Private Tales For Those That Cannot

[Erin the Black]

The merry crackle of the fire and the cheery glow was a welcome reprieve from days spent trudging through the forest. The crackle was a counterpoint to the muted roar of the rain as it came down in a deluge. A quieter version of the thunder the growled low and melancholy as the grey skies themselves.

The former inquisitor sat at a table near the fire and soaked in the warmth, drying out dark hair and body by degrees. The steel helm he customarily wore sat on the table in front of him alongside water and an empty plate with the juices of beef and the crumbs of bread left behind. For the moment, he was alone in the common room of this traveler's haven. There were only a handful of tables. This was a place people passed through going from one place of note to another, and its traveling lodge reflected that.

Forgotten. Filled with forgotten people who lived quiet lives. Or had lived quiet lives.

Erin recognized the look. The town held maybe few hundred people within its walls and in the surrounding woodlands; the palisade that surrounded it was in a sorry state. Maybe it had been in a sorry state before the troubles had begun. Who could say? He wasn't blind though. No, never that; he had spent all of his life in service to the Grey Lady as one of her Seekers, after all. His whole life had been seeing things others wanted hidden.

To his detriment, as it turned out.

He considered the weapon laying across the table before him as well. The proprietor had regarded it with unease, although he was uncertain as to why. A great, blunt slab of steel that occasionally had enough of an edge to maybe cut someone. Taken in with the heavy steel armor her wore it made him look more like a knight than a brigand.

Erin knew the gleam of fear. He had seen it reflecting in the eyes of the old man that ran this place, and in the step of his daughter (or granddaughter) who had served his meal. And it wasn't fear that was directed at him or his massive frame. There were other things the Seeker had noted when he had walked into town. Here and there the charred remnants of buildings. The watchful eyes of the few people he had seen outdoors.

Seemed far too few, even with the weather.

He paused at the sound of shouting outside somewhere, drink halfway to his lips. The eerie silence of this town he did not even know the name of was unsettling.

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

The weather looked like it would be fine, for now. On the edge of a forest, an embankment of grass meandered into a nearly-still pond dotted with cattails and the occasional bit of algae. The sun peered through a slightly overcast sky, warming and illuminating the area as a long-haired brunette woman with blue eyes clad in a dark green traveler's cloak approached the pond from a nearby road. Beneath the cloak she wore a simple white tunic from which the shape of her body pressed out, though at present a life on the road had made her far less feminine in appearance than she had been those fateful months ago, especially given her uncommon height. Even so, her outline was made clear most by the leather belt snugly tied around her waist, upon which a curious weapon sat: an arming sword with a hilt made of both steel and treated oak wood, which gnarled around the base of the sword where it protruded from the hilt—the last memento of her homeland.

And so the woman stepped forward, cracking a faint smile as she arrived at the water's edge. She slipped off the painted-oak crest heater shield from her back as well as her pack and bedroll, setting them down on a flat area before walking up to the water's edge. She'd been waiting for a moment like this for some time, her face showing signs of interest and even joy, breaking the perpetually mournful, wistful expression she'd worn for longer than she could remember. Pressing her tongue to her lip, she searched the water's edge for her reflection, remaining as still as she could so as to not disturb the shape of it. Then, gingerly, she reached for the long mass of dark hair flowing from her head, pulling it into one and looking to her reflection to begin tying it into an ornate, cascading braid, an act which took her some time to achieve. Her movements were practiced, careful as she made the shape, which ended in a bunched 'U' shape with a rounded bottom that had halved the length by the time she was finished.

