Fable - Ask Livin' on a Prayer

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Ramiel

Bringer of Light
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Humans were really simple creatures. A lot like dogs. Oh! Dogs? Those were little furry buds that humans kept around for security and companionship. See, dogs could be trained to listen to basic commands. They were programmable, responding to positive feedback or the promise of sustenance. It made them real easy to manipulate and Ramiel always figured that's why humans liked them so much.

They were easy to train, easy to control.

It was why Ramiel liked humans so much. In a way humans were kind of like his dogs. You could teach them neat little tricks like, 'make me a Sazerac,' or, 'come to bed with me.' If they feared you they'd listen out of compulsion but if you got them to adore you? Well, they were an Avariel's best friend.

Many within his race didn't share these thoughts. Normally his brothers and sisters hid their wings to avoid attention. Masquerading as regular elves or travelers in an attempt to avoid hunters or to refrain from the praise of more primitive humans.

It was a waste. They were one of the oldest races in all of Arethil. The idea that they would hide who they were, a part of their very essence, because the child races might get jealous was absurd to him. As it should be to all Avariel.

Dreams were interrupted as Ram awoke in a daze. His left wing wrapped around a human female and two human males. He was pretty sure he had only drank a single bottle of wine and maybe one glass of whisky. Pretty sure. But the scene this morning and his rupturing headache were telling him differently.

The Avariel fell out of bed and stepped towards a large watering bowl in the corner of the room. Rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes he glanced down at the still water before plunging his face into it. The coolness of the liquid helped wake him up but it did nothing for his throbbing skull. He’d need to get someone to cook him a hearty breakfast and prepare some coffee.

Taking a modest looking tan robe off a hanger he covered himself before leaving the wooden home nearby this village’s temple. He had walked around ten paces until one of the people in this town came rushing to his side and rapidly spat out, “servant of light! There are travelers who have stopped by the village and are eager to meet with you.”

Bad news.

Travelers didn’t hear of a winged elf and think, ‘wow I can’t wait to meet this interesting fellow,’ no. The other races were greedy, pathetic little insects that coveted his people’s natural affinity for flight. They craved his people’s feathers in the same manner as a wayward child craving candies.

Fingertips sparked with static at the thought of more Avariel hunters. “Bring them to me. And fetch me a mug of coffee while you’re at it,” Ramiel said with stale breath and an annoyed grimace.

This was going to prove to be an eventful little morning.
 
It always been benefitted a man to know his limits and weaknesses. Volker was a strong creature, but ultimately he was earthbound. Once he lost a trail it could take days to pick it up again, days he didn’t have. His prey had slipped him, and he wasn’t the type to blunder around blindly looking to pick up the trail. The cwn had all but vanished. Given their speed and cleverness, he didn’t have time to mess up.

Asking his master for help wasn’t an option. He’d just as likely to be punished for admitting to failure as he was for failure to kill his target. Opportunity knocked in the form of rumor, however. There were rumors a man with wings was about. One thing that could benefit Volker was seeing something from the air. A scout was what he needed.

He sat quietly in the inn, drinking water as he disliked the jitters of coffee. He was well supplied, rested, and had a budget for this particular hunt. Hopefully the scout would be amenable to having his wings used for a few hours. He’d sent for him, requesting a meeting, now all he had to do was wait.

The winged one had other ideas. He was to be brought up to him. Volker sighed and followed the servant upstairs; he’d demanded coffee as well by the smell of the mug the servant carried.

“The traveler, m’lord.” The servant said by way of explanation as he opened the door and set the mug of coffee down on the nightstand.

Volker eyed the sleeping woman and the two men. “Out.” He barked at them. If they refused, he’d follow up with a few throwing knives rather close to their persons. He didn’t have time for this.
 
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Ramiel raised an eyebrow at the elderly looking human that had ordered his three lovebirds to depart. His skin sagged and wrinkled in all the wrong places. It made him realize just how swiftly humans aged.

“Go on my lovelies, I’ll call for you this evening,” he said with a warm tone as his three companions gathered up whatever shreds of cloth or towels to cover their modesty.

The Avariel grabbed the mug from his nightstand and walked towards the lone chair in the room which sat in front of a large bay window. He flexed his wings and let them hang off the backrest, taking a long and soothing sip from his coffee mug before turning back to the older man.

If he was part of some group to hunt Avariels perhaps they had played a joke on him. Send their frailest and most senile member to take on the winged elf in single combat. Or, more likely this man wasn’t a hunter at all. Likely he was yet another foolish human come to worship the angel that was here carrying out the divine will of... was it Rathaus? Or did they call their deity Girion?

“I’d offer you a chair but,” he said while shrugging and looking around the room in faux confusion. “Tell me, why have you sought me out? Perhaps there are some divine answers you seek?”

Once you had willing cult followers it didn’t matter what you told them so long as they wanted to hear it.
 
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Volker made sure the others left. Thankfully they seemed to be just as eager to get out of the room as Volker wanted them away from him. He watched the Avariel get up and stretch, drinking his coffee. Volker was familiar with Avariels, if only in passing. They had a reputation for being arrogant and his father had been fond of using them for target practice. While strong, and a proud race, they weren’t divine. He looked back at the door. This one obviously had some pull here. The servant had addressed him with utmost respect and he clearly didn’t have issues with finding mating partners.

