Fable - Ask Our Share of the Night

[Solitude]

Bishop Prudence’s sermon ended inside the small chapel, but her voice continued to echo throughout. Now all the devout followers, assassin or not, of Menessis would rise, making the sign of the shadows over their face before heading to exit their pews. Solitude had always enjoyed communion, almost as much as she enjoyed staring at the stigmata of the sisters in her favorite cathedral back in the Citadel of Ash. The communion could be found in any church of Menessis, and Solitude hoped these black wheat bread were less stale. She already knew that the wine had been watered down considerably so she couldn’t look forward to that. Not that she cared much for sour grape juice.

Solitude’s right hand was raised, parallel to her neck, and she held up three fingers. Those who were not assassins had their hand over their heart, those who were not baptized were allowed to be blessed but could not partake in the exchange of flesh and blood for virtue and loyalty. Solitude kept her gaze straight ahead, moving slowly down to the altar were Bishop Prudence worked.

The Bishop was known for her piousness and kind smile. Solitude had heard rumors of Bishop Prudence coming from the womb and crying prayers belonging to Mother Meness. She was born blind and feeble, unlike her twin, but her faith was so strong that she excelled in the School of Shadows. There were also rumors that the Bishop never stopped smiling, even when she killed her twin. Solitude’s favorite rumor pertaining to Bishop Prudence was how she rejoiced in getting beaten, believing it made the Mother pity her and so before every assignment she spent an exorbitant amount of time getting flogged.

“Cirphes dimono nissro Iuse Meness chrosso cessikoaus aunomaum seaum on zosaum auusurnaum, Amun.” Bishop Prudence said with a smile, her shadow reaching out to Solitude’s. She felt the relief of both her sister and Celosia being kissed by shadow.. Blessed flesh of our Mother Meness to command and preserve your soul for rebirth, Assassin.

“Si lu os.” Solitude answered, so be it. Solitude opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue and the Bishop set the gray chunk of bread on it as was custom. What wasn’t custom was that as Solitude began to chew, she heard the Bishop’s voice in her head.

After mass, ghostly whispers echoed in Sol’s usually empty head, meet me at the market in front of the Old God statue. You have an assignment.

Solitude came to the wine, listening to the administration before replying with another so be it before the holder raise it up to her lips until she could drink. As she turned to go back to her pew and pray for forgiveness, out of her peripheral vision, she saw another assassin. She was unable to catch much of their face, their limp hair hiding them, but she hadn’t noticed them because of their face. It was because they held both hands up. On their right, five fingers were raised. On their left, one. Solitude went into her pew, kneeling down and clasping her hands together. She bent her head, using her dark fringe to cover her eyes so she wouldn’t have to close them.

Her heart beat fast but she didn’t dare breathe, anticipation prickling underneath her skin. The assassin walked past her pew and their shadow reached out to snag at hers. Solitude coughed, bile coming up her throat. She bit her lower lip, not wanting to gag even as her eyes watered and her throat constricted. There was that oily feeling in her gut, but weak, not like the time with Diaz. No, with Diaz, there had been equal footing as two predators.

This time she felt like a rabbit staring up at the jaws of a hound. If it weren’t for Bishop Prudence, Solitude would have ran. It was only natural to run when one was being hunted. But Solitude wasn’t the only one.

---

The sky was overcast but the fog had yet to come. Moisture was heavy in the air, an underlying chill reappeared with every breath. Solitude pulled her mask up and over her nose, tired of seeing her breath fog before her. They were all here, waiting for Bishop Prudence in the center of the seaside city known as Hokras. It had taken the Church countless efforts to convert these poor souls to the truth, to save them from constantly wandering across Arethil as a ghost, and to grant them extra protection from possible pirates or raiders. In return, the Church had finally secured a port city that allowed them to tax the shit out of merchants and give another safe haven to the assassins. Little sacrifices for big things.

Solitude stared up at the decapitated statue of Hokras Old God of the Sea, Kallamar. Then she looked down at the head, now being used as a candle holder. Another rumor about Bishop Prudence: she had killed the Old God and destroyed everything belonging to the Old Faith. Slowly but surely, signs of Menessis were beginning to appear more and more in this city.

“Apologies for being late, I had a confession that ran late.” Solitude turned from the statue and looked where the voice came from. It was hard to ignore the red welt across Bishop Prudence’s cheek. Maybe it wasn’t a rumor after all…. “Walk with me.” She said, starting her brief ascent up wooden stairs. “I’m not sure if any of you have heard the rumors yet, I’ve tried to keep it contained.” The assassin who had held up many fingers wasn’t with their group. Solitude looked around, craning her neck this way and that. She almost missed what Bishop Prudence said next.

“Unfortunately there is a heretical cannibal here. It has taken three souls already and I fear it will continue its gluttony until it is dead.”

“So why haven’t you killed it yet?” Bishop Prudence was the best assassin here, not only the strongest but the most experienced.

“Because I am not done speaking yet and because, my little sister, I am unable to.” There was an edge in her voice that didn’t match the smile. “Unlike you, tenebrous hunger does not affect me, my faith is too strong.” She smiled wider, her eyes clearly saying unlike yours. “Curiously, the beginnings of aphotic psychosis were found in each body recovered. The heretic has a type.” There was a pause. “I believe they are able to make any assassin become mad. Each body had a pinprick in the around their ears.”

