Yaegir Den: Tartorum
East of the Wda Fork Old boards creaked under pack-laden weight.
"Yaegir," came the greeting from behind the bar.
Few were gathered about the Yaegir's Den. Haggard faces and tired eyes. They carried cold iron and wore worn leathers. They nursed drinks and swapped stories. Some played cards. Others just sat alone. Glad for the momentary peace.
"Keeper," replied Garrod. armor worn, greatsword rested on his shoulder. The long road of the weapon pointed down toward the ground as he cradled it in his bone-white hand. Long strides saw him to the bar.
His pack hit the floor, his sword rest down next to it as the golden red glow of candle lights flickered and traced along its cold edge.
"Fancy a drink?" the old tiefling behind the counter asked. Something like kindness crooked her lips upward.
"That, and a job," Garrod said with a quirk of his lips. His hand half buried beneath his cloak, pulled a silver coin from the confines of his purse. His left hand, flesh and bone, placed the coin upon the counter.
Her moon face cracked, her lips spread their smile all the wider. "Of course," she said as she took the coin off the counter. Turned, and made ready a drink.
“You stink of him, you know? Like a cut you refuse to clean, for fear of it reopening.” The old man, pale and jaundiced with teeth as sharp as razors, spoke for a moment before coughing up spittle. “You know who I mean, boy. The progenitor, the mountain from which we all crumble. It is…” He laughed, coughing once more. But it was flecked now, sprinkled in bits of black blood. “Simply a matter of gravity.”
Rain held the old vampire's hand in this brief and fleeting moment of kinship. The wound was deep, deeper than any alchemy or elixir could repair. And Rain’s lips were coated in the blood of old vampirism. The blood of this dying elder.
“You are the changer, are you not?” The old vampire breathed heavily, though he didn’t need the air. “Then you should know…we fear things not because there is anything to fear. Not for us. But our food, your food, carries burdens that pass across the blood.” Rain interrupted. “You should save your strength. Time is coming.”
“Shut up boy and let me have my peace. You best me, now honor the consequence.” The old vampire bristled as the ground grew cold around him. “I do not fear Gods. But my food does. A thousand years of feeding from them has ingrained that fear in me and it now lives in you. Hmm? You look confused. It shall…” He paused, gripping at his chest. “It shall pursue you through water and idolatry. I hope that this is not a lasting impression. Holy water consecrated in the temple baths, turned to piss that flows into the streams and seas. Where can you go when you are surrounded on all sides?” The old vampire smiled as his head rocked downward. “Perhaps my fleeting lineage will have been worth it.”
In that moment, the undeath fluttered from his gray eyes. Rain understood now why this ancient one was so easily tracked down to a small village on the Wda River. He had been trapped.
The crossroads inn smelled sour, like it had been run into the ground with a regime of daily vinegar mopping. But the state of the place didn’t come from an overabundance of hygiene - quite the opposite. As if the folds of the earth pivoted to anchor flow in this direction, the Tartorum seemed to be a confluence for all things sodden and moldy. And deep in the places Rain dared not reach, he felt the trepidation lurk.
The orange candle at his table flickered, sitting on layers of wax puddles that seemed to encompass the majority of the center of his table and chronicled decades of time passing. Those who sought refuge in this place didn’t find ease of comfort in any significant measure. But as Yeagirs, they took what they could get. And what Rain needed now was a moment of reprieve from the beasts who dogged his step, and the firelight that chased him down the Wyd on account of not returning a pittance of coin. Evidently, unbeknown to the old hunter, was that the previous contract he took required proof of deed completed. And there wasn’t much left of that old vampire beyond soot to prove the mission complete.
He earned the Yaegir coin and kept the bag of gold despite the town demands.
"I could use a job, as well." He spoke, sitting close enough to recognize the man who spoke at the bartop. Spinning his coin on the table, the gleam flickered dully in the candle light and danced across the crooked planks. "Something to distract me from my worldly troubles."
A laugh, bubbled in the the old Keeper's throat. "I was wondering when you would speak up, Venandi," she croaked, as she poured a amber drink into a thimble shaped cup.
