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Somewhere in the Gridanian Caverns:
The pot exploded when it hit the cavern wall about a fulm from Guerrique’s head. Shards of formerly-carefully-shaped clay scattered on the ground beneath him, a few chips landing on his shoulder.
His only response was to grin, and offer the recruit an approving nod. “Good swing! Hold it, hold it, don’t pull back from it yet.,†he said, giving the man a genial nod and brushing aside the stray shards of pottery. “A little over-aggressive, if you ask me.â€
His student, now contorted in an uncomfortable position in which the lance had been swung like a very long staff, squinted his eyes. “Why? That blow would’ve taken a Wailer’s head clean off, you ask me.†In front of him was a crudely arranged striking gallery, consisting of pots and crates the nascent clan had gathered together for training purposes. A few bartered-for bales of hay had been placed on logs and given a vague person-shape, and behind the student, were being used by a pair of other lance-wielding novices to practice their thrust.
“There’s truth in that, surely, but look at your pose. Supposing you just stumble across one guard on a lone picket, then I’ll grant you you’re right. But they move in teams now, don’t they? At least pairs.†Bridging the gap between them, Guerrique jabbed his hand, fingers outstretched, at points along the recruit’s torso. “You take that one down, certain as anything the other will get you right in the sides here. Go fetch yourself another pot, start taking swipes at it that aren’t meant to make it like you’ve always wanted to be a catapult, hm?â€
Obliging, the novice righted his posture and went about fetching more targets for practice, but did not look quite chastened. He had good form and training, but he was raw on experience, even compared to the other two they’d nabbed who were good with a lance. Guerrique mused that it might take an unpleasant encounter with another clan’s patrol or a fight over land with poachers to get the fellow to see the error in overestimating his offense. With luck and time, hopefully that realization would not be posthumous.
They were not the recruits he and Ursuline had tried to gather before being rudely interrupted by a case of the adventurers, but they would do. The pair had been forced to rely on a technique quite similar to that of the Redbellies: seeking out young and disenfranchised Duskwights and promising them, if not a better life, then at least a life on their own terms. It had worked quite well after the cleansing ritual, garnering them a good dozen soldiers. It wasn’t enough for anything more interesting than self-defense in the caverns, and perhaps the odd bit of poaching on the side, but it was a start. From there, the pair could rebuild what they’d lost before they were put in the dark.
“YOU SWIVING WHORESON I SWEAR BY ALL THE TITS AND TESTICLES OF THE TWELVE IF YOU CAN’T GET YOUR GODSDAMNED FINGERS TO HOLD THE KNIFE RIGHT I’LL TAKE YOU BACK TO YOUR MAM TO TELL HER SHE SHOULD’VE STRANGLED YOU IN THE CRIB AND DONE US ALL A FAVOR!â€
Assuming Ursuline didn’t kill them all first, anyway. Guerrique did his best to look as if nothing was wrong while heading towards the cavern the Little Bear had chosen for training a few of the newcomers in close-quarters work.
That there was a grown man of a Duskwight easily a good four fulms and thirty ponz larger than Ursuline curled up on the ground and weeping to himself was nothing out of the ordinary as far as Guerrique was concerned. Ursuline’s reputation as a clan leader in the long years past had been built around being as fearsome as her name suggested, with a stare that could make a hardened warrior flinch. Chastising a recruit, in whatever manner, was normal enough.
She normally didn’t literally kick them when they were down, though, but there it was, her boot colliding with the recruit’s midsection in a few heavy thumps. “There, that’s right, go ahead and cry! Maybe you’ll cry out all the damn useless parts and we can pretend you’re almost a person!†On the other side of the room, two other novices were glancing between Ursuline and the cavern exits, trying to decide if movement would attract her attention. Relieved expressions crossed their faces as the other clan leader arrived.
