'You know me! Silent as the grave yet smelling of roses.' Smiling, Yarrow turned once more to gaze up at the glowing hilltop. If only she had smelled of roses, and not of sweat, blood and iron. Maybe her mood would have been better. Not that it's getting any worse in this foggy hellhole. Solitude did something to disguise herself and, with a sigh that could have been disappointment, Yarrow set off once more.
Through murk and mire... to the base of the hill.
'Hold it!' Yarrow warned, grabbing Solitude by the back of her shirt. 'Something don't smell right.' It was in the air, in the infernal singing that seemed so sweet and yet was so, so sinister. Squatting down by the upturned earth, Yarrow took a whiff, like a bloodhound or a boar ruffling through the undergrowth for truffles. Neither image was flattering, but it was the best she could come up with on a moment's notice.
'Think you missed the mark with will-o-wisps, Sol.' Eyeing the boundary, but wary not to cross over it, the she-orc stood to gaze through the mists, towards the light. 'It's a lure, sure as sure.' She sniffed. 'Wonder who set it?' Shutting her eyes, Yarrow listened to the siren's song as it rose and fell like the tides. There was something eerily... familiar about it. Then it struck her.
'The tune... didn't Rosario used to hum it to us when we were kids?' Yarrow thought mentioning Sol's twin might invoke her to appear in some way, shape or form. Alas, they were alone now. No Rosario or Root. No shadowkins. No Serenity. Yarrow felt a shiver work its way down her spine.
'I don't think...' She broke off abruptly. The singing had stopped. 'I think we should get the fuck out of here. Now!'
“What tune?” Solitude had never been the brightest. Not only did she fail in being studious, but she failed in the innate knowledge of self-preservation. “This one? The one that sounds like mm-hmmm-ma-ma-hmm-mmmhhhmmm?” She was looking at that light still, dancing about on the top of that hill. It would only take them a minute to walk up it. Why where they down here?
“What are you talking about?” Sol asked. It was like she wasn’t listening to the other woman, staring at the light, the song playing. “It’s fine.” Solitude took hold of Yarrow’s hand and stepped over the line made in the dirt.
And everything went dark.
There was a rush of air around and when Solitude opened her eyes, she realized she was falling. Her black hair was flying up all around her face but even without her dark tresses obscuring her gaze, Solitude saw nothing but darkness. Pitch black darkness, the sort that consumed one completely.
“Yarrow?” She shouted but no sound seem to come from her dark lips. Solitude twisted and flailed, trying to flip herself over. Trying to see if maybe Yarrow was falling faster than her because she was bigger and heavier. Is that how this worked? But Solitude was unable to do so, and so she fell.
She fell lower.
And deeper.
Down. Down. Down.
She thought she’d never stop falling. She wondered if she were dead. She closed her eyes.
And when Solitude opened them back up, she was out in the main courtyard, back in the School of Shadows, sitting up against a tree.
Her heart was in her throat, and in her hand. "Sol, do-" The world went dark before she could finish yelling her warning. Slipping, falling, Yarrow found herself losing track of her thoughts as she plummeted headlong into the darkness. She tried to keep hold of Sol's hand, but something pulled her friend away.
And then she was alone.
"Sol?" Yarrow heard her voice echo, as if she was standing in a long, dark tunnel.
"Sol?" replied Root, confused. "Who's Sol?"
-----
When she came to, she was no longer on the hillside. Cold, hard stone pressed against her cheek where she lay, facedown in the main courtyard. "Am I-... Am-am I Home?" The she-orc slurred. Yarrow coughed suddenly, clearing some of the blood from her mouth. Rich, and tasting of iron, it dribbled down her chin as she forced herself to her knees. Her head felt heavy, like it sometimes did when she... overindulged.
But she didn't drink. Never had. "What-"
"Ah, Initiate Yarrow! So nice of you to join us. Sleep well?" Turning to gaze across the courtyard, Yarrow felt something in her mind shiver and recoil. "Why, whatever is the matter?" Bishop Illander asked, turning from his students to regard Yarrow in a way that made her blood run cold. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Smiling his wicked smile, the dead Bishop cackled mischievously as Yarrow scrambled to her feet. "Come!" He beckoned, skeletal fingers compelling her closer. "Do not be afraid. There is much I have yet to teach, and only a short time in which to teach it."