Once she was done, she turned her head, side-eyeing her handiwork. Seeing the results, she finally smiled a real smile, although it would quickly fade as so many others had. She would admire her own reflection for several moments, ignoring the painful flashbacks that attempted to intrude upon the quiet moment. For now, Elizabeth Auclair had given herself the ceremonial braid of the former people of Caladale, and that was enough to bear the weight of all the terrible things that had happened prior, if only for few precious seconds. Then, just as quickly, a single raindrop fell, disturbing the water with a ripple that however small violently disrupted the image of herself in the water. A sudden rumbling of thunder above signaled what was happening, however; it seemed in her concentration she'd failed to notice the impending storm clouds, as she swiftly returned to her gear, equipping it again as the rain began to come down. She flipped up her hood, then, like a shadow, she hurried through the sudden deluge in search of shelter.

Thankfully, she hadn't been too far from a town. She didn't know how long she'd been in the rain by the time she found the welcome sight of thatched wooden homes again, but the relief was immeasurable to the now-soaked traveler. She hurried into the town, holding an arm up to her forehead so she could see through the heavy rain, eventually finding the tavern and bursting through the door into the warmer space, her clothes dripping and her chest heaving from exertion by the time she entered. She flipped the hood back, and she could tell from the way it felt that by now her braid was too damp to maintain its shape, feeling it in a heavy clump against her neck in a way that made her immediately scowl. Rolling her eyes, she sighed and made her way to an empty table near the fire, where she set her equipment down promptly, peeling off the soaked cloak to reveal the simpler clothes underneath. And as she sat down, she noticed the man she was now only a table away from, including the massive sword on the table.

Show-off, she thought to herself.

Even so, she grabbed a nearby bucket and began wringing out her clothes diligently as she indulged the welcoming warmth of the fire, only catching her breath moments later. As she wrung out her clothes, she would occasionally glance sideways at the man near her, wondering to herself if he was some kind of mercenary, or some other man-at-arms who had ended up in this lonely tavern the same way she had. She thought a man like that must have had a family, and likely a lord who funded his exploits, and that he was likely on some sort of quest or mission. Unlike her, she suspected that his life had some sort of purpose to it still, judging only by the expression he occasionally made, as well as the way he carried himself. That was, she thought, that he didn't look half as miserable as she felt.

She continued drying her cloak for some time, hoping that the man would keep to himself, as she began to think to herself just where her road would take her next following this storm. Wherever it was, it seemed unlikely it would have anything to do with him, as had been the case with the last however-many lords and soldiers she'd met along the road, especially once they learned she had been exiled...

 

[Erin the Black]

His head swiveled to the door as the door burst open and a lady who had more in common with a drowned cat than anything else came in from the rain. She was strikingly tall, perhaps even pretty as these things went. Erin swiftly looked her up and down in assessment, then went back to his own dour thoughts.

The road to this place had been interesting. Being put quite mildly, actually. The frigid land of his birth was far away from here. Just now thinking of the pine blanketed mountains and valleys and the towns made with proper stone and slate brought an ache of homesickness that would never be alleviated.

All of those things were gone, one way or another. It was enough to drive a man to drink; he glanced at the water he drank and shook his head at his own thoughts.

The woman took a seat nearby. Not that there was much in the way of options for an inn as small as this. This nameless town must see enough traffic to support a way house but not enough to support one of the drinking holes so often associated with them. Fine by him; he had no desire to be around drunk farmers or even drunker drovers and cartwrights. Less likely to be pickpockets and muggers in a place like this.

His eyes followed the serving girl as she slipped out of the back to go wait upon the nameless woman. That worthy had settled to trying to wring herself dry. Despite the build of someone who could fight, she looked more like someone hard used and cast aside; her clothes hung from her in places.

Looks like he wasn't the only one that knew what hard times were. He chuffed a laugh at his own stupidity - of course he wasn't. He spent his life ending the more physical parts of other people's troubles now, didn't he?

The door burst in again, an angry shouting skirled round the figure that stalked through as though he owned the place. "Its not been a month yet, Jerl!" someone shouted from outside, but was cut off by the door slamming shut. The girl cut her head sideways to look at the new arrival and then - before properly taking an order from the nameless lady - squeaked and turned in a swirl of skirt. "P-pa! Pa! He's b-back again!"

She vanished through the door in the back.

