Fable - Ask Breaking The Chains

The saga continues.

The old spook nodded to itself, cloaked in shadow. The only illumination came from a cauldron, or rather the not-quite fire that burned beneath it. The surface of the vessel was blacker than the deepest cave, darker than the abyss at the bottom of the ocean. Occasionally a shadowy shape wrought in silvery light would surface and then disappear into the inky darkness.

The figure looked on.

"The break, it will come," said the leather-cased creature. The voice was that of a woman, high pitched and grating. It tittered a laugh to itself.

"Slow, she is," it said again. This time it was an entirely different voice, male and gravelly.

"Does it matter? Does it matter? Why would it matter? Why should it matter?" The high-pitched voice whined again, and the figure laughed again, gravelly and derisive.

"If not her, then another." The sultry voice of a temptress, low and throaty.

Each voice came from the single individual standing before the cauldron. They were of indifferent height, wearing a cowled robe. Their face lay hidden behind a leather mask such that only the mouth and eyes were visible. Or, at least, the holes where such things would lie. The darkness behind the mask allowed nothing but teeth to gleam and the indeterminate shine of eyes - devoid of color and character and soul - to glisten.

"No other. The time of waiting is done. We will find her."

The last voice was cold, ancient and distant as the stars in the sky. The otherworldly timbre reverberated through the undefined space where Traveler stood. There was a presence that rolled off of the strange being in waves. Soul-crushing and implacable as any force of nature, tinged with the poison of chaos.

"She escaped once."

"She will not escape again."

"All the time in the world will not be enough to elude us."

"We will finish what we started."

"What we started! We started! An ending!"

An ending. It was close. So close. The hooded figure reached out a gloved hand and, with great care, ran a finger across the black surface of the cauldron. The dragonette claw sewn into the leather stirred silvery light from within its depths, sending a coruscating wave outward.

Across the surface.

Beyond it.

Ever outward...

---

...the only thing holding you to them might be your own fear...

The shaman was in the grip of anger now, even if that anger was born of the fear that Alistair had accused her of. It was the truth that she would never, ever admit to herself that kindled that flame. And yet even so, she would not raise her hand against Traveler out of the very fear of reprisal.

It was not physical chains that bound the No'rei to them. Some existential dread seemed to cling to the idea of defying them.

The land had swiftly changed from the hilly, forested country of the Falwood into the ever more sparsely wooded rolling hills that preceded the great Sea of Grass. So close to the Aberessai the air and land became more sere. The town was not an expected feature of the mostly empty Sea even if it was beyond the range of her people and their endless war with anyone and everyone who stepped foot on their sacred soil.

She did not know the name of this place, and did not care. It was like so many other settlements on the fringe; a hub for trade along the margins of the wild and inhospitable grasslands. The major trade routes between Vel Anir and Alliria ran through this part of the world. It was considered safer by many than crossing the grasslands or going through the forest; one was the haunt of unfriendly tribals, the other the domain of thieves and bandits.

As such, it consisted of the expected main street, with its muddy rutted road running through the heart of the settlement and the usual collection of rough wooden structures thrown up on either side. A dozen wagons stood in the wide main avenue with their draft animals left in the traces. Local farmers, mostly. One 'van made up half of the people in town. The guard sat on barrels or leaned against the wooden beams that held up the awnings of the storefronts and eyed everyone else in town with the disinterested menace common to their kind.

She rode into town on a dusty paint. The mare was probably as tired as she was, riding night and day since the latest and last of the strange ordeals that Traveler had orchestrated. Her clothes - such as they were - were travel stained. They also marked her out quite clearly as one of the natives from out on the Sea; a loin cloth and chest wrap in dull brown and faded blue and grey, festooned with the same bone charms and feathers and bits of colored cloth as the braid down her back were as clear as a written sign.

Especially to those who lived on the border between civilization and the so-called savages beyond its grasp.

She guided her mount to the rail in front of a way house. It was the wrong time of year for it to be packed to the brim; aside from the merchants in the caravan hobbled in the street and the handful of guards, there were few others. Certainly few others that were of any means. The rail only had a few other horses tied to them. Slipping from the saddle and swaying on her feet as she landed, she tied the reins off as well and went inside.

It was early evening. The light pouring through the windows held that golden, honey-like quality that only came when the shadows were long. There were a surprising number of patrons at the tables in the large room inside. The low murmur of conversation continued on as if she had not entered even if a few of the patrons looked up and gave her a second glance.

An oddity. Uncommon among civilized lands but not unheard of. Maybe if she wasn't trying to elude some spook - and if she hadn't been so tired - she might have tried to attract more attention to herself.

Too tired to exaggerate the sway of hips. Too hungry to care about eyes. Her twisted, scarred left arm ached abominably after being jolted and bounced for many long hours. It did not make her mood especially good, either.

