Ips work reader

if u see this ignore. i have access from work so i use it to dump stuff here that i might wanna read in work 
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Vance "Silvers" Auger
In The Pit, The Market, Bastion City
Early Evening, 22nd of Lady's Moon, 1086AE
Maybe he wasn’t going to take out his frustrations on this guy, he knew he was a convict and probably had muscles, but when Anvil took off his shirt all Vance could see was lean, mean, dwarven muscles. The dude was jacked, and his arms were covered in Avamorian gang tattoos, including a prison identifier. He was the real shit, and that’s why Almond thought he was gonna get such a good spectacle tonight. Vance was a proven boxer and a fighter in the Pit, but this new challenger looked like he came right out of one of those gangland novellas merchant wives would buy up.
“NOOOOOOOOOW! UPPIN TONIGHT WE’VE GOT OURSELVES QUITE THE SHOW STOPPIN OPENEEEEEEEEEER! IIIIIIINNNNN THE BLUE CELL WE GOT THE DOWN HOME FAVORITE, THE PRECIOUS SCRAPPER WITH SOMETHING TO PROOOOOOOVE! YOU LOVE HIM OR HATE HIM! IT’S VANCE! SILVERS! AUUUGGEEEEERRRRRRR!” the roar of over a hundred drunkards crammed into the Pit was deafening as they screamed and shook the very foundations of the building with tremendous rauckus. The announcer was the legendary voice of Magnet “Rumblar” Maiden, a well-dressed drow announcer who had earned the respect of the people as a long-time pit fighter turned announcer and hype man, he worked promotion and gimmicks for Almond.
The guy was dressed in brown slacks, tan shirt, and matching suit jacket with a mighty stovepipe on his head, if he wasn’t wearing it you’d see him with a high and tight cut of silver hair and his ruby red eyes glowed harsh in the lighting of The Pit. He was already loud, but when he shouted into the pipe mechanism he had access to it echoed throughout the entire venue, it became a bone-rattling amplification. It also got you hyped as a motherfucker.
“IIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN THE RED CELL! A NEW CHALLENGER! SURVIVOR OF TODAY’S LYNCHING! THE HARDENED CRIMINAL WITH A TONGUE OF LEAD, AAAALLLLL THE WAY FROM AVAMOOOOOOOOR! ITS! ANVIL! THE IRON HEADED! HAMEEEEEEERRRRRRR!” Yet more bouncing, cheering, roaring, and the very foundations of the Pit shook mightily but still withstood as they always had. A testament to their construction and the fighters that went to blows within it.
“NOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW WITHOUT ANY FURTHER ADIEUUUUUUUUU! LEEETS GET READY TO! RRRUMBLLLLLLEEEEEEEE!” The last line was the tagline of the whole scene, what everyone always wanted to hear screamed out at the top of every good night. The gates went down, and Vance rushed in as did Anvil, they both knew what the people wanted, they wanted a spectacle. They didn’t want some weak-ass pussyfooting, they wanted action, broken bones, spilled blood, and someone to go down in a flurry of blows.
Today was a moist day, it was raining out, and seeping into the Pit to soak the ground with the acidic rainfall. It would turn this shit into serrated concrete, so Vance tucked himself up for an opening left hooking uppercut to start this all off. Three steps in, and this dwarf looked like he might just be all gusto and no show. Then Vance felt the solid forearm of the man come up and guard from the right before he was made to buckle into a screaming left straight that he’d left himself wide open for to the chest.
That made him feel like he probably bruised up his ribs in one blow, the man’s fist felt like a giant maul just crashing right into him. Half dwarf or not, the fucker still had muscles that far outclassed Vance to be sure, and it fucking hurt. But that was the last time that Vance would underestimate this guy. Seems he had done some fisticuffs back in prison over in Avamor, so Vance took up a standard stance and went in with something he should have more of.
Speed.
“IT WOULD SEEM THAT OUR GOOD SILVER BOY VANCE WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS CHALLENGER TO HAAAAAVE ANY SKILLS! WELL LADIES AND GENTEMEN OF THE PIT I CAN SAFELY ASSURE YOU, THAT ANVIL DIIIIIID NOT SIMPLY GET HIS NAMESAKE FOR NOTHIIIINNNGGG! OUR HOMETOWN HERO WILL HAVE QUITE A FIGHT ON HIS HANDS TONIGHT!” The blaring noise of the announcer cut over the raucous excitement of the crowd, always the showman, his voice was the butter to the bread of the fighters in the ring, people watched just as much for the fight as to hear the man speak.
One. Two. Threefour. A rhythm, a beat, two from southpaw to draw out an arm, then another quick jab and a strong right in an exposed bit of flesh. He would bounce, shuffle, and strike in a staccato fashion constantly keeping Anvil holding up those fists keeping Vance wary. It wasn’t doing much he had to figure, this guy was built like a brick shit house, he was taking Vance’s hits like they were pillows. While Vance had to watch for every swing, they were slow, but strong, they were like giant hammers that came swings in from the right or left. Proper brawling, not conventional technique but an understanding that if you got a good swing it was over.
He misstepped his fourth time into the half-dwarf, and felt Anvil’s left smash into his side and send him reeling into the dirt, he gasped as his skin tore and shredded along his back.
“LOYAL WATCHERS IT SEEMS THAT OUR DEAR BOY HAS BITTEN OFF MORE THAN HE COULD CHEW! WILL THIS BE THE UNTIMELY END OF AUGER IN THE PIT?!”
Like hell he was about to let this be an endpoint, Vance rolled up and pushed himself back to his feet to the roar of the crowd overtaking them, and the stomping of feet that rattled the very floor they stood upon. Vance grunted and pushed up and over as Anvil simply waited for him to get back up and continue the match. When Vance was back to his feet and in his stance, Anvil lifted his fists again and the two began again. Anvil’s strategy was to outlast and hit Vance when his guard went down.
Vance had to rethink his own preferences here and decided to go for something a bit unconventional, he went straight for the man’s broad nose in a quick straight he stepped into. Anvil didn’t raise his fists fast enough and Vance could feel the cartilage crunch. A break? Maybe, or at the very least bad bruising that would instantly get his eyes to water, so he pulled in a left hook to strike to the side of the man’s face, which seemed to actually work to disorient him, for all of a few seconds before Vance was made to jump back to dodge an upswing left coming from under his right arm.
It was a blind throw because Anvil was trying to blink the water from his eyes and see clearly, blood beginning to dribble out of his nostrils as he smirked and rushed Vance down, forgetting any semblance of trying to box it out and simply tackling the taller man into the wall of the pit. Vance felt his breath leave him as he instinctively brought the full force of his shoulder down on the half dwarf’s back, between the should blade, while honestly working to get the hold loosened and let him scurry off, wheezing and hearing the crowd roar and jump around him. He wheezed and felt his vision blur for just a second as he spun on a now energized anvil moving towards him and he let out a mighty haymaker that sent the strongman falling to the ground into the hard concrete-like sands below.
He took the moment to settle his hands to his hips as he sucked in stinking rancid air like it was mana of Aradia, his vision was blinded by the staging lights, and the crowd was going nuts as Magnet screamed into the announcer's table. “LAAAAAAAADIES AND GENTLLLLLLLEEEEEMEN! WE MAY HAVE OUR WINNER IF ANVIL DOESN’T STEP BACK UP! ALL TOGETHER NOW! STARTS THE COUNT! TEN! NINE! EIGHT-”
Vance groaned as he looked at the man in a heap on the ground, hoping the fucker would just stay down, his fists felt bruiser and cut, it had taken so much out of him to get this far. The man felt like he was made of fucking iron. “SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR-”
The noise was all one voice, one group all rolled up into the excitement of the night, and Vance cursed the omen that brought, cause he could see the man’s body twitch, and he knew it was gonna be a close one. “THREE! TW- HE’S UP! ANVIL IS UP!” Vance sighed as Anvil managed to stagger up onto one knee, which stopped the count and resumed the match. He spit out a tooth Vance had managed to knock loose on that last go around, and blew streamers of blood out of each nostril. the shaven man nodded and got to his feet, raising his fists in the air to the raucous of a bloodthirsty public happy to see more of the bloody blowout.
Vance grunted, set up his fists, and began to stumble back up as Anvil locked eyes, nodded, and set himself up as well, and the slug match began. Vance couldn’t move as well now, so he just did his best to ighten up his body and protect his face while the two wailed on each other, it hurt like hell, from the gut shots he kept having to take, but he was able to wail on Anvil’s face and head multiple times. The fucker had a strong face, but the blows were getting to him, he was going to go down if Vance could just outlast him. Ditching boxing he tucked himself in and got one arm up around the man’s shoulder, and the other over his back, and managed to heave and throw him back in the ground amidst their punch off.
With a yell, he jumped and began to beat down hammering shots at the sprawled-out half-dwarf, who didn’t seem to care and started wailing Vance in his side and hips. Adrenaline was pumping in and both men were just fighting in the dirt, their blows getting slower and their punches getting weaker, until Vance brought down both hands in a coup de grace on Anvil’s chest and the dwarf heaved and collapsed, unconscious.
The countdown began again as Vance shakily tried to rise himself up, having to push a straight leg to support his weight as the crowd called out each number. “-TWO! ONE! THAT’S IT! IT’S OVER! THE FIGHT IS OVER! LADIEEEEEESSSSSS AND GFENTLLLLEEEEEEEMMMEEEEENNN WE HAVE OUR VICTOR THIS NIGHT! GIIIIIVE IT UP FOOOOOOOR VANCE! SILVERS! AUGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!” the noise was blaring and Vance’s vision danced as people opened the gates, some men dragged the body of Anvil away while two more took Vance under each of his arms and began to take him off the field. He could barely see, his vision was doubling, but there was plenty of blood everywhere on the Pit’s ground.
He’d get his pay, and he knew damn well he wasn’t getting another fight tonight, he could barely move as it was, and somewhere deeper in his mind he figured he never stood a chance if that guy hadn’t just escaped a death sentence after weeks rotting in a cell. However, he’d won tonight, and that was all that mattered, it brought a smile to his face as he was sat in a chair and looked over by a Doc who wanted to be sure the local boy wasn’t gonna die after the match.
Tonight was looking to be alright.
Lady Maria Dul-Sansiska
Herding Fucking Cats, The Bejeweled Azure, Bastion City
Late Evening, 22nd of Lover's Moon, 1086AE
Maria stewed in the waters of the bath, still trying to figure out her own emotional state after the whirlwind of events today. She was flanked by Anastasia Dargas, daughter of Moran and eternal rival, and her daughter Kira who was about as frazzled as the girl could be and trying to relax with a healthy dosing of Fist. First, her uncle dies and signals that the protection of the Terros is gone entirely because some motherfucker managed to eat the guy who eats demons like it’s nothing. Then she got called out and humbled by Valoria for being ‘too old’, the Drow and their ways had no place left in this modern era, it was all for humanity to handle.
Then she gets an unwelcome visit and the wounding of five civilians by two paladins of the Clockwork Order, had the truth revealed in some capacity as to what befell her unkillable uncle and then she got insulted some more about how the Drow are gonna go extinct in the coming era. right after, she got to see her little brother, covered in grime, dried blood, and other filth waltz in, ream her out about the girls getting up to hooliganism, and then ignore her for the baths right after he was informed about Divan’s death.
She’d been dealing with the bickering ladies of the united drow representatives all the damned day, was missing contact from Reynis, and Mossa had given her that cryptic and stress-inducing mantling of all the responsibility for this shit. Essentially, she’d have to handle this whole mess by herself as if she were Grandma, Grandma Volia would have just cracked the whip on Everyone, gotten them to shut up, and moved the heavens to avenge her baby brother probably knowing the legends of her uniting ferocity.
Maria looked to her left and saw the face of her childhood rival and biggest pain in the ass, Anastasia Dargas, the Wicken Edge of Sorkai. She was quite literally head and shoulders above Maria as her height was six feet and six inches of looming drow elegance. In contrast, Maria was the squat midget who only came up to five feet nothing. Her ears were slender high elvish ancestry from somewhere in the past, but her broad shoulders and angular physique were peak drow physiology. The bitch was sexy, refined, and knew it and always loomed over Maria with her intimidating aura, Maria was scrappy, smaller, and never took shit from Anna without dishing it back out.
Maria was the matriarch of the East, Anna was the overseer of the West, and the two had never actually stopped fighting. Despite all of that, they did not actually hate each other, quite the opposite, they’d been quarrelsome lovers, fellow conspirators, and even when the rest of the westerners fled, Anna and some of her loyal guards stood behind during the invasion and managed to kill some Vrow back during the Battle for Everglow. Anna was a master of the brutal fighting style pioneered by her father, the Obscuran Wrath, whereas Maria had been taught the ultimate defensive style of the Veroman Dance by her papa. Thus Anna could never break Maria, but Maria never had the strength to overwhelm Anna, they were always in a stalemate, and that only fanned the flames of their pivotal quarrels. They didn’t let it alter politics, they were entirely different in their approach but it was never about rivalry, it was about getting the best out of their underlings.
Outside of sweet little Rivka, Anastasia was Maria’s best friend, Rivka had been gone for quite some time, and it still hurt to think of her.
Sweeping out to either side of the matrons of the drow were their retinues of bitchy contemptuous representatives, the democratically chosen speakers of their people’s wills. Er, democratic enough, half of them were just the same nobility they’d always been who knew damn well who held the fucking reigns. To Anna’s side was her second in command, Nirai Quavass, a tribal elf girl of no more than fifty years who had been made to take up the mantle upon her mother’s untimely end back during a power struggle. a quiet soul, she was fed up with politicking already and just did as she was told, where she excelled was in uniting the shattered factions of the Quavass back into their mighty semi-nomadic equilibrium. She was a good rider, and a horse breeder, and had bred some of the finest stallions on Terros, even greater than the breeds of the Thunderlands.
However, if it didn’t involve horses, archery, or tending to massive herds of grazers, she did not give a flying fuck what was going on. Even now it looked like she was falling asleep, not even perturbed by the loss of a man she’d never actually known and whose legacy was mere storytelling that she never bothered to ingest. She was a good girl, just wanted to be at peace with her clans, and unite them under the banner of Quavass so the quarrels would end and her mother could rest. the woman next to her was the complete opposite and probably the biggest pain, even more than Divnakul himself.
Zurima, was not an aristocrat, not a noble, just a woman who had seized the means of production at the turn of the monarchy’s ascension. The moment she saw the separatist movement, she went into action, first working for the New Senate but quickly changing tune when the battle swayed to Talia’s side. She was opportunistic, a cunt, ruthlessly corporate, and damned near soulless. She was a ‘friend’ of Caradoc, in as much as she had any concept of the term, holding a slice of the inner Aradian continent under her heel and partnering with him, funding ventures and paying out House Devori to fight the spiders for the silkwood forestry. Maria fucking hated the dumb cow, she didn’t ever help out, only was in it if you gave her something of marketable value, and yet for all of it, she was still the [i]second[/i] in line of the corporate giants of the drow.
It drove her fucking nuts every time, and Maria took some joy out of that because if ever she was stalemating in negotiating with Zurima over political support, she could call on Mavis to start digging up under the skin of that vile cretin. She was the embodiment of what just about everyone saw the Drow as, soulless infighting warmongers who only cared about increasing their riches, their holdings, and their station.
Sitting next to the bitch drinking a fine goblet of ash brandy, was one of the sweetest women Maria knew. Leshai Korak, was in her mid-five hundreds, had rich lavender and turquoise eyes, and had long ago woven literal silken fibers of gold, silver, and platinum into her hair via some weird spider trickery. She was something of a question always asked and never answered, a wise woman of solemn demeanor who seemed to see things beyond the corporeal that nobody sans Uncle Divan really tended to witness. However, it was as if she saw something entirely different than the old man ever had, she seemed to see the disposition of others and was a kind guiding hand that tended to give Anastasia’s faction a real moral compass and stop them from fully delving back into the bloodier olden times of yore.
She was also the only fat elf Maria had even fucking witnessed and she wondered how the hell that was even possible. Fat for an elf at the very least, she had matronly curves to her after having birthed over a dozen children in her lifetime. The sleek artisan framework of the drow had been lost to gentle slopes of skin and muscle and fat that made her just…[b]squishy[/b] all over. She had a massive chest, dwarfing the rest of the women in the tub, more similar in size to Scarlett or Harlene. She was also short for an elf, but taller than Maria which made all the motherly weight sort of sit on her frame more.
She’d be more likely to feed you, sweets, than discuss anything of import, and she herself had a mighty sweet tooth, but Maria had felt firsthand what a blow from her felt like and it knocked her on her ass. The woman was fit, just, squishy, and with big breasts and a rounded tummy, but underneath was a massive mother figure who loved as hard as she could and could back it up with a strong right. She naturally owned the Korak Hotsrpings and was thus a more well-known face to many than some of the women here. A buxom owner of the best renowned hot springs in all of Terros, and a mothering figure to a generation of elves.
Lastly, there was Isha Erenai, who was even less enthused than Nirai despite being double her age, a mixture of wood and dark elven bloodlines, she was a natural-born druid much like Ornia. She despised being stuck in Bastion and really only remained in the city for as long as proceedings were taking place, otherwise, she went out to a coastal villa and stayed there or ran back home all the way to the other coast into Kara Nikos. She wasn’t bratty or anything, she just went along with whatever Maria said the conservatives were going to do. She really hated politics and simply wanted to be left to tend to plants and animals.