The fellow that had walked in watched her go with a hungry gleam in his eye. It was the only eye he had, and it gave his face an evil cast that Erin was almost certain at a glance was not an affectation. Some people were dealt terrible hands in life. This particular fellow was likely the kind that dealt those hands rather than receiving them.

He noted Erin's attention, and gave the Seeker a nasty smirk. "Mind your fucking business, mate. Eyes front. This don't concern you." His features tightened at the tone, his hand twitched towards the table...and then stopped.

Being a prick was not against the Law. It went against Her teachings, but it was not expressly forbidden. He and his fellows would never have been able to keep up with heresy if it had been.

If not for the gleam in his eye when watching the girl. That made his hands itch even more, made his heart twist in pain and anger.

In the back, the muffled sound of the frightened girl and some other people he had yet to see carried on while One-Eye stood at the counter with arms crossed. A pair of heavy knives rest on his hip, a dirty brigandine hanging from his shoulders that clearly didn't fit as well as it should.

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

Elizabeth did her best to ignore the man next to her, the corner of her mouth twitching as he suddenly began laughing to himself. She'd met many a braggart in the service of her fallen king, and had little taste for them, especially among commoners—which she now was, a fact which she lamented every single day whenever something happened, however large or small, that would remind her. Being in a lowly tavern in the rain wringing out her clothes while a man like him interrupted the comforting rhythm of the rain irritated her, more than it probably should have she admitted, but then everything irritated her these days. So she sighed to herself softly, continuing the diligent work before her and continuing to soak in the warmth of the fire.

She cocked her head to the side slightly as someone entered into the tavern. The scene that played out was relatively unfamiliar to her, and she diligently listened as it unfolded before her, her hands wringing more slowly, less urgently so as to quiet the space and hear what was about to transpire. She was of two minds when she heard the man began to intimidate the poor man at the counter, apparently after another: on the one hand, these men were evidently wicked and evil, but it wasn't her duty to serve them. She was a self-serving entity now, a follower without someone to follow, a guard without someone to protect. On the other hand, she was a lone woman now, and she had an inkling of the wicked purpose such men could find even for a woman of her age, and though she was admittedly skilled in the blade, she was loathe to raise it if she could remove herself from this circumstance and slip away unnoticed by them.

Even so, she quietly retrieved her sword, taking her belt and tying it around her waist again, then strapping the sword to it, her eyes occasionally following over to the bar and wondering just what would happen next. And what of the man next to her? Was he a mercenary, also looking to keep his hands out of it if he could, or was he one of the local lord's men after all, and was about to strike? Time would tell, but either way it seemed likely she could attempt to escape—

"You there!" the one-eyed man said suddenly. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening. She turned to face the man, eyes quickly narrowing as she faced the man from her seat. "You one of the peasants' wives? Supposed to be staying in your home, you are, if you know what's good for you."

Her response was frigidly cold. "I'm just a traveler," she said. "Not looking for any trouble."

"You're damn right," the man said, walking over the table she was sitting at and placing his hands on the other end, staring at her. She was disgusted by him, not only for his missing eye, but his unkempt, soaked mop of hair and his rotting teeth as well. "A pretty thing like you who minds her own business? I think I've hit the jackpot."

She was struggling to think of things to say to get the man away from her. "I'm a widow, making my way to the capitol, and I am too old for bearing children. The girl you were looking at before is surely a better mark."

"Is she?" he said. "Why, I think I'll be the judge of that..."

Elizabeth reached for her sword, feeling a bead of sweat crease her damp forehead, gritting her teeth beneath her sealed lips...

 

[Erin the Black]

"Don't bother my customers!"

The words were meant to be threatening but the underlying fear made the man's voice tremble. The innkeeper stood in the door to the back, an antique crossbow unsteadily leveled at the one-eyed villain. "We already paid you week before last," he said.

The bastard paused and turned to eye the keeper while not letting his eye stray too far from the Elizabeth. She had a blade, after all. Even a mindless peasant could get lucky with steel in their hands. Or a crossbow, if it came to it.

