Fable - Ask Chasing Tails

[Isaac]

Once upon a time, in his brighter years, he might have cared to dig more into the Culture of this place.

Before the Maester's had blunted his curiosity Isaac had been like many other students in Elbion. Curious and with a boundless enthusiasm for understanding. Yet after what had happened, the toil he had taken and the lash flickered over him such temptations had been dulled.

Now he cared only for what was to be his.

Teekle slowly walked around Gavril as the man began to dig, watching him curiously for a time as Isaac sat back and chewed on some of their rations. Eventually a small spring of water bubbled to the surface, enough for a drink and enough for his purposes. "Yes."

He said.

"I think that will do find." Slowly the Warlock stepped forward, lips thinning as he gazed down into the small puddle. For a brief moment it appeared as though he were doing nothing, and yet one look at Teekle would disavow the thought.

The cat's eyes were glowing a soft orange, it's hairs standing up on end, and slowly the creature reached down and touched the small pool. A ripple ran through it, cascading in small waves, and an image began to form from within.

A picture of a girl appeared, and then slowly flickered away from her. Showing a ravine encapsulated by bare wisps of trees. "Does that look familiar?"

Isaac asked the other man, gesturing to the pool.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

"Sand Rill," the native said. There was a sour twist to the words of which had been spoken in the manner of naming a place. "Not far from abandoned town." Creative use of the word abandoned, of course; no such thing was true of the place. Burned to the ground and its inhabitants staked out in the sun or else slaughtered in the streets was more like it.

He tried to think of which tribe of his kinfolk walked the world near that place and could not remember. They were a scattered people, broken into clan and tribe that fought one another almost as vigorously as they did the outside world.

"Old water path," the savage explained. "Only sand now. When much water from sky, flow again. Water below, people stay near rill." He looked into his companions eyes from the shadow of his hood, and shook his dead. "Much, much danger. Not band, but tribe. Not five or ten, but hundred."

He closed his eyes, and thought. This was not the kind of thing that you went in fighting. They would not be able to smash and grab. It would require some forethought and planning. It would also probably require some manner of stealth and he did not like to think of his odds in that. At least, in an encampment.

 

[Isaac]

Good news, bad news, Isaac supposed. It would have been somewhat of a nightmare if the other man hadn't recognized what was in the waters at all, so the Warlock would count that as a boon in the very least. Settling back on his heels as he listened to Gavril describe the challenge up ahead.

"Interesting." He mused for a moment, tapping his chin.

It was obvious from the savages inflection that they would have to be more careful. Waltzing into the area might get them killed, and even if they were prepared there was probably a very good chance of that happening anyway.

They had his magics of course, and the man's knowledge, that would at least go a long way.

"What do you suggest?" Isaac asked, uncharacteristically willing to listen. "Disguise ourselves?"

Would such a thing even be possible? Surely a tribe would know it's own members, but with a touch of magic perhaps they would make it believable. It was unlikely they could slip through the territory completely unnoticed.

That much he'd already assumed.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

The silence stretched. Gavril did not immediately reply, and instead seemingly let the moment drag on to the point of agony. Eyes closed.

Thinking.

After an eternity with nothing but the soft soughing of the wind through grass, he opened his eyes. "Two way." He held one finger up, and looked sidelong at the warlock. "Much danger. You, disguise self as member of clan. Not...not know tattoo need. Must be...exact." He was not a Seer, and could never be one. He bore the tattoo of his birth, as well, but it shamed him to have it seen by anyone. It was more than a marking for the look of the thing; it told others his status and caste, as it were. As well as parts of his name.

He couldn't fake such a thing without knowledge of the Seers. It was they that marked children and then adults upon the day of Naming.

"Maybe not look close. But is risk. Illusion for look of No'rei, possible," he said as he raised his arms. Dull scales gleamed when he pulled back the sleeves before letting them drop. "But more to No'rei than appearance."