She was a lot like the Kaloblanca really, strikingly so, to the point Maria had gotten her other brother, Aegis, in touch with Isha and ensured the two got off on good terms. The last she had heard Aegis had been sure to get Isha numerous sets of seeds and the girl had been thrilled and made a bountiful gardening space where she had dedicated herself to hosting foraging woodland animals. 
That left Maria’s side to ponder on, and she turned her head to the sight, most of her immediate family members were adjacent on the other side of the tub. Aunt Mossa leaning up on Xenovia and Harlene, Olivia consoling Ornia with old elvish songs, and Zazi Rainer, Garin’s devoted wife who was currently bemused at the story of how filthy Garin got during his adventure.
However, there was one close member that Maria loved to keep close, her biological daughter, Kira. A sweetheart who was cursed by her mother’s genetics, and a traumatic birth that was only salvaged because Divankul was the attending physician. He’d used some kind of wicken blood magic that scarred up Maria’s womb but saved her baby in the process, regardless, she was a pink tinge and bore some oddities. That had once gotten her mocked but that had quieted when Maria enforced her motherly wrath.
Kira bore a resemblance to the man who Maria had chosen to lay with for the gift of her own flesh and blood. Namely the long ears, the soft features, and the beautiful voice. Maria had given the child all the wrong parts, a loss in height, lack of a bust, and unfortunately the whole skin condition and the eye color changes because Maria didn’t birth her right. She was going to one day hold the reigns and was already taking to the grooming for the exposition a helluva lot better than Scarlett or Xenovia ever did, both of those girls were such wild spirits it was functionally impossible to get them to settle down into the work. Kira took to it like a true born natural however, Maria still loved all the kids equally, but Kira was just a stellar showing of promise.
Sitting off on the other side was Mavis Adisks, if Zephora was a soulless bitch, Mavis was a charismatic preacher on the values of capital gains. she wouldn’t be wrong about it either, the Adisks were the richest of the families, outside of the fact that Dul-Sansiska was still a factor of wealth above even them, and thus was never really accounted for in the tallies. She had such quiet dull eyes, like peering slits of gray out of a muted face, and it was hard to really get a read on her outside of her familial need to not only make money but to helm warships up and down the Sorrows. The Adsiks were the full naval power of Surial, their ships were a maritime force of capital-class security for anyone and everyone, and yet there was still plenty of privacy in the world to go around.
That thought made her wonder on how wise she was to heed the aggravations of Valoria and the compromises of Jaster, she quickly brushed it off and reminded herself that Reynis was aboard and would rather die than let any harm come to the nobility on the ship. With that she turned her attention to Niki and Zura having an intense conversation, and that was when she realized she’d zoned out so completely she’d entirely lost the plot and these hens were going at it thricefold now without her moderating. The sensation had her mind racing back to the cacophonous racket of so many arguing all over each other at once.
“...And what did you expect to happen? huh? That fool! such a trifling bother he probably plotted this out somehow!”
“Bullshit! Nobody plots their own horrendous death!”
“How are we going to answer the panic in this? Better question, how do we profit off the panic? Maybe invest in some new gunsmithing factories to arm the populace?”
“No, what we ought to do is get back to training proper knights in the academy and start sending them out to guard the shipping lanes”
“The lanes are fine, we’ve got enough guns to ensure that already, our cannons will tear anything to shreds, pirates or otherwise”
“Tough talk coming from the runt of the litter”
“The fuck you just say you lowborn cunt?!”
Maria didn’t quite hear Anna until she spoke once again directly in her ear “Oh for fuck sake…MARIA!” the sound made Maria jolt and turn to Anna who was looking highly disgruntled, but not engaged in any of the speech going on, her face contorted in a look of disappointment in her “I could use a bit of fucking help getting these windbags to pipe the hell down yes?”
Maria nodded and started to attempt to speak but was being so drowned out it was a near impossibility. Even with her commanding voice, it had gotten to a breaking point before a loud crashing noise could be heard that echoed through the entire bathhouse and shut everyone up quite quickly. It was followed by approaching wet slapping footsteps coming from the massage room
“I'm pretty sick of hearing you shits squawking like birds” Maria shifted her head to a now much cleaner, and bandaged-up Garin coated in aromatic oils and salves he’d been slathered with to ease his aching muscles and body. She would have said something but he didn’t give her, nor the other still disgruntled lords any time or heed as he stopped in front of the gigantic bath and sat on his heels.
“I’m low on time and patience so I’ll give you the short and sweet, you’re all fucking failures, Divankul died and it was his own fault, but how you choose to answer it will be on you all. If you had been a united front from the get-go the old man would have been able to ask for backup and help-you aren’t and he didn’t, and now he’s dead. Congrats, most of you are some of the worst people I’ve ever met. so you guys get an impromptu history talk as to just how far you’ve all fallen in the historical sense”
“You guys know the story of the Three Kings, right? Morvala the Mountain, Karesh the Bladesinger, and Xanvani the Freewalker. They established a powerful coalition and set of kingdoms all across Eastern Terros, from Narn’s Son to Nagari. Fuckers managed to hold out and build vast powers over thousands of years, and it was only when the Empire arose and began obliterating entire islands in a war of conquest did they fall. Seems like what you should be basing your political systems on instead of an Empire that will never come back.”
“You could be a faction all your own, you could very well live up to the idealized version of the Drow and be a real pillar of Terros. Or you can squabble and squawk, just outlasting this batch of kids until the next one finally destroys you” With nothing more to say, Garin arose from his stoop, turned away, and walked out of the bathhouse refusing to allow for discourse. 
“He has a point, and I don’t say that lightly” Mossa was the first to speak, sighing as she also arose, with some great difficulties, from the waters “Figure this out, and leave us Old Wayers in the dust, our way never worked, for my lifetime of war I got to live out my final days a cripple and a fool who watched her family die around her.” With nothing more to say, and the assemblage of elves in a stunned stupor, the paragon of all that the Old Ways held true wobbled and grabbed the outstretched hands of two Kyn who had to help her the entire way out of the baths in her weakness.
It took until both had left the baths, Garin stopping to walk Mossa out with him, but then the first one to break the silence was Anastasia. “Could have been a bit more helpful in those regards, just how in the fuck do they think this world operates?”
“A-a-actually i-it’s quite simple re-really” came the stutter of Xeke, meekly pushed up still into the protective guardianship of Nora by his side, possibly giving him the confidence to speak up against the others “We simply f-f-form a coalition, o-or mayhaps a-a-a cabal t-t-to a-avoid c-challenges bu-by the Cogs a-a-and the Blu-Blades.” Xeke’s stutter would tend to activate in his more stressful times, poor lad that he was, he had mastered control over it during his days as the Lawmaster but only in court. Outside of those proceedings he could snap into a nervous wreck of stutters, but seemed to get on fine with speaking to the Queen, and only struggled when in conference with the other courtiers or her royal babes.
He was a nervous one, the nearly complete opposite of his legendary father in Nielus, who had been a brazen adventurer, battle scholar, and dutiful guardian of the dead. Essentially a wicked librarian with a blade in his hands. Xeke was not that, but he was smart, and honestly, more courageous to overcome his nervous quirks, and he had served faithfully and fairly under Queen Talia for her entire reign. He had only stepped aside during the years of the Valoria Regency, adamantly refusing to be her headsman as it were, and when Gordon came to power, he refused to bend his principles for the paranoid king and was quickly cast from office.
Ever since then, he’d been living fearful that someone would come to slay him, either a criminal, their family or cohorts, or an unhappy noble. Hell, even just regular peasantry ever since the uprising scared the void out of him. The only thing was that, because he had been a steadfast man of principles of law and order, he was actually well respected by most. 
“Xeke may have a point, but we have to settle the scores before we can all play nice and sit in a big circle jerking each other off. We have bad blood and it either needs to be settled by blood or by land dammit!”
“Or, and hear me out on this, we can settle it with Plats, we’ll tally up all the crimes and wars we’ve done to each other and settle the score monetarily. We all know the value of the Platinum, so we can just do it that way, also we can leave out those fuckwads in Lero and Devori, also Jossa, if they can’t be arsed to ever show up they can fuck off!”
“Hey, those jackwagons are still part of the Vadan region! I demand that you take that shit back, I might also hate them but still, they’re beholden to the Vadan governance!”
“Oh bullshit, they have been flying under your nose for decades now you withered bitch!”
“ALRIGHT! THAT IS ENOUGH! ALL YOU CUNTS SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS THIS INSTANT!” A rare raising of the voice, coming from none other than Xenovia of all people, one of the most chilled and laid back of the ensemble and really still very much a child. “I have been listening to you fucking hags argue like this since I was born! This is why Scarlett never comes the fuck home! This is why Ornia has to mourn about her husband by her fucking self! This is why Uncle Garin talks to you like you’re brain-dead kids! You fucking always do this shit!” With each accusation, Xenovia strode more into the center of the pool, rich red dyed hair floating all about her as the dye was not going to wash out for some time from her costume.
“Grandpa’s dead and you guys can’t stop fighting long enough to figure out how to even start addressing that without insulting each other, you can’t even make up your minds on forming a new stupid government thing! Here’s what you shitheads do, you sit the fuck down, stop acting like kids, and act like the centuries-old bitches that you fucking are. Like fuckin shit man! I feel like I act more like an adult than any of you cunts, and I’m a vagabond musician!” She pulled no punches, heaving as she finally settled “Scarlett was right not to come home to this bullshit, and I’m glad I travel Aradia rather than sitting in this dingy old complex with you all, ya’ll suck so fuckin hard!” Xenovia stomped her way out of the baths with her daughter scrambling after her calling for her mother to wait up for her.
“Well, now that we’ve pissed off several family members, maybe we should actually form an agreement, the younger generation is feeling the ripple effects of Divan’s death. The oldest of us are too tired of these games to keep them going, and all of us in the middle are a bunch of lackwits.” Maria finally found the opening she was hoping for after all the outbursts and jabbing. “A cabal it will be, with Anastasia and myself promoting a dual head of office, seeing as we control the two most powerful families. Negotiations begin after we put Divankul’s body to rest”
Like clockwork, the rabble began again, upward, with great indignation from all sides at this forceful appropriation of the drastic silence that had befallen them in the wake of the outbursts. It didn’t matter, as Anastasia simply nodded quietly to Maria and sipped at her brandy, she was ready to sit down with her cohort and formulate a plan of action. For once, she might’ve actually gotten that bitch’s respect after a century and a half of rivalry…
Vance "Silvers" Auger
Heading Home, The Market, Bastion City
Nightfall, 22nd of Lady's Moon, 1086AE
Everything absolutely hurt, Vance wanted a beer and to wash up and wrap his wounds, but he was also so damned tired now after taking that knock to his head. He grunted as he moved his leg to find that as the adrenaline had worn off after the match, the fucker had managed to get a good blow into his hip somewhat in the thick of things and now it was painful to walk. Not impossible, but he was going to have a staggered limp for a few days.
The outside air was stuffy, choking, and ultimately humid as a motherfuck and he should have expected that with how tough the damned floor had been with Anvil knocking him into it. He groaned as the acrid taste of the Market’s filth began to assault his mouth in a fresh new way. How the fuck did it do that? It felt like this city recognized when you started to get used to the putridity and then it hit you with a new funk that made you want to vomit.
He didn’t want to wear his shirt, too hot, and he feared he’d wind up rubbing all the filth into his flesh if he pulled the cloth over before he washed it all out. He’d have to stop by for some ethanol and splash that up in his wound. It would burn him something fierce, but it wasn't like this was the first time he’d have to go to the alchemists over a match. either that, or enter one of the city baths…that was a maybe, the only people up around these times in those baths were the old, the cheap whores, and the fat fucks who paid the cheap whores. all of which, he did not feel especially enthused about having to look at their bodies while he tried to get the grime out of his back.
Plus he wanted to get home and check up on Jax and Cass, make sure they were okay after he’d snapped at them earlier in the day. He grunted and forced himself to keep walking out of The Pit, winnings in his pocket, and a head still swimming from the intensity of the bout.
“Silvers! Stop!” Vance turned his head dully, already knowing what came next when he heard that voice call out his nickname. Opal, a no-nonsense wood elf woman he fancied for some reason he didn’t find in other women. Beyond that, was her curmudgeon of a father, Ol’Kindrik, with a well-styled handlebar mustache and looking as if he was meant to be bartending for the nobility with his tailored blue vest and clean starched working shirt. Between them, Jacob was having his ear twisted off by Opal while she dragged him around.
“This little shit confessed what he said to you earlier, I get that you’re in a sour mood, but I’d prefer it if you stayed with me tonight. You can barely stand up and you need a good wound-cleaning” She had such wonderful silver blue eyes, and it almost gave him pause, watching her trod to him in a shin-length blue skirt and a starched collared shirt. “Come on big guy, the bar is open for you to sit on inside. I made sure Papa couldn’t refuse.”
Kindrik gave him a harumphing posture but didn’t argue, looking at him with those same judgemental eyes he’d always had any time Vance saw the man. Those swamp jewel eyes told the whole story of something Vance had done that he didn’t know anything about. Vance looked at the pained Jacob in the vice grip of an angry bartender, and he wasn’t quite sure why Opal gave a damn. She was just someone he flirted with and liked to be near, she shouldn’t care about the dispute between two punkass deadbeats.
“I’ll pass, I’ll be fine on my way home, I can still throw a punch or two, it’s alright…” Vance turned his head as Opal let go of Jacob and tried to make her way to Vance’s location, but he briskly forced himself to hobble off into the still-dense crowds of people that never ceased within the confines of The Market. He figured he could hear her screaming something at him but by then the din of the populace had already overcome and he was quickly through the gates and shifting his way home, painfully.
He was contemplating if he needed anything else from the alchemist’s shop when a massive hook came from somewhere in the myriad of dark twisting shadows that locked to either side of the dimly lit streets of Old Everglow. Instinct kicked in, and he raised his left arm to take the shot. It was a mighty hook from a right fist, and it felt like it was going to bowl right through Vance’s arm, so he spun onto his right to lessen the force and spin himself around to see who was deciding to pick a fight with him.
The first thing he noticed as the figure came clearer into view was the size difference, Vance wasn’t small but this guy was built more like an orc than a human. He was broad-shouldered and bore a sharp nose that sported several old breaks. He hadn’t even broken stride, the punch had just been something he was stepping into, not even his full body shifting in for the hit. He had a lit drax hanging from his bearded mouth, as he dragged on it the burning amber light illuminated his face even more to reveal two pale, but infuriated, brown eyes.
He wore a flat cap and a patched leather jacket with a burgundy pinstripe shirt, it was tucked into a set of leather pants and his barrel chest was visible in a deep window of the upper three buttons being missing or undone.
“Fuck right off with that nonsense” Vance was in no mood for this bullshit, and threw his shirt to one side as he drew up his fists, knowing that he didn’t have much left in the gas tank from today. Nobody was mugging him and his winnings, he won that shit the hard way. He sent out his own strong right but the burly bastard grabbed and pushed back before walking in with another shot, this time into Vance’s shoulder that he couldn’t protect. The combined momentum forced him to the filth-coated street ad the jackwagon put a jackboot into his chest and kicked him down the rest fo the way. He plucked his cigarette from his mouth and flicked it down into Vance’s face and puffed out what smoke remained.
“Anvil ain’t Comorrah asswipe! I get to win fair and fuckin square!” Vance tried to push himself up and shifted himself as the boot came in to kick him in the mouth. It missed him and he spun around in the muck and the hot slime that coated the old brickwork of the city street in the still hot summer nightfall. He grunted and tried to pull himself up off some nearby siding of a house, but he felt his hair being yanked back and he was laying back first in the middle of the street as this giant fuck grabbed hold of his neck and punched him a good three or four times, thankfully Vance could still work his arms form thai position and guarded himself as this guy just kept swinging like a troll, no skill, just mass. Still hurt.
“Fuckin back off asswipe! I will knife you the fuckin second-argh!” his windpipe was being squeezed on now and that took a bit out of Vance’s drastically draining reserves of strength. This started to get a little dimmer around the corners of his eyes until the squeezing stopped and the talking began.
“I fuckin saw you talkin to that dip Pisser” He had an accent that was most assuredly not from Bastion “That lil shitbag’s been gunnin fer me an the bois, and now I see candy ass Auger goin fer him and I’m like ‘Hey, ain’t that Gaunt’s prettay boi?’ Not only that, but you messed up a good bettin pool, you just [b]had[/b] to decide to fuckin have a spine and win against a three tah one odds pool. Well, you cost my ass bigtimes, and seein' as yous goin off and spoutin to numbnuts like Pisser, I’mma show you why the fuck I’m Big Jack!” before the pummeling could go any further a hand grabbed Big Jack’s arm as he swung it past to get another round of beatings in.
