Private Tales Hexed

[Baise]

"When you are...done..."

Witchhunter Steelspyre actually looked shocked. He had stared down goblins and demons and witches. Yet the brazen response from the young man genuinely shocked him.

Steelspyre closed his hand around the iron mallet at his belt. He believed in the immutability of iron, iron that had not been meddled with and given impurities. It was his strength and his shield.

"You were seen...directing a beast summoned of magic.".

One gnarled finger was lifted and poked towards Lysander's chest.

-

"I believe you," Baise replied. He offered a smile. He was almost glad Lysander wasn't here for this. Baise quite liked his direct approach to matters, but this wasn't the time for it.

"Why don't you tell me how it happened?"

 

[Lysander]

Tension fizzled and snapped. Lysander’s narrowed eyes darkened like the storm that was brewing between the two headstrong, immutable men. The dreadlord didn’t doubt the witch hunter’s prowess, he looked old and old meant experienced and strong. Old meant a survivor, and Lysander knew survivor’s were the worst sorts of people one could meet.

“It’s not any of your business if I did.” Still firm, still stubborn. The witch hunter’s hand went to his weapon, Lysander had his hand go to his own. The arthritic finger, well-weathered and still formidable, wasn’t enough to dissuade Lysander. He didn’t step back, instead, he puffed his chest out and took a step towards the mass of scars and candles. “Step back.” Monotone and dull, the threat sounded little like what it was and more as a random thought spoke aloud.

---

“I didn’t, you got to understand, it’s not me!” The man said, hushed and quickly, as if he had only seconds to say anything at all before he’d lose his tongue. “If I knew what it would have costed me, I wouldn’t have ever made the deal.” Something broke behind his watery eyes. His confession was heavy on his lips, but it would set him free, to finally take the cruel, unbearable guilt off his shoulders.

“I wanted to live in my dreams. That’s all. I meant my good dreams, like being back with my wife and kid before.…” His hands went to his head, into his hair. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “It asked for a favor, I… completed it. It granted my wish. But it never said it would be all my dreams coming true. I never knew… such dark… twisted things were in my head.” He shuddered.

Baise

 

[Baise]

"None of my business boy? If you even are a human. That sounded like a confession to me."

The Witchhunter glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for someone to bear witness. They were being watched by a pair of villagers, but from a distances. One black crow looking down at them from the nearest tree did not count.

"I will not step back. You have confessed, put down your weapon."

The finger met Lysander, poking him hard in the breastbone.

-

"Would it help," Baise said, "If I said I believed every word? I have crossed such deal makers before..."

He had fallen in love with one, lived an entire lifetime in a bind, only to wish he could break his own. Only to feel the pain of that link placed between them.

"...and whilst I can't make it go away. Maybe we can start to understand how to undo it? Together?"

 

[Lysander]

There were many things that Lysander did not like, but being touched was in the top three. Invisible scars from the Academy caused him to be wary about being touched. Whether it was gentle or not mattered little. Whether it came from a child or an old man mattered even less. Instinct had his magic flare up to knock the witch hunter back, but it seemed to do little more than flicker the flames along the candles that adorned him.

Lysander took a few quick steps back, drawing both swords. He kept his stance open in case he needed to defend or attack, briefly thinking it was a good thing the boy was not here. Lysander would be drawing blood in this fight. It wasn't good for children to see how he cut through his enemies.

---

The watery dark eyes had a brief glimmer of hope.

"We can undo it?" The man wasn't sure how undoing it meant that it wouldn't go away, but he had never been good with words to begin with. It was why it was so easy for him to get trapped in the first fae deal that appeared to him. "How long will it take? How...." The dreamer's eyes widened, brows raising in horror as his lips became stuck together and slowly swirling into one before disappearing.

Baise

 

[Baise]

Witchhunter Steelspyre grinned. A number of teeth had been replaced by wood or ivory. There was no gloating in that expression. Just the joy at discovering the source of chaos and disruption so easily.

"You want to confess boy. The wicked soul always wants to. Surrender to iron and we will purge it together with fire."

Now his eyes lit up. He slowly drew the iron mallet from his belt and held it in his hand.

"But I will punish you here and now if I must."

---

"I don't know how..." Baise started.

"Oh dear. Well. Don't panic."

He leaned forwards and placed a hand on each of the dreamer's shoulders.

"I'm sure we can work this out..."

Baise tugged at the threads of magic around them. These were not the kind of bonds to break or snap easily. And if they did, they would probably cause serious harm.

"Happy thoughts not, we'll soon work this out..." Baise bluffed.

 

[Lysander]

There was nothing to confess. Lysander took a step forward, swords drawn and in position. He was silent, his face unbothered, his eyes bored. He cared not about whether he was truly wicked, and he cared even less about the threat the witch hunter had given him.

He went to the left, one blade swinging across to unsteady the gnarled hand that held the heavy iron mallet.

---

The dreamer was panicking, though no sound could come from him; his eyes wavered, and his hands shook violently. He shook Baise's grip off of him, no longer docile, and clasped his hands together as if pleading and begging some higher power to have mercy on him-- to spare him.

A chuckle echoed in the dilapidated home, coming from all directions or none at all. It was a withered voice belonging to an old crone, but just when one could distinguish the nuance in pitch and depth, the voice turned into something large, heavy, and masculine. There was a velvet foundation to the chuckle now, and soon, it bellowed into a laugh before tinkering down into a child's giggle. Right when the laugh seemed like it would morph into another's laugh, the giggle waned then grew before stabilizing into the giggle belonging to Jude.

"Naughty, naughty." It would taunt, echoing all around. "A dear little pet made a folly."

Baise