“You’re going to get in trouble if they catch you like this.” Sol turned her head, looking and seeing her twin. Rosario. Not dead. Alive. Skin full of warmth, glowing in the strange light about the citadel. Dark eyes stared back at Solitude and she could see her reflection in them. “Why are you so surprised? You keep slacking off and they really will throw you into the pit.”
“Rosario.”
“Ah, so you recognize me after your snooze fest after all.”
“You’re alive?” Rosario gave her twin a befuddled look, raising a brow suspiciously.
“Did you get drugged with something?”
“No. Well. I dunno. I just, I had the weirdest dream.”
“Uh huh. Well,” Rosario extended her hand to Sol. “You don’t need to worry about me being dead. We’re going to be together forever, not even death will keep us apart. We’re one soul, just in separate bodies for now. C’mon. Get up. We’ll be late for class.” Solitude took her hand, getting up to her feet. The School of Shadows was unchanged. She was back home. Back where she belonged.
Something was very wrong here, Yarrow decided. It wasn't so much the place as the people in it. The old people and the young... and the dead. 'Come on, now!' Bishop Illander was beginning to lose his temper. 'Make quick with it!' Almost self-consciously, the she-orc hustled over to where her classmates sat in a crude semi-circle around the master assassin.
'Trust you to be late.' A harsh voice bit at her as she sat down. 'Who was it this time? Solitude? Demise?'
I recognise that voice. 'Root?' Yarrow tried to turn around, but a hand clamped down on the back of her skull, locking her gaze forward. 'Don't look at me!' Root hissed, her fingers digging into Yarrow's scalp painfully. 'Are you trying to get us in trouble?'
Yarrow grimaced. Was that what she was doing?
And here I thought I already was. 'No,' she whispered back. 'Can you let go of me? Please.' The hand crushing her skull relinquished its grip, and Yarrow shook her brown hair out gratefully. 'Thank-' She paused. Since when had her hair been brown? The last time she had had brown hair was during her... childhood.
Fuck!
Clearing his throat, Bishop Illander produced a dagger from the folds of his robes. 'Now, then, where were we? Ah, yes!'
Continuing from where he left off, the Bishop began to instruct his pupils on the myriad uses of the knife. Yarrow listened, or at least pretended to. I need to get out of this place, she thought, the dizziness from before returning to her the more she struggled.
Yarrow felt the fingers press against her skull again, but this time they did not belong to Root, or the thing pretending to be her. 'Why would you wish to leave this place?'Not-quite-Root whispered. 'You're safe, here, with us.'The nails dug deeper, drawing blood. 'You're home.'
Like so many times before, Solitude ended up being late to class. Rosario had rushed on ahead, leaving her slow sister behind, but Solitude could not fault her for that. This time she was extra slow as she went down the jet black halls and up spiraling staircases made of black marble with silver rails that mimicked moonlight. Shadows danced all around, whispers could be heard echoing about, and shadowkin moved freely here even without their masters.
Solitude wondered if Celosia would… wait, Celosia? Who was that? Solitude blinked, bringing up her hands to rub her eyes as if it could help her remember. It did not. Celosia… yes, the name sounded familiar. And Solitude could put a personality to the name, overbearing and sassy and usually no help at all.
Maybe it had been a sister from the past? Why on the Mother would she think about a past sister now of all times? When Solitude entered Bishop Illandor’s class, he stopped speaking to stare daggers right into her. Solitude stepped inside. She could see Rosario giving her a look of concern. Look, there was Diaz in the back corner, probably fuming about something and oh, look there was— Yarrow.
It felt like a hammer had just hit her head. Solitude gasped, falling to her knees, hands going to her brow and uselessly pressing against her skin. She looked up, half expecting Bishop Illandor to have shoved his knife into her forehead, but he hadn’t moved. He looked at her first with skepticism and then concern.
“Sol!” Rosario stood up from the thick black tables, pushing her silver stool back.
