Fable - Ask Of Wheel & Woe [Veithir]

Veithir was reminded of a Duanann's might with young Aethiriin's latest fit. How frighteningly powerful they were with their dominion over the aspects, rules, and concepts that constituted the world. Especially scary was the temper of a girl whose grasp of her power was fickle.

It was his favorite skillet that snapped at the handle. Sizzling oil splashed across the stove top and the back of his wrist, and a perfectly seared sole filet dropped to the ground. Just excellent.

Thiri and Vei only occasionally ate together. She preferred mingling with the later hours, and his day started early for this and that. Preparing Thiri's meal was often the last thing Veithir did before he retired for the evening.

Cleaning the mess and tending to his fresh burn set Veithir back several precious minutes from his evening routine. The smell of cooking fish had somewhat masked the thick reek of incense that invaded his home, but the pleasant scent of food cleared out and all that remained was that head-throbbing stench Thiri would only ever burn in defiance to him.

The floor-filet went to the oven. As Vei sat to finally eat, the decision to add a final touch of pepper from the grinder brought another stroke of misfortune as the cap popped off and covered the filet with a small mountain of peppercorns. There was a twitch in his brow. He brushed the spillage away and cut away the soiled parts of the filet to salvage the meal. He ate in complete silence.

Some time later a single knock on Thiri's door interrupted her from her thoughts.

"Child," Veithir spoke through the door with a hand raised to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. Approaching her room from the hall had been like a thousand mile march. He never once raised his voice at Thiri, but addressing her without using her name was always evidence of his frustration. "Your meal is ready. If you would, please open the windows. I am off to bed. Good night."

Her favorite food prepared in her favorite way awaited her. Veithir was never one to spoil Thiri, but he did hope to make amends with his cooking.

Veithir could only blink at where he knew the ceiling was. He preferred sleeping in utter darkness. Curtains drawn closed to block out the moonlight, and his candles, so faintly-scented that one would ask why bother with any scent at all, unlit. It was comfortable that way. And the darkness was no obstacle to Veithir. He would have drifted into a deep sleep quite easily were it not for that damned incense. It assailed his nostrils and made its way up into the front of his skull, causing a deep throb, throb, throb, to hinder his efforts of a good night's rest.

He occupied his unrest with thoughts of death, among many other things. But mostly death. All things that begin must end, some sooner than others. The Puca understood and accepted this fact at an age not much older than what Aethiriin was. He was never mournful over loss, whether it was a life or the withering of a flower. It was natural.

And then he met and loved Marian.

And then Baenon passed.

How is it that what is natural is also so unfair?

What would you do about Aethiriin, Marian? You would have been a great, loving mother, I'm sure. And what about you, Baenon? You would know the correct thing to do. You always had a plan.

Veithir's eyes pinched close for a while until quiet scratching at his door pulled him from his grim thoughts. Ah. The familiar is about. He was used to it now. It would bump the door, scratch it. Let Veithir know that, "Hey, I'm here!" and be on with its business.

Scratch, scratch, scratch!

It cried out with a hollow-sounding echo of a meow. With a grumble, Veithir rose from bed and answered the door. Cinpher sneaked through the crack, and shadows danced across the room as red light pooled in with the creature. It circled his feet, bumped his ankle with its skull, and sat and looked up expectantly at a frowning Veithir.

He wandered into the hall, then to the kitchen. Cinpher followed at his heels.

Veithir loudly clicked his tongue upon seeing the untidy kitchen table. What a mess. And left the dishes, too. This tantrum was a serious one. Thiri always neatly stacked her plates and silverware in or by the basin. He immediately made for her room. Approaching it, he could see her door left open. Odd.

"Child, need I remind-" he stepped into an empty, lifeless room. His nose impulsively scrunched up. "Child?" his voice carried into all the rooms of his home.

Barefooted, Veithir's step made no sound, but the house's foundation shuddered with each hurried step he took. "Child!" Back in the kitchen. In his room. The workshop was empty, too.

As he crossed the walkway between the workshop and his home, his voice echoed throughout the woods.

"AETHIRIIN!"

Veithir was dressed and out the door in no time. He wore all black, rarely any other color, and his favored black cape fashioned from a giant shuck pelt that he had hunted ages ago with Baenon. He descended the stairs leading down from his home two at a time, drifting with grace like a specter.

