still his lungs burned.  all the while the seemingly inexhaustable elf lectured him constantly.

"Eyes on your opponent at all times, watch them as they come in.  Your foe has fought before, often they are injured, take this knowledge and use it to your advantage.. can they only raise their arm to shoulder height, are they halt of a leg, do they favor one particular shield postion?  You must be able to tell this as they come in, and as you join combat with them.  Use this knowledge of how they fight, and exploit it, if they have a bad arm, attack it, a bad leg, go for the knee joint and take its use from them."

"Now, a respite for you.  100 more strikes at the dummy, with each hand please, again vary hands, levels  and strikes please.  I shall see you here tomorrow at the same time young sir."

[RollinsCat]

Lealv eo Laemmeam.  Master Damon was right - though Ty spoke elven, he would have translated it wrong.  The sword's slight curve, the cloth-wrapped, diamond-patterned handle, the metal's coppery gleam.  It was gorgeous.  His father had whistled and patted him on the back; Paddy had nodded approval; Michael and Edward were both impressed as well.  Hells, he wanted to go find his mother and show her, even.  It was really, really gorgeous.  He leaned to the blade and whispered, his breath fogging over the etched script before vanishing as if the weapon were soaking up the words.

"Ean'la ilcselaan anesa, sa omealw.  Lae nycelaa.  Lae nycelaa."

[RollinsCat]

In sparse, cramped script.

To:
Andrew Reid
c/o The Silver Buckle Inn
Mariner's Hold
Sagewald
Alindor

Dad

I'm on Mistone like I said.  I'm fine, Miss Ferritt told me to write and said you were worried so I'm writing.  I'm alive and living out of the Bulls-Eye if you need to send anything.  Although Sir Daniel says he might have a place for me but that's not yet so we'll see.  I went with him and some other people and helped him get skeleton knuckles and gave him all that I got from that crypt in Fort Vehl and he gave me some good healing potions.  Because of those I haven't died yet.  

Oh yeah I'm stone bound.  The stone let me stick to it or whatever.  I waited until I left so I wouldn't die on you and have it be your fault.  I just touched it and felt kind of spacy then I knew.  The one in Center, because I used the portal when I left.

Met some people.  Some guy named Aden, he's alright, kind of skilled like me.  Met Sir Daniel and Miss Ferritt and some of the other Angels, and Melody.  She went off with that Ilsarian elf and his elf girlfriend last time I saw her, the ones you know, and she seemed kind of worried and said she didn't have a weapon and all she could do was sing so maybe you can help her when she comes back.  Met some gnomes that kick and punch but I didn't get names, one gnome that uses a sword big as he is - he's a jerk.  He crushed one of the dice I took with me.  Some guy named Yolan and a Harrigan, they were okay.  Yolan had that attitude like a Toranite or maybe a Rofie.  Yeah I met one of those too, Aarcus, he's Toranite and helped me a lot in this rat and bug filled basement.  That lady in Center should get a rat catcher down there instead of asking people, it'd be cheaper.  Are all Toranites that helpful?  I should meet more.

I haven't found Master Damon yet but tell him I've been practicing.  I did find Mother.  She found me really.  Dad, she was nice, it was creepy.  Like, really nice.  She talked to me like I wasn't a kid and hugged me in public.  Weird.  I let her watch my blade work and she made fun of it but you said she would.  Calls it dancing but that's okay by me.  She made me get her some aloe then gave me some potions like the ones Sir Daniel gave me, that was nice.  Still weird though.

I saw the auction flyer.  Can't believe you're doing it again.  You're crazy.  I did get some food stuff for the Angels food drive and got some new clothes and jewelry and a magical cloak that I had sewed into a backpack.  A sneaky backpack.  I think that's funny.

So quit worrying I'm okay, I'm doing what Paddy taught me and what Master Damon taught me and I can write with both hands now.  It's pretty neat that it looks so different with each hand, like I have two personalities.  Maybe that will come in handy some day.  Tell Master Damon that I am good at dodging and really good with the sabre now that I'm practicing on things that move.  And I have some better instincts when I get too close in to combat and I can swap the sabre from hand to hand no problem.  And I'm thinking when I fight.

Okay done.  I'll come back home maybe for the auction.  Say hi to Elly and Helly and Mike and Ed and Paddy and Charlie.  And pet the cat for me not that she'll care.  Give Clarisse the letter in elven that I included Dad please.


Ty

[RollinsCat]

This hangover wasn't as rough, nor as long - he'd taken it easier than last time.  It lasted through breakfast, or what the One-Eyed Harpy called breakfast, which Heloise would have called Not Fit for Pigs.  Food was food though.  So long as it stayed down and kept him up.

A snort at the thought.  Him, so tough.  Tori's words still jabbed at him; babysat.  Yeah, okay, he was babysat, Dad had made sure of it.  He wasn't sure he minded.  So long as he was honest about it, so what.  He was learning same as everyone else.  Right?

Nope.  Still bugged him.

Get over it.  Your choice, so stop grouching.  Another spoonful of the oats meal that tasted like a wad of parchment soaked in lukewarm dishwater and his headache faded a little more, either from the food or fear of it.

He'd been drinking with Gramps last night.  Sitting on a barstool, sucking down watery lager and trading stories.  He had stories to trade, now, of crypts and lizardfish and lonely towers in swamps.  It was uncomfortable at first, there was a weird urge to crawl up in Grandpa's lap, but he shook it off.  After the second beer he felt more natural.  By the third he could pretend he was a man.  Grownup was a strange place.  He'd been too sheltered.  Way too sheltered.  The forth beer didn't happen - the glass was slid out of his hand before he could rap for another one.  "Kid, I'm not tellin' you what to do, but think about how drunk you wanna be in here."

Yeah, okay.

Finding Gramps was great.  Gramps didn't treat him like a child; Gramps had always let him do stuff that Mother and Dad would never.  It got him in trouble though and they'd cut him off from seeing Ty for a long, long time.  Couldn't do that now.  Gramps had thrown a stoneskin on him from some wand and turned him loose in the Gloom Woods and together they'd fought.  Aside from all the comments about his sabre ("Is that what they're calling a sword these days?") it was like having a good buddy...a really old good buddy, in destructive boots.  Cool.

The bowl was empty, thank the Gods.  He still had a huge piece of Elly's apple pie in his pack and the smell was jarringly seductive after his breakfast.  He ate the entire slice and considered washing it down with some ale but didn't.  Milk might get a laugh from the geezers at the bar but screw them; he needed to stay healthy.  The question was, for what?

Nothing here in Vehl, that was for sure.  But he had some talents and he was going to find a place to use them.  Sir Daniel would be a good place to start.  Shrugging on his pack, he made for the Rofirinite temple.

[RollinsCat]

Up with the dawn - hard to tell when that was, in a windowless room inside a cave, but he'd developed an internal clock over the last few years of training with Master Damon.  Dressed in loose trousers and a tunic, he headed outside for his exercise.  Fort Wayfare was waking.  The shops getting ready for the early morning business and a few fishermen already casting into the placid waters of the lake.

He ran the hill to get his heartbeat up, dashing back down the slope fast as he could and had to stifle a whoop as the early breezes whipped across him.  He vaulted the stone sides of the bridge and slowed to jog around the lake.  This was his favorite part, watching the morning light up the water and the sky shift colors.  He let himself relax a little.  It wasn't home; no place was, anymore; but it felt safe.

