Private Tales A Monster They Became

[Livia Quinnick]

She was still on the hunt.

Weeks had turned into months, and the only way Livia knew it had been several by now was the turning of the leaves indicating that they were headed into autumn. That meant two months ago she had celebrated her birthday, and... two months since...

Liv did not finish that thought. The anger, the hurt, it only drove her emotions so strongly it began to cloud her actions. She took in a deep breath and turned the corner to peek around at the bustling street. Yet another backwater town, this time it was not filled with many Dreadlords. She had thought the Falwood would be littered with them, that the Falwood was yet another stronghold, but she came to learn that there were other beings here that were just as dangerous to a Dreadlord. Gods, that is what she was now. Dreadlord Quinnick. A quick ceremony hastened after graduation, a special pardon for a year to continue this mission on behalf of the Republic.

Months now, she had been working with Cenric in searching, searching, searching, and her frustrations were beginning to tip over. What they sought was taunting her. It would call to her in the quiet moments, knowing that Liv needed a rest, but as soon as that directional pull caught her attention, Livia was moving.

Where was Cenric?

She had been pacing two minutes ago, waiting for his arrival or his signal at least. Had instructed she stay here, hidden, while he scoped out the place to determine whether or not it was safe to stick around a couple of hours. These precautions were being taken ever since Harrowsport, but most of all there was an oath made to protect Livia at all costs. A condition from the Republic, and one that could put a target on her back if it became known who was on the other side of that bond, who had made that oath.

Erodin.

They had not heard from him in some time, but Cenric kept telling her things were all well whenever she inquired. Even her magic sung to him and Amelie, had told her that Cenric was right.

Where was Cenric?

Despite the seasons changing, this town held dry heat that only came from the Savannah up north. Her mouth was beginning to dry, the top of her dark head, all dyed to be a horrible shade of black to hide her telltale silver hair, had begun to heat and she had nothing to protect herself from the elements of the day.

And still, she waited. She was not about to break Cenric's trust of her this far in to their mission. Leaning against the wooden wall of the home she hid behind, Liv pulled her thin scarf from her neck and fashioned it into a makeshift hood to shield her eyes from the brightness of the early morning. Waiting... she will just have to wait until he found her again.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

Livia Quinnick was found.

Not by the comfort of familiarity, expected by impatient footfalls that paced back and forth, but by the tempered hatred of eyes that had followed her every movement since she had arrived at the afterthought of a town.

Jaster had once again proven to be a deceptive man of means, his dishevelled veneer easy to brush off as the eccentricity of a man with little marbles left to spill. A network of eyes on the road across Vel Anir proved an invaluable asset, former guardsmen stripped of their ability to fight by crippling injuries and absent limbs ready and willing for the cause to be helpful where they could. Perhaps it was time to stop doubting the pauper at the end of the bottle, but her gut was a breeding ground for doubt, especially around others.

On a practical level, it was a refreshing change of pace. While hunting rogue mages in the past, Syele Wilhart had become accustomed to doing every part of the hunt by herself. It was a laborious process, often full of disappointment and with more waiting than blowhard bounty hunters would be willing to divulge.

Unlike them, she wasn't in it for the glory or the thrill of the hunt.

No, justice demanded measured patience, and the protection of the common man from arcane-glutted monsters was not an objective to be loudly paraded with all the subtlety of a crimson peacock.

She wore what could only be described as plain. Brown britches and a beige tunic, as scratchy as it was simple but loose enough to conceal the gambeson beneath, inscribed with a small measure of runic protection as to prevent total obliteration by the men and women who would play god with their lives. It had been a worthwhile expedition to break into Elbion College for the cause's sake, even if the resulting consequence had given her cause to feel regret.

The climate was advantageous, allowing her to wear a thin black scarf around her head to protect her face and eyes from the heat and light, allowing for much-needed concealment. Although mottled flesh still peeked forth from where her skin was exposed, perhaps memorable, Wilhart found that people often averted their gaze with sad eyes as if staring was a sin.

Tucked under one arm was a large wicker basket filled with stolen clothing that hid a shortsword and buckler beneath. The other arm supported the base, the hand obscured, clutching a knife that would hopefully do the job quickly.

It was time.

"Nathalie!" Wilhart cried out amidst the people going about their day, her feet carrying her towards the home where a Dreadlord lurked behind. "Nathalie! Darling! Where have you gone?"

An unorthodox method, perhaps, to announce one's self so loudly.

She sighed, rounding the corner to where her target was waiting, back stooped like a woman burdened by years of thankless manual labour—a poor, exhausted mother needing a long bath and a longer drink. Surprised was feigned momentarily, as if Livia might have been mistaken for the lost child.

