Private Tales Counting On Hearts

[Corlis]

The small woman sat silently on her knees, a hand idly running over the small insignia on the corner of the shawl she wore. The threads there coming together to form what she had been told was the letters B and L. It told her the color of what she had adorned, a small mercy granted to her by a local seamstress that took pity on her. What few clothes she possessed had been altered in a similar fashion to make her life easier.

A crow cawed from up high somewhere, the sound harsh against her sensitive hearing. Her head tilted up to the sky, a hand running down one arm before coming to rest in her lap. The familiar covers on her arm a silent reminder of what she was listening for.

Her forearms and down were wrapped carefully in leather strips, throwaways from the smith, for her though tools for healing in the form of a quick tourniquet. With the abundance of wily characters that she heard daily, it was her surprise that she had so little need of them.

Things along this section of the town had calmed down drastically compared to her younger years surrounded by the noise of it all. The guards, or at least she assumed the clanking metal and harsh voices to be them, had seen fit to slowly but surely alter their patrols to loosen the hold the hooligans had kept.

Her hands slowly rubbed over each other in her lap as she listened to the commotion around her, her world pitch black and filled with sensations that she could do nothing to put a shape or face to. She knew voices, could place names to sounds, and could imagine what shapes after her small hands had run across it's surface.

The hollow clink of something beside her brought her mind back, the swish of clothing near her causing her to tense. Her hands clamped together tightly as she waited. She turned her head slightly back and forth, impatient for interaction, for a voice to tell her who was next to her. A sliver of fear sliced through her. A huff of air came as someone sighed and her focus sharpened. Too soft a sound for a man to make. Feminine.

The tension in her subsided a little, her hands easing into a loose hold in her lap.

"Corlis." the woman spoke softly, and the way she spoke identified her. The small stress on parts of her words and the gentleness inherent in her voice all the signs Corlis needed to identify the person. Koreen, the tavern woman from down the way had come to her.

"I've brought you some food. A bit of stew and bread." she scooted something closer, a tentative hand slowly feeling along the ground until it touched a bowl. "Why don't you come inside and eat? Get you out of the street and-" her words were cut short by Corlis's hand reaching out for her. The other woman took hold as Corlis smiled.

"You are too kind. There is less noise out here though, and I wouldn't want to take up a table." Corlis quietly informed her. The idea of going inside a tavern frightened her terribly. All of the noise, the smells, people brushing or bumping past. The healer shuddered at the thought.

"If you ever want, the offer stands. Barry and I don't like seeing you out here with all these folk." Koreen huffed, understanding in her tone even if her words were an attempt to make her reconsider. Corlis had felt the woman shift a little, seeming to come a little closer as her own hand was suddenly pushed towards her body.

"Tristan hit the bottle again. You may want to go home after you eat. Is near dark and he ain't left yet." Koreen whispered. The name turned the small sliver of fear into something that ate almost every sensible thought in her mind. She gave the woman a sharp nod and a small thanks. Hands parted and Corlis listened to the quick steps move away, her hand falling to the ground slowly. She felt for the bowl, finding the bread atop it. Eating quickly, she wiped the bottom of the bowl with her last bite of bread as the sound of metal clanked by.

The guards had made their way through her path already. The urgency of needing to be in her hideaway became a consuming thing. Standing carefully, a path opened for the woman as she crossed the street with the bowl in hand. Words that most thought whispers reached her ears as some spoke of her. Most kept their words kind, while a sparse few commented on her receiving handouts.

She counted her steps, her hand ahead of her and meeting a wall before placing the bowl gently on the window sill of the tavern. Her hands traced the edge before easing away from the building. The woman moved with practiced ease, not noticing the stumbling steps behind her as she focused her magic into the small gem that was always hungry for her offering.

Her view behind the visor that adorned her face was no different than before for a few seconds. Slowly though, shadows or mirages formed in front of her eyes. She had tried to describe what she saw with this wondrous item to the enchanter that had gifted it to her as payment for healing grievous wounds. The best they could relate the feeling to was like being in a deep and dark cave, unable to see but knowing ones hand was in front of their face. He had called the item a failure, but to her, even the barely tangible lines that warned of something in the unyielding dark were a blessing.

It required concentration and focus to work though, something that was harshly ripped away as something behind her fell and broke on the ground. She listened to the voices as her blood ran cold.

-

Tristan and his friend had left the tavern after having their fill of food and company. The day had been hard on the man, and he drowned himself in booze against his friends warning. The guards had told him to stay away from it. Said it made him someone else. Who were they to say what he could and couldn't do? He had the coin for the privilege, and he had earned it. Brennan decided to call it a night for them, well sober compared to Tristan who he had to help at first walk out of the place.

Brennan had looked behind them, spotting the guards stopping for a while at another shop as he tried to get Tristan to carry at least some of his own weight while they walked.

"You are a right mess. I told you to not drink so much." Brennan scolded him, and the words only served to piss off the drunk.

