Lioness and May

“Interesting.”, Shepherd utters to himself as his brow knots in concentration. He is quiet for a few seconds, chewing thoughtfully on a nut from the bowl on the bar counter before he speaks again. “You remembering an encounter with giants shouldn’t be that uncommon amongst members of the Militius caste, as skirmishes with giants are commonplace in Somnium Penates. Your ability to speak Celestial however… That is something different entirely. You used to wear a red stud, correct?”

Lioness shrugs.

“Catch.”, Shepherd says, as he suddenly flicks a nut at Lioness’s forehead.

Instinctively, Lioness catches the small projectile in mid-air with one hand and smoothly transitions into a defensive stance. Shepherd smiles approvingly, knowing even before he let the nut fly that she would catch it effortlessly.

“Red stud.”, Shepherd affirms with a nod. “The way you handle yourself reveals your past training. Your mind may forget, but your body will not.”

“What is most curious, however, is that the ability to speak Celestial isn’t… something a normal soldier should be able to do. You have to understand, Celestial is a deep and complex language that takes years of study and practice to master. That sort of training suggests possible induction in the Cognitio caste. This seems to strengthen our suspicions of your supposed past in the Adagnitio Maximus but that’s curious because you seem to have no magical abilities… ” Shepherd trails off.

“Hmm. My memory isn’t what it used to be. May?” Shepherd calls out as the blonde bar maid turns a corner, a stack of clean dishes in her dainty hands. She stops suddenly as she hears her name, the tower of plates wobbling with the loss of momentum. She lets out a tiny squeak of panic as she quickly sticks her chin on the top of the pile, effectively quelling what could have been a disaster of epic proportions to her paycheck. She lets out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, Shepherd? What can I do for you?”, she says in a bright, cheerful voice.

“May, it seems that we’ve discovered a new clue regarding Lioness and her suspected connection to Adagnitio Maximus. Would you mind accompanying her down into the archives and see what the both of you can dig up on soldiers undergoing Cognitio caste induction rites? Particularly, what Cognitio caste role would require a non-magic user to know Celestial. I would do so myself, but it’s almost time for Lamb’s training.”

May’s eyes widen with delight at the idea of descending into the archives and spending the day poring over books to find the answer to a mystery.

Barely able to contain the happiness in her voice, she stammers, “B-but… what about my chores?”

“I’m sure Lioness would be more than happy to help you once you complete your research.” Shepherd says as he smiles warmly at Lioness, who nods in agreement.

May lets out a small squeal of delight as she puts the dishes down with a solid plunk on a wooden table. She moves as if to grab Lioness by the hand and suddenly catches herself, as if remembering to mind her manners. She leads Lioness into the supply closet, a graceful skip in her step.

The door of the supply closet closes with a familiar thunk. With well-practiced motions, the two women quickly draw the arcane symbol that activates the teleportation ritual. The identical tattoos on their hands begin to pulse in rhythm with the symbols that have suddenly appeared on every surface of the supply closet. As they finish the ritual, a sudden rush of darkness consumes them and there is a sudden dizzying sensation as they are whisked away to another place in the space of a heartbeat. As the darkness dissipates, May steadies herself on the cold stone wall. The air is slightly musty, mixed with the subtle scents of lamp oil and old paper.

“No place like home.” May says as she breathes in deeply. She raises her left hand to her face, her index finger twinkling slightly as a small aquamarine jewel attached to a silver ring glints in the dim torchlight. She twists the tiny gem in a counter-clockwise motion and her eyes begin to give off an almost imperceptible aquamarine glow.

“What is that?”, Lioness asks as she moves in closer and stares into May’s large eyes, her curiosity getting the better of her.

May blushes slightly at the close scrutiny and quickly looks down at the floor. “N-not a lot of people know this, b-but my eyesight is actually rather terrible. Sh-Shepherd had it made for me so that I can better perform my duties.”, she stammers nervously.

“I-it only lasts for a few hours a day though, s-so we should get started.” May says as she begins to move towards archive door.

“I-I have a few ideas on where we can begin searching.” May announces as the thought of delving into the archives slowly begins to fill her voice with confidence. Moving as if she has the location of each book on each shelf committed to memory, May begins to deftly pluck tomes from their proper places with one hand and stacking them on the other, her skills obtained from her years working as a bar maid suddenly useful in a place where cold beverages are usually harshly frowned upon. Here, in the midst of a vast forest of words, where important information can be gleaned when one is observant and the cruelties of the world around her can be banished with the opening of a book, she is most herself.