Then through the market area, past the inn to the warehouse.  He dodged people and kept up his speed, huffing but not out of breath.  The warehouse was an old barn stacked with boxes, cheap for travelers and merchants to use as storage but not too secure.  A gamble for thieves; most of the things in there were not valuable or too bulky to steal effectively.  The elderly night watchman nodded as he went past.  They had an agreement, for a little sum.  Ty jogged through the grey weathered slats of the double doors, rotted to jagged teeth top and bottom, and jumped the first crate, then the second.  A pause to check the stability of his target then a leap to a third crate, slipping a little on the dusty top.  It always reminded him of a giant's staircase.  He pushed to see how fast he could conquer it.  

The highest spot was along the far wall from the doors.  There were crates and barrels stacked back there that had never been claimed, now just part of the general clutter until the owner got curious or sick of looking at them.  Or something started to leak; he'd broken a barrel by landing too hard and gone ankle deep into something mucky that had turned out to be rotten cucumbers.  The watchman was not pleased and he'd had to clean it up.  The smell still haunted his appetite from time to time.  He was in good form today though, landing light, missing nothing.  Especially not the small crate he now stood on, that he'd took a tumble from a few weeks ago.  That fall had hurt but got him thinking.  He'd seen others tumble their way out of falls and it seemed a useful thing to know, so he'd come back two days later and jumped off a lower box to see if he could figure it out.  Hurt then, too.  Came back three days later and jumped again - and rolled.  Still hurt, but not as much.

Now, weeks later, he was jumping from up here, curling before he hit, rolling across the back of his shoulder, pulling his knees to his chest and landing crouched on his feet.  Not perfectly, not every time, but getting better.  Sometimes the geezer who sat in front of the warehouse during the day would wander in and shake his head.  Falling off heights for fun.  The old man just didn't get it.

He jumped.  His timing was as good as the day had started and the shock of landing was brief as he came around the roll and ended up on two feet.  A few more jumps, climbing back up where he knew he could hang off the crates without tipping them, then some landing practice on two feet, just from here to there, not falling.  Knees toward chest, arms up to stabilize, eye the landing spot.  Balls of feet first.  Knees no more than ninety degrees; hands out to absorb shock.  Diagonal roll if the momentum is bad.  He'd done it so many times.

That got a good sweat going.  He slouched on a couch that had been quietly decaying long before he'd ever set foot in the place and let his attention drift.  His last conversation with his mother came to mind.  He was in danger.  He should stay off Alindor and away from the Buckle until she dealt with her imposter.  A flicker of irritation at the thought.  Wondering if his dad was in danger too, deciding the answer was probably yes.  He should send a bird; Mother might not have told him.

Out of nowhere...or was it?...he wondered if his real mother and father had been in danger before they were killed or if it was a random act of violence, orcs or whatever.  He wondered if his real father could jump, when he was alive.  He wondered if he looked like them.  Did he have any brothers or sisters?  And why was he thinking of this now?

Because he was in danger.  And because his mother had said she would tell him, and now he had to avoid her and his father.  

Peeling off the dusty, cracked leather, he stretched and headed back to Lana's to wash off the sweat and grime and eat breakfast.  And to plan.  Maybe it was time for a trip to Corsain...

[RollinsCat]

To: Andrew Reid and Elohanna
c/o Silver Buckle Inn
165 Mariner's Hold
Docks District
Alindor

Dear Dad and Elly

So I'm living in Charlie's old room now.  Weird, huh?  It's like you guys traded kids.  Living in a cave is neat and I like it.  Always cool in here no matter how hot it is outside and Sir Daniel cooks a lot when he's home so I'm eating good, Elly.  You can send letters to me here.  I guess you know the address.

Sir Daniel's taken me on patrol a few times, he says I have the making of a good knight.  A knight, can you believe that?  Me, a knight of Rofirein.  But he seems convinced I got what it takes.  Well, maybe...

I don't know if Mother told you yet but you guys might be in trouble.  There's someone pretending to be her doing some pretty horrible things around Sagewald, like some village got slaughtered so keep a watch on who comes in the Buckle.  Makes me mad as the blazes but she asked me to stay out of it.  I saw her at Haven mines a little bit ago, she's with Laz again.  Poor guy.

Before you hear it on the grapevine yeah, I met a woman.  She's pretty amazing and we're just friends right now cause we're taking it slow.  Okay, so don't ask questions, if it gets there I'll bring her by, right?

Anyway, hi to everyone, you guys get a wedding date yet?  I need to get something nice to wear if I'm coming.  Hlint, right?

Oh, hey, while I'm thinking about it, if some guy, tall and middle-aged and maybe looking like a mage comes in with some little box, he's got a proper accent and seems really scholarly but he's also kind of a snot and rubs you the wrong way - if he takes out the little box and you sense shrinking magic, tackle him.  He's got a wyrm in there and he's using it to commit robberies.  Tell you how I know later.

Watch your backs


Ty


The pen is set down on Charlie's old desk, next to the inkpot.  His handwriting never looks as good as his father's.  His common script is cramped and he can't help it.  It looks better when he writes in elven.  With a shrug he leaves the ink to dry and hops up to his left leg, turning and falling onto the small bed.  He bounces a moment on landing and that brings a grin that fades almost immediately.

Stupid, lying mage.  He has to do something.  He knows someone who will help with the magic and that thought makes his heart skip a beat.  No, don't think about her, focus - task at hand.  Wyrms and mages.  Fixing the problem.  

Man, she's something.

Okay.  No thinking of her for...for as long as it takes for the candle to burn a quarter inch.  No stray thoughts.  Right.

So, he could set a trap, maybe something like a small event with wealthy people that are not adventurers, so the mage guy will feel bold.  What was his name again?  He closes his eyes, sets himself back in the Wild Surge, off to the side...to the mage's left, by the short wall leading to the kitchen.  The guy sits at the head of the table, has a book in front of him...that legend of the Broken Halls...introduces himself...J.C. Merkinson.  That's it.

He has to find out more about Mister Merkinson.  He has to trace the guy's movements, see if there's a pattern; if he's using boats or staying on land.  Maybe Tori and Iri already did that.  He'll ask.  They'd be good to have along.  Tori's wicked with that crossbow.  Then an ambush, grab the wyrm, get J.C. in jail, and...

...what do you do with a wyrm you helped capture in the first place?  Probably an angry wyrm?  Worse, one that might enjoy terrorizing people?  Well, Mel's song had captivated it, sort of, so maybe something like that would work again.  The thing was going to remember him.  He bet that was going to hurt.  Especially if he had to protect Fleur like he'd promised...

BLAST.  He looked at the candle - not a quarter inch gone, not even close.  Blast again.  She was in his head, maybe more places than that.  

Fine.  You want to think about her?  Then do it, and get it out of your system.

She was so cool to talk to.  She didn't see him as a kid.  She didn't call him kid, didn't ignore him, didn't give him that patronizing look when he made a bad decision in a fight - she just healed, or jumped in, and that was that.  She was smart, but that wasn't all.  She was pretty, but that wasn't all.  Or even most of it.

