Setting
Setting
0.00 INK
There was a small, perhaps deliberately dramatic pause. Though the sounds of the Jackalope raged on, Esther heard little else than the sound of her breath and, then, her voice. "...So that's what's going on," her voice was quiet, put into a position where she's clearly underestimated Hilgur's... unexpected preparations and planning. Her sharp, bird-like eyes looked over at the dwarf. "I never could read a dwarf," she commented, giving less of a compliment and instead slight concern. A dwarf, with a drow as a servant? The mysteriousness of these two was exciting, beyond any doubt. But at the same time, a reminder that Esther should've kept a careful eye around them.
And to think that she was most comfortable around the pirate of all people. No high-honored member of the Winged Ones would want to see the raven around this crew.
Still, adventure calls! And it was a call which she rarely got to answer.
Another idle moment passed before she released her stern look and looked down again at her alchemy pouches. "So, perfume, you said?" The alchemist addressed Serena, who probably could've been given a break with her owl friend briefly siding against her. "I have some basic regents for something smelly. Nosepeg, of course, or a little saltflower if you just need a cleanser out of the sewer." She looked up and her small, coy smile returned. "But seriously, we're in Beaucourt. Arc en Lume doesn't go half a street without offering perfume and a cheap bottle or two barely go for a pint."
âNot that tall.â
Dwarfâs and their obsession with heights, Serena couldnât quite tell what the problem was. Youâd think a dwarf would get used to being the shortest straw in the room, but Hilgur sure sounded like it bothered him. Somewhat. âIâve seen bigger.â A toothy grin beamed from the pirateâs face, first at Hilgur then, somewhat deliberate, at Esther.
She was taking far too much pleasure from making such a statement.
Maybe she couldâve savoured it more, but, well, there was something about the unison silence when the quiet Drow of the group was prompted to speak and the mood compelled even Serena to shut up and listen.
For the longest time she eyed the Drow, a cold lump of rock in comparison to the others surrounding the table. A jarring contrast, even. Maybe that was just how these people were, cool to the bone and unappreciative of anyone prodding too hard. She couldnât claim to have any expertise on the matter, and back home there werenât a lot of Drows who were willing to hang out and chat with the locals.
Skittish, unfriendly, quick to scarper. That was the general consensus where these darkies were concerned. There was something about this particular Drow, though. Something that hung around her neck. And it wasnât the fancy collar. If Serena wasnât curious now, it would certainly kill the cat at some point.
For the longest time she kept looking, and then it moved. Subtle, measured.
The Drow was judging. A look of contempt, or was it indifference? She could never remember. But Serena could feel those eyes piercing everything and everyone, and she had to try not to flinch too quickly. Wilthro krept closer to his companionâs back, careful not to fall off. He wasnât keen on the looks either, it seemed. A weak âCooâ emitted from its tiny beak; eyes glazing from one member of the group to the next. Careful to avoid the bright blue eyes of the Drow.
âGorraâh? Heh, clever.â Serena wanted to brace herself for a laughing fit, and was glad only a meek chuckle escaped her. She hadnât failed to pick up on the Drowâs pet name for her owner, and the womanâs eyes glanced knowingly at the dwarf; sizing him up once and nodding to herself, a smirk flashing only briefly in the presence of the frosty figure. Sure, Serena wouldnât count herself comfortable. This one had a definite bite to her bark kinda vibe.
Hated, or wasnât particularly sweet with, her dwarven companion at the least. Any other opinion was inferred through the contempt in her tone.
âNice to meet you...â A wry smile. âParticular.â Perhaps a bit casual, but anything to clear the air so to speak.
The pirate didnât for one moment think she could play around too much. Liberties were taken where she could find them, but on the other hand she wasnât stupid either. And she may have slowly and subtly inched closer to the looming height of the Stormhold giant for want of breaking that Drow line-of-sight.
Serena turned her attention to Esther. âThey say the nobles here shit rose petals,â She retorted with a smile matched the alchemistâs own. âLetâs hope theyâre right.â
But this drow was neither of those, and she knew it. That alone made her one to watch out for. Ashera held her ground when the drow turned to address her directly, permitting her to refer to the slave as⊠well, something sheâd rather not repeat out loud. The elfâs brow quirked, perplexed. Why ask to be named in such a degrading fashion, whether deserved or otherwise? If this was part of some insidious drow scheme, Ashera was not about to take the bait.
By the time Ashera finally averted her gaze from the drow slave, her new comrades â Esther and Serena, they introduced themselves as â were already making plans to combat the worst of the sewerâs dank and distasteful environs. Sound ideas, certainly, but there was always room for improvement.