The Hound could track as well as the next huntsman, but it wasn't his specialty. The Scourge was only called upon when there was a need to stack corpses into a mountain. It was well within his capacity to find a runaway youth, however. She knew Liagin well, and her ambition for the Sluagh was the root of his problem. Deducing she would make for there first, Veithir set off.

Mmmmreeow!

Ten paces away, Cinpher stood alert, bony nose pointed opposite to where he was walking. Veithir stopped and turned.

Mmmmre-

The familiar melded into the night. It blew away in a streak of black smog in the direction it faced. A cloud of black, shimmering with a dull red glow, whipped between the trees. Veithir sprinted after it, but was too slow to keep up.

Just as well. All he needed was direction.

Veithir would put his faith in the pet's senses. There were few places worth mentioning to the south. Scattered villages and towns, the nearest being Leaffall. His forked tongue rapidly flicked out into the air and he corrected his course. He, too, would start there. Finding no need to follow the familiar's trail, Veithir decided to take the quickest and most direct route to the village.

Uneasiness set in. He knew the fae wilds were deep and dangerous to unwitting travelers. A night stroll was one thing, but to set off aimlessly into the night... Perhaps Thiri had a plan, but perhaps not.

He only hoped that with her lead on him she would arrive at Leaffall without issue. The people there were kind and welcoming, but the same couldn't be said of the night creatures between here and there.

Veithir's step quickened.

For a while, Veithir only thought about the plate he'd left behind on the table. Aethiriin had never eaten so ferociously before. The silverware didn't budge. How long did she stare at it, he wondered, before she decided to tear the meal apart with her bare hands. The girl was surgical in her defiance to Veithir. She knew the best ways to get under his skin.

What a burden. What a bother. Why did it have to be me? Such thoughts never occurred to Veithir. But he entirely fumbled through this new task of having to care for another being. To be a mentor. A parent. A step back would do him good. Focused on the leaf, one cannot see the tree. Focus on only the tree, and you will miss the whole forest. When was the last time he asked Aethiriin how she felt? Had they talked about anything of meaning lately?

He avoided tripping on thick roots or getting tangled in thorny shrubs without losing a step of his pace. Faefolk were mostly graceful by nature, but there was an efficiency of movement to Veithir only acquired by several tens, maybe hundreds of years of diligence. Veithir never missed a day of running. His practiced, trained form was evidence of his commitment, and it was a good time to think. Sometimes it would be intellectual conversations or debates he'd had with Baenon, other times song, art, or a new recipe for a meal. He thought of many things, but rarely the past.

The thicket grows thinner, and soon Veithir comes across a lightly-walked trail. Good. He would be upon Leaffall soon enough. The Puca begins to think of what he'll say to Aethiriin when he catches up to her.

Veithir felt a physical change in the air in the time span of a breath. A tingle, a stimulation caused by ley magic caused him to realize that he came closer to Leaffall only because his approach was permitted. A ward. Hastily erected with a rudimentary application. Veithir had no trouble entering, so he deduced that the same applied to Aethiriin.

Leaffall was a quiet, secluded place. What had disturbed their peace to warrant the necessity of a barrier? The not so far-off lantern lights held the answer, but locating the child came first.

"You there! Halt!"

Glints of steel flashed under torchlights. Passersby were always welcomed in Leaffall, entrance never denied or permitted by standing guards. And yet...

"Step into the light where we can see you! Slowly, at that." One of the two guards firmly commanded.

Veithir obliged, and with raised hands announced himself, "It is Veithir."

The silver hair. Green eyes. Those slit pupils. Right. That Veithir. The Hound saw the realization flash across the pair's faces. The spears were quickly pointed skyward, away from the Viper so as not to provoke his ire. They were crudely fashioned, whittled from long, windy branches taken from the nearby wyld.

"Our deepest apologies," the other finally spoke. The guards shared a hesitant glance, and he spoke again, "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I must speak with Nuala. It is urgent."

---

....

"I see. I'm sorry to say that nobody has seen the girl. And before you, the ward has not been disturbed. If she is here, then she's exceptionally sly." Nuala contemplatively twirled a soft, thick lock of white hair around her finger. There were bags under her eyes, and her jaw was firmly set.

"I have yet to teach Aethiriin such things," Veithir's face was a lithic mask, unchanging despite the anxiety he felt. He tightly wrings his hands together in his lap. "She has yet to arrive, or worse yet, is lost in the wyld. Would you spare some of your pack for a search party?"

