Private Tales A Tight Leash

[Elouise Libelle]

Emryc
- - -

It was cold down here, in the undercity. It was a network of old tunnels, man-made caves, and even forests that had been covered by centuries of devlopment. The air was stale, damp, and dark save for the glow stones along the mossy walls.

Eloise was surprised that she had been unaware of its existence for so long. That she, a spymaster of such proficiency, should not noticed a second city beneath her home was astounding. It was also terrifying if one imagined how much power and influence had been needed to keep such a secret.

A secret like the Forsaken, another gap in her omniscience. A race of half-breed assassins, marked and bonded into service of Vel Anir to do tasks too underhanded for dreadlords or soldiers. It had still been a matter of some secrecy after the revolution. After all, news of a secret mongrel attack force would cause even further distrust from foreign powers and loyal Anirians. Their great society was many things; “tolerant” was not one of them.

She moved gracefully with her milky eyes half closed and a luna moth resting silently on her chest. A sphinx moth fluttered about her head and landed on her shoulder, and two small white cabbage moths circled her waist in lazy, bouncing arcs. Several others had already been sent throughout the catacombs to gather was secrets they could, so that when Eloise finally approached a well-guarded door and was let inside, she already knew what lay beyond.

“Dreadlord Libelle, first order, summoner?” A thin man with an overly large mustache sat behind a desk squinting at a rolled bit of parchment. His clothing looked like it used to have medals pinned to it, but there had been no medals lately. Not since the change.

“Yes, I suppose that’s an apt description.” The cabbage moths had settled on her waist, and two more tiny brown things flapped silently to the ceiling and through narrow gaps into adjacent rooms. They had simply appeared from her side.

The mustachioed man introduced himself as a Captain Abel, and seemed to be trying to work out just how the woman in front of him had been classified as a weapon of mass devastation. “Alright, well, you get this one. Emryc was what they called him but call him whatever you like, he’s yours now.”

“You make him sound like a dog, captain.”

Abel looked at her quizzically. “You understand what these are, ma’am? These Forsaken? They’re half-breeds, more monster than human. New guard-“ he caught himself, “er, the Republic does not see fit to execute them, but we can’t just let them roam.”

“I’ve read the declaration, Captain.”

“Yes, yes of course you have. Just…” it looked like he wanted to say “be careful” but thought better of saying such a thing to a Dreadlord. The government may be different, but the sigil at her waist still held meaning. He cleared his throat. “Bring him out.”

 

[Maseno Luana]

What followed next was nothing short of a rudimentary, boring day in the cellblock of the undercity. Emryc had a home to call his own - if the hovel of a shack he'd claimed years ago after earning the title of Forsaken counted for a home - but he'd lost that, too, with the revolution. The undercity was getting tidied up - those in the know were cleaning house to cover their asses.

They called it freedom.

Emryc simply looked at it as a new leash.

The rattling of chains and the clattering of armor heralded the arrival of the dog. It took two large guards to transport him while a third man walked behind him. The Forsaken had been striped of his armor, weapons, and any other wordly belongings he might have thought were his own. The truth of the matter was nothing had belonged to him, but to his Handler, Pa Qosta. Now he was left in something akin to worn and tattered beggars clothes, his many scars, and the seething hatred of this place and these people burning with such evidence in his pale gaze that he might've started a holocaust scene had he any magical ability at all.

He came to a halt before the petite woman and turned that scorching gaze aside. The dog did not look her in the eye, nor even anywhere close.

"You'll be needing this," said the man at the rear as he stepped around the guards and handed the Dreadlord a rolled scroll sealed with the mark of Qosta. "And I'll be needing a moment of your time before you take him," said the man, his gaze shifting over the others present, "alone."

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise watched through her little sentries as Emryc was shuffled from the adjacent room. She could nearly feel his footsteps though the floor, he was so massive. All hard, brawny muscle with neat-trimmed hair and eyes of cold anger. She supposed she could understand that, given the conditions they'd placed him in. If the stories were true his training would have been even more brutal than her own, though it seemed hard to believe.

The cabbage moths began fluttering again, circling and giving her a better view of her new charge as he neared her. He could almost have been called handsome, if one didn't pay too close attention to the pointed ears or green tint of his skin. Then, in an instant, everything went black and silent. The moths' flight suddenly became erratic, and the two larger insects that had been motionless upon her suddenly took flight.