âPerfume is one thing, but once we are out of there, the first thing I shall do is take a bath. A nice, long, hot soapy bathâŠâ Ashera let out a dreamy sigh at the thought. She could almost feel the warm water against her skin already⊠Wait, no, it would not do to stand around daydreaming with such an important job ahead of them. âAhem. Perhaps a mask of some form would not go amiss? Some cloth round the mouth and nose with sweet-smelling herbs stuffed inside. How feasible would it be to fashion something of the like, Esther?â
Setting
0.00 INK
Esther reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, square pouch. "I could prepare a couple makeshift half-masks," she said with a little smugness in her voice; evidently, she liked talking about her understanding of alchemy. "I packed quite a bit of peppermint from Stormhold's plains. There's enough small flakes that you can stuff it between two slips of cloth. And it's light enough that you can breathe through it without any issue. But it won't stop humidity from getting to your skin."
There's a light twitch in Esther's eyes. She's gotten used to it, but there's very few things she disliked more than humidity.
Out of the Jovial Jackalope, past the stone pavement. Serena, Esther, and Ashera rode a gondola down the eastern canal. The waters were still and placid, a radiant, stark blue glimmering with the light of day. The gondoleer stood behind them, his tall, spindly silhouette pitch black against the clear skies. A porcelain mask was tied over his face, obscuring all emotions. He rowed and rowed, the fingers on the oar long and bony and white as snow.
Half an hour passed, and the crew arrived at Beaucourt's Merchants' District. The hustle and bustle of life filled the area. A carriage wheel grinded against the stone pavement. Merchants cried out to promote their wares, encouraged by the footsteps of Men and women, youths and elders, and the ever present patrols of the Sacred Flame Clerics.
"Classic Beaucourt fashion! Tunics, dresses, jackets - clothing for all sizes. Come and support your local business!"
"Step right up folks! We got Dwarven imports, straight from Ruzmok-Dor!"
"Shiny trinkets. Necklaces and rings. Perfect for your belovedâŠ"
The stones here gleamed an off-white colour, built into the walls, the steps, and the castle watching in the distance. Banners of red and blue hung all over, billowing against the morning breeze. The First Emperor's statue stood in the centre, 12 foot tall and sculpted from the finest marble, clad in a flowing coat over plate and mail, His royal sceptre pointed skywards.
The merchants' stalls gathered around the statue, spaced enough between each other to allow comfortable passage. Beyond the kiosks stood the shops of Beaucourt's oldest tradesmen. The smithy, the bookstore, the apothecary, amongst others, proudly showing their wares through the windows.
Away from the shine of the city. Within a narrow path, set between the smithy and the apothecary. The echo of their footsteps blended together within the alley. A beggar sat against the wall. Rags clung to skin, and skin clung to bone. Past the broken crates and discarded barrels, the rust-scarred lid of a manhole jutted out before a dead end.
As they moved to descend, however, something clanged against the manhole. Something from below. It shifted. A few more shifts, clangs and grunts followed before the lid was shoved aside. A dark head of hair pulled back in a ponytail emerged, a red cloth obscuring most of his face. The man wrestled his shoulders through the hole, his body far too broad for it to be a comfortable squeeze. "PwaghâŠ!" He exclaimed. He pulled his mask down over a chiseled jaw and took in a big breath. Then his dark eyes travelled up the legs in front of him. Up to meet the eyes of the women staring him down. "... Hello, ladies."
It was a voice that belonged to a bard, sauntering over to the bar after his recital. Not something that just came from a sewer, and smelled like it, too. He flashed them a friendly smile and leaned back on his elbows like that wasn't his predicament.
"You three dropping in, or passing by?"
While three women opted to take a sightseeing tour around the city via gondola, Wilthro had taken the opportunity to stretch his wings. For the future held lots of cramped corridors and bad odour, so better to get that flying in now where he had the space. Serena didnât mind, her companion had earned some respite. Could use some time on his own.
âYou call this a boat?â
Serena had eyed the gondolier with a healthy hint of skepticism and didnât get very far without cracking at least a tiny smile. Yeah, this ride was a bit too fancy for her liking. The rigid, unsmiling face of the man (or lack thereof, given the porcelain mask) given a bemused grin in return.
âDonât crack a smile now. It might just break your pretty little mask.â
Bunch of weirdos, she thought. She wanted to look, honestly. Peel away the strap and take a little peek behind the porcelain curtains. See if they werenât some Phantom of the Opera-like monstrosity, scarred for life and forced to cover their once beautiful faces. âPretty please? Just the once.â
The man didnât even deign to look at Serenaâs way when she tried to grab the oar in an rebellious attempt to row someplace else, just stepped back and kept on rowing his merry way. This was his role in life, and by the Gods was he taking it seriously!
The little pirate let out a sigh, a grump on her face as she locked eyes with her companions. âCouldâve walked instead, yâknow. Maybe tumble with some rats, steal some pretty galâs necklace.â She jutted a thumb at the gondolier. âThis one doesnât even talk.â
Thankfully, the Merchantsâ District offered a less solitary environment with its bustling streets and shouting matches of salesmen beckoning every poor sod and their last pennies to check out their stalls. And their stalls alone, it seemed. âBunch of greedy bastards,â Serena commented with a grin, waving off such a salesman offering to measure her size for a dress. âThink we could snag some of them fruity perfumes on the way?â Brown eyes beamed at the alchemist.
