Private Tales In the memory of the fallen

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Yarrow had always been fast. As a kid, she had been the queen of shadow-tag, outrunning her friends and evading them at every turn. Nowadays, she didn't play around so much. But she was still fast. The first zealot learnt that the hard way.

Swinging around from behind, the she-orc swiped the crossbow from his hands as he turned to face her. Iron met flesh, and bone crumbled like wet parchment as the blow jarred up her arm. She did not take much pleasure in killing, but this... this felt good.

Real good.

On your right! Clay warned Yarrow. Pirouetting, the young assassin knocked the incoming bolt off course with a slap of her shadow-wreathed hand. The foe, wrapped in a drab cloak and a short mail shirt, drew two long-knives, leapt to meet her. He was muttering in some strange tongue Yarrow couldn't make sense of. The light emanating from his blades though, she understood that.

Adjusting her footing, Yarrow let their weapons meet in a shower of sparks. The radiant light stung her eyes, made her wince in pain despite the fact the blades never touched her. Her hackles rose as she retreated, slipping on loose scree. These weren't normal zealots.

They were assassin hunters.
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They met in a clash of steel but the force of the mare's charge meant Demise had more strength behind her arm and the hunter cursed as he went stumbling back. Using her legs to turn the horse about in a sharp bend she came at him again, hacking downwards over and over.

Initially Demise had thought that they were simple bandits; highwaymen who had picked a wrong mark. However, the skill with which they fought marked them as well trained. Despite her advantage her foe met her strike for strike with a grim set expression. Her anger was a slow burning ember that grew with every second he kept her from reaching their goal. No, her goal.

Using her own teeth she seared a cut across the back of her hand to spill enough blood for the magic she needed. If she could just--

Light suddenly spilled from the blade arcing towards her face and Demise shied back and brought her hand up to shield her eyes.

"Monster," the man hissed and pressed his advantage. But the mare was a well trained war mount and even as her rider hissed the grey reared, bringing up both front hooves to lash out at his face.
Yarrow ducked one blade, weaved out of the path of the other. 'Filth!' The zealot cursed her. Slashing, thrusting, he repeated the word as he forced her back. She feinted high, then, swung in low as he raised his guard to parry. Her weapon met nothing but air. The zealot smiled, riposted.

The glowing blades left an after-image across Yarrow's vision as she twisted to avoid them. 'Filth!' The zealot crowed again, as if trying to convince himself it was true.

'You said that already,' Yarrow goaded, bringing the pick down to catch her attacker on the arm. The man howled as it bit through the sleeve of his gambeson. Blood flashed bright in the space between them, and Yarrow smiled as he whirled about, neatly bisecting the space her head had been a moment before.

Reverting to his native tongue, the assassin-hunter grew frenzied. Slashing at her, calling her every name under the sun, he ranted and ranted some more. The radiant light covering his blade began to pulse. Pure, white light crowded Yarrow's senses, burned away the shadows swirling around her.

The zealot saw the tide turning, knew it was only a matter of time 'til his brothers managed to deal with the other cultist and came to his aid. Levelling his long-knife, he began to mutter one, final curse. Something to sanctify the kill he was about to make.

Blinking away the sunspots, Yarrow swept the man's weapon aside. With an almighty yell, she brought her boot up between his legs.

He yelled louder.
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To your left!

Demise rolled from her horses saddle. The mare's hooves had caught her assailant in the shoulder with a sickening crack but the man had switched blade hands and continued, ignoring the arm which hung loose on his side. The mare screamed as the sword bit into the high cantle of her saddle and her hind legs came up to wildly buck in her attackers direction. With Demi out of the saddle the horse no longer had to worry though and with a grin the man lurched forward.

And struck nothing but air.

Demise smiled as the sword passed through her ghostly form and the man stared first in horror and then disgust.

