Swansong for a Raven

### Summary

Upon finding the half-elf Cyrus near death, Talliah sees something within him and prompts him to become what he was meant to be. Upon discovering an ancient artefact, The Raven is born, as his desire for a new world.

### Main Character/s

* The Raven
* Talliah

### Soundtrack/s

Any piece/s of music that you believe fit the scene.

Cyrus loved the smell of rain, even as a child, and even with his affliction he had little problem falling asleep, resting with his back against a log in the middle of a summer shower. Those were one of the few moments where he felt whole, and right, and that perhaps that this world was not so twisted after al-

"You fucking idiot!" Cyrus flinched at the yelling as he looked over his shoulder at the man barrelling toward him. "You led us straight into a fucking ambush!" The man snarled, staring down at the man who was responsible for trapping him in the middle of a forest with a storm on the horizon. He had been in the tavern drinking with his mates when the cloaked figure entered, and sold them on the idea of bashing in a few elf skulls for a bit of coin. And now here they were, most of them dead, being hunted by Scoia'tael remnants as if they were animals.

"You broke formation." Cyrus' voice was cold and logical, his violet eyes staring up at the taller and larger man.

"...What?"

"You chased when I told you not to. If you had listened-" Cyrus explanation was cut short when the man's fist barrelled into his jaw, sending the smaller man spiralling down into the mud and thicket.

"Listened!? Who the fuck do you think you are, boy!?" Perhaps boy was more appropriate, it was later when the men realised that the person leading them into the forest was just fifteen. "Do you think this is a game!? They're all dead because of you!"

Cyrus forced himself up to rest on his elbow, coughing viciously before spitting out a foaming dollop of blood and saliva.

"Aye, It was my mistake. I should've picked out better men." Cyrus replied, those violet eyes still staring up at the man, undaunted. His words, though perhaps true, were unnecessary and cruel, and sent the man into a flying rage as he leapt at the boy again, fists coming down and pummelling him again and again, the sounds of his fist striking flesh and breaking bone muffled by the drizzle which signalled a coming storm.

"Shut the fuck up! I'll gouge out your creepy fucking eyes!" The man snarled, throwing a sideways punch, sending the boy's open face helmet flying, though before he could finish Cyrus off, he blinked in surprise.

"Your ears! You're one of them!" The man shouted as he raised his hands again to continue the beating, but that one moment of hesitation proved lethal, and as his fist came flying down again he stopped and instead pressed his fingers against his neck to stop the blood flowing out like a torrent. He fell backwards off the boy, thrashing about for a few moments before his eyes turned up and hollow, and the spams became the final death throes of a soon to be corpse.

Cyrus breathed heavily, he could see out of his left eye, swollen and bruised along with the
rest of that side of his face. He looked down at his reflection in the blade of the bloody dagger he held to confirm that before tossing it to the side. His body moving made him double over in pain, grasping hims abdomen where the man's knee had help him pinned. His ribs were broken. The half elf let out a sigh before gritting his teeth and dragging himself to the nearest tree, his fingernails broken and bloody by the time he had clawed his way to the trunk and forced himself to sit against it, it was only a matter of time before the Scoia'tael found him. The realisation that he was going to die crept up to him slowly, and only a harsh self-deprecating laugh answered it. This was how he was going to die? This!? This was pathetic. Tears welled in his purple eyes, not from the pain. Not from fear, but from pure frustration. What a sad quest for revenge. He'd die before even learning the name of the man he hunted. Die here, on his first mission. Die, never mattering, never being known. Die because he was too weak to keep a few men in line.

His fist slammed into the ground next to him and he screamed out of rage, the noise loud enough to cut through the sound of the rain. After that, Cyrus just felt hollow. So this was it? Well, at least it was a peaceful place to die. He looked up, the rain was still falling softly, hopefully he'd die before the storm picked up or the elves found him. It was funny, he loved the smell of rain. Tears tricked down his cheek, lost alongside the droplets of rain water.

"I'm sorry mother." He whispered to himself. It was cold, by the gods he hated the cold. He should've just headed south, cut the ends of his ears and went to Ofir.

"I'm so sorry..." He whimpered softly before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. His mother loved the smell of rain.

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The sky had opened and rain poured down, soaking the forest canopy and drenching the ground. Petrichor; the smell of the earth after rain has fallen upon it. There were hurried footsteps, mixed with the squelching of mud beneath feet as a man ran through the trees, with matted hair clinging to his face, stained with dry blood. He panted heavily as his sprint became slowed, but was too frantic to see the tree root sticking out before him, and clumsily tripping, tumbled to the ground. His body became caked in the mud as he hit the floor, wincing in unexpected pain, feeling his ankle twist. Pulling himself up slowly, he looked forward into the forest, with the rain beginning to blur his vision and inhibiting extended sight.

“Blath!!!??? Where the fuck are you!!!??? Blath???!!” His cries gained no response, only greeted by the pouring of the rain and the howling of the wind. Muttering and cursing beneath his breath, he trudged along, further into the woods. He was hungry, thirsty, tired. He had lost his band and was now wandering alone, in a forest that while providing life, could also easily take it. He was aware that many beasts roamed the woods, and he prayed he would not come across any of the horrors that were rumoured to make these regions their home.

After what seemed like hours, he came across what seemed like a small makeshift clearing, with a moss-covered cavern. It seemed for once, luck was on his side. Perhaps here he could not only escape the worsening weather, but also gain some rest. Making his way inside, he noticed how the walls were lit, seeing a fire burning towards the far side. There also seemed to be fur blankets, a cooking pot over the fire and numerous tools and whatnot scattered. He had stumbled across someone's abode, his mind instantly turning to a conclusion. There were rumours of a wild woman living in the forest, although none had ever seen her to verify the claims. Was he stumbling across her lair? Seeing the pot, his hunger became stronger than his fear. He walked over, observing the insides of the pot and observing a stew brewing. There was a long wooden spoon near, and he grabbed it, taking it up and dipping it into the pot, bringing it to his mouth and sipping. It was.....delicious, better than any of the mulch he had been forced to swallow over the last few weeks. He lapped up more of the stew greedily, the food running down his mouth and staining his jerkin as he fed. Sod any wild woman, probably just some mad old bint who had lost any rationality. Besides, no sign of anyone here, he was alone. A glint caught his attention, something that had caught the edge of his eye as he abandoned the pot and headed over. Bending down, there was a small casket which he opened, his eyes widening. It was gold, jewellery, a small but no doubt lucrative collection, looking Elven in origin. Oh Gods be praised, what a trove he had landed today. Grinning with glee, he began to gather the treasure, stuffing what he could into his pockets. Fuck Blath and the rest of them, he'd make his way back to the nearest town, and find himself an inn, get himself well fed, plied with cold ale and then find of a good whore to fuck. And then he'd still have plenty to net him a small fortune, especially if sold to the right person.

“Dagon you fucking genius.” He spoke to himself as he began to exit the cave. “And you were afraid of a little....” He stopped near the entrance as a sudden crack of lightning and roar of thunder erupted, revealing a dark silhouette, tall standing and silent. Dagon gulped, his stomach suddenly dropping and filling with dread.

“I....I mean no harm......I was just looking for somewhere to wait out the rain.” The figure remained silent, but began to pace forwards slowly, revealing a woman. Her long blonde hair was as matted as his, although by the look of it, more on purpose, while she was cloaked in furs. Her eyes met his and the dread he felt only intensified, her gaze full of foreboding. “Please, I was just....”

“You step into my home uninvited.......you eat my food.....and you attempt to steal what I have left of the ones I lost.....and now you try and ply me with lies and honeyed words......” Dagon froze. How did she know? Was this the witch people spoke of?

“Please forgive me, I haven't eaten in days, I was only seeking shelter.....” He was stopped by the sound of an animalistic snarl, watching as a grey wolf emerged from behind the woman, its teeth bared and death in its eyes. “No, please......please, I'll go, you'll never see me again, I'll.....” The woman waved her hand and spoke in some unknown tongue. The wolf growled and lunged at Dagon, his screams echoing in the cave.

Dagon's eyes slowly opened, blurry to the dim light. He tried to refocus his gaze, although felt sluggish. He went to move but something pressed against his wrists. Looking towards his outstretched arms, his saw his hands were tied on either side to a beam. Panicking, he tried to trash, but there was no feeling of his feet. Looking down, he screamed in horror, finding himself hanging from the beam, devoid of both. He continued to scream, perhaps hoping he would wake from this nightmare, before the woman walked back into view.

“What have you done to me you whoring cunt???!!! I'll fucking kill you, I'll cut off your fucking tits and feed you to your fucking dog!!!!” She looked towards him, but her face remained blank.

“You sought to take what is mine. So I in turn took something of yours.” She walked towards the pot over the fire and began to stir the stew. Dagon suddenly realised the horror of the situation.

“You...you....oh Gods.......” Tears began to fall as he tried to hold back a sob. “Please.....just kill me now. Don't make me suffer, please.” The woman turned to him once more.

“Not yet. You still have plenty to offer.” Abandoning the pot, she walked towards him, her gaze displaying intrigue. “Hmm. Plenty.” She gripped his pants, undoing them and pulling them from his legs, discarding them. Kneeling down, she brought her right hand to his flaccid cock, holding it softly and then gently tugging on him. “Does this please you?” Dagon became speechless, as her motion continued, save from a gasp. She formed a playful smirk on her lips, as she put her mouth to him and took his length in.

“Oh Gods.....” Just what was happening? First she harvested his body parts, now she had her mouth around his manhood. Still, her touch was angelic. “If this is your way of apologising, I might just end up helping you further.” She looked up at him and briefly removed him from her mouth.

“Oh, you already have.” Placing his member back between her lips, she carried on, Dagon now moaning in pleasure.

“Hmm.....why don't you show me what you can really do?” The playfulness on her face turned to menace. Sharp teeth bit down hard upon skin and flesh, blood spurting from the wound. Dagon screamed in horror once more, yet the storm raged outside, and none would come to his aid.

The storm still raged throughout the forest as Talliah trod the wet ground barefoot. The taste of human flesh had become an aphrodisiac to her, and all who wandered across, seeking to take advantage of her being a woman were flies to her spiderweb. The thief had suffered no less of a fate, all but his head now residing in her stew. As for the remaining body part, it now adorned a stake outside the cave, a warning to those who would stumble across it. The wolf walked alongside her, seemingly more an equal companion than a pet. Though only clad in a fur covering her torso, Talliah fared through the rain as if it were a mere figment of her imagination. The wolf suddenly held its nose up, sniffing before heading off west.

“Asha.” she called, with a response of a distant growl. Heading towards the sound of the beast, she arrived, only to see Asha fixed in gaze towards a broad tree. Talliah rounded upon the tree, only to see a young man pressed up against the bark, slumped as if dead. He was alive though, although on the verge of fading. “My, what do we have here?” she said, addressing her companion. Asha moved to the boy's side and began to nudge him softly, as Talliah knelt beside him. “Ah.” she remarked, seeing his figure in full. “A lost little elf, come to play in my forest. Such a sweet looking thing.” Asha then began to lick the boy's cheek. “Wake up little one. This world still has yet purpose of you.”