In the middle of winding up for another good kick and questioning her student’s parentage, Ursuline’s arms were caught from behind and held back. “Very good, very good!†said Guerrique while dragging her away from the downed Duskwight. “Ah, Rossaux, Inant, if you could pick up your friend there and get him back to his room? We’ll just set this for another day, hm?â€
Grateful for the excuse, the pair struggled to pick up their fellow and drag him out of the room, doing the best to ignore the stream of curses coming out of Ursuline’s mouth. When they had left, Guerrique tightened his grip a moment. “Are you calm?â€
“I am.â€
“You’re certain?â€
“Yes. Let me go, Guer.â€
“Well.†He paused. “All right.†He released her arms. She elbowed him once in the gut, as she stepped forward. It wasn’t hard enough to make him double over, but there was an audible “oof†of pain from it. That seemed to please her enough to settle her down.
“All, right, so . . . so what was that, then?†He said as adjusted his clothing, wrinkled from the restraint. “That was . . . Guillaume, wasn’t it? I thought he at least knew how to hold a knife.â€
“It was his smirk,†she said after a long silence, her arms folded, her tone sullen. “His dumb smirk when he hit a point on the dummy dead-on.†She pointed to a crude strawman. A dagger was still embedded at an angle, where a mark had been drawn to show where to hit just under the ribs on a Hyur. “He looked over his shoulder with it and it just . . . “ Her shoulders sank. “It reminded me of the Padjal. At the farm. He had the same damn look.â€
“Ah. Him.†He frowned. Whether or not to go back to the farm they’d staked out and gut the Padjal before he saw it coming had been a point of contention ever since Leanne Delphium had them help track the forest-child whereabouts. She’d let them be privy to her conversation, and to learn that he was the one responsible for trapping them in the dark, for torturing them body and soul, for twisting Ursuline’s skull and nearly growing a demon from her, had been . . . well, there was no beating around it, he supposed. They were both fucking furious.
But Delphium had saved them both, and had helped restore Ursuline to her original form. They owed the adventurer greatly. So they’d stayed their hands to their great regret.
“There’s not much we can do about it, pet. It’s . . . it’s in adventurer hands now. They don’t brook much in the way of meddling.â€
“To hell with that.†Ursuline fixed her eyes on her partner. There was certainly something fitting in her having possessed the eye of an ahriman; even without the sense that she could kill with a look, there was still that lingering fear that it was possible. “We can’t let a monster like that walk, Guer. We can’t let him be revered by people. Not after what he did.â€
“I need no convincing,†he replied, placing his hand on his chest. “But even were we to break word, remember what the girl said. Kill him and it’s the Greenwrath. The forest protects its own, and the woods are always watching.â€
The mention of Greenwrath made her shudder, and he moved to put his arm around her. She didn’t shrug it off. That was the real barrier, he felt. Whatever satisfaction there might have been in slaying the Padjal, their lives would be immediately forfeit. They had nearly been forfeit to Greenwrath over a moon ago, when the elementals had risen to the aid of a Hearer in defending the Padjal (of all things!) from being captured. The two Duskwights had nearly been swallowed by the earth, and it was a miracle they were alive. Neither of them, he supposed, wanted to feel that again.
“. . . So . . . what if he does it himself, then?â€
Guerrique’s brow furrowed as he pressed his lips against the top of Ursuline’s hair. “Pardon?â€
“Not murder, Guer. Suicide. Supposing he’s the one that does the deed. Poison, knife on his own throat, however he pleases. But he does it. Can they really protest that?â€
“Hm. There’s a thought. But supposing there’s still a ‘wrath?â€
“Then at least it’s not focused on us personally and we can get away, don’t you think?†She peered up at him, dark bangs falling away. There was cunning there, calculation. She’d been thinking about this, he realized.
“That might be so as well. Two thoughts. But supposing they’re both true, how do we make that case? You heard the boy, or man, or whatever you want to call it. He’s waiting for judgement from another.â€
“I think - I think I know how, yes,†she said by taking a step back. “We just think about the answer to the question Delphium didn’t ask.â€
“And what question is that?â€
“Why is he hanging around that farm, anyway?â€
The pot exploded when it hit the cavern wall about a fulm from Guerrique’s head. Shards of formerly-carefully-shaped clay scattered on the ground beneath him, a few chips landing on his shoulder.