Glug...glug..glug.glug
"Not every day two gray hairs come lookin' for trouble you know," she stopped the pour of the drink.
Garrod smirked. "I ain't no gray hair just yet,"
The Keeper grinned, cat like. "And what color is your hair, Yaiger?"
The green eyed hunter shook his head, smiled. "Silver,"
A drink knocked down on the table before Garrod. "And I'm a pixie," the keeper's eyes twinkled.
Chitnous hand reached out to grab the cup. The appendage, changed since the last time Rainer and Garrod had crossed paths.
Where Garrod oft wore his bone-white gauntlet, the armore now looked every bit a part of him. No longer a shell of strange metal that adorned his right side, but ta thing that looked as if it had always been a part of him.
"Thank you kindly," the younger hunter said with a little raise of his cup.
The keeper swept up the coin that was laid flat on the counter-top. She bowed her head to Garrod with smile. Rose. "You want a job, Venandi," she called out, and turned to poor a second drink. "You put the coin on the counter first," her teeth showed in tease. And she turned back to the bar, placed a second cup down for the veteran hunter. "You know I'm a stickler for traditions," she pushed the cup forward. An invitation.
The old hunter tilted the earthen cup back and forth on the wax spattered table, mixing the blood and hooch concoction with a distinct laziness. His golden eyes reflected a bit of the humor he felt in this odd reunion, both between hunters and between hunters and their keepers. He already knew his answer to the request but he gave the decision the time and air it deserved.
"Fair enough." He finished off the beverage and stood, scooting his chair back. "It's never easy to predict the whims of the crossroad, is it? " Dealing with the different merchants and bounty holders for the Yaegir and attempting to divine the nature of discourse, prior to the meet, was about as easy as wrestling a baby zeugl in four feet of muck. Each one had their own temperament, expectations, and grip on tradition. Some demanded the coin, some scoffed at acts of old. Given how hard the coins are to come by, it was simply easy and more economic to wait it out.
Stepping towards the bar, Rain pulled a coin from one of the assorted satchels that adorned his bandolier, and pressed it hard into the chipped and lacquered finish. Pressing it across, he turned his gaze towards Garrod. The man had changed since they last saw each other, with the snow from the mountains descending upon the keep. Nodding, he pointed, and his fingers began to snap. As if he were trying to note the change.
An impish pleasure twinkled in the Keeper's eye. "No, Venandi, it never is," she said as she took the coin off the counter, her hand slipped it into a pocket, and she hobbled away. "But this old Keeper appreciates you humoring her," she assured, and went to fix some drinks for a couple others she'd seen waiting down the bar.
The quick gesture pulled Garrod's eye, the snaps drew a smirk from his face.
...you get a haircut?
Garrod smiled wider, ran his white hand across his white hair. "Yeah," he said, raspy and with mirth. "Did it myself three weeks ago," he laughed, and took a long drink. His face scrunched up, not expecting the tang of iron there with his sip. He shook it off. "Relic changed," he said in a dry tone. "Took my arm," he smirked. Shook his head. "Doesn't feel no different from my old arm most the time," took another drink. Not quite sure if he meant the old relic, or the old flesh and bone the thing had replaced.
The Keeper returned. Put a pair of scrolls upon the weathered wood of the countertop. Unfurled one slowly. It was a map of the region. A red stamp, with the same emblem as the coin, marked there upon the ink cartograph, about a forested area denoted as Tywyll.
"Loggers lost in them woods," she went on. "Got some that say the trees done come alive, but, I've got some Trackers that tell it different. Say... something in them woods is turning the forest vile. A wood woad, perhaps, but could be something larger, more ancient," she let the words sink in. Shrugged. "So, sounds like the right job for a pair of experienced Yaegirs, wouldn't you say?" Smile smiled wide, and her eyes glimmered.