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Slowly violet eyes began to crack open before widening suddenly as the young half-elf took a ragged breath, filling his empty lungs with air. Immediately he pulled his face away from the wolf licking his cheek, a few more violent bloody coughs escaping him before he remembered where he was and managed to catch a hold of himself. Purple eyes stared at the wolf before turning to it's master. The boy was physically weak, ill, unable to control his men, but he knew nothing of fear. Perhaps that was another one of his afflictions as well, fear would help him keep his disdain in check.

"Get away from me." He snapped, leaning his head against the bark of the tree. Most fifteen year olds would be incoherent or tripping over their words if a half naked amazonian woman appeared before him, there was no desire in Cyrus' eyes. There were no emotions there that should belong to a boy his age, just pain and malice. The eyes of a man who had lost everything and was willing to tear the world apart just for a taste of vengeance. Those eyes were bone-chilling. He hated when people called his eyes creepy, for he had inherited the colour from his mother. It was a beautiful colour, a deep violet but he had tainted that beauty with the darkness growing within him.

He lifted his hand and grasped the trunk of the tree he was leaning against before digging the palm of his flesh into the splintered surface and gritting his teeth as he tried to pull himself up. Twice did he fail, falling back to his seated position and only servicing to further bloody his hand, but if he stayed out here any longer he'd freeze to death. Funny, he had already resigned himself to die in a peaceful rainy little grove. But an audience had certainly killed the mood. You'll have to wait a bit longer, mother. He thought idly to himself. The thought made him realise his sorry state, and he quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand. Any stains from his tears would've no doubt been washed away with the downpour, but performed the motion anyway. The only thing worse than being pathetic was being perceived as pathetic.

"Leave me be witch, I have elves to hunt." Cyrus rasped, gods did his throat feel dry. Why did dying have to be so uncomfortable? He raised his arm again to try and pull himself up, but now it felt to heavy to lift. His eyes lifted again to stare at the woman. It was not difficult to guess that she was the witch of this forest. He of course knew about her, not even an idiot wouldn't research a future battlefield. But he had written her off as inconsequential, 'outside mission parameters'. Just another mistake it seemed. So many idiotic mistakes. He made a mental note to never repeat this blunder. Repeat? As though he'd ever be able to do this again. If the witch didn't finish him off, the elves or elements would, but he no longer was content waiting to die.

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Talliah found the boy's resilience amusing. Here he was, a gaunt little thing alone in the woods, clearly near death, and still he had the gall to insult his perhaps would-be saviour. At his comments regarding the hunting of elves, she raised a brow in intrigue. As far as she could see, he shared the same traits of those he was apparently wishing dead. An elf, in the forest, was he not of the Scoia'tael himself? Still, his race did not define his hatred towards his own kind. After all, humans, dwarves, gnomes, all were vindictive of their own species, why should he be any different. She tittered as made his attempts to stand, only to fall from exhaustion at the most minimal of effort. Whistling, Asha turned his head and returned to his master from the side of the boy. His defiance in the face of an almost certain outcome was either brave or foolish, or perhaps both. In a way, it reminded Talliah of her owns sons. Although small children, they had both been carried the same, showing stubbornness whenever they were presented with a situation not in their favour. Where once memories of her dead family would have made her weep, now she only smiled upon them. After all, their death had led to her becoming renowned as 'the witch of the woods', and her reputation that struck fear into the hearts of men with a single mention. She looked towards the frail thing before her, gauging him with her gaze, analysing him not only physically, but looking into his spirit. The boy had already shown that he possessed a will stronger than most men could boast. Few would be so close to expiration, their body bloodied and tired, yet still retain such a will to see their want done.

“And just how do you intend to hunt these elves down when you yourself cannot even bring yourself to your feet?” Her tone was half of concern, half of mockery. But indeed, her question stood, and she was eager to see if the boy would prove himself. It was rare that she came across those of gumption and relevance nowadays. “You intrigue me elf. I would offer you food and shelter, but only if you can follow. We must learn to depend only on ourselves in this life after all, reliance on
others is an illusion at best and a filthy lie beyond that.” She continued to stare at him, before turning her gaze to the wolf. “I will return to my abode. Asha here will stay beside you and show you the way. Whether of your own will, or as meat for my pot, I care not.”

Turning on her heel, she made her way back through the forest and returned to her cave, stopping outside the entrance and examining Dagon's lifeless staring head.

“For such a dire thing, his strength is admirable. Quite resilient is he not?” She brought her hand to the chin, softly grasping it as in of an act of affection. “Unlike yourself.”

Making her way inside, she sat beside the fire, gathering several sticks near to her and arranging them in a pile. Taking up a nearby knife, she slashed across her forearm, dark red swiftly bubbling up. She tipped her arm, pouring her blood onto the sticks and spitting. Moving them with his long fingers, she waited til they were meshed, all bloody and tarnished. She observed them closely before a mischievous smile formed upon her face. “And so the bird with broken wings will learn to fly.......”

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"I'll find a way." Cyrus assured with gritted teeth, the pain like a hot iron pressed against his side. He'd always found a way before. He didn't need men to finish this hunt, he had been alone thus far, this was no different. He didn't need anyone. But his eyes betrayed his surprise when the witch offered her assistance before turning about face and leaving.

"I am no elf!" Cyrus suddenly snapped at the witch as she walked away. His skin was cold and drained of much of it's blood, but even with it's pallid and pale appearance, his complexion was darker than any peoples hailing from the northern realms. Far too much for him to be a full-blooded elf. No, he was of half human blood. The life of a half-elf was of nothing if not challenge. Shunned by both races of his ancestry, welcome by none. It was of no surprise that a lonely darkness had seeded itself in his heart, a loneliness that would only grow with age.

His violet eyes watched the receding form of the witch before letting out a huff.

"She wants me to not rely on others, and yet she wishes as that I trust her enough to drag my body to her cave." He muttered as he curled his hand into a fist, only to flinch at the motion. The boy looked down at his palm, at the long splinter protruding from the soft flesh which seemed it may turn blue any moment. With a bitter expression he ripped out the wood and tossed it to the side before turning to the wolf the witch left behind.

"I suppose I have little choice. Lead me to your master." He ordered, once again raising his arms and pulling with all his might. He gritted his teeth so hard he feared they might shatter, but finally with a yell he managed to hoist himself up to his feet.

With uneasy, wobbly steps he followed the wolf, nearly tripping over himself every few steps. He hated the cold, he hated these northern realms. His cloak was drenched, no longer supplying him with any warmth, the water-logged garment only serving to slow him down. He abandoned it, revealing the simple armour of leather and padding underneath, a dull grey in colour. It was cheap, and now with how torn and stained, it was probably beyond repair.

He staggered into the clearing and stared at the cave.

"Reliance on others is an illusion at best and a filthy lie beyond that.” He echoed softly to himself. "Then what is this?" He muttered before dragging himself to the newest staked head, his violet eyes narrowing. It was one of his men. The boy's expression darkened, and without fanfare he withdrew his last knife from his belt and sawed off the elf's right ear. He still intended to cash in on this job, his men being dead just meant more for himself.

Cyrus stuffed the severed ear into his pouch before pushing past the moss and entering the cave, the warm front of air blanking his mind. He took one step forward before falling face first against the stone, his body breaking into the shivers he had been ignoring. His eyes were hazy, it seemed he was barely conscious, running on nought but adrenaline on his way here. But he made it, of course he did. He still had men to kill.

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Whereas the stew had been diminished by the fool that had entered the she-wolf's lair, it now bubbled heartily once more, filled with the pieces of the dead man's body. Talliah stirred the meal, humming pleasantly as she turned the spoon clockwise, then counter clockwise moments later. Withdrawing the cutlery to her mouth, she tasted the result of her labours. Delicious.

The wind continued to howl outside, and the rain had come down ever harder. Talliah's head turned towards the cave entrance, needing not any sound to know when she had guests. Just as the runes had predicted. She could make out the image of the boy, followed by her loyal friend. It was then that he fell, like a sinking stone. Talliah simply turned her attention back to her stew.

“I must confess, I find myself disappointed. You showed such strength in getting here, yet you fall at the first hurdle. Pity.” She went about returning to the stew, grasping a nearby bone as Asha made his way towards her, throwing it his way. The beast seized it hungrily, tearing at what scraps of meat remained attached to it. The boy remained on the floor, silent as the grave. Talliah drew up two makeshift bowls, ladling the stew into them and setting them upon the floor. She sat, taking up her meal and beginning, the only sound throughout the cave her eating. She then turned her attention once again.

“So, what is a little elf is doing out here all alone in the woods?” She knew from the first moment she laid eyes on him that he was a half-breed, but his reaction to being labelled a pureblood had been far too amusing to stop now. “And on the doorstep to the afterlife at that. Is it the Scoia'tael you hunt?” She flared her nostrils in jest. “A pale shadow of what they used to be. Ever since their 'Queen' abandoned them they have quick become naught but unorganised brats playing at war.” She of course spoke of Francesca Findabair, the once fabled Elven Sorceress who had ruled over the Scoia'tael as their monarch. All until she abandoned them without a moment's notice merely to escape the displeasure of Emhyr. And then, as with the majority of the elves who considered themselves of noble descent, left the world through doors into another realm. Since her leaving, the Scoia'tael had become even more of a rabid motley crew than before. Without any true leader, they fought amongst themselves more than they did with the Nilfgaardians to try and gain what it was they had spent so long fighting for. Talliah would come across them occasionally in the forest, but they knew to stay clear of the witch of the woods, and most would not risk her ire. There were few who had, and who had later graced her pot or become food for Asha. Despite the boy's ongoing silence, she carried on. “It is rather a shame about your man out there. How apt he was to spill his tongue to me about occurrences and ongoings, before he so unfortunately departed from this world. How this mysterious 'Raven', so sure of his command and strategic power enticed him and his brethren to the killing of elves for the promise of coin, yet led them into an ambush, where they fell like sheep before a hungry wolf.” While currently he appeared broken and bent, Talliah sensed there was far more to the boy than his current state suggested, and he had peaked her curiosity. While her words formed mockery, she was hoping they would in fact spur him into some form of action, awaken him from his state of having given up on his wishes to come to fruition. “So, will the Raven once again soar, or will he lay there, like a lame duck? I would hurry. Your food will be getting cold.”

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The small form of the boy stirred and shivered, every word the woman so brazenly spoke only fuelling his rage. His eyes turned to look at her, a grimace on his face. He could not bear to stand up now, but he refused to be called weak.

"What, is human flesh supposed to mend my wounds?" He spat with malice. Such asinine, idiotic superstition. Meat was meat, there was nothing special about her madness. Just another hysterical woman in the world. He had encountered his fair share. A foolish hen who thought broken bones and hypothermia could be mended with soup and rest. No wonder peasant villagers were always so disgusting and deformed. Cyrus wanted to shun her, just lie there and rest, but he was cold, and hungry, and that stew certainly seemed warm from the bubbles of melting fat and soft steam rising from the bowl.