"Vermin," he spat and wrenched his sword back. As he did Demi's body resolidified and her blade came down to press her advantage. She pushed the man back further and then leapt upon one of the larger rocks. The man twisted but not fast enough to avoid Demise landing astride his shoulders and the shimmering wire she strung about his neck. He gasped and clawed at his throat, hammering with the pommel of his sword against her thighs but Demise only applied more pressure. He wheezed cursed as he dropped to one knee, then two, then with a final convulsion he fell face down into the dirt.
The man collapsed to his knees. An agonised scream escaped his lips as the pain in his groin spread. For a second, Yarrow actually felt bad for the guy. No-one enjoyed getting kicked in the balls, and if they did, well, clearly they were in need of some psychiatric help, or else a hammer to the brainpan. Now, Yarrow was no psychiatrist.

But she did have a hammer.

'Sorry,' she said, apologising to the man before bringing her weapon down to mash the back of his skull. There was a sound, the crack of broken bone and splintering wood. The zealot fell onto his face, twitched a little, as all the freshly deceased did. Yarrow was already stepping over his body to help Demise.

The Vicar had things well in hand.

Scanning the mountainside for movement, Yarrow listened for any more ambushers. The dark shape in the road kept drawing her eye, however. Was it what she thought it was? Shoving her pick through a belt loop, the she-orc went to find out, the last zealot's strangled protests making her cringe away. Just like with people who enjoyed getting hit in the gonads, there was something wrong with Demise.

There was something wrong with the body splayed in the road, too.

'Well, damn,' Yarrow cursed, squatting down by the corpse and his noble steed. The man -or what had once been a man- was swathed in assassin blacks, and bore the mark of Daughter Ausrine on his forehead, just between the eyes. Oddly enough, that was exactly where the crossbow bolt had hit him.

'Guess we know why Brother Cherish missed his check-in,' Yarrow sighed, closing his eyes for what would be the last time. 'Didn't expect to meet Red Church this close to home. Neither did he, from the look of things.' Gazing up at Demise, Yarrow let her feelings be known with a grimace.

'They're growing bolder by the day, and we... fewer.'
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Demise did not so much as glance at the man as she stepped off of him and stalked after Yarrow. She barely paid any mind to the one of them that was already dead - there was nowt she could do for him - but Yarrow still lived. She was her only concern now. As Yarrow looked up Demise crouched and took the girls chin in her hand, turning her face with a surprising gentleness this way and that, checking for the taint that could be left by the brilliant of light on an Assassin's mind.

I will not lose anyone else.

She had sworn those words to her twin in the hours after they had been told their people had been wiped out. A genocide that had rocked the very foundations of the Caliginous Church. As she had wiped away her tears that day she had sworn she would never have to shed another. Not because of them.

"Drink this," she instructed, apparently not convinced with just an examination of her eyes, and passed the young she-orc a wineskin. "Balor's Root is mixed in, it replenishes the shadows quicker."
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'I know,' replied Yarrow. She could smell the ingredients, knew from trial and error that Demise had gotten the mix just right. Raising the wineskin in mournful salute, the she-orc took a swig, stoppered it back up as the "medicinal concoction" made its way down her throat.

Her skin prickled as the Balor's Root took hold. Fast-acting, it helped replenish one's shadow almost immediately. 'Cause you never know when you might need them, she thought, passing the wineskin back to Demise.

'Thank you,' she said. Grabbing both of Cherish's arms, Yarrow pulled him up and over her shoulder. Blood wept from the wound between his eyes, slow and steady. Congealed. Dead for sometime, then. 'What do you reckon? Burial or burning?' Glancing at Demise, Yarrow let the question hang as she stomped her way back to where her horse waited for her.

The animal hadn't fled during the fighting and, to Yarrow's relief, hadn't been wounded either. Fortunate.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said to no-one in particular. 'He's dead. No point in wasting time and energy on the dead.' Yarrow smiled, but there was no mirth in it. Someone stood at her shoulder. Root? Demise? Prevail? They were all the same in the end.