Erin sat still as a stone. His face was blank as a stone, too. But his mind whirled behind his pale eyes. Absolute fury burned in his guts, acid churning like a river in flood. He could practically hear the whisper of his Goddess in his ears. The angry mutter, and silent recriminations. The irrefutable demand for Justice - and the capital letter was justified in this case.

"Why don't you put the crossbow down and we can talk, Daril? There ain't no reason for anyone here to get hurt." He cast a sidelong look at Elizabeth, something malevolent and unpleasant gleaming in that malevolent orb.

Erin stood up, chair scraping back. That single eye danced between three different targets now. Suddenly the certainty wavered therein. The one-eyed man was a fool. Against the innkeeper, he probably had no issue. A quick assessing glance told Erin all he needed to know about the woman he had so casually threatened. Adding him into the mix tipped the scales decidedly out of his favor.

Erin huffed a laugh. "I think you are overmatched, friend," he grated. He turned to face the villain, pointedly not reaching for his big heavy two-hander or for the shorter blade at his waist. The hooligan had knives. Erin was wearing thick, heavy armor. Beside, his type was the kind to only be dangerous when they knew they had the upper hand.

"Perhaps you should find someone else to bother," Erin suggested. All he needed was to buy some time and not pick a fight in here, where innocents might be hurt.

There was absolutely no way that this fellow would live to see the end of the week. He might not live to see the end of the night.

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

There was a particular indignity Elizabeth felt at the fact that the bartender of all people would suddenly come to her aid, with a loaded crossbow she suspected (at least, judging by his trembling hands) was just as likely to hit her as it was to hit the man he was actually aiming at. That only increased her worry, of course, and as the man next to her spoke up, she did at least feel some initial relief. They had no idea, she thought—neither the one-eyed man nor the burly merc nor the man at the counter could have known she was so close to a king previously, that mere months ago she had led armies from horseback clad in shimmering plate and cutting down foes by the many, and here she was reduced to a cowering woman afraid of being despoiled by a common brigand.

She hated that powerlessness just as much as she'd hated it when her kingdom was on the backfoot. A familiar fire rose in her chest, albeit the kind that still burned her as much as it did her enemy. Even so, she portrayed a particular decorum as she coldly watched the brigand rise from the table after the threats, the one-eyed man giving her a side-eye as he started to walk away.

"Guess you were right," the bandit said. Elizabeth's expression didn't change, and neither did her grip on her oaken sword's hilt. "One way or another I'll be paid what's due, though. Mark my words..."

With that the man began to depart, moments later leaving the tavern in the same tense atmosphere it had been before, if not more so now. Elizabeth at last sighed, relaxing her grip and tentatively retracting the hand from her sword. Slowly, she turned back around to the fire, holding her hands out to warm them on account of her body still being quite cold and damp from the rain.

"Thank you," she said to the mercenary, softly, almost an admission. It was all she felt needed to be said. Accepting help had been one of the hardest things for her since Peter's death, and like many of the upper echelons of society, she could always stand to be a little more humble...

 

[Erin the Black]

Erin watched the thief as he left the room, slamming the door behind him as he want. He remained staring at the door for a long minute after they had gone, and then his head snapped to the owner of the business.

"Put that weapon up before you hurt someone with it," the Seeker growled. The proprietor jumped as though he had been yelled at, recalling where he was and what he had in his hands. He sheepishly dropped the weapon and muttered something apologetic beneath his breath, slipped back into the kitchen.

His head turned slowly to the brunette. "Think nothing of it," he said. He reached over and picked up the massive blade from the table in one hand. Not easily, but easily enough. "I do not believe you needed the help, though."

The innkeeper came back out, his granddaughter peeking through the door behind him. "Do not go outside." He started toward the door., awkwardly sliding the weapon back into its stay on his back.

"You can't," the old man said. Erin stopped mid-stride and looked at him. The man swallowed at the hard stare.

