Private Tales Nightmare in the Reach

[Quintus Vexion]

Lord Vexion's heart was heavy.

The boy's corpse was brought before the Allirian Council chambers a week ago. Yet every night, he saw the image of his dead eyes when he closed his own. Usually, his dreams were of a different sort. The voices of the Helm had burned each of their voices into his mind. The progeny of Astra spoke tongues that none could fathom and on every wall of his mind was the burning script of the infinite. He dreamed of Heavens that should not have been possible and of the hells he endured in his mortal form... and yet the boy wiped all of that away.

Lorin, they called him.

The boy's name was Lorin...

The arrival of the Green Shadow had left the lands around Alliria cursed, they say. The Alliran Council had put a great deal of effort into quelling whatever evil had been left behind as a result of his foul magicks. Alas, there were powerful and unholy creatures that hung on still. Those that weren't easily felled by the might of steel, axe, and crossbow. In the shadow of little Lorrin's blank stare, he could see the wraiths and those that served them. The Spirits of the Helm had been calm and yet it had to be something divine that led him to call the Black Shields for reinforcement. He was going to kill whatever had taken that boy's life...

"You answered my call," Quintus greeted as he sat tall atop his horse. Brown-gold eyes regarded Cato as he acknowledged him and the mercenaries he'd assembled. Quintus had been accompanied by members of his own household guard. Men that he trusted with his life. Quintus had no desire to rouse the Allirian Council and so he'd decided to hire professionals that could aid him in ridding the world of this fell creature quickly.

"This road leads down a path I trust few enough to ride with me. I remember you saved my life not long ago. Perhaps I might get the chance to return the favor."​

 

[Cato]

"Always ready to help, my lord." More accurately, Cato answered the wagon full of coin that arrived at the 'Shields headquarters not a week ago. The mercenary captain barely kept the other cohorts at bay. The entire company had practically been drooling. 'Course as Cato was on the road, the doubts quickly crept in. That was the problem with too much coin, it had a way of blinding you. When the pay was too good to be true, its usually because it was. But Lord Quintus was admittedly better than most of the noble shits that Cato dealt with.

"Brought the best the Third has to offer. Well-" he cast a glance back at the rest of the 'Shields. "They'll work for what we need." Cato wasn't entirely sure what that was at this point but considering his last contract with Quintus, it was liable to go tits up. The Third was a motley mix of mages, assassins, and general scum. He'd brought along mostly company wizards and then a few extra hands in case knife-work needed doing.

"I'd rather we avoid a situation where you need to save my life." The mercenary captain sighed, sensing he wasn't going to be so lucky. "So what's the action? Heard some odd-fucking rumors on the way down, couldn't make much sense of it. All I know is that half of my spellslingers are scared shitless."


Quintus Vexion

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"Then it would seem as though Master Cato has put himself in wise company. Perhaps they have heard the stories about Llvanna's Bog as I did as a child... You know how the stories of Bogs go. There's a crone there, they say. Powerful enough to lure Ladys from the beds of their husbands and children from the villages. She driinks their blood to remain beautiful and young. She's placed hexes on many a powerful Lord, they say... Houses fall to ruin and they blame the Crone. Children disappear and they blame the Crone..."

His gaze shifted from Cato and down the path where trees twisted and threatened to swallow them in their maw. There was no light on the other side of it. No shine in the eyes of a predator. The abyss simply stared back at them. But Quintus was the Companion of the Stars and he saw them in his eyes all the time. So much that they burned into his memory. Could he name them all? He knew many of their voices and their image past the burning of his eyes, the sight beyond sight. They'd guide him through the night. They'd guide his companions whether they believed in them or not. At the very least, the glimmer of gold would...

"When the Dragon came and left a plague on these lands, she grew more powerful. The black magic fueled her wrathful powers and her desire for bloodlust..."

Quintus didn't care about how powerful she was. In that moment all he could see in his vision, past all the stars, was the visage of Lorin. It's image screamed to him in more ways than the Spirits of the Helm ever could. Rather than scarring his mind, it scarred his heart. Searingly so.

"We are going to kill her. And you are going to go home a rich man. You have my word."

 

[Casio Cassienda]

Back to the Reach, home such as it was. To Casio, the rolling plains carried little in the way of nostalgia. Having spent the past months in the city proper prowling estates ranging from the palace to the various garden districts, the open terrain felt foreign to the dim amber of his eye.

Ringed in his carapace of dusk forged metal that yet clung to the day's aberrant scorch, he flanked the party at loose attention. The cowl of his armor laid bare against his neck, leaving strands of flaxen hair coiled in a wispy braid about him. A sword at hip and shield strapped to arm declared proudly the violence he intended; he was armed, readied.

Murder on the air. The taste of sorrow. Bittersweet on the cusp of revenge. Tension tested his edge. Months of leisure in the velvet courts teased laziness out of him, acquainted him with soft evenings of wine and conversation. Frivolities. Necessary to suit the skin he was forced to adopt, but they held no purpose in the crucible of battle. Shifting perspective demanded effort greater than donning his riding cap and boots.

It served well to remind him of his place: a black mark on the council's virginal robes. Expendable. Their faithful hound set upon the foulest of trails. One at least was worth the price of loyalty. Remembered the duty enmeshed in the trappings of power. Quintus Vexion. Lord Councilor, hero. No truer utterance of the word, no greater measure of a man.

Casio had come alone, absent the sniveling noses of retainers and half-trained armsmen. He rode at the Councilor's flank beyond the calling of his station. Tonight he bore not the Council's seal, nor mark of their command. He bore but trust in the star-touched knight of grace, a purpose shared.

"Lord Councilor," he said, coughing into the back of a gauntleted hand. The topic he thought to broach was uncomfortable in the best of times. Interrupting the Lord weighed heavily upon propriety, yet circumstance dictated his course.