He extended one arm, and used the opposite foot to push himself across the stone floor of the cave to the bowl, his other leg just felt like dead weight behind him. Once he got within arm's reach of the bowl he dragged it towards him, and without bothering to get up he brought it to his lips, draining the hot contents whole, barely chewing the chunks of meat. The boy probably didn't even taste it, though did succeed in burning his tongue. He dropped the bowl with a gasp before letting his head fall on it's side, his face pointed at the fire. There was little point in moving now, even if his body let him. He was silent for a time, perhaps it seemed he had fallen asleep or expired completely with how slow his heartbeat was, but suddenly cut the silence apart.

"That wasn't one of my men you killed. That was one of the men I'm hunting. It's ten crowns a head. We take right ears as proof of the kill." He explained, his voice less raspy now. "And my plans were solid, I only erred in the men I chose to hire, they broke formation, the louts. Though I had little choice in stock to bring." Cyrus added, his voice leaking a cold edge as he defended his tactical ability. "Just like how a village blacksmith only sells cheap and shoddy tools, the quality of the fighting men available there leaves much to be desired." He added with a cruel humor, wholly ignoring the witch calling him 'Raven'. It probably just had something to do with the colour of his hair, or some savage heathen idea. Whatever, at least now he was warm and out of the rain, and he doubted the Scoia'tael would chase him here. His soreness was numb, he still could not feel the tips of his fingers, but at least he was alive. And that meant he could still kill.

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Talliah simply chuckled towards his bitter tongue.

“My food serves as nourishment, as does any meat. Last I saw, you were in need of sustenance, especially so wounded. And besides, it is not the contents of meat, however.....distasteful it may be to you. My stew is filled with herbs and tonics designed for the healing of mind and body.” He may have thought her a fool, but she no less of him. A silly little boy playing at hunter and dreams of issuing command to a pack of rabid dogs. But she yet had vision that he would become more, if only he could conquer his own ego. She watched as he dragged himself to the stew, taking in the broth before collapsing onto the floor once more. Talliah simply returned to her own meal, turning her eyes to Asha, who was now wrestling with the bone , having torn it of all scraps.

“An impetuous little thing is he not?” As she spoke, the wolf gave a low grunt, perhaps of recognition. It was then they boy spoke once more, telling her of Dagon. Of the matter itself, she cared not whether he had been friend or foe, the fool had sought to enter her home and take use of it, eating her food and stealing her possessions. They said that curiosity killed the cat, but apparently also the man. “Were it only the case you were provided with better comrades, perhaps your own company. You wish to command?” She paused while removing a sliver of flesh from between her teeth, using a jagged bone as a pick. “Then do so. Fortune favours those who act, not those who sit beside a tree in the rain, waiting to die. You say you cannot find suitable subordinates, then travel, seek them out from new lands. The fault lies not in the folly of their experience, but in the choices you made in your selection. The merchant who sells cheap trinkets that none are interested in will forever whine about his circumstance, whereas one who sells goods of high quality and intrigue will find much reward.”

Talliah finally drained her bowl as he spoke of the trophies taken. He spoke as if he regarded himself as better than the woodland folk, but his methods and judgement were just as crude. The boy clearly fancied himself a leader, but judging by his display so far and the pitiful state she had found him in, his aspirations were mere delusions of grandeur.

“I have known many fools who fancied themselves as leaders, brazen and bold in talk, full of ego. That is, until it came time for action, when incessant whining took over their suddenly gone bravado. It is the folly of men. From the moment they are born, all men seem to have this inane view that they are the superior species and all should bow before them. Yet a man is weak before a beast with a primal resolve to, per say, eat him. And men are only granted their 'greatness' by the very women who birth them, and even the most heroic man is oft helpless to a woman's charms. Empires have risen and fallen on the whispers of their leader's spouse in their ear. Men are mere playthings in this world, with only the illusion of dominance because we grant them this.” She stood, throwing the bowl aside and rubbing her hand through Asha's fur, the wolf giving an affectionate growl. “If you insist on blaming the world for being unfair and refuse to look to your own faults, I may as have left you by that tree to die, as a coward and a failure. Granted, you summoned the strength to drag yourself here, which I suppose is commendable in your state. It clearly shows you have some aptitude; I suggest utilising it, rather than channelling it into whining. There is a greatness within you my little songbird.” She stooped down into a crouch and cupped his chin, bringing his face towards hers, with an eerie smile painted on her face. “But the boy must die for the man to flourish.” It was true. It was clear he could achieve greatness, if only he could learn to conquer his childish arrogance. Her thoughts were drawn as there was the sound of movement outside the cave, with Asha immediately jumping to all fours, ears pricked.

“Dagon....psst.....Dagon.......where are you you daft bastard?” Talliah turned to Cyrus and gave an evil grin.

“It seems one of your friends has arrived.” Leaving the boy there, she strode off silently to the cave entrance, disappearing from view. Seconds later, a scream rang out, coupled with the sounds of tearing flesh. Talliah returned to sight soon after, blood dripping from her mouth as she was dragging the dead man's corpse in one hand, and holding a severed ear in the other. She tossed the ear before Cyrus lazily, before placing the body against the cavern walls.

“I suggest you get some rest and let the brew work its healing. Tomorrow, we'll begin your hunt.”

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"And is it the folly of women to talk so much? To pretend to understand?" Cyrus snapped at the wild woman. "Keep your savage wisdom to yourself, I don't care for it, I don't care for any of it. Feel free to speak of other men, of lesser men. Of those so easily swayed by their desire to breed. I am no creature of instinct, not one to fear the hungering animal, nor to cast a second glance at the prospect of spawning progeny." The young man gritted his teeth, who was witch to speak as though she knew him? Fuelled by an anger and a dark passion he clawed at the earth next him, clenching it into his fist. "I will not be shamed for my hate, but don't mistake my view on the world for whining. Unlike you, content to waste away in a cave, I refuse to believe that this is life, that all there is this inhospitable, insurmountable vacuous void. You may continue to bend to fit this "illusion", as you called it. But I am no one's plaything. Call it arrogance if you want, but my sense of self is all that matters because it is REAL." the boy snarled. "I refuse to be sand in the hourglass of time, a footnote in history. This world is MY plaything. It is for ME to forge into something worth existing. You think you're somehow better than me because you've accepted your own insignificance? BAH! Do not patronise me because you are content being nothing. There is no wisdom in what has been preached for a thousand years, only the mewling of cowards. I am significant, because I will make it so. Remember this, witch, I WILL NOT forget the injustice wrought upon me, because I Will get my revenge. I'll kill fate itself if I have to." Cyrus slammed his fist into the ground. "I'll say it plain for you to hear. I've declared war on everything. Every nation, every state, every man, every monster, the world, fate and the gods themselves. Mock my ego, mock me, go ahead. My life is already ticking on the clock, the only thing my mother blessed me with was a shortened lifespan. Logic confirms that this is a fight I can't win, it is only natural that I ought to swallow my pride and play house with the rest of society." Despite his words Cyrus' face suddenly contorted into a wide grin, the first time he had smiled in years. "But all that means to me is that I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I'm not a child lashing out, I'm just a man who's decided to stake everything on a gamble. I probably only have about fifteen years left, if I'm lucky that is. Fifteen years to break the world before I die." The boy rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "It's a race, a suicidal mission, all the odds are stacked against me-" Cyrus raised his hand up and stretched it out. "-And I wouldn't have it any other way. It'll make it all the sweeter WHEN I win." He growled as he clenched his fist.

It was a good speech, granted it'd probably have more effect had he been older, and not unable to move from injury. It was a wild dream, but in that he had shared something he had never told a soul before. A deep personal ambition, his truest desire. To conquer an uncaring world, an emotionless void, to shatter time and space, to leave a scar on existence so large that all would remember it forever. All to prove that he existed. That he, a crippled and diseased outcast, he, the smallest speck of humanity, could challenge everything.

His hand flopped to the side, his passionate orating stealing the last of his strength away. It was almost cute, like a boy getting tired after playing. At least now it was a more satisfying fatigue. He couldn't respond when he heard a call from outside the cave, and watched the woman stalk out to slaughter the man. He wanted to argue on keeping him alive for questioning, but he couldn't form the words. Instead the boy glanced at the severed ear tossed his way before finally doing as the woman said and closing his eyes to drift off to a deep and dreamless sleep.

What a strange boy, to think that a mortal could stand against time, against fate, against the unknown. To believe that he could conquer anything simply from his willpower alone. Yet there was something strangely compelling about the way he spoke, something pure. A true belief that he could change the world. Perhaps it was just wanting to root for the underdog, but there was a certain sweetness there, under all the sour and bitter words. Perhaps this dreaming boy could truly be forged into a man of integrity, no matter how brief he'd spend life as a man. But you know what they said, the fire that burns twice and bright burns twice as fast. And here was a spark, ready to ignite into a wildfire.

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His resilience was both admirable and amusing to her. While he would need proof to back up
his speech, Talliah could sense within him a true power. It was the reason she tested him so. There were many men who would talk as if they could take on the world, but when it came to it, they would crumble under the lightest weight, but the boy was gripped by determination, a burning intensity in his words that echoed desire, nay, conviction. As Cyrus fell to slumber, Talliah turned to him, moving towards him and seating herself beside him, slowly beginning to stroke his hair. So young, and already so experienced with pain and loss. She felt a pang of affection arise inside her.

“I sense power in this one. The world has changed so much in the last few years alone, and with the right guidance, he could unveil himself as a great catalyst. What do you think?” Her gaze turned to the wolf, still tearing at the bone. Standing, Asha came over to their side and softly nuzzled her head against Cyrus'. “I knew you'd see as I do my love. Perhaps it is time for us to start a new chapter. It has been so long since our last life.” She placed her lips to his cheek and delivered a small kiss. “Sleep well my little raven. You shall take flight yet.”

Midnight was upon the world as Talliah stood outside the cave entrance, looking up at the stars. Though it had ceased to rain hours ago, the ground was still sodden beneath her feet, though one could not tell if it phased her in any way. She was dressed more elaborately than previously, in a more war like attire, with dark paint smudged across her face. The small box of trinkets she carried was strapped to her side, her staff in hand as if she was going away travelling for a long time. Softly, she began to sing to herself.