Elouise stepped back, stumbling and throwing out her hands for balance. She felt her throat make a noise but heard no sound. Her serene smile had dropped, and her eyes were wide in alarm, unseeing. "What happened?" she formed the words and spoke them into the dark nothing, trusting that they would be heard. She remembered this place, this horrible place that trapped her whenever her friends were away.

She took a few more steps backwards, and the room swam back into view. Sounds reformed and she put a hand over her pounding heart. All of the moths hovered in place, until one by one they returned to their mistress. She was back, her magic was back.

She took the scroll from the man, giving Emryc a wide berth. "Yes, I suspect you shall," she answered, turning to stare at the half-orc. She spoke to him directly. "I apologize for my outburst. I was not informed of your... gift."

She opened the scroll and the sphinx moth fluttered down to it, crawling over it line by line. "What is the nature of his talent?" she asked the other man.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Though his gaze had been turned away from the woman, Emryc's eyes did not miss the fluttering of the moths. Didn't see those down here ... well, ever. In fact he could not rightly recall the last time he'd seen a moth. Might've been years. These little things seemed attracted to the woman, though suffering some fit when they drew closer to him. The half-orc instinctively kept his gaze trained away, even as the Dreadlord experienced her bout of alarm.

"Mm," the other man grumbled under his breath, looking around at the others present, including the Captain, and set his brow, "not here. Let's take a walk." He gestured for her to follow back along the path she had taken to get there, leading her away and well out of earshot.

He was dressed in merchants clothes that were, notably, stained with fresh blood. His name was Archon and he enjoyed the station of being Pa Qosta's right hand. A butcher on the side, he put his talents with a blade to good use in the rearing of many a Forsaken. His fists as well, were broad, flat, and tempered from years of beating the ever loving snot out of Emryc's many underground compatriots. And Emryc himself. Archon was a big man - broader across the chest than most humans - and his own upbringing around these parts likely wasn't any less sunny than the whelps he'd helped rear.

"This isn't just some rabid dog you're taking from the pits," Archon said once he felt certain they were in a secluded space, and pointed back in the direction of where they'd left the Dreadlord's new plaything, "it's not some toy or bauble. That is a highly honed monster that could cause a lot of trouble topside if you don't keep him on a tight leash."

"He's an anti-mage. It's not a skill, it's an element that comes as naturally to him as breathing and shitting. Magic. Can't. Touch. Him. So if that's all you got to keep him under your heel, then we're going to need to find someone else to take him."

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Despite the strangeness of it all she followed as she was beckoned, though she left the pair of white moths behind to settle on the walls where they remained motionless. This may as well be how she started this whole bizarre game, anyway. It had only been a week ago that she’d been told of the Forsaken’s existence, and two days after that when she’d been given instructions on how to reach this place.

“Do I look like a woman with toys or baubles?” For the first time this evening her face was hard, and no fewer than five large black and white moths crawled out from her sleeves. She was aware that she was quite young compared to Archon, but he should be aware that a dreadlord who made it past 25 was quite a force indeed.

She considered his words very carefully. The ability to negate magic of any kind was extraordinary, and she understood at once why Emryc was one that Vel Anir wanted a very close eye on. What she did not understand was why she had been chosen to hold him. As was just demonstrated at their first meeting, she was useless without magic. She could wield a knife well enough when she could see, but take away her swarm and she was again locked in silent darkness. Emryc could kill her very easily, she realized. Still, she didn’t much like the doubt that edged Archon’s voice.

“I don’t think we want to bother our benevolent leaders with such things… unless you’d like to take it up with Zana yourself?” If the woman who’d beheaded scores of dreadlords at the revolution’s end did not frighten this man, Eloise suspected nothing would.

“No, he will remain with me.” As she spoke, she sent one of the little white moths from the wall towards Emryc. She could see everything it saw, sense with perfect clarity every signal from its black eyes, it’s sensitive antennae, its… and it was gone. As soon as the bug reached within a few feet of the half orc it was as if it had vanished into nothingness. A few seconds later it had returned to Eloise’s consciousness, clearly having just veered away.

Her magic and her connection to the swarm vanished in close proximity to him. How could she ensure her safety? How could she make him want to keep her abilities intact.

She knew the answer, but she pursed her lips solemnly as she came upon it. Perhaps there was another way.