"Threatened her." He indicated Elizabeth with one gloved hand. "Threatened you. I believe I can," he said simply. He paused and looked back at the lady. "Unless you want to spare his life?"

It didn't matter if she wanted to spare that life or not. Erin was not about to let a disease like that metastasize and spread. The Grey Lady would not be best pleased about it, and neither would he. Mages, thieves, and rapists all amounted to about the same thing to Her.

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

The rest of the townsfolk had been beaten into submission, it seemed, their backs broken by the doubtless ruthless work of the bandits. Too many men made into mice, too many women made into mothers against their wills—this was the blood price those too weak to defend themselves had to pay. The price she'd watched too many of her own people pay when the war against Oban had turned sour. It never seemed to end, no matter how many soldiers they'd hewn, it seemed there were always more wicked men to take their place. This land seemed no different.

When the mercenary took his sword, her eyes flicked over to him. What was he trying to prove, anyway? What good was one man against ten, twenty, a hundred, however many brigands there were terrorizing this village? She'd met men like that too while leading armies, and they were usually the first ones to find themselves spit upon the foe's spears. This wasn't her fight, in reality she didn't care at all about the fate of these people beyond common courtesy, but even so, as the men began to head out the door, an almost involuntary quip escaped her lips.

"Only a fool goes looking for a fight in the rain," she said, off-handedly. Then, she waited, to see how he would respond. A quick thought made her suspect he was fool enough to actually go and do it anyway, so she added: "The cold will sap your strength even when you aren't fighting, and unless the brigands are as foolish as you, they'll be somewhere warm and dry while you fruitlessly search for them. Not that it's any of my business what you do with that sword, but I'd stay inside if I were you..."

 

[Erin the Black]

"Only fools go looking for a fight," he said evenly. He shifted his stance and turned so that he stood edgewise between her and the door. That statement made him a fool, of course. He had spent his life seeking trouble because that was what his calling demanded of him.

He was a Seeker. A Seeker after truth, a Seeker after the dark deeds hidden in the dark. Of the lost, the weary, and the misguided.

The Church might have stripped him of the title, but that same Church had allowed the rot of heresy to fester in its ranks. Besides, he could hear the whisper of the Goddess every now and again. Right now, she sang with righteous indignation that her children should abuse one another so.

He raised an eyebrow at her next comment. "Cold?" There was an edge of incredulity there. "This is a sweltering summer day, lady. And I shall not have to search for them if I let that churl lead me to their lair. Or an ambush; it is all the same to me." He chuffed a laugh, a cold and hard thing. "How could you let something like what just happened to you happen to another? One that might actually be unable to help themselves?"

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

As Erin finished speaking, thunder rumbled in the distance, as Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Sweltering. Right," she said, tugging her soaked braid free as her still-damp hair clung to her skin. "Would that I could feel temperature as you do. Regardless..."

She looked him in the eye for the first time. She had to admit there was something ruggedly handsome about the man, from his voice to the messy hair atop his head, to the way he carried himself seemingly without fear. He was one of the few men that despite her own height somehow managed to make her feel small, something she simultaneously hated, and yet wanted to invite in like a stranger in the night, deep into the recesses of her wounded heart. Or perhaps she'd simply spent too many lonely nights on the road by now...

"Do you have some kind of death wish? Walking into an ambush is ill-advised even when you know it is there..."

His second question made her flash her teeth for a second though, as he uttered a particularly irritating series of words to her ears.

"How could I... what are you talking about? I don't owe these people anything beyond common decency, and it is their lord's responsibility to protect them, not me. I only have myself to look after. If you went after every wicked man in this world for his crimes, you'd never stop looking. Your whole life would be nothing but swinging your sword at people you thought did something wrong. But where does that leave you? After you've cleaved a path through every villain this side of the world, assuming you're still breathing, what's left? What do you get out of it?"

She scoffed, finding herself wishing she had a drink right about now, given that this man had somehow managed to get her this worked up...