He let go of Vance and spun to strike out, and found himself getting his hand caught by Kindrik, who smirked and backed off a few paces pretty quickly. Flanking the man was Jacob and Opal, the former with a Knox revolver, and the latter bore a hunter’s knife she spun deftly between her fingers like a pro. “Pfffft ya think that’ll stop me? I’ll break the threes of yinsers prettay easily” Big Jack cracked his knuckles with what Vance could only believe to be a smile on his face as he lay panting in the heat of the streets, he could feel his open wounds being flooded with the mess on the sewage laden ground and figured sepsis was next on his docket.
Then before anything else could come around to escalate the fight, more figures appeared Magnet Maiden and some, well, Vance couldn’t tell who the fuck they were. they wore flat caps and had longcoats on, with workshirts underneath. Hired security?
“What, you think some Revolutionaries are gonna make me piss myself? Don’t make me laugh Rumblar. I’m packin heat too ya’know” Big Jack didn't seem to have any fear, he loomed over just about everyone, ready to throw down with everyone at once it seemed like.
“It would be best if you were to step aside, Walker, the Pit needs its fighters, and I happen tooooo like young Vance. the boy reminds me of my youthful years!” So maybe Magnet always talked like he was in the ring? Or maybe Vance had a concussion? Probably both! “I won’t ask again, and no matter how much heat you have, I’ve got more around the bend if this goes south. See I have money! With it I can hire some of the best, the Revolutionaries, you start a war with them over one kid, you’re in trouble theeeere Walker”
“Why fight so hard to protect him? He’s a pissant, he’s workin' with cops, and he’s a cheat!” Big Jack seemed to be reaching for something in the pull of his waistband but Magnet didn’t seem to budge. “Plus he hates you lot, and I can agree there, yah fuckin mudskins!”
“Ah, so you’re just racist now? Ahahaha! Vance is a good lad, he’s not on the Jackets, and he fights with gusto and [i]style[/i].” There was a brief pause as Magnet flipped out his own custom-made Ravenkraft six-shooter. The nickel plating glinted in the dull polluted lights on the street. “Fuck along now if you would Walker, before I put six through that burly chest of yours, I’ve been fighting since the Civil War, you don’t got shit for dick against my skills. As if on cue the two revolutionaries produced their own guns, lever-action repeating rifles that were held inside their coats that they now armed themselves with. six to one, and all fo them armed. not great odds for one man, no matter how big and strong he was.
“Fine! You got this round but I’ve got my own people too, this ain’t over! I’mma be lettin the Dwarves know they’ve got snitches snifflin about too, see how you take to that!” Big Jack spun and walked back into the shadows, glaring down at Vance as he did so and Magnet seemed to relax and reholster his gun with a spin. “Alrighty then! I’ll bid you all a most wonderful goodnight! Vance my boy, please take some days to recover, and we’ll see you back in the ring!” Magnet tipped his tophat as he hired guns stowed their rifles away and the trio departed back int he direction of the Market.
Vance breathed out slowly and let himself relax even as he could feel something alive under his body in the muck. He was so damned thrashed, he just wanted to go the fuck to sleep, but knew he’d need to get up and get treated for all the horrid stuff now in his bloodstream. As he pushed himself to get up two sets of arms wrapped on each of him. Jacob and Opal, the first was sorrowful in his face, guilt, yeah Vance was plenty pissed that this gobshite was getting him into big trouble. Opal was more pisse doff at him and smacked him upside the head, annoyingly so.
“The fuck you on about?” Vance groaned, unable to stand on his own it would see.
“you’re as much a dolt now as you were back then, I’m guessing you either caught something or hit your head hard enough back then that you still haven’t remembered who I am. I’m hurt Vance, we were the best of friends: you, me, and Pisser.” Opal had a strong look to her but Vance couldn’t tell the fuck she was on about even now, and then Jacob piped in with his whining.
“Ah I was fuckin [i]six[/i] give it a damned rest! Cause of you lot I gotta go by that fookin name everywheres I go now!” Jacob pulled on Vance’s arm leading him somewhere, he was displeased that it was not towards home.
“I need to check up on Jax and Cass, apologize, and pay Gaunt…” The world was becoming highly disorientating all of a sudden, he was feeling pretty sick now.
“We’re taking you to the Servants, you’re cut up, your shoulder is possibly dislocated, and you were thrashing in filth. not to mention you were limping beforehand and you’ve taken some head blows. The Drow will have to fix you up” That gave Vance some energy and some fight and he attempted to wrangle free, fuck the Drow! He didn’t need their stupid fuckin charity work!
Then he felt the searing pop of his shoulder completely out of its socket, without any real adrenaline left, it was a sharp enough pain that his vision tunneled, and by the time he’d wake back up fully, he’d be in some kind of a building being manhandled by elves…
Mad Zealot Numuri
Rotting Away, Untergrad, Bastion City
Nightfall, 22nd of Lady’s Moon 1086AE
“Heya Numu, d’jah heer frum Nurn? Ol’Mun’s [i]deeeeeeeed[/i] mens yur nut gitten nawh murohyahs medicines nah mur! Bwahahahahaha!” The lumbering oaf Merl was talking again, he was always the worst one, but Numuri had always withstood his aberrative slanders. Disgusting nodule of flesh that he was, Numuri often times wondered about how best to cut him down, quick and easy to ensure his blubbering did not grate her ears? Or serratedly to relish in the death of a fool.
Today was different, she’d already felt it before with whatever took place, it was truly confirmed then, Divankul was finally gone. That meant no more diatribes between the two, no more visitations of splendor, and that meant a complete collapse of any hope of her ever getting out fo this fetid cage under his supervision. One of the few who could actually dialogue with her on the natures of divinity and the role of the zealot, one of the few who actually gave her help, and let her reclaim her faculties.
Without smoothers, she’d quickly devolve into the gibbering mess of an entity she was in the teens, that she had lost all her characteristic poise and intellect for blind faithful wrath and was so easily bested by Garin of all people, an upstart little shit who cut his teeth in the age of piracy. She would not go back to that hellish existence, damned the cost of it. So, it would seem she had no other options, and the grin splayed out on a tired old face that she’d be allowed to enact her fantasies, for true.
“Enough of your blubbering mess fat man, you corpulant waste of the dwarves of old, incompetence bred of peaceful complacency. Your choked natterings from behind a bloated maw of undulating jowls pound across mine ears like a pickaxe on coal. You shall keep that man’s name from your diseased and consumptive hole and be silent one and for all times” Numuri arose with each jab, she’d been refused clothing long ago, or any utensils, or to keep anything in her room, even a mattress by which to sleep.
They feared her, they’d seen what she’d done during the riots in the past, and they knew with cognizance she was a monster of the highest order, hence why she was condemned to the lowest pits of Untergrad and guarded by only the cruelest of captors who all had made attempts to break her will. This place of the mentally unstable, this dungeon had long since stopped attempting to rehabilitate and fix, the only person who ever gave a fuck about any of Numuri’s thoughts and ambitions was that damned fool who could empathize with her and mull in the darkness.
[i]Damned old fool, why could you not have brought me out to such a battlefield, where at least if we were to die, we could face oblivion together, and soak in the basking end of lives hard spent and well fought. I promise you that my end is not yet, and I will find myself a proper death while I still can function, I’ll meet you in the realm between, Divan, and at last shall we find peace[/i]
“Wuz yah juut sah tah mie?!” Merl got off his creaking stool right outside the heavy steel door, blubbering and gyrating with rage, he pressed his face to the one spot that gave Numuri any source of light or interaction to the outer hallway. What she saw was a sweaty ogre of the deepest abyssal reaches of distortion staring back at her.
“Come inside, and face me, or are you frightened that you shall once more be paralyzed with utmost of fear as to when you faced me last? You contemptuous whale, blow the blood sot whistle, and I’ll fight each and every one of you sodden lackwits till I pulverize whatever passes for the grey matter within those cages of osteo.” A taunt, a reach, one attempt to get what she wanted.
The fucker was smart enough not to fall for it, he grunted, grumbled, and shook his head with great violence, ensuring the folds of his chins wobbled tither and hither in a mockery of the human condition. “Nuuuuuuuuu, nuuuuuu ain fullin fer eeetttt!” He was disgruntled but rational enough to know that even if they subdued her, he’d be up on the chopping block one way or another.
A second option then, a little bit of trickery in the dark, a consequence of their refusal to allow Numuri even a candle by which to light the cramped isolation cell. Though for her, it was all the same, light and dark had no impact on true drow, their darkvision as excellent as their daylight vision. Certainly, to be bathed in light was a truly preferable option as it set aglow the myriad of Aradia’s colors built into every striation of reality, but to be locked in the muted cage of mediocrity was not such a terrible fate either.
“Then we shall do this in your way, I’ve found some loosened brickwork, and I’ll be tunneling my way out of this cesspit. I have most, unfortunately, outstayed any welcome in this dark and dreary voidhole, and bid you a sodden farewell” Slipping back in the darkest corners, where no light bathed her from the tight barred window of the door, she pulled and shifted a singular loosened brick that she indeed at one time found, but with no tools of places to hide such activities, what was she to do with such an opportunity?
She heard the whistle blare screeching loud like a banshee’s howling cries of torment, perfection, they would be here in under sixty seconds, armed and ready to put her back in her place. This Untergrad, less a place of healing more a prison for the so-called infirmed of the mind, such a place was unbefitting one such as herself, and it would find that lesson painfully clear.
They opened the door wide, and six securities filed into the small cramped space, intending to overwhelm with numbers, they had bright lanterns with the light pointed outward to try and blind her. Two wielded man catchers to grapple her to the ground, and two more still had truncheons ready to beat her into submission. Merl wasn’t dumb enough to come in himself, he left it to his unnamed goon cohorts. Such a pity that they forgot to look up…
Numuri was upon them from what little height there was upon the walls of the cell, a damning right hook crashed in from an elevation and angle the lead guard was unprepared for, and Numuri relished in the crunching noise made by his neck as it crumpled like paper against her mighty blow. There was no moment for them to think, as she swung out and grabbed at the mancatcher, ripped it from a goon’s hands, and proceeded to push away the other lantern holder, scattering their light and causing havoc in the tight space. They needed to get out and get clear, needed to book it back out, call for the Blackjackets.
So that’s what they did, trying to close the door behind them and leaving their fellow behind in blind panic, but it was too late. Numuri wedged the steel ‘U’ of the catcher in between the door and its frame, and though they had strength to them, she was a drow and wrenched it free against the two trying to hold it closed. As she entered the dim lighting of the hallway, they tried to attack with more room to get about her, so she ditched the catcher in favor of moving fast, slipping under the other catcher’s sluggish shifting to try and pin her, and gut-punching him hard enough to rupture his internal organs.
Someone hit a contraption, and from somewhere up above a siren began to wail out a bleating noise of warning, a call to help in suppressing a one woman army. She was bemused that after just incurring all of three losses, they were pissing themselves in terror, and Merl was missing now entirely…
The thoughts were halted when the other lantern guard swung the heavy device at her head, to which she spun and whipped the back of her knuckles into the young man’s neck, snapping his head forward and cracking his skull based on the blood spurting and the way he simply dove into the earth afterwards. that left two baton wielders and a groaning soul back in the cell, who was probably curled up and hoping to escape her ire. She lunged at them and they had no recourse but to book it out and away, as other confined souls screamed and whooped and hollered at the commotion going on. So Numuri jumped on the one who was slowest and took his head in each of her hands and wrenched violently on a circle, twisting the man’s head on an unnatural placement and letting him topple, before grabbing his baton and flinging it as hard as she could at the other guard, who toppled as the force of the truncheon smashed into the small of his back and left him disabled.
She walked very calmly to the screeching man, trying desperately to crawl away as fast as he was able to do so, and stomped hard on his neck, ending his suffering with the heel of her foot. With a sigh, she stretched and enjoyed the full freedom of being allowed to stretch her legs and move around for the first time in many, many years. It was a wonderful sensation, and she began to stroll towards the stairwell up to her inevitable fate, leaving behind the ill-minded retinue to screech and whoop and demand with nobody left to hear.
In the hours to come, there would be a damning report filed and circulated around the upper crust of the city, before in the days following the rest of Bastion would be enlightened, though attempts to suppress would be made. “Numuri Martal, the Mad Zealot, has escaped confinement at Untergrad, dozens dead, she is now armed and considered exponentially dangerous. Do not engage.”
----Zehin walked the pathways as if it were a week ago, it was like his muscles weren’t in totality with him that it had been closer to two thousand years since he’d been home. He guessed that was partially due to the fact he’d been frozen stiff for a good few centuries, but still, it was funny how the body recalled how to move around old stomping grounds. The city had been held in a timeless state within the crystalline ice shelves, its shimmering splendor glowed dully in the late afternoon light that rested along the crook of the mountains.
He had slipped past a notable security staff of elves who were always guarding the place in case scavengers, or dwarves, tried to pilfer anything of the old Empire. There was seriously enough precious metal here to destroy a small economic sector. Not to mention the untold amounts of magitech still lying around everywhere. Zehin wasn’t here for that, he was looking for a building, an apartment complex to be specific.
He finally found a beautiful building with built-out verandas and old luxuries like the lounging pools. A treat for being part of the Inquisition, to live in such laps of splendor, Zehin scaled up a number of masterfully carved stairs and found his old apartment number. Seventeen, he turned the knob and it clicked like nothing had been wrong and Zehin wasn’t late by seventeen centuries. As he slid the door open, for a moment he saw everything as it once was, a tame living room, two chairs he and his wife sat in, and beyond it a kitchen and their bedroom. Warm, smelling of sweetbread and lilac, with a pale orange paint on the walls and his wife sitting reading a book waiting for him to greet her.
Instead, the whole house had become darkened, there was no smell but the musk of moist stone finally breathing and rotting away the paint. There was no light or heat, the only light came from windows that bounced the afternoon lights eerily around this crypt. However, there was Al-Zehin’s first, and most precious person in his life even now.
Oraka, still sitting as if she were reading her book, a pair of glasses slipping off her warming nose. Her pages held eternally open, her golden skin showing shades of blue-black from the frost that had enveloped her. She had been wearing a nightgown and had been reading to pass the time as she waited like she always did for her husband to arrive after a late night. He had failed her, and everyone else, and he never got to tell her goodbye before the end came.
Zehin couldn’t bring himself to step inside, to betray the feeling, to come home after so long. He couldn’t bear to look upon Oraka and apologize for being so late, and having let her down. So he stood, first a minute, then five, then after fifteen someone came and put a firm hand on his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts.
Al-Zehin turned to see a young faced sergeant looking perplexed into the eyes of the old civilian elf, he hadn’t worn anything special, some old baggy working pants and a tunic from the great houses era, making him seem quite out of place not only in the modern world, but here in this advanced society’s graveyard. “Sir, nobody’s meant to be here, were you here with an escort or?”
“No, son, I’m just an old man coming home, I’d prefer it if you’d left me to that and get back to your sentry” He knew the boy was just doing his job, but he wanted to be alone in this, which is why he didn’t do anything the official way. While some people knew that he had been headed out this way, he didn’t want to get escorts and have a bunch of eyes all over his business. 
“Sorry sir, but I’m going to have to escort you back out, this city is off limits to civilians and-” Zehin apologized quietly as he laid out the kid with a palm strike to the chest, inflicting him with a sudden case of the down and outs. He’d wake up in a bit, probably pissed and very sore what with the sudden disruptions to his normal functions, but by that time Zehin would be done anyways.
With that settled her set the kid down against the railing of the building and finally worked the nerve up to walk inside what was once his home. As he walked, he felt his nerve turn to ice but he forced his stiffened legs to walk one step then another until he was face to face with his greatest love. She still had a smile splayed across her face as she looked down in a trance like moment in time at what could be so enrapturing about her book.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Oraka, but I finally came home, and wanted to make sure you knew that I love you…just as much as the day we first met. I know it’s been a bit, and if you could, you’d lay into me about working too hard again. I know, and I promise, it’s almost over.” He shuddered as he sucked in a breath, he could feel the water beginning to well up in his eyes, and feel the stinging sensation as tears were finally unleashed and he had to strain to keep his voice from shaking too much.
“I know…what happens to a soul when it is released from the body. I know…you’re probably long gone by now, but I also know that when the time comes, and my days are at their close, it won’t matter, we’ll be together forever and for always just as I had promised. Not even oblivion will stand in my way of that promise” he had to gasp, wipe at his eyes with his palm and try to control his breathing as he labored for one final message.
“I promise, it’s almost over…” Zehin was about to sit in the matching chair, the one he’d lay into after a long day, and be comforted by a soft-spoken but strong-willed little dawnari woman. However, as he went to ease himself in, he felt a presence outside of the apartment, one that he didn’t like the feeling of.
Come to the VoiceAlright then, it seemed like he wouldn’t be allowed to rest, because someone using that level of magic and trying to tempt him was bad news. While he wanted so badly to just be able to sit one last time with his wife, Zehin knew the moment he would sit down he’d never get up again. 
Come, or I kill everyone
Al-Zehin sighed and made his way back out of what had once been his home for the last time. 
The kid was still sitting slumped on the railing, so Zehin walked over him and quietly made his way back through the quiet city of stone and glitter, noting that the researchers and security officers were now nowhere to be seen or heard, it was very telling just by the feeling deep in his core. Magic, lots of it, whether used to surprise or just to enforce something, it was explicit.