'Not gonna leave him for the vultures though. Sorry.'
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Oh she's so sweet! Prevail practically cooed as she floated someway after Yarrow, staring at her in a way that Demise had seen her look at stray kittens when she had been alive. Demi cast her eyes towards the heavens and said a silent prayer to the Mother asking for strength to deal with her sisters new obsession. The Vicar took a sip of her own concoction and closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth it spread through her body. That had been too close; Demise did not like coming close. Did their enemy know they were on their way?

"The dead are thrown into the Pit if their bodies ever make it home. But, Yarrow, we cannot take him with us," she followed her sister and the half orc, putting a gentle hand on her arm to stop her. "It's best we burn him but keep his heart. We'll bury that here and collect it on our way back then you may throw it into the pit and say his final prayers."
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Yarrow tensed as Demise laid a hand on her arm. What she was saying made sense, Yarrow supposed, and she was right - they couldn't take him with them. It just wasn't practical. 'Fair enough,' the she-orc agreed, slinging Cherish over her horse's flanks like she would a bedroll. 'Ground's too solid up here, tinder too sparse. We'll take him with us to the Boneyard, and there... part ways.' That much, at least, was doable.

'See to your horse, Sister. I doubt we will encounter anymore surprises today, now that they're down four men.' 'Twas how they hunted, after all. In pairs. Though she didn't like to, Yarrow considered herself lucky to have had someone with her. Had she not, well, things may well have turned out differently.

Then again, maybe Demise was the lucky one. Yarrow had been sent to keep her in check, had she not?

Mounting up, the assassin encouraged her horse onwards. Now that they had recovered their brother's body, there was nothing keeping them. Following after Demise, Yarrow took stock of the situation as they descended down the mountainside...

To the seas of Shekath.

'I'll build a pyre,' she told Demise, slipping from her saddle to gather up bits of driftwood scattered along the stony shore. The green waters of the Boneyard were choppy, and foaming at the mouth that bisected the aptly-named graveyard. 'Could you see to Cherish while I'm away? It'll only take a few minutes.'
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Demise merely pressed her lips together when Yarrow did not leave the body but rather slung it over her horse. Her reasons were not wrong they were just...

Human. Remember how that was, sister?

"No, I was never like that. Like you," she murmured softly beneath her breath. She had always taken after her brutal mother whilst Prevail had taken after their father who had cared more for people's souls than serving the Mother. She had learnt enough though from her father to know that she would hinder this partnership if she attempted to stop what she felt needed to be done. Taking her horses reins in her hand she followed Yarrow wordlessly down the paths.

The ravens had vanished.

Nes had too, no doubt to heal in the darker realms after the presence of such brilliant light. At least his luck had stayed with her. Her fingers played with the odd stone dagger around her throat as they walked. How? How had they known this was the path the assassins took? After the last attack during the scouring it seemed too much of a coincidence. Was there someone on the inside?

"Of course," she blinked the thoughts away and offered Yarrow a sharp nod moving to take the body. She laid their brother on the floor and once Yarrow was out of sight she drew her knife and cut deep into his chest. It was not the act of a careless butcher but the careful incision a surgeon would have made. She peeled back flesh and dove her hand inside the ribcage to extract the heart as she had promised.
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The Boneyard smelt of salt and decay. The ribcages of animals ancient and new were spread out all over the stony beach. Banners of greying flesh adhered to the remnants of what once was, and they would stir with every salty sea breath. Scouring the beach for driftwood, Yarrow set to her task with a vigour rarely seen by her peers. It helped her ignore the growing tightness in her chest.

Can't say I was ever very fond of Cherish, said Root, striding from between two upright ribs to kick at the shingle near Yarrow's hand. Can't remember you being too fond of him either. Yarrow could practically feel her stare. What changed?

'I grew up,' the she-orc replied, taking a plank and using it to disperse Root's shadow. 'Shame you never got the chance to.'