He paused, turned to the man fully and held up two fingers. "Not sneak. You come as captive to me, and I try to not get in fight. Not my clan, but sometimes outsider of No'rei are allowed." The risk in this was twofold, of course; firstly, he was not a member of this tribe and that carried its own risks. Violence was the life of the No'rei, and as an outsider there was a terrible risk of violence. Especially as low status as he was. And, secondly, was the risk to the warlock. He could be taken from Gavril, or killed out of hand. Of course, as his captive he couldn't let that happen but...

So many risks. But life was short, and brutal, and filled with risks anyway. "Unless better idea you have."

 

[Isaac]

He didn't like either choice, but one gave him more wiggle room than the other.

From the context clues Isaac could guess that the people Gavril spoke of were marked with certain tattoos. Getting those wrong would be like throwing up a flag they were lying, but at the same time would that be pressed for if everything else looked right?

At the same time going as a prisoner was...distasteful, and created a situation by where they were already on the backfoot. Isaac would prefer to take charge of a moment, rather than rely on the kindness of others to see them through.

"I can disguise myself." He told the other man.

"The magic would not be too difficult." Though getting it exactly right would be hard. "Do you have mutes among your people?"

The Warlock asked. "Those who do not speak?"

That would at least take away one piece of a disguise that might give them away. If Isaac looked the part, perhaps he would not necessarily have to sound the part.

Mreow.​

Teekle piped up quietly besides him. A frown touched Isaac's face, and for a moment he paused, then added. "Or, if we find can find the body of one of these men..."

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

He settled back onto his haunches and scowled up at the warlock. Even so, the savage gave the impression of an intensity uncommon in the civilized world. A readiness to do violence suddenly and without warning. "Disguise danger. But all ways are dangerous. No safety among my people," he said, and spat to one side.

"Not speak when young, killed. Lame, killed. Dull, killed. Weak, killed." He shook his head slowly. Perhaps the warlock did not understand. "Seven demand strength. Weakness is death, awarded such." He paused, eyes gleaming. "But not born unspeaking? Wounded and live, no words to speak? Then, maybe." Such a crippled member of clan or tribe would be sorely tested, of course; weakness could not be tolerated. But if one had managed to take such a wound and live, why, they might still be permitted to live among the people.

"Understand," he said slowly, looking up into the other man's eyes from the shadows of his hood. "No'rei not civil. Not weak, like in cities. Sudden death, any time. Wrong look, wrong touch, wrong word. Walk wrong way, even - offense given, blood price to pay." He gestured at his spears, shrugged.

'But if not coward, if truly desire coin or whatever it is you demand..." He shrugged again. The risk to him was, of course, considerably less. The entire affair would be unpleasant for him, but no more dangerous than his years living among the people had been. For Isaac, an outsider, discovery was certain death. Come to think, if they suspected him of harboring an outsider, it was certain death for him, as well.

But that was life. "In the camp, I can take you. From there, must follow your magic and no get caught."

 

[Isaac]

Isaac regarded the man as he explained more about his culture. The expression he wore was a dull one, if only because what Gavril described was more than a little bleak. Life in Elbion, even in the worst gutters, sounded downright pleasant by comparison. It only made him think about why in the hell anyone would choose to live that way.

The world was wide and expansive.

No need to settle for a torturous existence in the middle of nowhere. Constantly watching over your shoulder and walking on eggshells because you might insult someone. A casual wave could apparently be taken as a threat of death. Not something Isaac would ever want to chance, but then his standards were apparently far beyond this particular tribe.

"I need what I need." The warlock said finally in answer. It sounded as though they were walking right into a death trap. Except you couldn't really call it a trap when you were entirely aware of what was waiting for you on the other side.

But he needed what he needed. Without it he would be set back another ten years, and with Layla no longer at his side it was an unacceptable delay.

"We will not be found." Isaac said, reaching out to stroke his hand over Teekle's fur. "I'll make sure of it."

