Private Tales Secrets of Stillwater Keep

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Wren

Wren

Snarling Songbird
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Stillwater Keep
Eastern Cortosi Coast

"Did you know this used to be the home of Cortosi nobility."
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"I didn't."

"Not many people do."

"..."
"..."

"Does that mean you're a Cortosi Noble?"

Warden Beocca smiled faintly as he leaned against the stone railing, his grayed hair fluttering in the sea breeze, black eyes staring listlessly out to the expanse of the sea before them. He seemed to think on this a moment, "I do not think the Cortosi would think so. Not anymore. The Anirians saw to that."

The man, if he could be called that, was something of a curiosity to Wren. A boon and perhaps a great waste of her time. Every day she spent here she learned something new, though there was a fair amount of doubt on whether or not what she was learning was of any use. Today she learned he was descended of Cortosi nobility.

At least, she thought that was the point he was trying to make. Therein lie the problem: Beocca didn't like to make points. He just liked to converse.

"Come inside, Wren," he said after a time, "it's raining."

"It isn't."

Merely moments after the keep swallowed his figure, the rain began. Wren sighed and followed after him.


Orobas had been quiet for some days which made her both suspicious and grateful for the silence. His presence had provided little in the way of help, though it did seem that he muted if not outright voided the pull between herself and Rainer. She now walked free of the man who brought her so much grief and madness, but Wren couldn't say she felt any better for it.

The Noct Yaegir brotherhood had provided much more for her than Rainer or her parasite ever did. She'd made herself a home of sorts in Stillwater Keep and elected to join on to the Yaegir if only to keep coin in her pocket, a roof over her head when necessary, and a steady list of bounties. Getting paid to eat wasn't so bad, but it wasn't getting her any closer to answers. The Warden Beocca was aware, partially, of her plight.

He knew what she was. What Rainer was. It was important to know when you employed monsters to hunt monsters - but he didn't know the half of it. Nor would he, even if he did continue to ask.

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"I wonder if you have given my request any further thought?" and there it was.

"As I've told you before, Warden," Wren's eyes flashed virulent in the darkness of the halls. Beocca didn't keep them well lit unless the Keep was well-manned for he was completely blind and yet somehow managed to get around without fault. "The answer is no."

"Pity," Beocca replied, "I had hoped you would help me with my studies. The information gathered would be immensely useful to the Brotherhood."

"I'm here to help you slay monsters, not make more of them," Wren hissed after him.

"Make more?" Beocca echoed curiously, "Oh no. That is not my intention. I merely wish to study the effects of your blood on various others."

"...what do you mean?"

The Warden paused and she watched as a strange glow flared along the weird scars etched across his body. He was a frail man whose robes clung to him as though someone had hung them there to dry, yet Wren had never once been given the notion that he was weak or vulnerable. Her instincts still reeled at his presence from time to time given the fact that her senses could not tell her what he was. She wondered if this is what it was like to be someone within her own presence.

A simple human under the pall of her aura.

"Perhaps..." Beocca drew his hands together, fingertips forming a steeple in thought, "it is time I show you. You have proven yourself dedicated to the Brotherhood."

He fell silent in contemplation as he often did. A silence she found she did not mind for it usually preceded answers unlike the silence given to her by Rainer where only aggravation followed. It was refreshing to be given clear guidance by someone who truly seemed to know and understand that which they spoke. Still... why such mystery?

"Yes," the Warden nodded to himself, "yes. Come with me."

Rainer
 
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The voice inside, already muffled by the thick oak door, was further impeded by the sudden downpour of rain. It was the sort of rain that seemingly arrived from nowhere, bringing with it a surprising chill and the proclivity for condensation to hang low in the air. A series of latches struck against the wood before the door crept open, inviting the light of night into an otherwise dark abode. The man grimaced as he approached from the interior, partially obscured in the flickering shadows born from the lantern held low in his hand.

“This better be fucking important. Taxes are issued tomorrow and I am knee deep in the parchment.” The man wasn’t upset because he was working late and was suddenly interrupted, further beleaguering his task. Rather, he seemed frustrated being temporarily excised from a passion project.

What greeted him as his grey eyes lifted to the black horizon of faded townhouses, lit poorly by the moon now shrouded in rain clouds, was an affair of clearly distinct dispositions. Towards the rear of the crowd stood men, once more obscured by the darkness and rain, clinking pitchforks to the sizzling ends of smoking long torches. Towards the front, a series of constables with a clearly frustrated inclination. And in the front was a man, grey of hair and bound in dark leather armor. He pulled his hood up over his head to shield from the rain while the other hand hung low to his side. His shifting reflected light from the chains wrapped around his hand, tethered on the other end to a massive monstrous head.