He smelled the gunpowder and steel before he got too close. It was sharp and tangy as opposed to deep and earthy like black powder, mixed with the odd perfume of how polished steel tends to always produce. Centuries of producing the latter made the contrast to the former unmistakable in the crisp clean mountain air. 
Thaumaturgical reactions made their own scents, sights, and sensations to those attuned to them throughout the air. It would be disorienting if not for the fact Al-Zehin knew how to divert his senses between mysticism and the natural world. His deeper senses told him there was lots of reactive pressure, his nose said gunpowder and steel, ears said echoes of shifting feet and laborer breathing, and his eyes said that there was absolutely something waiting just beyond the veil ready to appear as soon as he sprung this obvious trap.
So he sprung it.
“You’re very hard to get a bead on, did you know that? You slip through the nets so easily…” The voice was a little static, a little strained, produced by magic and coming out of the ‘mouth’ of the unseen entity Al-Zehin had seen the shimmering glimpses of as invisibility was never quite perfect.
“Go ahead and reveal yourself so we can talk normally, Menagerie” Zehin shook his head and laid his hands to his hips, he was apparently wanted by his granddaughter for something, and that something could not be good.
The figure appeared as if from thin air as it removed its tacky, yet useful cloak of light and revealed itself to be a well-crafted puppet. It was covered in a tan cloak with silver trim, had a black body with two glowing symbols to either side of its cheeks, and a hood covering the rest. Underneath was an androgynous puppet in a black military uniform with silver striping and red accents to its sleeves. “The worms are all sleeping, but that won’t last if you don’t play nice”
“So you’re fine with just annihilating divisions of engineers and mercenaries over how I behave now?”
“Eh, somewhere in the middle, the guards I care little for, but engineers attempt to meld the worlds of magic and technology, and I can respect them for their ambitions and give them the chance to join me if you refuse to hear me out” the puppet shifted is hand in a middiling gesture and seemed disinterested int he live sof anyhting but those connected to the tethers of the aether.
“By joining you, do you mean believing that Divankul is some kind of magical god, in the same vein as the other dead deities? That Talia made a mistake by shunting the Void?” Zehin had heard this number before, but you didn’t get anywhere by being rude.
“Yes Grandfather, I know what I know, the equations theoretically prove it’s a possibility, and the False Shell tacitly confirmed it. The cycle will begin anew, I can feel it, every move I make brings me closer to a solution for the calculus.” He could hear the giddiness in the speech even over the transmission noise, Menagerie was a picture of her father, all brains and no sense.
“That you do, and like I’ve told you before, that thing is not my son, and it would have never achieved apotheosis. If it did, it would have already left here and you’d have never been born, if it was a God why did it let Talia and Elmer seal the gates shut? Why Did it keep the barrier going when the Queen died?” Needling, probably not the wisest with how many arcane signatures Al was picking up but, well, he wanted to keep Menagerie talking for as long as possible.
“Yet, I was born, I am here, and my theory holds true, the False Shell is dead, an Interloper saw him as enough of a threat to destroy him. Now magic bathes this world once more, and through it, I can feel him beyond the veil. When I manage to get the attention of the Godmind, I’ll have concrete evidence I’m not delusional. I’ll prove everyone wrong and then I will offer forgiveness.” A bit fo a ramble, she was quite the talker, she wasn’t done and Zehin recalled all the tiems Divankul would go out on long winded tirades about magical theorums and ways to do this or that, losing his mind continously. Menagerie wasn’t deranged, not stupid, not insane, but she was certainly animated and eccentric.
“The False Shell conspired with Talia, they knew exactly what they were doing, Elmer feared the cycle, Talia wanted to be above it, and the False Shell was all that was wrong with Divankul’s mind, of course, he’d shunt off the capability fo the Godmind to peer into the mortal veil and intervene”
“A conspiracy eh? So this cycle? The cycle of leadership backed by higher powers being toppled again and again? The death of one god, the birth of a new one? You’re thinking it’s your father’s turn at the bat and you are his chosen leader?” She had always been passionate, the proof of Divankul’s apotheosis was the cornerstone to a wide-reaching theory of magical equilibrium that Menagerie had fallen into. She hadn’t come up with it, it was a fringe theory about cosmological sustainability that had existed as far back as the Empire.
“Yes! Exactly! I knew you’d understand grandfather! You’re not like the others, you’ve seen the end of one era and the struggles of the next, you have seen the cycle in full swing before! You know I’m not deluded, you can see what I’m talking about” That really always made her so happy, that Al-Zehin wouldn’t just press down on her dreams, but would actually contend and carry out these metaphysical discussions with her. He had to admit if that thing had bothered ot properly hear her out and tell her exactly what he knew, they probably would have never had any problems and Menagerie would have understood.
“I can get that, and I guess it is possible if you look at the systemic rise and fall of kingdoms in that perspective, but it doesn’t excuse you trying to hurt your baby, nor the abductions, of which I know you’re behind them. It doesn’t look good for your ideals when you commit crimes of violence”
“For the last time: I. Did. Not. Attack. My. Daughter. That is a fabrication my mother cooked up because I was attempting to carry out a ritual to remove that blasted seal the False Shell put on my child while she was still in my womb, and I could not defend against it.” The puppet was severly animated, bright flashes of anger played out around the seems even hiddne by fabric, Menagerie’s own powers being fueled by her passionate indignant fury “What she calls an attempt at killing her I call an attempt at freeing her, it was a simple pen knife, enchanted for my purposes, I knew what I was doing”
“The abductions?” Zehin added, not wanting to press too much further on the subject on the threat Menagerie had posed to her child with her reckless attitude on the seal.
“Freedom for those who accept it, freedom from a dead world, you call them abductions, I call it liberation. I couldn’t give them the perfect lives of those in the Empire, but I could ensure they suffered no more, and that their children would carry out their will. They are welcomed into the folds, the sacrifices of those who experienced freedom fuel the engine of change, the Cycle will resume with their help” It was like she was repeating a mantra, something to help her categorize all the harm she was doing was for some greater good, a classic thing, one Zehin couldn’t fault her for. 
If she peered too deeply into all the harm she’d actually done, it could break her, naive as she was, Al feared there were bad actors speaking in her ears convincing her that this was the only way to achieve her vision. “You realize that when this is all done, it won’t be in the way you wanted, right? I’m not joining you, but we did have a nice conversation, and I don’t especially want to fight this out with you”
A sallow sound shuddered out of the speaker in the doll’s mouth, a sigh of great weight as its shoulders slumped “You of all people should be able to understand the end goal. With your help I could give you back the life you had, or let you spend eternity with your wife. I could do everything and more than what the Empress ever could, you could have whatever you want we all could! Despite all that’s happened, I’m willing to even forgive Garin for mutilating my womb if he’d just give up my daughter to me.”
“What I want is for you to give up this endeavor, not because I think you’re deluded, but because I believe it’s wrong, and where I couldn’t stand up to my creator, I can at least stop you from walking her path.” As much as he hated that thing that called itself his son, he had pity for that thing's children, his grandchildren, they needed better guidance than the disconnected reality they were fed by that freak.
“Grandpa, I’ll give you one last chance before I sentence you here, I am patient, I have given so much, and tried to make you understand. I’m worn thin on such pleasantries, so I ask you, one last time before I have to carry out one of the hardest tasks. Will you join me? Or would you rather die here in this great graveyard of what once was?” She was serious, that much was for certain, he could hear it, smell it, feel it all around him, the trap was primed, he’d already triggered it, the delay was over, and everything was a second from snapping shut.
“I think we both know the answer my dear girl, my apologies, but I am no longer beholden to the commandments of a false deity, and I refuse to become a puppet to yet another. It would seem as though it would finally have to come to blows, much as I’d preferred if you’d just gone back home.” He began to shift his feet, and quietly flex his fingers, and he was already channeling power from his core to his extremities.
“I’m sorry too, I will endeavor to make your death relatively painless. This is goodbye, Grandpa” The doll tried to formulate some kind of a spell, perhaps to pivot, maybe to attack, it didn’t matter. The discussion was now over, and the fight was beginning, he’d need to destroy this thing first.
Zehin took a practiced step, swiped his right palm through the air like it were water, and struck the midpoint of the torso. “Soul Palm: Resonance, Goodbye Menagerie.” 
With that, a cacophonous dispelling force burst through the connective mana strings holding the puppet together, shattered its golem core, and sent shockwaves of disparate spiritual energy outwards, alongside a shower of shrapnel as the device was turned into a boomstick.
He was surrounded, he could sense at least ten different magical signatures, and he could hear at least a few dozen soldiers shuffling and moving to get a good firing position. The acoustics of this old city were something spectacular even after the centuries. Zehin flexed out his shoulders and heard some stiff joints pop in his arms, and his back began to loosen as he twisted back and forth, feeling the signatures begin to close in.
As if breathing out a sigh of relief he enforced his signature “Spirit Rush” It was as if a light switch had gone off and the old man felt a surge of power jolt through his veins and wisps of silver wind wreathed around his body like so many wrappings.
Glancing around at his opposition, he smiled and took a stance, setting himself up in a readied maneuver and flexing his well-worn fingers like nimble old claws “Who’s next?” 
SPOILER: Click to hide 
He had the strap in between his teeth as he grunted and clenched into it, something about digging bullets out of your arm with a pair of forceps didn’t get any easier the tenth time you were doing it. Maria had already put Ornia back to the guards, the surgeon, Half-Tooth, was working on Garin’s leg, getting the one lodged in there out while he worked his arm. 
They had managed to get some of the slime and grime out of the way to at least limit the probability of infection but he’d need to actually have a bath and clean the wounds, have everything packed tight with medicine, and probably get bandaged up, spend days or weeks recovering if he was unlucky.
However, now that magic was suddenly on the table again, maybe he could skip that last part, he screamed out in anger and pain as the surgeon got the bullet out of his thigh with an uncaring yank.
“Fargraaaah! Dammit Tooth! Warn me!” he spat out the leather strap as he berated the feline doctor, the doctor merely rolled his eyes and shook his head “Elf is such baby, can’t take bullet”
“I’ll fuckin feed you one if you’re volunteering!” Garin spat back and pulled on a hard metal object he’d finally found purchase on, and managed to remove the other bullet that was in his arm. Both sites bled, but that was to be expected, he’d get treated in the baths after they cleaned out everything. He’d already sent the girls down, no sense in letting them linger on their dead grandfather of the dysfunction of the family, he’d walk them through it all when he got down.
“Garin…We have a lot to talk on you know” it was Maria, standing in the doorway of the lounge, leading on the frame as the two men were sat in a set of wooden chairs in front of the warm body of Divankul Dul-Sansiska.
“That we do, but it will have to either be the footnotes or wait until I’m done with getting everything done to me in the baths. You know how it is down in Old Everglow, I’m full of holes and my lungs are coated in smog, got trash in my eyes.” Garin grunted and stood himself up, having done away with the burlap and standing as bareassed as the day he was born.
“It’s a lot more than footnotes, there’s been several developments since you were last home, not the least of which-” Maria had pushed herself up off of the frame and was making way towards him but Garin held up a hand.
“Yeah, the old man got his throat bitten out by something able to kill the unkillable, and now it’s turned the world on its head. I get it, we’ll work it out later, when I’m not feeling like complete dogshit and when you’ve successfully deciphered what’s on his back.
“How did you?” Maria cocked her eyebrow curiously, Garin hadn’t been home fifteen minutes, how could he know everything so quickly?
“Because I’m a ‘MaSteR DeTecTiVe’” Garin mockingly wriggled his fingers and snickered and looked at Hack who rolled his eyes and flipped him off lazily “No, Hack filled me in on the briefest of notes about the old man being torn up in a fight and there’s Black Tongue on his back, also told me about how easily you let in the Clockworks, we’re gonna have words on that one later” Garin brushed past his older sister, taking care not to smear her with any of the crud coming off him. 
He knew the maid staff wouldn’t be happy with him tracking this crap all over the flooring but how else was he gonna get anywhere if not with his feet?
“Garin, seriously? Maria called back but he shrugged and kept moving for the elevator, going downwards and finding comfort in the heavy steam of the baths, the girls were already clean, their clothing discarded in full, and they were soaking by the time Garin was crossing his way to get his body scraped free of this filth.
What met him was a squad of assistants, two kyn, two common elves, and from the moment he stepped in he was sat down and the ordeal began. They were professionals, and they had been warned, already they had a kind of gripping soapy oil they poured along Garin’s musculature.
You couldn’t get the city’s most stubborn filth and trash off of the body with ordinary soaps and bathing oils, it took heavy-duty stuff that would peel off the top layers of your skin. This stuff was damn near caustic and could melt the stone-like substrate of a drow’s flesh if it wasn’t handled carefully. You poured it on and took a dull scraping knife that would peel it all like you were an apple. It hurt like a bitch, and when each layer was peeled, it revealed something akin to a snowy mountainside in the color of flesh: pale, raw, and unprotected.
What was once cool blue-gray slate, now was so pale and near fleshy in comparison, and it was a process, layer by layer, scraping him down, throwing the discarded residues in the bucket to be tossed, lest it clog up the drainage. It was like a mixture of beef tallow, smog, and putrid trimmings off of a demon of pestilence.
To those back in Old Everglow, it was home, and mixed in that mess of ‘home’ were weeks of salt and trash from his weeks out at sea hunting pirates. The whole thing was just a mixture of nonsense that made him seem more like the grizzled old vet some tended to see in him as the years had wore on.
They took care around his face, his junk, between his arse, and his scar tissue, but everywhere else they were fucking relentless beasts of cleanliness. In the other areas, it was a lot more gentle, more like a kneading of a different compound that would loosen the grime and filth and be rinsed away. But for the time now Garin was blinded because his face was coated in a less horrible amalgam that smelled like unripened strawberries.
He felt the horrible burning sensation of the cleansing liquids being poured into his open wounds and gashes, some kind of acid that burned away the bacteria that were present inside of the wounds. they had to get it all out before they packed the holes and salved the gashes and scrapes. Then he felt pressure as they shoved medicated plugs of orcfist and dwarf holly into his back, arm, and leg, and then lit the mixture ablaze with hot coals since you couldn’t get an open flame in the humidity of this place.
The things expanded with a deafened ‘pop’ and a grunt each time from Garin, as it pressed on his internal body structure and caused him grief, but it was going to subside soon enough and leave the sights numbed and relaxed. They were combing his hair roughly, had to get the shit out of his pale straw locks somehow, and they were not kind about it. If they tried at cutting any of it though Garin was going to have some choice words. He’d dead with them having to brush out and rinse his hair and beard, but they weren’t going to be riding him of any of it.
Soon enough the rinsing began, and he could see again, and he looked very different than how he’d started, he looked younger, all the flesh was that of a youngster. If not for the beard he could pass for himself back in 1015, then they sprayed his eyes and blinded him once more as he batted at them from the unexpected assault.
“Gah! Fuckers!” Garin tried to wipe at his eyes but their hands suddenly grabbed and he was left to simply let his body produce the tears to clear his eyes. They dabbed at his cheeks as he did so until a minute passed and he was allowed to see once more after another rinse. They showed him the cloth to show just how much of the pollution had gotten into his eyes, it was like smears of sickly green-yellow snot.
That wasn’t the end of it, he also got a tube shoved up his nose and a belt of steam was flooded up into his sinuses and allowed to drip back out the other side as a black putrid sludge that Garin was now able to actually smell just how disgusting what he had breathed in was when it was heated up int he steam. It smelled like a decaying body had just been expunged from his sinuses.
Afterward, he was washed like normal, with gentle soaps and oils, and attention was paid to his grooming, his nails being clipped, his hair being trimmed, and his beard trimmed and the edges shaved to give him a more proper look. when it was all over, it’d been half an hour of an ordeal, but his wounds were smeared in salve and his arm and leg were covered in medicated bandages around the site of the bullets and gashes.
He was shaky but made his way over to the main bath where the girls still remained, soaking quietly and not daring to make too much ruckus. They’d been through a less extreme time of it, but the servants had still scrubbed the hell out of their skin and left them feeling raw as was the precaution one was made to take after time down in Old Everglow for extensive periods. 
Well, extensive was relative, for the girls it was any amount of time down there, and for adults it was more than a day.
Garin eased himself down into the bath with the help of one of the Kyn, who had a hold of him under the shoulder as he braced himself with his good arm and eased down into the soothing hot water. She offered him a bowl of orcfist soaking in candied syrup, and he took a mighty clump and stuffed half his face with the drug, chomping down for minutes as he sat across from his nieces and let them continue to stew until he was ready to go through what had happened today. 
The narcotic began to do its job almost immediately, and Garin could feel his body finally start to unwind, stop holding on, and let him relax. The candied syrup helped the bitterness of the medicine slide down his throat, and he sighed as they sat there for the next five minutes, the only sound being the gentle motion of the water, and the chewing of the commander on his leaves.
This day had gone from a fun adventure to embarrassing, to downright dreadful as Reyani and her sisters awaited whatever was going to happen. After being made to take the long quiet trudge of shame back home, and then being made to go straight to the baths and be treated like kids by the servants scarping at their skin to get the ‘pestilence’ out of their pores before it stuck in. Reyani’s every being felt like it was being pricked by hundreds of needles and the waters were the only thing keeping the sensation tolerable.