Perhaps though, he would have to dig a little deeper into the abyss to make sure of it. Just a little bit.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

The seriousness on Gavril face cracked for a moment, and he offered the outlander a grin. It was a little feral, but it was there. It turned out the Warlock was not a coward and he hadn't saddled himself with someone of weak constitution.

"Good," was all he said and rose.

In the gathering gloom, he looked westward. Isaac didn't know how true his thoughts were. Gavril had left that way of life, abandoned his heritage because he believed there had to be something better. Low status and bound to it forever in a blood-soaked culture that thought only of appeasing its absent gods...

Gods that even now he still swore on, even though he hated them.

Without any preamble, he turned from his companion. "Sleep now. Tomorrow will be much excitement." Dancing on the edge of life and death.

Just another day, but one he did not expect to have to deal with again, and so soon.

***

The sun was still low on the horizon, the sky still streaked with pink and orange and vibrant fire. The heavy scent of burning manure and bone lay on the air, and the camp spread before them. He had led the way past the sentries - just because he was of the lowest caste did not mean that he was unskilled. Far from it, actually.

And before them, perhaps a thousand of the people had gathered. The fact that there were so many was a rare thing in and of itself; they fought one another with almost as much passion as they fought the outside world. It was only the speed with which they bred as a people that kept them from being wiped out long before.

A thousand No'rei, and perhaps a hundred large tents crafted from hides and each and every one of them as temporary and ephemeral as the wind.

"Are you ready?" His words were flat and low as he surveyed the scene before him. Smoke in the air, and the taste of magic on the wind. Wild, feral magic.

 

[Isaac]

Isaac glanced down into the vale below, a small frown on his face as he peered at the many tents. He focused, using a small spell to sharpen his vision and get a better look at those below. He noted the tones of their skins, the varying marks upon their flesh.

Any and every detail that he could pick out and commit to memory. Besides him sat Teekle, the little cat patiently waiting until the Warlock finally finished his examination. "This would be easier with a corpse."

He murmured to himself, a small mreow echoing besides him.

"But needs must." Isaac said as he slowly squatted down. A small needle was plucked from his sleeve, and gently he reached over towards the little cat. He pricked the back of Teekle's neck, something the cat clearly did not mind.

If Gavril gave it a close look, he would notice the blood upon the needle was not red, but instead a deep and almost sickening black. With it, Isaac drew a small symbol upon his arm.

It came into being, and then seconds later the Warlocks skin seemed to physically begin to crawl. Shifting, moving, and somehow turning in color. Within mere seconds Isaac no longer appeared as himself, but instead someone far more native. Not a copy of any one man, but an amalgamation of a dozen. He had tried to keep it simple, hoping only to blend in.

The magic would last as long as he needed to, but the price...he glanced down at Teekle.

He was not sure if the price would be worth it. "Ready."

Isaac said, though not in his own voice.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

Gavril watched throughout without speaking, without making any gesture or showing any inkling of what he thought of the strange magic being worked by the warlock. It was different than that used by the Seer's, but then some of their magic was likely strange to the warlock as well.

He merely grunted at the indication of readiness. A quick glance at his companion showed that he, too, was covered in intricate tattoos as well. Gavril realized they would need to avoid any Seer in the camp like they were death itself. They would be, too; the markings were forgeries. His own tattoos told the story of his past lives, and the shamans of the tribe could read them.

But it was good that he was so marked, the ink only absent from the scales on his arms and neck and lower back. He was low born, and so long as he did not draw attention to himself none would even think twice about him.

Seven send that he didn't do anything stupid.

Without further word, he set off into the valley. There were sentries in the tall grass of the Sea, and her marked them as they drew close. Marked, but did not look their way. It wasn't until they had come close to what could be called the perimeter of the camp; hide tents here and there marked lodgings for those wealthy enough to afford such trappings. That concept was not the same as the outside world thought it; no gold flowed from hand to hand here. Only honor and pride of place, earned by birth right.