Seemed even a city as prim and proper as this one had its fair share of downtrodden back alley filth, and Serena was quick to follow closely behind the two taller women when they reached their destination. Wilthro back at her side with a graceful swoop. âAlways in the last place youâd want to look.â Dead end, too. Double fun.
The pirate was keen to get this mess over with as quickly as they could and was about to take dibs on being the first to dive in when a series of clangs and shuffles made way for a sewer-rat to crawl out of the cover and give the trio a civil greeting. She flashed the stranger a grin. âSo I guess it doesnât smell like roses down there, huh?â
Setting
0.00 INK
Up on the gondola, Esther leaned gently on the right side of the boat, hands out on the boat's edge and looking ever outward at the Merchants' District. The water's calm, still motion was almost surreal to the alchemist, who often listened to the rushing waves of Stormhold's ponds and lakes amidst a never-ending flurry of winds. She even dipped her finger down, feeling and hearing almost nothing as her soft flesh moved in silence through the clear waters. She didn't even mind the gondoleer. Perhaps it's odd to anyone else, but the Winged Ones, themselves, were quite used to being masked and/or disguised people.
The Merchants' District, as Esther expected, was an actively chaotic scene of customers and sellers. With her helmet off, Esther's head darted left and right, finding one of the Sacred Flame Clerics practically at every stall and corner. Several looked back at her, some glares, some curious looks, all of which Esther reacted by turning the other way. She got it: streets and cities needed the protection; but she couldn't help but feel someone was watching her. It detracted from the wonderfully colorful banners, the distant music of flutes and bagpipes, the statue of purest silver marble regaling the First Emperor. It was a lively scene, but the alchemist in a cloak wanted nothing more than to be out of sight.
Or had a reason to distract herself.
"Hold on," she told Serena, walking away from her group and visited the stalls by the statue. It took her a moment, listening in on the many, many, many yelling merchants before she heard one to her left. "Did you say, 'Tulip Heaven'?" She pointed at the small bottle filled with a light pink liquid; her savvy voice hid the temptation to laugh at the fragrance's silly name. "I'll take one!"
A minute later, she found herself exhausted with the perfume in her hand. My, how she hated bargaining for a good price.
She was almost relieved to move into the alley with the other two. Sure, the detritus was quite horrid but at least there was no one looking at her every few moments. She kept her right hand close to her dagger as the presumed-bard emerged. The mysterious person first witnessed a tense look from the alchemist before her expression softened. "Well contrary to Beaucourt rumors, you can't sing away grime and shite," she said to Serena with a snarky chuckle before answering the man's question. "We're doing our own thing. But we might say more if we knew what you were doing down there." Her right eye winked, throwing a little charm while hoping to squeeze out some information.
The Merchantsâ District seemed to be even more packed, though that may have been down to walking through the throng like a ship sailing into a storm. Ashera stuck close to the others, keeping a tight grip on Estherâs arm lest she be swept away. Up until the moment that the alchemist briefly departed to purchase some perfume. Until she returned, Ashera huddled a little closer to Serena.
For a moment the elf felt glad to duck out of the crowds and into an alleyway. The squalor and filth that greeted Ashera left her swiftly revising her opinion. For all of Beaucourtâs alleged splendour, it was all a shallow façade once one began to dig just a little. Her thoughts turned to a brief pang of homesickness for her homeland, the wandering jewel of the skies⊠but were just as quickly interrupted by a sense of urgency, drawing her gaze to the manhole ahead.
Her hand was on the hilt of her dagger several moments before the manhole cover began to slide open, revealing a broad-shouldered, handsome (for a human) male who seemed⊠oddly at ease considering his situation. Ashera took a step back as the stench of the sewers wafted out, staring at the man in an almost accusing fashion. She would have spoken up, but Esther was quicker to convey the sentiments that she shared. All that was left to do was to see how this stranger might answerâŠ
He flexed his fingers out, pulling his bulky arms up in a stretch. The bones popped in his joints. "Ach... well, there's nothing shiny down there. Only place left is in the southern tunnels, but that's Red Hatchet territory. It'll be hard going, trying to look while five men jump my back every minute." He let out an exaggerated sigh, then waved it off. "Well! It's a living. I'm sure you've got one of those to get back to. You didn't come down to listen to a stranger from the sewers complain. I'm Lio."
He held out a hand for them to shake, paused, then slapped the hand back onto the ground and hauled himself out, revealing himself to lord a few inches over Esther. His dark eyes flicked over them, so fast, not one could tell that a judgement had been made.
"Only thing I can think that'd bring you huddling around this stinking hole is that some noble's got you doing their dirty work, too. Who's wringing your neck?" His smile grew a little brighter. "...And are you adverse to breaking a few bandit bones?"
âNothing like wading through someoneâs leftovers to find if theyâve shat a diamond.â Serena commented, her voice ever jovial to dance around. The man was nonchalant. Seemed the cool-headed type, but appearances always provoked an image if you could play up the act enough times.