“Surely there must have been a way to keep him in line previously? A way without magic?”

 

[Maseno Luana]

"Your benevolent leaders will much rather this beast remain under control than have him running lose," Archon growled at her, clearly not unsettled in the least with what she perceived to be a threat. "It's not just his power, it's what he was used for. You threaten me with Zana one more time and I'll show you why Zana would rather see his head roll than have him sleeping at the foot of your bed like the mongrel he is. But that's not her choice to make, so her eyes will be on you, not me.

But this wasn't the way Archon had imagined this meeting going. He'd been expecting something much more than what had arrived. Zana herself, maybe. The only thing he could do was trust that this was part of the plan and that he was no longer responsible for when it went awry. He turned away from the woman to give the tunnel another look up and down, making sure no one was near.

"It's all in the scroll," he relented with an aggressive shrug, "the Forsaken mark never worked on him for obvious reasons, so he was conditioned from a young age to follow trigger and command words. You let that information slip into the wrong hands and all the sensitive information in his head can be taken. He'll need regular reconditioning the old-fashioned way. The way your new Republic no longer allows. You can send him back down here for it."

 

[Elouise Libelle]

It turned out nothing did frighten him. What a terrible, terrible fool. Elouise had been underestimated many times, it came with the territory when one was a very small woman with a face five years behind her age. Still, there was a pride that came with her title, and she bristled at being spoken to in such a manner.

That only fifteen or so dark butterflies where swirling around the pair was testament to her restraint, and she split open the scroll’s seal a bit more aggressively than necessary. Three small moths crawled over it as she said “Thank you, I shall keep that in mind.”

She started back towards the room where Emryc was waiting, determined to leave this place as soon as possible. Unfortunately she would need to have a small discussion with her new charge before then. She gleaned the contents from the scroll as she walked and committed it to memory, starting with the most important words and phrases. The butterflies that had swarmed in the hall were gone, as were those that had read the scroll, now safely tucked away. Returning to the room, her sentries were recalled from the walls to rest on her shoulders.

“I wonder if I might have a moment alone with Mister Emryc.” She had the command phrase on her tongue, ready to shout it out should the half-orc decide to charge her, but if Archon had done as good a job breaking the creature as he’d claimed, it shouldn’t be a problem.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Archon followed the waif of a woman back looking for all the world as though he were being forced to give up his favorite pet. Practically a truth. Felt like he was giving an attack dog to a child. This could only end badly and he didn't like the thought that it implicated him in some way.

At the Dreadlord's remark about time with Emryc, Archon narrowed his eyes and gave the two guards flanking the Forsaken a nod. With a chorus of rattling chains they unbound the orc from their tethers to leave him chained hands and feet, but free to move as directed. They stepped away and took their leave. Archon approached the monster, who kept its gaze trained on some shadow in the walls just over the man's shoulder. No direct eye contact. Archon lifted his hand and clapped Emryc on the shoulder as he stepped around him, "He's all yours now, Dreadlord."

Archon has exited the chamber. The Captain followed shortly after after depositing the key to Emryc's binds in Elouise's hand.

Emryc was alone with the Dreadlord, as requested. He didn't move and he hadn't shifted his gaze from the spot he'd marked since his arrival.

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise waited until the men’s footsteps had faded far away before speaking. As the silence lengthened the number of gray and brown butterflies in the room gradually increased, until the pair were surrounded by a loose gathering. From here Elouise could take in everything in minute detail.

It was a tricky question, this “anti-mage.” Had he any other skill, Elouise could have flattened him beneath the weight of a plague if he tried anything. As it was, she would become helpless should he venture near her.

That was another thing: he had been able to cut her off. There were many fields that could weaken or nullify magic. Very few of them worked on her. She had always thought of her gift as a sort of link, a bond that transcended the mere arcane. Now here was a half-orc to put that notion violently to bed. A thing for further study, she thought.

“We ought to get to know one another if we are to be working together,” she began pleasantly. “My name is Elouise Labelle, First Order Dreadlord of House-” she paused, “Excuse me, old habits I’m afraid. No house, not anymore.”