“Well…” The Judge's eyes narrowed. “This…seems important.”
“It ‘tis sir. Seems we’ve got some conflicting statements regarding a recent bounty placed on the board.” One of the constables uttered to the sound of raucous from the mob.
“Why is this mercenary holding a monster’s head on my doorstep?”
“That’s a manticore sir. And not just any stray…” His words trailed off but his tone hinted at something.
“Right. Well…fuck. Come on. You…” He pointed at Rainer. “You too. Leave the head on the doorstep. The rest of you!” He motioned to the group. “Go home. I’ve got more than enough whip to flog the lot of you!”

Once the rabble had cleared, ensured by the delegated authority to the remainder of the constables, the door shut and the interior tabletop candlelight could be seen flickering to life behind the glare of the first floor window. Rain sat down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. Sliding it across the table, the Judge picked it up and placed it in his pocket without reading it.

“Yes, yes, I understand who you are and why you’re here...”
“That’s nice.” Rain responded curtly. “I understand you are inconvenienced by this…”
“I’m actually…” As the Judge interjected, Rain lifted his finger and tilted his head slightly. As if a dog, hearing a tone that was unfamiliar. Though where that expression might normally be born from confusion, this one was informed by aggression.
“I understand you are inconvenienced by this…” Rain re-iterated firmly. “But I’m confused. We are a stone’s throw from the outskirts of Viret and yet sitting there in your pocket is a bounty for a Manticore. And even more interesting is the medallion I found, clinging to the beast’s neck.”
“Do you have that medallion on you currently?” The Judge responded as the Constable shifted in his stance.

“I’ve a theory, if you don’t mind.” Rain didn’t seem to give the impression that that last phrase was actually anything more than a pleasantry. “I think that Manticore was important to someone. I think that Manticore was killing people.” He confirmed as such after slaying the beast. “But you couldn’t deal with the matter because of politics. So rather than put yourself at odds with a powerful family, you instead maneuvered the Yaegir’s to issue an official bounty. Which you procedurally approved on the assumption that the bounty would abide by some written agreement to operate within the village and surrounding areas.” Rain leaned back in his chair. “You get rid of the monster without soiling your hands and in turn, use an organization for political strategy.”

“That’s a very interesting story. And not particularly germane to the conversation, is it? After all, the beast is dead. What more can be done?”

Rain felt his blood boiling. The Manticore wasn’t just a monstrous creature in all regards, it was just broaching maturity. And the pugnacity felt like a sixth sense, attempting to overpower all other senses. Steady breaths now, he thought.

“Look. Stillwater has done us a tremendous favor and in that regard, we will honor agreements. I would ask that you communicate that back to the Warden promptly.”

Rain wasn’t amused by the implication of that last word. But then again, the exchange of coins didn’t hinge on the need for him to be entertained. In most cases, it was firmly the opposite. So rather than take the bait, as much as he would have liked to, he stowed it for more fruitful discourse.

“I assume the payment of bounty through the town is dependent on my prompt communication with Stillwater?” That was already his next stop. He could sense at all times that there was a piece missing from the equation. But ever since a bit of work was completed down around Fal’Addas, he’s felt a pull in this direction. It didn’t take much for him to put two and two together and despite himself and his noble cause, he couldn’t deny the desires of an aching heart.

“That’s exactly right. If you take the back door and head left…” The Judge pointed with his quill as he had begun jotting on what Rain had assumed was another tax writ. “You should be able to easily navigate back to the Inn. My men are enforcing an impromptu curfew for the remainder of the night. And your horse and equipment should be ready. No need to check-out.”