“Oh shit. Oh fuck.” Solitude mumbled. Another hammer blow to her head, no her psyche, some invisible gremlin intent on bringing Solitude to the ground.
The more she fought it, the worse it got. Pain spiralled behind her eyes. Paralysing, it kept her locked in place. Yarrow thought she had heard Solitude's voice come from somewhere close by, but she couldn't tell if it was real or not.
Nothing was real about this place.
Gritting her teeth, Yarrow struggled free of the claw-like fingers crushing her skull. Her classmates seemed blind to her plight. Bishop Illander's attention lay elsewhere. What was he looking at?
'Fight it!' A voice from the recesses of her mind called out. Deep, dangerous, it overpowered the nausea and confusion and fear in one fell swoop.
'Clay?'
'The very same,'he replied. 'Can you stand?'Balling her hands into fists, the she-orc gathered them beneath her. As it turned out, she could stand, albeit shakily. 'What's going on?' She asked. 'Why- where are we?'
A pause. Then, 'Clay?'
'Ferryman caught you, trapped you in one of it's not-quite-memories.'Yarrow swore. As if getting caught by a Ferryman wasn't bad enough, their bodies were still back in the swamp. Vulnerable, and ripe for the plucking. 'It's not all bad,'Clay said encouragingly. 'Solitude is here with you, and if her appearance is anything to go by, you're handling yourself better than she is. Take a look, why don't you!'
Turning -or perhaps flailing, it was hard to tell in this hellhole- around, Yarrow's expression went from one of pain to concern. 'Sol!' She shouted, drawing the lanky Bishop's ire. Everyone else seemed oblivious. 'Sol, get up! We're in deep, deep doo-doo.'
Solitude moaned. Another slam against her forehead. A smack on the temple. A needle prick in her ears. She grit her teeth as more pain exploded inside her skull. She hadn’t even realized that she was curled up on the floor, holding her head in her hands. She shook violently, muscles spasming while cramps took over her thighs and calves like horrendous growing pains. Her teeth were chattering and she felt herself chip a tooth.
Fresh blood in her mouth. Her own blood. She had ripped into her lip or maybe her tongue with that chipped tooth and the metallic tang was welcomed. She sucked it down, clarity brief but welcome.
Her eyes found Yarrow. For a moment, she looked older with red hair, but that image fizzled back into what Yarrow really was. More blood filled her mouth and suddenly Yarrow was older again.
Like a siren's song, Solitude's voice drew Yarrow closer. Soft, pained, it made the she-orc's heart ache in ways she didn't realise were possible. 'I'm here,' she whispered, kneeling down to pull Solitude's head into her lap. Gently, ever so gently, she began to run a hand through the assassin's silky hair, as if to nurse her back to health. A vain hope, that.
The Ferryman smiled down at them hungrily.
'Whatever do you think you're doing?'It rasped, interposing its voice over Bishop Illander's. The sound reminded Yarrow of nails on a chalkboard, or a dagger grinding against a deader's spine. 'What does it look like I'm doing?' She bared her teeth, like a mother wolf protecting her cubs. 'I'm protecting my friend!'
'Is that what you're doing?' The Ferryman chuckled. Actually chuckled. 'Looks to me like you're holding a corpse.'
Glancing down at Solitude, Yarrow felt something in her soul die. 'What-... what is this madness?' The woman she held in her arms was no longer Solitude. It wasn't anybody. Garbed in furs and animal skins, the skeleton fell with a soft clatter as Yarrow rounded on the entity snaring her mind. 'Answer me!'
Laughing now, the shadowy figure of Bishop Illander began to levitate. Arms like snakes sprouted from the back of his robes, extending this way and that in search of something to constrict. To destroy. With a snarl, Yarrow drew a dagger from her boot to send it spinning, end over end, into the dead Bishop's eye socket.
'Ouch.'
Grinning, Bishop Illander waved a bony hand. The world around Yarrow dissolved into nothingness for a moment. Then, the sharp snap of reality struck, driving her to her knees in an instant. Using an arm to support herself, Yarrow looked back to find Solitude lying behind her. She was shivering, wracked by a pain Yarrow couldn't even begin to fathom.