She understood him.  Pegged him right away, an old soul in a young body.  They had so much in common - both lost parents.  Both with a parent that was distant, and only felt close when doing something that parent liked.  Both of them, in a lot of ways, still escaping that.  

They both spoke elven.  He loved her accent when she enunciated.  They were both kind of silly inside, as their make-believe with Postmaster Freya's letter had shown.  He liked her laugh, especially when he'd explained why running had become his happy place.

Yeah, okay.  A run right now would be good - he'd run the letter to the bird man, and then run this crazy tension out of him.  Then come home, eat well, and take a bath, and start his plans to catch a crazy wyrm-wielding mage.

And think about her, probably.

Better make that a really cold bath.

[RollinsCat]

Holy smoking wow.  Wow, wow, wow.

Okay, the spells were good, that was good learning.  He died fast and fell hard.  He had to work on that.  

His mind was too easy to pry into.  He'd already applied a lot of stuff he'd picked up from Daniel, but it was still stupidly easy for her to dominate him.  Well, not that she had to try too hard.  Cause, wow.

So, he had to get better shape still.  Work on the intestinal fortitude.  Work on the discipline, closing off his mind to suggestions, that kind of stuff.  Just as soon as he could shake the lingering memory of her lips.

Right, not happening.  Next plan: go for a run and find a job.  G'ork's order was filled, plus a little, but that pay had all gone to his Angels debt.  Maybe someone needed a door in those crypts open for those bodak teeth?   He could do that.

He could still smell her.  He was still smiling, even though she'd killed him like six times in a row.  He'd die another six times if it got him kissed like that again.  Weirdest, best, most romantic date ever.  He still had their blood under his fingernails.

[RollinsCat]

Letters were out.  Charlie, Kat and Melody were in.  No response from Tori or Iri so maybe they didn't want in, but he'd ask if he saw them before.

No word from Fleur.

She was busy was all.  She'd get the letter eventually.  He was pacing.

Focus.  J.C.  Small time crook, mage.  Not some scholar, not some researcher into dragons or legends, at least that wasn't what made his coin purse clink.  A thief.  A thief with magical abilities and some twisted charisma.  And a pocket wyrm.  That they'd helped him get.  No guilt there, nope.  

What else.  Kicked out of school for bad conduct. Shrink and enlarge magic.  What countered that?  He needed Fleur, her knowledge and to bounce ideas off her.  He'd put that on the shelf for now and discuss it when he found her.

Okay.  His plan was basically the same.  Get a few more, enough to make a small party.  Respectable types, maybe that Riley guy, he had the look.  Dress up, put out fliers, borrow the Buckle, make it look like a fundraiser.  Should he tell his Dad?  Nah.  Forgiveness before permission, cause otherwise Elly would have a fit and then they'd be up in his business and gods he had enough of that with Mother lately.  She was like a friggin bad copper bit.

So borrow the Buckle when Dad and Elly were gone...were they honeymooning?  That'd be a good time.  Figure they could get any messes cleaned up before they got back, maybe...in case stuff went south.

What do you do with a shrunk wyrm?   Or worse, an unshrunk one?  He had to have a plan for that and he needed to know who was in so they could hash it all out and come up with contingencies.  Taking J.C. down was going to be hard enough, they had to do it fast, get the box before the wyrm got out.  Keep him alive maybe so they could turn him into the authorities...there had to be witnesses out there who would finger him for the inn robberies.  He wished he'd written the guy's name down that he, Tori and Iri had talked to that night by the fire in Center.  Deal with that later.  Get the rest of the team and have a sit down.  

At least this time it wasn't undead.  That girl, that cave, still bothered him.  The dusty old skeletons were bad, but at least they were something he'd seen before, inside Center's crypts, in Krandor.  The fresher dead were worse, the wights worse, the ghouls worse.  He hated those things.  But if he'd seen a kid shambling toward him still fresh enough to bleed red, gods, just the idea bothered him more than anything.  He wasn't too far off kid himself.  What would he do if it was someone he knew?

Thank Deliar and Toran he hadn't yet.  A few of the skeletons were child sized but it was easy to pretend they were just really short people or other races.  He didn't want to go there.

At least the ritual was stopped, they told the Leringard watch and all.  He got the very distinct feeling that the Blackwatch did not care and circular filed their report.  Good.  They wouldn't come looking for him later then.  Meantime?  He had a wizard to capture.  Or kill...

[RollinsCat]

"Beware of the one called Quill.  If you don't impress them, he may simply kill you for fun.  Befriend Spider if you can.  Silk will be watching you if you get close, but you'll never see her.  Masque you'll meet before you ever know who she is.

"Ori is, or was, their master.  Where the others each have their own mastery, he masters them all.  You will need to show promise to survive.

"There is another, an alchemist whose name escapes me.  Worry not about him, but do not ignore his skills.  Should you prove a waste of their time, his art may be your undoing."

In the end, she'd told him everything.  She'd promised to mark his map.  She'd given him some climbing spikes.  He'd given her the first set of lockpicks he'd ever made; she'd given him hers, which were better, tin, not copper.  It was more than he'd expected.

His family.  His parents, dead for twenty years; he knew he would not find them by looking for families gone missing, not even if he had a location.  But this?  Real information, names, things that help him directly?  Western Gate was pretty well mapped thanks to Samantha.  He had bits and pieces of other maps, some verbal descriptions of Corsain's wilds.  He had his mother's information.

He had a chance.

[RollinsCat]

A long time with no focus and no reasons to do anything.  Mage gone to ground.  Money issues holding up his planned trip to Corsain - he kept getting involved in things that didn't pay.  That Jetta lady was right about one thing.  Get your fee up front.

The house was empty.  He never caught Tod home, Daniel was long gone on patrol.  Lana was around sometimes but not often.  Wayfare was quiet most days.  He traveled when he could justify the cost.  Months of this, working on his running and jumping and sneaking and feeling stagnant and itchy.  The flurry of events caught him by surprise.

Helping that little blue guy, the imp or whatever.

The trip to Alindor that ended up in a cave of lizards, chasing potatoes.  He was still wondering how that would end up.

The visit to Krelin's Inn that ended up with Miss Anna getting kidnapped.  Someone really needed to get in and do housecleaning on that crypt.  At least she was okay, and they finished their religious thing.  The story was nice.

A ship job - that one actually paid - with that pretty but ice cold woman with the white hair, and his sinking feeling he'd done something bad that he didn't understand.  And those @#$@# harpies.  Lucky he could dive and swim.

Getting stuck in Casein.  The saytrs.  Yeah, that sucked.  He'd been practicing his guitar again after that one.  Hope the pregnant lady is okay...

And finding out both Mother and Fleur were in trouble in Hlint.  Gods.  His mother, again.  It was like the controls that most people have, that little voice that says "is this really a good idea?" when you're doing something maybe stupid or dangerous, didn't exist in her brain.  Fleur was who he was worried about anyway, Mother seemed to have her own way of coping, and Fleur wasn't a killer by nature.  But his girl was tough - stood right up and took her lumps, and the adventurers in town mostly banded together and they got the kid back safe.  It was sort of a happy ending.  He wanted to know if the crazy baby stealer did kill the mother though.

And it bugged him, what he'd done.  He wanted to talk to Fleur about it but she'd fallen asleep pretty quick.  Lot of stress, lot of worry, and even though the guy was alive again, raised or whatever, she still had him on her conscience.  She twitched in her slumber as he compared himself again, running over lists in his mind.  Checking off similarities and looking for differences at the speed of thought.