No farewell from the man or really anything to indicate the conversation was over. Except that his attention dislodged from the hunter and went back to his parchment. It was there that Rain spied the hint of a smile creeping across the Judge’s face.

~~~

Some days later…

The Keep was certainly a sight. Despite the once more sudden onset of rain, the sun was still doing its best to cut through the clouds. It seemed pointless to Rain, like the closing act persisting despite the curtains pulling shut. But in those moments of light spattering the hillside, the view of the rolling grasslands ascending to a rocky moss laden cliffside captivated the Vedymin. There was a newly scratched note in his book regarding the Manticore’s tendency to be distracted by bright lights. He presumed this was the reason for his sudden interest in breathtaking views.

Making his way up the hill, he came to the opened doors of the Keep. He was close enough now to feel her. And to feel the unusual quietness of Orobas who was nothing if not loquacious. It was a welcomed experience compared to the noise he was anticipating in his trek between here and Viret.

Assuming that there were no guards on duty at the time, he quickly made his way past the front gates to find a hitching post to tie up his horse.

Wren
 
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"I have spent the better part of my life seeking to understand the diverse nature of our world," Beocca's voice continued as he lead Wren through a part of the Keep she'd not previously walked on her own. Though no hall nor room had ever been barred from the use of any member Yaegir, it seemed there were certain passages that had remained ... private.

She did not even know where exactly in the Keep they were, such was the maze of doors they had taken.

"I have found the mutations of disease and corruption to be most captivating ... like the one you suffer, yourself." He lead her down a spiral stone stairwell. It was dark and cold and dank. Felt like a dungeon, or perhaps a catacombs judging by the waft of perverse scents that had hit her particularly sensitive nose.

Wren had little to say on the matter of her own disease. Curse. She knew only what Rainer had told her and though she now had come to the conclusion that perhaps she'd been hasty in laying blame on the man for how little he shared, she was beginning to learn that their kind were rather rare. It had come to light that Rainer had shared so little because he knew little himself.

"Attributes of monsters can provide us with answers to questions we did not know we had," Beocca paused at a landing, withdrawing a set of keys to unlock a metal door. As soon as it swung open she was assaulted by a repugnant scent of chemically preserved death. Like a mortuary.

Wren turned and steadied herself against the internal wall of the spiral, biting back a gag.

"Hm," Beocca noted her discomfort and nodded, "yes ... it is quite foul." A pause, a casual breath, "You get used to it."

"Guhhhh..." Wren said in return, doing her damnedest to keep her latest meal from reintroducing itself.

"Here," the Warden offered her something in the dark, "cinnamon."

A bundle wrapped in linen. So that was what she'd always smelled on him. Traces of cinnamon from deep within the layers of his robes. But did he use it for his own benefit or the benefit of others? She took the bundle and folded it within her fist then held it to her face to breath in. It did help.

"I like it in my tea," said Beocca simply, "but it has its other uses."

Through the door he went. Wren wavered at the threshold, then followed. She'd come this far. Orobas stirred within for the first time in two weeks. Something pinged at the back of her mind, like forgetting to lock the door to one's home after leaving for the day. Wren brushed it off as a latent desire to vacate the immediate premise and its horrible smell and pressed on.

"Did you know if you distill basilisk venom with water and pigs blood you create a potion that can protect you from their fatal stare?" Inside the hall was pitch black - so dark that even Wren's eyes were having difficulty picking out the shapes of the contents therein.

"I did not," she replied, "that one of the potions you make for Yaegirs?"

"It is," he said, fumbling with something in the dark, "though the side effects are sometimes not worth the use. Many Yaegir have gone blind after taking it."

"Did they recover?" she asked, making a mental note not to ask after basilisk potion. She'd take her chances with being mystically petrified to death. Re-death. Whatever.

"No," said Beocca, "eventually the effected Yaegir all lost their eyes completely. They liquefied from the inside and melted out of their eye sockets as pus. It was quite impressive."

Wren scowled, her lip pricking, "I doubt the Yaegir feel the same."

Beocca seemed to pause, as if he'd never considered that aspect, "...probably not."

Snk. Snk. Fwoosh. A small match lit in the Warden's hands and he slowly, carefully, lifted it to an inset within the wall - an oil basin that caught light and spread along the duct carved along the face of the left wall. The orange glow spread, following the channel down to the very end where it turned along the far wall and traveled the length of the opposite side back. Wren blinked in surprise at the display at first, but then took in the hall under its light.

Giant crystalline vat structures like fish tanks lined the length of the hall. Within each contained pinkish fluid within which creatures floated, suspended in preserved death.
 
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This is a well placed Keep.

The thought occurred to Rain as he moved through the outer gatehouse and into the outer courtyard. Of all the Keeps he had ventured to in order to convey with various Yaegir groups, this was one of the more well preserved. The courtyard was being tended to by a single employee, or whom Rain assumed was an employee, of the Warden. To the southwest were a series of stables and hitching posts with a few currently occupied.