She stepped up to the counter. There was no bar here, merely a place to keep the strongbox and to keep records of who was staying and who not, and what they owed. There was no one manning it now; judging by the sound of crockery and metal coming from the door nearby, she judged it to be the kitchen and likely where the person she was looking for was.

There was nothing to do but wait, try to shake off the feeling of being watched.

The woman that bustled out of the kitchen swept past her without so much as a sidelong look. Aeyliea's eyes followed her as she hurried to a table with someone's meal. Not a word was spared for the white-haired tribal. Her eyes narrowed, her face darkening further at the perceived slight.

She clenched her good hand into a fist as the woman slipped past again, clearly ignoring her as she went. The patron at the table offered her an odd look; she returned the look with an acidic one of her own. She was exhausted, though, so there would be no words. Anger was tempered by fear, regardless. Anyway, her common was inadequate to a real good tongue-trashing.

She waited with bad grace, arm throbbing in time with her heart.

When the woman came back out and started toward the table, again bypassing her, she stepped into her path with both hands planted on her hips and a tired, dangerous light in her eyes. "Not ignore," she snapped.

The woman, for her part, blinked as though surfacing from some distraction or another. She looked at Aeyliea as though seeing her for the first time, then shook her head. "Apologies, miss," she said as she took in her guest. Her eyes might have tightened a bit at the scales visible on neck and shoulders. Understandable, given her kith and kin's predilection to violence. "I just need to-"

"Need food. Now. For...not here. To leave with me," she said in her thickly accented common. She gestured toward the door to emphasize her desire to eat and run, as it were.

"...but..," the hostess began, but Aeyliea cut her off with a growl.

"Now! Not ... have time. Must go," she snapped. Anger was edged with distinct unease, and she kept glancing back at the door as if expecting some kind of trouble to walk in at any time.

The tribal made a frustrated sound at the back of her throat, already opening her mouth to protest. Unfortunately, the hostess had used the opening offered by the stranger to slip away. Aeyliea said something exceptionally unflattering in the flowing tongue of her people, stamping a foot and making a complex gesture at the swinging door.

Part of her mind screamed to just forget this and leave. She could go many days without food and water, certainly many more than she already had. Her kindred were hardy and well adapted to the dry interior and tough as nails beside. The twisted, scarred left arm was testament enough to that; the wound that had crippled the limb would have killed most. It would have been a source of pride for her if not for the fact that it greatly complicated her life.

She turned her steel-blue eyes to Zephyrine. There was an anxiety in them she would not admit to. They were also as hard as the steel they looked like.

Aeyliea looked back to the kitchen and then to Zephyrine again, clearly weighing some decision. After a moment she let out a breath and sat. She eyed the woman across from her warily, trying to understand why a stranger would even offer such a thing.

She wouldn't. She distrusted the other, even if the extreme xenophobia had been... curbed... in recent months.

"Why?" The single word was hard as her eyes. Her eyes drifted to the door without her being conscious of it. "Not know me. Many not like me and...mine?"

She nodded curtly to the young woman. "Rather take food, go. In hurry. Must make it to the Sea," she said distractedly. She strained senses other than physical, trying to sense the off-putting aura of Traveler coming from the distance. The breath of the land whispered nothing of their presence.

Didn't mean anything. She had never seen what the creature was capable of, but there was a certain sense of existential dread that the spook managed to cloak round their personage like an outer garment. She had little doubt that they were an accomplished sorcerer of some kind.

Magic was not her realm. Cold steel and grit were her bailiwick.

She absently rubbed at her left arm as she stared at the door, thoughts of food momentarily forgotten. The twisted, raw looking scar that seemed to have eaten away at her flesh throbbed dully as it always did.

Lying was not a strong suit of hers. Really, it wasn't a trait many of her people had; honesty, especially brutal honesty, was a common thing among a people that considered falsehood to be dishonorable and a good reason to drub someone.

Or slit their throat.

"Not know," she said after thinking on whether she would answer or not. "Maybe trouble, maybe not." She eyed the door again, but whatever it was she was looking for did not appear. The appallingly oppressive feel of elder sorcery did not suddenly descend upon them.

People went about their business as though there was nothing wrong which, she supposed, was the truth.

A bowl of soup and a plate with bread on it appeared as if by magic; the proprietress had descended swiftly upon their table and deposited her load with only a murmured wish that she enjoy her meal before bustling off to take care of other guests.

Without any case for how it looked, she took the bread and opened the bag slung at her hip and secreted the crusty piece away for later after wrapping it in a cloth that she kept inside. She eyed the soup with deep suspicion, though. Not standard fare for her, and a thing that seemed uniquely and outsider thing to eat.

She stuck a finger in it and then to her mouth, expression odd as the flavor filled her mouth. She wasn't sure she liked it, but calories were calories. She picked the bowl up and began to drink it slowly.