There were seeds of doubt. Losing a ring and dropping it into the nearest sewer were two sides of the same coin, it just meant you had to look on it from the proper side. Not that it was any of her business what this man was doing and for what reason.
It sure beat jumping into the sewers for the time being having someone to talk to. âNot exactly my idea of fun. To each their own, though, right?â
âIâm Serena.â The little pirate piped up, pointing a finger at Ashera. âThatâs Blondie, and...â Brown eyes quickly flicked towards the alchemist; lingering for a fair few seconds with that playful gleam. âAnd this oneâs our jolly redhead, Raven.â A smirk grew on her face. âThe mask gives it away, I think.â
A little owl gave an inquiring âHootâ. âOh, and this fellow is Wilthro.â
Tall fellow, wasnât he? Her jaw didnât quite drop that far, but the pirate was willing to admit that having grown accustomed to everyone being several inches taller than yourself didnât quite prepare her for this looming giant. Right, she should probably stop staring now.
âHeâs not the type to wring necks.â The pirate flashed the man a toothy grin. âDonât think he can reach them.â Of course a certain partner could always accommodate that particular need, and a dwarf wouldnât even have to balance on a chair for it to work. But such thoughts were left far from Serenaâs conscience when the people in question werenât around to complain or glare menacingly with knives hidden behind their backs.
Not that she seemed to care much for that.
âIâd rather clob âm on the head with a mallet, less chance of setting alarms off.â She pondered for a moment. âBut breaking bones works fine too. You look strong enough to manage that.â
Setting
0.00 INK
Though her helm covered most of her face, Esther's eyes gave a small look of wariness. What could she have told the bard-like man? Hilgur didn't exactly suggest how discrete they had to be in their adventure to Arc en Lume's sewers. Just wing it, Esther thought to herself, using one of the Winged One's favorite puns. "Oh, we're just on a bit of a rescue mission," she said, smiling and speaking as if were like any other day. "Not much different from your escapade; ours is just grander."
...What a delightful way to have said, "We're gonna be trudging through this crap longer than you did."
"So!" she continued with a small, wily smile. She wanted to try and navigate the conversation, at least as well as she could. "Since you've been down there, anything we should be aware of? Besides the overbearing stench."
The Beaucourt sewers, South side. Beneath the glimmering jewel of the main city, away from the shine of sun and lamp. The bricks here had stood for ages, dull and green and layered with centuries-old muck and grime. The group made their way across a stone path, set beside a stagnant river. Light shone forth from Wilthro's eyes, illuminating their way through the darkness. It was more sludge than water; thick, without even a twinkle of light reflected upon its surface. When they peered closer, the group caught the vaguest glimpse of trash - Wasted food, rotten meat, broken furniture - all clumped together underneath the river. The scent of decay was strong, strong enough to make the eyes water and the stomach churn.
The sound of pouring water echoed in the distance, faster than a drip, more of a drizzle, traveling miles away within the silence. Tiny feet skittered away as the group traveled, scurrying into crevices too dark and small for human eyes. The further they went, the larger the place seemed. Grand arches hung over their heads, and ancient columns jut into the shadow-shrouded ceiling. Ahead, the sound of laughter pricked their ears. A high, shrill giggle, ringing from the steps below, towards the deepest, darkest region of the sewers.
âLook at this one, hihihihiihi, heâs still twitchinâ!â
âThaâ means the meatâs still fresh⊠hehehe⊠Georgina will be âappy tonightâŠâ
Two figures hunched over fallen bodies. Straps of leather fastened over bare, sallow skin. Pauldrons, knee pads, and elbow guards, scavenged from rust-eaten scrap and adorned with needle-sharp and needle-thin spikes. Their hand axes were fresh with blood, slick, glossy and shining amidst the green of the sewers⊠as they dripped onto the corpses below. Asheraâs elven pupils dilated as she saw it - etched upon the bodies, amidst white robes sullied by blood, the emblem of the Sacred Flame, a shining sun set upon a golden circle.
The scented mask that Esther made provided some comfort, as did the unusual light that shone from Wilthroâs eyes, bright as any lantern. It helped take her mind off of her discomfort, wondering whether the owlâs light was an innate ability for his kind or something more magical in nature. This train of thought was interrupted when her pointed ears picked up distinctive voices up ahead, and she raised a hand to call a halt.
At her signal, Wilthroâs eye-beams cut through the shadows like a burning blade, illuminating a grisly scene before them. A pair of ghoulish figures bearing crude weapons and armour were huddled around one of several corpses. Ashera gasped when the identity of those unfortunate victims was made clear to her. âTh-the clericsâŠâ she stammered. âTheyâre allâŠâ
With trembling hands, the elf notched an arrow, ready to draw it back when needed. She stepped aside and looked to Serena and Esther. âWhat should we do? We have the numbers and surprise on our side, but what if thereâs more out there?â Ashera kept watch on the subhumans, as much as their behaviour agitated her so. âI can bring one of them down from here, but the other may flee before I can fire a second shot.â
Bweeeem!