To the northeast was a small structure, likely once used by the prevailing religious entity, for prayer and sermon. Behind it, an even smaller building that Rain surmised was used by the assigned Priest or Chaplain for bed and shelter. Given the location of the Keep, Rain would have guessed that this would have been erected for the Radiant Church.

“Boarding is free, amenities…well, ain’t.” The man, favoring his left side as he limped out the main stable structure, approached with a surprisingly white smile.

“Amenities…” Rain growled as he spied the top of a signaling tower, cresting behind the slate shingles of the belfry. “Does that include food?”

“That they do, they certainly do.” He smiled as he dusted off his chest. Holding out a hand, Rain set down a series of coins and offered the reins.

“Not sure how long I’ll be here.” Rain responded as he turned. “That should keep me above board for a few days.” His golden eyes fixed on what appeared to be a beggar, standing out in front of the chapel structure.

“O Lord of Light! Sunfather, hear my plea!” The man could be heard shouting as the rain began to barrel down. He was weather beaten and raw from the sun, like welted leather. His frilly white hair, attached to the rim of his barren and sunburnt crown, fluttered for a moment before sticking to the old man's drenched rags and clothing. “We feel your shadow now upon us! We are nothing in your presence…” A strong gust nearly knocked the man over into an unkempt hedge as his voice was drowned out by the rain, his calloused hands extending to the darkened sky.

“Pay no mind to him, eh.” The stable hand uttered as he moved back towards the structure. “Came up the trade road, he did. He doesn’t ask for anything. So…Beocca gives him the cold shoulder. Or he simply hasn’t noticed…”

Rain didn’t respond but the sentiment tracked with the few times he had interacted with Beocca. Though the interactions never felt like more than two ships passing each other in the night. Simply two men that, for whatever reason, didn’t feel particularly inclined to see eye to eye. And to add to that, there was something about Beocca that unnerved the Vedymin. The way he seemed to stare, coldly, not unlike a butcher looking for the first bit to cut free from the carcass.

He felt a shiver run up his spine. But it wasn’t Beocca that brought it - it was something else. That quiet thing that seemed to be forever tethered to Wren, loquacious when least convenient. It hadn’t been that long but he was certain that a lifetime could fit between now and the time when they met that Duke Of Chains and that seemingly insurmountable presence.

The progenitor of the affliction. The mountain from which we all crumble.

He could hear that vampire's voice in his head, ensnared within his bloodline on that night near Tartorum, east of the Wda Fork. He could feel his fear now, almost enough to drown out the animalistic drive of the Manticore who wanted nothing more than to feast on the horses and chirp pleasantly about it. Perhaps my fleeting lineage will have been worth it.

Rain had estimated that it hadn’t, that the last dying hopes of an Ancient Vampire were in vain. No power could seem worth this affliction. The affliction of the countenance formed in the sediment at the bottom of a mug or in the reflection of a pool, dogged by the shadow of something he cared so little about that he didn’t bother to even remember the name.

“Maybe Lichanthus…” Rain uttered as he pulled the hood up.
“Sorry…” The door crept back open, pushing wet straw across the fresh mud. “What was that?”

Rain had already started moving through the rain and beyond the chapel structure. He was headed now towards the barbican, to pass into the interior court and find out where the Warden might be. He had news to deliver and someone to see.

Wren
 
"You said...some."

Silence between them as Wren wandered slowly along the passage and its many, many tanks. The silhouettes of each contained creature like a shadowed beast from a nightmare one couldn't quite picture after waking in a cold sweat. Did it have fangs? Claws? How many eyes? The more one grasped to remember, the more the pink fluid of the subconscious clouded the details away.

Wren looked to Beocca who appeared to be shuffling through some notes on a laboratory desk. She found this odd, considering his blindness.

"Warden."

"Hmm?" he replied distractedly.

"Some? Only some of the Yaegir were afflicted by the potion?"

"Some, yes."

"Not...all?"

Beocca slowed his shuffling, hands lightly skating over the parchments, fingertips barely touching them before he seemed to dismiss one or another, "There were a few that suffered no side effects. The potion worked perfectly for them."

Wren narrowed her eyes, "...do you know why?"

"Mm," his lips drew together faintly in thought as he lifted his left hand and bit at a hangnail on his thumb, "they were already afflicted with other maladies."

Other maladies... Wren turned to look back to the tank and placed a hand upon it. For the briefest moment it almost looked as though the creature within stirred. She blinked and looked again, but it was still. Must have been a flicker of the firelight. "What maladies?"

"One was a werewolf," Beocca replied, "another an elf...one of the longer-lived kinds."

That got a snort from the former half-elf, "Aren't they all?"

"Compared to humans, maybe. Let's see... one was a komodi. Their blood is riddled with disease, dormant or otherwise. And the last," Beocca lifted his head but did not look to Wren, "was a vampire."
 
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“You smell that, Arkon?”
“Hmm, I do…what is that?” Arkon leaned out of the window, thick fingers steepled together. He was a large figure, just barely squeezing through the frame of the window to spy out into the breezeway.