Uncle Garin had been scary, covered in slime and trash, and looking like he’d just been in a massive fight, which he probably had been in. His sword had dripping blood off of it and he scared off Silvers with just a few words. He didn’t even put his sword away until they were out of Old Everglow, wouldn’t let them talk or explain, and just kept telling them to march. He wouldn’t let them explain anything and just kept making them go wherever he wanted just like when they were little babies.
Uncle Garin was basically the group dad since they didn’t exactly know their own, and what was sounding the dread alarm was the fact that when he got upset he wouldn’t ever yell or scream. Wouldn’t hit at them or punish them normally, he’d just get really quiet and start these boring fucking lectures that could last an hour of him just droning on about responsibility or you were raised better or even I’m not mad, just dissapointed. It was easier when they got caught by Aunt Maria or Momma, they didn’t drone on and on and on.
It took him till after they were steeping in the baths to even enter the chambers, still dripping in sludge and blood, and he didn’t say a word, just went into the bathing chamber for a whole half hour. she’d hear grunts and gasps and other stuff come out of there, and when it was all finsihed her Uncle came out looking like a totally different person, he was all wrapped up in bandages and had this almost glossy sheen in places before he settled into the bath nearer to Ashlynn’s side. That was when he shoved a massive bunch of drug leaves into his mouth and started chewing and sighing in the heat while making them all wait even longer.
He spit out the concoction into a bowl and laid it to the side while the feline servant nuzzled into his face and filled him up a goblet of alcohol that he then began to sip on before finally letting them explain themselves.
“Alright then, tell me the story, and don’t try to pull any type of lie, I don’t like it when my kids lie to me…” That was a weird way to phrase it, but the girls each took a turn expressing from the start of the day about Divana’s chest-thumping and Reyani’s headache from the past night, to sneaking past cousin Xenovia, to having fun like they always did and that was totally fine by Uncle Garin’s standards. He nodded along attentively and kept drinking from his goblet, he wasn’t stopping them now and Reyani took the lead for the decision to go to The Market. She’d been the one to pull the trigger, she’d shoulder the responsibility to tell the story.
She began with meeting the Ghost Hands, and then them being allowed to tag along int the Market, expressing how they were only int he main portion and were watching each other’s backs, and waiting on Martin to finish up his job. She left out them benign accosted by some gross-looking bandits and skipped over any sort of dangers the girls faced at the time. Instead jumping to when Vance had cornered them and Uncle Garin arrived at the right time.
Reyani hoped this would be enough to get them out fo some long-winded speech this time, her hopes were quickly dashed when her Uncle put down his goblet and leaned back with a sigh. He was gonna go on a lecture spree, fuck.
“A lie of omission is still a lie, you were accosted by bandits, approached by whores, looked at as fish out of water in a place you did not belong. You were too clean, too manicured, and too innocent not to be prime targets. If it had not been for Scarecrow and Riding Hood finding you when they did, things could have been so much worse” he had his eyes closed and was laying back as he chided them, one of the Felines brought out a weird pillow cushion that went around his neck and he laid back into it.
“I was up on those gallows, dealing with a situation born out of my need to keep you kids safe, while my kids were down in the muck playing around in a place that’s not only not for children, but not for the nobility to be sniffing about it…” Uncle Garin grunted and sighed, adjusting his wounded leg underneath the water.
“You lied to me, and you disobeyed my one rule above all other rules, the one unbreakable rule: don’t go into The Black Market, that was the biggest one. You broke it without any hesitation because you figured since I was out hunting pirates as a favor to your Aunt, you could manage to get away with it.” That wasn’t fair, Reyani didn’t recall this ever being a rule or having to worry about Uncle Garin catching them regardless, she wanted to open her mouth but it’d just make him talk more.
“I made that rule, got the consensus of the family, and hammered it home repeatedly alongside them that you never, never, ever go there. You did, and I failed to express the dangers clearly enough I suppose, and I own that, my fault, so now I’m going to make up for my failures. You’re to be sequestered on the estate grounds for the next few days while I find personal bodyguards for all three of you girls, any time you leave the grounds they’ll be with you.”
Reyani could feel her heart drop, it was worse than she thought, and she looked to Divi and Ash who were equally stunned and Reyani finally found some balls to speak up “Uncle Garin-”
“No need to add on Yani, I recognize my failures as your parental figure, I wasn’t clear enough, and while I’m disappointed you all felt the need to not only lie, but to disobey my most important rule, made for your safety, I’m going to rectify that.” He finally straightened up, and looked them in the eyes each as he kept talking.
“I’m gonna be a better parent, and that means ensuring your safety and hopefully earning the trust it takes for you three to be able to be straight on with me and come to me about whatever might be happening. You did so about the feeling of the rumbles, but not about you breaking the rules, so I guess it’s not totally a lost cause. But it’s clear I’ve got more ground to cover on that front, and we’ll discuss it in depth later” Reyani couldn’t believe this was happening, for fuck sakes all they did was go to one spot in the city, and now they were going to be shackled to a bunch of stiff-lipped blackjackets that would never let them do a fun thing ever again, they were screwed!
“But Uncle Garin-” Divi was gonna try her luck now but their Uncle just shook his head and sighed.
“It’s fine, I’ll find you the best there is to keep you all safe, and you’ll still be free to leave the estate grounds and go spend time with yuor fellow nobles, or head to the Market District or head back up to Surial, heck we could send you off to our villa up in Amora or down in the Tropics for a while so you don’t get too bored here without the festival going on and while you wait for the new academic term to begin” Great, he was thinking about sending them off and away until they had to return to their schooling?! Fuuuuuuck there was no way out of this!
“That’s enough of the baths girls, head back either to your room or you can go to the dining hall, I’ll check in on how you guys are dealing with the death of your grandfather and the situation at large later. I’m sorry that you had to figure it out so bluntly today and that I’m adding onto it. That’s not fair, and I’ll lay that one on my shoulder as well to make up for” He grunted reaching for his goblet, downing more of it as he stood and took a few wobbly steps towards the massage therapy chamber.
“However, I couldn’t just let today’s incident go either. I’ll be sure to have N’Dara find you girls some sweets or something and that you’re kept in the loop, you might be our kids but that doesn’t mean you have to be kept free of everything that’s happening in your own family. Hop to now, get dry get headed, and if anyone questions it tell them Uncle Garin said you’re free to be in the dining hall” It was no use, they wouldn’t be able to reason with him, they were stuck with this…
As the sisters rose up Reyani couldn’t help but wonder if they could wait this out, maybe he was just overreacting because of Grampa. She hoped her mother wouldn’t be as overbearing but from what she could see of it when they had first come inside, she seemed to be taking Grampa’s death pretty hard. As they left the baths and began to dry off, they said nothing, as they stewed on the revelation that their freedoms had just suddenly ended and they were now going to be treated like weak little children who couldn’t do anything for themselves.
They didn’t chat afterward, he just let Cass go to pry Jax out from wherever he was, and they would all head back home for a short spell before they’d go off to enjoy their day off. Vance’s anger had been targeted toward Garin anyways once the fucker showed up, he despised the nobility but he had a special bone to pick with those who thought they could pander about to the commons. It was as if they felt infallible and that the slum dwellers should get on their knees to lick the ground they walked on.
The girls got it from people like Maelstrom, they learned that the peasants would adore them so long as they came down from their ivory, and sprinkled a few coins to the idiots in the dark. Damn Drow were some of the worst of it, always spouting off about how much more they give a shit about ‘Aradia’s Children’ but when it came down to it where the fuck was that love and attention when Jax needed help? Did it come from the church elves, the so-called ‘Missionaries’ of Divankul’s blue arse?! No, it came from a loan shark gouger that Vance was indebted to now.
Drow were nothing but killers and pilfering nimrods who spent decades and centuries, taking up all the money in the world to trickle it back down to the lessers as they saw fit. Didn’t work hard for shit, except to kill and maim anyone who crossed them. Vance needed to beat his anger out on something, and with the probability that Kinnard wasn’t going out again until the late late evening, he figured he could go to The Pit and get to earning some bonuses.
As he strolled to 22nd Blind Street, their ‘home’ as it was, the moment stepped his feet into the alcove, the door swung wide as the dopey-assed fugly mug of Whistler greeted Vance. He nearly decked the hunchback, but instead stepped away a pace and let the middle-aged ‘cook’ out. Whistler, for his part, had crooked his thick neck two turns of a screw to look up with his good eye at Vance and grimaced. the fucker had a greasy combed patting of hair that he always combed to his leftmost side because that’s how his neck tended to crook, what with the hunch in his back. Frankly, all of the man’s left side was some kind of wrong: Lazy left eye, monstrously deformed left arm, and because the hump was in the left of his back it meant that his bowling ball of a shoulder was near level with his fuckin crooked face.
He walked with a thick tree branch of a walking stick and was about as strong as a full-blooded dwarf on drugs. He’d once gotten a half-hearted swing from the left arm that sent him to the ground, and that was for looking at him funny cause his coat was off and he could see the mutant had about three extra muscle groups in his upper arm alone, or at least it seemed that way. Somehow his left side was the one with what looked like two of three arms shoved into one fuckin limb, and his right was perfectly normal and completely decent. Even then on his right side, he was still strong enough to break through a cabinet one time with a punch.
Apparently, the old dog was once a dock worker who quit when Kinnard wanted a nightwatchman and a cook. this jackass couldn’t cook shit but some weak stew but for Kinnard that was fine by him. If it wasn’t for the hunch he’d be a little bit more looming, but with how he was, he was more like a threatening shorter man packed with anger. He liked whistling and using a woodcutter’s axe as his chosen tool, but Vance knew the man also packed at least one old flintlock if not more weapons in some hidey holes around the house.
“I’s wus told to gets dem cretins derr lunchins today, but that ain’t includins yeh, yah layabout, feeds yerselfs!” He spoke with vitriol at having to provide an extra meal today and was expressing it with rotten tobacco-stained teeth and vicious spittle. 
“Not here to eat Arthur, yah fucker, I’m telling the boss I’m headed to the Pit and I needed something from my room” Vance stood his ground, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Maelstorm but he’d be buried in the cesspits before he let this mutated fuckwad belittle him.
Whistler grunted, haucked up a big loogie of phlegm, and spit it into the walk as he passed Vance by and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Vance sighed, shook his head, and opened the thick old oak door open. It had been a door back in the Everglow days, this had been a ‘nicer’ home in the Bronze Way back in its time. Inside was dingy, stuffy, and hot with cloudy windows only letting in a twinkle of the already crusty sunlight that made it down into the city.
The first thing was the cramped old hallways that barely let Vance have any space above his head, and he figured that fuckers were just shorter back in the olden days. He had maybe a head more of room about him before he’d knock on the old ceiling. To his right were the children’s quarters, constantly surveilled by Kinnard’s ‘housekeeper’ to ensure none of the children were hiding anything from Kinnard, not valuables, not extra food, not a damned thing.
To the left was the dining room and general only meeting area in this blacked building, and it currently sat everyone eating a thin stew of potato, rice, and carrots. The one thing Vance had to give is that Kinnard actually fed the kids something better than what you’d find normally for the poorest of the poor. Granted, it was spiceless, bland, and watery with reused broth that would make your stomach churn if you thought too hard about it, but it had enough nutrition to stave off malnourishment. That was where the niceties stopped, as that was all the kids were afforded for their labors: to eat, and have a relatively dry place to sleep.
Arthur was a lousy cook, but Kinnard didn’t hire him for his skills as a chef, he hired him to be a watchman and a good enforcer. Kinnard ate the same bland crap as the kids did, seemed he’d long since lost the sensation of taste with how much he’d smoked and drank. Vance tended to use what little bits of his salary he could on feeding his siblings more and ensuring they were being well taken care of, sure he also bought the cheapest cigarettes and rotneck beers in the Market but, well, he needed something dammit!
At least he wasn’t hopelessly addicted to opium or fae guts, he might drink a bit and smoke too much for his lungs to be happy, but he could still fight, still earn, and eventually, he’d pay back the note Kinnard had on him and leave this shit behind. By the Void he’d move far the fuck away, maybe go to Homefast…or maybe take his chances out west?
Vance didn’t bother poking his head in to see the kids choking down their portions of the soup that day, he walked his ass up the half-broken stairs that creaked and groaned with each weight of a foot pressed in on them, and he turned the corner as soon as he’d walked up, and ignore dKinnard’s open door and went instead to his own room.
It wasn’t spacious, not at all, he had exactly enough room to walk around the raggedy old bedframe, some old piece of shit that looked like hobbled together driftwood logs that held a weak straw mattress on some wooden slats. It felt like shit to sleep in, felt even worse with that itchy as fuck wool blanket in the winters. Felt even fuckin worsebasting in his own sweat in the summer nights.
He had a wardrobe that held all three sets of clothes he owned, and his two shoes: boots for working, runners for leisure. It could hold so much more, but there wasn't shit for him to put in it, anything he’d once owned had long since been taken by creditors. On the other side of the room sat a dresser that held a box he kept his cash in, beyond that were all the little things he got for his siblings, he had to keep them in his room so Clapper wouldn’t try to pull shit and he wouldn’t have to beat the fuck out of that dried up harlot for fucking with his kids. Those two things were about it besides some shit he kept strictly for work for Kinnard: his gun, a knife, spare bullets, and some field dressings in case he got his ass shot.
Kinnard opened the drawer, and pulled out a worn-out pair of two plat notes, as well as a handful of mixed nooners, waxers, and halfers, and shoved them into one pocket. since he was off the clock, he thought about returning his pistol, and thought better of it, instead opting for three extra shots because he figured there could be nerves after the events of the last hours.
With that, he spun on his heel and was right back out to Kinnard’s closed door and he knocked thrice, only to hear the old corpse chuffle along to the door quietly and crack it open, one eye peering out with exhausted disdain. Sleep was finally taking the ghoul for the day, and he was getting crotchety…more than usual.
“I’m leaving for The Pit and some general time to try and find something to earn on, if you need me, send Clapper out to The Pit to grab me” Vance didn’t feel like telling him shit, but he knew if he didn’t then the possibility of his waking up and calling for him would lead to one of his siblings catching some kind of ass beating on his behalf. He’d shoot a fucker dead over it, but then he’d be out on his ass in money problems, or get shot in exchange, better to just deal with the frustrations.
The grim eye bobbed up and down knowingly and the face behind coughed a bit as he cleared out his throat “Ey, won yuu tah bett guud on dere’s peegs foights fah meh” a hand suddenly flew out from the door seem with a greasy wrap of notes curled in it that Vance took. “Peegs ova cuts fer meh, alsa, membah, you uwes meh haulf yers winnans in der’s Peet foights”
“Yeah, I know boss, I’ll bring the official sheets after the fights of the day close out, and any winnings you made on the bets. Plus half my earnings on any fights I win” Vance was no fan of paying this waste of air half of his hard-fought winnings, his ass was the one fighting in the fucking Pit after all, but it lowered the debt he owed so he sucked it up and walked off as Kinnard closed his door once more and hopefully laid his withered ass in that bed.
He did not care to pay attention to the fact the kids had managed to eat their lunch as he walked past and they were quietly chattering. That wa suntil Jax popped his head out, his face mashe dup in scrap fight scars and a blackened eye fresh from probably another round against some of the bullies of Old Everglow trying to cause trouble with the younger kids.
He smiled a smile of gap teeth cause he’d lost himself a few in fights, and some were just remnants of old baby teeth that had erupted late in life. That was due to illness that had also stunted his growth, making him appear smaller and weaker than the fourteen years of age he really was. didn’t stop the little monster anyways, if he wans’t gonna win by strneght, he’d throw dirt in your eyes, bite you till he tore a chunk off, kick you in the balls, or beat you with a brick or a sportsball bat. Vance was proud he was such a little scrapper, probably what let him hold on so long so Vance could get him the treatment he needed.
“Is you goin to the Market, brother?” He knew damn well Vance was and Vance knew what he was playing at and shut that shit down on sight, he might’ve been a cute little scamper but Vance did not play with business.
“I absolutely am, and your ass is staying in Old Everglow just like what I told your sister, I’ll buy you both something from there and keep it up in my room away from Clapper, now shut it and get back to Cass” that calmed his overactive butt down and he ran off to tell Cassandra everything she already knew damn well because there wasn’t shit to these walls, you heard everything in them, and an open door frame to boot.
With that, Vance left for The Market, intent on working his butt off today.
Almond “Fairman” Banks, his name was the biggest crock of shit, and his ass ran The Pit with the backing, blessing, and security of The Axel Brokerage. Thus the place always had big-ass orc enforcers on hand to break anyone who dared to start shit in such a profitable establishment. Vance knew this porkish jackwagon for long enough to not trust the corn-fed smile for a second, he looked and acted like some old fair-shaking farmhand, but the moment he had your money your ass was his. The Pit was pretty aptly named, it was a building with a technical ground floor, except it had a huge fucking hole cut out of the center of it and there was this filthy ass dirt pit that people fought in. There were railing around the giant ass hole, and two ways down, where the fighters would enter into.
Granted the pit itself was not just a trash heap, they would rake out all the big shit in there, but there were still years of broken glass, piss, blood, oil, and shit mixed in and had become part of the dirt to a point where during humid days it was like cement that would tear your ass apart if you were slammed and scraped into it. On dryer days you could kick it up into people’s faces and blind the hell out of them for life if they were quick enough to cover up. Vance was gonna have to fight in that thing today, just like any other day, because only rich folks and merchants liked watching actual boxers and wrestlers. The underfolk of the city wanted to watch two people beat the piss outta each other till they were broken and bleeding.