'Suppose this is the part where you try to save your friend?' The dark entity floating before Yarrow spoke in a language she could understand. It had no face, no clothes by which to identify it. Even the human aspects about it were minute. 'You could, however, decide to leave her here.'
The Ferryman hummed, a shiver of excitement causing its shadowy form to ripple in and out of existence.
'I'll even let you go,' It promised. 'One meal is plenty enough for me. Oh, just look at her! Doesn't get more succulent than that, let me tell you!'
Yarrow was warm. Warm in a way that Solitude had never felt with anyone other than Rosario. She wasn’t sure what that meant, her head dizzy as if she were too high in the sky and floating amongst the clouds. She felt like mist: there and surrounding, a conscious bystander unable to be solid.
A shaky breath as she contemplated just cutting off her head. The pain was radiating all over and it was too much. Despite her years of training, despite all the pain she had felt before now, what she felt currently was all-consuming and it felt like eternity.
She was besides Yarrow one moment and then the next she was elsewhere, far away from her comrade, farther yet away from the world she knew. The pain stopped. Solitude slowly sat up, putting a hand on her forehead as if that could bring the pain back. It didn’t. As quickly as the pain had come, it was now gone.
Darkness surrounded her. She could make out shapes in this darkness, with a hazy gray outline that required her to stare for a moment longer than needed to give a name to the shape. It was uncomfortably cold.
“It’s not fair.” Solitude heard Rosario say, her voice echoing all around. “It’s not fair you’re alive and I’m dead.” She felt her shadow stir. “I’m the one who worked harder than you.” She felt her shadow expand. “I’m the one who wanted to serve the Mother.” The shadow was hungry, Solitude could feel that oily feeling in her gut. “I was killing you gently and then you just had to make me suffer.” And she was swallowed whole by the shadow, going deeper into the darkness.
“It hurt. Every time you stabbed me hurt. Do you remember how many times you stabbed that tiny dagger of yours into my throat? Into my chest? In my eye? It hurt. It hurt. Ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt—“
“I’m sorry.” Solitude gasped. “I’m so sorry.” Her twin was quiet. “I lied. I said I didn’t want to live but I lied. I’ve been lying this whole entire time and on the Mother, Rosie, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I wanted to live, too.” Was the only response given to Solitude before she felt her limbs begin to be slowly pulled apart by the strong hands that could only belong to her sister.
'One is never enough,' she replied, gesturing at the skeletons scattered around the ruined hillfort. 'Your hunger will never be sated. From now until the moment I kill you, all you'll be able to think about is the next meal, and the one after that...' So on and so forth. Forever. 'Let her go,' she said. 'Let her go and I won't be forced to destroy you!' To anyone else, anywhere else, the threat might have had a real chance of landing. But this was the Unburnt. Only madmen and monsters lived here.
The Ferryman was unique in that regard.
A madman who has become a monster, Yarrow thought, grimacing as the entity started to laugh. 'Oh, my dear, sweet Yarrow,' It said. 'Do you even know how to destroy me? Assuming, of course, that you can!' Rising from the ground, the Ferryman's form began to twist and break apart. One moment it was shadow and smoke. The next, a man, broad-shouldered, with a muscular physique.
'Like what you see?' It rasped, laughing to itself as two blades materialised from the veil of smoke to land in its outstretched hands.
'Don't use her voice, you bastard!' Yarrow yelled, drawing her war pick and the last of her daggers to match his twin-blades.
Stepping back and to the side, the she-orc put herself between Solitude and the thing using her voice. 'A noble gesture!' Not-Sol said admiringly. 'But ultimately pointless, like all mortal endeavours.' Hovering a few inches off the ground, the Ferryman began floating towards Yarrow.
The twin-blades flashed, passing through each other in a puff of black smoke. The Ferryman's blank face had a smile to it now. Mocking, pleased with itself.
'Nice trick,' the assassin took another step to the side, forcing the creature to turn. 'Let me show you a few of mine!'