"Nat- oh. I'm sorry," Syele started, her voice raw and weary due to purposefully dehydrating herself for the task. "I don't mean to bother you, miss, but have you seen my little girl? She's blonde, with a green ribbon in her plaits and... kress, she's always bloody running off..."

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Livia frowned, tensing at the sudden presence of another chancing upon her and her hiding place.

"Sorry, no." She answered quickly, flashing a strained smile but kept her irk in check when she noticed the lady was not leaving anytime soon. Her mind was too preoccupied to change course, to simply uproot it's searching and focus on a young girl named Nathalie, but perhaps a lie could aide the woman with some relief. "Have you looked around the fountain? If I was still a girl, I would be cooling off by that water..."

Even with her magic focused on something else, Livia knew signs of strangeness.

The way the lady clung to the basket, not at all adjusting her grip on it told her it was not all that heavy with linen despite it's appearance. Livia then noted her footwork, and as a dancer herself, she knew how to pick a balanced placement. They were trained, honed, and although she could not make out much of a physique with the clothes adorning the woman, Livia knew she was poised for anything.

"I am sorry..." Livia began to back away, a hand falling to her side where a knife hung covertly in her skirts. "I must go find my..."

But she did not give a proper answer as to what Cenric, whom she was waiting on, was to her. Admitting she had someone waiting on her could alert the woman, but Livia was sure her running away was a perfect excuse for someone to be in pursuit. Her magic faltered, stuttering as she summoned it to direct her on a course between the hastily thrown up homes of this town. The area was prone to flooding, and those without coin had to make do with what they could find to build up a new shelter. This provided a good maze to get lost into.

Without looking back, Livia banked right, shooting towards what she hoped would be solace from being found.

 

[Syele Wilhart]

The most difficult part of it wasn't all the preparation it took to get them to this moment, nor was it the patience required to wait for the opportunity. No, it was having to look into the face of a Dreadlord without a single crack showing.

Hatred formed like bile in Syele's throat, threatening to rise and spew forth through grit teeth. The hand beneath the basket tightened around the knife's hilt, knuckles white and trembling. She could barely hear the Dreadlord's response, drowned out by a rush of blood to the head. It was the first time she had stood face to face with one of these monsters without actively ramming a blade into its ribs. All Wilhart could see looking back at her was the face of death, and it almost stripped the air from her lungs.

No amount of preparation would have steadied her soul.

Only as the Dreadlord began to inch away did the former sergeant even come to her senses. She was spooked by a twitching betrayal of her countenance or something else altogether. Jast was better for this. Better at pretending.

The girl was on the move. At least they had prepared for this eventuality, which did not make it any less irritating. The basket was quickly discarded onto the ground, her backup weapon no longer an option as the hunt began. The setting was even less ideal; with people around, Syele could only hope she would flee somewhere quiet and perhaps try to hide.

With her knife's blade held up the sleeve of her tunic, she chose not to chase the Dreadlord at full pelt but instead walked briskly, eyes scanning for locals with turned heads, staring as somebody ran through their oft-forgotten streets.

Syele wasn't the only one here.

Their eyes, those wounded former guardsmen blended in as destitute, clutching bottles to their chests like limbless leering drunks with little left to live for. There were three in total, away from the main thoroughfare and dotted around alleys and the shanty town.

She ran past one, and there was a whistle. On the surface, it was a catcall, the standard unwanted attention drunken wretches gave to hurried young women, but in reality, it was a signal that told Syele the right place to go.

 

[Livia Quinnick]

Where the fuck was Cenric?

Livia leaped over belongings, dodged around anyone that was in her path, and only when she had to scale over a drawn cart to keep momentum did she realise she was glad for her Dreadlord training. She did not stop until her magic settled, telling her that she was safe and that she could afford a moment to catch her breath.

She ran into wall made from stone, catching herself to stop running.

There was no obvious way to identify who had been that woman, but Livia knew they were trouble. Anyone that seemed to know their way around a fight was trouble... at least that was what she and Cenric were running on.

Fuck. What if they got to Cenric, whoever they were?

She bit down on her lip. Thoughts clearing and settling to something more tangible.

Not Dreadlord. With her running away, they had not given chase or resorted to whatever magical well they possessed. So... not Gilram. Unless... he still had a hand in this?

Livia sighed and began to walk, shedding the top layers of her attire and stealing replacements as she walked past homes and their washing. She was glad for this dry air, drying the washed clothes easily that she did not feel a patch of dampness as she tucked her dyed black hair behind a scarf covering her head. The smart move would be to find a way out of this town, then find Cenric and get moving. They could spend another day or two on the road. She was more than willing to put distance between herself and that woman.