“See her as she flies, golden sails across the sky, close enough to touch, but careful if you try. Though she looks as warm as gold, the moon's a harsh mistress, the moon can be so cold. Once the sun did shine, and Gods it felt so fine, the moon a phantom rose, through the mountains and the pine. And then the darkness fell, the moon's a harsh mistress, it's hard to love her well. I fell out of her eyes, I fell out of her heart, I fell down on my face, yes I did. And I tripped and I missed my star, and I fell and fell alone, the moon's a harsh mistress, the sky is made of stone. The moon's a harsh mistress, she's hard to call your own.” She continued to hum to herself before there were steps from the cave, with Asha and Cyrus both appearing. A small smirk curved on her lips, knowing that despite his mocking of her ways, her brew would have mended his ailments within a few hours. The wolf paced to her side, nudging against her leg as she turned her attention to the boy. “I see you have regained the strength that was sapped from you. As promised, your hunt begins now, underneath the gaze of the moon, for she would see justice dispensed, vengeance met. Tonight, you are no longer the small shrivelled thing I came across. Tonight, you are a predator, you are the worst fear of your foes. Tonight you hunt, and begin your journey.” She bowed to him, and pointed with her staff deeper into the woods. “Lead the way.”

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For the first time in a long while, Cyrus awoke feeling warm, cozy, perhaps even safe. For a moment he forgot where he was, perhaps it was home. A softness enveloped him, he could hear a sweet melody drifting like a bated breath in the cold winter air. He felt a nudge against his side and opened his eyes to find a canine gaze looking at him. Funny, he didn't remember owning a dog. He blinked his violet eyes, and rolled over onto on his back, finding a stone ceiling above him and firm, mossy earth below. He let out a low breath and sat up. "That's right." He muttered to himself. "I don't remember having a home either." The boy turned his attention to the wolf before sighing and pushing himself to his feet. He took a moment to clench his hand and relax it over and over, feeling out the strength which had returned to his body. He could move, fight, and kill. This bird had talons tonight. "Asha, was it?" He mused softly, recalling the beast's name. It turned, leading him towards the cave entrance, the source of that ethereal voice. He followed, though the sound stopped as he stepped towards the moonlight. Once outside he blinked rapidly, adjusting to the new light level. The forest seemed to have taken on a new skin in the midnight. He could hear the cooing of owls, the rustling of small mammals moving through the grass and brush. Cyrus turned his head as Talliah spoke, though only offered a sigh as he turned his head to the path forward. "She can watch if she so pleases, but I'll meet my own vengeance." He replied softly before stalking forward.

Despite his words, at first he merely walked, seemingly simply taking in the environment. But this was not wanderlust, he was no great hunter, but he was ingenious and quick to adapt. Quite suddenly during their walk he began to circle about, collecting things here and there. Branches, stones, poisonous plants, vine, resin, and other natural material. Then he took a seat upon a rock and got to work. "It would be folly to hunt unprepared." He said softly as he withdrew a knife from his clothes. Talliah had spoken of him being the predator, but it was simple fact that he was outnumbered and outgunned by his enemy. Given that, he had to take a different angle in his slaughter. Strength and dexterity were not his gifts, so his weapons would be fear and terror. He would ambush, mutilate, and ravage. "The Scoia'tael camp won't be hard to find. They're tired, stretched thin on supplies and heavy with wounded, and I doubt they'll expect an attack after their last assumed victory." He spoke as he tied a toxic plant around the length of a branch and then smeared it with resin, creating a crude sort of smoke grenade. Then he picked up another branch and began to draw in the dirt. "They'll likely be in a clearing near water. First I'll circle around the treeline and set stakes and traps before dealing with anyone they may have on watch. Then I'll use these to set the tents on fire and fill the clearing with smoke. I'll wear cloth heavy with water and alcohol around my face and then wade in to slit their throats at leisure while they panic for air." He explained. It was a cruel world that had wrought a fifteen year old boy who spoke of burning wounded men alive without batting an eye, but that was just the nature of things. "The only issue is what body of water they camp next to. If the river is fordable then that leaves them with an avenue for escape." He mused before standing up and collecting the traps and weapons he had crafted. "I suppose I won't know until I see it." With that he began to track. Despite his age and health, he seemed adept and making his way through the brush, and it wasn't long until he found footprints. Tired, hungry men didn't have the sense to hide them as they passed. The state of the enemy's current psyche would only aid in his terror tactics. His predictions seemed correct, as soon they caught sight of firelight, and a sight more ragged and pathetic than initially expected. The elves, dwarves, and other nonhumans looked as though they had not eaten in days. Many could not walk as rot had taken to their feet from the downpours. Healers circled the camp, though they lacked much of the supplies they needed. There wasn't even anyone on watch. Truthfully these people weren't a threat to anyone anymore, a far cry from what the organization used to be. But among these freedom fighters was supposedly his father, or at the very least knowledge of where he was. So there'd be no mercy for them. Much to his delight, the river was rocky and fast, he doubted anyone could survive trying to wade through it alone. Perfect.

"Will you be joining me in this?" Cyrus asked Talliah as he began setting the stakes into the earth around the campsite. Despite how close his prize was, there was no particular eagerness to his voice. To him, killing was less than nothing. These people had already given up on life, they had died the day they had lost their dream, when their queen betrayed and abandoned them. She had murdered them, he was merely putting them in their natural state.

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Talliah listened as the boy unveiled his plan as they made their way towards the camp, and found herself becoming more and more impressed with him. For one so young and seemingly so angry and rash, his strategising skills were quite something. Talliah was familiar with the Scoia'tael camp nearby, having become familiar with them over the years, sometimes when they came for her advice, and others when they incurred her wrath. While she had little use for ever interacting with the Scoia'tael on an extended basis, she did not think they were evil, but merely to be pitied. They were after all, only trying to find acceptance, however misguided their methods. Still, she owed no loyalty or had any love for them.

“You make a convincing plan my little songbird. I believe that I will join you in this folly. You set your traps and make your plans, I will ensure we are.......uninterrupted.” She gave a eerie smirk before leaving Cyrus to carry out his plans. Walking deeper into the forest with Asha by her side, she began to muse over the recent events. “Well my dear, things have certainly been unexpected over the last few hours, don't you think?” The wolf gave a soft whimper of agreement in response, seeming to know that a louder howl or bark may give away their position and alert any Squirrels nearby. The Scoia'tael may have thought that no one knew these woods like them, but these woods belonged to Talliah. They were her domain, and nothing happened here without her knowledge. The very woodland creatures spoke to her of the comings and goings of the day, the bond of speech between them the same that Talliah displayed with Asha. Even though she walked barefoot, her steps were near silent as the leaves crunched under her feet and Asha's paws. Circling the camp from a distance, she made sure to note the security detail. Knowing that the boy has likely marked all of them as his individual targets, she was apt to let him carry out his plans, although she would not let him have all the fun. Crouching low as she approached the perimeter, a lone elf stood on guard, lazily staring into space, likely having been out here for hours with not a single rustle of a leaf catching his attention. She positioned herself and Asha behind the trunk of a large tree, peering out to make sure there was no one else to ruin the plan. Without a word from Talliah, Asha gave a small bark, attracting the elf's attention. Cautiously, he began to wander over to the source of the noise. As he neared, Talliah could sense his fear and grinned to herself. While she could have simply strolled into the camp and decimated the surroundings with her magic, she had always preferred the thrill of fear, and draining the life of her targets with her own hands. As the elf neared the tree and was about to round the trunk, a dagger pierced through his foot. Before he could let out a scream, a hand was placed to his mouth and he was dragged out of sight.

After the witch and the wolf had had their fill, they continued on, swift and unseen as shadows. Another sentry was surprised as Talliah placed her staff suddenly over his face and gripped it against his neck. There were a few moments of struggle before she violently jerked the staff, snapping the neck of her unfortunate victim before casually tossing the corpse aside, leaving the limp body to roll down with the river. The hunt was on, and Talliah felt alive once more. It had been too long since she had truly stalked prey, and the feeling was akin to the remembrance of a long forgotten dream. How fortunate she had been to stumble across this shrivelled thing of a boy, only to find out he possessed such talent. Perhaps it was time to move on from her solitary ways, after all this time. It had been well over a decade since she had fled into the woods and started her life anew, and while she was certainly content, perhaps the winds called for a change. She would see how well the boy's plans were executed first. It was then the panicked cries began from further in the camp. Talliah licked her lips and smiled evilly to herself.

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Cyrus nodded as the witch agreed to be a part of his ambush and watched her retreat through the brush before beginning his bloody work. He slowly circled the shadows about the camp, driving stakes into the earth and tying snares with lengths of coiled plant fibre. Falling to one of these would be a particularly painful death. He was not sure which was worse, bleeding to death after being impaled or having the life choked out of oneself through strangulation. But nor did he care, cruelty and brutality were simply a part of warfare. To deny himself tactical avenues out of some misguided sense of "humanity" was foolhardy. Besides, he wasn't human in the first place; the northerners had seen fit to drive that point in whenever they saw his ears, and the Aen Seidhe were no better. The memories of abuse rung in his head as he went about the idle work and once complete he approached the camp and let out a low sigh, his breath rising like mist in the cold midnight air. It was time to start.

He withdrew a length of cloth from his coat and soaked it with the contents of his canteen which was already water diluted with alcohol to drive away bacteria. He tied the cold wet, bitter smelling fabric around his mouth and nose and took a testing inhale before nodding to himself in satisfaction. He held three of those toxic torches in his hand, and lit them all at once with a strike of flint against the side of his knife. They ignited with a violent roar and already spewed a noxious murky smoke. Just as the elves saw them light in the forest, Cyrus tossed two of them into the mass of tents and watched pandemonium assume the decrepit camp. Filthy sheets, ridden with dried mould and eager to blaze set up near instantly, and with the final torch in his hand he waded into the clearing.

His plan had worked perfectly, and the lone strategist was met with elves and dwarves knelt over and letting out the near empty contents of their stomachs along with blood and the linings of their throat. Some tried to cover their faces with their tunics and run, the screams behind him confirmed that his traps were working as intended. The young man began walking towards the largest tent, no doubt, the command tent, though suddenly stopped as he felt something grab onto his leg. Cyrus looked down at the coughing elf, her eyes bloodshot and nose leaking both mucus and what was probably brain fluid. "I need a mask too! P-please brother!" The woman coughed out in elder speech, her voice full of desperation. Seemingly she had mistaken him for an ally in the haze, only seeing the outline of his features.

"Oh?" Cyrus mused softly in elder speech as he leaned down. "Are we kinsman now?" He asked softly as he examined her features. It unnerved him that they shared so much about their faces. He didn't look particularly different from them, nor from the humans. So why? Why did he feel this way? "It's embarrassing to say, but even though I know you've mistaken me, I can't help but feel something warm from that." He explained with a boyish ring to his voice.

"Brother?" The woman spoke again.