His only response was to grin, and offer the recruit an approving nod. “Good swing! Hold it, hold it, don’t pull back from it yet.,†he said, giving the man a genial nod and brushing aside the stray shards of pottery. “A little over-aggressive, if you ask me.â€
His student, now contorted in an uncomfortable position in which the lance had been swung like a very long staff, squinted his eyes. “Why? That blow would’ve taken a Wailer’s head clean off, you ask me.†In front of him was a crudely arranged striking gallery, consisting of pots and crates the nascent clan had gathered together for training purposes. A few bartered-for bales of hay had been placed on logs and given a vague person-shape, and behind the student, were being used by a pair of other lance-wielding novices to practice their thrust.
“There’s truth in that, surely, but look at your pose. Supposing you just stumble across one guard on a lone picket, then I’ll grant you you’re right. But they move in teams now, don’t they? At least pairs.†Bridging the gap between them, Guerrique jabbed his hand, fingers outstretched, at points along the recruit’s torso. “You take that one down, certain as anything the other will get you right in the sides here. Go fetch yourself another pot, start taking swipes at it that aren’t meant to make it like you’ve always wanted to be a catapult, hm?â€
Obliging, the novice righted his posture and went about fetching more targets for practice, but did not look quite chastened. He had good form and training, but he was raw on experience, even compared to the other two they’d nabbed who were good with a lance. Guerrique mused that it might take an unpleasant encounter with another clan’s patrol or a fight over land with poachers to get the fellow to see the error in overestimating his offense. With luck and time, hopefully that realization would not be posthumous.
They were not the recruits he and Ursuline had tried to gather before being rudely interrupted by a case of the adventurers, but they would do. The pair had been forced to rely on a technique quite similar to that of the Redbellies: seeking out young and disenfranchised Duskwights and promising them, if not a better life, then at least a life on their own terms. It had worked quite well after the cleansing ritual, garnering them a good dozen soldiers. It wasn’t enough for anything more interesting than self-defense in the caverns, and perhaps the odd bit of poaching on the side, but it was a start. From there, the pair could rebuild what they’d lost before they were put in the dark.
“YOU SWIVING WHORESON I SWEAR BY ALL THE TITS AND TESTICLES OF THE TWELVE IF YOU CAN’T GET YOUR GODSDAMNED FINGERS TO HOLD THE KNIFE RIGHT I’LL TAKE YOU BACK TO YOUR MAM TO TELL HER SHE SHOULD’VE STRANGLED YOU IN THE CRIB AND DONE US ALL A FAVOR!â€
Assuming Ursuline didn’t kill them all first, anyway. Guerrique did his best to look as if nothing was wrong while heading towards the cavern the Little Bear had chosen for training a few of the newcomers in close-quarters work.
That there was a grown man of a Duskwight easily a good four fulms and thirty ponz larger than Ursuline curled up on the ground and weeping to himself was nothing out of the ordinary as far as Guerrique was concerned. Ursuline’s reputation as a clan leader in the long years past had been built around being as fearsome as her name suggested, with a stare that could make a hardened warrior flinch. Chastising a recruit, in whatever manner, was normal enough.
She normally didn’t literally kick them when they were down, though, but there it was, her boot colliding with the recruit’s midsection in a few heavy thumps. “There, that’s right, go ahead and cry! Maybe you’ll cry out all the damn useless parts and we can pretend you’re almost a person!†On the other side of the room, two other novices were glancing between Ursuline and the cavern exits, trying to decide if movement would attract her attention. Relieved expressions crossed their faces as the other clan leader arrived.