<<"And what do we have here?">> The words were laced with challenge and a casual arrogance that was painted clearly on the face of the men who stepped from the tall grass, from a defile in the ground just out of sight. Their words were in No'rei, the language flowing like the wind across the plains. But even if Isaac couldn't understand them - an assumption Gavril was willing to make - there was no mistaking the hostility in their tone. <<"A scraw from the wastes? Come to beg alms like the honorless dog you are?">> The lead sentry took in the marking on Gavril's arms, and sneered.

<<"Drank my fill of the Traitors' blood for the week,">> he scratched out in response. He did not meet their eyes; the smooth unmarked skin of their arms was enough to tell him they were of a far higher caste than he. He eyed the spears they all carried, the hide bucklers strapped to their backs. <<"Come to seek a Blessing,">> he offered. Their sneer only deepened, but they had already dismissed him out of hand. Those dark eyes - eyes filled with hatred - slid over Isaac.

<<"Another scrag?">> The leader of the three men looked Isaac up and down, noting the coloring of his scales (so similar to their own) and the markings on his body that made him of a similar caste to Gavril himself. <<"Does the dog speak?">>

Gavril did not translate. With the direct stare and the implicit violence that was barely held in check beneath the surface of these No'rei warriors, he simply walked forward and ignored the interplay.

And hoped like hell that Isaac would not do anything...foolish.

 

[Isaac]

Isaac kept his face entirely impassive throughout the entire conversation, though he couldn't help the streak of fascination that ran through him.

At one point in time, he had been a scholar.

Not the best, nor the most committed, but he had been fascinated by the world. A young Isaac might have taken this moment to indulge that side of him. Take notes, commit, things to memory. Do anything and everything to document and record this entire thing.

But that side of him was long dead.

Now he was Isaac the Warlock. The Reviled, hated. The dropout who had made his mark by killing three Maestar's.

Any scholarly side of him had gone when he'd taken his bargain, and he knew that. So instead of studying for scholarly pursuit, he only paid attention to the moment. Taking in the way the men postured, how they spoke, and the way that Gavril responded to them.

He kept his face a perfect marble mask, never speaking, and seeming to look passed the very men who got into his face. After a few more moments, When Gavril moved to step forward, Isaac did as well. Ignoring the men as though they were little less than stray dogs.

As he stepped, Teekle moved behind him with a flicker of it’s tail.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

It was like stepping back in time, to a place he had never wished to return to.

The camp was laid out as were all No'rei bands; seemingly haphazardly and without rhyme or reason. There was a structure to it, though. People like him - low caste, people with disdained names and no pedigree to speak of - made up the outer ring of tents and bedrolls. The scaled features of ink-scarred souls marked their slow passage through with dark eyes that were devoid of any emotion. Had learned to guard such things.

Inward, were those of notable birth. Not nobles, per-say; Being born of parents from a high caste did not make one high-born among the No'rei. No, it was the innermost part of the camp that determined that.

The Seers. Those that deciphered the will of the Seven. Those who could see the souls of each and every one of them, and see the lives that had been lived before. They were the only ones for whom the status of their birth meant nothing. The great and the meek were all seen the same among the Seers, and all of them were revered among the rest.

Gavril cast a sidelong look at his now silent companion. He could only hope that the man kept to his part.

<<"To think you would dare show your face here again, scrag.">> Gavril stopped at the words, delivered with the chill of winter curling round them. Did not look up at the face he knew would be there.

Scia.

She had seen him enter the camp and had made her way from the middle to intercept him. She was not of this particular tribe any more than he was, and yet she was here. He did not need to look up to see her cold expression, eyes like polished chips of dark ice. Scales of pale russet marked her neck and cheeks, and covered the tops of her arms and the outside of her thighs. The leather vest she wore had a cut out in the back, he knew, that displayed the simple and elegant tattoo she bore.