The Vedymin nodded knowingly, though it was as close to a pleasantry as one could muster. He knew very little of the other Yeagir's affliction, just as few understood his own in anything beyond a passing glance. It almost seemed a theme for those who chased the night, to carry a burden or curse that was truly beyond pedestrian understanding. For Garrod, it was this relic and the way it shaped and morphed his flesh - and Rain could only assume that it went much deeper than that, a sort of hunger that paddled across the verdant expression of the one-eyed man who stood before him. For Rain, it was his blood curse, born from the Shallows, and the demon who dogged the step of someone for whom he cared deeply.
But, perhaps Garrod could then relate to Rain's afflictions, the hunger and drive that seated him well within this occupation. "Hard to find the silver lining on a cloudy day but we don't want for trying..." He responded as he turned back to the Keeper, soaking up the information as she spoke.
Reviewing the rolled up velum after pinning down the corners with some odds and ends, he followed the drawn paths and features with a firmly pressed finger. Despondence found itself somewhere on the edges of his crow's feet, rooted in a sudden upwelling of ambivalence that nested at the center of his chest. This was his chosen occupation, to protect the people of the land from the monsters that dwelled in the deep. But had these loggers gone to far, felled too greedily and stumbled upon something that was justified in its harsh response?
It was a matter of philosophy that he wasn't apt to take up - but a part of him wondered if that gloomy reaction was simply the ripples of that ancient lineage, pinned and defeated against the corners of the Wda.
"Sounds like someone stepped in it and now were stuck with shit on the sole..." He took a drink from the pint and placed it back down on the maps corner. "Woads are normally protectors, after all. Sounds like someone maybe found something worth protecting." He looked up from the map, eyeing the Keeper. "How long has this been going on?"
Garrod made a small laugh at Rain's jab. "Isn't that how it always is?" he swirled the drink in his cup, his eye fixed down at the vortex there at the bottom of the tankard. Grinned. "Good thing we have good boots," He tossed back the drink as Rain thought aloud.
The Keeper made a hum in her throat, squinted as she busied her hands with wiping down a mug with a wet rag. "Since about, the last eclipse, come spring," her eyes still scoured her memories, as if they were writ up on the ceiling across a loose plank. "Least, that's what the Trackers tell me, sayin, folks beein gone missin' since then, even one of hem says they've think its been happenin longer than that, but," she made a face that believed nothing. Laughed. "but wouldn't be the first Tracker to go an crack, would it?"
Garrod narrowed his eye, and scratched neath the right side of his jaw. "What's their name?" he asked flatly.
"Calton," she put the cup and the rag down, and point to a spot on the map, some measures away from the treeline of the woods. "Has a shack bout there, if my memory serves me right,"
A smirk cut across the younger hunter's lips. "For two coins, I'm sure it is,"
The Keeper huffed a laugh. "Aye, spose for the price, it better be," her eyes gleamed with mischief. She picked up the rag and the mug, put the mug away and picked up a new one. Went on wiping.
He let out an almost inaudible sigh as he heard mention of the eclipse. It was an odd phenomenon, often to blame for many a strange occurrences. Old lore would have some believe that an eclipse was a signal for abandonment, a way for the gods to crack open the barrier between planes and exact a much needed reprisal for those who struck Arethil with wanton greed and selfishness. Others believed it a curse, even to the point of killing children for believing they were cursed with a birth beneath the dilated sky.
It was hard for Rain to give it much credence in anything beyond backwater superstitions. He'd call it all bollocks and move on but for the power of belief. The spread of words, the gospels of men with power, and even the stern and disapproving expressions of clergy for a gilded plate that just wasn't quite full enough - could all hold sway. So whether this eclipse had any affect or not, it didn't matter. Because if people believed it, then it did.
"I could use some new boots, not many cobblers in the backwoods..." Rain quipped as he finished off his drink, letting most of the conversation soak in without an immediate response. But as the subject of Calton came up, Rain felt a ping of curiosity.
"Might as well be on the frontier considering his proximity to the area..." Rain eyed the location and looked towards Garrod. "Calton is either lucky to be alive or he knows a bit more about this subject than he's letting on. I suspect that's as good a starting point as anywhere else."