She pulled back her hood, letting loose a generous wave of silvery-blonde hair. Her ears held numerous silver rings, and her eyes, though clouded, seemed to glitter when she looked at him. “Is there anything you wish to tell me before we go? You may speak freely.” She meant it, though she doubted the orc would believe her.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Reticent as he was reared to be, Emryc stood as though a statue while the Dreadlord tempted conversation. She clearly was not versed in the rearing and training of Forsaken - though each of them were managed slightly different depending on their purpose. Emryc, specifically, to lessen the likelihood he'd ever have a rebellious notion in his mind, had been brought up to speak not at all where his Handlers and Overseers were concerned.

Only when spoken to, only in response to direct questions or commands.

Libelle made the mistake of asking an optional, open-ended question, which unsettled the half-orc enough that his stare wavered from the speck it had been locked on, to a nearby moth fluttering about his peripheral. A quick blink reaffirmed his avoiding gaze. He had nothing he wished to tell her, so he said nothing at all.

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise allowed the silence to stretch and did not move nor change her oddly pleasant expression to show that the wait did not bother her. She had no need for a pet, she wanted a partner, or at least something in between.

“Well,” she continued finally. “First things first, we must get you something better to wear. I expected them to give you something cheap and flimsy but this… this will not do.” She indicated the thin rags that Emryc had been brought in. “You represent me now, after all. Can’t have anything thinking I can’t look after you.” She smiled and cocked her head, a paradoxically cute expression from the spymaster.

She fingered the key in her hands. She saw it from thirty different angles, in shades that no human eyes could see. She heard the metal brushing her skin, she smelled the iron tang of it through dozens of sensitive antennae.

All of that would vanish, she knew, once she stepped close to Emryc. It was something she could not risk, for while she harbored no ill-will towards the half-orc she did not, could not trust him. Not yet.

She kept the command word in her mind, ready to shout it the moment she felt him move against her. She could see herself moving forwards, see him standing still. Even though she knew it was coming, she still inhaled sharply when the darkness came sweeping in.

Utter silence, complete blackness. It was dizzying to be cut off from such widespread awareness so suddenly, but she kept her feet firmly on the flat stone floor, her only lifeline. She moved forwards with small steps, holding the key out in front of herself, feeling with her other hand for where she knew Emryc would be.

Her fingers brushed his massive wrist, and it took every ounce of control she had not to back away immediately. She felt the keyhole, unlatched his shackles, then pressed the key into his newly freed hand.

She backed away quickly, stepping into a world of light and sound once more with a sigh of relief. "You can free your feet, I trust? Please do so, then follow me."

 

[Maseno Luana]

The way in which the woman approached him was so incredibly odd and unusual that Emryc could not help but look down at her as she did so. There was no line of vision to connect, so much as he surmised by the glassy appearance of her eyes and the way she seemed to find herself blind as she neared him. Her hands, tiny and delicate in comparison to his own, sought him out with trepidation.

She was scared. Of him? Maybe, but he wasn't so sure it wasn't simply that. Imposing as he was, Emryc knew enough of the Dreadlords to understand that they were survivors in their own right and not simply just spoilt surface pups with fancy tricks. He was still trying to work out what the deal with all the bugs were, his gaze flickering about to several of them and watching as one or two got too close and skittered oddly away.

Was she controlling them with magic?

Her fingers found purchase on his wrist and she'd note a curious sensation of heat radiating off of him. Emryc's orc blood ran thick in his veins, providing him a great deal of strength, stamina, and a very helpful tolerance to pain as well as heat. He could see without strain in the dark, hear and smell things normal humans could not, and heal faster than them as well.

But put him in the sunshine and watch him falter. Make him skip a meal and see how quickly he slows down.

Clink. The first shackle fell free and he felt the oppressive weight drop from his arm. He looked down to the key in his hand, then back to the Dreadlord as she made a hasty retreat from his immediate presence. Emryc wasted no time in ridding himself of the remaining shackles, the chorus of metal links and chains as they clattered to the ground around him a welcome song indeed. With only a command to follow to go by, follow he did. The half-orc stepped after the Lady, letting her set the pace and the direction as she took him from the cold, damp, dark comforts of his home underground for, perhaps, the last time.

Emryc stepped out into the fresh air and sunlight of the surface level and immediately shrunk back from the sunlight as it burned into his eyes. Daylight and he were not well acquainted and it would take some time for him to adjust.

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise watched Emryc as they moved steadily up the twisting, cold catacombs. Though he followed her, though she remained facing ahead, she studied his movements alongside her own. She noted his gait, how he carried his arms and head while they walked. She noted how large he was in the cramped halls yet how at home he seemed to be in dark confines.