The owl sunk into the dark below and with the flick of a metaphorical switch his eyes projected a bright glow. Wilthro made for a great table lamp to read at for sure, but illuminating an eerie, stinky and spooky sewer system was a good secondary purpose. Withholding a grin was never her forte, though. And seeing an owlâs eyes light up like candles on Christmas evening wasnât a typical occurrence, piercing as they were, so the surprised glances from the group were⊠amusing, somewhat.
âHe beeps when he backs up, too.â The pirate stated, clearly trying to play this off as casually as she could without raising too many suspicions, but glowing owls? Yeah, not a normal thing at all to the general audience and there was a story behind it all if Serena was bothered enough to explain it to the group.
Magic was a weird phenomenon...
âNow stop staring or youâll go blind, idiots.â She added through a giggle, jutting her head slightly away from Wilthro to avoid the blinding rays beaming from his eyes. The owl hadnât really moved an inch, just clung tighter around his companionâs shoulders with his claws. To which Serena showed little sign of discomfort. Not like the grimace when she first took a good sniff of the shitty aroma that hung around the place. Raven had done a good deed handing out those masks.
Serena was thankful Blondie had volunteered to lead the group, and the pirate had managed to fit herself snugly between the Elf and the alchemist when they scoured the grimey corridors for any sign of their diamond ring.
⊠And the pretty damsel in distress, of course.
But their search was like reaching in the dark, and instead of shiny and pretty things the group dug up a pair of rabid hobos gleefully licking their lips at the sight of a fresh meal that wouldnât be to everyoneâs tastes. âEww⊠At least cook them first.â She murmured, trying not to look too closely at the grim (and probably disturbing) scene.
âI swore last time I wouldnât tumble with cannibals, theyâve got some weird ideas.â Serena answered. Sheâd never pretended to be much use when these kinds of tactics were concerned, and Blondie asking her what to do only resulted in a lacklustre shrug. âMaybe sick our flying torch on âm? Pretty sure to get a reaction at least.â The pirate made a sideways glance at her feathered friend, but Wilthro hadnât budged an inch after his sudden enlightenment.
âIâd rather not disturb a freak when itâs off the leash. Any raised hands for turning back and trying another sewer? Maybe one with less stink.â
...Slowly, the bandits swerved towards the party's direction, with a bloodied, toothy, gummy snarl. Their faces were dry and craggy as a rock, and quite pale despite the mud and grime staining their faces. There was almost no white in their eyes, replaced by a pinkish colour that blended into jet-black pupils.
"MEAAAAT!"
The Red Hatchet cannibals stormed up the steps, one bolting in front of the other on all fours. The shadows stirred behind them, and the party heard the audible scrape of rust and iron.
Setting
0.00 INK
This 'Tulip Heaven' fragrance better have been worth the purchase when this was over...
"Great," she muttered in frustration upon hearing the scraping of metal against the floor. She had remained quiet, letting Wilthro lead. He certainly was a curious bird. Now if only his eyes could've repelled maddened butchers rather than attract them.
Without time to think, Esther stepped forward and pulled out a small vial from her belt. The semi-clear, ugly white color splashed violently in the small container with a small red ball inside. The alchemist tossed it out in front of her. "Close your eyes," she announced, which gave everyone no actual time to react, as she raised her arm over her eyes. The vial, upon hitting the wet stone ground, exploded into a flash of light and a brief, audible boom. It blinded the bandits who recklessly charged the group.
Esther drew her dagger afterward. "Now, Lio, Ashera!" She quickly ran forward, with the brief glimpse of light to help her see, and tried slicing open the left bandit's neck with her sharp blade.
Lio skidded into action. His towering form ducked and weaved through the party with the light touch of a rogue. He tightened the bandages around his fists, pulling them between his grinning teeth as he charged, utterly unarmed, into the swing of a hatchet.
Lio ducked under the swipe, snatching the bandit's wrist as the arm went over his head. As he came up, so did his leg - arcing around, and slamming down on the back of his stumbling opponent's head. The bandit went down with Lio's grip still on his arm, which twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Then Lio's boot came stamping down on the bandit's shoulder, and there was a sickening pop. The bandit let out a pained gargle and released one of the hand axes, then swung around desperately to catch Lio's knee with the one in his working arm.
"Whoa!" Lio jumped back, avoiding the low swing, in which time his opponent scrambled back to his feet with an unsettling giggle. After a few close calls, Lio slipped to the side, and jabbed his foot into the back of the bandit's knees as he was carried past the monk on his own momentum. The bandit fell forward, but Lio caught a fistful of his hair and dragged him against the sewer walls in two strong strides. The bandit's head hit the stone, then was immediately assaulted by a knee. Again, and again. Being bludgeoned against the wall as a dark, wet stain spread out across it.
Angry hisses came from the shadows, which swelled, then parted into half a dozen, scurrying forms, some on all fours, others staggering on their feet. A couple on the back drew arrows upon their shortbows, which hurled through the air and right towards Esther. Two more wielded makeshift spears, each poking from behind shield-bearing bandits. One shield bandit charged Lio with his guard up, while his partner thrust his spear once, twice, to overwhelm him.
The second pair of shield/spear bandits slipped past Lio and treaded up the stairs, staring daggers into Serena and Ashera.
The shield-bearer snarled as beat his shield onto the ground, galloped on his knuckles and toes, then launched his entire body into a somersault - right towards Ashera.
It was between a bothersome groan and a horrified shriek that Serena had her first doubts about poking around in some dank area filled with mutant rats and potential cannibal ex-criminals, thoughts swaying between âSeriously?!â and âOh fuck, theyâre âbout to invite us over as dinner!â. At that point she really did regret not taking that swordfighting curriculum while aboard the Passionate Jellyfish; A ship perhaps best described by the rumour that the captain had some weird misconceptions about what âspicing up your sex lifeâ meant. Needless to say, one day he was found dead. Buttnaked at the coast cuddling a stingray.
Yeah, try explaining that to the missus of the house without cracking a smile.
Right, enough reminiscing of past weird adventures. The pirate felt⊠relatively useless in the grand scheme of things, with Raven carrying an arsenal of vials that went boom in a variety of ways, Blondie being - well, an Elf with a bow, and their latest friend showing great finesse and a right hook that screamed broken jaws. And Serena? The only pirate who apparently didnât own a set of flintlocks and cutlasses. What were the odds, huh?
âHavenât got any invisibility potions, do you love?â Confidence was lacking, and Serena didnât really think the alchemist had anything the like on her at present - If even such a drink existed in the first place.
Bang!
That worked fine, too.
The flashbang had set off a chain reaction that had every other creepy bandit crawl out of the woodwork (or stonework, in this case) to charge the four-and-a-half sized gang. And for once Serena wasnât the one to grin in the face of danger.
âBoy. The fun just doesnât end, huh?â Sarcasm dripping through frustration and gritted teeth.
Several of the creatures gathered into pairs. One brandishing a shield, the other armed with a crude stick that wouldâve made a poor spear in any sane personâs judgement. Despite their rabbid nature there was enough intelligence left to form a strategy, if flimsy. One pair charged at the monk, while the other broke through and ran straight at herself and the Elf who was still in the middle of taking another crack shot with her bow.
Wilthroâs eyes flickered for a moment, taking note of the situation that had unfolded while in his seemingly dazed state and decided that acting as the passive torch wasnât going to help the situation in any direction. He let out a âCooâ and then charged; eyes turning to face the spear-wielding lunatic and flashing their bright light.
Ashera removed her arms from her face just in time to avoid the charging ghoul. Her body moved on autopilot as foresight-driven instincts kicked in. She ducked down the moment her assailant pounced, his momentum carrying him straight over her. With a hand on her dagger she stood right back up, plunging the blade into his exposed back. Then again. And once more, just to be certain. However graceful and fluid her movements might have looked from an outsider's perspective, the elf was left wide-eyed and gasping for thankfully-peppermint-scented air.
There was just enough breathing room for Ashera to take stock of their situation. Serena, or more accurately Wilthro, needed help in fending off another one of the ghouls. Ashera hurriedly shouldered her bow and prepared to assist the owl. While Wilthro kept up the distraction with his eye-lights, the elf sought to catch the enemy off guard with a flanking attack.
Setting
0.00 INK
Seeing arrows was a lost cause in the sewer's ugly darkness. Instead, Esther leaned over against the wall and crouched low. A crude *SPLASH* sound echoed under her boot; Gods, she couldn't imagine what sort of chemicals made off of this liquid waste. Thankfully, she also heard the whooshing sound of flying arrows well over her head and hitting the wall behind her. They couldn't aim, good.
Now she had to close the distance.
She charged, past Serena, Ashera and Lio, past the other bandits, with slimy water splashing at her every step, with her blood-covered dagger tight in her hand. She slammed it hard into the first bowman's chest as he was reaching for another arrow. Then again. Then again. Fast, quick, furious, and perhaps a bit sloppy. Esther wanted to cripple their numbers instead of ensuring a clean kill. A last push sends the stabbed bandit to the waste-filled ground.
The other bandit caught her dark-eyed gaze beneath her helm as he recklessly tried stabbing her with an arrow rather than fire at point-blank range. Trudging under the sludge of the sewers, Esther took a step back, letting the arrow's semi-rough point scrape her leather armor, before she grabbed the bandit's head and thrust her blade at his neck.
In a slow, mesmerizing cadence, the sticks pounced upon the drum like weapons. One after the other, each resounding blow sent shivers through her body like an echo. There, standing mingled with the face of the festival crowd, a small girl felt an even smaller hand holding her own. She felt safe.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The girl lifted her head skyward. The Sacred Flame was growing darker. Its radiance began to recede into itself, devoured by something invisible to the eye -- color washed away from the streets and the shadows cast around them crawled into the fading light as though it were alive.
She wanted to squeeze their hand for comfort as a sudden tightness gripped her lungs, but only empty air brushed aginst her frigid fingertips. And as if drawn to him, her eyes returned to that man on the drums. His hands were no longer moving, and his eyes seemed to pierce through her with a silent knowing.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Then, she realized. There was no sound in this world. That was her heartbeat she was hearing.
***
One of the corpses opened its eyes.
In repositioning himself for another potshot with the bow, an unlucky bandit's leg ventured a little too near and was instantly seized by something that had, until just now, lain entirely prone on the sewer walkway. His eyes widened in horror as black smoke erupted from his ankle; the hand that grasped him tightened like a burning iron, sinking deeper into his flesh as it burned away through disintegrating meat. The man shrieked like a wounded animal and kicked wildly at the corpse, not even his rotted, drugged out brain was capable of dulling the pain.
With one hard tug, he yanked himself free and drunkenly staggered into a full pratfall that left him collapsed on his rear. Searing fire crept along his pants from the shin up, which he desperately tried to extinguish by swinging his leg around until in an uncharacteristically intelligent move he remembered where he was. Scampering toward the flow of sewage on all fours, his entire body was suddenly lifted up by the back of his collar before he could douse his leg and was unceremoniously thrown against the wall.
In the split second that he was dazed, the corpse -- now standing -- pinched the knife from his belt and drove his own blade through his side. A light love tap on his shoulder set his torso abruptly ablaze, and she kicked the burning man into his bow-wielding partner, spreading the gift of fire to the next startled bandit.
From the far side of the ongoing battle, disciple of the Sacred Flame Maria Solaster stood to her full height, back from the dead. She felt along her ribs with charred fingers and sensed wet, sticky blood soaking through the cloth. Well, maybe she hadn't escaped death just yet.
The bandit stumbled back, two pieces of broken driftwood in his hands brought up to protect his face. He peered hesitantly between the pieces to see Lio blowing splinters off his knuckles. Lio glanced his way, and his lips quirked into a little cocky smirk.
"GNAAA!" A spear-wielding bandit screeched, one hand raised to shield his dark-adjusted eyes from Wilthro's blinding gaze. He stumbled back, back down the stairs, until he missed a step, and fellâŠ
...Right as an arrow pierced his neck. Blood spurted. His jaw quivered. With his last, gurgling breath, the bandit turned his eyes towards his killer - Ashera, her drawing arm held high, two fingers pointed skyward.
Thud.
A bandit archer's screech echoed as his lanky body plummeted into the abyss, Esther's tall figure shrinking from his sight. The second archer's body fell limp. He wheezed his last breath, the alchemist's knife lodged deep within his windpipe. The symphony of a dozen punches rang in the background. Flesh pummeled, bones crunched, and a battered body slammed into the wall with a heavy smack.
Then, within the depths, fire rose. It spread like a disease, from one flailing bandit to the next. They screamed and screamed, their greasy, grimy forms especially vulnerable to ignition. The flames lit up the dark dungeon just a little brighter, catching the group's eye and directing them to the figure of⊠a woman. Her white robes were almost drowned out by blood and grime. Almost like a fabled revenant, back from the dead to exact furious vengeance.
The bandits' crude formation broke, most having felled by fire and steel. Those that remained slipped between grates, crawled through drainpipes, and fled, back into the darkness from whence they came.
A burning, screeching bandit waddled towards a grate, but fell before he could flee, his flesh blackened to a crisp. Silence returned to the sewers, and with it, the taste of victory.
Lio bounced up, jittery with adrenaline, and shook his burning fists with an exuberant âWhoop!â He did a quick headcount, then turned his attention back to the resurrected woman in bloodied white robes. He went through a few obvious calculations behind his eyes before coming up with a name.
âLady Solaster,â he called over with a bow, âArenât I happy to have one less corpse to loot.â At that, he pulled a roll of bandages that matched the ones on his hands from his pocket and hurled them over her way, then ducked down to shift through a banditâs pockets. He came up with a set of knucklebones, real bones - uncertain specimen. He spared a grimace towards the Sacred Flame cleric that had fallen with her, but was yet to get up. âWhoâs getting the bad news?â
She shared Lio's gaze down at her fallen comrade, rolling the body over with her boot to get a better look at his face in a display of blatant disrespect for the dead. Well, the probably dead. She squinted as if to better ascertain his identity, but after a few seconds something on her face said that she didn't really know or care.
"Think his name was Jeremy or something," she said, getting her partner's name completely wrong. "Wasn't paying attention, I hardly the know the guy. Oh well, he's in a better place now." With that said, she grasped her pendant and knelt down to offer a surprisingly solemn prayer for his spirit, deeply lowering her head. The whiplash on this woman was incredible.
"Looking for some lost company, I take it?" Maria cracked an eye open, still kneeling. "I don't recognize your friends there."
AnaĂŻs covered her chuckle with one hand, the side of her pencil pressing against the tip of her nose.