Bertha laughs raucously with her squad as Joseph stares with obvious disbelief at the cards that she had just placed on the wooden table. Goosebumps are visible on his exposed skin as he haltingly reaches for the belt around his waist. He blushes a very deep shade of red.

“Quit stallin’ yah git! Fair’s fair. Drop them trousers!”, guffaws Bertha as the other soldiers on the table hoot, whistle, and roar in agreement. Impossibly, Joseph turns an even deeper shade of red that was never before thought possible by science. He slowly stands up and undoes his belt buckle. With a loud clink that echoes throughout the tavern, his belt and trousers hit the floor of the Last Resort, exposing his ragged undergarments. Much to his chagrin, he hears the sweet sound of feminine laughter mixing in with the rough howls of delight of the other male patrons. He quickly sits down and attempts to hide himself by slinking deep into his seat, wishing that it would suddenly reveal itself to be a magical chair and fly him away from this humiliating experience. The simple wooden chair senses Joseph’s vain hope and tries its absolute best to spontaneously grow wings, but to no avail. With all the sympathy that an inanimate object can muster, it creaks slightly and supports Joseph both as a friend and a load-bearing piece of furniture.

“Just shut up and deal.”, grumbles Joseph, his previous arrogance now completely replaced by the sinking sensation that a particularly foolish mouse would feel, as it just begins to remember its place in the food chain, while the large jungle cat that it just provoked starts to take notice of him.

“Nah, I’ll sit this round out. Gotta hit the loo.”, says Bertha as she begins to get up from her usual spot at the head of the table.

“You all right, Sarge? Seems to me that you’ve been hitting the loo a lot lately.”, asks Phillip with genuine concern in his voice.

Bertha pauses for a second. “Course! Just been hittin’ the ale a little harder than usual, that’s all. ‘Sides…”, Bertha says as she smiles mischievously and slaps Joseph’s bare back with a hard smack. “I figure I ought to give this poor sod a fightin’ chance to win his dignity back, yeah?”

Her comrades roar in approval as she turns her back to them and begins her slow circuit around the Last Resort. When they believe she is out of earshot, Bertha hears a solid clunk as one of her soldiers, hits Phillip on the head.

“Idiot.”, a female voice says as Bertha turns a corner.

Bertha can no longer hear Phillip’s reply as the rest of it is drowned out by the general din in the popular tavern. She smiles faintly at the understanding and consideration displayed by most of her squad mates. They were bonded in the way that only people who have bled together could. They were closer than family. More than brothers and sisters. But they could still surprise her sometimes. They were loyal to her, and she was loyal to them. She would take a sword to the gut for each and every one of them--even Joseph, that cheeky bastard. Her thoughts trail off as she begins her fifth walk around the tavern for that night.

Halfway through her slow circle, she decides to stop at the bar to get another drink. Taja, the olive-skinned bar maiden, is minding the bar today. As she sits on a hard wooden stool, the beautiful woman behind the bar gives her a quick once over.

“Something to chase those troubles away, hon?”,Taja propositions with a silky voice tinged with a hint of sympathy.

“Is it that obvious?”, Bertha responds, as she eyes the large collection of exotic wines and ales that glisten invitingly in the alchemical light.

“You’ve been walking around the tavern with a distinct look in your eyes. Like… you’re trying to look for someone. Someone who isn’t trying to look for you.” Taja says gently, the silk in her voice giving way to something more natural, as she gracefully pours a clear, bright orange drink into two small glasses.

“A bit of a mind reader, are we? Maybe I should arrest you for practicing witchcraft without a permit.” Bertha laughs, a little uncomfortable with the fact that this woman had read her so easily.

“No magical powers here. I’ve just been working in a tavern long enough to recognize a forlorn look when I see one.” Taja says as she slides one of the two glasses towards Bertha. “On the house.”

Bertha sniffs cautiously at the drink, causing a powerful burning sensation to climb up her sinuses. She reels back from the drink and lets out a couple of coughs of surprise.

“Careful, that’s powerful stuff.” Taja says with a playful glint in her eye.

“No kidding!” Bertha coughs as she recovers from the initial whiff. “What is it?”

“Sunfire brandy. Top shelf.” Taja says with a hint of pride in her voice.

She raises her glass. “Cheers.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Bertha clinks her glass to Taja’s and drinks the fiery liquid, letting it burn in her mouth for as long as possible before swallowing. As the heat exits her mouth and enters her stomach, the burning immediately disappears and is replaced by a pleasantly tangy aftertaste. The warm feeling in her belly is pleasant, like a warm hearth during the dead of winter. It is the most wonderful thing she has tasted in a long time. She reaches into her pocket, reveals a small coin purse that jingles merrily with gold, and plunks it down solidly on the bar counter.