The warmth of daylight was welcome to her and she smiled serenely as the cold and dank was swept away by the fresh air. Her follower, it seemed was not so eager to follow. Archon had not mentioned any weakness to sunlight nor fear of crowds. She turned back to him, her face bent in a concerned frown.

"What is the matter?" she asked, studying Emryc with a dozen floating eyes. The way he shrank from above, the way he shielded his eyes... of course. How stupid of her not to have thought of this before. "You have not left the undercity for some time, have you?" She asked, not expecting a response (why should now be any different). "It's alright," she nodded.

As she did, a great number of butterflies swam out from her. They were brilliantly blue on the tops of their wings, but the undersides were pale brown with striking eyespots. Most notable, however, was their size. Each wing could easily have spanned a grown man's hand, and close to a hundred of the glittering creatures swept up to form a living parasol for Emryc, and a second one for Elouise herself. Beneath the gentle breeze of their wings only dappled sunlight could filter through. "Is that better?"

The display certainly drew some eyes towards them, and Emryc's appearance kept them there, but no one seemed brave enough to comment on the strangeness occurring before them. "We must continue if we are to reach the armorer before close."

 

[Maseno Luana]

He felt stupid, cringing into the sun like a newborn babe that had never seen it. He had seen sunlight, but so rarely that the event of it was something he often prepped for. Over the last few days he'd been moved, stripped of his every possession, moved again, and left to sit for at least two days in a cellblock to await his new purpose. Emryc wasn't sure why he'd expected it to be night outside. Circadian rhythm be damned, the daylight had caught him by surprise.

"I just-" his gravelly, underused voice rumbled between bared teeth as he forced himself fully out into the sun, hand capped over his eyes to better let them adjust, "need ...a moment."

The shade that fell over them both was also unexpected. Clouds maybe? By the time he removed his hand the butterflies were already in place and he stared, disgruntled and dumbstruck, at the sight of them. Butterflies. Had he ever seen so many in one place before? And so big? No, he decided, he never had. Emryc had no familiarity with butterflies, really. Daytime things. Surface world things. He'd become rather fond of moths if for no other reason than they were silent, harmless companions within the dank caves of the undercity.

"Is that better?"

The half orc shifted his gaze back to the woman, brow knit warily at the more than strange circumstances he now found himself in. "Yes." Direct questions always worked a charm.

"We must continue if we are to reach the armorer before close."

Emryc took a breath, gave one last skyward glance at the fluttering shade above him, and gave the woman a nod.


The Armorer

This was ... better. Familiar ground if nothing else. The undercity had several armorers and Emryc had grown to know one of them well enough if for no other reason that his armor often needed repair and improvements for various missions. That was then. This Armorer looked a world apart. Though he shared the same sooted, gritty, hard-working appearance as any other, this one's setup, forge, smithy, and tools were obviously a grand cut above anything found underground. Everything in here screamed high quality and expensive.

"Mm," grunted Master Smith Ermen, "a full set will take time. What type?"

Emryc gave the woman a wayward glance, and when she gestured for him to answer he looked back to the man, "I wore reinforced medium leather armor before. Double layered, linen lined, oil treated, double stitched."

"Double stitch isn't worth your time. I don't do anything less than triple, and linen lining doesn't offer anything but bulk. It's what you dress people in that you don't care will be dead in a week."

Emryc fixed the man with a deadpan stare.

"Right. Was it at least boiled?"

"No."

"Gods man, you might as well have been wearing nothing."

At the very least, Ermen didn't seem to care a lick that he was working with a halfbreed. Must not have been a native to Vel Anir.

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise stood back as the two discussed specifics. She wore little of the stuff herself as she was rarely on a battlefield, at least the front of one. Her place was in the back, surveying from above, giving strategic advice and support alongside the other seers, wargs, and clairvoyants that Vel Anir could provide.

She had learned enough to know that one's armor was quite a personal thing. She was prepared to let Emryc add his personal touches and preferences, but she would not compromise on the quality. Not only would it reflect poorly on her to have him in sub-par gear, but the Forsaken was quite an investment. His utility, she knew, would prove itself many times over. She had no intention of letting him die easily.