"I suppose I've still got part of me, the child wanting to be accepted. It pains me to admit, but that witch was more right about me than I'd like. About my feelings, the things I can't control." He trailed off for a moment before tightening the grip on his torch. "It's too late for you; the fumes are already in your lungs." He explained as he took a knee. "It's a slow death, I'm sorry you have to suffer it. I take no pleasure in it, but I assume that doesn't ease your pain." Realization dawned upon the woman's face and she suddenly let go at his boot and gazed up in horror as Cyrus rose back up and lifted the torch."All I can offer you is a final mercy. For the sake of our shared blood, goodbye." With that he slammed the torch down like a club, again and again, the woman's skull caving in with a wet crunchy bite. He took a moment to examine his handiwork before entering the command tent, dropping the bloodied torch in his hands before pushing through the flap. This tent had been made of the finer material this cell had left, and had not caught fire as quickly, giving time for the elf inside to wrap cloth about his face. Cyrus found him desperately scrounging documents. He did not even notice the presence of another until he glanced towards the exit and recoiled in surprise, scattering his papers as he pulled his sword from his belt.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man demanded. He seemed to be of high rank, but after staring at him silently for several moments, Cyrus ascertained that he was not a commanding officer.

"Where is the leader of your commando?" He asked.

"Blath? The coward booked it out of here after the first fight!" The man snarled as he waved his saber at the half elf. "Now get the fuck out of my way or I'll cut you down!" He demanded. Cyrus only stared at him for a moment before nodding and stepping to the side. The elf seemed taken aback, but unwilling to linger in a burning camp began to run out. Cyrus stepped out to watch him as he neared the edge of the clearing and nodded to himself when he heard the expected scream. He followed a moment after to find the man gored on the stakes, still breathing and screaming his lungs out at the wooden spike going straight through his gut. Cyrus walked past him and picked the papers up. They were encoded, but he didn't even require time to figure out the crude cypher these insurgents used.

"Blath a'Baeth." He read the name and rolled the name around his tongue. Despite himself, he couldn't help but grin. He finally had a name, the name of the man who assaulted his mother. The name of his father, the name that chained him to his past. The name he'd silence, and then he could finally be free. He clenched the papers in his hand and looked up at the embers rising into the night sky as the fires burned themselves out. He lowered the mask about his face and took a deep breath, he tasted and found the air was sweet.

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The carnage and devastation of the camp was in full swing as Talliah listened, closing her eyes. What would have been sounds of horror to others was pleasant to her ears, the suffering and pain aphrodisiac in the form of sweet music. Fire and gas rose in the air, dying elves and dwarves coughing out their last breaths, their organs purged by the fumes of smoke and toxin. The boy certainly was inventive, having caused such widespread death so quickly, and without even raising his own hand to an individual. Talliah bode her time, waiting for the screams to die down and the lingering gases to dissipate, before making her way into the camp. Even while she could protect herself from the noxious fumes, even a witch could succumb to toxins if not careful. She walked slowly, surveying the dead and dying, the limp bodies and those squirming in agony, coughing their guts up. Any survivors, Asha made sure were sent to their final rest, his sharp fangs quickly buried into the soft flesh of the neck and the throat subsequently torn out. Whereas they had once been a credible threat to even the likes of Nilfgaard, the Scoia'tael had become naught but a rabid bunch of disorganised dogs, far more bark than bite. There were still those afraid to venture into the woods should they face the wrath of the Squirrels, but they were few and far between, more idiotic and brainwashed by superstition than anything. The guerilla warriors all lay dead at her feet, and all by the machinations of a young boy. Pathetic.

Her attention was stolen by a grip upon her leg, looking down to see the wretch who dared to touch her.

“He......” the elf tried to speak in between fits of violent coughing. “.....that thing.....is a demon....” Talliah smirked and leaned down, her lips beside the elf's ear.

“More than you will ever know.” She stood once more.

“Please.......help me.......end it.......” Talliah looked into his eyes quizzically.

“I'm sorry my dear, but you are already dead. I cannot aid you.....nor would I wish to.” Asha made a move to kill but Talliah motioned to him, and the wolf relented immediately without question.

“Gods fucking curse us.” the dying elf continued to splutter. “Blath the coward.........he was supposed.....to lead us......and instead we die at......the hand.....of his fucking hellspawn.” Talliah stopped in her tracks, intrigued, turning back towards him.

“Go on.” she spoke.

“I saw that bastard's eyes. Blath's and his.....one and the same......Blath always told us about that.....whore he humped, Naria, Nadia....whatever the fuck her....name was....while he held her down.....” Talliah grew impatient.

“I care not for the tale of some carnal deed. What of the boy?”

“I saw...his eyes. He looks life one of us but......he's not. Only have....to look at him to tell.....filthy half-breed. Blath always said......he wondered if he'd spawned some little shit from her womb......and now that shits come.....to kill us......all.” Clearly, the fumes had taken their toll, and the elf finally rolled over, dead. However, his words had proved invaluable. So, it wasn't purely for profit that the boy hunted, but for revenge. Moving into the tent, she looked and saw several chests full of everything from coins and jewels to old scrolls and texts. They may have been a shadow of their former selves but the Squirrels had clearly acquired near to a King's ransom over time.

She made her way with Asha to the entrance of the camp, where Cyrus stood, mask now removed and looking to be in an almost state of peace. She knew the incentive behind his attack on the camp, but would keep her knowledge to herself for now. After all, it could be used to an advantage later on.

“So, have you found your solace?” she asked, giving nothing away. “What is it you intend to do now? For such a ragtag band, they appear to have certainly accumulated a substantial hoard. One wonders what a man could do with such resources. You talked previously about commanding your own company no? It seems as if life has given you such opportunity to begin.” She paused, silent for a moment, deep in contemplation. “It occurred to me songbird. What is it I should call you?”

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Cyrus turned his head at the voice behind him before offering her a joking sigh and a wry smile. "I'll never understand your superstitions. We forged this opportunity for ourselves, why give fate the credit?" He chuckled, his mood surprisingly light. It seemed a job well done did bring his raging soul to heel, at least for the moment. The boy folded the papers in his hand and stuck them under his coat, his brows furrowing at her question. "My mother named me Cyrus Gul. It roughly translates to 'the protector of roses' or something along those lines in the common tongue." He said as he glanced down at the dead elf by his feet."I can't say that I ever felt it fit me though, and I very much doubt she'd want me to wear it now, with the things I'm doing." He mused as he drew his knife and knelt to saw off the corpse's ear. "How about you? What's the name you go by?" Cyrus asked as he walked over to the next corpse to collect his bounty, scratching his nose as he went. It felt inflamed, perhaps from wearing that spirit soaked rag for so long. Scratching didn't seem to help, though. "Well firstly, king's ransom or no, we still ought to collect our prize from the fallen. A job isn't done until you're paid." He mused as he made his way to the more familiar body of the woman he had beaten to death. Had he done the right thing, to give her that mercy? His thoughts were halted when suddenly a drop fell on the already bloodied body. Briefly he glanced up at the sky before realizing that there was something lukewarm on his face. He raised his hand and it came away crimson, dark blood leaking down from his nostrils. For a moment it might've seemed that he'd accidentally inhaled the toxic fumes, but his calm demeanour suggested this had happened before. "Do you mind collecting the rest of the ears? I have to sit down." He said softly as he stumbled over to a tree stump and collapsed onto it. It seemed the affliction that he had mentioned, the one that limited his life to only a further decade was finally rearing it's ugly head. The boy could feel a stinging in his head, like a ravenous insect tunnelling through his brain, chewing up his psyche and soul.
Itching, clawing, maddening him, taking everything from him. He bent over, his hand over his nose and mouth as he let out a muffled scream with violet eyes shut tight. His small frame rose and fell rapidly for several moments before the attack left as fast as it had come, his breathing slowing to a crawl as he lifted his face, a tired scowl plastered on it, his fine mood taken from him along with any energy he had left in his body. "Typical." He muttered, his only reaction to the pain that had long been his reality. He did not feel as though he had the strength in his legs to stand again and so pulled the letters from his coat with an annoyed sigh." My apologies for that, my illness always strikes at the most inopportune times. Though I suppose I ought to be grateful it didn't come upon me during the raid." He said as his violet eyes looked over the words on the paper. It was written in the elder tongue, but even to someone fluent it would look like gibberish, though Cyrus was unimpressed. "The squirrels go through the trouble of using a cypher, so you'd assume it'd ought to be more difficult to crack. But I don't even require a pencil and parchment to figure this out, it's pathetic to be honest." He quipped, taking every opportunity to mock his hated enemy. In fairness to the Scoia'tael however, Cyrus was an exceptional enemy in this regard. The half-blood was sharp and even as a child he had adored puzzles and riddles. As he read his eyes narrowed, then widened as he let out a low hum. "It seems the reason the squirrels were here at all was because they planned to steal a particular item from the local lord, an artefact rumored to be from the Conjunction of the Spheres. Though no one has seen this cursed object as it is locked in a chest that no one has ever managed to open or break into, how fascinating. The attacks on the village and caravans must've been probes to ascertain the strength of the local guards as much as they were for supplies. Though it seems the guards were a bit much." He added as he glanced over at the command tent. He was quiet for a time before clicking his tongue. "Not an entirely bad plan, but one poorly executed. No doubt their leader intended to use this wealth to better equip his force, but money has no value if there's no one to trade with. At that point you may as well be dragging along stones." The young tactician finished his assessment before turning his head to Talliah. "Do you think there's any truth to that story? I can't imagine anyone would devout this much to chasing an empty rumor, but these were desperate men." He wondered as he looked over his defeated foes. "In any case the wealth is mine. All that's left to do is finish this contract. Then I ought to head to the nearest city. I'll be able to recruit a better quality of fighting man there, not to mention that there'll be more work." He decided. "I'll have a company of warriors yet, I wonder what we'll call ourselves." He mused before smirking to himself. "Assuming anyone wishes to follow a hellbound boy that is. But I'll find a way to get them to follow, I always find a way."

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“The world works in mysterious ways songbird. You would be wise to remember that rather than scoff. Still, your talent is undeniable, and should be commended. To take out an entire camp with a few simple tricks is indeed worthy of praise.” Talliah waited as the boy gave his name, the meaning behind it and mulled over the fact that his mother would likely not approve of his deeds. “The denziens of this forest call me many things. Lady of the wood, witch of the wilds. But if names are to be exchanged, you may call me Talliah.” Her eyes followed him as he went to collect his prize, shearing off the ears of yet more elves before he stopped. Talliah had noticed the blood dripping down from his nose, but said nothing. As he requested her to do the deed while he sat, she simply nodded, taking her own blade and savagely ripping through the dead flesh of the corpses. While he sat she hummed softly to herself, a contrast to the bloody work she was carrying out. Asha stalked around her, his eyes surveying the dead for any signs of life, only so he could snuff them out in turn.

As soon as Cyrus had recovered, their conversation continued. As he spoke of an illness her interest peaked, although not quite what it was ever came into light. It would have to be procured some other time. For now, the conversation turned to the cypher to Scoia'tael had used.

“Quite intriguing of them, their limited intelligence seems to suggest they wouldn't think of these things.” she observed. “They must have had at least some brains among their leadership.” Knowing full well who it was now who had led the rag-tag band of guerillas, still she remained silent on the subject. After all, there was no use in giving all her knowledge away. When he moved on to mention the squirrels' purpose, she found herself drawn further in to Cyrus's speech. There were many artefacts among the world containing power, many of elven origin and old magic, though few were rumoured to have come with the Conjunction. This revelation certainly intrigued her. Having kept her eyes on the Socia'tael's activities for sometime now, she knew precisely the village the cypher spoke of, and the lord of the manor there, a pompous and fat fool who feasted on the local game and wine while his subjects lived in poverty. Such men were naught but cattle to be slaughtered.