Garrod craned his neck as he thought on the path before them. "Yeah," he agreed about Calton. "As good a lead as any,"
The Keeper smirked. "If ya need some new boots, got a few pairs in the back that might suit ya," she focused on her tending, the rub of cloth against tankard squeaked. "Just don't ask where we got them," she said beneath her breath.
A rumble came from Garrod's stomach, and a look that was lazy and devious all the same gleamed in his eye. "Got any food?" he asked, smug as a cat, lounging about.
"I'll get ya some stew," she said with a smirk, and ambled off.
Garrod grumbled. "Stew," he sat and stared at the map. "Stew could mean any number of things," he half laughed, and found himself in a bitter humor, as his eye found his hand. He clutched with those fingers that looked an odd mix between metal and chitinous carapace. Smoother and better fit than any piece of armor could ever hope to be. A thing that felt every bit his own. "An odd mix," his green eye flit to Rain. "What brought you out this way, anyhow, Rain?"
Don't ask where we got them...might as well have been code talk for shoes pulled from a dead body. And had they been mixed in during war time, Rain wouldn't have second guessed the offer presuming the presence of a good sole and decent arch support. But outside of desperate times, he wasn't inclined. Not that he had any fear of disease or rot, the common superstitions in back waters which were often well founded. Instead, it was the mental superstition of thoughts lingering on a person that was no longer there. Bad omens were a presence in this world and the last thing he needed was another shadow in the dark, dogging his step, because he had looked hungrily upon a two pairs of leather sitting on the table.
For reasons that may have previously gone unnoticed, he had very little interest in the stew. Something straddling the line between indifference and revulsion. He wondered if that was simply his peculiar diet or if the lingering prejudices of the ancient vampire still ran rampant through his veins. If an offer was made, he'd find a way to politely turn it down or toss it when someone wasn't looking.
Turning to look at Garrod's arm, he lingered for a moment on the question. "I was in route to Urngor Orhim to see the caretaker about a sensitive issue regarding a friend. Stopped by a small town several days west of here and the board indicated a monster in the woods around these parts. One with a penchant for children." His expression seemed to shift as he noticed a soured expression from another patron. "An ancient thing, driven into the bog by hunters and using the crossroads as hunting grounds."
Part of him felt a pang of regret that wasn't his. Had the monster that altered him in the Shallows been of a different lineage, his fate could have been very similar to that being he slayed in the muck. Instead, he now spent his time chasing those doomed individuals who, in many ways, had control taken from them. The hunger could turn even the closest of friends into a menu item.
"What about you? We're more than a stones throw from Alliria..."
A low hum of understanding. Urngor Orhim. Wasn't since last winter that he'd paid the grounds a visit.
Suppose a part of him feared what some of their Ilk would think of him now. Arm changed as it was. The strange thing it had become flexed along with the wave of the thought. The eddy of memories flowed through the reeds of so many events.
"Always the young that suffer most," the hunter said with strange crook of lip and shake of his head. His eye fell to the gleaming surface of the pale hand which was his left. Its claw like points, rest against the old and stained wood. A twitch of tendon saw the tips trace scratch across stained counter top.
"Aye," he agreed. "But can only stay in the place for so long," though recent company had made it so much easier. "Caught wind of a rumor," he shared. "Word of wickedness that seemed... too familiar for me to ignore," His strange grin grew a little wider. "Something akin to this job," he nod to the map still unfurled before them. "So was making my way towards it, and well, thought I might see if there was any work around before I carried on south, toward the Valen,"
The old Keeper's footsteps came steady in the near distance.
Garrod moved the bits and things that had weighed down the map, and carefully rolled up the time-worn velum. Fingers slid to snug the scroll tighter as the bowl came to clack against the bartop. A thick and cloudy broth that swam with hunks of meat and cubed vegetables.
She moved off to tend to another customer.
"Your hunt ended then, I take it," he half asked. "For the monster that took children,"
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Old boards creaked under pack-laden weight. 
"Fancy a drink?" the old tiefling behind the counter asked. Something like kindness crooked her lips upward. 