"Then it speaks to your skill that you are still alive, no?" She added cheerfully. "But I would very much like you better protected from now on. Please charge any expenses to my account, Master Ermen."

Emryc would need to have his measurements taken and there would be discussion of materials and style. Elouise's stipend from the Republic was less than what she'd earned from her Noble House, but it was still generous. Frankly, she had not had anything worthwhile to spend it on until now, and every now and then she would push for a slightly more expensive variant. She knew her newest companion would face far worse than judgmental looks from most Anirians. Let them see that he had the full support of the Academy. For good measure, let them see the elegant moth embossed on his back and know to whom they would answer if they stepped against him.

To end their visit, Elouise purchased a thin chain belt from the smith. Its links were each a different metal, and the way they glittered was most appealing to the insectoid eyes she borrowed. She fastened it loosely over her hips, removing her cloak to show it off on her day dress beneath.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Emryc couldn't be sure how he felt about the woman's apparent compliment on his ability to stay alive. Perhaps there was something there to chew on, mentally, when he couldn't sleep at night. All he could really think about presently was that armor had very, very little to do with the number of nights he'd spent on this planet alive.

It did not go quite so smoothly at the tailor.

"I am not accustomed to dressing beasts in this establishment," the man curled his lip at the halfblood, "plus, he stinks. Bathe him first and then he can come inside."

He'd gone noseblind years ago, it was true. Emryc could not detect his own stench if he tried. Baths in the underground river were a luxury taken only at the end of missions and he hadn't been on a mission in several weeks ... if not longer. He kept his gaze down and expression flat. Humiliation was just as natural to him as breathing.

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Emryc may have been accustomed to humiliation but Elouise had left that behind at the academy. She had been honed through brutality. She had been beaten by proctors and peers, stripped bare and left in icy woodlands, and once they had starved her for a week before throwing her into a pit with a panther. There were few tortures she hadn't suffered, but having made it through all that imparted a certain pride, one that even the soft-spoken Elouise couldn't ignore.

"Master Roleux," she stepped towards to tailor, pulling back her wide hood so that her milky eyes and silvery hair almost glowed in the warm sunlight. "Do you typically address Dreadlords in such a manner? Mr. Emryc is in my service, and I need him to look the part." The butterflies over her head swirled back to the cloud above the half-orc as a number of less beautiful insects blossomed from beneath Elouise's cloak. The moths were small and nondescript, simple brown with papery wings that rustled gently as they took their places around the store. Innocuous, except to any tailor worth his silk who would recognize them as insects with a particular appetite for cloth. They sat motionless upon landing. Waiting.

"If he offends I would suggest applying some of that perfume you yourself are wearing, or perhaps the rosewater that she has dabbed on herself." She nodded towards the young woman at the very back of the store. "In any case, I would ever so much appreciate your skilled assistance. We are, unfortunately, on a tight schedule."

 

[Maseno Luana]

Emryc certainly had no idea why these new, small moths would be of such threat to the tailor, but whatever the case was, the threat worked. They were waved in and he soon found himself both bereft of the few slips of material covering his body and doused in rosewater and perfume, neither of which he'd ever recalled having the explicit honor of smelling before in his life.

The half orc struggled to breath through the cloud in the room he'd been ushered to for the sake of the Tailor's other paying customers (most of them fled so fast that they'd left personal items behind). The man did as told, standing buck naked with his arms out, not a shred of embarrassment to be seen. His stoic expression had barely changed at all save the distaste of the floral scents, and despite his obvious halfbreed origins the younger women of the shop were eyeing him with a mixture of intrigue and disgust.

He was fit and built like a green statue carved of a battle God with the myriad scars in full complement. The Tailor made haste to take measurements and outfit him to the taste of the Dreadlord if only to stave off further threats to his wares. But also to get the halfbreed out of his place of business as quickly and discreetly as possible. They'd settled on plain clothes for every day wear, simple white tunics, dark brown pants, an overvest and longcoat. New boots and riding gloves. The finer appointments would need to be made to order.

What he wore back out into the streets with the Dreadlady may have been the finest articles of clothing he'd ever worn to date, and he tried not to think about this too much. Didn't do to dwell on kind gestures or nice things - they never lasted. But where were they off to now, he wondered. How much more clothing could he possibly need?