“I’ll have another.”

Lioness looks up from her book long enough to realize that she is alone. She rubs her tired eyes as she stretches her back, groaning as her bones sound off with a soft yet satisfying series of small cracks. It feels like she has been reading for hours. Suddenly, there is the distinct scent of beef stew in the air as she hears soft footsteps behind her in the distance, followed by the slight clink of metal utensils on a plate. She turns around to see May, who is carefully balancing a tray piled high with food and two large mugs of wine in her delicate hands as she approaches the table.

“It’s been a while since you’ve last eaten, so I thought I’d bring some food down here and eat with you.”, May says, a little unsure of herself.

“How long have I been down here?” Lioness asks as she feels her stomach begin to grumble in anticipation in the wake of the delicious smell permeating the air.

“Most of the day. And quite a significant portion of the evening too.” May answers as she carefully places the tray on the table, the rising steam still visible from the pot of beef stew.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to help you with your chores. “, Lioness says plainly before May suddenly raises her hand in a placatory gesture.

“It’s all right. Believe me, I know what it’s like to get carried away by a book. And there’s always tomorrow, yes?”, she says with a smile as she gestures towards the meal before them. “After you.”

Lioness puts the books down on a different table and begins to eat. She is careful not to make a mess, but it is noticeable, at least to May, that she seems to be eating more than usual. She smiles at this as she nibbles on a slice of bread, enjoying the fact that Lioness is relishing the meal she prepared with sincere enthusiasm. She takes it as a sincere compliment.

Their meal is abruptly interrupted as the room shudders violently in the wake of a sudden surge of magical power. Both women open their eyes wide in surprise as they turn their heads quickly towards one of the doorways leading out of the archive. There is a crackle in the air that Lioness has felt before, back when they had just escaped from the Wraith Lords and were first making their way towards White Crown.

“Lamb…”

“It’s just… after we had gotten back from that purge in Heimdall, it feels like he’s been avoiding me, you know?” Bertha says, her cheeks a little red as she looks down at her half-filled glass. “I gave myself to him and he just… disappeared!”
Taja discreetly examines Bertha’s face for any tells. She was slightly drunk, but she was not lying. But what she was saying did not add up. She knew about the Night Mother incident from the stories of her teammates. Either Bertha was an amazing liar, or…

Her thoughts are interrupted as the Last Resort shakes violently. She hears the surprised shouts of soldiers mingling with the sounds of breaking glass and wooden chairs falling over. It is over in a second.

“Was that an earthquake?” Bertha asks as she begins to look around to check if her squad is all right.

“I’m not sure.” Taja says, but she already knows that something is wrong. That was no earthquake. It was too quick and too violent. She begins to look for Shepherd.

A few seconds later, the tavern shifts half an inch to the north as it is rocked by an even more powerful tremor.

May stands in shock at the scene before her, her mind struggling to comprehend what had happened in this room. The chamber was in shambles. Large cracks were apparent on the ceiling, and every inch of stone, save for a section of the east wall, was covered in fading blue energy. In the middle of the room is Shepherd, who looks like he is wounded, holding Lamb tightly to his chest. Near the clear section of wall sits Bedlam, who looks to be just as stunned as she is.

“May.”, Shepherd calls out, the effort obvious in his voice. “We need to move quickly. An inquisitor is coming.”

May’s head clears and starts making connections as she is called to action. The large cracks on the ceiling mean that the seals were broken. That meant Lamb had awakened, and the powerful runes that Shepherd had created to keep that power sealed in an emergency had failed to completely contain the terrible power of the Demon of Davenport. That surge of magic would have been detected. Yes, an inquisitor would be coming.

“Right.”, she responds as she moves towards Lamb. “Plan B, then.”

Shepherd begins to let go of Lamb, but he clings tightly to him, refusing to budge an inch. Shepherd gently takes Lamb’s face in his hands and turns it to towards his.

“Look at me.”, Shepherd says softly. “I know we’ve just been through a lot, but right now we need to get you someplace safe. I need you to be brave, all right? Can you do that for me?”

Lamb looks at Shepherd through a blurry haze of tears. For a brief moment, his face twists as if he is going to cry again. He then takes a deep breath, then nods slowly. He lets go of Shepherd. May gathers him up in her arms and runs off to gather everything they’ll need for a quick escape. Lioness moves to follow her when she feels Shepherd’s hand on her shoulder.