Nuala winces, as if the question had inflicted a terrible wound upon her. No, not quite that. She turns her rueful, desperate gaze upon the Hound.

"Speak."

"I have lost pups, Veithir. Taken from me in the dark of night. And we are not fighters," Nuala nearly chokes on her words, "I cannot send my kin out into the wyld against the unknown, and though I have requested aid from the Court, I have yet to receive word. You know I hold little influence since my exile from the sept."

"I understand," Veithir replies curtly. An almost cold response to a longtime friend. He meant no offense, but rather he was quick to grasp the situation and come to terms with reality.

Teary-eyed now, Nuala's voice quivered, "Oh, Veithir! It pains me so to fail you in your time of need. You and Baenon have done so much for us, and I owe you a debt that I can never hope to repay. And yet... and yet...!"

A distant meowl echoes not through the space between Vei and Nuala, but it is heard in their minds.

"There is no debt," Veithir rose from his seat across from the weeping Cwn. He pauses a moment to think, and takes a step closer to rest his hand on Nuala's shoulder. "I must go find Aethiriin now. Have faith. If your children live, I will return them to you."

He stepped out of Nuala's home into the cold night. Hearing Cinpher's distant cry again, he followed the sound to the edge of Leaffall's ward to find the creature on its hind legs scraping its paws against the invisible barrier. As Veithir approaches, it settles down and skips in a frantic circle by his feet.

"Show me the way."

Following Cinpher gave Veithir ample time to think. He thought about his lost sleep and that he'd have to strengthen the brew of his morning tea. He thought about his promise to his friend Nuala, who ages ago was exiled from her sept. Alone and friendless, with no knowledge of the world and cruelty of mortals, she was captured by fae hunters. It had been by pure chance - sheer dumb luck that Baenon and Veithir saved her from a terrible fate. He thought about Aethiriin, his mishandlings as her guarding, and the potential danger she was in.

Despite feeling rather calm about the situation, Veithir had been in quite the hurry. How many of her pups were taken? Having to save more than a few without alerting the camp would pose quite the challenge. Questions that needed asking had been skipped over, and he left home without grabbing so much as a paring knife. Hardly ideal gear to take on a lounge of lizardfolk while having to worry about children.

The air thickened with the stench of foul ritual magic. The flow of ley magick contorted as he neared closer to the source. Veithir was not somebody with a deep connection to nature, but even he could feel the wyld cry out in pain to him.

The Hound's pace slowed as the distant lights of a camp came into view. He crouched low. The thin web of his markings peeking out from the collar of his garb emitted a faint glow around him. Baenon was always much for suited for subtlety. Cinpher, who sat right under the Puca, curiously looked up. The pet was an even more inconspicuous beacon than he.

"Shroud yourself, little one. You have done well. Leave the rest to me." Veithir lowered a pair of fingers to the creature's skull. Cin chirps, and bumps his fingertips with its forehead before vanishing into a black mist.

Veithir pulls the hood of his cloak over his head. A cold descends over his body. The feeling of frigid, invisible hands grasp at his arms and legs. They pull at his very mind. He focuses his senses, and with conviction utters an Iza incantation. The cloak's invasive magic dissipates, and a feeling of safety within the shadows overcomes Veithir.

He moves like a specter towards the camp. His body casts no glow, his footfalls make no sound. He doesn't even emit a scent, nor is his bountiful vitality able to be detected by the lesser creatures within the camp. Vei skirts around the camp's perimeter, and feeling prepared, sneaks his way in between haphazardly constructed tents.

The clansfolk surround a bonfire raging in the middle of the camp. Closer to the fire, hissing guttural chants, were shamans in bone headdresses. Their thick, scaly hides were marked with streaks of paint. Each intonation reverberated with a wicked power. Locked in a cage across the way were three of Nuala's pups, huddled together and quivering in fear. Veithir remained there for a moment longer, made certain that Aethiriin was not among them, and scouted the rest of the camp.

As he prowls about, muffled cries draw his attention to a large tent not far from the ritual. He circles the tent, to hear the two other... voices. There was no hope in even trying to decipher what they were saying. It was a tongue completely unfamiliar to the huntsman. But a flick of his tongue ascertains Thiri's presence.

Veithir springs into action, dashing through the tent flaps enwreathed in black wispy tendrils. His eyes dart between the two massive frames before him, and he lunges on the closest one. The fur of Veithir's cloak stood on end and the shadows that clung to him latched onto the lizardman as the two briefly grappled. The torch it held dropped to the ground and was extinguished by the cloak's magic.