Today was a day for orcs versus felines, or pigs vs cats as the locals called them, that was the main draw for the daytime bouts, it got the ground bloody and gross for the evening. Vance got to pick up evening fights because he’d been working his ass off to make a name as a pit fighter, and had been allowed to work in the nightly fights. He couldn’t bet on his own fights, to prevent dives and cheating, or so it was said, but he got a certain percentage of the betting pool.
He slapped down the wad of cash on the counter in front of Banks and sighed, knowing he was not in the mood for the ‘good times’ chatter this fuck was capable of “No bullshit Banks, my boss wanted thirty plats on the orc rosters today. Figures the Pigs will outwin the Cats I suppose”
“Well my friend that is always a safe betting choice, you know how it is, he’ll earn the flat double rate for categories if he should be a winna” He had this slight southern twang to him, not quite anything notable beyond a few ism’s he’d spout off. He was a brown-haired middle-aged fat ass who sat in a worn out chair behind a big oak counter. He wore a worn out tan workshirt and suspenders, and Vance figured if the conman coughed too hard the buttons would fly off. “there ain’t never no bullshit here lest you figurin we run an outta touch operations here?”
“Not at all Banks, not at all, I’ll be back in the evening for my rounds, you do have my round right Banks?” Vance had no time to waste, he wanted to get over to the bar, see if Opal was serving behind the bar today, and chat her up.
“Yes indeedy there Silvers my boy, you’re a hot ticket, got you working on a newcomer, goes by Anvil he was strapped up on the gallows today but got free thanks to Maelstrom. them half-dwarves are feisty, gonna make a nice pot either way I’m feelin. Our homegrown little brawler boy, or the convict outta Avamor?” he said it all with that greedy glint and that muster of a smile as he chuckled to himself about how rich he’d be no matter who the fight went, he had the ability to always mangle with the odds to ensure he’d be pulling down a lion’s share of the profits either way. “Iffin you win that, I’ll put you up on another match on the backend, but you’re the frontman on today after the pigs and cats are done”
Vance nodded grimly, fighting a half-dwarf convict was gonna suck so fucking hard, but at least he probably wasn’t part of Comorrah, if he was Vance would be obligated to get his ass beaten and pitch the fight. Vance had heard stories and wasn’t sure if any were true, but he didn’t wanna run the risk of ever figuring it out. So he took a cursory glance over the railing, the fights were already underway, it was some big brutish greenskin fighting an equally big and heavily maned tropical cat. They were sporting broken bones a piece, and the cat already had an eyeball out, the orc was missing one of his ears and it was gushing out spurts of blood every moment he took another swing.
Those were impossible for anything besides the pigs and the cats to do, orcs didn’t usually feel pain, and cats generally just got more pissed the more you hit them. So it was a good blood sport for whoever was watching, generally one or both ended up dead at the end of the fights but there was no shortage of fighters willing to brawl it out for the ‘pride’ of their racial superiority as fighters.
Elves were next up on the fuck no ladder: High elves were gone, but drow and wood elves were stronger and faster than normal people, they hit hard or were wily and flexible enough to pull all kinds of woo-woo bullshit on your ass. Only the desperate fought anything above a halfer, or if you were especially tough like a dwarf was and could front on elves. Then came dwarves who were tough as nails and hard-headed as fuck, in a quite literal sense, they were stockier, more built, and had genetics that let them fight dark elves toe-to-toe for centuries, no fuckin thanks.
That left halfers, commons, and humans-still plenty of good pools of fighters no matter which way you sliced it, but it was a much fairer blow-for-blow type of match, halfers lost a chunk of those weird bloodline traits and even people like Vance could win against those types of fuckers. You got more money that way too. With Vance’s curiosity sated and his stomach churning as he watch the orc bite a chunk of the feline’s forearm out, he spun off and left the Pit in pursuit of his favorite bar in The Market.
Dinky Dimps sounded dump, was this small hole-in-the-wall place, and their beer was rotneck out the ass, but it had a pretty wrow named Opal who served on certain days as their bartender. That day…was not today, no, instead it was her dad, Ol’Kindrik, that sucked, that sucked a lot, but Vance was already here so he got a draft of terrible piss warm brew and sat his ass in one of the two tables in the place. He drank down the crap but without Opal is didn’t have quite the luster, and that told him he wasn’t gonna stick around too long.
That was until Jacob Miner walked in, spotted Vance, and came to sit down after he’d grabbed himself a mug of the same shit from Kindrik. “Well hey, there Auger! You finally ready to go legit with me or what?”
“No Jake, I’m not doing bounty work, quickest way to get my ass shot by the dwarves” Vance didn’t hate Jacob, they were childhood buddies, but damned if this lackwit didn’t love to keep pestering him.
“Awe c’mon it’s not that bad, better than getting your ass beat in The Pit, I pull in a decent wage every month, bout a factory wage, but I do it claiming bounties” He drank down the warm bullpiss like it was nothing, gave a ‘hurk’ in response, and then kept drinking. He hadn’t gone completely out of it at least.
“Yeah but that’s the thing, you’re risking your life same as them for the scraps people throw down to us, at least me pit fighting I’m getting the money from other dirty fuckers like me who wanna see me break my knuckles on a jackass’s face. I’m not sucking on the court’s dick playing bitch to the only people how I know how to be around”
Jacob sighed and scratched the back of his head before pulling out his notebook and flitting it over to Vance “Just take a look into that, it’s notes I have on some really good catches I’m hopin' to make, and not all bounties are ont he legal end, you can grab people for other people and turn them over, sometimes for way more money.”
Vance looked over the neat handwriting and scanned through the names and short notations for each of his currently intended targets:
Earnest Howl, 125, Demonbreu, Wanted for Robbery, Bounty Hunter, hard to nab.
Miser Walker, 300, Drow, Wanted for Abuse, Vicious Killer, need Allies.
Braco Cerdak, 1000, Drow, Wanted for Unknown, Extremely Dangerous, need Allies.
Kinnard Mudfisher, 250, House Lorka, Wanted for Grabassing, Slippery Fucker.
Arthur Westly, 25, Court, Wanted for Battery, Strong and Tough.
Margaret Cobbler, 15, Court, Wanted for Larceny, Weasely Whore.
Mogar Kin-Sec, 200, Private, Wanted for Murder, Orc, need Allies
Thugs, Can probably fetch around 3 plats a piece on randoms I toss to Blackjackets to let them shake down easy marks.
Vance noted that he wasn’t listed despite Jacob being notable for wanting to hunt down all of the current and former members of the Ghost Hands. All of whom had at least something on them for whatever reason, and he was surprised Kinnard’s true monstrous legacy wasn’t listed, only that time he’d gotten grabby on a nobleman’s sister.
That told him one of two things, Jacob didn’t know all of these people beyond the random orc and easy mark thugs were all connected and thus he would be included in that rap sheet, or Jacob was leaving him deliberately off the chopping block out of some possible way to leverage an old friend to help out.
“Quite a list Jake, got anyone on board for helping you take down a son of a bitch who’s worth about two years wages put together?” Vance was skeptical about Jacob’s intentions with all of this, why he knew just where to find Vance, and why he was suddenly back on the talk about joining a ‘legit’ operation.
“Nawh not yet, but I figured I’d ask you first, considering that you’re well known and could give me leads on finding these slimy fucks, or outright partnering up with me and we could make some solid cash, between the two of us there wouldn’t be a fucker alive on this list by the time we were done, and after profit splitting, we’d be pretty damned set.” Jacob gave that cocky grin he remembered when they were kids and he’d convince Vance to do some stupid bullshit because of the fun of it, he had to admit they had some wild days but their lives had gone two completely different ways.
“Sorry Jake, but I got siblings I need to handle, and risking getting shot or stabbed over some bounties isn’t something I wanna tangle into. I’m sure there are plenty of ways to find and catch these guys by surprise, you could also hire out some folks if you offer parts of the reward I suppose as a contingency” Vance was half testing, and half just wanted Jacob to get off him about this and look for someone else, he was already in a stiff mood today, and now with no Opal, and this whole exchange, his mood was quickly devolving.
“Oh yeah, that’s fair, Cass and Jax need you on their side, I understand all too well, don’t forget I got me two older brothers and three younger sisters. Just also got me my…uhm yeah I’ll stop what I’m saying I’m sorry that’s a misstep on me. I’ll leave you to it Vance and hope to see you again soon, I guess I’ll watch your pit fight later” Jacob knew damn well he’d had a big enough oopsie that Vance was about to break his fuckin nose for bringing up how he still had parents.
Not only that, but aunts, uncles, and cousins that all lived in one tiny little house outside of Bastion a bit north outside a coal camp. So his siblings were perfectly safe, well handled, and with a big loving family that had managed to weather the Red Death. Vance had his siblings and the world had stolen everything else he’d ever had and the only other people who could love him unconditionally. His face was stern as he clutched his beer with a white knuckle grip long after Jacob had slinked on out.
Whoever this Anvil fuck was was gonna be in for it tonight, because like it or not, someone’s face was gonna be Vance’s punching bag to let go of all this pent-up fury
——
The early evening still resembled that of Spring. Despite Lady’s Moon falling under the cloak of Summer, the shadows were already lengthening at only the 17th hour. Maybe it was the gathering stormclouds - high and light enough that the Tartaned Rose might escape the worst of the Melancholy Veil’s wrath, but still a looming presence to the east.
Reynis had never been aboard such a fast ship. Technological advances from the time of the Pirate War had rocketed at a staggering pace, first bringing the concept of steamboats, then steamships, and now she was aboard a turbine-powered steamship sporting backup sails. The young Ludlow heir Taliesen had attempted to explain how it worked but all she’d really gotten out of the conversation was that there were a series of propellers beneath the ship and any man-overboard scenario would go very badly should one get sucked under.
The metal behemoth was about 400 feet in length and had enough room for small quarters below decks and storage in the hold. Although the majority of steam-powered vessels were all metal, Reynis had noted some rather lovely craftsmanship in the wood paneling below, and also along the bow. The makers of this ship had leaned into its name, carving gorgeous roses and what looked to be a tartan pattern into the Briochian pinewood.
It was a style falling out of fashion these days, but many steamships still carried a figurehead at the bow and the Tartaned Rose was no exception. Reynis had briefly studied the intricately-carved facade of a woman, but had to be told who she was. Her face had a noble tilt, upwards but not skyward, shoulders broadened by pauldrons of a north-western style, and her strong face was painted half in faded blue paint. Her statue continued down to her waist, the rest of her torso covered by hide armor just as carefully carved as her face. This wasn’t some glorification of a fictional character, but a memorial to a loved one.
“Talia Warthorne, our grandmother,” Taliesen explained when Reynis asked. “The love of Lord Ludlow’s life. She died protecting Phryne during the Necromantic Assault. I don’t think Phryne’s ever really forgiven herself for that, although nobody blames her.”
Taliesen had tied his flowing red hair back for this voyage, but it still whipped about his face while they stood outside on deck. In the time since Reynis had seen him this morning, he had changed from his noble about-town attire, hiked his cape back over one shoulder, and now wore leather armor with a metal-plated vest. At his waist was a series of holsters - Reynis had counted three knives, a pistol, and across his back he had a sheathed shortsword. Without the puff and splendor of the rich clothes, she could now see he was a well-built young man with a strong, athletic body. She liked the addition of a fourth knife sticking out from his boot.
Phryne and Caoimhe certainly weren’t combatants. The two girls were dressed in their noble get-up - pretty summer dresses that bared the arms and showed the stark comparison between the two. Where Phryne was soft and slightly chubby, her features rounded with baby fat, Caoimhe was slender and elegant, almost elf-like. The wind didn’t seem to faze either.
After learning the latter was an Umbridge, Reynis realized the girl didn’t have that typically brooding atmosphere most of them did - if anything, she was something of a breath of fresh air, smiling gaily and laughing with Phryne as they played checkers at a table out on the deck. The only thing that marred her fresh countenance was a red birthmark slashing across her nose like a scar.
Dwyn Cliff, the daughter of Joanna Ludlow and typical protector of Phryne Ludlow, lingered about on deck with the other two younger women. Although she wore ceremonial armor, Reynis knew it was functional - just pretty.
The jacket she wore was a dark green velvet, but by the bulk Reynis reckoned it was metal-plated inside. The pauldrons were a shiny steel with gold trim in a filigree resembling herbal-looking leaves with a few tiny plant buds. The jacket was closed with a belt in links of steel and the same gold trim as the pauldrons, secured by a buckle with the Ludlow house crest on it.
She wore thick gloves up to her elbows, their black leather surface embroidered a similar leafy design in gold thread, but the knuckles were plated with steel.
Her long blonde tresses were braided back in a tight bun. She also had a pistol holstered in her elaborate belt, but across her back was another firearm resting along the length of her sheathed bastard sword - a sawn-off shotgun.
Although Dwyn looked at Reynis with interest, she seemed dedicated to remaining near the girls at all times.
The captain was an old human who referred to himself as Crank, insisting Reynis only call him by that name, not his title. He was red-faced, his thick beard white and far too fluffy like some oversized caterpillar wrapped about his jaw. He talked around a thick wad of tobacco, his breath reeking and black spittle dotting his lips.
“Always wanned to foight them devils,” he’d said upon a glance-over of her. “They glozed the damn Void ‘fore ah was old enuff to get m’ fists in ‘em!” His murky blue eyes almost popped from his skull as he said that. Reynis was reminded yet again of the frailty of humans - this old man with arthritic fingers and a stooped back was younger than the closure of the Void and that had hardly been yesterday.
The crew ogled her and her companions with interest but rarely bothered with anything more than a tap of their hats as greeting. They were an odd bunch, full of all sorts, but the majority were human or high feline. At their belts, she spied a couple of knives and pistols - likely enough to hold off any pirate venture, but certainly not demons.
The Ludlow heir had stuck to her side almost the entire first hour of the voyage. He only broke away to stand at the bow, salt and wind whipping against his face as the setting sun lit his fiery hair to the west, the distant storm of the Melancholy spilling darkness to the east. He seemed to soak up the blend of elements, breathing deep.
“This is what I think of when I think of the Void and what magic must be like,” he called over his shoulder to her. “This primal clash of powers, of light and darkness but no distinction between which is good and evil - just the rush, the feel of it.”
He turned to look back at her, his face cast in the darkness of the east.
“Were you ever there?”
"In the Void or in the midst of the chaos of this beautiful world?"
Reynis spoke out loud enough over the din of the whipping wind, but quiet enough to be a conversation. "The answer is yes, I've been just about everywhere, and that includes an unfortunate stint trapped in the Void before my Father fished me out by happenstance."
That twinged at her face, made her lips curl a little as she remembered he was now little more than a corpse at this stage. She didn't care too much about the man who gave her life, but she had come to understand him as a person and that was what she felt bad about.
"The Void is like a whirlpool that sucks you down and keeps you drowning in sheer magic. You can't breathe, you can't speak, you can't think."
She sighed and came to the younger man's side, her own armor was a thick spidersilk cloak that bellowed about in the intense winds of the potential stormfront mixed along the pace of this ship's insane speeds. Underneath was dreadplate for her torso, forearms, greaves, and shins. Under the dreadplates were more spidersilk and linens, all of it could deal with blades, teeth, fists, and anything else demons could throw her way.
"But, you're not wrong, magic is beautiful when you're not drowning in an ocean of it, however, I like the woods more, specifically the Silkwoods. You can traverse trees so ancient they put the drow to shame. Despite those bastard spiders, it's so utterly breathtaking to swing from tree to tree for hours on end.
“I haven't been on a boat since The Pirate War, d'ya know that? Shit’s insane, it's only been a blink of my eyes and you all made this." Reynis made a sweeping gesture. "Magic is one thing, and I get that you've never experienced it, but I'd say it's the same kind of feeling if you grew up with only magic and arrows and suddenly bam! There's trains and airships and boats coated in armor with big smokestacks that belch coal smoke."
She pulled from her waist holster an eloquent and well maintained gilded revolver, replete with wood elven inscriptions all over its polished steel frame.
"This to me is what I figure someone shooting firebolts and lighting strikes would be to you." She spun it around, giving a glimpse of the ivory handle painted with a depiction of her own mother and her two daughters.
"But if you'd like I can tell you more about what it was like, back then, before the world was changed forever for you and yours. I just wanted to give you some perspective, of what seems normal to one, is mind-boggling to the other."
"I'd like that," Taliesen said with a handsome smile. "Even my own grandfather was too young to remember much of it."
He seemed to examine her face like he was searching for the evidence of years on her skin, but only found it in her eyes. "It's being whispered that people feel the Void now, with his death. Is it the same feeling as before?"
"Worse, like if you took a cesspit and poured it into the cauldron that is the portion of magic most mortals can intrinsically tap into. Something's tainting the flow, it's exacerbating my own condition and it's causing me issues."
Reynis moved back her hood to show the young man the fact that there were odd bits of spiderwebbing black flesh crisscrossing about her neck and further down her back.