“No. If the inquisition is coming, we’ll need all hands on deck. If they find even the smallest shred of proof of what we are really doing here…” Shepherd trails off. He does not need to finish the sentence.

“Tell everyone about what happened and what is coming. Then, collect every magical item, weapon, and incriminating piece of evidence from upstairs and bring it all down here. Discreetly, please.”

Shepherd emerges from the supply closet wearing a fresh set of clothes, his wounds having been dealt with by the judicious application of a few healing potions. Some members of the Last Resort’s crew take notice as they go about their jobs and begin to breathe more easily. It is good to have the old man on the floor again. As Shepherd begins to make his rounds, the doors of the Last Resort swing open with a creak that seems to echo around the noisy tavern. A young man bearing the trappings of high status enters the tavern, his expensive-looking boots scarcely making a sound. As his medium-length black hair is pushed aside by a gust of wind from the open doorway, two blue studs flash brightly from his left ear. His badge of office, a small silver token that floats inside a larger circle, hangs around his neck on a thin, long chain. Romeo carefully assesses the interloper’s garb and appearance, and comes to the conclusion that the man would be poor competition for his arcane beauty.

Immediately, there is the sound of a few dozen chairs scraping the floor, as the soldiers quickly scramble to their feet to salute the inquisitor.

“Pardon my intrusion. Please, ladies and gentlemen, there is no need for formality. As you were.”, he says in a voice that sounds warm and friendly.

There is a moment of hesitation before the soldiers begin to take their seats all around the tavern. The silence in the tavern is such that the quickened heartbeats of a roomful of nervous people can be heard if one listens closely.

“Now then, on to business. Who is the proprietor of this fine establishment?” the inquisitor asks with warm cheer in his voice.

“That would be me, good sir. How may I serve you today?”, Shepherd says as he approaches the inquisitor with a slight bow.

“Ah, Master Bartholomew Pentecost, I presume?” the inquisitor asks with the utmost courtesy, smiling warmly while discreetly giving Shepherd an appraising look.

“That is indeed my name, though I’m afraid that you currently have me at a disadvantage. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” replies Shepherd with the refinement and class of a well-practiced diplomat.

“Oh, where are my manners? My most sincere apologies, Master Bartholomew. I am Ezekiel Valeth, a duly appointed inquisitor in the service of the God-Emperor Amadeus.”, he says as he takes an extravagant bow.

“A pleasure, Master Ezekiel, I’m sure. May I offer you a drink? A glass of our finest wine, perhaps?” says Shepherd as he gestures towards the bar where Taja is standing.

“Now, Master Bartholomew, I believe you already know that I am not here to partake of your wares, fine as they may be.”, he says in a playfully reproachful voice. “No, I am here because I have reason to believe that someone is hiding here. Someone that the God-Emperor is very, very interested in.”, Ezekiel says as he eyes a shard of broken glass on the floor.

“I hope you don’t mind if my associates and I have a look around the premises?”, he asks politely as he snaps his fingers. There is a communal gasp of surprise as six Wraith Lords materialize in a semi-circle around the inquisitor. He smiles like a knife, as if daring the aging tavern owner to refuse.

“No, not at all. Please, go right ahead.” Shepherd says, the calm in his voice disguising the tightness spreading in his chest.

“Good. Gentlemen, if you please.”, the inquisitor says with a smile as the Wraith Lords begin to tear through the Last Resort in search of their quarry. The inquisitor casts a quick spell, his eyes glowing a menacing shade of red. Two arcane probes appear in the air and begin floating around the Tavern.

Shepherd looks on in quiet fury as precious elderwood tables are smashed, priceless bottles of vintage liquors are shattered, and fine archsilk cushions are torn apart, all in search for secrets that are simply not there. Some soldiers mumble in protest, but in the end, the inquisitor has his way with the tavern. Even the crew’s personal belongings are not safe from scrutiny, as armoires are emptied and personal journals are flipped through, then casually discarded. It is a painful spectacle for the Last Resort’s crew, each attempting to deal with the situation in their own way. Rattlesnake unconsciously reaches for a great axe that is not there. Cage puts himself in front of Francine in a protective manner. Redwood clenches her fists so tightly that her nails draw blood. Gypsy stares longingly at a bread knife on a table before her. The temptation to take action is difficult to resist, but they have been trained well, and have been specifically instructed not to act rashly. They can do nothing but watch.

After what seems to be an eternity, the probes dissipate and the Wraith Lords return to the Inquisitor, whose calm veneer begins to show tiny cracks. They have found nothing. He starts to approach Shepherd slowly, with a quiet, frustrated menace.