It took her ten minutes to construct a pyre up to the task. Gulls gathered in the meantime. Most circled, or else landed to observe from a distance as Demise took Cherish's heart and secreted it away beneath stone and debris. Taking a survival kit from her pack, Yarrow got a fire going, nurtured it. When the time came to dispose of the body, the flames were good and greedy. Ready for a feast.

The gulls watched enviously as Yarrow took a few steps back to stand beside Demise. 'Don't suppose you feel like saying a few words?' she asked. Glancing at the Vicar, the assassin smiled wanly. 'For Cherish... and all those that never made it back to the Isles.'
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Demise had watched Yarrow Labour once she had resewn her Brothers chest. The dead did not bother her and so she had sat next to the lifeless corpse and waited for the she-orc to be done. It felt... wrong to help. As though she might be intruding on some form of coping mechanism.

Such things are common in the young, the shadowkin said, materialising from the darkest shadow. Demise had said nothing and the fox curled up beside her and went to sleep with her scratching his ear.

Eventually she found herself standing in front of the roaring fire with the smell of charred flesh making her nose itch. As with all of Yarrows other requests during this process The Vicar merely inclined her head in acquiesce and began a prayer.

"Mother hear us as we give this body back to your Fire, and help guide Brother Cherish's soul into the Never-ending. May he serve you in death as he served you in life; as a loyal son.

Mother we pray too for all those lost. For those, whose bodies we could not return to you through your flame or shadows. May you find them and guide them to the Never-ending so that they may join with Brother Cherish and our other departed Brothers and Sisters, so they might one day serve again."

Demise made the sign of the Mother and bowed her head for the minute of silence. It ended with a loud crack as the fire feasted on one of their Brothers bones.

"Come," the Vicar said gently and turned from the flame toward her horse. "We must reach the stone tonight."
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Leaving Cherish to burn, the two sisters of Meness remounted their horses. The words Demise had shared about their fallen kith and kin had been nice, if a little unexpected. Just full of surprises, whispered Root, standing with the gulls as they held a silent, hungry vigil for the assassin whose body was currently being consumed by fire.

Yarrow nodded. Indeed.

Never knew Cherish could smell so good. Dropping from the smoke kicked up by the burning driftwood, Clay fell into step alongside Yarrow as she rode her horse after Demise's. Smiling slightly, Yarrow gave the shadow-wolf a more heartfelt nod. "Thank Mother I can pick and choose how sensitive my nose is, ey?"

When Clay said nothing in return, Yarrow turned her attention back to the road ahead. It was hours before they came in sight of the Sheketh Stone, and by then the sun had very nearly dipped beyond the horizon. "Nearly there." Yarrow stated the obvious, sighing as she turned her gaze to the bruised skyline. "Are we to head straight through, or camp just outside Windstrup for the night?"

Windstrup was a fairly sizable village that had popped up over the last half a century or so. Though the Church had friends there, Yarrow was beginning to doubt whether or not it would be a safe place to slumber. If the Red Church had managed to infiltrate past it and into the mountain range, who was to say what the Church of the Light Incarnate was capable of doing.
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It's like she read your mind! Prevail gasped and stared at the young orc with awestruck eyes. I told you she has potential.

Demise had indeed been considering the question Yarrow now asked out loud and brought her horse to a stop on the lip of the hill that overlooked Windstrup. Night had settled into the village and the lanterns had been lit to illuminate the streets. From this distance they looked like fireflies. She was thinking of one of her contacts who lived down there and who might be able to shed some light on the people they had met on the road. It sat ill with her that the Radiant Church had gotten so close; had they tracked Cherish from here or had they happened upon him? The latter suggested they had found the way into the mountains another way which was far more troubling.

Jamie wouldn't betray us, would he? Nesiib sat once more on the cantal of her saddle and studied the town ahead with those deep red eyes.

she murmured quietly to the fox. "Not willingly." She contemplated the decision further before giving her horse a gentle nudge forward.