When asked her opinion on the tale, she pursed her lips in subjectivity.

“A desperate man does not seek out a prize with such vigour if there is no truth to it's tale. While it could be a wild goose chase for an old useless trinket, it could indeed be a treasure from such a time, these things though scarce, are not unheard of. And usually, it is some fool stumbling across their power, unaware of such a marvel.”

She smirked as he spoke of his immediate claim to the hoard, and his incentive to use it to gather himself a force. Whereas many men boasted about their aspirations to lead, the fire within him was clear. It would not be easy, as many would not see a small boy as worth following even if he was to offer them coin, but Talliah had no doubt he had his own ways of persuasion. “Judging by the lay of the land, Cintra would be the best bet. Plenty of opportunities there, with the trade from across the Yagura and with the Skellige isles. Commerce will be abound, and there will be rife room for.....less deplorable types. After all, a mercenary band with too many morals and ethics is about as useful as a stitched-up whore.” She smirked as he mused over the name of the company. “Whatever it will be, I am certain you will think of something my little raven.”

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"There's nothing impressive about putting down half starved animals." Cyrus mused as he glanced down at the motley of mutilated corpses, already beginning to stink having expunge their bowels. "Just as there is nothing of note in leading armies, in lordship, in kingship; not even in empire." The young man stood up and paced over to the river, the water that gave life, but served his twisted purpose in a barrier to trap and cage. "Even an empire that stretches from the sun to the moon can't last forever. Everything turns to dust; everything becomes meaningless. Men have claimed to best the greatest of adversaries, from tyrants to monsters to demons. But I've not heard of any victory over the cruel apathy of time." His violet eyes turned to regard Taliah. "The world works in mysterious ways." He parroted, rolling the words over his tongue with clear disgust for them. "I've heard it a thousand times. That there are things under the seas and outside the heavens that man cannot know, that the sheer insurmountable scale of it all is impossible for man to comprehend. That there are things best left unknown. I refuse that notion. Others may be content living in this sphere of false empathy, but I am not. They'll call me mad, they'll call me a monster, I'm prepared. I want the truth, witch, no matter how comforting the lie is." There was a forlorn softness to his voice, not one of adolescence, but one of melancholy that had no place in a child. A baby boy robbed of the small moments that make a man human. Friends, family, a first love, a first passion, these fires had long become ash or had been overtaken by his rage. But once the rage burned itself out, what would be left? His soul was like a razed forest, new life having yet to bloom.

Cyrus dipped into the tent after his strange speech before quickly returning, the war chest of coins, trinkets, stolen crests and seals in his hands. His arms steady with youthful vigor and strength, and he had no trouble carrying the large box. "There's no sense travelling at night; we'll stash this in your abode and wait until morn to turn in this contract." We it was not a word he had ever remembered saying before, and yet it escaped his lips without realization. The bemused expression that crossed his face clearly displayed the apprehension of that sudden awareness. Silently he retraced his steps back towards the cave from which they had started this hunt. His mind seemed to be in another world, wracked with confusion over the strangest things. The boy was unable to process how he felt; it was not unpleasant, but to accept it would be to admit his loneliness, to admit his weakness. Truthfully, the expression he held now was the first he had made that was appropriate for his age. One of a boy, not yet a man, grappling with his still burgeoning emotions.

Cyrus set the chest down and sat on it, a sigh escaping as he looked at his sore hands. They were sticky with half dried blood, and he clicked his tongue in disdain, prying his fingers apart from one another. But the physical discomfort was still outweighed by the one in his heart, and Cyrus realized that this would be something that'd never stop gnawing at him without being addressed. He only hesitated for a few more moments before he began to speak. "When we first met you saved my life, I... I suppose it would be appropriate to repay you for that in the future." The boy mumbled, his emotional maturity had clearly not developed as fast as his intelligence. It was profoundly difficult for someone like him to admit that he appreciated someone's aid simply because he had not received aid before. Having an ally was foreign to him, far different from having contacts or pawns. The idea of repaying a favour made more sense than simply saying thank you. "Can I ask why you did save me? You could not have immediately been aware of worth. Logically speaking I should have been nothing more than a useless dying child." He added. Cyrus could not understand her reasoning, surely the witch
wanted something from him, else she'd have just thrown him in her pot. What did she want? A favour? The Witch clearly lived a content, self-sustaining life. He could not grasp the point, and that lack of comprehension bothered him.

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There were many men who gave great speeches. In her past life, Talliah's own father, the village elder had often giving rousing rallies, a truly gifted orator. It was through his words, his confidence and his delivery that their village, while so few and with so little, had survived and thrived year after year, why their crops were always bountiful, why their children grew strong. It was a life fitting of perfection. That was however, until the church came. They arrived as they always did, spreading the message of the undying fire, the flame that would cleanse all sin and from the ashes, the converted would rise in all their reborn glory. With their faith lying in the Old Gods, the village inhabitants drove the church's messengers away, and that was the end of it. Peace continued among the village, their harmonious lives ever blessed. That night however, would be their last. Talliah had gone to pray at a nearby place of power, asking the Gods to evermore watch over her and her family, and provide them with all they needed. Instead of the loving family and friends she had cultivated and come to know over the years, she returned to death and destruction. In their wrath for being rebuked, the Eternal Fire had cleansed the village, murdering every last villager, and stealing the accumulated wealth and harvest. She ran to her own abode, burned to cinders like all the others, only to find the charred corpses of her husband and her children, her youngest, Hunter, but just a babe. And it was there that the loving daughter, wife and mother ceased to exist.

Talliah refocused herself. Her thoughts of her father had been linked to the speech delivered by Cyrus. For such a boy, he had an extraordinary presence in his words, as if they could encourage even the most broken man, give passion to those who had lost all, make the world feel his hurt, his pain but most importantly, his determination to survive. It was true what he spoke of though: none could best time itself. A man could conquer a thousand worlds, acquire all the riches within the cosmos, bring all life under his dominion, and yet, he would die. Men could build great works of art, mighty castles and impenetrable fortresses, yet they would be defenceless against the ravages of age. And it was time that Talliah would bind in waiting for the day when she would exact her wrath upon those who took everything from her.

She was mostly silent as the three made their way back to the cave, events of the past hoarding her thoughts. With Cyrus having stashed the treasure, he seemed to become suddenly pensive. She turned to him, and for the first time since they had met, her eyes displayed not madness, nor lust for death, nor hunger, but a softness and a vulnerability.

“Because you reminded me of myself. Lost, alone.” She paused, her expression a mixture of confusion and loss. “You were the child that I could have saved, should have saved. I see now why fate placed you in my woods; not to rid the world of some mere insignificant elves, but to grant me a new lease, a new purpose.” Her sulleness turned into a sly grin. “The Gods indeed work in strange ways.” She dropped to her knees, making marks in the dirt with her long nails, before grabbing the sheathed dagger she kept and slicing through the flesh of her wrist, blood pouring to the floor as she spat into it, mixing the ground with her internal fluids for several moments, staring at the outcome and muttering in some form of tongues. For a moment, nothing happened, nor would have been expected to, until the blood began to bubble. Whatever Talliah saw, her eyes turned milky white, like those of a blind man and she began to speak in a voice similar to her own, but with a sinister tone accompany it. “And so shall it be, the broken bird will rise and fly, his mark across the land scarred into the sky. Never again shall he be cast down, for his is a glory and a darkness all the same. Man, King and God alike will all come to know his name.” There was a pause, her eyes returning to their natural green state as she breathed a sudden gasp, like her throat had been released from the clutching hand of a foe. She began to stare at Cyrus, her eyes filled with wonder. Crawling towards him, she knelt in front of him. “You...are bound for greatness. You will lead men, you will inspire fear, you will fulfil all you were meant to be.” She began to speak as if crazed in joy. “there are none who will not know of your name, from the Yargura River to the seas of Ofir and the deserts of Korath. And you will be mine to protect once more.” She began to laugh now, as if some maddening humour had gripped her, before soon returning to her normal tone and form. She straightened herself up and spoke. “I saw a burning village, the screams of the damned filling the air as the flames licked the sky, and in the middle of it, a man in black, with the face of terror. A mask. A bird. A Raven.”

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Cyrus watched Taliah's mad ramblings with furrowed brows and a look of bemusement. Instinctively he had pouted in disgust when she had begun to spin her magics. It was not only a natural suspicion of the arcane that belied his reaction, but his own inability to tap into the source that left a bad taste in his mouth. Most not born with natural gifts could at least for a sign or work some basic level of spellcraft, but the boy had found himself completely unable to draw on the smallest modicum of magic. Even items imbued with nature's chaos tended to shirk from him, and he had never known why. His healthy distrust of sorcery was only proven as the witch seemed to drive herself mad with prophecy. But the boy did not feel elated at her words, for it sounded like he was a pawn of fate. Was the boy birthed to bring about the end? Was it some roundabout plot to coax him into the path of destruction?

"A Raven? Not a Fiend or Manticore or Griffon?" Cyrus tutted with mock disappointment."I suppose that lines up with everything else. And a mask is not a bad idea." He added musingly before leaning back. "Of course then I'd just be fulfilling what you saw. Perhaps I just ought to ignore it." The boy shrugged with a tired grandeur before slumping his shoulder and gazing at her with his violet eyes. His mood seemed to have recovered some, but a clear curiosity had taken it's place. "You lost someone." She had said 'mine to protect again', and this had not gone unnoticed to the tactician. "A child, perhaps?" The question hung in the air like a heavy fog.

The pieces came together in his mind with ease once he had caught even the slightest hiccup in her words. The death of a child was what a mother feared most, and a child's murder was enough to drive one to the edge of sanity. Insane enough to run from the civilized world. Insane enough to become a lonely wild witch. Insane enough to start partaking in human flesh. He could understand that more than he'd care to admit. That gnawing feeling in one's mind, the isolation, the despair. It could drive a man to do horrible things. It was strange, being able to empathize with someone in suffering. Even though all they shared was pain, the boy could not help but feel a warmth towards Taliah. A strange connection with her. "I lost someone too, my mother. She was not murdered, at least not by a person. It was this world that killed her, the apathy of life, the morals of the self-righteous, the idiocy of the masses and the twisted lust of men." Cyrus suddenly stood up, but the boy seemed strangely taller than usual, his mind was made up."So here we are, a pair of broken forgotten things. Oh how wretched we are, shunned as creatures not of this earth. To be walked past, looked down on, for even our very existences to go unacknowledged. But I recognize your pain, I recognize your suffering. The wicked need a wicked saviour, Taliah."