“Master Bartholomew, it seems that your tavern has cleared inspection. However, I myself am not fully convinced that the one that we are looking for did not make his presence known here. So, for my peace of mind, I must forego proper etiquette and subject you to… a more intense form of questioning.”, he says, a tiny sliver of the darkness bleeding into the courtesy in his voice.

He raises his badge of office to Shepherd’s face. The silver token in the middle of the pendant begins to spin slowly, giving off the same menacing red glow from Ezekiel’s eyes as it puts Shepherd into a trance-like state. The inquisitor leans in close, his chin a hair’s breadth away from Shepherd’s shoulder.

“Icarus Alaric.” Ezekiel hisses into Shepherd’s ear. At the mention of the name, Shepherd begins to feel thousands of miniscule claws in his brain begin to dig deep and try to find any memories and thoughts that he has about Lamb. The urge to tell the inquisitor everything he knows about the boy is powerful. He resists with every ounce of will at his disposal, slamming the opening into his mind shut with an impregnable wall of self-control.

“My apologies, Master Ezekiel, but I haven’t the foggiest idea of who that is.” Shepherd says in a calm, unwavering voice.

The inquisitor seems genuinely perplexed for a second at this unexpected result, and then quickly regains his composure.

He speaks to the Wraith Lords curtly in strange language that leaves everyone in earshot feeling a slight tingle in the back of their minds. The Wraith Lords move with preternatural speed into the night, spreading out in different directions. Ezekiel clears his throat.

“Well then, if that is the case, then I see no reason for me and my party to take up any more of your precious time. I thank you for your kind cooperation and hospitality.”, says the Inquisitor as he begins to make his way to the door, his former politeness completely restored.

As Ezekiel reaches the doorway, he turns around and flashes another unsettling smile towards Shepherd.

“Farewell, Master Bartholomew. Hopefully, we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.” he says with a small wave.

Shepherd nods as the doors of the Last Resort shut with a quiet thud. He suddenly bends over and begins to breathe very heavily, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Shepherd?! Are you all right?”, Taja whispers frantically, panic in her voice.

Shepherd touches her hand comfortingly. “I’ll be fine. The spell that he cast on me was quite powerful, and resisting it took a lot out of me. I just need to rest for-“

Taja shrieks in surprise as Shepherd goes limp and begins to fall to the floor. In a flash, Lioness and Rattlesnake are there to catch Shepherd before he hits the ground.

“I’ve got him.” Rattlesnake grunts as he begins to carry the tired old man to his bed chambers.

Concerned onlookers stare as Bartholomew is slowly moved upstairs. They have never seen him this vulnerable before. It is a sobering sight.

A deep feminine voice rings out to break the silence. “All right you gits, the show’s over! Time to get to work!” Bertha shouts, the force of command ringing clearly in her voice.

Immediately, there is a flurry of movement as the soldiers begin to tidy up the last resort.

“Please, it’s all right. We can take care of it ourselves.”, Taja begins to protest.

“Sorry Taja, but not on my watch.” Bertha says with a toothy, comforting smile. “The Last Resort is a second home to most of us, and we’ll be damned if we left it in its time of need. Ain’t that right, boys and girls?”

The wave of assent is deafening as the soldiers redouble their efforts to clean up their beloved tavern.

“Now then, where do you keep your mops?”

Taja looks on as the soldiers begin to leave the Last Resort to report for duty. Dawn is breaking, and they have done all that they can to restore the tavern. There is not much that they could have done to replace expensive wines or broken fine furniture, though the heavy purse of gold that they collectively donated will definitely help with that regard. It is not very often that Taja is surprised by people, but today is an exception.

One of the soldiers looks back through the doorway and calls out, “Taja, there’s a package here addressed to the Last Resort.”

Lioness moves in and picks up the large, rectangular box from the doorstep. They wave goodbye to the last of the soldiers to leave and close the doors of the tavern for the day.

The crew sits on their usual spots around the bar, tired from the events of the previous night. Lioness approaches with the wooden box in her arms, curious as to what the contents may be. She sets it down gently on the bar counter and begins reading the note that is attached to the box.

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, an arm for an arm.”, is scrawled in a messy script on the small piece of paper.

Before Lioness can understand the significance of these words, Francine idly opens the package. The red-haired woman is silent for a few seconds, then a look of horror begins to creep onto her face. Lioness drops the note and quickly circles around to get a look at the contents of the box. It takes her a second to comprehend that she is looking at a human arm. Then she notices something that turns the blood in her veins into ice.

On its dainty index finger, a small aquamarine jewel attached to a silver ring twinkles merrily in the dim light of the rising dawn.