Nature or nurture?

It was too late to be thinking about this.  He stretched out next to her and did some deep breathing.  They'd talk in the morning.  Maybe that Aesthir guy could get some traction on the woman's possible murder.  Miss Stacey would probably like to hear the gossip and he owed her a little.  Yeah.  In the morning...

[RollinsCat]

This dream wasn't the same.  The last one had felt so real...so there...he still didn't think he'd dreamed it.  Some of the same people were in this one, the Toranites Raelynn and Kian and the Lucindite guy.  This time not Armand though.  And this time the maze was hazy and dreamlike.  No one was asking them what they feared, which was good, because in the last dream the Toranites said they feared nothing and that's just stupid.  That's inviting the worst.  Not everyone in the group...dream...was ready to drop dead for their great leader.  

What do you fear?  He'd answered honestly.  If it was a dream, he'd learned something about himself.  If it wasn't, he'd shot an arrow into his own foot he was sure.

This dream was all mazes; Kian running ahead eager to fight, Rae praying, healing lights, missiles of pure magic zooming around and him trying to find a soft spot here and there on giants and ogres and orcs and then goblins, then dead goblins shambling toward them...dead things don't have vital spots and he started cussing as he pierced and slashed...

He woke with the same disorientation he'd felt months ago - where was he?  He was outside, why was he outside?  Who was sleeping next to him?

Okay, that last question was kind of new.  Fleur lay still, her breathing slow and even and her body relaxed.  He was supposed to be watching over her.  He'd flat passed out instead.  The pond was quiet, no wind to ripple the waters, and Haven was silent below them as the stench of re-deaded dead things rose on breezeless heat.

Sitting up, he checked her - physically she was fine, actually really pretty in her exhausted slumber.  Wrinkles lined her face where she'd used his clothing as a pillow and a smear of yellow pollen highlighted her right cheek.  A butterfly fluttered to her shoulder, found nothing sustaining, flapped once and glided away.  He stood as quietly as he could and snuck off into a corner to attend to morning needs.  Returning, she had rolled to her back, her eyelids moving under the strengthening sun.  He watched her until she woke.

--------------------

His feet pounded grass as he ran the edges of Haven.  Stinging heat and aches from his near-death of the previous day slowed him, the smell of old death and new death mixing with ashes and soot from the pyres made pushing himself impossible - he was coughing too hard and his body refused to accelerate past a decrepit jog.  He shouldn't be out here.  He should be with Gramps, making sure the old man wasn't doing anything stupid, but Gramma wasn't done yelling yet and he wanted none of that.  Fleur was taking some time to herself.  He lov...liked that about her.  She wasn't clingy.

Besides, running always helped him think.  He went over his conversations with Fleur and let his mind wander with them.  Funny how easy it is to be hard on yourself and kind to others.  How would he have felt if he'd lost it like that?  Or when, cause if he kept up what he'd been keeping up, he'd have his turn and a few more.  It's never like you can keep your cool all the time.  Kind of situational and all that bad magic is bound to mess with  your head.  Especially a caster's head.  Bad mojo.

Gramps was recovering; he'd taken his death in stride although Gramma was not so laid back about it.  Gramps saw killing the...vampires, was everyone's guess, since they were pretty solid and non-squishy and talkative for undead...as a job well done.  Ty wondered how much time the old man really had left and if he'd given any part of himself up in the fight.  Gramps wasn't saying.

So much weirdness.  He kept going back to that cave, that sacrificed girl, Mel's cursed harp and the skeleton bats, the undead that were popping up all over, that trip in the abandoned Gloomwoods town and that freakly little kid-thing.  She'd been so innocent, so scared, she'd held his hand.  Got him feeling really protective and then...what?  Just vanished?  Victim, or perpetrator?  Both made him feel sick inside.

Add to that yesterday in Haven, with the undead goblins and grimy skeletal remains barely held together by dried tatters of what had once been tendons yet still strong enough to tear him to shreds...something bad was coming at them, all of them, human and elf and halfling and dwarf and giant and dragon alike.  That much he believed.  And what could one average man do about it?

What indeed.  Dragging a beaten-up form in circles around a tense, frightened town wasn't helping anyone.  He could make sure nothing else was coming.  A quick dunk in Gramp's trough, wash the sweat off, let Fleur know what he was up to then he'd do some scouting.  It wasn't much, but it was something.  Her comment from late the previous evening popped into his mind.

"You never stop trying."  Yeah, and so long as she believed in him, he never would.  He stopped running altogether and walked, favoring his left leg, toward Shiff's house.

[RollinsCat]

So it was okay then.  She was okay, anyway.  They'd talked.  Been everything but...well, everything but.  So yeah.  Sucked, but it was okay.

Weird seeing her after so long, or maybe it just felt long because he'd been spending so much time building up his business.  Which was why they weren't together anymore; he never had time.  Yeah, if there was a next time, he'd have to be pretty upfront about it.  He imagined trying to get a date based on that unfortunate truth.

Available: One slightly scarred man, not really romantic but very loyal and a good worker.  Not around so much but will make the times I am count.  Won't charm your socks off but will bring home the bacon and smelt the pan to fry it up in.

Maybe women won't find him handsome, but they'll at least find him handy.

Enough.  Better things to think about: Jil, and what she's got him doing.  Tracking Vin'larie.  Going to be tough to avoid them but he's not the kind to blunder into danger.  Spellgard, the lady said, and he's running there now.  Actually running in between longer stretches of wagon rides to keep his speed up and just because he wants to.  Digging sand and clay is great for the upper body but not so much the rest of him and it's only four queen's miles between the last wagon stop and the next carriage hub.  He can run that easy.

It's a hot day.  He's pouring sweat, need to find a trough or something to clean off in before he boards.  Got to write Dad soon, update him on the hunt.  Got to ask if Mel's been okay too and no more skelly bats; maybe check on that place in Vehl.  Got a lotta got to's.  At least he's busy and he's selling molds and glass, and he's even got a permanent customer now, which brings him back to Jil.

Did she notice his pretty sad attempt?  She's way old, older than Fleur, what is it with him and older women.

Enough, give it up.  Think about something else, anything else.  How about - yeah, Aesthir, friggin' weirdo.  Guy had to know that he and Fleur were broke up, and still he kept watching, watching, like he could read skin and carve secrets out of flesh.  Aesthir had never warmed up to him, the only thing they had in common wasn't a link anymore...well, kind of, he guessed, since they were still friends - she'd touched his arm, been supportive.  "Since when do you give up?"

Yeah, so there was still Fleur, but.  Seriously.  He hadn't broken a single written-down law ever that he knew of so lawman could quit staring any time.  Weirdo.

So that didn't help.  He passes another milestone; two miles to go.  He wishes it was more.  It feels like half his adult life has passed in the last two years and he's tired of not getting anything done.  This time he's not screwing up.  This time, he's seeing it through.

[RollinsCat]

Some small coal chunks...some old necklace with bones - crazy.  A bit of ore dust.  That was it.  The sum total of his time in this place, mostly debris on the bottom of the one chest he used.  Nothing on the walls, nothing on the desk, nothing -

Oh, yeah, under the mattress.  Okay, get that cleaned up.