“I do not need a chair.” Volker responded. “I need your wings. For a few hours to scout signals in heavy forest. My quarry will not have gone far, but it is a race to see who can an outpace who. You will be looking for a cwn, roughly a hundred pounds with a streak of silver dappling along his flanks. He would not be out of dog form so soon. You will be compensated for your time and the use of your wings. I will follow from the ground; I have no issue keeping up with Avariels. It is merely your eyesight I need.”

He stood still, and waited. Volker was completely unbothered by the other, and was prepared to wait as long as he needed to. “I do not care what your business here is, or what you have fooled the humans into believing. I am not here to disturb you, or hunt you. Merely to hire you.” He clarified. The Avariel had a good thing going here; with the reference to the divine clearly he expected praise, worship.

Why was he not surprised? Avariels had quite a lot in common with his own master.
 
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Ramiel’s face was one of genuine interest when the old man began to speak and explained the need for the Avariel’s wings. But when the word of compensation was uttered from the man’s leathery lips the winged savior spit out his coffee in laughter.

“Excuse me? ‘Compensation for my time?’ Are you,” a gleeful chuckled interrupted his speech, “kidding me?”

He sat his steaming mug back on the windowsill and stretched both of his arms wide, his wings extended a few inches outward as he did so. A quick swivel of his head and he brought his attention back to the hunter of cwns. “Ok child, what could you possibly offer me that I’d want?”

He had no real need for gold. These rural villages and towns were common enough to offer him booze, food, and lovers. He avoided the large cities, didn’t like to hide his wings and waltzing around Alliria with them on full display was a catalyst for trouble.

“Go ahead, make me an offer. I’m in dire need of entertainment.”
 
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Volker eyed him carefully, and thought. He was already snorting at the idea of gold, and he could see why. The spoiled Avariel was drowning in willing lovers, possibly free accommodation, and likely tithes. He had no reason for gold and could likely end up getting Volker tossed out on his rear. But what was more valuable than information?

“Information, in any subject of your choosing.” Volker replied, without judgement. His face was a stony mask, indifferent to the other’s mockery. “Even creatures like yourselves have gaps in knowledge that could save your skin if your ruse was to be uncovered. Your kind is hunted. My father had a fondness for plucking the wings of Avariels and making them run themselves to death. I know what your kind faces. A bag of tricks is more useful than any rapier.”

He could feel a bit of indignation bleeding over from Nestor. Clearly, the genius of the Well didn’t like being used as a bargaining chip. But if he was not there to help Rheinhard, what use was he? Volker eyed the other levelly. “My name is Rheinhard Volker, current host of the Well. Every man in my family resides here.” He tapped his temple. “A few hours of your time, and you learn to speak to the stones, or make poison from conventional vegetables, whatever you choose. All you have need is to select a tutor.”
 
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The offer was certainly unique and took Ramiel by surprise. Although a scowl did cross his features at the hint of an ancestor plucking the wings of other Avariel.

Insects tearing at the beauty of one such as he. It was embarrassing enough that an Avariel would allow that to happen to themselves but a massive insult that any man or elf would have the audacity to carry out the action. Judging by the man's wrinkles he could conclude that his father was dead.

That was good. Hopefully he died slowly.

"I'm intrigued enough to help," he said before taking a further sip of his beverage. "Tell me, why do you seek this thing? What happens after I spot it?"

Honestly, even if the information was useless to him this little endeavor may prove for a single day of entertainment. The excitement from this farm village's adoration was beginning to wane.
 
Volker saw the look across the Avariel’s features, and the resulting ripple from his father. It was a deep emotion, and far away, like watching someone drop stones into a pond from a tower window. Klaus was certainly one of the more animated denizens of the Well, and one of the few who nursed a grudge against the next in line. Klaus had been put down not because he wasn’t effective, but because he was too difficult to control. Sadly, death hadn’t improved that aspect of his father’s personality.

At the very least, the Avariel had agreed to help him in exchange for knowledge. Volker wasn’t dishonest or a cheat, and had never intended on being, but he also had zero control over his ancestors. All he could do was bring the Avariel into the Well, and see what they saw fit to teach him. Klaus, of course, was already volunteering.

He wasn’t about to tell this to the Avariel, however. “All you need do is spot him, and signal me with this.” Volker pulled a shard of mirror out of his pocket. “Keep track of him until I arrive and kill him. Why is my master’s business. I am a tool in his hand, I am not told why.”

Volker eyed the Avariel. “Are you ready? The more time we waste, the more time you spend in my company.”
 
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Whatever thoughts were going through the man's head were a mystery to the winged coffee drinker. He seemed deep in thought, lost in whatever this 'well' thing he described was. Perhaps this man was simply a raving lunatic. He didn't display the normal symptoms of lunatics but one could never be certain.

"I'd certainly prefer to limit my exposure to your company."

The Avariel rose to his feet and retrieved a long robe which had been cut down the sides and part of the back to make room for his wings. He threw it over himself and looked back at the wrinkled gentleman with bright blue eyes. "Name's Ramiel. If you didn't already know."

He didn't bother to offer a hand to shake, instead he grabbed for the shard of mirror and proceeded to the door, opening it swiftly and leaving it wide for the elderly man to keep up.

"Bear in mind, I'm a swift flier. I hope you can keep up," he said with a smirk cutting into his left cheek.