Rosario was going to rip her apart. Solitude hadn’t thought about the pain she had inflicted on her twin in a long time. Sometimes she still did, the memory never leaving even if she wanted it to. Rosario was right, Solitude had made her suffer when her sister was doing her best to kill her gently. Now with her limbs being pulled in all sorts of directions, Solitude wondered if this pain was the same that Rosario had felt.
She didn’t struggle against the invisible hands, feeling that if she were to do such a thing it would be wrong. Let Rosario have her peace, let Rosario get her life back, even if it meant Solitude could no longer exist. Solitude cried out, not because she wanted to live but because it hurt feeling her joints scrape against other bones. The assassin felt hands around her throat.
“I hate you.” Rosario declared.
“I love you.” Solitude answered back, tears in her eyes. “You’re my sister. My twin. The other half of my soul. I’ll always, always love you.” She whispered into the blackness, wanting to scream but holding back her voice.
“Liar.”
“Not to you, I never lied to you.”
“Selfish.”
“Something came over me, I couldn’t help it. I got scared.”
“Murderer.”
“Rosario, no.” Solitude begged. “I didn’t… it’s not….” She trailed off, suddenly realizing something. “It’s not murder. You never thought it was murder.” The pulling stopped. “We became one. We did what Mother Meness wanted. You quoted it all the time! By this we know love, that they laid down their life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the Mother.” The hands around her throat vanished. “You laid down your life for me and I will serve the Mother— with you.” Solitude sucked in a deep breath, just as the pressure in her muscles and body relaxed. “But you’re not Rosario. You’re not my sister.” A face emerged from the darkness, a perfection reflection. “You’re me. The bad thoughts, the self-loathing, the never-ending critic.” Solitude got up glaring at the face, her face. Her other mouth opened. “Just… shut up already.” Solitude said, punching the face, right in the nose.
The darkness changed shape around her and Solitude was a few feet too far from Yarrow’s side until she wasn’t and she bumped into the orc.
“Yarrow!” Solitude said as she was knocked to the ground because there was no way in the Rancid Radiance that she was going to push Yarrow over, even if my accident.
The Ferryman drifted languidly after her, as if riding the breeze. The stagnant air of the Unburnt was starting to make Yarrow sweat. Or is that the fear?Root asked, kicking at a pile of dusty bones. She looked up, smiling as the Ferryman passed through her. Even in death, there was no love lost between them.
Yarrow envied Sol that. Rosario had always been sweet, if a touch zealous.
Root had been the latter, right up until the moment Yarrow had killed her. Still hold it against me, don't you?Yarrow backed up, luring the Ferryman away from the slumped form of Solitude. My victory? Your defeat?Her boot clipped a femur, sent it spinning away into the reeds. Did either of us actually win? Or lose?The Sons and Daughters of Meness were led to believe otherwise. In life, service. In death...
'Unity.' 'How quaint.'
'Wasn't talking to you!' Digging in her heels, Yarrow readied herself for the onslaught. The Ferryman had no obvious tells; expressionless, emotionless, the eyes it had adopted looked much alike Root's had, once upon a time. Much like my own, the she-orc thought, leaping into motion as the monster struck.
Blades like shadow lashed out, slashing, seeking. Yarrow caught one with the iron-bound haft of her pick, stopping it dead. She swayed back as the other came for her throat. Excess magick dappled her skin as she moved. She ducked a swiping attack dealt with both hands to smash at the Ferryman's legs, forgetting it didn't need them to stand.
A sword fell, too fast for her to parry. Root's smile widened.
Something crashed into her side, knocking her out of the weapon's path. Someone screamed her name. It sounded a lot like Sol. But that couldn't be, she's- The thought perished quick as the Ferryman lunged, tilting at the wrist, as if to deliver a cut with the false edge of its blade. Yarrow recognised the technique.
It was her own.
'Solitude!' She cried out, relief colouring her voice. 'So nice of you to joi-' Yarrow grunted as she dropped, rolled to come up on the Ferryman's blindside. The hammerhead caught the smoky form in the back of its ribs. Impact travelled up her arm, the faint thrill of success.
The monster whirled, backhanding its blades. Yarrow ducked by in the opposite direction. Her eyes found Sol's.