He let out a low breath and offered her a smile, a real smile. Not one of a boy but one of a man who understood, a man knew pain and who would never allow it to repeat. "I suppose we ought to do this formally. I Cyrus Gul, captain of a company of one, who has chosen to wage a suicidal war invite you to join me. Be the first and be my second in command. Any sane man would say that we'll probably die together face down in the mud, our names forgotten. But I promise that one day all will know us and our names will echo through time as long as there are men to whisper it from their lips." He drew his knife, slashed his palm and outstretched his hand to the wild woman. The gesture was a foolish considering how much shorter the boy was, though the smile on his face suggested he knew that well. "I'll bow to your idea just this once, we'll stitch a great black bird to our banner, and call ourselves the Raven Company." A bubbly chuckle escaped the boy, a foolish childish laugh. To think that two vagrants shaking hands would one day lead to something great, the idea was barely an ember in his mind, but he was determined to see it through. But now for the first time in his life, he knew he didn't have to do it alone.

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Having returned to a normal state, she paused following his assumptive question.

“My children. As was customary of my people's ways, I had left to give praise to the Gods, and when I returned my village had been razed by the Eternal Fire. They tried to convert us, and when we rebuked them they came down with fiery vengeance, taking everything from us. From me.” She in turn listened to his own tale and nodded. “The lust of men. Their greed knows no bounds, and eventually they will become bloated, feasting on the rotted corpses of those they sentence with their gluttony.” The fire of malice burned in her eyes as she spoke, her mind picturing only the flames of that night.

Her attention was caught when Cyrus offered her his bloodstained hand, her mouth twitching into a smirk, before slashing her own and offering it.

“We have an accord then, Cyrus Gul. For as the raven caws, death soon follows.”

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The stench of death hung low as Talliah and Cyrus made their way slowly towards the manor, the lord within supposedly holding the relic they sought. It was said to be of the original Conjunction of Spheres and hold a power unlike any other, and naturally, it would be theirs. The fiefdom of Strept had never been particularly notable, even among a kingdom as famous as Cintra. It was ruled over by the namesake of the land, the Lord Strept, as it had been ruled by his father, his father before him and so on. Unlike the previous Lord Strept, who had been a stern but just lord, the newest ruler was noted to be a hedonistic pig, starving his subjects and demanding substantial taxes that broke them, while he gorged himself on the finest foods and lived in luxury from his manor. Strept looked as if it had been struck with the plague as the witch and the half-elf passed through it, the peasants around them gaunt and dying, stretching out their hands for some kind of charity or mercy. Even the very air was heavy with suffering, a looming night beyond thick mist. Whatever the artefact they were looking for was, Talliah could feel it was near, the magical power calling out to her.

“It is not far now.” she said, turning to Cyrus. “I can almost smell it.” Her speech was cut off as a hand clutched at her leg, and she turned in disgust to face a starving man, his skin clinging to his bones and his voice raw.

“Please, my lord, my lady, help us. Have pit.....” His request was cut off as Talliah struck him hard across the face with the back of her hand, causing him to fall to the mud below.

“You dare touch me you worm???!!” There were several other villagers nearby who now recoiled at the witch's bellowing voice, some ushering themselves and their children inside. There was no reply from the man who lay there, dead. Talliah spat towards his corpse before continuing on. “Strept will be holed up within the manor, where his servants and private guard will also be. I suggest we draw them out and rid ourselves of their presence first.” She turned to Cyrus, her mouth having formed a grin. “Of course, I am merely here to advise. If you have other thoughts, then let them be heard. As long as we secure our goal, the method matters little to me.”

Soon, the manor drew near. Night had truly fallen now, cloaking the world in darkness as they approached, hidden from sight.

“And there it is. Your prize awaits you inside. Now my songbird, how will you proceed?”

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A pale countryside of near empty fields, the few spoiled crops that there were had been chewed up by rats and left to be. The land reflected it’s lord, a decrepit bloated thing that would die even if the young mercenary did not take action this day. Tis the curse of the so called right of noble blood. A few decent kings here and there and the peasants had it in their heads that allowing bloodlines to lord over them was an acceptable arrangement. Filthy inbred houses of pompous and arrogant fools, propped up on a sea of voluntary corpses. How quick during wartimes did these peasants run to defend the titles and lands of their masters, fighting in wars they didn’t understand, suffering for ignoble reasons they thought their own. Honor and duty, simple excuses to keep men in line, but Cyrus would not be kept in line.

He blinked down in surprise when Talliah interrupted her musing to strike a stinking beggar. The ragged man fell over himself silent and dead, having already been at the gates from his failing health. “My lord.” Cyrus echoed wryly with a shake of his head. “Tell me, Talliah, do I look like a lord?” He mused sarcastically, he more boy than man, clad in the dark mangy furs of a killer. “Therein lies a cold comedy in how polite a desperate man can be. How quickly a bird changes its tune when near death. I passed by hundreds of villages like this as a child, men like this sorry little thing would taunt and jeer, for their lives were comfortable enough to enable them hate. So is allowing people to be content a flaw if they’ll simply use their free time for sin? Or perhaps when one grows up their heart dies. That it is inevitable to degrade into a cruel simpleton.” He hummed with a obvious tiredness for the games of logic his mind ran through.

“But as much contempt I have for the ignorant, there is little point in attracting such unwanted attention. Doubly so when we ought to be building a reputation.” Cyrus pointed out, motioning to the crowd that had scurried away. “Hate and violence are obvious, love and manipulation are far better tools to have in one’s hands. So do try not to casually kill anyone we don’t need dead, I prefer living worshipers to dead ones. And these fools will worship us after we kill their troublesome lord. Though as for method…” He began as he motioned at the poorly maintained manor that rested on the tallest hill in the village. “Why, we simply walk in expecting out pay for these elf ears. The toad of the man will of course refuse to pay us and have his guards throw us out. Of course, how many guards could such a squalorly place have? You could probably count the number on one hand. He will not have more than a pair attending to him immediately, I trust that will not be difficult for you to handle. Once you’ve dispatched them, leave me alone with our esteemed host in his study. I’ll have that artifact while you go about barring the doors to the living quarters of the rest of the staff. Once you’ve done that, set fire to the building. I’ll have this item in hand by that time, and meet you outside afterwards.” The young mercenary seemed rather nonplussed about handling this potentially dangerous artifact alone, and seemed very sure that he’d be able to take it from the lord.

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She tittered at Cyrus's question, emitting a dark chuckle.

“A lord? No. You see my good people....” she began addressing all around them as the villagers watched on in horror of the murder just so casually committed. “We are here to deliver you from your 'lord'. Such a scoundrel should have no business in the interference of others' lives.”

Feeling rallied by her speech, Talliah suddenly balked at Cyrus's mention of her wanton killing, a sudden tinge of anger flowing through her. Who was he to command her, this crippled little runt who she had saved from death out of mere pity for his pathetic state? Ever since that night, she had freed herself, and would be bound by the orders of men no more. She carried out her actions as she wished, and certainly no mere sickly child would attempt to order her around. She paused, a wave of calm washing over her.

“As you wish.” A sly grin twitched upon her lips. His words made sense, that she could not fault. How were they to gain reputation if there were no survivors to witness them? Still, the voice in the back of her mind gnawed at her. She would not be controlled. “A well conceived suggestion. If we were to approach as if mere bounty hunters to collect our earnings, less suspicion would be aroused. It seems we are in agreement once again.”

The manor was only a few feet away now as the two approached, the only ones to seemingly inhabit the village now that the peasants had scuttled away in fear, though no doubt they would be peeking from their windows and the slats of their homes. Talliah and Cyrus came upon the manor doors, guarded by two poorly equipped men, each dressed in livery and with noticeably rusted spears. They crossed their weapons before the manor doors, though if the impression was to intimidate, it had achieved anything but. Talliah looked up at the manor; it had certainly seen better days. What she imagined would have once been a grand edifice was now in ruination, dilapidated and decaying, as warped by death and disease as the village surrounding it.

“What business do you come with?” asked the first guard, trying to sound authoritative but with a clear tone of nervousness, most likely from having seen the figure dressed in black and the feral giantess rounding on them, with the snarling wolf trailing behind them.

“The ears of the Scoia'tael that your master has set a bounty on. We would seek to be adequately paid for our service.” The guards seemed hesitant, and conferred among themselves in hushed whispers before turning back to address the strangers.

“Very well. You may enter the manor, though your weapons will remain with us, as well as the.....wolf.” He gulped as Talliah looked to Asha with a smirk, lowering down and muttering some indiscriminate words. Asha seemed to reply with a mere nod of his head, positioning himself into a sentinel-like seated position.

“As you wish then.” she said, handing the two her staff, as well as the multiple concealed blades within her clothing, until she was barren of all objects that could cause harm to a man. She waited for Cyrus to do the same before they were led into the manor, escorted by one of the guards in silence to what could only be the study. Two more guards were stationed outside the doors, with slightly more impressive swords, though hardly anything beyond the equipment of an underfunded militia.

“These two are here to see Lord Walcote. They've dispatched those scum in the forest. We've taken all of their arms.” The study guards seemed to huff in apathy, before opening the doors leading into the solar. Walcote sat in the middle of the room at a sturdy oaken desk, scribbling onto parchment whilst dibbing at the morsels and cup of wine that surrounded him. Unlike the rest of the rotting manor, this room was well preserved, exquisitely decorated and full of trinkets and luxuries. Walcote spoke without looking up from his work.

“And who might you be? It has been a fair while since I have entertained guests.” The man was dressed in finery, but bloated and fat, like a pig stuffed into a velvet frock. His rounded and reddened face wore a smartly kempt beard, while he was adorned in jewellery, from the gems around his shoulders to the gold rings on his sausage-like fingers. He complimented the look with a velvet cap, finished with a white feather, likely that of a regal bird from what Talliah could surmise.

“My lord.” she said, emphasisedly curtsying before him. “My companion and I were made aware of the bounty you had placed on the local riffraff, and have come to supply you with proof of their eradication.” Walcote finally spiked his head up, in a lazy intrigue.

“Hmm? Well, go on then, show me this proof.” Cyrus dumped the ears upon the desk, with Walcote reaching over to examine the contents of the bag. He gave a half-satisfied grunt before returning to his quill and parchment.

“And what of our reward? My colleague assured me that you promised coin for the deed.” Again, Walcote remained fixated on his word, taking a bite from one of the chicken legs on a plate beside him, speaking with his mouth full.

“While you have done me a service, I am a lord, and you are mere peasants. You live on the land I so graciously grant you and should be thankful that I am letting you live after merely waltzing in like this. Now leave.” Talliah began to form an evil smile.

“But my lord, we were promised a reward for our efforts. Do you not think you should oblige those who serve you?”