She let loose a bitter laugh, shaking her white-maned head so that the various things woven into it clicked and fluttered. If only she could give an answer to the question. It was even odds if she would have answered, anyway, but she certainly could not do it if she herself did not understand...

...well, anything. She could pry no pieces loose on this enigmatic journey. Her flight was born of instinct and premonition and little else.

"Not know," she said with an affected shrug, as though she were unbothered. Couldn't be further from the truth, though. Likely was ineffective in the misdirection, as well; misdirection was not a well-honed trait. Among her kindred, directness was prized. "Will not be chained, not more. Enough, have had. But...not want to let me go," she said.

She was certain, absolutely certain, that she would not be allowed to simply walk away. Unaware of its gradual strengthening, it was then that she noticed an unpleasant... Something. Something in the air, like a spectral smell as foul as the djini of the desert.

Her eyes swiveled to the door again, locked there.

"Not understand," she said as she finished off the bowl. It was probably quite good, after the local fashion. To her tongue, it was bland and lacked sufficient spice. The important thing was that it was food, calories to be burned. She could go quite some time without eating or drinking. It wasn't a pleasant experience though. "Fight what you know, not what is not known. Traveler ... unknown. May be strong?"

Quite likely exceptionally strong. Either that leather-clad individual was terrifyingly powerful, else they were utterly mad. The savage was quite sure that there was no reason why it couldn't, and wasn't, both.

She stood suddenly, grabbing the bread with her bad hand. There was no point in staying here any longer than absolutely necessary.

And then the door to the common room opened. The being that stepped into the opening was...underwhelming. Aeyliea went still as those eyes roved over the patrons in the room and settled on her with the inevitability of death.

They were clad from head to toe in a leather case; leather leggings, vest, and boots and a leather mask that concealed their face such that only the eyes showed and those black, icy pits without a trace of humanity in them. The creature wore a leather hood, drawn up so that most of their face was in shadow.

"Time... to leave," she said, and turned to suit her words.

"Leaving," was all the savage said in response. There was uncertainty in her voice born of the unknown; the creature in the door was a mystery and had been for over a year. Without waiting for reply, the No'rei rushed through the door into the back of the common room to the angry squawk of the proprietor who rushed to follow with little heed for the weapon on Aeyliea's back.

The creature stared after Aeyliea for a moment, then looked to Zephyrine with unfathomable eyes. There was a sudden sense of threat - a wild swell of something that was ill defined and unknowable. It carried with it the dusty, desert stink of centuries.

Millennia.

Aeyliea bustled through a room with four or five other people working their dreary day job - cooking, doing dishes, and chatting idly among one another. They looked up in surprise as Aeyliea entered their haven - a stranger who did not belong. Aeyliea did not pay them any heed; instead, she sifted through the ashes within looking for some thread of power.

The beast in her skull remained quiescent. For a change, she would have been happy at that eldritch presence.

She slipped out the back door and into what would have been an alley in any city, but which was more or less a smaller, grubbier street than the one facing the place. Free of the confines of the indoors, she felt as though she could breath again - even if the unwelcome feel of fear still crawled along her spine.

She looked surprised when the stranger appeared through the same door she had slipped out of. She was not accustomed to help from unknown quarters. After all, she was hardly a warm and friendly soul to begin with before even considering her roots.

Her breath pluming in front of her, she shook her head. "Have my own," she said in clipped, thickly accented words. "Not... not flee. Fight. Not here, in town." Without waiting for a response, she turned and started to run.

She moved quickly. Her long legs ate ground quickly and despite the crippling injury she had taken two years ago, she had maintained her readiness with the fanaticism of a borne warrior. She might have earned a few eyes running so hard - it was already impossible to avoid notice when she was dressed for a warmer day, even harder to avoid it when the scales her neck and arms marked her as one of the plainswomen.

She rounded the front of the building with a hard look on her face. Her mount was still tied up where she had left her; in a burst of speed she closed the distance. Unwrapping the reins, she vaulted onto the back of the mare in a single smooth motion-

-just as the shrouded figure opened the door and stepped onto the wooden walk out front.

"Do not flee, No'rei. You will show us the Path," the hooded figure said in a chilling woman's voice. Aeyliea ignored it, sawing at the reins and wheeling her beast in a tight turn before booting her in the ribs hard. The paint snorted in indignation and made to bolt in the direction Aeyliea had faced her-

-before a tearing sound like the world being ripped in half roared behind her. Traveller brought their hand round and down as if chopping with a knife, and a wave of power traveled the arc as well.

Horse screaming as she was taken by the blast of razor-sharp wind, Aeyliea was stripped from the saddle in a mist of blood and pain. She landed with a shriek only matched by the horse as it rolled back to its feet.