A last look.  The room said nothing about him, never had.  Maybe he'd have to decorate a little in whatever room he got next, but putting stuff up in Lana's house - well, Tod's house - never felt right.  He'd miss it a little though.  He liked the fireplace and the whole "living underground" thing.  The kid in him still grinned every time he walked through the cave mouth.  Some good times here, mostly with Fleur though, and talking to Daniel and sometimes Lana when she was home.  He'd miss it but they needed the space for Daniel's new charges.  And hey, Leringard, time for new vistas.  He'd be closer to shipping and that was good.  Dad had liked Miss Tyrian a lot and he had a lot of good memories from being a kid at the Twin Dragons.  And the Arms was close.  He'd be alright.

His backpack thumped hard before he remembered he had glass ingots in it.  He had a little longer to wait, he had to talk to Daniel, and it made him squirm.  He liked the old man.  Respected him.  Lying to him wasn't going to be fun or easy...but...was it lying to leave a few things out?  It wasn't exactly lying.  Just incomplete mission brief, that's it.

Yeah, it was lying.  Anytime he had to do mental gymnastics to get over his guilt it was lying.  But whatever, what he had to do had to be done, and it wasn't hurting anyone...he really hoped...or more likely it was an insane test.  It wasn't like they expected him to come back alive.  He wasn't crazy though, and nothing like Mother who'd charge in there alone.  He was taking some backup.  He planned to use it as exactly what he said - practice - because that's what it was.  And that little piece that he wasn't talking about?  No one needed to know.

[RollinsCat]

More weirdness and maybe, just maybe, some traction.  He wasn't feeling up to hoping yet but he had a remarkable coincidence to cogitate on.  Vehl, dungeons, undead, and...stuff he had to find, all in the same place...yeah.  And some friends willing to get in and get dirty with him too.  Good thing, he couldn't find Daniel.  He'd still have to keep his little side job quiet and that was going to be doubly a pain if both Rofierinites came along, although Sam wasn't too much of a problem, she knew when to hang back from being all clanky and stuff.  It was Naldin he was worried about.  Quietest dwarf ever.  That guy could trip him up.  He'd have to be real careful.  Least they might get to the end of Mel's skelly bat problem - that'd be worth doing just so she'd be able to walk around not invisible again.

What was it with all the undead lately?  Mel's thing, the Haven thing that had tried to get Grandpa, more rumors from around Vehl, and that Von Trout dude in Mariner's and his necromancer neighbor - why the guy waited until the zombies were stomping on his garden gnomes to complain he didn't know but whatever, necromancer woman was in custody.  He felt kind of bad for banging her head into the walls until she was knocked out but wading through more moldy bodies had worn on his last nerve.  Can't summon if you're unconscious.

And, even better, Von Fishy was out whatever he'd wanted from that little encounter.  Something about the way the fat noble had kept upping the ante on payment for the necromancer...necromancet?  Did ladies who summoned undead get a different name?  Whatever.  Something about Von Trout had tripped his wire and he felt right marching her off to jail instead of handing her over to him.  His "ain't right" sense was getting better.  He wished it’d gone off when he'd helped to capture that drake.

He turned and caught a last glance at the slender woman with the incredibly long black hair and his sense went off again.

"I see potential in you".  

Yeah, great, I've screwed up everything I've ever touched.  But something in her voice, the way she moved and fought, the way she watched him...he didn't know the game yet but it felt good to think that someone was interested and he'd enjoy it except she scared the bedeliar out of him, always had.  Wasn’t that she was older; Fleur was older, didn’t matter.  Wasn’t that she was a better fighter then he was either.  Just something, some internal honesty maybe?  He wanted to impress her and that was his problem.  He was a screw-up aside from his business and he couldn’t get past it.  But he still wanted her to see something in him that he didn't and it was hard to decide if he believed her or not because he wanted to, a lot.  It was so weird compared to talking to Sam, say, who didn’t make him uncomfortable, she just let him talk, gods, he’d talked a lot that night.  Trusted her though, that felt cool.  Then again he didn’t have anything to hide really.  

It was different with Jetta.  He was afraid and at the same time drawn in, and it was like someone was strumming his tripwire inside and...aw, man, he knew he was going to talk to her again.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  He knew it was stupid because he knew, without even asking himself, that this was something his dad probably shouldn't know about.

Gods, focus, Ty.  Got a job to do, two really, maybe three all stacked.  Mark your spot, get your stuff ready, remind yourself why you're doing this.  Hope that they're still in Corsain when you get back, trying to find them again would be a pain, and don't let your mother know.

Voices from a long-ago dream.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Of becoming her."

[RollinsCat]

Yeah...what was that about traction?

Idiot.

His calm expression might as well have been tattooed on.  The woman strode ahead and he had to scurry to keep up, which only made him feel more like a kid who'd gotten caught in a tantrum.  Well, he had thrown one back there - it'd seemed like a good idea at the time, all those people helping, except then there was the charging forward, and the vampires shaking everyone up, and when they'd all been dragged back from the brink of death and possible zombieism and started scattering...he lost it.  Okay, lesson learned - he wasn't a leader type.  That was now abundantly clear.  

No more, never again.  He wasn't stuck on working alone, sometimes, a lot of times, you need backup, but...but he'd failed.  He'd made a stupid bad suggestion and didn't give good intel and they'd all nearly died for it.  Lesson learned.  The red rock currently making him more than a little uncomfortable meant it wasn't a total failure, but Silk had seen it all.  He knew she had.  And they'd lost the chance to find out who was behind it, the undead, the skelly bats, the attacks...his "diversion" had tipped whoever that was off.  Stupid, Ty.  Worst decision ever.

He had his suspicions though.  He'd heard drake wings, seen drake outlines in that center room.  There was no way out of that miserable wet bottom level unless...unless, the drakes were illusion - possible, he still wasn't great at seeing through those - or they'd been shrunk and left with their owner.  Cord had sensed conjuration.  Drakes vanishing into thin air, conjuration...someone portalling out.  Two letters.  J. and C.  And, gone, because of his suggestion.  Lesson learned.

The woman turned down an alley and he blinked into awareness enough to realize they were threading through the city on what felt like a random pattern.  Were they near the temple?  Oh gods, don't let Aesthir see him.  Please, Deliar, don't let Aesthir see him being...

...wait.  He wasn't under arrest, she'd asked for him to come with her.  Why an envoy from Driran wanted to talk to him he had no idea but he wasn't under arrest and he didn't have to slink behind like a sulking child.  He lengthened his stride and put enough hustle in his step to catch up to her on the right and kept the pace up.  There.  If he's seen, he's walking as an equal or a guest, not a criminal.  Better.

Yeah, not a criminal.  He had some explaining to do to Samantha, and he'd have to chew on the story to see how to make it easiest to digest.  He didn't feel like lying to her but he couldn't tell her the whole truth so...enough, enough to satisfy her.  He kind of liked talking to her.  Didn't want to "make her regret not arresting him..."  

And Cord, and Mel, both he'd upset.  He had no idea Cord would get so cranked over him picking a lock, he'd have to apologize and see if that went over.  Mel'd given him some suspicious looks more than a few times so there was some explaining to do there, and make sure he told everyone the same story...he'd have to apologize for getting them all killed, too.