In the middle of winding up for another good kick and questioning her student’s parentage, Ursuline’s arms were caught from behind and held back. “Very good, very good!†said Guerrique while dragging her away from the downed Duskwight. “Ah, Rossaux, Inant, if you could pick up your friend there and get him back to his room? We’ll just set this for another day, hm?â€
Grateful for the excuse, the pair struggled to pick up their fellow and drag him out of the room, doing the best to ignore the stream of curses coming out of Ursuline’s mouth. When they had left, Guerrique tightened his grip a moment. “Are you calm?â€
“I am.â€
“You’re certain?â€
“Yes. Let me go, Guer.â€
“Well.†He paused. “All right.†He released her arms. She elbowed him once in the gut, as she stepped forward. It wasn’t hard enough to make him double over, but there was an audible “oof†of pain from it. That seemed to please her enough to settle her down.
“All, right, so . . . so what was that, then?†He said as adjusted his clothing, wrinkled from the restraint. “That was . . . Guillaume, wasn’t it? I thought he at least knew how to hold a knife.â€
“It was his smirk,†she said after a long silence, her arms folded, her tone sullen. “His dumb smirk when he hit a point on the dummy dead-on.†She pointed to a crude strawman. A dagger was still embedded at an angle, where a mark had been drawn to show where to hit just under the ribs on a Hyur. “He looked over his shoulder with it and it just . . . “ Her shoulders sank. “It reminded me of the Padjal. At the farm. He had the same damn look.â€
“Ah. Him.†He frowned. Whether or not to go back to the farm they’d staked out and gut the Padjal before he saw it coming had been a point of contention ever since Leanne Delphium had them help track the forest-child whereabouts. She’d let them be privy to her conversation, and to learn that he was the one responsible for trapping them in the dark, for torturing them body and soul, for twisting Ursuline’s skull and nearly growing a demon from her, had been . . . well, there was no beating around it, he supposed. They were both fucking furious.
But Delphium had saved them both, and had helped restore Ursuline to her original form. They owed the adventurer greatly. So they’d stayed their hands to their great regret.
“There’s not much we can do about it, pet. It’s . . . it’s in adventurer hands now. They don’t brook much in the way of meddling.â€
“To hell with that.†Ursuline fixed her eyes on her partner. There was certainly something fitting in her having possessed the eye of an ahriman; even without the sense that she could kill with a look, there was still that lingering fear that it was possible. “We can’t let a monster like that walk, Guer. We can’t let him be revered by people. Not after what he did.â€
“I need no convincing,†he replied, placing his hand on his chest. “But even were we to break word, remember what the girl said. Kill him and it’s the Greenwrath. The forest protects its own, and the woods are always watching.â€
The mention of Greenwrath made her shudder, and he moved to put his arm around her. She didn’t shrug it off. That was the real barrier, he felt. Whatever satisfaction there might have been in slaying the Padjal, their lives would be immediately forfeit. They had nearly been forfeit to Greenwrath over a moon ago, when the elementals had risen to the aid of a Hearer in defending the Padjal (of all things!) from being captured. The two Duskwights had nearly been swallowed by the earth, and it was a miracle they were alive. Neither of them, he supposed, wanted to feel that again.
“. . . So . . . what if he does it himself, then?â€
Guerrique’s brow furrowed as he pressed his lips against the top of Ursuline’s hair. “Pardon?â€
“Not murder, Guer. Suicide. Supposing he’s the one that does the deed. Poison, knife on his own throat, however he pleases. But he does it. Can they really protest that?â€
“Hm. There’s a thought. But supposing there’s still a ‘wrath?â€
“Then at least it’s not focused on us personally and we can get away, don’t you think?†She peered up at him, dark bangs falling away. There was cunning there, calculation. She’d been thinking about this, he realized.
“That might be so as well. Two thoughts. But supposing they’re both true, how do we make that case? You heard the boy, or man, or whatever you want to call it. He’s waiting for judgement from another.â€
“I think - I think I know how, yes,†she said by taking a step back. “We just think about the answer to the question Delphium didn’t ask.â€
“And what question is that?â€
“Why is he hanging around that farm, anyway?â€
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Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine