“My people have lived on the continent of man for a dozen Ages, untold millenias. And we can only offer this lacking insight into the species that the world watches with bated breaths. That only two things drive humans. Hate and Love.
One will drive them to extremes beyond any other, whilst the other does the exact same. Yet still, they are contrary emotions! But even more perplexing, take one away and you ruin the human soul entirely. It puzzled me for a century before i got used to their insanity. The key is to simply observe them with pure reservation. You will see that both collectively and individually they can create such wonders. Cultures and edifices more sheerly beautiful than even the tallest sprout of the Arboreal Chamber. Partnered with poems and tales filled with such prose that i could hold until Last Eve and never tire of reading.
Yet some look into all their works and scorn the static duality of their hearts. So, they ask, why do we support such shallow creatures?
Those questioners are becoming of utter fools to suggest that the dual motivation of man indicates a lack of profundity. They have never experienced the depths of their Hate. Nor the peaks of their Love. To experience either is a totality beyond much us elder species can harbour. It was their sheer emotion that granted them the right to lead this Age of Progress.
I only pray to the Lady that in my lifetime, I may experience just a moment of man’s burning hatred and a shred of their passionate embrace.”
- The [Evergreen Speaker] of Veiled Fraera, Circa 4022 BCC
A [Talonguard] thundered after Audrick, hot on his heels as he fled the edge of his village’s demesne.
They swung their sword, nipping the back of his shirt with that slab of enchanted steel. But, crucially, lacking the cleaving of flesh they so desired. His heart pounded in a terror permanent as he struggled to keep ahead of the hulking suit of armor and its Skills. Every step was a war to remain steady as their pursuer devoured the wood’s expanse in great strides of thudding metal.
Then he tripped.
Desperately gasping for air as his lungs were forced empty he swung his head back at the [Talonguard]. In his mind he saw it, the sword that would rip through his skull and deliver him into a River of cold empty waters. But he didn't see that incoming death.
Instead he saw a face.
Like his own, except less girlish and more gallant. Less fearful and more brave. Less incompetent and far smarter. Less alive, more decomposing. Before his very eyes as he anguishedly tried to crawl away, the superior face began to fall off of its skeletal chassis.
He could see the skull begin to protrude out of the red mess as flesh began falling off it in chunks, maggots writhing out of its orifices, hungry for the corpse of his brother.
W-wait.
B-brother?
He jerked up with a start, gasping for air as his mind raced out of his head. Heart beating like a wardrum he gripped his trusty knife and swung around from his bed of hay and dirt. He didn't scream, his mouth felt far too dry for that and his instincts prised silent panic anyways. He really wanted to shriek his heart out though.
“The fucks up with you kid?” a gruff voice snapped at him. “Audrick?”
The name wormed its way into his brain, wracking his mind before he realised it was his own.
The question came from a man sitting on a crate sharpening a knife as he lounged around, he was human and an aged one at that. His face, scarred and weathered as it was, could hardly be called anything but unattractive, but then again something like that hardly mattered to a man like this. His brown hair, patchy and greying at the sides, certainly didn't help his case though.
Audrick breathed heavy breaths as his heart rebounded and mind swiftly made sense of what surrounded him. Strangely enough, the unappealing visage of the man calmed down Audrick, relieving him from his full blown panic.
The blunted and scratched shortsword leaning against his thigh gave away his profession. A soldier of course, not a wealthy one though evidenced by his torn chainmail and scrappy woolen clothing. Of course Audrick wasn't much different, except in looks of course, they shared the same job and unfortunately enough the same status.
None of that really mattered to him right now though. His heart was still beating from the dose of adrenaline and sweat covered him in an awful blanket, worse still, blood was running down his finger from where he had cut himself hastily grabbing his knife. The red liquid was no stranger to him but he knew better than to let it flow and quickly wrapped a cloth around it. Simultaneously he hastily looked around at the tents surrounding their little camp, not really a true camp, just two hay piles and a fire, before meeting the worried eyes of his mentor.
He did his best to mute what was likely an expression of wide-eyed terror and forced words out his mouth.
“J-just a damn nightmare.” he reassured Duncliffe.
Audrick knew nightmares, and had ever since his first kill, though it seemed the last battle had produced new horrors to dream of. He hated his brain for it, he suffered enough blood and gore during the day, what need did he have of it during the night?
I hate this shithole.
He really did. The camp had a way of making stuff like this happen, he hoped he wasn’t succumbing to Madness yet, Heavens it would’ve been best if he had accidentally cut his throat instead if that was the case.
“Hah.” Duncliffe responded compassionately as always. “Yeah, you'll get over it kid.”
His eyes lingered on the cloth wrapped around Audrick's finger and the weathered soldier leaned over to pat Audrick heavily on the back, practically shoving him forward out of his comfortable hay pile. Before he could even say anything in complaint Duncliffe cut him off providing an amendment to his statement.
“Not really though.” He chuckled. “ You can forget when you die, kid. For now just suck it up”
Audrick had nothing to say at that. It was probably true, he hadn't slept well since leaving his village and he never would again. But the recent slaughter against Count Falkner at Merint wasn't helping and Duncliffe really didn't have to push his mood down any further.
If it gets any lower it might reach the old man’s own.
“W-well if so why do you sleep so soundly?” he asked, actually curious.
Duncliffe's reply was accompanied by a harsh bark of laughter.
“I just think about all the women I've met,” he said, still chuckling. “That and of course a good drink can't ever hurt.”
Usually Duncliffe just taught Audrick how to steal and uniquely cowardly survival techniques but every once in a while he would teach Audrick one of those famous life lessons.
“Always complement your lord before battle, hopefully he’ll gain the confidence to die in a duel with the other.”
Or those words he had said when they first met.
“Never trust a Reisan woman with your coinbag, likewise a Circan at your back.”
Audrick remembered nearly every single one of them, even the racist ones, and despite coming from an illiterate soldier barely above slavery, they had managed to save his life a couple times.
Yet for all his wisdom he's still here with me. Two failures at rock bottom.
Well that wasn't entirely true. Duncliffe at least had a sword and armour as worn as they were. All Audrick had was some torn leather to cover his chest, his trusty rusty knife and a spear to poke his enemies, he had heard other nations on the subcontinent prized spearmen as actual soldiers, but unfortunately that never really caught on in Athle. He had one job in Duke’s army, stand in the way of heavily armored horsemen and hopefully utilise his corpse to stop their charge just long enough for an archer or Mage to blast them. He wasn't even allowed to keep the spear outside of battle.
Oh and of course the two had not a single ounce of magic, Art or Binding between them, no enchanted gear or handy Spells or even just a measly prayer to help them. Their physical strength was also middling, not helped by the little nutrition they got. Duncliffe, though, had instinct from his years of soldiering and grifting, Audrick really had nothing to offer anyone.
At the very least the enemies they faced were mostly the same as them. After all the wars the subcontinent was quite lacking in magic, Arts and all the other marks of Power. Arts, or as the dirty continentals called it, Classes were the premier way to step onto the Path alongside magic and Divine Bindings. Well of course that was only by Audricks admittedly lacking education but in any case the main point was that those with Power were fucking scary and best not faced by a scrawny underequipped peasant. The nightmares of enchanted knights cleaving through lines of steel and sword like an [Heavy Strike] through a baby had made that point clear. Heavens forbid, if Audrick faced an actual [Knight] on the field……… his life would be nothing more than the blink it took to cleave through his walking corpse.
The Great War, mostly the invaders, had robbed Sainon of a lot of those dangerous elites thankfully.
Father would kick my ass for saying that.
His father was as prideful as any Sainonese and thus would brook nothing but sheer hatred for those across the Waste and sea. He had lived when the roving armies had speared through Athle after the Deluge, and through most of his family. That was not something you could forget.
Apparently from what his uncle said, ale induced of course, they were executed because they had Freikan sympathies but Audrick would never voice that likely truth. His father had cursed out the people admiring an airship docking in Athire for just partaking in a continental invention’s delight. For better or worse though, Audrick would never get the chance to be shouted at by his father again.
“Are you even listening?”
He had gotten distracted while Duncliffe was whining about something to do with ale. Audrick banished all thoughts of his father and buried the pain of reminiscence before answering his mentor.
“Um u-uh was i-it ma-”
Duncliffe dropped him firmly on his bottom and flicked his head before he could get his bearings. He was right of course but that he didn't know the exact details of whatever Duncliffe was complaining about was enough. He didn't stop there, quickly grabbing Audrick’s hand and taking the coin he had clumsily swiped from the old man’s side.
“Not bad, but we can't practice now”. He pulled Audrick to his feet and grabbed the hand the boy had cut with his dull knife. “We gotta go fix this up.”
Whilst talking Duncliffe fixed Audricks shoddy half asleep work, wrapping a small piece of cloth much tighter around his finger.
“A-are you sure?” the boy responded. “It doesn't hurt that much.”
That was half a lie, he had suffered worse but the constant throbbing in his finger was slowly getting worse. He just really didn't wanna leave camp to get the supplies to properly bandage it. And he also didn't want to impose, but as always Duncliffe treated him much better than Audrick deserved.
“Im always sure.” Duncliffe as always saw right through him. “ S’ides, best you not get any more scars. You'll be less useful ugly.”
In the year or so he had spent on the run he had managed to build up quite a menagerie of blemishes across his body. At least unlike the old man he had managed to keep his face mostly untouched, only bearing a horizontal pale slit under his left eye from a stray arrow. He liked that one though, he thought it gave him charm. Audrick had always looked somewhat what bastards in the village would call ‘pretty’, on first glance many had assumed his parents had two daughters, of course he had hoped that would change as he grew but unfortunately his looks had only developed even more androgynously refined . Maybe he would look more masculine when someone finally managed to shove a sword through his face. At least he was around average height, though the lack of good food had not helped in the weight department.
He wondered sometimes if he'd be better off running back home, to those bastards back in the village, if he managed to dodge every soldier between the Treaty Lands and the border he might make it back. Reality hit hard though, he would have to survive dozens of bandit bands, the hungry monsters and every other opportunistic bastard. In the worst parts he land was overrun with nasty things that the depleted Guild and crown could not exterminate. Even if the way was clear though Audrick doubted the village would want him back. Not after everything.
Enough, I'm just distracting myself.
He was, it was the nervousness from having to walk through the camp. He couldn't help the fear of scared strangers and people who might recognise him.
Nonetheless Audrick got to work and wrapped a cloth mask around his jaw completely covering the bottom half of his face, he didn't want to be recognised and plus looking as he did in a warcamp was not a benefit. Here, in their little clearing, they were insulated by the tents and Audrick could always dive into the hay, but out there, in the open, it was best to be safe.
“Make sure that mask’s on good.” Duncliffe said. “I don't wanna have to sleep another fool because of your loose knots.”
“Y-yeah okay.” he replied embarrassed.
“Oh and we’re running Paltre’s today.” Duncliffe said offhandedly. “Tensions with the bluecloaks will have that piggy well stocked.”
Audrick didn't understand the finer details of Athle’s relationship with Circanor so he would have to trust Duncliffe on his judgment. Like always.
“Ok.”
He finished his stretch grabbing everything he owned, a painfully small amount, and followed Duncliffe out of their miniscule clearing. It was a nice little area, by their standards at least, hemmed in by large walls of fabric and only accessible through a cramped gap between a stockade and supply tent. It was safe, which made Audrick’s stomach turn as he surfaced behind Duncliffe from that gap. Luckily if there was one thing the camp of thousands could do, it was distract.
All things considered Duke Anglis ran an organised camp, despite being mostly made up of levies and old warhunds it had clear ‘roads’ running through the many tents and clearings. The tents were mostly grey with Athle blue and gold but a few sported unique colours such as green or even purple, Audrick honestly thought the array of war looked quite nice under the rising sun. Steel worn by thousands moving to their posts or just patrolling reflected the golden rays of Lady’s gift as it soared above the world at its midday peak.
On the other hand it was quite offensive to the ears with soldiers and civilians alike melding together into a cacophony of chatter that spread leagues across. Not to mention the ever present smell of shit and blood that wormed its way into Audrick's nose, not that he smelled much better but his mother had taught him some decency at least. Luckily the smell had begun to dull as the camp began to dig itself in and become more of a permanent installation. That meant purpose built outhouses and latrines which would hopefully rid the camp of the brunt of the stench, though the leatherworkers and their ilk’s noxious work would surely do their best to counteract that.
“We’ve been in this shithole too long.” Duncliffe muttered to no one in particular.
The locals mostly hated the camp, with all the handsy soldiers forcing them to lock away their valuables and eventimes their children. That was the course of an army, death and pillage, but in all truth it wasn't all bad for the peasantry of Prowdre. The army was a great beast and in its wake walked a veritable second army of merchants, butchers, non-battle Mages, logicians and every other profession that could stand to make a coin off the Duke’s slaughterhouse.
According to Duncliffe, those trailers of the army provided benefits to the local towns of Prowdre which desperately needed new wares and magicks after the war. Additionally the Duke towed quite a few non combat Art wielders which Audrick had heard were in high demand nowadays. [Smiths] and their like were very different to plain old smiths, the Art they practiced made them much more prized. The Duke in fact had his own art which he had publicly disclosed in full.
He was a [Duke of the Ashes], a High Art. Furthermore by many’s estimation he was Art was firmly in the late section of its progression. That put him firmly at Late High level, somewhere around Bulwark rank for the guilders, of course those in society who liked to scale Power had been wrong many times across the Ages. In fact, Audrick had heard many soldiers laugh at the old Circanor [Staticians] for believing King Kalaworth to be Peak High when he had already crossed the half class gap into Master territory. That had ended with their forward army being mauled down to the last man, so probably best to take the Duke’s Power level with a grain of veresalt.
Then again, he did burn a thousand men before my eyes.
But back to the topic of the Duke’s army, for all the benefits Duncliffe spouted about it, Adurcik knew the coin it spread could not undo the bloodshed under its cerulean banners. The Count Falkner had raised a little rebellion in hopes of a few concessions, the poor count had failed to realise King Roste’s little tolerance and had been forced to meet Duke Anglis on the fields of Merint, the lords of Prowdre had met their match and been burnt alive by it.
The County of Prowdre itself had weathered its fair share of the Great War yet received little from the Treaty. So much so that its lords saw its revision as a worthy goal to rebel, and now because of the bloodthirsty Duke the county stood a little more wartorn. Their little rebellion had its reasons, but Audrick didn't care who had the right or wrong, whoever was right was whoever had won and he had firsthand seen who the Lady graced.
Audrick related to the people of Prowden though.
It was tough being tugged around by Fate, and unlike himself at least they didn't deserve their bloody Destiny. Every corner he turned he saw a face he recognised for a split second. The face of his brother lathered in red, of a Prowden boy’s corpse burnt beyond recognition, of his own form mangled in an inevitable execution. He wished he could be like the worst of the camp and drink or smoke those horrid visions away. He didn't have the coin for those vices and Duncliffe likely wouldn't let him anyway. Plus if the nightmare earlier was any indication, not even the strongest drug out of Comerciante would help him forget his sins.
Me, the Duke and Falkner. We are all murderers together.
They threaded through the orderly camp, Duncliffe raising a hand every now and then to greet someone he knew. The “Ladies grace” and “Good day” from a dozen different faces Audrick barely recognised went to show Duncliffe’s history in the business of war.
They passed many weapons of the camp and Audrick’s eye caught on some of the more impressive equipment of the army. Rows of mag-guns stood at attention far outclassing their comrade ballistas, continental magic tech was used sparingly and somewhat reluctantly by the soldiers of Athle, but of course, used to great effect by its very nature. A mag-gun could decimate any charge of knights, even by the greatest orders of Sainon, as those very same orders remembered occurring a decade and a half ago. Audrick was glad they stood on his side, though it was often more cost effective to simply let the spearmen like him absorb charges instead of firing the costly guns of the line. The weapons themself were operated either by those with specialised Arts towards them or much more often, a Mage of some knowledge towards the devices. Even a few Knights of the old orders stood around the devices, looking at their perfect counters with a sense of melancholy and anger, more surprisingly it was the younger couple of their group that alone looked with wonder at the mag-guns that threatened obsoletion.
Athle is moving forward…….
Freika raged against Fate and was burnt in the same stride, Audrick’s homeland didn't look to make the same mistake but still, the boy was not exactly ecstatic at the futures it offered either.
Well at least one man in the nation of claws won't move on.
“Fucking invader tech.” Audrick braced himself for the terrible punchline he knew was coming, “How much ya think the old eagle sucked to get these babies?”
Somehow Duncliffe managed to laugh at his terrible attempt at humor.
“Please don't."
He laughed even harder at that.
“What would Kalaworth say if he saw this?” He spoke wistfully yet chuckled the same. “Doesn't matter, unless the old dog necrotises out of his hole I doubt he's got much to say.”
Not a lot of respect for the Freikan Emperor. Guess that makes sense.
It would be hard to honour the man who lost Sainon to the continentals. Though Audrick knew Duncliffe just did his bad jokes of boredom but he still wished he wouldn't say such unfunny yet dangerous things in a public space. Easy enough for a diehard patriot to take offence at his little joke, and easier enough for them to stick a knife in Audrick's eye. At least he saved the comments for outside the areas of the camp where the real soldiers lived, especially the places where Pathwalkers treaded.
A man stupid enough to try that wouldn't get this old.
The two bottom ringers rounded a corner coming upon a large makeshift wooden gate that split the two camps and passed under its surprisingly vaulty arch. Armoured [Guards] stood sentinel on both sides wielding their Low Arts to safeguard the camps border. They said nothing, not bothering to interact with the endless flow of people heading to the bars, brothels and markets beyond. Audrick caught the eye of a [Guard] sweeping his eyes over the river of people, their ornate armour and cerulean cape marked them an Art user and by Audricks guess they were using a Skill to inspect the crowd. A person like that had to be raking in the gold, anybody would pay coin galore for someone who could suss out thieves and saboteurs with a single glance.
Audrick ducked his head further a little as he strolled past, the blood on his hands felt so visible now, the feeling of eyes drilling into the back of his head made him want to curl up and cry. But he couldn't, so he just walked and eventually the horrid feeling subsided as they made distance from the gate. Skills were terrifying and the boy wanted to be nowhere near the received end of one, unfortunately what he wanted rarely mattered. The feeling must have been an [Inspect] of some kind, since no one had begun chasing him down it couldn't have been that good, or maybe the [Guard] simply didn't care about his village. As long as it didn't negatively impact the army, maybe it didn't even register on the Skill.
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Speculation drove men mad so Audrick simply leaned closer to Duncliffe and followed like a hound would its owner. The trailing camp was a wall of sound and senses that made Audrick feel safer as he and the two disappeared into its chaos. His mentor led confidently into the camp, guiding them into the main ‘street’ of the haphazard affair; it was quite grand for a camp with temporary wooden structures and elaborate tents lining the road. The noise reached a peak here, sounds of hammers pounding steel into war and merchants screaming their prices that were all somehow the “best deal this side of Athle’ filled the air. Grains by the dozen out of the Plainbowl, everwheat Audrick would kill just to smell, foreign salts and spices from places Audrick couldn't Spell if he tried and languages in such variety that Audrick began to doubt his own understanding of Lower Liernan.
Here they would find a healer of sorts to deal with his cut. Not an actual healer obviously, destitution forbade that, but simply someone who had some proper bandages to sell. Theoretically they could get it from the camp proper but in practice healing supplies were almost always kept away from the bottom feeders. Especially if the bottom feeder got the wound in a stupid way.
Scantily clad women and men slinging their wares were ever present along the streets of the camp with both sights attracting thousands of differing fashion. You could buy a lot here, from a pleasurable memory to a new leather bag. Audrick couldn't help but stare at all that was on offer, even the ones that made him blush, but it was the open displays of Power that truly interested him. Magic and its comrade Arts had a way of calming Audrick, in its presence he felt safer, as if just the existence of something greater meant maybe he didn't mean anything. To mean nothing at all was such a desirable idea.
Duncliffe’s eyes, however, remained entirely glued to the more ‘adult’ side of what the camp had to offer. Audrick wasn't worried about that, the old man would never spend coin on something like that. For some reason he never indulged in pleasures of that nature. If anything it was his own wandering eyes that would get them in trouble as he traced the entirely too flexible limbs of an Ashiran girl, who was enthusiastically advertising her establishment. Realising he was being distracted, he ripped his eyes upwards toward the girl’s wonderful face which was disturbingly directed towards him.
“Keep it moving.” Duncliffe tugged him away. “Same thing as wolves kid, never meet the eyes.”
Audrick wasn't that foolish, other items such as a floating lantern caught his eye as they walked down the sidewalk of the street. The frail boy couldn't help but stare at a [Smith] who advertised his class on a board outside his workshop. He plunged his hand into hot coals, letting his bare skin mold molten steel, a Skill guarded him against the burning metal allowing him to treat smithing like pottery. It reminded him of the stories of the Drakenholds, of how the Drakenborn could withstand fire at birth, and how the awe inpsiring dragons of their home tested that regularly.
For some reason the man, who most definitely not Drakenborne considering the lack of scales, met Audrick’s eyes among the dozens of spectators and gave him a wink. Audrick looked away and caught up to Duncliffe who had already moved on with the flow of people. Power was calming as ambience, not anything the boy could afford to interact with directly, especially not with a man who could throw molten steel.
For better or worse there tended to be more public and disorganised displays of magic and Art in the less orderly trailing camp, seen in its very architecture of wooden buildings miraculously assembled in days and the goods peddled enthusiastically by greasy men with goods from far off places. It was chaotic, like an infinite Rivertide festival. There were even a few wandering Praetors from the church performing small miracles for the children and such.
“Fuckers think they’re the Talonguard preaching all that ‘honour’ hydrashit.” Duncliffe glared at one of the holy men receiving one back in full force. “Dont need a mediary with the Lady upstairs. What a waste of good Power.”
“............”
“Never forget kid.” He angled his voice at the poor priest. “If a holy man needs coin to be holy. HE'S A FRAUD!”
“This is for free, asshole!!”
Audrick had never paid his village’s Praetor for blessings. They had always said that was the domain of the Grand Church and other continental heretics.
“....at least the Praetors aren't as bad as the postmen yet.” Duncliffe lowered his finger, easily appeased by the Praetor’s rebuke.
The old man thought it was a waste when much more practical purposes could be met with Power, such as enchanting armour and swords, a part of Audrick had to agree with that, a single piece enchanted weaponry would be worth his life two times over. His aging mentor also complained about the absence of meat due to the lack of preservation wards. All of Audrick agreed with him on that point, soup with nothing but potatoes and grayweed got old fast.
He didn't think his mentor had to be that negative about it all though.
At the very least the wonders of Power took his mind off his nightmare. If he focused enough ,sometimes, he could just about forget where he was for just a moment. In that moment he remembered his first time seeing magic. Plating around the village square in the heat of his ninth summer, a Mage had allowed them to sit next to a {Cooling Ward} for as long as he bartered with the headsman.
He remembered the excitement as they fought for the spot where the ward was the coldest and all refused to admit it was honestly too cold there, his older brother had sat shivering for at least half an hour before surrendering his pride. Audrick himself had sat at the very edge of the ward wherein the temperature was objectively the most comfortable. Of course as usual insults of ‘pretty princess’ were slung but they all realised his genius sooner or later. His younger brother in fact had gotten a strange reaction out of the merchant mag-
“Fucking move!”
Heavendamned fucking hells.
He had forgotten he was walking through a warcamp, well the camp behind the warcamp, and he wasn't really walking at all.
“Hah, are you shaking bitch?” the ugly soldier questioned. His type always wanted to fight, only those weaker than them though.
He was, sometimes that happened, why did it have to be now though? He had thought he had begun to forget the worst of it, Merint must’ve been messing with him.
“Just move around him, you orcfaced bastard.” Duncliffe replied lazily, palming the short sword on his hip. The ugly soldier himself wore a scimitar, making the implied threat one of mutual destruction. He was big, maybe more than just orcfaced judging by his size, mixed blood wasn't all that uncommon despite Sainon’s racial isolation.
A tense second passed as Audrick wondered if he had gotten yet another person killed. But the ugly soldier had seen something in the old man’s eye and took his hand off his scimitar, raising it in the air sarcastically.
“You're no [Knight] old man.”
“And you're no [Bandit].”
“Yeah alright warhund.” the soldier laughed before leaning towards Audrick. “And don't worry buddy, I'm sure your shaky hands will make a woman very happy one day.”
The soldier’s harsh laugh faded as he left, leaving Audrick to sigh in relief as Duncliffe appraised him. His eyes looked vaguely worried as they roved over Audrick, he really didn't want to impose further on the old man so he raised his head and gave the most level expression he could manage.
“Nightmare still bugging you?” Duncliffe asked.
“Among other things.” Audrick replied jokingly.
“Hm.” Duncliffe didn't buy his tone. “Hopefully you'll be better after we get that bandaged up.”
Audrick really hoped that was true, either way they had to get going so Audrick began to walk letting Duncliffe’s longer stride overtake him in a few steps. A small crowd had stopped to watch the confrontation but they had already moved on, spats like this were all too common and only real bloodshed would keep anyone interested.
They didn't get far, only passing a few tents before hearing a familiarly playful voice.
“Lady’s grace Dun!”
He involuntarily flinched at the sudden call, the second one in half an hour, but this interruption unlike the other was more than welcome in Audrick's mind. He turned his head to look at the quickly approaching woman and did his best to look presentable. A hard task considering his clothing and the many days since his last visit to a river but he did his best.
“Ladies tits!” Duncliffe said, not seeing the speaker coming unlike the ugly man. “Someone should put a bell on you, better yet a leash.”
“And hello to you of course Audy.” The lithe soldier said to Audrick, ignoring him as she neared.
Calin was taller than Audrick, the crest of her head peaking a little above his average height. She was also much more capable, it was an open secret that she had elvish blood making her faster and more enduring, the perfect attributes to make her a talented scout/ranger. She was no Wind Walker but she was enough to be respected, especially by someone as lowly as Audrick.
Her blood could barely be seen on her sharp features and slightly longer than normal ears. Not pure enough to make her ‘elf’ but the genetic gifts were enough to give her a little status around camp. Elves were one of the few races not hated on the subcontinent of Sainon which was very lucky for Calin who had lived in Athle all her life. Her tawny hair was cut close around her objectively pretty face and she wore clean plate and leather that fit tightly around her graceful figure which Audrick appreciated. For its efficiency and competent craftsmanship of course, though he did blush when she called him Audy but that was just embarrassment.
Probably.
Impressively, she led her own ranger squad, a competent grouping of other scouts that followed her closely as she finally arrived at the pair. They exchanged greeting nods with Duncliffe and outright ignored Audrick which was both understandable and a blessing.
“Hi.” Audrick said.
Nailed it.
“Whatcha want?” Duncliffe asked, acting as if he was in a rush for some reason. “We’ve got places to be.”
Calin narrowed her eyes at Audrick's finger.
“Yeah, I see.” she said. “Suppose you're heading down to Donovan’s?”
“Nah.” he said. “Paltre’s.”
Audrick knew neither of the names but assumed Paltre’s was worse based on her expression of dismay.
“You're gonna pay extra for worse supplies?”
“Did I say something about paying?”
Somehow Calin was surprised at that and checked their surroundings before moving closer to the pair. Her squad loosely formed into a sort of shield to their conversation, reluctantly of course but they would follow their captain's lead at any cost.
“You're still paying a price idiot.” she glared at Duncliffe. “It’ll be your left hand when they catch you knuckle deep in whatever stupid scheme you're pulling.”
“Nice to know such a pretty girl cares about my hands.” Audrick’s mentor replied, making the boy duck his head in vicarious embarrassment.
Calin had to put a hand up to stop her second in command, Dane, from decking Duncliffe right then and there. He was allowed some liberties as a man of many summers but he couldn't just flap his mouth as he pleased someone worth something. Luckily the half elf had the Ladies patience and took Duncliffe’s thorns in stride, motioning Dane back with him retreating like the loyal dog he was.
“Listen Audy,” her eyes flicked at Duncliffe with irritation, “Whatever this foolish old man’s, yes your foolish Dunny, master plan is, it would be much easier if you just took whatever you needed from our squad supplies”
The offer made his heart stop for a second. It was a kindness unexpected and incredibly generous. But it couldn't be accepted. Stomach churning at what he would have to say he began to speak.
At least meet her eyes you idiot.
He couldn't. He could only mumble his denial looking at his feet.
“Sorry bu-”
“Captain!” Dane spoke over him stepping in front of Calin, arms spread in exasperation, “We are not made of coin. What do we gain from helping these two?”
“Well for one I would sleep better at night.” she replied unfazed.
“Captain, all due respect but look at him!” Dane motioned at the boy. “Hes a spearman! And they don't even let him keep his spear!”
“Okay?”
“Plus, he doesn't even want the help!” he said desperately.
Calin had nothing to respond with, seemingly acknowledging that valid point and brushing Dane aside before addressing Audrick once again.
“Is that true?”
“Y-y-”
“You’d rather follow Duncliffe into his latest folly risking everything instead of simply accepting my offer.”
He knew it was a stupid decision, but the rest of the squad were glaring and if Audrick knew one thing about himself it was that he tended to pick the idiot option. Plus Duncliffe and Audrick hadn't failed yet, at least not in a fashion that had consequences more than a couple more scars and a hasty escape.
Vice captain Dane glared at Audrick from behind her back. Dane was a man Audrick could afford to not mess with, a fully fledged soldier with the arms and plate to prove it. He would accept Duncliffe’s presence as the old man’s pride would always keep him isolated from Calin, but Audrick on the other hand, Dane saw a truth in the boy, that he was akin to a parasite. That he would latch on and drain Dane’s captain of all she was worth.
He's right but still…
In a flash of anger he wanted to accept the offer if only for the look on the stocky soldier’s face but he knew better. He at least found defiance enough to raise his head when he finally answered Calin.
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
She studied his half covered face looking for something in his earthy eyes, what she wanted from a useless boy like him Audrick could never understand, he couldn't even parse the expression she wore herself. Disappointment? Anger? Embarrassment? It all blended together on that picturesque visage.
“I'm sure you will.” she sighed. “Dane?”
“Yes ma'am?" he replied uncertaintly.
“You're allowed to object.” she said sharply. “But do it so loudly again and I'll give Leonard your pay.”
“Y-yes ma'am!" he replied while caressing the coinbag at his side.
“Well then.” She looked back at the two fools standing there awkwardly. “We have to be off to report to Commander Strare, Lady’s grace to you both.”
“Cya.” “L-lady’s grace.”
Her squad unfolded from their defensive stance walking away in lockstep, like a pack of wolves, Dane flashed him a smirk as he left walking beside and slightly behind his captain. I hope whoever Leonard is he gets that coin. Dane would be a problem in the future if Calin kept insisting on interacting with Audrick, maybe it would be best if he simply told her to stop talking to him. It would avoid incurring unnecessary attention and the vice captain's wrath.
“Oh and Audy.” The woman in question turned on her heel while walking away and flashed a brilliant smile. “Remember, quick hands are the ones you keep!” She motioned an indecipherable action with her hands eliciting an unintentional snort from Audrick. No, there were not many good things in his life, no reason to thin that herd further.
“Alright, stop smiling idiot, let's go.” Duncliffe gruffed.
He didn't.
On a sparsely populated street of the camp two men argued over a counter inside an expansive tent. One, a man of a thousand battles stretching across the decades that broke Sainon, the other, a fat master of coin known only for his large size and larger prices.
Somehow both were equally pathetic.
“Hells below do you have any joy in your life?!” the former spoke.
“Yeah right between a nice little Prowdren girl’s legs.”
“If you're wasting money on the women here you can give me a discount!”
“Didnt cost anything at all, simply a bonus from a seller.”
Disgusting. It couldn't be slavery by law but Audrick doubted anyone would want to spend a night with the rotund merchant unless coin was involved. Besides, money is a chain of its own. Whatever the case Duncliffe brushed off the remark and redoubled his distraction.
“Come on Paltre, have a little heart for an old man.”
“Always the same shit with you warhunds, war must’ve maddened you all.”
“Fuck off what do you know about war?”
“Choir’s light, will you piss off!”
Just a little further.
His arm ached as he stretched it to its maximum reaching through a hole in Paltre’s shoddy counter. On the other side laid the bandages he needed, along with a salve already in his other hand’s grip they would formulate his spoils for this little heist. The problem laid in the awkward angle he had to reach through, standing fully straight he had to shove his forearm through the hole whilst not moving his shoulder at all. He also had to make it look completely natural as well, lest Paltre figure out his real purpose here.
“Arle’s cunt! Is there really no sympathy for a man who fought off the invaders?”
Paltre’s greasy face scrunched up at that. He thought himself a man loyal to the cause of mother Sainon, ignoring that fact he made a lived gouging the poor remnants of said cause.
“If you were one of the few who actually denied the continentals you’d be dead.” he spat onto the ground behind him, he owns the floor is he stupid? “You aren't getting a better deal here you ugly bastard.”
Just a few more inches….
Audrick could feel the subtle cool of a healing potion against the back of his hand meaning he was close to his quarry. Surprising that Paltre had a potion so costly, though it was most definitely not for sale being under the counter where it could act as a lifesaving precaution for the shopkeeper. More importantly it was located next to the bandages laced with medicinal herbs out of the Plainbowl.
“Oh come on!” Duncliffe exaggerated his displeasure as a perfect distraction. “Everyone knows you markup your second rate bullshit.”
“Yeah, but you have to buy from me, right?” he sounded confident, finally figured it out.
“Eh?”
“Because you keep pulling shit like this.” Paltre said, Audrick looked up to see a finger hovering directly in front of Audrick’s head.
“U-um i was just checking fo-”
The finger closed into a fist as the greasy merchant leaned over the counter and slapped Audrick to the ground. Fuck, Paltre wasn't exactly a physical specimen but his hand was heavy and the blow left Audrick’s head ringing as he cradled it on the ground. Landing on his injured hand didn't help either, the offending limb now pounding doubly so.
“Good try though, you old fox.” Paltre’s smile made it seem like he had bested the Hells themself. “I mean seriously, great job, you manage to impress every time!”
The harsh laugh he bellowed echoed through Audrick’s head like a siege ram exacerbating the developing headache. Noticeably Duncliffe did nothing to help him except chuckle at Paltre’s venomous humor.
“Arle knows, man's gotta try.”
“A man could try better.” The way he talked so casually made it seem like he didn't take offence at the attempt. “At least with choice in apprentice.”
“Yknow, my one’s far less useless.” Paltre motioned to the back of his store before yelling in the same direction. “MICAH OUT HERE NOW!”
A bronze coloured boy with black hair stumbled out of the dark back of the tented room and stood at attention, Lady’s grace Paltre’s got him acting like a soldier, it didn't work though, he was slightly taller than Audrick and well fed but much more mousey of appearance. His colouring and hair marked him likely of Cantonese or Ashiran descent, but Athle had been his home forever so it hardly mattered. He was a kind looking boy that Audrick could imagine waltzing along the water swept fields of his home, truly a shame Paltre did nothing to match the boy’s demurity.
“Go grab whatever that pathetic rat took.” Micah’s master ordered. At that order Micah promptly strode over and roved over Audrick's body searching for the salve, he found it in Audrick's injured hand, a small bottle loosely gripped between the partially red cloth used to stem his wound. Micah's eyes met his, posing a silent question and Audrick shook his head in assurance that the injury wouldn't interfere.
The process was simple, Audrick gripped the bottle tighter forcing Micah to straddle him while he laid his side fetally, in that dark space formed between them Paltre could see nothing of what transpired between their hands. All that merchant saw was the salve being lifted up by Micah, completely blind to the supplies his ‘apprentice’ deposited in Audrick’s embrace. Micah had his reasons to betray Paltre, for one the bronze coins he took along with the salve, Audrick also supposed that a man like Paltre wasn't the type of master to inspire much loyalty.
“Oh and while you're down there take off that ratty mask of his.” the bastard ordered casually glancing at Duncliffe. “Best I recognise the rat’s face if he comes round again.”
“Not in the cards.” Duncliffe spoke with no humor any longer, a deep scratchy tone denying the order. “Cant let that one happen old friend.”
“Huh?” The pathetic merchant actually looked surprised at that, mirroring Audrick's own shock. “Wait, so you try to steal from me and think you can deny me? Are you a bluecloak now old man?!”
He’s really too good to me…
The weathered soldier let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword once again donning the same threat as always, the threat was quite impotent all things considered, Duncliffe was no master and certainly no Pathwalker in any right. No, Audrick had figured out it was something in his look that made people who could likely best him back down. In Paltre’s case he could simply shout loud enough and surely a guard of some sort would deal with the nuisances. But he didn't.
“Alright fine then, get offa him boy!” Paltre said glaring at Duncliffe. “Your banned for life you old fucker.”
“Fine by me you piggy horsefucker.”
“Sorry about your hand.” Micah's accented whisper confused Audrick, He didnt cut it why apologise? Furthermore the boy glanced at their two masters arguing before leaning over to softly speak into Audrick’s ear.
“Meet me behind that one tent at the end of the block that sells those old enchanted wooden horses.” Suppressing his shiver at the near contact, Audrick was once again perplexed by what Micah wanted. He would go, of course, but still, usually they had little contact besides handing off the goods.
“- OR ILL DIG UP YOUR MOTHERS HELLSTRICKEN CORPSE AND DICK DOWN THE HOLE WHERE HER HEART WAS.”
“ARSCHLOCH TRAITOR KILL YOURS-”
Audrick left the two men to argue realising the commotion was not likely to end for a few minutes at least. They wouldn't come to blows considering Paltre’s previous hesitance but they were both pissed enough to hurl insults for long enough to meet with Micah. Finding him exactly where he said he’d be Audrick wasted no time immediately stumbling into a question.
“S-so did you want a bonus or something”
Micah looked annoyed at that for some reason, “No stupid, I just wanted to give you this.”, in his outstretched hand laid a small knife embroidered with a symbol resembling a star. “Figured you could use a new one.”
He was correct, Audrick’s current knife was an old and rusty mass produced work considered poor quality even by his own low standards, the new knife Micah held out eagerly was nothing like that. A pristine work he could imagine originating from the legendary Drakenforges or the upper echelons of the Comerciante’s endless market, it wasn't glorious in luxury sporting only a plain grey steel, but the worth of it in the smoothness of its luster and the glint that reflected of that uniform metal. Could it be veremetal or even jungle iron? Lady forbid if it was mithril or any other higher metal Micah would be wealthier than half the army with just the hilt. Whatever its material the simple fact remained the same.
“This is too much.” he said with a rare confidence. “Micah, sell this!”
With the coin from that the boy could open up a store of his own, far far away from this land of dead ends.
“I can't."
Audrick was getting tired of being confused.
“Why?!”
“Listen.” Leaning closer than ever Micah’s voice dropped to a sharp whisper. “I found it in a black bag by the side of a drain before Merint. I know better than to hold onto something like this…. At least I thought I did.”
Audrick swallowed his own fear as Micah’s deadly serious tone cut through any anxiety caused by their faces close proximity. He continued speaking to Audrick allowing his words to travel only the few inches to his confidant and no further.
“But I took it. I shouldn't have, now I'm rectifying that. This is yours now. Sell it, use it, throw it into a well, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that it was always your knife.” Sometime while he was talking his hand had begun tightly gripping Audrick’s shoulder. “I would’ve just thrown it away, but you could use this. It's a stupid risk, one that will have the true owner after you if they ever catch wind, and after me once they're done with you. But still I do this because I don't want you to die, Audrick.”
“B-but still come o-”
“Shut up.” he began pulling away, hand lingering for only a moment more. “I’ve stolen and schemed enough from the fat bastard to strike it out on my own. We won't ever talk again, Audrick.”
That made his stomach drop. Granted they did not speak much, but still, Micah was firmly on the side of ‘good things’ in Audrick’s life. Seeing him go would be sad, but the auburn haired boy knew he had no right to ask anything of Micah. That he ever thought of someone like me in the first place is enough. All Audrick could do was take the burden of the weapon offered. Micah's last gift would not go to waste.
The threat of retribution did worry him slightly. But it was just another hypothetical to keep him up at night, besides, his life expectancy wasn't exactly stellar in the first place. The only danger that really mattered was that Micah might be implicated in any shadowy revenge plot. Hopefully he would be far enough away so that it wouldn't matter even if Audrick’s throat was slit in the night.
“Um.” Audrick was aware his voice sounded pathetic. “So what exactly are you planning to do? I-i mean i dont need to know but i would like to, n-not for any particular reason.”
Micah didn't respond immediately as Audrick trailed off instead looking up to the sky seemingly forming an answer to that question on the spot.
“Ill go somewhere peaceful. A place growing.” his face was hopeful as he spoke. “Maybe somewhere in Anglia or Athire. Pff perhaps ill leave the Talon Kingdom all together, take up shop on Ashira Bay or, if the stories are true, head into the Treaty Lands and be a part of Saille Dor’s resurgence.”
Audrick wondered if a future like that could ever be his own, a road that promised something besides dead ends. He couldn't even imagine what that would look like. Before everything, when he lived in his home, he had hopes and dreams. Too much, many had said. To grow up and become a Knight of honor, or a wondrous Mage, or prince wealthy beyond belief or just to till the fields of wheat and greystalk till the sun fell. Those aspirations had been swept away in the tides of his failure. But for the first time in a long time, he did think of something beyond just dying alone in the depths of camp Ardor.