“I tire of this. Guards! Seize them, and make an example of them to the other delinquents.” It was the response Talliah had been hoping for. The doors flung open with the two guards equipped with their swords coming in. Talliah turned and with surprising strength, pushed them back out into the hallway, turning only to grin suggestively at Cyrus before she slammed the study doors shut. Facing the guards now, her eyes became crazed as she began to manically laugh. Although the two carried swords, they wore only cheap leather, and began to back away before she flung herself at them, ripping into flesh with her bare teeth and nails alone, eviscerating them as they screamed and cried out for mercy. Hearing the cries, the manor servants and the gate guards all appeared, wearing faces of shock and dismay at the carnage before them. Talliah turned to all of them, with blood dripping down her face and a crazed smile.

“Back inside, if you value your lives.” she laughed, with the servants immediately shutting themselves back inside the rooms they had emerged from. The gate guards seemed to have lost any will to confront the witch, but before they could flee they too met their grisly fate at her hands. After dispatching them as she had done with the others, Talliah went about blocking the doors, tearing off beams throughout the manor and shrieking with horrific laughter while she carried out the task of sealing the servants inside. When all was done she emerged from the manor, the cold air greeting her like an old friend as she collected her belongings that had been cast aside. Greeting Asha, she knelt down to him and stroked his fur as he began to lick the blood from her body. Rising, she turned to face the manor, and chanting to herself, conjured a stream of flame towards the building, the rotting wood soon beginning to catch alright. She cackled all the while she set about burning it all down, even forgetting that Cyrus was inside, too consumed in her bloodlust and destruction. Unknown to her, the villagers began to emerge from their homes and watch as the manor set ablaze, signifying to them the end of the oppression they had suffered at the hands of Walcote.

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Cyrus did not turn his head to look as Talliah shoved the guards out of the room and barred the door, his expression did not even twitch when the sound of tearing flesh and agony cracked against it like waves on the jagged coastal stones. The cackling of a mad woman, the screams of lives cut abruptly short without rhyme or reason, it was all too much for Lord Walcote. The man hadn’t lifted a single pudgy finger in his whole life, the idea that his guards would ever fail him never even crossing his mind once. The fat man quivered, hand clasping around his gilded eating knife, wide eyes transfixed at the hooded figure silently regarding him. It was only after the carnage had died down, and they were graced with silence that he spoke.

“My apologies for the ruckus, my companion can be quite spirited.” He hummed softly, his voice smooth and sharp, sliding down Walcote’s spine like a cold scalpel. “C-coin! I’ll give you your coin!” The fat man stammered as he ripped his purse from his belt and tossed it at Cyrus. The young man caught it, weighing it idly in his hand. Enough to feed a peasant family for several years, unsurprising as the usual peasant would live, breed, and die without ever seeing a single gold coin.

“Your generosity is touching, but it’s not ducats that I want from you.” He stated as he took a step forward, the lord flinching at the sharp click of his heel against the wood. “Those elves I took care of, they were after something specific in your collection. Something that belongs to neither you nor them, something that everyone seems to believe has great power.” The mercenary took another step forward, his violet eyes almost hypnotic with the sheer monstrous curiosity and attention they showed. “T-the crown.” The fat man gasped, eyes widening and nearly bugging out of their sockets. “The Crown of Tyrants.”

“Oh?”

“I-it’s an artifact said to be worn by ancient kings of this land, long before humans or elves. It’s said to have the power to force one’s will into the minds of others and-” “I’m well aware of what it is, and I’ve always found the tales rather foolish. A crown only has power when the people believe it does, no?” Cyrus snapped with a humourless chuckle. “Finding it has been an object of obsession for many lords and kings. Scores of madmen have spent their lives and all their coin trying to get their hands on it, but it always stays just out of reach. They say the box it is in will only open to a true lord, a true tyrant. I was merely surprised that you thought yourself worthy of it.” He mused. “Retrieve it.”

Walcote complied, reaching under his desk and setting down a black box, intricately carved with silver runes and depictions of figures with scepters, birds soaring about their forms. Gems were encrusted around them as well, but many had fallen off or been pried away and stolen over these many centuries. The lord stepped back as Cyrus approached to examine it. “Fascinating, these symbols are in Laeth aen Undod.” He muttered as he turned it, eyes skimming the curling forms.

“Y-you know One Speech?” The noble man managed to ask, too shocked to remember his fears. “Of course not, the language is lost. I can merely recognize it from the few words still in living memory.” He muttered without looking up. “I don't quite understand what this text means, but I believe this is a warning… and this… a riddle?” His nose twitched as it was tickled with the scent of smoke, it seemed Talliah had started. “A pity I don’t have time to study it.” He mused as he ran his fingers over the runes. “But this seems to be a question, no doubt directed to see if the holder of this box is worthy of opening it.” His hands rose to push back his hood, causing the Walcote to exclaim in surprise.

“How old are you?” Walcote could not believe his eyes. Before him stood a boy, barely in the throes of manhood. Yet to grow hair in his face, yet to even finish growing in height. A boy who ought to be busy as an apprentice in some trade.

But the question seemed to be deaf to Cyrus as he continued examining the box. “But is it a question in the manner of… ah!” He suddenly hummed. “I see, the answer is obvious, it is the promise that comes with saying the words. A pact of sorts, saying the answer is saying yes.” He mused as he removed his gloves and set his bare hands on the box. Perhaps it radiated magic, perhaps not, he could not tell. He was incapable of tapping into the source, in fact it always felt rather dull to him. As though it avoided his touch purposely. Perhaps this artifact was nothing, just a dusty old crown, a waste of time. But that did not matter to him, because he did not come seeking aid. He had merely wanted to indulge in his curiosity, see what this item was, and if it did have power, force it to bend to his will. He was not looking for assistance, he was looking for a tool, and that is why he knew the answer.

A single word left his mouth, the curling sound alien to the noble’s ear, but with it the box clicked open. Cyrus pushed the lid back and stared down, only to find empty eye sockets staring back. He did not share the surprise on the nobles face, in fact the only words that came to him were a wry “That’s hardly a crown.” He lifted the item up, it’s beak pointed at his chest. A massive skull, an avian of sorts. It was real bone, but what creature could it have possibly come from? Talliah’s words echoed in Cyrus’ ear. A raven. He frowned, was this fate? Was it fate to find this? Was his path preordained? Was he just a damnable puppet!? No. He refused, he was the master of this crown, the master of his own fate. His path was his own to forge, he-

The young man suddenly stepped back, the eating knife grazing his cheek as Walcote lunged at him. “Give it to me! I need it!” He snarled. “I’ll show them what a lord I am! I won’t be compared to my father anymore! I’m better than him! I’m better than all of them! I’M THE LORD OF THIS LAND!” He screamed.

Cyrus stared at the man, so that was his reason for tracking it down. His expression was even, and then he spoke. “That is your reason?” He asked simply. “That’s it? That’s your dream?” Smoke leaked under the doorframe, the curtains outside the window danced with embers. “THAT IS YOUR DREAM!?” He suddenly shouted as the fire finally took hold of the tabards and cloth of the room, igniting rapidly. “That’s all you can see? My name is Cyrus Gul, and I have a dream! I see a new world, a world no one has ever seen before and I will make it mine. A world of change, free from this stagnation, life frozen in its tracks. A world where I am not caged, not chained, one where I’m truly free. A world where I know what I am, one where I know who I am, A world of feeling, of true words, a world where my soul can shine, free even from the Gods! And For this dream I will fight, to it I’ve promised my body, my mind, my soul, I’ll fight with everything that I am, everything that I’ve got, I’ll tear my dream into reality with my own bloody hands!” He snarled before suddenly pulling the skull on over his head. “KNEEL TO THE TYRANT OF THE NEW WORLD!”

Walcote fell to his knees, knife clattering from his ands, tears streaming down his fat face. The flames around them rose, smoke choking his lungs, the specter of death standing before him. The beams of the roofing collapsed, and with the last of his strength Walocte screamed, desperately hoping the world would hear his final plea.

A single figure walked out from the inferno, his cape burning behind him as he stepped outside into the cool air, his beak raised to the sky before turning to regard the villagers. “Your corrupt lord is dead, you are free of his taxes, you are free of his incompetent rulership.” He stated before raising the pouch of coin Walcote had thrown him. “But I’ve not granted you peace. Another lord will no doubt come along, and you’ll allow yourselves to be slipped under another boot. I have no patience for those so weak to allow that.” He tossed the coins into the crowd. “But I am not so heartless. Here is an opportunity to fight for your own peace. I won’t tell you that you’re free, that is for you to decide. Decide your own will, make your own path, run from your chains. See a new world, and make it your own.” He declared before his attention moved to Talliah. “I am the Raven, and I have a dream. Will you help me fight for it?”

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Her maddening screams continued as she burned the manor down, what had been a spark on wood, now a raging inferno. She cackled with glee as the heat permeated her skin and stung her eyes, before ceasing and seeming to regain normality when a figure she recognised as Cyrus emerged from the blazing edifice. Something about him was different; even his appearance seemed to stand taller, more mature. She gazed at the mask which covered his face, an elongated skull....of a Raven!

“The prophecy is true.......the prophecy is true!” she began to shriek with madness once again, her vision having come to pass. As he approached the surrounding villagers crowded outside the manor, she joined him at his side, muttering to herself as she spoke, crouched down as if in servitude to him. When he addressed her, she looked to him with tears in her eyes. “I am at your service my songbird....you....” she paused, fighting tears of joy back. “You look radiant.” She paused again, blinking and seeming to come out of whatever trance had been possessing her, standing and once more towering over the boy, nodding towards him, just as Asha returned to her side. “In my visions, the raven was once broken, but would come to fly once more. The world is at your mercy, it is yours to change and shape. I will aid your endeavours to the best of my ability.”

She turned to face the crowd, who had started to mutter among themselves, facing their new challenge of sudden freedom. The Raven spoke the truth; another lord would come along, and like sheep, they would follow and fall into the same miserable existence from before. She seized on his earlier talk of followers while the chance lay fresh.

“You may return to your homes, to your old lives and involuntarily embrace the same fate that you have always wanted to escape. You can live out lives of misery and oppression until they day you drop and the Earth consumes you. Or, you can join us, and help us move towards a new world!” The chatter among the villagers became more hurried and rushed now. Several villagers took their children and ran back to their homes, locking the doors tight. As expected. But several remained. Interesting. They stood for several moments, before the first, a young man moved towards the Raven and the witch, bowing before them.

“Allow me to accompany you. I don't wish to rot away under the thumb of another oppressor.” The others soon followed, pledging their allegiance. The start of the company the Raven had dreamed of. With the treasure hoard they had excavated earlier, these men and women could be armed, outfitted, trained. The plan was all falling into place. Talliah turned to Cyrus, no, the Raven. Cyrus was gone. The broken boy was no more; before her stood a man of terrifying ambitions.

“Who would have known that a chance meeting on the verge of death would have led to this moment.” She gave a wolfish grin. “The world lies before us, and the first steps have been taken to make it our own..” Her look softened, as she gazed at him. “It suits you. It was as if it was meant for you.” The ongoing blaze behind them illuminated the sky, the fire consuming symbols of the old. A new day would break soon, and with it, a new world would be formed. Talliah flared her nostrils, smiling to herself. Fate is all.