Solitude had never been good with fighting alongside another, something that Yarrow most likely already suspected with their brief interaction with the Ashfoots. She was always struck with the uncertainty of whether she should lead or follow along— but that always brought about the question of how to follow along. The issue with fighting, whether it was one-on-one or two-on-one or even an army-against-one was that there was no time to think. Instinct had to take over, adrenaline and muscles putting a curtain over the brain that wanted to view the fight as some equation instead of a flurry of chaos.
So Solitude stayed back, hoping that this time, when she threw her dagger, it wouldn’t harm the she-orc. The throw was obvious, a clear line to the head that whistled through the air. It would be easy to dodge with a bow of the head or waist, but two more were thrown after it, aiming for the possibilities of how the enemy would try to evade the attack.
Not fast enough, stupid human! Celosia hissed.
“I’m not,” Solitude agreed, pulling out three more daggers and running to the left in a wide arc. “But she is.” Another dagger thrown with the intention not to land a killing blow but to distract instead.
Solitude wasn't much help but that was okay. Moral support,Clay found the words Yarrow was looking for mid-swing, thinking so she didn't have to. Preoccupied, she ducked and dove out of the way of the Ferryman's scything blows. Exactly!Moral support! Rolling to her feet, the half-orc slammed her pick into the entity's face.
She felt something give way. A jawbone, maybe. Or a skull.
Before she had time to figure out how much damage had been done, she was being lifted from the ground by unseen arms. Fingers of ice gouged her flesh, set her head spinning. For a moment -one single, solitary moment- Yarrow found herself levitating, up, beyond the pain. Then, she came crashing back down, hard.
Yarrow felt something give way in her. A rib. Several ribs. Pain seared its way through her body, disturbing the animal within. Growling, she rolled, came up swinging.
The pick found purchase in the Ferryman's side, knocking it off its stride just in time to prevent the killing blow meant for her.
Holding out her freehand, Yarrow shouted for Clay. The shadow-kin bounded to her side, only to shatter into a million pieces as he formed and reformed around her outstretched arm like smoke. Shadow,he growled, stoking the flame inside her. Now, stop playing with this weak, insignificant little creature and finish it.
Solitude bit her lip in frustration, pausing her throw as she watched Yarrow rise from the ground, noting how her brows knitted with silent pain. She was frozen, uncertainty once again coursing through her. Did she move in now? Should she go to Yarrow's aid to pick her up and try to defend the two of them? Would it be best to linger back, grab the ferryman's attention, and have him reach her instead of her friend?
Then, that all too familiar feeling came once again.
Shadowkin didn't make noise when they moved, at least not to most people. The assassins of the Caliginous Church, however, could sometimes hear the click of claw against snow and the way that jaws fitted into place against teeth. Celosia, the little fox, made soft noises that Sol was used to. If anything, it was more alarming not to hear the staccato of sharp shadow nails against the obsidian of the Citadel.
Yarrow's shadowkin was like Diaz's, far more foreboding: more power and with it, more fear. Oil and bile collided in her gut, threatening to come up through her mouth like a greasy, black snake. All at once, the desire to devour mixed with the instinctual fear of being devoured. Solitude could see the darkening of Yarrow's shadow, and she was keenly aware of the bond that Yarrow held with her shadowkin.
Celosia hid herself again, and Solitude assumed it was because of Yarrow. The ferryman's eyes, glowing and floating and cruel, had been coming closer and closer to Sol as she stared at the she-orc.
"Oh, shit." Solitude cursed, bending low at the first slash from the scythe. She went to scurry, but with a speed that Solitude didn't expect, the ferryman had the scythe already arcing above them, stabbing Solitude's calf and pinning her in place. A gurgle of a scream was cut off, that icy cold creeping along her bone, making her feel like her muscles were frozen solid from the inside out.
Yarrow sensed the change in Solitude before she saw it. Feral, hungry, the look in her friend's eye sent cold fingers down Yarrow's spine. Focus! Clay chided her. Focus on the prey! It's yours for the taking! Growling, her teeth bared, the she-orc disregarded her Sister as a non-threat, refocused on the foe that truly mattered.