Though for now at least, there was only one thing he could do. He took Micah’s hand in his, squeezing it before taking the knife and spoke of his own hastily created wish.
“I hope I can visit whatever you end up creating.” Audrick maintained an even tone for once. “Wherever you end up creating it.”
“I hope that too.” he replied, eyes straight looking forward into Audrick’s. “Dont die here.”
The sincerity of the order dampened Audrick’s sadness as Micah began to walk away transforming the feeling in his gut into a bittersweet melancholy. He wasn't exactly a friend, but he was something that was probably more worthwhile to Audrick nowadays. Someone who didn't want him to die.
In that moment Audrick resolved to meet the Lady’s embrace as far in the future as possible. Hopefully the star symbolised knife could help in that.
“The hell was that.”
“AHHHH!”
Audrick jumped in fright as Duncliffe somehow managed to sneak up on him. It should not have been a possible feat under all the laws of the world but somehow the man had done it. His mentor slapped him on the back, continuing even as Audrick panted, heart racing from the scare.
“Strange farewell kid.” Duncliffe chuckled. “Reminds me of when I left my ex-wife.”
“H-hells, you had a w-wife?” Audrick asked through heavy breaths.
“Yeah.” He chuckled harder. “She was a wonderful piece of steelwork.”
“Your wife was a sword?” He sighed.
“A beautiful one.”
“Um, no more Paltre’s right?”
“Obviously.” Duncliffe seemed exuberant at never seeing the fat merchant again. “That kid give you everything?”
“Yeah”
He didn't mention the knife, figuring Duncliffe would probably just dump it immediately, which was the smart option but Audrick couldn't really find the will to care about that right now. He handed the bag of supplies to Duncliffe who quickly applied one of the bandages to Audrick’s wound tight enough to last days at least. All in all, everything had gone exceedingly well so far. Putting aside Micah’s departure he had gotten everything he set out for and more considering the knife he wrapped in cloth and hid away from prying eyes. Despite the unfortunate beginning the day was shaping to be one of the best since leaving the village.
They walked back to the main camp, going through the gatehouse under the watch of the [Guards] and Audrick once again tensed up in preparation for them to shout his name and subsequently strike him down. But as the seconds passed and they crested under the oaken arch, no such event transpired.
And that was the trick in full. The [Guards] would never know Audrick had made any theft at all. Because he hadn't. He had simply ‘traded’ with Micah.
Cutting out Paltre was just business, not a true robbery.
Audrick would never not laugh at that particular truth. Despite everything, he could still find some joy in his pitiful life. Micah had told him not to die here, Audrick didn't know if he could honor that wish, what with all the war and poverty, but he figured he would try his best.
I’ll live for that wish, if nothing else.
“I don't care about some stupid knife.”
Dumb fucking bastard.
The bastard in question sat on a tree twirling a double sided shortblade while whinging about the assignment. It was a strange sight, to see someone decked out in [Assassin] black whine like a little girl for minutes on end. The garments he wore made him blend into the shadows courtesy of countless enchantments and maybe a Skill or two. It was a mark of the other’s faith in the young man that they would send him here outfitted in such a valued cloak. You’d think that would be enough to impress the importance of their mission.
“I mean so what? Some dickhead gets a fancy new blade? Who car-”
“No loose ends.” A knife implanted itself in the tree next to the whiner’s head. “Ever.”
The young man took the knife out of the tree and began inspecting it. The other man, who threw it, kept his eyes on the nimble hands running down the blade bracing for a retaliation. Disturbingly, all the young man did was lick the knife before handing it back. He did so with a grace proving he at least had some skill with the blade. Unfortunately that skill did not extend to proper operational conversation.
Please dont start yapping a-
“Sooooo,” Fuck, “we’re gonna find the lost magic knife thingy in this forest?” the young man asked, lazing back against the tree.
“Did you not get briefed?” The serious man was genuinely perplexed at this point.
“Kinda hard to hear the boss’s orders through all the moaning.” He replied offhandedly whilst playing with his blade once again, infuriatingly casual despite confessing an executable offence. “Heh, hard.”
If the leader of his cell seriously had any relations with this dipshit I'll see them executed myself.
The behaviour of the young man went beyond unprofessionalism, it bordered on treason at this point. He tensed at that thought, treason, he had once, in his early years with the cells, seen a comrade convicted of that horrible crime. He wished to never see something so brutal happen again. But the young man was really getting on his nerves.
“Okay, first, it's called the Initialisation Tool and yes, while it cannot be traced back to us, we must tie up the loose end of its theft.” the man exasperatedly explained. “Secondly, no, we will not find it in this forest. You child.”
“Thennnnnnnnnn why are we here? You man.”
Good question for once.
“Because the false thread told us too.”
The device in question remained inert ever since they reached this location. The man was beginning to think it was simply out of charge rather than working as normal, he hoped the next few hours would reveal which it was.
“Well since we’re just waiting around.” The young man padded across the large branch towards him, voice tinged with what he clearly thought was a seductive lilt. “Wanna have some fun?”
“No.”
“Why not? Are the women here better than me?”
“Prowdre women are terrible.” he sighed. “So yes they are far superior to you.”
For some reason the young man giggled at his response. Hells below, is this really what we’ve come to? No, a thought like that was treason on its own, the man would just have to have faith in the cell leaders and their judgement.
But if the whiny fucker kept getting closer, he might just make a judgement of his own. A gut decision that would likely end with one of their corpses dangling from the treeline. A bad idea probably. But a tempting one nonetheless. Unfortunately the serious man wanted to live a little longer and so the annoying bastard would survive the night.
“Cmon I know you’re packing more than a knife down there.”
Damn the Stars.
Lady’s Grace, it was so tempting.
And so the two cloaked men, sent from a thousand leagues away, waited for something to happen from their perch. In the untampered design they would stay there for days, bickering and waiting, but eventually losing hope and returning with nothing but shame to their masters. Well, at least one of them would.
Yet this time, for a reason beyond its knowledge, the false thread within one of the men’s pockets shivered as something greater touched upon it.
The thread broke.
And the men would not wait much longer.