The barbican, by Rain's estimation, was either a formality or a vestige of a time long passed when war was far more commonplace. While it made sense when coupled with a secondary internal defense system, such as a moat, it seemed to be ornamental at this point. There was no additional defense beyond the interior Keep walls and fortified towers, which seemed to cast a shadow across the courtyard and exterior defensive walls.

As he approached the covered breezeway, he spied the hulking figure. He couldn’t tell if the man was looking to take an order, hold him up, or just cop a gaze but as it stood, the man's bulbous head sticking out of the breast height window gave the appearance of a turtle sticking its head out of its shell.

Another figure rounded the corner, standing just underneath the shelter and out of the rain.

“Caleb, you got a good look at him?” The confused turtle head uttered as it withdrew back into its shell.

“Aye, looks like we got ourselves a wet dog, Arkon. Maybe mangy as well..”

Rainer had seen better days but mange seemed to cut a bit deeper than needed.

“Oye, state your purpose!” Caleb uttered as he stepped forward, crossing the massive summer sausages he called arms across his broad chest. Excessively broad, if anyone were to ask Rainer. Stopping under the cover of the canopy with the Keep doors and interior courtyard in sight, Rainer pulled down his hood.

“Need to speak to the Warden regarding a bounty and its completion.” He had more to do here but didn’t feel particularly compelled to divulge further. His statement didn’t trail off or provide any inclination that he might explain more. He simply glanced back and forth between the two men. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, we need your name for the records.”
“Name is what we need.” Arkon repeated as he stepped out from behind Caleb, leaving the shelter of his little guard shack.

“You two are cute. Do you finish each other’s sentences too?” Rainer was soaking wet and irritated. The men bristled at his comment and were met with the Vedymin, returning the reflection of their own grimace. “If you don’t know my name now, you’ve no need for it. Let me by."

The two, who Rainer guessed were relatives if not outright brothers, stood shoulder to shoulder. Looking down at the Hunter, Arkon smiled. “Nah, need your name for the books…”

“Yeah. Sure. Is this the part where you try to convince me you can read?” Rainer narrowed his gaze as he looked towards the window. Looking back at the hulking figures,, he exhaled. “My patience is wearing thin. Whittled down on account of your stupid fucking climate!” He felt that same temperature spike as he flung a gloved hand towards the sheets of rain blanketing across the exterior courtyard. Stepping forward, he got within striking distance of the two.

He had no intention of hitting either of them. But he also wasn’t exactly removing himself from the equation. “Boys…” A voice echoed out from the path leading to the Keep. Where the barbican had initially presented as a couple of boxes, bridged by an overhang and parapet, it was now more apparent that one of the boxes was actually an “L,” extending along the wall that led to the Keep. An old man stood in the rain, leaning against the wooden railing.

Rainer eyed the man, leaning to his left to get a good view. Standing back up straight, he looked back to the 'guards.’ “Well…” He nodded back towards the window. “Fuck off back to your shack.”

It was about as close as two humans could compare to two dogs running back to the house, tail tucked between their legs. Not even a word from them as the Vedymin heard the door creak shut and the window shutter. As he moved back out towards the Keep, he pulled his hood back up.

“Rainer Venandi…threatening scamps. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Those two?”
“Hardly 35 springs between them.”

Rainer stopped and huffed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Well, not about your weather.” He smirked and started moving again. “Meet me inside later, after I speak with the Warden. Found something that might interest you.”

“Yeah, alright. Save me some wine.”

Rainer almost stopped in his tracks, thinking he might have caught a hum. Given that he was so close to the Keep, he just assumed that it was reacting to another medallion. Maybe someone warming by the fire, enjoying a moments rest. He found himself momentarily hopeful as he trudged towards inner stronghold.
 
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Were Rainer having this conversation with the Warden it certainly might have taken a different direction than the one it was about to. The word vampire snared her attention, and like a gluttonous fish caught on a hook simply for a bit of worm, Wren turned her head to look at the man.

"Vampire..." she echoed, her eyes leaving him as they roved noncommittally around the chamber while her mind turned over this curious bit of information, "so... Rainer and I are not the first to serve the brotherhood."

"Of course not," Beocca replied with a tone that suggested it was quite obvious, "there have always been monsters willing and capable of hunting their own kind. Some simply for the rush of the challenge, some merely for sustenance, others for vengeance or redemption..." the man made a gesture and shook his head as if he did not know or care to find out, "and a few for the greater good."

It mattered not their reason why, only that it served the purpose of the order.

"How many?" Wren asked, curiosity pulling at the scars on her face and the core of her being.

"What... vampires?" Beocca made a noise, "I did not keep track."

"Bullshit," Wren spat, feeling a sudden surge of impatience ... but also a curious distaste for her crude choice of retort.

It had the right effect: Beocca lightly pressed his lips together in a faint smile, "I may have... cataloged a few."