And then there was Naldin.  He threw a look over his shoulder just to be sure the dwarf wasn't there.  Man, that guy was quiet, and seemed to be right there whenever he turned around.  Not in the smirking, taunting way that Aesthir was but just...there.  Watching, or more like not watching in a very watchful way.  And the dwarf was good.

Not there...least he couldn't see him.  The back of his neck itched.

Why did someone from Driran want to talk to him?  It was bugging him but he had to keep up the pretense so no questions, just a casual stroll to wherever.  Interrogation?  This way led to the temple, he was sure.  Story, what's his story...okay, just stay with the Mel cover.

'Yeah, so, my friend, she's this gnome bard lady, was getting hassled by undead bat things and we found out she had a cursed harp but not before some woman attacked her with magic from the walls of Fort Vehl.  We tracked them back to that door, harp we turned over to the temple, we reported the door and then got some people together to go in for a look.

'Rord opened the door for us'...better just blend that in and not mention that bit was all Samantha.  Or that he'd picked the lock.  'We found a ton of undead, mixed kinds, skellies and wrappers and vamps and even a toother - so we got to the bottom and there were a lot of vamps, I think we counted like eight or ten bodies, one of 'em was a female with some serious magical casting abilities so maybe that was the woman who was casting on us, don't know.  Better ask Mel, she might remember more.  

'Right, so then there was three doors and I didn't want to tip off whoever was in charge of the undead so I asked 'em to divert attention while I snuck into a room maybe to catch the evil guy by surprise and that didn't go so well...the group died.  Some real tough zombies down there.  So we got 'em all fixed up, Cord stayed on her feet too, and I did scouting and found the room and the one beyond empty so my own stupid decision was responsible for their escaping.'  True, all of that.  Better just get it out up front, soak some blame.  Didn't want anyone else getting arresting, in case.

Could Driran get him arrested for actions in Vehl?  Wait, were his original parents from Driran?  How'd they know to find him?

Had one of the others told them?  Silk?

Back on target.  The story, right.  'Found a chest with some weak traps, I could take care of those but not pick the lock'...good, play yourself down.  'So I cleaned up the traps and shook it, nothing.  Figure they either emptied it when they bolted or set a nastier trap inside, so I left it.

'Then we found some bad, real bad magic in one room and the bard Cord said conjuration and maybe portal magic in the big end room.  Oh, yeah, and I saw drakes before, so lemme tell you about this guy J.C. Merkinson...'

Sounded about right.  That was his story and he was sticking to it.  

It'd been a near disaster.  The chest had the Eye; otherwise he'd be beating himself with both fists over how much he'd screwed up.  How did Paddy do it?  Keep a family, be liked, and still do the side jobs?  How did anyone?  He didn't want to be a complete loner...like, Jetta, she balanced things, maybe she was mercenary but Dad still seemed to like her and Elly.  And she was good too, light on her feet...maybe...he needed a new teacher.

Another twist in the road, from the woman he was now walking beside and in the winding paths across his heart.  Yeah, he'd be looking Jetta up.  Lessons needed to be learned.

[RollinsCat]

"...was that Scrandon boy in the chickens again!  And don't you know the husband's still tryin' to convince me it was orcs, the lying bugger..."

"Doon't tell me twas him, that boy's a menace!  Might as well be an orc then."

"Isn't he though!  Can't wait until we pick up and head for Hempstead, honestly, this place.  Why just this morning..."

The voices floated on, heading to the animal pens.  The crafting hall was to his right and the shadow from Center's bindstone ran parallel to him; west.  It was mid-morning.  He'd lain here quite a while.  No one had stopped to check on him.

It makes him wonder which was a good excuse as any to not think about what'd happened.  He'd lain here and all his stuff was still with him; probably the only thing that had prevented him from being cleaned out was the time of day and his proximity to trading tents and the hall.  Center was so weird.  Those ladies had walked right by him.  Bindstones in a place really mess with people's empathy...a guy lying unconscious by a stone was just another day.  

He checked again.  All there - no, one thing was missing.  The Eye was gone.  She'd been searching him even as he died.

Oh gods, what had he done?  Who was he supposed to trust?  Silk had witnessed all that he was sure.  He prayed right there on his back, to Deliar because it couldn't hurt, that she was a better sneak than a liar.  Please, god of merchants and luck, let her see exactly what we wanted her to see.  Please.  Let her tell them he was just another failure and there was no point in pursuing him.  Or anyone he cared about.

His back was wet from dew and he was cold.  He could mope somewhere dry.  Rolling over was slow; he had to flop.  He kept running his hands over the right side of his neck.  Gods that was a feeling that would stay with him.  Never forget that, nope, and not lining up to do it again.  

A long few minutes later he had made it to the campfire, currently unoccupied.  He should go off and start his own, away, but he kind of wanted company, even though he didn't.  Well, maybe the right kind of company.  Maybe.

So...lessons learned.  He avoided the big thoughts for now and went over what had gone down inside and outside the Harpy.  First, Queen's Guard to Regina Starphire or not, Chiamoto Katherine had to learn to be subtle.  He wasn't sure she'd even caught on in the end.

Chiamoto, Katherine.  Tilmarian.  Like -

Moving on.  So, Oni and crew were thieves who worked for the highest bidder.  Okay.  His mother hadn't picked up on that, or hadn't cared.  No, he was being unfair - his mother was...um, not always the plan-ahead type but she wasn't...okay she was, but she wasn't a criminal by nature...well, okay, not because she meant to be.  Just one big accident, mostly.  Or series of them.  But she wasn't going to join up with thieves just to make coin.  Not the style she fancied of herself.  So she'd missed it, and even though he'd kind of sensed something wrong, he'd not wanted to know because of what he'd gone there seeking.

Don'tgotheredon'tgotheredon'tgothere.

Lessons.  He had ignored his gut instinct - bad.  Don't do that unless you have to.  Okay that wasn't normally as much of a problem, so that didn't fixing so much as a stern talking to.  Right, next; leadership.  He sucked at it.  Wasn't going to be something he could do a lot about, he was a quiet, pox-faced kid, not Charisma Man.  His dad could have that crown.  Not that he wouldn't lead, but pick your battles, right?  It wasn't his strong spot so buff up but don't get hung up.  Better things to worry about.

Like intel.  Yeah, that needed some help.  He hadn't told Kat and the group enough about the undead, or snuck far enough around the room; his fault.  So let their deaths hang on his head.  Still had to apologize for that.  What else...he hadn't even tried to figure out Oni's group.  Could maybe do that by checking town crime records and piece together based on what he knew about their capacities...yeah, that would be a start.  Because he was not betting that they'd go "aw shucks, stupid kid" and leave him be. Nope.  They'd find him again.  Even if they thought he'd just screwed up, he cost them money.

"They'll take the Eye and kill you afterward."  Chiamoto hadn't been bluffing or was the best liar ever.  Given her straightforward manner, he wasn't putting money on the latter.  She was on the up and up.  He got the sweats again thinking about it - standing in the One-Eyed Harpy, knowing that Silk was there, hearing everything, watching him find out word by word that he'd backed the wrong horse.  Did Chiamoto really expect him to just say "yeah, here you go, here's the dangerous artifact, thank you so much for setting me on the path to goodness and clean thoughts?"  Seriously.  He'd tried every subtle way he could to say "we're being watched".  And in the end, knowing he was going to fail one way or the other, grabbed at the most desperate solution he'd ever come up with.  There was an old quote that had run through his mind right before he'd stepped, belligerent, into Chiamoto's personal space; "He who doesn't fear death dies only once."  He feared death, all right, but he feared failure more.  He'd failed enough.  Sometimes, maybe, with skill and a bit of luck, dying might mean success.