"Let us not turn away the opportunity of a bed tonight, who knows when we may next get the luxury."
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It made no difference to Yarrow where they slept for the night. Both the village and the trail had their advantages, disadvantages. "Okay," she said. "Lead on." Riding into Windstrup alongside Demise, Yarrow assumed the oldest disguise in her playbook - that of a mercenary.

Fits like a glove, don't it? said Root, leaning on the signpost leading into town. Single-storey, built of stone and dark slate for the most part, the buildings in Windstrup were easy to scale, and easier to bridge. If the Radiant Church or one of their many sects had managed to infiltrate the village, they had best make their introduction good.

Otherwise this place would become their grave.

"Is there anyone in town we need to make contact with before finding a place to sleep for the night?" Yarrow's tone was deferential, and low enough that any would-be eavesdroppers would hear nothing more than a dutiful bodyguard begging instruction from her better. "I'd prefer not having to keep one eye open while I rest," the she-orc confessed, knowing it to be half-truth.

Like it or not, she always slept with one eye open. How else was she to keep her brothers and sisters from giving into temptation and murdering?
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"I know a place."

Characteristically, Demise offered no further expansion on her words but she heeled her horse on with the confidence of someone who knew these streets and knew them well. Many of her missions had brought her through this town and after her first few where she had skirted along the borders in an effort not to bring attention to herself, in the end curiosity had allowed her to let the warmth of the lanterns lure her inside. Watching the town had turned into talking with a few of them, and evenings she reflected upon fondly. Away from the Church, her Sisters, and her purpose she could be something other.

A misplaced dream if it was the cause of their run in with the Church.

Nobody paid the pair any heed as they meandered through the town until they reached a street where the buildings appeared to bow to one another, stopping short of touching. Demise dismounted and led her horse and Yarrow up one of the side streets to someone's garden and let herself in through the wooden gate. Lights illuminated the house and a blurry figure vanished from one of the windows only to appear in the doorway a second later.

"Demi! I didn't think I'd see you until Harvest," the man standing in the doorway was tall with a mop of auburn hair that gave the impression he ran his hands through it often. A pair of glasses sat on his nose but instead of making his blue eyes owlish it seemed to suit the rumbled look of his clothing, as though he had fallen asleep with a book in hand and woken at the sounds of hoofbeats. From the yawn it seemed very likely that was the case.

"I hope it's not an imposition," she murmured and glanced over her shoulder to Yarrow. "I brought a guest."

The man only beamed.

"Here I was thinking I was your only friend - come in, come in. The kettle has just boiled!"

Inside was a treasure trove of knowledge. Bookshelves were built into every conceivable space and books rammed into place wherever they could fit. It made walking a little awkward as the cases put odd kinks into the hallways Jamie led them through. They passed other rooms which might have passed for an office and a storeroom, then a door which seemed to lead through to a shop front where yet still more books were arrayed, albeit in a more orderly fashion. The pair were led however into the heart of the home which happened to be a pleasantly warm room that doubled as a kitchen and living space.

"Jamie this is Yarrow, one of my Sisters. Yarrow, this is Jamie, my... friend."
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The man who greeted them had the look of a learned fellow. Tall, but lacking muscle. Bespectacled, and bookish in both appearance and demeanour. The way he welcomed them both to his home was as heart-warming as it was concerning, and the way Demise had gone all shy when talking to him left the she-orc wondering just who this man was to her.

Did the Church know about him? Did they need to?

Closing the door behind them, Yarrow followed Demise and the stranger through his home to the kitchen. The bookcases kept drawing her eye, reinforcing the idea that this man was of the learned variety, well-versed in all things written but perhaps not worldly. So how was it the two of them had come to know each other?

Standing in the doorway, Yarrow was drawn from her thoughts by the voice of Demise. Jamie, she blinked, friend. Yarrow felt her jaw grow slack. Surprise and disbelief, for the most part. Surprise that Demi had friends outside the Church and her sisters. Disbelief that she trusted Yarrow enough to introduce her to a... friend.