Typically when driven by curiosity, there was a sense of why behind it. For Wren, she knew why: because any information Beocca could provide on notes of other types of vampires would be of use to herself and Rainer. Turns out, even when separated by spite, the progeny still moved for the sire whether intentional or not. Yet this was not the only why; there was another sensation of need she felt within that Wren could tell was not her own.

Orobas was awake after all, and listening, though she was not able to discern the fact that listening and influencing her reactions was about all he was capable of doing.

"I want to see your notes," Wren said, "anything and everything. Whatever you have on vampires."

"Of course you do," the Warden nodded and turned to look toward her, "and I will share them. I hope in return it makes you amenable to... sharing with me."

"No promises."

A noise that felt like one made at the onset of a challenge issued from the man's throat, "Come with me." He turned and made his way back to the entrance.

"...what about your ... light?" Wren glanced around at the inset flames within the wall channel.

"Ehh... it will burn itself out in an hour or so."

Well, at least they were leaving the smell behind. Wren followed him out and back up the steps.
 
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You can feel it, can you not? The swell, like the way the water recedes from the shore, just before the next big wave crashes down. And you…you are nothing more than the sand, a singular grain, crushed and pulverized into something approaching useless.

But I suspect I’m not much more. The lingering foam of an angry wave, clinging to whatever sand will take me…

“Hey…”

The voice snapped him out of the place where he was mentally festering, wrapped in the diatribes of a would-be mentor and assailed by the gentle cooing of a beastly monster, longing for the hunt. The voice of the manticore reminded him of a musical instrument, tuned poorly and beaten to the point of being unrecognizable, and played intermittently between singular notes and long drawn out trumpeting. It was the sound the beast was making when he came upon it, feeding on three still living villagers.

“You gonna finish that?” The young man across from him looked at the plate of bread of which Rain had neither touched nor claimed ownership. The old hunter had sat down in the spot due to the proximity to the fireplace, which was currently smoldering and in need of another log. Rain pushed the plate across the table and looked back towards the embers. He felt a warmth in his chest, like those very embers ringing and dripping through his core, that could only be due to his proximity to her.

“So as I was saying. Spotted this creature down along the coast of the Spear. Bounty had been put out, dutifully endorsed and placed out of the feet of the Noct Yaegirs. But see, a bit of a moral conundrum as the monster was a changeling. The mother pleaded with me to capture the child and return it to her, despite the wishes of the village leadership and well…a monsters a monster, right?”

Rain bristled and turned to look the man in the eye. Unclasping a brass buckle on the bandoleer, he withdrew a small earthen container.

“Ah, a bit of swill, huh?” The young man lit up us as he saw the Vedymin uncork the item and pour a thick red fluid into a small cup. “Red Wine?”

“Blood.”
“Blood?”
“Yeah. Vampires have trouble living without it.”
“Vampire…” The man seemed to recoil, leaning back just a bit from the table.
“Mmm, yeah.” Rain nodded as he took a sip and savored it. Or at the very least, gave the impression he was enjoying it. His gaze, now seemingly animalistic, met the young man’s and lingered with intention. “Can’t always get the fresh stuff.”

The man stood in evident disgust and dropped the bread on the table. Grabbing his gear, he hurried off and Rain watched his movement as he disappeared down a hallway. The cook, currently picking up a few plates from one of the tables, laughed as he walked back to the kitchen.​
 
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Whether or not Beocca informed the other Yaegir of Wren's affliction was not of her concern. She didn't work with partners... at least, not willingly and certainly not often, so it made very little difference to her if they were aware that she was just another beast hunting down beasts.

But Beocca made it seem as though her type wasn't so rare as she thought. Were there others, presently, among their numbers doing what she and Rainer were? She wanted to ask after the Warden but something undefinable kept her from doing so. That knot in her chest was a little tighter now, and as they emerged from the darkness of the stone stairwell and into an unknown hallway she decided to drop the thought completely.

"How long have you been a Warden here?" instead she changed the subject completely.

"Not very long," Beocca replied, "I was once a Yaegir like yourself. Hunting down these abominations for very little reward."

"You know I wasn't going to say anything about the bounty payouts but they are a bit on the fucking lean side..." she eyed him as they shifted down through the corridor and out into a main hall that she once more recognized.

"Mmm-" Beocca made that same sound again from earlier. The one that made her think he was really a complete asshole on the downlow, "that is the economy of inflation. We are in times of Yaegir prosperity."

"Prosperity?" she snorted, "Have you seen Atlia Keep?"

"I haven't, is it nicer than here?"

"Not even by half..." literally. Atlia Keep wasn't even physically half of Stillwater, "it's a ruin."

"Well there you go, prosperity."

Their voices gently echoed through the hall and the open adjoining chambers that they passed by. They were stopped by a Yaegir rushing out of the dining hall who eyed both the Warden and Wren as he stormed by muttering something about fucking vampire.

Rude.

Wren shot a soul-rending glare after him but kept on walking. Truly, she was finally getting a grip on her temper and Rainer wasn't even here to make snide comments about it. What a fucking shame.