 

[Erin the Black]

"My whole life has been 'swinging my sword at people I thought did something wrong', And I was usually right," he said with a growl. A thread of anger wormed its way into his head, and into his cold dead heart. "What I get out of it is an unpayable price and a pit of sorrow. At least when I get to the end of it, I will be able to stand at Her side. Which is more than I can say for the hundreds of souls I have sent to the Purge."

He turned to go to the door again. "Their Lord has already failed them. Someone has to bring Her Law where it is lacking. Someone has to do something." He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. His words held a kind of passion, but it was not the kind associated with an idealistic hero. It was the kind associated with someone who found themselves doing what no one else would, over and over again.

"People have tried, but they end up hung on the wall," the innkeeper said from his citadel in the door. "The lady is right, though. You can't stop them by yourself..."

"It doesn't have to be alone." His eyes remained locked on hers, tone meaningful.

 

[Elizabeth Auclair]

He had presented her with a daunting moral quandary she felt ill-prepared to handle now that she resembled a mop. He sounded mad, in truth, evidently driven by some superstition. Elizabeth had no love of the gods, for they had only brought her and her people suffering. Whatever gods there were had looked down upon her fair Caladale and chosen without their consent to strike it down into the mud, and now this fool was espousing some deity's teachings as though he'd uncovered some great secret about life by way of cutting down anyone who didn't fit into the mold of his designs.

She scoffed at the suggestion that she might come along with him. "Who, me?" she said, laughing suddenly with incredulity. "Oh, I see, you mistake my sword to mean I must be a warrior of some kind." It was a lie, but a necessary one; no one needed to know of her experience, not here, and maybe never again. "You are mistaken. I won't catch a blade for these people, and neither I suspect would they. If you wish to fight them on your own, then do so. I intend to warm myself by this fire, and, after you've left, drink a bit of spirits to ease my mind until morning, when I will leave again. If their lord has failed them, then it falls to that lord's lord..."

She sighed, realizing it would likely be like ramming her head into a stone wall for all the good it would do to continue trying to convince him. And why bother anyhow, when he was just some bloodthirsty crusader looking for an excuse to spill blood, however wicked?

"Do try not to get killed though," she added, softly. "I have seen much death in my time, and wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not those trying to do something good..."

 

[Erin the Black]

A muscle in his cheek feathered at the lie. She could not hide what she was, not to him at least.

"Suit yourself," he said. Without any further comment he left via the door. It didn't quite slam shut behind him.

***

Thunder continued to roll, low and dull. There was only just enough light left to see by. The pouring rain continued without cease, cascading down his back and chest. It streamed down his cheeks through the slits in the helm.

He snorted to himself again. Cold? His home was far, far to the north. Rain only ever happened during the brief growing season, when the sun was in the sky for almost the entire turn of the clock. The rest of the time it was bitterly cold.

He stood in the space between two buildings. The town was quiet. There was a pall of permanent fear that soaked into the ground and the buildings and the very air itself.

Erin should feel bad for doing what he was doing. Using people for bait? Not the most glamorous of tactics from the myriad number of them he was versed in. He could not know that she had commanded armies and dealt death wholesale. She could not know that each death he dealt was personal and direct and not delivered at the edge of a piece of parchment.

As he would soon demonstrate.

It had been an hour since he had left and taken up station in the shadows across the way. He had seen no other soul out, and none had seen him. The five shadowed figures making their way down the street did not see him, either. They moved with purpose, stalking like the filth they were.

He held himself ready as one of them kicked the door in. So it would be shock-and-awe and an example to be made, then.

He waited for the first scream to rise. Didn't matter whose it was; it was a game of making sure they were fully committed. Besides, he could not punish them unless they were breaking the Law.

Thieve not lest ye be stolen. Bleed not lest ye be bled. Meddle not in the occult without Mine blessing, for the arcane is the will of the Lady.

They weren't the only ones that knew how to make an example.