"You sound, like. Like those guards. You lot think you can-hic-can tell me what to do." Tristan spat back, his words slurring as he blinked and looked ahead in the failing light of day. He saw familiar hair ahead of them, walking slowly away but in the same direction they were headed. A wicked smile crossed Tristan's face as he pulled away from his friend and fell into a few barrels, knocking over a crate that sat atop them.

"What are you lookin' at?" Brennan groaned at the sudden energy that had taken his friend.

"Unfinished business." Tristan hissed as he stumbled forward. Brennan followed his gaze and tensed.

Mahaki

 

[Mahaki]

It appeared he had run out of ink.

The downside of writing all of the time was always running out of ink and paper. A typical inkwell lasted him a couple of weeks where it would've lasted the typical individual five weeks. Rarely does he run out, as he is careful to be diligent about refilling before that happens. He had been careless, as the topic he was currently writing about was something that he was particularly passionate about. His hand wrote and wrote and then all of a sudden, he was made aware that he was out. A perk of his secluded, lenient lifestyle, he decided to set out right then.

Candles flickered as Mahaki passed by them. It was always unpleasant to tread the dank, ancient tunnel that connected his hideout to the rest of the city. However, it provided him a long time for reflection. Time to reflect on the events that have lead him up to this point. Was he traveling the right path? Was the pursuit of truth worth the cost of happiness? More often than not, these reflections were simply thought experiments, rarely influencing his own behaviour - mere distractions from the less-than-pleasurable experience of traversing the tunnel.

Upon reaching the exit, he reinforced the illusory runes that projected the false stones that concealed it. Without daily reinforcement, the illusion will gradually fade, and it would be disastrous to him and his research if his hideout was exposed. He put an invisibility cloak over himself before phasing through the facade of rocks. From the relatively secluded location of the exit, he uncloaked himself and made his way down several alleys to the main road that leads out of the College District to the Residential District.

He got his ink from a peculiar source, a resident of Elbion that practiced magic but did not attend the college: Sutro Suri. She was expelled under the grounds of malpractice; few things were disallowed from the college, but this particular woman practiced a few forbidden arts. She was the ideal merchant for things that were often difficult to obtain through legal methods: books of the dark arts, enchanted items, and other illegal contraband.

He required her for a specific kind of enchanted ink that allows the writer to choose who can and cannot view it. While some of his writings are meant for all to view, others are extremely private or dangerous. Thus he strode into the Residential District, path set and intent clear.

The walk to Suri's had not been as peaceful as he had hoped. Attention caught by the sound of a loud crash, he turned his attention to a local drunkard who was stumbling towards a woman. She looked startled at the sound, and he supposed that it would be frightening to him as well if he was also wearing that vision-impeding visor.

Corlis

 

[Corlis]

Corlis visibly shook at the voice of Tristan, hands reaching out to feel what was around her. She had to get away. It sounded like someone was with him, but it was a gamble of whether or not they would be helpful or harmful to herself. Her hands found nothing in front of her, and save for the two behind her, it sounded like the streets were empty of people.

Risking large steps, hands were held out in front of her in a desperate attempt to make sure her path was clear. The disruption from Tristan had shattered her focus on where she was, thoughts dancing between escape and rampant fear while blending into remembering exactly where she was along with what path felt right.

The commotion behind her was both reassuring and terrifying. It only reminded her that luck was not always on her side, but it seemed at least some people where halfway decent.

-

Tristan stumbled forward again, half bent as his balance failed him. He leaned against a building for a moment, watching his target begin moving away. He grumbled, irritation turning the smile to a scowl.

"Get back, here. I gotta fix that other ear!" He called after her, his voice echoing off the buildings. Brennan's eyes went wide at the words. He had not meant to stop his friend at first, thinking it was some woman he had been keen on. The realization of just who they had stumbled across bringing a bit of panic to the man.

"Tristan! Leave her be! At least pick on someone who isn't blind." Brennan easily caught up to the man and grabbed hold of his friends shirt, intending to pull him back. The attempt to grab hold was met with a drunken shrug at the hands that changed to angry swinging.

"Ge' off me!" Tristan bellowed, elbowing his friend in the face. Brennan fell back while Tristan stumbled around and stared at him for a moment, his eyes falling to the man's belt. His own eyes followed to the knife he kept there as a hand grabbed hold of the sheathed tool.

"Don't-" Was all the more Brennan could manage before Tristan fell onto him trying to grab the weapon.

"Gimme it!"

"Stop!" Tristan yelled as his friend gave up on the knife and grabbed his friend by the face. A garbled word came through the hand that covered his mouth before Brennan's head cracked against the ground, once, twice, before he went still and limp. A chuckle from Tristan had him taking the knife, he glanced behind him slowly to see where Corlis had gone to.

She hadn't made it terribly far, but it was enough time for him to make her panic more.

"'Ey! Where you goin' 'eh?" He laughed, stumbling to a stand. "I didn't say you could leave."

Mahaki