"How the fuck is that prosperity? You've more empty rooms here than you have filled." She'd seen them in her lengthy process of picking the perfect room for herself. There were a lot of options.

"Perhaps, but we have many Keeps and even more Dens. Not all Yaegir reside at the Keeps, even if it is more... economical that way..."
 
  • Frog Eyes
Reactions: Rainer
“They are more than just grimoires or books bound in skin, they are the brass that forms the key. And as a key is much more, from bow to bit, so too is our endeavor. But ours is the most righteous of efforts. Without the key, we cannot open the door. And behind the door leads us on towards the mountain, upon trails yet to be carved.”

He hadn’t intended to rest for so long at the fire, sipping preserved blood and drying from the persistent temperament of the Cortosi coast. But there had been something in his chest, like a warm hum entirely removed from the pendant, that kept him seated. The origins, he quickly discovered, were from a scrap of paper serving as a bookmark on the page where he had last laid out a sketch.

He read it over and over again, the small piece of parchment pulled from a burning diary, and signed along the blackened edges with the word “Salom.” If the word extended beyond that, he couldn’t make it out from the char but he hadn’t given it much more thought having assumed it was either a name or a formal way to end a letter.

Tapping the note against the book, his gaze drifted over the circles and ovals that would eventually turn into a diagram for a particular form of a coup de main. It would be a diagram of a quick flick of the sword, intending to illustrate a tap of the tip of the blade against the opponents forehead, distracting the foe and causing them to recoil. Contemplating taking a bit more time to finish it out, he wondered if this would eventually end up in the referential form of Wren as many of his sketches did. Whether she was his muse or simply the silhouette that haunted his thoughts, he chose not to spend much time considering it.

Stowing the book back in his pocket and corking what remained of the blood, he packed up his gear and finally pulled himself from that place of thought. Just as he was preparing to make his way through the Keep, asking the various personnel on the whereabouts of Beocca, he caught the scent of her. Or a version of her, compounded by the smoke of the fire that still clung to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her but the part of him that disparaged their separation had decided that it had been too long.

The manticore wasn’t helping in that regard. He began to walk in the general direction, intending to catch her in route to wherever she was headed.
 
  • Cthulu Knife
Reactions: Wren
They hadn't gotten far down the hall when Rainer's figure stepped out in their path from the den. Wren had noticed, beyond the unscheduled comings and goings of Yaegir through Stillwater, that there seemed to be a lack of order and cohesion to the place. There was not any specific timing for meals or training - not that either of those things were of any interest or use to her - but there also seemed to be a lack of timely lighting of candelabras and fires in the various halls.

Some days she'd show up and the fire of the main den from which Rainer had stepped would be going cold and in the last flickers of a slow death. Not because the chamber was empty, but simply because no one had bothered to tend to it. As if the Yaegir couldn't be bothered to handle communal things.

Really, this place needed a woman's touch and she hated that line of thought. It shouldn't need it, but clearly they were all waiting for it.

As for Rainer...

"Yaegir Rainer," Beocca spoke, the inflection of his otherwise calm voice denoted some hint of surprise at the man's presence, "what an unexpected arrival."

Wren narrowed her eyes against the sudden swelling of the knot in her chest that was making it strangely hard to breath. Her body went rigid as she stopped just off Beocca's side, though she wasn't certain if the surge of need to lunge at Rainer was for a killing blow or to embrace him. A noise sounded from her mouth and was shortly strangled as she clamped her jaw shut.

"I do not recall getting any notice from Crobhear," the Warden continued, "but that is hardly out of character for Sionoma."
 
Beocca may have been speaking to Rain but the hunter's attention was removed from the Warden and was entirely focused on Wren. Seeing her now, it brought him an unexpected relief that paled any comfort that might have been gained by sitting at the hearth. Relief in her presence, regret for the decisions that were made that he didn’t quite understand. But the drive to put distance between them, to attempt to disrupt the pull of the thing that he helped facilitate into existence and possession, felt like gravity.

And part of him wondered from where that pull originated. Perhaps he was being maneuvered against his and Wren’s best interest. But across their connection, he could feel something similar in her. Though the intent was murky; it was a permanent characteristic of their relationship.

“The Warden of Crobhear has many things that keep his attention beyond the going ons of wayward hunters.” Like sorting out the secret to his sourdough recipe or understanding the perfect ratio of yeast to sugar for his various mead recipes. Rain enjoyed entertaining the Warden with his various tales and exploits but it was a sacrifice of time he was rarely willing to make. When Sionoma got going, it was hard to get him to stop.

Reaching into the pocket of his bandoleer, he extracted a piece of parchment and a medallion with a coiled leather strap. “Bounty, seemingly approved for Yaegir pursuit, for a manticore that had gone on a bit of a killing spree down near Viret.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, doing his best to keep the mention of the spree from precipitating into memories that crossed the blood barrier between Manticore and Vedymin. Opening his eyes, he waited to see if Beocca would take the items from his hand, as the shadows of slain children ran across his view. The way the Manticore chirped, the way it consumed things, haunted the Hunter in all its malicious playfulness.