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise sat at the front of the shop and appeared to all the world to simply be admiring the fine bolts of cloth and well cut articles. In actuality she eyed the entire store and everyone in it, most of all her newest companion. He was certainly built to the standards she had expected from the brief description she'd been allowed, though words could never truly capture the real imagery. The scars were almost jarring in their number, some quite clearly inflicted not by battle but as punishment. And if she took an indiscrete view of him alongside this assessment, well... why shouldn't she? He was hers after all, and she ought to know everything about him.

The clothing suited Emryc quite well, if she did say so herself. The tailor, despite his protestations and obvious dislike of the two of them, had done an exemplary job. The fabric complemented the green hues of his skin and even brought out the pale yet ever-changing colors in his eyes. Elouise was a titch annoyed that she could not have her minions inspect closer, but the distance would have to do.

She did not expect thanks from the forsaken, she guessed this was all still quite jarring for him. Perhaps he expected her to lash him this evening after a day of niceties, or maybe he thought he would be sleeping in a stable tonight. In time, she hoped, Emryc would see that he was valued. She could wait. She had always been patient.

"I understand you are a skilled fighter," she said when they were once again out on the streets. The sun had lowered considerably while the tailor had worked, but she still kept a sparse cloud above their heads to dampen the brightness. "Yet I fear you have been hampered by poor tools. One more stop, I think, and then we shall retire for the evening."

She didn't use much weaponry herself, keeping to the single dagger beneath her flowing cloak and even then she had rarely drawn it with intensions of violence. She did know a swordmaster who had supplied several dreadlords. Perhaps he would remember her by that dagger. In any case, he would certainly be able to craft a blade suited to Emryc's... unique stature.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Skilled fighter.

For some reason those words offended Emryc. Skilled fighter indeed. Did this woman truly have no fucking clue what he had been raised to do? Was she really so completely ignorant to what the Forsaken were used for? How many bodies he'd put in the ground before he was a man grown? Dreadlords may have had it bad before the revolution, but whatever they thought their level of misery and abuse was at their Academy, it could have been doubled for the Forsaken.

At the very least.

Emryc's silence persisted as it was want to do. Not as if he had a question or a command to answer, either way, but he would be curious to see what compared to the poor tools he'd had at his disposal for ... ever.

Weapons Master Birch Barlem was a tall, griseled war veteran of the Anirian Guard who had more than earned his retirement in the shop. The man kept a neat and tidy countenance that Emryc recognized as very military, and his sallow appearance suggested that he was not only aged, but ailing. Birch looked down his long nose ridged by too many blows to the face at Elouise and then appraised her new plaything with a look of level distaste.

"Longswords," Birch intoned dispassionately as he lead the pair to the section of his shop where several sat on display and hooked into stands, "you'll want the broad pommel for those hands."

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Emryc's silence would make it difficult to get to know one another as they should, but Elouise had not expected this to go quickly. She found comparing him to an animal to be distasteful, but she had to admit there were some parallels. Any creature, man or beast, would be reserved and distrustful had they suffered as Emryc had suffered.

...she assumed. She had not been given a full account of Forsaken. Like most Anirians she had been ignorant of their existence until a few weeks ago. The damage on Emryc's body had made some of the unspoken words real, and Elouise's suspicions were largely confirmed.

No matter which way she faced Elouise was watching Emryc. Watching his face, his movements, every twitch and inclination of his body. She had been trained to read individuals in this way, to know what they were thinking before they did. Emryc had either been trained in concealment... or forced into it. Aside from general discomfort she could get nothing from him.

"Thank you, Master Barlem," she nodded in his direction. Weapons were not her forte. She was physically weak, and her dagger was the only weapon on her person. "If you have a close fit in stock we will take it today, along with payment for a personalized fit." She looked Emryc over with her butterflies. Heavens, he was massive. "Something to take advantage of profound strength, I think."

 

[Maseno Luana]

Birch watched the pair with an air of tiredness that may have been borderline offensive if it wasn't for his overall dour appearance. His sharp gaze shifted to the beast, seemed to consider his stature with equal parts repulsion and general appreciation for the warrior's physique.

"I may have something that will suit temporarily," and strode between them without so much as having to suck in his tall, withered frame. He skulked to a corner where an oversized longsword sat covered in dust in a corner. It was gaudy and decorated with gemstones that probably valued more than the sword itself, and gleamed with a certain sense of disuse.