Consume it! Veithir willed the cloak as he released his hold, kept himself low to the ground and pounced on the next. It removed itself off of Veithir, exposing him, and began to coil itself around the lizardman. The tendrils tightened over the brute, squeezing with a terrifying force, forcing its limbs to contort in unnatural angles. Shadows snuck under its armor and burrowed into its scales, digging in deep, sapping the creature of life as bones began to snap and metal crumpled. It writhed and twitched and began to let out a shrill cry of pain, but was muffled by the cloak. Forced to remain on its feet, the creature was crushed to death.

Veithir ducked under the swipe of a sharp-clawed hand, and stabbed his hand through a gap in its armor, impaling the creature up to his elbow. He grabs its shoulder with his free hand, and squeezes with such force that his fingers tear into its flesh. Veithir's markings flare and fill the unlit tent with a blue-white glow, and with a newly acquired herculean strength forces the clansman onto its knees.

He releases his grip on the creature, pulls his arm out of its ribcage, and grabs onto the creature's upper and lower jaws. He strains his muscles and pulls. The lizard desperately grabs Veithir's arms. He pulls harder. His muscles strain. The creature weakly hammers balled fists against his chest. His shoulders.

"HIIIISSSSSSSSS!"

It was like the sound of ripping bedsheets. A spray of red covered the Hound in the lizard's most vital fluids. Veithir lets the creature slump onto the earth, but he held onto the upper half of its head for a moment before tossing it aside. He slings his arms, splattering flesh blood around him. He wipes his face with an unsullied part of his sleeve, and turns to Aethiriin in a hurry.

"Aethiriin!" he kneels in front of her and grabs her shoulders to set her upright. He spots her shackles and his brows furrow in mild concern. Search them, he orders the cloak. Return.

Black rapidly swirls around Veithir's form, and burning like fire in his palm rested a key attached to a large ring. He quickly unbinds the child and kicks the shackles away, tossing the keyring with them.

"Bear with the pain," he gives warning just a breath before peeling the binding over her lips. Then, he pulls her into a tight embrace.

"I feared the worst. I am so sorry, Aethiriin," he whispers into her ear.

He could not imagine the pain and fear the girl felt, and let her weep into him. But time was no ally. He grabs her shoulders and separated her from him to lock onto her eyes. Her expression plunged a dagger into his heart.

"We must go, and you must stay close. As close to my heels as you can be, do you understand?"

With Aethiriin in his grasp and her safety and relative well-being assured, what began to concern him, even more than the horde of lizardfolk that surrounded them, was the child's power. Veithir would have to soothe her nerves. Hah! For him it would be simpler to slay the rest of the clan with his bare hands than to pick out the correct words to calm her down.

His grip loosens on the girl's shoulders. He gently holds her steady before him and begins to wipe her messy face with his sleeve.

"Fret no longer about them, Aethiriin. For I am here, and now you are invincible." Veithir could sense that the camp was vaguely aware of the disturbance. Within seconds they would likely be discovered, and shortly after the entire clan of lizardfolk would be upon them. "Take my hand, dear child, and trust in it to keep you safe. Trust in me."

He drops his wrist from Thiri's face and offers a very rare smile and even rarer, his wit, "I think the shame of it would be your end, but I will carry you from here if I must."

Veithir pitilessly tugged Thiri along has he darted through the camp. Everything was a blur of tents and torchlights. He heard a shrill hiss, and then horns, and then the hustle and clamor of the clanfolk gathering their arms.

He raises his free hand and quickly makes a sign, and points his index and middle fingers out at an approaching lizardfolk. Vei recites an incantation and a green-black bolt of pure magick streaks through the air with a high-pitched crack. A cry of pain sounds out and the monster collapses in the dirt.

As he and Thiri dart between tents, the Hound thinks about the promise made to Nuala. It would certainly make things easy if they had been made into a meal, but easy would not be best. He did intend to stay true to his word and save them, but it would be impossible while keeping an eye on the child.

He would have to return to the camp once Thiri was taken back to Leaffall.

They run deep into the woods, and once he was certain that the lizardfolk had given up pursuit, he stops at last to allow Thiri a moment to rest. From the shadows, the familiar joins the pair and sounds out with a concerned mew.

"You're safe now," Veithir says as the child catches her breath.