The Ferryman. Snatcher of dreams, eater of souls. Temptation's lure. How Yarrow longed for the old days! Before the killing, before her calling.
Wreathed in shadow, her arm moved of its own accord, striking the ferryman upside the skull even as its own weapon found purchase in Solitude's flesh. 'Focus!' Yarrow shouted, unsure whether she was talking to herself or the fool with the scythe in her leg.
Drawing back her arm, Yarrow struck again, shattering bone, and dispelling the strange shadows flowing from the ferryman's shoulders like a cloak.
She felt its attention shift, even as she slapped the scythe from its grip with her offhand.
Raising her arm, Yarrow blocked the blow, marvelling at how powerful she felt. Grinning, she retaliated, and kept retaliating, taking more and more from the ferryman. Bit by bit, the fight turned. The pain in her chest receded. I taste... 'Fear!' The assassin smiled. Fear? Fear! Whose fear?
'Your fear,' Yarrow giggled, losing herself in the moment.
Somewhere, someone was screaming at her to fight it, but she didn't want to. Glancing from the ferryman to Solitude, Yarrow blinked. 'Where's Clay?' She wondered aloud. 'Why do I feel so... good right now?' Shivering, Yarrow allowed herself to smile. The shadows coating her arms and weapon snaked up her neck and chin, forming a tattoo.
With Yarrow's attack, the ferryman lost hold of his scythe, bombarded by an onslaught of blows that only one as powerful as Yarrow could perform with such brutal accuracy that it both amazed and frightened Solitude. This was an assassin of the Calinginous Church: deadly efficient and full of zealous tenacity.
She had to get up; even the few seconds she spent admiring Yarrow were too much. When she went to move, she felt her calf heavy, but something felt different. She turned her head to see the scythe gone. It had dissipated with the release of its master's hand, materializing back in to help him block a blow from Yarrow, but his timing was off. Despite the wound that would have debilitated anyone, Sol felt an icy chill lodged deep in her muscle.
It was no worse than a painful cramp, and she stood up, turning to see Yarrow covered in shadow.
The oily feeling was back, hunger emerging from somewhere between the void and the abyss.
"Yarrow! Look out," Sol shouted, the ferryman rising; scythe pulled back behind him. A hand was already reaching out towards her friend, another pulling out another knife. Her calf seized then, having Sol topple over as she threw a knife. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape at her bad luck. Her aim would be off! It could hit Yarrow!
The knife flew through the air, slicing through it with a sound that suited a hiss of steam.
Yarrow heard the warning cry. For all of Sol's flaws, she had a pair of lungs on her. The half-orc never grew tired of hearing her use them. Focus! The voice returned, snapping and snarling, dragging her back to reality. Twisting, Yarrow narrowly avoided a swipe from the Ferryman.
Its weapon gone, it had resorted to teeth and claw. Feral, like an animal.
Like a wolf, she mused, barely aware of Sol, barely aware of anything now that her blood was up. Ducking a blow, she pirouetted, threw herself into the attack. Her pick found purchase, driving through meat and bone and sinew. Yarrow revelled in the feeling, her focus needle-fine, just as the voice had instructed her.
The knife hit her in the forearm.
Blinking, the she-orc watched her weapon slide from numb fingers. Biting back the pain, she stared at the blade embedded in her arm, eyes wide, disbelieving. 'Sol?'What have you done? Turning, the shadows covering her throat and lower face, Yarrow directed her gaze towards her friend. Why have you betrayed me? She wondered, the voice echoing her thoughts.
She opened her mouth to speak.
The shadow fell across her before she could. Flinching, throwing herself sideways, Yarrow felt a new pain blossom in her side. Blood -her blood- hovered in the air in front of her face. She had been hit, hit bad.
Spinning, tumbling, Yarrow threw out an arm to catch herself.
Cartwheeling, letting her momentum carry her back to her feet, she wrenched the knife from her arm. Blood stained the blade. Despite it all, the wound didn't hurt. Not when she removed it.
Nor when she buried it hilt-deep in the ferryman's empty skull.
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