"The hour of engagement draws near. At your command."


Quintus Vexion Cato

 

[Cato]

"Why go through all the trouble? Sway a hip and half my lads would've swam across the fuckin Strait for a sniff of quim," quipped Cato glibly. Everything Quintus said just scared him shitless. The man went from talking about children's tales to dragons to bloodlust. Sellswords liked to talk their reputation up a bit and Cato generally just took it as goatshit. It was different when it came to witches, liches, and all manner of magic fuckery. Some stories were exaggerated, aye, but many were worse than rumors.

Cato'd killed a few legends in his time, but never a godsdamned nightmare. The casual confidence of Lord Vexion was both worrying and reassuring. Two of them had survived a horror not long ago. A close thing at that. Quintus knew a swordhackers life but the man reeked of faith, and that sort of thing got people killed.

"As you say my lord," he added with a sigh.

Another voice interjected and Cato nearly snapped, thinking it was one of own. Not a chance, this bastard was too pretty by half. Cato wasn't sure who this golden-cunt was but he had the smell of a noble about him. Didn't really matter at this point, chances were they'd all be sleeping with the worms soon.

Quintus Vexion Casio Cassienda

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"I see you, Cassio. My Father once spoke highly of your own. It is good to know that Cassienda readily answers to Alliria's need."

His father had made many friends. More friends than Quintus could or would ever want to count. Even as a boy, he could tell the difference between how he treated the Lords and Knights about him. Who his true friends were and who he played the great game with. True friends were those who would show up armored and swords ready to fight whatever fight may come. How strange was it that he found himself in the company of people that society might shudder to acknowledge. A mercenary and the ungodly. Quintus had to quiet the call of Astra's Progeny in the back of his mind. For vampires were children of the black space between the stars in their eyes. Quintus merely wished to count him as ally.

The winds just changed...

Quintus turned on his horse and gazed down the path that seemed to have turned into the abyss. A cold came from it's depths. Equally inviting and dreadful. A voice without words called out and gripped them if they could feel it. Quintus felt it. The abyss stared at them and they'd soon do more than stare back. Lord Councilor Vexion raised a hand before leading his stallion into the deep. He knew the men would follow...​

 

[Casio Cassienda]

"Your grace favors me, my lord," Casio said, a fool in eloquence at the contrasting balk of the mercenary's bark. Doubly for the mark of silence that cut tension into the air at the Councilor's lone gesture.

It took the compte a long, searching gaze to sense the unease that followed: ripples of dread caressed him, set his horse to whinny and prance in the Councillor's wake. Even the gentle recourse of a soothing hand did little to keep his mount in line, the difficulty furthered as he kicked a heel to flank to usher it forth to follow.

The time to bandy pleasantries had slipped him by. Now, now came the beckon of steel.


Cato Quintus Vexion

 

[Cato]

The name Cassienda sounded vaguely familiar to the mercenary but that was the extent of his curiosity. Though Cato had to admit the bastard had an odd air about him. Couldn't quite put his finger on it but didn't seem like any normal elf.

'Course nothing about this particular place was normal. As if to emphasize his point, an eerie pull beckoned them forward. Cato hesitated, instincts preventing him from doing anything rash. He sighed as Lord Vexion finally decided to make the push forward. There was nothing for it now, the 'Shields were committed.

"Piss your britches on your own coin. Time for work," the mercenary captain called back to his group. He sensed their fear, shared some of it too. The Third may not be soldiers but they sure as hell weren't cowards. Most of the time at least.

Cato nudged his mount forward and the others followed.

Quintus Vexion Casio Cassienda

 

[Quintus Vexion]

"Your grace favors me, my lord,"

The only grace that mattered was the grace of the gods. For mortal men and even elves were small in comparison to the magic that pressed upon them. The woods gave way to darkness and day had become night before night's time. The men held up their torches and Quintus carried a lantern as they trotted forward. The light from the stars was choked out by the canopy above them. Animals ran through the brush and all manner of birds of prey hunted over the tops of their heads. Quintus could not see them, but he could hear them. His memories, conscious, and all he could not fathom echoed with their voices. They were in danger, the Ghosts of the Helm told him. His company would march to doom or glory. And the sweet perfume that invaded his senses may soon turn sour.

The Three walked alongside them in the brush. Silent as jaguars until they began to sing. A light came from them and they were wrapped in white silk. They song they sang was ethereal. Quintus thought he recognized some of the words. They were akin to the words Astra's Progeny spoke to him, but it lacked the authority. Their's was a song more sensual. One that spoke to desire. The tallest had black flowing hair and brown skin that glowed bronze. Her voice was like darkness that beckoned. The abyss that spoke back.

"We've been expecting you, my Lords. Walk with us. Deeper into the woods. We'll keep you safe from the wolves and bears and worse. We know what it is you seek."

Quintus' eyes narrowed and he turned to face Cassio and Cato.

"Hands on your hilts, lads." Quintus said, his voice steel. His gaze focused on Cato. "The first sign of treachery, you and the Third light them up."​

 

[Casio Cassienda]

The compte's mouth twisted at first lilt of that abyssal croon. A measure of contempt that mirrored disgust at how its voice played with the edges of his skull. Fear split the darkened canopy, and yet Cassio found himself well within his cursed element. Perhaps that disgust leaned further inward that he had initially assumed.

It took some strength to abet the frenetic whinnying of his mount. Its head yet shook, teeth gnashing at the bit. Much in fashion with the men marching in dissonant file beside them, Cassio's own mount succumbed to the first kiss of arcane malevolence. Succumbed, but pressed on.

Their spines were not so supple as to crumple this soon.


Cato Quintus Vexion