"Back in the day, it was so natural that you didn't notice it. People just either had the ability to shape it and bend it to their whims, or they didn't. Magic on the face of it is like a whole different language that anyone can share. You'd have people who could barely make a fireball but could masterfully craft Drowsteel or High Elven Steel. You'd get kids who could hardly transmute but if you gave them an enchanting kit they'd make you brilliant artifacts.
"I don't know why it's different this time, who or what is behind it, but I do know that it's what killed him. That might be influencing the feeling, this thing wants people to know it won and feel afraid. Afraid of what's coming, but don't worry, the Drow have it all under control."
Reynis felt the need to give that reassurance with a bright toothy side smile: Can't be scaring poor lads. "I may not still be here, but they certainly wouldn't let anything happen. Between Drake, Ornia, and Maria they're smart enough to put their heads together and take vengeance for Lord Divan."
♬
Taliesen wasn’t looking at her anymore. His brows had knitted together and he squinted against the seaspray, to the east. Reynis followed his gaze into the darkness - the storm clouds were… wrong. A dark fog had descended from them, almost a mirroring of the sky, cutting off visibility from the distant coastline of Mistvale. With a coldness stealing up her throat, she realized this was no natural phenomenon.
“Oi, Lady Drow!” Crank called out back from the wheelhouse. He was half hanging out a door, pointing over at the darkness. “That’s gutta be summat nefarious.”
“Get the girls below deck,” Taliesen yelled out to Dwyn as he gripped the railing, trying to get a clearer look at what looked like something dense in the fog. He glanced back at Reynis for only a moment. “Do you know what this is?”
"No, it looks like magic for sure, but it doesn't feel like a portal opened up, I can't detect the presence of demons that far out, not how it works. This feels wrong, not like anything I've faced before, it's like something wants me to see it for something it's not. If it's demons, they're being led by a sentient commander, normal ones don't think that creatively."
Reynis spun her face and whistled sharply through her fingers "Fangs! Braves Formation! Hop To!"
Spinning back around she took in a breath, and enforced her demonic vision to expand her field of view, trying to glare into the maelstrom on the horizon, though she could feel the creeping web throbbing in her muscles.
"Tali, you're in command of everyone but my forces, you helm the sailors and tell the captain how to proceed, I'll prepare to repel boarders." Reynis was talking more mutely, no longer even daring to face him as she had to concentrate her tired eyes on the far end, trying to peer into the billowing dark fog. "I'd suggest you all remain close in on the cabin, my people will flank port and starboard while I keep here on the bow, or you can stick around to see what I can see, but it might be a minute, I'm old, it's hard to focus my farsight anymore, especially because whatever's causing the magic knows their stuff, and they know how to cloak in the wreath of mana.”
Taliesen had waited a beat to hear her out, but at the end of it gave a curt nod and sprinted to the wheelhouse, taking the stout steps in threes with his long stride. He had a short conversation with Crank, the old man’s buggy eyes animatedly darting between him and the eastward darkness.
But then, one of the crew called out: “To port!”
Reynis watched as the western sky… bent. It slowly folded itself down to the water, reflecting the brilliant orange of the setting sun, and demolished mainland Aradia from her sight. There was no use in Farsight here. They were now surrounded by illusions. She had a hunch the Tartaned Rose was also now invisible to anyone outside the illusion - not that anyone was going to be looking anyway.
It just didn’t make sense for this much effort if it were demons. Attack. Be done with it. They wouldn’t care if anyone else watched.
“Aroight magguts,” Crank’s voice boomed out over the ship. “Arm yerselves an’ get ‘em boys below piling on the coal! We’re gunna outrun this buggery if we can.”
“Everyone on deck,” Taliesen called out, his voice straining to project like Crank’s had, “fall back to the wheelhouse and stairs leading belowdecks. If we’re boarded, we fight, but be smart about it. Ser Reynis and her folks are-”
Reynis was thrown to the deck, as was everyone else. Peeling through the fog, only meters away, it came and rammed the side of the steamship. Iron-sided, looming, the warship scraped up along the starboard, the metal-on-metal screech almost unbearable. Reynis felt the crunch of metal puncturing below and heard several twangs as harpoons slammed into the deck, the starboard side, and even the wheelhouse - Crank with his half-loaded double-barrel shotgun was slammed back into the wall, howling in agony as the harpoon barbs tore through his chest. But his vocalizations were short - one of the barbs punctured deep, taking his breath, and he stared in horror at Reynis. He hadn’t even gotten his ogly gaze on the fuckers.
There was no time to try and console or save Crank. The higher deck of the warship had movement.
"TROOPS! TO STARBOARD! IT'S A PIRATE RAID! WAIT ON MY SIGNAL, DON'T WASTE SHOTS TILL I DO!" Reynis snarled under her breath as she felt a heave and coughed up a massive splatter of blood and lung on the bow, she wiped at her mouth and pulled out a rollie of redfist and engaged her mobility grapple along her waist, using it and her strong legs to jump upwards and catch on the chimney. She needed a vantage, the topside of the warship was moving in the mists and she wanted a clear line of sight on the enemy commander.
Pulling up alongside her, she grabbed onto her custom .308 hunter's rifle, a specialty item made by Ravenkraft for her. It was loaded up with drowsteel hardened tips for maximum penetration, it would blow off any blowhard pirate's fuckin face in an instant, and shred apart any demon. A perfection of her old arrow types, where she'd put on a little bit of elven steel to each arrowhead to dig into weak points on a spider's chitinous thorax. As she flew up, she managed to strike a match off of the rough iron of the coal stack and light up her rollie, breathing in deep on the therapeutic smoke and leveling her rifle to bear on the top deck of the warship.
It had taken her about ten seconds, a little long, but hopefully, she was going to catch the shit for brains who thought they could raid a ship she was on. But it was peculiar they were this well armed, wasn't Garin out hunting pirates like these ones?
Then again, pirates didn’t usually come with illusions this powerful.
Big burly men with beards, long hair or shaved heads began to rappel down the harpoon lines. They grabbed ahold of the railings and hoisted themselves over with practiced ease. Leather armor allowed them to move smoothly as they hacked into Reynis’ forces with handaxes and mauls - certainly not typical pirate weapons.
From her vantage point, she saw there was one man standing atop the rail of the warship, a great-axe in his hands. His head was bald, red war-paint smeared down over his eyes and face in two bloody strikes. He was bare-chested, the red paint continuing down across his body in swirls and slashes. He surveyed the carnage below with pride, a terrible grin on his bearded face.
Reynis grunted, smoked down a full fourth, and held it in her lungs as she zeroed her sights on the big ugly grin, and squeezed her trigger, and was rewarded a split second later as the man's head detonated. As if like a switch, she heard the chatter of rifles and the like as her troops knew to finally start firing off instead of letting the pirates get too locked in, though some were caught flatfooted, she could hear the echoing chatter of a dozen rifles firing off tearing apart the adversaries.
This was only getting odder, and she hoped that blowing out the leader's face would cause the others to begin to panic when their commander was no longer at their backs. She had to find the illusionist, but it was clear that would be harder, however once she did that, these invaders would be a mop-up operation.
More and more pirates spilled over the harpoon lines. But the warship’s deck, something was changing - some of these berserkers were remaining on deck. It took Reynis a moment to realize why, but when the gunfire started raining down on her people from above, she knew. The pirates’ firearms were more primitive than she regularly saw on the mainland, but just as deadly. Quantity easily trumped quality here.
Nobody was dead yet, but there were already injuries, their dreadplate wasn't rated for stopping all out bullets, they did it, but only to the point that it made it survivable. They were for fighting demons and spiders, not modern firearms, and even if these weren't modern, enough of them tore the hell out of body armor.
"Broken plate is dead weight! Split off! Regroup! Get the fuck out of sight lines!" Reynis had to scream over the din of fire coming down as she swiveled her rifle and began picking off gunmen one by one, her people were too busy trying to survive, she only had twelve, and at least six were nursing bullet wounds now.
They were rated for assassination and special operations, not full-on pirate fights against what seemed to be a throwback to the Pirate War but with some pieces of modern hardware. They were outmatched in sheer numbers, and while Reynis could kill them herself, her squad was being pressed and she'd have to keep the pressure off them. she'd cracked the fourth pirate through his guts when the hailing started to focus entirely on her, a wave of shot rang out and she felt a lead ball cut into her cheek just before the eye, it was hot and searing and if Reynis hadn't just cocked her head, it would have blown into her face.
Fuck this.
Reynis extended her right hand's nails into piecing claws and dug into the metal she was standing on, sliding down and scraping the metal as she went to slow her descent as she moved to keep out of fire, her people would be moving back to the entrance of the cabin just as well, and they'd have to make a play there, as she ran alongside port, she hoped her people could pull back along starboard.
She spotted a few of the crew also taking cover behind the wheelhouse and some over by the stairs belowdecks. Among them, she saw the wounded and terror-stricken. Some hadn’t taken cover in time. As if to punctuate that thought, a high feline went sliding across the deck, his fur painting a slick of vivid red behind him. Taliesen was still on the side of the wheelhouse, tangling hand-to-hand with a bushy-bearded pirate. He was doing well to keep his attacker between him and firing lines, but was gradually edging back towards the cabin in hopes of taking true cover.
Reynis sucked in what was left of her redfist, and spit the butt out as she saw flashes of her people, shedding cloaks and armor pieces, as well as rifles, they'd run out of ammo, she could imagine dozens of dead pirates all over the place, guts along the starboard desks, interlaced with crewmen. "Swords people! Fuckin swords! These are pirates, not demons! You're elves!" As if to punctuate Reynis spun, fired one round blowing apart Talisen's attack and pulled him by the back of his shirt with her free hand, and spun her back to the attackers.
She felt what was like a dozen punches in the back as all fire concentrated in on her and she pushed Tali rather roughly into some of the sailors to seek refuge while she stripped off her now bullet-ripped cloak and unstrapped her back armor, it came away in pieces and she realized she probably had at least one or two lead rounds in her back muscles by now. She used the cover of the wheelhouse herself and began to use what was left of her rifle to pick off a few more gunmen up high before discarding the masterwork firearm as if it were nothing but a club, and pulled out what resembled a large rectangle, but as she unfolded it and another of her soldier threw her a quiver it became clear it was her bow.
"I'm going back out, gonna show them what a Silkstrider can do, I swear to fuck if any of you layabouts die here I will find your asses in the Void and wring your entrails! Wrap up your wounds quickly while I take their ire! We aren't gonna get help unless I kill that fucking illusionist!"
Without another word of authority Reynis was already back out, screaming and notching an arrow to draw the full attention of the myriad of raiders left.
"C'mere yah dwarven pygmies! I'll skullfuck the lot of you!" She let loose an arrow into the direction of the upper deck as she ran, wanting to see if she could score lucky on the mage.
Then something changed. The pirates were moving bow and stern, not seeking out their quarry behind the wheelhouse, but getting out of the way. Reynis could only assume like her, the hairs on the necks had frozen up in nerve-tingling discomfort. But they knew what it meant.
♬
She rose.
From the warship, the figure of a woman swathed in black robes and leather stepped over the railing and landed casually on the deck of the Tartaned Rose. She stood, her white hair radiating the orange sunset in its long tresses. Her face was pale, black paint about the eyes and delicately striking down over her cheeks. Her red lips were set in a dour line.
But her eyes - Reynis had only seen such a juicy red in the drow. She was no human.
Those red eyes set on Reynis. Her black-dyed hands whipped out to her sides, fingers spread wide. The blood on the deck rapidly slithered to her, sliding up her tall armored boots, through the lace fabric of her stockinged thighs, and beneath her robe. A glow rose up the woman’s chest, briefly obscured by her black corset and combat jacket, but radiating along her skin in all directions as it reached her throat and crawled up into her mouth. Her eyes shone red.
The rain began.
A hand closed about Reynis’ foot, claws digging into her boot. The dead high feline gaped up at her, eyes rolled back in rheumy death as the stink of his dampening fur rose.
Reynis gulped down whatever emotions she had and her face went completely to stone, she closed her eyes and reached her foot back and smashed the deadman's face into nothing as she notched three of her remaining elven arrows, and fired them all at the warlock. Her own features were actively changing, her eyes were able to focus, her teeth grew into ravenous fangs, her muscles strained at her armor as the breakaway buckles pinged off leaving her in the silken uniform. She gained a slight increase in mass to her as her demonic powers came into full force. She wasn't magic like the caster, but she was much faster, stronger, and deadlier, even if she could feel something in the back of her start to necrose.
She was dying, actively so, but it would be fine so long as the arrows found their mark and cut through the blood.
The arrows diverted at the last moment, skittering off across the warlock’s leather spaulders.
That stoic face watched her with no expression, but she did began to walk. A slow, careless sort of stroll, the woman began to circle. She was analyzing Reynis, taking in every detail with the gradual caress of her gaze. She said nothing.
Only 90 degrees from where she had started, she stopped to Reynis’ left. Silhouetted by the fiery sunset to the west and the darkness to the east, the analysis ended. One black hand came up and made a motion.
Bring it on.
♬
Reynis notched up two more arrows and fired, before unclasping her quiver and tossing her bow, she pulled out her sword and dove in after her arrows. This felt familiar like she'd felt who this girl was before, and that bothered Reynis. Had she pissed off someone in the past connected to their circles to get this girl as an enemy? It didn't matter, even as she could see her missiles were ineffective, Reynis wasn't a strider for nothing, and she sent herself forward like a jumping leopard to slash the woman's neck.
The arrows dissolved into ash just as soon as they left the string, and the woman was moving - without a weapon, she strode forward to meet Reynis’ blade. Her black hands shimmered with blood, her face paling considerably moreso in that one moment as flesh met Drowsteel - but did not cut. In a practiced movement, the woman twisted her arm like it were a blade itself and Reynis’ sword slid down the length of her forearm, landing in the warlock’s hand.
There was no malice. Still without expression, the woman twisted Reynis’ grip on the blade awkwardly. Secondary to this movement, she abruptly kicked out - and Reynis got to experience a toe-blade for the first time.
Thank fuck for spidersilk, that miraculous material she at both times hated and utilized. It was nigh uncuttable by anything less than elf steel, and even then you had to have an impeccable knife blade for it. Still, having a toe blade jam into her side did wind Reynis and she peeled back and realized she'd been forgetting something, something that was just as good as magic these days.
With a cold expression, she pulled her custom six-gun from the holster and fired off three shots in quick succession, good luck blocking those bitch. Reynis had never seen a mage, living or dead, manage to block bullets.
She evaporated.
In a mist of red, it almost looked like the bullets had dissolved her. But Reynis saw the flickers of red blood wafting between raindrops - living, spiraling away, and watched as they quickly ascended to atop the wheelhouse. There, the warlock rematerialized.
The white woman’s expression had finally changed. But Reynis was almost irked by the distinct lack of interest in her - no, this was a mage toying. Not specifically with her, but learning something: her newfound limits with the open Void.
The woman smiled. A genuine, beautiful smile that creased her face and plumped the apples of her pale cheeks. But then her attention did settle back on Reynis and the smile faded away. One blackened hand struck out portside and several sailors crunched inwards, imploding. Cries of horror filled the air - some even from the pirates that weren’t still tangling with Reynis’s people.
Their blood remained in the air, shooting into the woman. That glow grew stronger, coating her arms, radiating from her fingers. She didn’t take long to relish in it. Already she was moving her arms to cast a spell, her red lips moving subtly as she recited something Reynis couldn’t hear.
"Oh fuck no, I know how to deal with mages, you just keep them moving..."
Reynis fired another three rounds, but this time aiming dead center then to either side. She couldn't just evaporate this time, Reynis understood the basics of physical magic, it took a lot out of someone, they couldn't just keep it up indefinitely. She'd have to move backwards, or to either side, Reynis would fill that space with what was left of her bullets. She was tapped, hadn't expect this fight, sloppy.
"Bitch! Just go down! Tired of this fuckery!"
The warlock did dodge starboard, her concentration on the spell broken. And as she dodged, she twisted - Reynis almost saw it in slow motion. The mage’s body morphed away from the path of the bullet, distorting her features for only a moment before she solidified again.
But in that moment, the dead-center bullet had clipped the metal chimney of the wheelhouse and ricocheted back. It grazed the mage’s cheek and she stopped in confusion, touching her fingers to her now bloodied cheek as the rain became torrential, smearing a stain of pink down her face and neck.
Then she pulled the blood from her own face, drawing on it as she again began the incantation.
“Halt!”
♬
The voice came from starboard, among the worst of the fighting. Pirates made way for a taller figure - he must have been lost in the thick of battle for Reynis not to notice this human. He was six foot, graying hair plastered to his face with rain, his hands drenched in blood as he shook a Drow corpse from his bastard sword.
His face was noble and his beard short and well-kept. But the way he looked at Reynis, she knew this was someone she had wronged. The mage was under his command.
“I believe we can settle this skirmish one-on-one,” he said. Rage simmered beneath the levelness of his voice - a voice that boomed out through the rain. A commander’s voice.
The man had to be in his fifties if he were human. He wore a high-collared flak jacket, the sleeves plated outwardly with steel, pauldrons also made of such. Beneath the jacket, there was leather slick with the rain. In his hand, the bastard sword gleamed with her warriors’ blood.