Please, Deliar.  I'll so owe you.

So he'd told her she'd have to kill him to get what she wanted, in the barest whisper he could, hoping the bar noise would cover it from Silk's ears.  With the eyes shifting around and bluffing it up with his posture and tone as a threat.  It seemed she'd taken the bait and left and he knew he couldn't follow - he had to at least pretend to be escaping, so he found a back window and tried to slip out.  By the condition of the sash and lock like hundreds before him.  Thing was, he had to be caught.  The whole gambit wouldn't work unless she did find him and kill him, so he had to make like he accidentally stepped on something noisy, and accidentally making noise when you were noted for being extremely quiet on your feet was a trick.  He was pretty sure he'd pulled it off though.  It was one of his better whupses and his expression and body language sold it.

He'd done okay "fighting" her too.  Especially because he couldn't tell if she was faking; she was a lot better with her sword than he was with his, but maybe that worked for him.  Maybe Silk would take that into consideration plus that he wasn't a frontside fighter.  He'd bluffed his moves as well as he could and even drew some blood before Chiamoto had kicked him off his feet, ironically when he was pulling off his own bluffed fall so it could not have been more perfect.  And the she'd dropped that box on his chest and asked him to put the Eye in it, and he'd refused, tried to get away, she'd started searching him, he'd had to whisper "Just kill me already, before anyone I care about suffers for this.  Thanks."  

And she had.  One slice on the right side of his throat straight through the jugular.  

His stomach flipped.  Bleeding out was...not something he wanted to do again.  It was slow.  You had time to think.  He was blinking up at the sky when she found the stone, barely conscious and in shock when she blocked the sun - all fuzzy, his vision wasn't right by then - and spoken.  "Your parents are Lawrence "Snarky" Tormey and Rebecca Whitman, of Tilmar.  Oni killed them."  And then the light came back for just a second, and then it went away.  And then he woke up here.

He was cold inside and his throat was freezing up.  Don't go there!  What else!  Anything else!  Bindstone, what about...yeah, so strange, his soul felt intact and he'd been taken by the stone.  He'd heard about dying deliberately so that you didn't return, you could die, but guess you had to want to.  When he'd gotten that first cold inside, and dizzy as Chiamoto had jostled him searching his body, he'd been clinging to life.  He hadn't wanted to die.  That must be it...he'd played his hand, but he was faking.  He didn't want to die.  Horrible way to go, not his first choice.  He'd heard drowning was worse though...

...the names would not stop echoing and he rested his face in his hands and let them in.  Lawrence.  "Snarky" - his biological father probably hadn't been a Rofie, then.  Maybe that's why he had such good control over his body, why he was so quiet.  

Oh gods, he was Tilmarian, not Corsainian.  Like Dad.  How weird was that?  One of his biological parents was a native, maybe both, he didn't look mixed.  Did they have Tilmarian names too?  Dad's was Takeshi.  What would Rebecca's have been?  Did they have any other kids?

Rebecca.  That's a pretty name.

He was crying.




//thanks to Osx.  Worth waiting for.

[RollinsCat]

He's in Bydell when the letter comes.  Books open all around him, notes he's taken - in elven, he's always preferred it to common, even if he's still learning the nuances of their alphabet and will be for the rest of his life.  Scrolls too, he can't be ignorant of magic even if it's not in his blood to use it.  And now a letter.

Driran?  For him?  Elly's note is short and to the point, and she writes to him in elven.  She's always done that, remembers he likes it.  Something he appreciates about her.

Official seal, she says, got to come open it himself.  Really?  This could be good, this could be...very bad.  He's heard the term 'burning curiosity' and for the first time he feels it.  Scrolls are returned under the watchful eye of Aragenite lore keepers, the rare and delicate books placed back on their shelves, and what he's learned is rolled up in a sheet of goat skin and stuffed into a pocket.  

He unstuffs it a second later and re-folds the vellum.  It's important he can read it later, can't let the ink bleed.  He's addressing his weakness head-on with this trip.  Well, two of them, really; the snake's venom has worn off though.  He takes the bites, digging sand in the desert, and lets them weaken him.  Catches the snakes when he can and milks them, and poisons himself a little bit, every few days.  It sucks, no way around that, but seems he'll either get tougher at resisting it or die, and so far, he's still alive.  Kinda sick though.  But he'll get better.

And intel.  He just doesn't know enough.  Have to remedy that, which is why he's here now and smelling faintly of dust and parchment mold.  A lot of notes on Driran, on Corsain, on Tilmar.  Towns.  Trade routes.  Notorious persons.  Anything that will give him a clue to "Snarky" and Rebecca, and Oni, and how they intersected.  He'd told them, told Oni and Silk, he wasn't coming for revenge.  Now, he isn't as sure...

He's outside, moving fast and quiet to the horse pens where you can usually find a driver going somewhere.  Dropping by the bird merchant to let Elly know he's coming, not all that far away.  Heart pounding a little.  

Driran.  For him.

[RollinsCat]

Juliana has been breathing slow and deep for an hour.  He's still awake.  He wasn't kidding when he told her it was the cleanest floor he'd ever slept on; not even a dust mouse under the bed.  He hears her shift above him, wonders again what the price of taking her up on her offer would be.  She's really nice looking and he hasn't...uh...well, not since Fleur.  But then he'll leave at some point and she'll be assigned as someone else's courtesan and he's not into that, and he's not yet convinced she's not a slave of some sort and it bugs him. A lot.
 
Curling his knees toward his chest, he rolls to his feet and stands, then gets his backpack from the dresser.  He has an extra blanket, he can rig up a tent thing and get some light going and maybe not wake her; he wants to look over his notes.
 
Someone did go through his pack.  Everything is in the same place but just a little off, not put back like he does it.  That doesn't bug him as much as the maybe-slave thing except they could have searched his pack in front of him instead of sneaking...so maybe that bugs him a little too.
 
And being locked in his room when he's not escorted.
 
He tucks one edge of the grey wool blanket under the mattress, slowly so not to wake Juliana, and rolls the other edge under his body.  There.  Pup tent.  The hardest part is lighting the candle and he cheats; he still has that desert flower Fleur gave him, the one with the fire enchantment on it.  The petals flame, rimmed in wisps of yellow-gold heat, barely strong enough to light a wick.  Any more powerful an enchantment and the flower would burn to ashes, she'd said.  But it's a handy way to avoid making noise.
 
He leafs through notes scribbled from the library in Bydell and from talking to people on the way to the castle; he'll add his new observations later.  They might snoop again.  Oh, hells, he's written all his notes in elven - and now they either know or suspect he can read and write it.  Idiot!  Stick to common!
 

Driran

Used to be part of Dragonsong Dominion, broke off in 1408, not as uptight on Dragonsong Code or rules or law in general.  Big on self-sufficiency.  Divine Court when it's needed.
 