Yarrow found herself looking at Demise in a new light. Warmth made her cheeks colour.

"It's, uh, a pleasure to meet you, Jamie," Yarrow said, smiling across at him in a way that suggested she was probably telling the truth. "I'm sure Demise would have told me so much about you, but as I've come to find out during our journey here, she's not much one for talking."
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"Sister with a capital S?" Jamie grinned causing Demise's lips to thin as she nodded; he had begged her for months to bring someone else from the Church to meet him. She just hoped Yarrow knew not to blab all of their secrets just because she had called him a friend. "I'm sure she would have Yarrow, please. Take a seat. Would you like sugar with your tea?"

As Jamie pottered about the room fetching tea cups, sugar pots and spoons from off stacks of books about the room, Demise slid into one of the chairs and Nesiib hopped up onto his favourite armchair. Surprisingly, the fox had made his form solid so all could see as he settled down on the cushion as though it had been left just for him. From now Jamie didn't so much as blink it very well could have been.

"Jamie helps me with information for missions for the Church. His collection is... impressive," her eyed roamed the newer looking stacks.

"That's the rather short version, but yes. I am a friend of your church," Jamie poured tea into the cups with one hand whilst pushing up his spectacles with his other. "I actually met her in a bar. Convinced her to try her first ever beer."

Demise's eye twitched.
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Yarrow smiled. She tried not to, but with Demise looking like someone had shat on her pillow it was impossible not to. "You don't say?" Glancing across at the Vicar, Yarrow's smile widened. "And? How'd she handle it?" He had started them down this path. It would have been rude to stop now that he'd dropped a tasty morsel of information into her lap.

Which, Yarrow assumed, was what they had come here for in the first place. For information.

Jamie found the sugar, and with a nod and gesture from Yarrow, the bookkeeper was quick to add two spoonfuls to her cup. Surprisingly, Root didn't make any comments. Nesiib, Demise's fox shadowkin, appeared to join them as the Jamie started pouring. Clay did the same, brushing against the underside of the table to curl up by Yarrow's feet. The she-orc gave his ears a scratch.
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"I spat it out," Demise replied dryly and gave Jamie a warning glare which the book seller only seemed to take as a joke; assassin's had shirked at a less flesh-flaying look. In the end her eyes turned to Yarrow. "I prefer wine."

"Aye," Jamie chuckled. "Demi is made for the finer things it appears. Which begs the question of why you're on my door tonight?" he raised a brow and his gaze flickered between the pair with open curiosity. Demi fingered the mug in front of her though she had not taken a sip of the dark tea. How best to ask and not reveal all her hands at once? If it was Jamie who had betrayed them...

"I needed information; it appears the Church of Light have somehow worked out our home is up in the mountains. A brother was killed and we were set upon the road on our way here. I would like to know where they are getting this information from when it is a closely guarded secret."

"The Church of Light?" Jamie sounded incredulous - sounded honest - and Demi tried not to hold on to that. Then a thoughtful distant look clouded his eyes. "Well... now you mention it, a pair of them were in town not so long ago."
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'Any inkling what they were up to?' Yarrow asked, watching Jamie over the steaming cup in her hands. She detected no hint of poison in either of their cups. No paralytics or sedatives. Just tea leaves and lavender and the faint, musty smell of old parchment. Of course, Yarrow knew of a number of odourless ingredients, but they were very expensive to procure, and hard to come by unless you knew where to look.

Taking a sip of her drink, Yarrow set her cup down with a gentle clink.

Amber eyes regarded the bookkeeper. He was a stranger to Yarrow, but a friend to Demise. For now, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. 'Was it just the pair you saw?' They had encountered four men on the road. Two pairs. Assassin-killers, though, apparently not very good ones. Demise hadn't shared their number, so neither would she.