“THIS,” he suddenly roared, “IS THE CHILD-KILLER REYNIS DUL-SANSISKA.” There was a ripple through his pirates as they reacted in contempt, some glances thrown her way, but most kept their gaze on their Drow opponents. “DEMON-BLOODED SHE-DROW.”
A roar went up from the crowd - harsh war-cries as they stamped their feet and shook their weapons.
"DAUGHTER OF THE DEAD DIVANKUL."
His voice dropped so only she heard as he closed in. “Killer of his namesake.”
Vankul was what came first to Reynis' mind as he muttered the last piece, so, this fucker had made it through all this time? Reynis no longer had her dreadplate to save her, he was only in her battle fatigues, no armor beyond the nature of the silk she wore, even her cloak was long since gone away.
She threw her empty six gun end over end like a tomahawk at the man's forehead and snarled, her blood boiling. The bastard managed to side step it without missing a beat, still coming even as he ducked around.
This fucker had not only lived, a mistake she'd not truly lived down in her mind for decades, but he'd killed her staff. Her kids...
"You're going to die for this one, fucker."
Reynis pumped her legs and taloned feet bust free of the leather around her boots. Her claws became more pronounced, her teeth now sharp as a vorpal blade, and her muscles straining to their absolute maximum within the confines of the compact musculature of the drow physiology. She could feel her body was breaking down but it would be enough, her own wet slapping hair spiraling out behind her as she charged this freak and jumped, spinning in the air, and coming down with a mighty axe kick.
Reynis had maybe less than five minutes left to live, and she was going to drag this kin slayer to the Void with her as her final action.
But not before he humiliated her by dodging her yet again. This fucker was slippery. As she landed heavily, he was there to backhand her across the face with a steel-clad gauntlet as his sword wasn’t easily swung the way he had dodged. And that steel was hard - just as hard as drowsteel.
“Not this one.” His words were almost lost to the rain and the ringing in her ears.
Reynis growled. That was a heavy hand, he was skilled. Wasn't the scrawny little punk she once knew. He was built like a brick shithouse and covered in armor and military training. Just where had he fled that she had never managed to get her hands on him that had those resources?
"Fine, I can deal, I'm still taking you with me."
Reynis flattened to the ground in the blink of an eye and spun out for his legs. He was still managing to get clear, so she dug her claws straight into the metal of the ship's deck and pulled herself forwards at a breakneck pace, scaling the wall of the wheelhouse in a moment and pulling herself into a ball. She planted her feet and then pushed off, crumpling the wall like it was mere paper as she flew like a harpoon with extended claws ready to impale, or ready to face the bastard sword if he tried to parry her with it.
He dropped the bastard sword, fingers spreading as she came down at him. Only in the last second did she realize what he was doing as his hands moved to match hers. He caught her in a lover’s embrace, fingers and claws clasped, and as her body collided with his, he used her momentum to swing her about and crush her to the ground. Her clawed feet scrabbled for purchase beneath him, shredding leather but not finding flesh.
His head arched back and came forward with a whip-like movement, his forehead meeting her face with a visceral crunch. In that fleeting moment, he released her and rolled away, collecting his sword as he came up.
Reynis felt everything in her nose pulverize. This bastard had one thing going for him: he was like Drake, but in a human body. It made it hard for Reynis to see, her body had reacted, her eyes were watered and she could feel an outpouring of what was meant to be blood but smelled more like sulfur. She wiped away even as the torrent kept coming washing over the deck, making it hard to keep one's balance even.
She could also see her handiwork splayed across the man's stomach, she had only nicked him a little in the scrap, but that was because most of the shredding had been done to his leather, he had a nice window of opportunity for her to get at real damage down into.
The rain was constraining her movements, the silk felt more like a vice, so she ripped the shirt in twain revealing a bandage wrap around her chest.
As the wet corpse of the stomped out feline managed to find its way back to this part of the main deck, it gave Reynis an excellent idea and she scooped it up and used it like a shield, going full hilt, shredding the deckboards beneath her talons and flung the body wholesale at her opponent, before going and attempting to impale his exposed stomach with a knife handed strike from her claws.
The body’s wet flailing limbs were a perfect distraction as the human both attempted to dodge them and push the corpse aside. His arms were moving to block her, his body twisting away, so she didn’t impale his gut like she had hoped - but she felt the tear of his flesh regardless. The man grunted but did not reach for the gaping slash wound across his abs.
His left hand caught her forearm in a vice grip, sword arm moving in a rapid flair against her - he hacked into her waist like a lumberman with his axe.
It was as if a cesspit had been dug up, the smell was powerful even with a broken nose being clogged up, that had to be the danger of letting herself fully commit, the fetid rot inside her body. She was getting in deep with each cut, but it didn't hurt.
None of this had actually hurt.
She recognized she was taking the damage but any flooding of pain never came. That made sense, mortal weapons and all that, what was killing her was the drow physiology would actively annihilate localized amounts of the void on contact, or at least highly destabilize it. All he was doing was showing what was going on inside of her and making it very hard to keep fighting. So she snarled, and lunged her head forward, biting in deep on the armored gauntlet holding her in place.
She tasted the steel, then leather, then finally she felt a rewarding gush of blood, but this guy didn't seem to give a shit, and he managed to cut something that made Reynis' legs go out and she began to crumple, but with her jaw still clenched on this bastard's arm, he was going to topple with her. She reached out to grab onto whatever she could to ensure that happened.
It was too easy. He dropped the sword again. With his grip still on her arm, and with her teeth in his arm, it was like he lowered her to the wet ground, him astride her. His shoulder-length hair dripped over her face as he watched her biting like some rabid animal. Then he released her arm and reached for her throat instead. His hand closed about her jaw and wrenched her from his now bleeding right arm.
“That all you got, she-drow?” he purred over her as he raised his right arm, his blood dripping onto her face.
Before she could say a thing, she saw the flash of red - not blood, hair. Taliesen had broken away from the sailors and stalled pirates, dashing across the deck with his sword lifted high, right for her would-be killer.
The young man went flying with a flick of the white woman’s wrist. He slammed into one of Reynis’ soldiers at the railing and the two of them were cast overboard.
Reynis grunted with something of a fury in her belly, that poor boy was just starting out, and to be treated like this, when it was her job to take these blows? She sucked in a breath, about all she could do, and screamed over the cacophony of the rain and sea for Tali to hear her. A gift, like her farsight, her voice was like a piercing thunderclap that forced the smug jackass away clapping his ears instinctively against the demonic banshee wail.
"Tali! Everyone! Remember this! It's my last lesson! When Death comes for you, laugh in its stupid fuckin face! You spit in its eye! You tear its throat! You fight to the last and you laugh while you do it! Never forget this lesson! That is what makes us so strong! We face our end with a smile, and then we punch as hard as we can muster!"
Reynis took her own advice, where once she felt like she had no strength left, now Taliesen had renewed in her an indignant fury. She tore what was left of the dead weight of her lower body away like it was merely stripped on her pants, and now with only a gushing torso, no longer filled with any guts or entrails, she launched as a half-dead woman for her foe.
All she cared about was taking him with her, and she laughed, somehow, despite her guts rotting away, she could muster noise and sound. "I'll be waiting for you! I'll be waiting in the Void! Kinslayer! You're the reason they died, you killed them! Enjoy me staying in your fucking nightmares!"
She never made it to him, she knew that, and suddenly, her vision went dark, as her eyesight, her ability to speak, feel, or even move anymore all suddenly failed. The last adrenal spike had not been enough. Only for her to taunt, to mock, to laugh at this lickspittle. She could still hear, however, just not respond. Somehow, she surmised, this lad knew that much.
There was a silence that filled her dying moments. For a second, she wondered if she was already dead - but she could hear the rain.
Then, finally.
“Finish the job.” His voice - Dagan Vennet’s voice.
And his men made good on his command. She heard battle. She heard the clash, the screams, the low roll of thunder, and always, always, the rain.
Phryne Ludlow
♬ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SxFxDpCswW4&t=15s&ab_channel=Danny-Music
Numb. Caoimhe’s fingers dug into the flesh of her arms. In her veins, a terrible fire twisted and thrummed, burning her face, her heart, the very hairs embedded in her skin. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, and she couldn’t hear over the rapid thrumming of the flame inside.
She couldn’t hear the scream roaring from her throat. She couldn’t feel the way her nails clawed into the wooden floor. She couldn’t feel the blood staining her flesh or dress as she ripped her way across the floor, out of Caoimhe’s protective grasp. It didn’t matter.
They were cornered.
She couldn’t feel how heavy Dwyn’s body was as she gathered her in her arms. Blonde hair stained red clung to her bare arms, but she couldn’t feel that either. All she could feel was that terrible anguish - and the rage.
All thoughts of preservation gone, she howled into the faces of those swarthy bearded men that had done this. Two lay dead in the corridor, another in the doorway, and one was attempting to hold his guts in as they spilled across the floor - all Dwyn’s doing. Three stood tall over the ruined body of Phryne’s cousin.
They let her scream. They made no move to finish her or Caoimhe.
Dwyn’s eyes; they were filled with tears. The white of one was red from an impact that had burst her blood vessels. The axe-strike she had taken to the face split horizontally across her brow, nose, cheek, and jaw, gushing blood and staining her neck and chest. She had stayed standing through that, somehow. Her mouth was open as she gurgled on blood - caused by the dagger that still stood proud in her chest. That was what made her fall.
Phryne cradled her, one hand grasping hers. There were no words. Dwyn had no breath left to speak, only to die on. The strength in her hand grasping Phryne’s was bleeding away, so Phryne held all the tighter.
When Dwyn’s eyes only stared and the tears no longer brimmed, when those spilled over her cheeks, Phryne felt her go.
And the atmosphere changed. The men were closing in, like they had waited so she might just let go of her beloved cousin.
And let go she would. Her hand closed around that dagger hilt and she pulled hard. She staggered to her feet, holding the dagger, Dwyn’s blood dripping. Teeth baring, she screamed again as she threw herself at the nearest murderer.
He caught her arm, twisting painfully and forcing her to release the blade. Her teeth plunged into his forearm and he barked out a cry of pain. The dagger was falling, her fingers reaching out, and she caught it by the hilt somehow. She slashed it as the next murderer came to help his friend, catching him across the face. He stumbled back, grabbing at his bloodied nose, but the third stepped in before Phryne could do more damage. Behind her, he closed his meaty tattooed arms about her, clamping her arms to her sides. Her bite victim bent the dagger out of her grasp while she spat and screamed.
She was vaguely aware of the bloody-nosed murderer stepping towards Caoimhe, still holding his face. Whatever damage she had done was cosmetic and she screamed at him, daring him to lay a hand on Caoimhe. How she would rip him apart, what his guts would look like on this floor with the other man’s… all her spite was for nothing as he simply took scared Caoimhe’s hands and began tying them behind her.
It took more effort for her bite victim and grappler to get her tied up. But the distraction of Caoimhe’s capture was enough for them to take advantage of.
Phryne wouldn’t cooperate with them, so they took Caoimhe ahead of her as they left the room and she was guided out. She kicked one of the men in the back of the knee, her shoe flying off as she did, and he buckled, only to whip about with a backhand across her face.
Her head rang with the impact and she felt blood drip from her lip. Her tongue explored the split while she was ushered along. She spat blood on the back of the slapper’s bald head.
She was allowed the satisfaction of his wide-eyed stare as he spun. One of her captors wrapped something over her head, blocking her mouth so she couldn’t bite or spit, and finally she just let them take her to her fate.
The fire was fading. Tears wanted to spill. She wouldn’t let them, so she glared at the back of Caoimhe’s guard.
On deck, she was greeted by a gruesome sight. Bodies flooded the deck, sliding back and forth almost gently as the rain pounded down. Blood was pink on the deck, mixing with the rainwater. The fight fled her entirely as she searched for Taliesen - for even the slightest hint of red hair, damp as it might be. But wherever she looked, she couldn’t find him - not in the bodies, nor among the standing.
“LEAVE THEM WHERE THEY FELL,” a voice boomed out. She searched for the source, but got a fat raindrop in her eye for her trouble. “TAKE WHAT YOU WANT.”
There was a shuffling among those still on the ship as the invaders began picking over the corpses. Phryne’s gaze stayed on them, horrified at the thought perhaps she would see Taliesen during their rummaging, but she didn’t.
“You were told not to hurt her.”
Phryne’s head whipped to the side and she stared up at a woman clad in black, her soaked white hair a waterfall of fading sunset. A jolt in Phryne’s chest was recognized as fear, and the scent off this woman - metallic. Primal. Blood. It wasn’t just the scent. It was a feeling about her.
“She got feisty,” Caoimhe’s captor frowned.
“A little girl too much for you?” The woman didn’t smile, although it felt like it should be a teasing jab. In the next moment, Phryne understood why it wasn’t.
The man’s hand fell away from Caoimhe’s back as he scrabbled at his throat. His eyes bulged from his head, the whites of his eyes so stark. Veins on his neck pulsed rapidly, his flesh turning the color of corned beef. Caoimhe reeled away from him in terror as his own throat tore itself open, shooting blood across the deck to splatter several bodies and a few unlucky looters. He fell back at the knees, his bald head making a terrible sound as it hit the deck.
The woman stepped over the corpse, a finger flicking at Caoimhe and the girl abruptly jerked a few steps closer to her, face written in horror. Phryne’s courage was gone. Her rage was nullified. She couldn’t bring herself to threaten this woman with empty curses.
“Stand here.”
Caoimhe stood beside the woman in terrified obedience, her wide eyes on Phryne.
It had taken her a moment, but Phryne realized her two captors had released her and moved back when their companion was killed by whatever foul magic this woman had unleashed. Still, all desire to fight remained gone, so she stood quietly on the other side of the witch.
She flinched when the red-eyed woman reached towards her. The witch only tugged away her gag and let it idly drop to their feet. But her other hand, cold, strong, had touched on Phryne’s face and icy fear shot through her veins.
“Be still,” the woman commanded. Phryne felt a sensation steal across her lip, warm, tingly - her tongue involuntarily touched at the split to find it was no more. Blood no longer stained her mouth and chin.
The witch withdrew her hand and said nothing. She clasped her hands before her and simply waited.
“So this is Plan B?” The voice from before came from a man striding across the deck. His hands were occupied with a belt pouch as he sealed something inside.
He was older, maybe what her father would be today if he still lived, or at least within ten years of that. Fit, muscular, he loomed half a foot over her with his wet hair plastered across his face. The armor at his waist was torn and leather scraps hung, dripping with rainwater. His abdomen was visible, heavily muscled and very recently scarred - the gouges were pink and angry, but appeared to have knitted together and begun the healing process already. No doubt this was the witch’s handiwork.
“I see you have already met Fluxhart,” he said warmly, like they weren’t meeting on the corpse-strewn deck of a disabled steamship.
The witch stared back at her coldly with no indication of friendliness. She, at least, understood this was not the place for niceties.
He switched his attention between Phryne and Caoimhe, a smile crossing his features - he was handsome in a way. Phryne hated it. She said nothing.
“My name is Dagan Vennet.”
She knew the name. She knew the history behind it. She was too young to remember the time, but his name had been cursed since she could remember.
He was the man who had killed Rivka and Casim Vennet, his own parents. He had planned to wipe out his family in one night, all but his younger brother Vankul, his accomplice. He might have succeeded if not for the inopportune timing of Bluejackets arriving in Briochi and quelling his rebellion. Vankul was killed in their retreat and Dagan vanished from the face of Aradia.
They shared an ancestor, Amarika Ludlow - the wife of Mancel Ludlow, mother of Casim and Phryne’s grandfather Eason. She had already done the calculation long ago, curious about how she was related to a serial murderer - he was her first cousin once-removed, the first cousin of her father.
Kinslayer.
“You ladies are now part of something very big,” Dagan continued. “I know right now it doesn’t seem fair - all you see is death and destruction. But give it time - you’ll realize just how important you can be.”
Phryne’s eyes flicked to the witch, then abruptly back as Dagan took a step closer to her.
“Especially you, Phryne Ludlow, heiress to The Accord.”
Heiress. So Taliesen was dead.
And it was this homicidal maniac’s fault.
The witch didn’t matter in that instant. Phryne spat in Dagan’s face. The wad of saliva caught the corner of his mouth and his hand came up - not to wipe it away, but to motion the witch’s attention elsewhere lest she retaliate. Once it was clear Fluxhart would not cast some heinous curse on Phryne, he rubbed the back of his hand across his face.
“You killed my brother,” Phryne growled. “You killed Tali.”
“No, she did.” Dagan nodded to his witch. “But semantics don’t matter. What does matter is that in time, you will understand the role you are to play.”
He took another step closer, despite the threat of Phryne hocking at him.
“Perhaps you’ll even grow to like it.”
He touched her. His hand closed about her waist and she stared down his arm at it like it was some offending leech. Slowly, she raised her head to meet his gaze.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” she said, barely above a whisper.
His hand slid up her side, barely grazing the outer side of her breast, and traveled up to her neck where the coarse leather scraped her skin as his gloved fingers caressed her throat.
His breath was hot on her ear as he huskily spoke.
“You’ll learn your place by my side, girl.”
She shuddered in horror, but he pulled back and turned to his witch. “Get them aboard. We’re leaving.”