Scia of the Nine Moons. Gavril did not speak. She was so far above him in standing that he did not even look at her, and simply wished she would go away.

<<"I have not forgotten,">> she said in a voice like winter itself. The silence stretched, and Gravril found that he was suddenly becoming an object of attention in the camp. He very, very much did not want that at the moment. Too much scrutiny might undo everything. <<"No words today? Maybe words won't do anyway.">>

Amusement, dark and twisted, coiled in her words. Another figure broke from the center of the camp, stalking towards them. A male, tale and proud; she cast a sidelong look back at him, and her lips curled in triumph. Silver scales gleamed in the sun, dark eyes regarded Gavril and then Isaac as though he were looking at worms in the mud. But Isaac....Isaac, the glance was that, quick and dismissive. It was Gavril to whom he looked.

<<"This is what killed your brother, sweet Scia?">> The derision in his voice dripped sickeningly. <<"It seems your brother was unworthy of his name.">>

This...was going to be trouble. Gavril did not speak. There was nothing he could say that would change the past. The one where he lived and her brother had died by his hand. It did not matter that he had been defending himself, for apparently she took her own kin's failure personally.

 

[Isaac]

Isaac stood in place, mute and impassive.

It was Teekle that moved behind him. The little cat was strangely unnoticeable as he slowly stalked back and forth behind Gavril and Isaac. Someone looking directly at him might not even notice his four paws slowly tracking closer to the former of the unlikely duo.

The strange cat rubbed itself against Isaac's legs, and slowly a trickle of magic poured through the Warlock. For just a brief second he glanced down, frowning, and then suddenly realized what had happened when he understood the woman. I did not ask for that.

Isaac thought to himself as Teekle sat himself down besides him.

The little cat just flicked it's tail back and forth, the Warlock rolling his eyes.

Attentions returned to the woman who was speaking to them, and Isaac managed to catch the last of her words just as another of the tribals began to walk towards them. This one was large, almost as large as Gavril himself.

Isaac kept his face impassive as he walked over towards them, throwing what the warlock thought might have been a taunt. He glanced over to his companion, wondering if he would suffer the insult and the more which were sure to come.

 

[Gavril Dan'kosi]

Gavril glanced to Isaac, and in that split second, the speaker sneered and spit on Gavril.

There was no hesitation, no pause between the act and the consequence. In a blur of motion, the No'rei mercenary had his knife out and had closed the distance, steel flashing as he slashed at the offender. Whom deftly dodged the attack.

And landed one of his own, a mirrored flash of steel. Gavril grunted as blood flew.

"Pathetic," the one practically purred...and then grunted as Gavril came at him again. Faster, stronger, and more ruthless than the male that had countered his first blow. The first had been meant to scar; the second was meant to kill. And so it did.

Gavril slid back gracefully, blood dripping from his chin and from the bared steel in his hand. A horrific rent in his cheek that exposed his teeth at one point and narrowly missed his right eye. If the wound pained him, he did not show it as he bent low to wipe his blade off on the body of the other who still twitched here and there.

The knife had pierced his heart neatly and efficiently. Those around looked on for a moment longer before going back to their business, for all the world as though this was hardly worth notice.

He straightened and gave Scia a blood-stained grimace that might have passed for a grin. "Too haughty to do your own work," he rasped and shook his head - splattering blood on her, turning away. "Have to feed that sense of superiority on the blood of those too stupid to see you for what you are."

The woman fixed him with such a blood-thirsty stare that had looks the capacity to kill, he would have been smeared across the encampment. The smile she fixed as all teeth and no mirth.

Gavril continued on. They needed to do what they came for an get out of here before any more bloodshed ensued. He was certain he could handle himself but...well, the Warlock was another story. He gestured for Isaac to follow, blood dripping from his chin as he continued toward the center of camp.