“The manticore was put down per the bounty and I met with the Judge that evening to discuss bounty closeout.” He felt bringing up the mob and pitchforks that dogged his step from the outskirts to the Judge’s home wasn’t particularly germane or worth recounting. “The medallion belongs to House Virak…which means this manticore was from the pens. The Judge wished to thank Stillwater for its support in navigating this delicate political matter. And he indicated that payment will not be provided for this bounty without your signature, which means a record that the Yaegirs slayed a piece of property that might justify recompense to one of the seven houses.”

He stopped, having worded this dialogue in his mind several times in his route from Viret to Stillwater. "My humble opinion...the juice isn't worth the squeeze." He had already dismissed any chance of getting paid for that bounty. But this was the first time he gave that notion life by speaking about it.​
 
Rainer said:
“The Warden of Crobhear has many things that keep his attention beyond the going ons of wayward hunters.”
Click to expand...

"Mmm," Beocca hummed in thought, muttering something under his breath about a loaf owed for the last game night. Yet despite Beocca's odd quirks and what Wren was learning were several well-disguised faults, she had yet to find him incapable of listening, and listen he did as Rainer presented the bounty and the medallion.

The Warden's lips pressed together as the Yaegir went on to explain what was quickly unraveling to be a very touchy quicksand situation. Wren, for her part, waited until the pair of them were engrossed in the conversation to quickly and silently make an exit before she got drawn in or, worse, Rainer decided to turn his full attention back upon her.

Rainer said:
"...And he indicated that payment will not be provided for this bounty without your signature, which means a record that the Yaegirs slayed a piece of property that might justify recompense to one of the seven houses.”
Click to expand...

"How thoughtful of him..." Beocca remarked dryly, "and now I have the hot potato." His black eyes stared off in contemplation while the medallion turned within one of his hands. Wren was long gone down the corridor behind him by this point.

Rainer said:
"My humble opinion...the juice isn't worth the squeeze."
Click to expand...

"Certainly not," pocketing the medallion and folding the bounty, Beocca only just seemed to notice the absence of his prior conversation partner with a short turn of his head. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will handle it from here. Please find something in the armory you feel will credit your effort and we will speak of this..." he drew in a thoughtful breath, brows raised, "never again."

With nothing further to add on the matter and should Rainer not stop him, the Warden continued on his path down the hall.
 
It wasn’t the reunion he had anticipated, begrudged by Beocca’s presence, but perhaps that was simply because he had elevated his expectations beyond reason. Not a word, hardly a glance, and the sounds of her steps walking away from him. And where he would have normally felt compelled to follow after her, the moment had passed. And his consideration for the additional effort, given his journey from Viret, had all but evaporated.

Grimacing in frustration with Beocca, as if to silently state that the Vedymin would speak on any matter he liked, Rain allowed the quip to die behind his clenched teeth. It was easier to place his grievances at Beocca’s feet than to place the blame where it belonged. But he had about as much desire to rock this particular boat as he did to elongate his visit behind the walls of Stillwater. A visit to the armory and he’d greet the departure down the merchants road with a warm embrace.

~
As he entered the armory, he was enveloped in tepid warmth of the cloud constrained sun, spilling through the elevated windows like beams cutting through the curtains of dust. A whistle cut through the air like a knife, accentuated by a thunk as the arrow bit deep into the target behind him.

“Hey! What the fuck?!"
“You’re getting slow, hunter. And here I thought those greys were cosmetic.”
“They are cosmetic, you ass.” They weren’t.

The man stood up from behind the table across the room, holding a heavy crossbow against a set of aiming cushions made out of straw and stained tarpaulin. “Be grateful. It takes me almost a minute to load this damn thing. But I can’t seem to get the trigger to the right sensitivity. She wants to jump at the lightest breeze.”

Rain reached back and, with some concerted effort, pulled the arrow from the bale target. Trudging over, he placed the arrow down on the table and winced. “He’s given me the pick of the lot from the armory, commensurate with 'effort.'” Rain lifted his hands and made air quotes as he scanned the room.

“Right. Well, before we get to all of that. You have something for me.”

The hunter pulled a book from his pocket. It wasn’t the same size as the book held by Chains, but it was of similar construction. Book binding and cover made of stretched skin, a locket of brass that was broken, and the imprint of a hand where the book had a face. Wilburt took a step back and ruffled through his pockets, pulling a set of spectacles from his leather apron. “The clasp was broken when I found it.” Rain stated as if to disarm the armorist from any concern of mishaps. “But it’s written in a language that I can’t understand. But I can understand the pictures.”

“Yeah, Rainer. That’s not really something to brag about.”

Wilburt lifted the book cover to a random page. He was suddenly burdened by a characteristic furrowed brow.​
il_fullxfull.5816372318_5i4o.webp

"Professional opinion. I think you should burn it."​
 
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