"This I believe was a piece held in ceremony by General Anton. A large man who lost his leg to an elf snare before he could truly prove his worth. His wife gifted this to him as a pittance for his early forced retirement to pushing papers. It never saw any use...in fact I do not even believe the edge is honed but it is of high quality." Birch grappled the thing with both hands and, with some obvious effort, passed it to the half-orc who took it as if the man had handed him a wooden toy. Emryc stood back into the open area of the room and gave the sword a controlled swing to test its balance, weight, and length. He didn't care for the thing's aesthetic, but the jewels could be removed and the shine dulled with an acid treatment.

"The blade can be honed for an additional fee," Birch commented.

"I can do that," Emryc replied as he stilled his actions and warily glanced in Elouise's direction as if he'd spoken out of turn.

"I will collect the necessary materials for you and take measurements for your custom piece. Is there anything else the Lady would like him fashioned with? A dagger, perhaps?"

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise kept her classic, pleasant expression, although her smile did perk up briefly as Emryc spoke. It was perhaps the most words she'd heard him use at one time, and she assumed he must at least like the sword if he was willing to talk about it.

She made no reply to Emryc's glance, only stepped a bit closer and had a few of the shimmering butterflies make a slow circle about the pair of them so that she could better examine it. It was awfully inconvenient that she could not get closer, but it seemed a fine enough piece.

"Today's armaments are on me, Emryc," she said kindly, "As a welcome to your new line of work." She regarded him remotely, a different specimen entirely once dressed in more than rags. She answered Birch. "Yes, a fine suggestion, Master Barlem."

She would allow the weaponsmith to do his work, and let him know where notice could be sent when the final pieces were ready. She perused the shop idly as Emryc was once again measured and prodded.

 

[Maseno Luana]

Measured, prodded, and allowed to peruse a catalog of blade styles. After a custom weapon had been carefully rendered in design by Birch's skilled drafting skills, the last item of due was to find him a dagger. There were many fine pieces on display toward the back of the shop of many makes, metals, and materials, but few that would fit the oversized hand of the half-orc.

"Try this one," Birch said for what felt the dozenth time, pulling a finely crafted blade from its leather sheath and offering it to Emryc.

Em rolled his fingers around the handle and into the fitted curves of finger rests, finding the piece to fit near perfectly. As if it were made for him.

"Damascus steel," Birch sniffed, clearly not something to his taste, "that went out of fashion an age ago, but this blade was hammered by a master smith who died with the popularity of this style. His pieces are a rare novelty now."

Regardless of all that, the blade felt right in his hand and seemed to warm within his palm as he looked it over. After a moment he nodded and offered it back to the man. It would do.

"Very good, would you prefer a baldric attachment or waistbelt for the custom longsword?"
"Baldric, with a drawing shabbard."
"I have your measurements, so we'll add a custom fitted baldric to the order as well. It will be some time before this order is ready. We'll call the Lady when it is."

He left outfitted with his new dagger and gaudy longsword securely hanging from a new handtooled leather waistbelt. The Forsaken walked with a slightly stiff gait now, feeling most out of sorts. He'd never in his life wore such fine clothing or weapons, nor so openly in public during the day. Everything about this day went against what he knew and had been strangely tiring. The day was nearly gone by the time they set off again - where had the time gone?

 

[Elouise Libelle]

Elouise was glad that Emryc was able to be fitted with gear that suited him, and she thanked the smith and paid him for the items received before the pair of them stepped back into the waning sunlight.

The butterflies were not needed for shade now, so they dispersed as glittering stars to the rooftops. Elouise felt them leave her consciousness, and her focus returned to more immediate surroundings. Emryc looked truly impressive now, in clothing tailored to his powerful frame with fine weapons to match. She kept as close to him as she dared, for a well-armed half-breed may not be so kindly regarded by all Anirians.

She, too, had begun to feel worn out from the day’s errands. “Are you hungry?” She asked, realizing as she spoke that Emryc might not admit to wanting food. He hadn’t been great with questions before… best time make the decision for him this time.

“There is a cart up ahead that is lovely, and then I think home for well-deserved rest.”

She could see people staring at them, hear their whispers where they thought they were safe. No one in the thinning crowds had revealed themselves as a true threat yet, but anyone that tried to make a move would find themselves barred rather quickly, and rather terribly.

Maybe a more direct question would have better results. “What do you usually eat?”