âWe couldnât hear for three weeks after that,â she continued, regaining her composure. âKnocked the hounds right out, though. Got out with the greens and the mandrake. Made a killing off that little bastard.â
AnaĂŻsâs pencil lead scratched across the thin paper of the journal as she wrote down the rest of the story. Her right hand speared a slice of honeyed apricot with a fork as she finished. âAnd they never caught you?â she asked around a bite of sticky sweetness, setting down the pencil in her left hand.
The woman laughed over the rim of her teacup. âOh, they almost did, but Hu- Hu⊠Hugh?â She lowered her hands slowly, her eyes flicking back and forth in confusion.
AnaĂŻs swallowed her piece of apricot. âMaâam? ...Miss Wendy? You alright?â She stood and moved to the old womanâs side, setting a concerned hand gently on her shoulder.
Miss Wendy rubbed at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head as if to clear some fog from her mind. She looked up at AnaĂŻs after a moment, blinking several times as she steadily came back to herself. âIâm so sorry dear, what were we talking about?â
âYou were telling me about your brothers.â
Miss Wendyâs eyes searched AnaĂŻsâs face, lips slightly parted as she attempted to recall. âMy brothers⊠Iâm sorry dear, I donâtâŠâ She brushed a few silver threads away from her forehead. âWhere was I...?â
AnaĂŻsâs mouth hung open for a second, then pulled shut into a small smile. âItâs alright, I needed to be going anyway.â She stepped away from Wendy and picked up her journal and pencil, then grabbed a couple more quick bites of honeyed apricot. âAre you alright? Do you need help getting home?â she asked, stuffing her things into her satchel.
Miss Wendy gave a small, tired laugh, picking her teacup back off the table and swishing around the liquid inside. âIâll be fine, dear,â she replied quietly. âI donât live far.â She perked up, clearing her throat. âI do appreciate you so often taking the time to come listen to an old woman ramble. I know you must be busy with the library, An- AniâŠâ She shook her head again. âWell, this is just humiliating. Iâm drawing a blank.â
âAnna,â AnaĂŻs replied.
Miss Wendy squinted for a moment, then nodded her head. âRight, right. Ugh, donât ever get old, dear. Itâs not fun.â
AnaĂŻs gave Wendy a thin smile. âYes maâam. Iâll just stay young and beautiful forever.â
Miss Wendy laughed at that. âGood girl!â
AnaĂŻs shielded her eye from the late spring sun as she stepped off the busy streets of Arc de Lume, leaning against a wooden railing by the canal to pull her journal back out of her satchel. It was quiet here, well away from the clatter of carts or shouting of merchants. Nearly as quiet as the University grounds which housed the Archive. She flipped open the cover of the journal, then ran one finger under the words written on the first page. âPeasant Talesâ. Miss Wendy wasnât the only voice whoâs memories sheâd recorded herein. Sheâd spoken to a small number of other folk of advanced age, and she felt glad that sheâd managed to get as many of their stories down as she could before their memories were gone.
It still hurt, though.
She sighed, then pushed off the railing and stuffed the book back into her satchel. Its pages were almost full, now. Maybe one or two more, and sheâd be ready to commit it to the Archives as a proper record. That being said, she did have other matters to attend in the interim. What had that dwarfâs name been, again?
And thatâs when it ended. Not with a bang, but a grand display of fire and a whole lot of screaming weirdos sporting some hot new outfits. The rest? Well, they smartly slinked back into the depths of the sewers where no stink could escape. For all their freaky splendour and animalistic instinct that spoke more to eating their prey as soon as they could sink their teeth in, the crowd of bandits was more easily dispersed than Serena would give them credit for. Guess that instinct wasnât failing completely when it came to retreating with imaginary tails between their legs.
âAnd good riddance, too.â The pirate nodded with a little too much relief; the disgusted grimace making way for her usual smile. They were alive. That counted for several positives, didnât it?
Too bad they were still mucking about in a sewage systemâŠ
With Wilthro back in his usual glowing disposition (and seated more comfortably on her shoulder than before the fight, weirdly) Serena followed closely behind the rest of the group to stare and gawk at the newly reanimated corpse. A flame priestess, apparently. Not the most cheery lass she figured.
Either that or she really didnât care much for people. Specifically poor dead Jeremy. Poor sod, given the literal cold shoulder by a pretty woman. Maybe he couldâve livened up the situation by timing his resurrection to this very moment. Serena offered the corpse an apologetic look before turning to face the priestess.
âJust seeing if nobles really shit diamonds, rescuing damsels. The usual fun stuff.â She answered, flashing the woman a grin.
âYouâre not the sewer princess weâre looking for, right?â She probably didnât expect a serious answer, only glanced at her companions for acknowledgements. Never hurt to check the credentials. Some nobles would always relate back to another in the end; which probably made family reunions a mess to organize.
âYou got some seasoning on you.â A single finger pointed out the obvious smear on the womanâs clothes. âNo wait, thatâs blood.â