Elena Starphire, Regina, took over from her dad Hector who was head of prefecture when it was still part of Dragonsong.  Lived in monestary?  Hires a lot of elves?  People on the road seem to like her.  "The Benevolent".  Has brothers and sisters that do the other family stuff.
 
Lots of elves in Driran.  Whole island messed up by Bloodstone except where the elves live.

Lot of regional autonomy.  Good roads, good navy.


On paper, pretty cool.  Then there is...this.  Her, up on the bed, living in this castle since she was seventeen, told to lay with men she doesn't know as a service to a crown she wasn't born under.  Chosen, but did not choose.  Juliana sacrifices for her parents and it feels wrong to him.  And that lady, handmaid or chambermaid or whatever they call them, Steffani D'Avain.  Avaine, Arvain...yeah, should have written that one down.  Juliana seems afraid of her.  Made him promise not to tell that he was sleeping on the floor, since it is against protocol.  He knows D'Avain is not happy that Juliana isn't "doing her job" of entertaining him.  Well, hey, maybe I don't want to be entertained!

Okay, yeah he does, a lot, but not like this.  He'd said it - he is girlfriend kind of guy and this just isn't right for him.

Add to that Silk - Melanie, that was her name.  Man, he'd almost lost it when he finally recognized her.  She'd tried to shake him off the job back when he'd seen her in the hideout, and here she was, standing by the Regina of Driran kingdom.  Maybe she knew something then, or maybe she didn't think he had the stuff.  But he'd never picked up that she was an agent.  Finding out it was her who had talked the bandits into allowing Mother to take him - he owes Silk his life, his whole life.  It overwhelms him again, he wonders if it will get easier to think about or if he'll always feel like he's on a ship in a storm when that thought passes by.

The Regina seems alright at least.  Aside from having to say her title after every bugging sentence, which is clumsy and weird.  And aside from her offer to let him kill Oni.  

Oni.  His hands are shaking, he blows out the candle stub and rolls up the notes.  The rustle of parchment on parchment is deafening in the darkness but Juliana doesn't move.  The tent makes him feel like he's eight years old again, waiting for a letter from one of his parents while he struggles to speak and write a language that is hard sometimes even for the race it was created by and to please people who are born knowing he's inferior to them.  He rips the blanket down without caring if he wakes her.  

A sigh, a flip, then nothing from the mattress.  Okay, then.

Oni's sightless, decapitated stare is stuck in his mind but not because it per say bothers him.  He's a blade, or thinks he is, and while death isn't his first or fifth choice, he can deal it and deal with it.  No..."I die with my honor".  What the man said and what he didn't say, that was the splinter he couldn't reach.  Oni said he'd always followed orders.  That he didn't remember Lawrence, "Snarky", or Rebecca.  That Silk was a traitor, but maybe that was because Silk turned him in.  That he was told to hire the pox-marked kid.  Following orders.  Just a job.  That they would betray him as Oni had been betrayed.  But one question went unanswered each time he asked it and he still didn't know: Just following orders, but WHOSE?

Cause something feels off here in Driran castle.

Or the whole thing is a test...he is starting to feel the heaviness of sleep finally but his mind keeps churning.  Silk.  Oni.  The whack of the headsman's axe, making him twitch.  Queens who keep prostitutes to entertain their guests and ask crazy questions.  The Regina had asked him if he was ready to swear an oath to Driran!  Well, no, sorry lady but this is the first date, let's get some time under our belts before we shop for curtains.  And then she assigns him to train with Chiamoto, Katherine in the morning like she didn't hear his protest, and here he is on the floor hoping for daylight so he can start trying to figure out what the hells is going on.  

So much more to think about.  He really has to write it down...in the morning, yeah...

[RollinsCat]

"It's alright.  Got some 'quipment from the capitol just the other day, shovels and the like, for turning this cursed soil.  We're making do."

"Yeah?  Kinda seems like a nice place to live, actually.  Been thinking about it myself."

"Not bad, lad.  Not bad 'tall.  I wouldn't trade it for a hundred West Gates or Huangjins.  Least here, our royalty cares."

"Thanks, that's my wagon out.  Luck to you."

"You too, lad."

The browned old man flips his spade over and returns to digging.  The wagon that the younger man is now chasing is indeed his ride out, he's headed to Eastern Gate.  This village is just one along his self-imposed quest to figure this kingdom out - at least superficially.  'Cause, he won't be figuring it out any other way, he's been kicked out the castle.

"You really need to swear fealty to her, you know."

All he knows, as he slings a leg over the back and takes up his guard position, is that it would have been stupid to do so.  There is no way anyone working for any important person would be so easy with their loyalty unless they didn't mean it, or were born and bred to give it.  He is neither.  But he's also here, his "training" brought to an abrupt halt and his stay ended instantly.  

A woman on the wagon starts sneezing and her hand-muffled 'choos punctuate his thoughts.

Oni.  Watching him die - right off the freaking bat, 'here's what you'll get'.

Silk - double agent, right there to let him know he was being watched.  Maybe watching him now, for all he knows.  She's gonna be bored.

All that pressure for fealty after seeing Oni get his head chopped off and knowing the rest were dead.  

And...Juliana.  Gods he'd missed that - he took her at face value.  Didn't even occur to him she was some kind of spy for the crown.  Would she really have slept with him?  She's good, but he's a sucker for a sad woman.  Gotta fix that.  Push the blonde out of his head and focus on the lean woman with the crazy long black hair.  No doubt she'd cry if she had to, and no doubt she'd have slit his neck if he'd drunk her tea.  Good thing it was a demonstration and not...man.  He spends a couple moments rubbing his neck.  He hasn't forgotten and doubts he ever will.

Bow out, scanning for movement in the trees.  The hay wagon rocks on wheels that need mending but beggars and choosers.  No one else is willing to take a chance on a guy with no real credentials and no one else is lining up to guard a bunch of animal feed, even if it is scarcer than it used to be.  The driver sneaks a few looks at him and seems satisfied he's not going to attack the man's grown son and daughter in the wagon with him, or at least decides to keep his eyes on the dirt path.  Which is good 'cause the left rear wheel's band is slipped enough that it looks like it might come off.

He's already talked to them and a few others, and some in the village before that, and around the castle.  Same thing.  Mostly happy, struggling with the famine but no one thinks ill of their monarch.  Funny that, there's no handouts - but the crown will distribute means such as shovels for gardening or more often knowledge.  A nation led by a doer, not a talker.  A nation, at least what he's seen of it, that aren't rising up in rebellion real soon.  Pretty nice folks actually.  He's keeping an ear for the underground, there always is one, but whoever deals in shady places keep themselves good and hidden here.  Too much light.  

And he got kicked out.  Great.

Mostly what he's seen are those who keep their family fed from the small garden plots that seem to do better than big crops, those who do daily labor for barter or sometimes coin.  Eastern Gate promises a lot more.  City, big city for this small kingdom, with a long history and a reputation that would make a Xeenite smile.  Might be something interesting there to learn, yeah...some way to decide, or at least salve his indignation.  Let him go home in peace.  

But not to find a nice wife and raise fat babies, lady.  Forget it.  The masked guy has a lot more in store and he's ready to dive in and see how far that iceberg goes.  And...stranger...he feels stronger inside.  He's made a decision and stuck to it, and more, he knows he's right.  This time, he's right.