Yarrow relaxed, like a wolf in her den. Would she have to paint it red before the night was through?
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"Yeah, I'd have definitely noticed if I'd seen any others. They always give me the creeps," Jamie muttered, pushing his glasses back up his nose before taking a sip of his tea. Demise watched him in bemusement wondering if he realised the irony that the Church of Light was what disturbed him, not the cult of assassins and their dark mother. "They were talking to Old Tucker - the farmer - he didn't look to keen about them either. They're always so preachy, folk round here don't like it."

Demise sipped at her own tea whilst Jamie prattled on about Tucker's broken wagon which had been the much bigger news in town this week. Apparently it had caused the traffic to all but stop for a good few hours whilst it was dragged off the road and all the chickens he'd had piled on the back had been rounded up. Such simple lives, Demi thought resisting the urge to shake her head. Would her life have been that way without the Dark Mother?
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The she-orc almost smiled. Those guys gave him the creeps? Really? Her face a mask, Yarrow ran a finger lazily around the rim of her cup. A hand rose to support her chin as she rested an elbow on the table. She blinked. 'Perhaps I should have a word with this Tucker,' she said, almost innocently. Then again, perhaps she shouldn't. Keeping a low profile made more sense right now.

Who took precedence? The Radiant cultist... or the interlopers?

Yarrow was torn. The need to defend her home -or the secrecy surrounding it- was only slightly overshadowed by the knowledge that she had a job to do. Sister Demise, as good as she was, could not succeed alone. Ser Lucas du Brecht had a reputation for being a doughty fighter. He had already thwarted a number of attempts on his life, and killed nearly a dozen brothers and sisters to date.

In short, he was a bad motherfucker. Maybe that was why Mother had decided to send Demise.

Or me, thought Yarrow, noticing the absent look in her sister's eyes. 'Good tea?' she asked, taking a sip of her own.
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Good idea?

The words didn't penetrate the deep cycle of thoughts Demise had fallen into. She was attempting to lay out every piece of information and examine it in conjunction to their task. Were the two connected? That, for Demise, was the biggest concern. If Luc thought that the assassins were coming for him again and had sent his own men to cut them off at the pass, then how had he gotten that information? As far as she knew Sacred Duties such as these were given in the strictest confidence. If Luc had discovered it - and discovered it so quickly... well she didn't want to think about what that meant. The alternative was not much better either. If they were not related, then that left the very real problem a mysterious person or persons was attempting to hurt their Church. Who?

"Demi... Demi she asked a question!" Her sister nudged her and Demise tumbled from her thoughts back into the warm kitchen. She blinked slowly at the young orc and searched her memories for what she had said... Tucker. Right. A frown drew her brows together. Tucker might give them answers or might just lead to more questions. There was little baring on their mission if Luc did have a spy, if anything it just meant they should get to him quicker.

"Perhaps on the way back. Our mission is of higher importance," she stood, suddenly, and Jamie scrambled to his feet too. "I'll check the wards - could you show Yarrow to her room, Jamie?"
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'Why, y-yes, of course!' Looking from Demise to Yarrow, Jamie gestured for the she-orc to follow him. 'This way.' With a scrape of wood on stone, Yarrow stood. The haft of her weapon banged the table, making the porcelain cups jingle.

Don't forget your tea, Clay reminded her, appearing from beneath the table to join her.

With a parting look towards Demise, Yarrow turned to join the bookkeeper as he went back out into the hallway. Yarrow caught his arm a few moments later. Jamie stopped dead.

'What was that about?' She asked. Lately, the Bishop had been acting all kinds of strange.

'I don't know,' he replied. 'Perhaps she is just tired? No doubt you have travelled a very long ways to get here.' He looked at her, then. Yarrow saw the worry in his eyes, plain as day.

That can't be good.

'It's probably nothing.' He waved her concerns away, as if it was just that simple. 'Come on. Your room is this way.'
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