“But that should be impossible to do!”

“Do you know what they call an assassin that questions every little thing, my naive sister?”

“Curious?” Sol ventured, hopeful.

“Annoying.” Bishop Prudence said, her words a lightning fast whip. Solitude would bet her twin that the Bishop used that often. Solitude ignored Celosia’s chittering giggle and tried to ignore the ripple in the Bishop’s shadow as if her shadowkin were laughing as well. The Bishop sighed but the smile returned regardless. “Now you’ve made me lose my train of thought.”

---

Quote credit to Blasphemous, Picture credit to Max

 

[Happy]

Happy had been crouching low to the ground, head testing this way and that as he observed the others around him. His pale mask was blank, only two eye holes peered through the mist, the eyes behind them invisible. He had been quiet, observing only. He hadn't been around as long as he had by speaking cordially with others.

Bishop Prudence had finally made her appearance, and Happy remained in his position, head swiveling to fixate his dead stare upon her. Late. Late. LATE! We don't like it when people are LAAAAATE. Fingers scrabbled on the stones beneath him, but no sound left him otherwise.

He stood only at the request to follow, his bones cracking and popping as if he were a marionette being pulled by strings. He followed Solitude, close enough to make sure he heard every word as Bishop Prudence revealed exactly why she had called them here.

Solitude kept interrupting, and he flexed his fingers impatiently. She was making him HuNgRy. His mask split with a sickening sound as a mouth formed, a hollow laugh emerging along with the stink of decay behind it. Bishop Prudence had been quick with putting Solitude in her place and he couldn't contain his amusement.

"Kill the blasphemous cannibal, peel the meat from his booones and pluck out his eyes." It wasn't addressed to anyone particular, his raspy gravelly voice interrupted by small giggles to himself. "Fun for Happy! Yes indeedy!"

 

[Love]

Love had been a very busy boy.

You wouldn't know it simply by speaking to the Priest-Level assassin, nor would you see any noticeable change in appearance, his manner, or his undying faith to Mother Meness.

Oh, but times, they were a-changing.

Love turned his head, masked with a twisted and broken smile, to face Bishop Prudence as she made her arrival. His tall, slim fame seemed to lean towards her, gravitating towards the unmistakable gravity of her devotion like a moth to the flame. How he admired the great Bishop so! How he yearned to reach such a level of honor within the great embrace of the Mother!

Soon, he reminded himself silently, a smile to match the one adorning his mask growing on his lips. Meness had chosen him and him alone for a very special assignment, after all. One that would bring Love more prestige and power than the traditional institutions of the Church would ever allow. The little nest egg he'd planted so far away would soon begin to blossom, and when it did, there would be a new breed of faith born along with it.

That, however, was the future. Right now he still had duties to perform within the Church that he could not, and would not ignore. Love had indeed heard the rumors of a devourer of flesh amongst them, one so bold as to defile and consume the flesh of the worthy and pure. As Prudence beckoned, Love followed her and the others with a thoughtful nod.

Solitude was still upset at him over his open chastisement when last they'd met, having given him the proverbial cold shoulder at every turn since. It had been for her own good, but Love did worry she perhaps hadn't taken his warnings to heart. Happy was the sort who only made himself known if he wished to; the massive Bishop made himself quite scarce if he wasn't on a mission, and that was fine by Love-- That somebody who could not temper and channel his rampant faith outranked him was admittedly somewhat of a sore spot.

Neither of them addressed him regardless, they were too busy haggling Prudence with their impatience. Bringing a hand to his mouth, Love clears his throat.

"Perhaps if we allow the fair Bishop to finish her thoughts... we can gather what information we need and get underway?"

 

[Brackard Cain]

A soft tap rang out. Inquisitor Cain's cane on the wooden path. One might wonder how - when he needed it to walk - that sound had not been ringing out on his approach.

"Well spoken, Brother Love."

Orderly Rain lumbered a per paces behind Inquisitor Cain. Orderly Loiter was nowhere to be seen.

Normally, after one of Bishop Prudence's little visits to his dungeons they would avoid one another for several days. Today that was not the case and he had to pretend that he could not mentally map out every angry red mark her flesh now bore.

Instead his gaze turned to take in Brother Happy. That one had the air of a heretic. If not the actual murderer themselves, they were certain - in his opinion - to find themselves on the wrong side of Cain within a few years.

 

[Diaz]

A click of teeth. A snarl. A huff and Diaz left the chapel before the procession started to pour out of the service. Face set into his perpetual scowl as he walked. He wished someone would ask him where he was going. If only to let the anger out.

Fuck it. What did it matter.

They would give him a name. And he would see it dead. That's how it always went. This time it would be no different.

---

Lazy stride, Diaz followed behind Sol and the Bishop. Prudence.

Paid mind to happy. As it always paid to heed the dangerous, and side eyed the priest when he mentioned they pay attention.

Nothing but a little grunt left Diaz' mouth as their number came to halt.

Then came the tapping. The click of cane against plank. Another grumble stirred the chords of Diaz' throat.

Brackard Cain.

Diaz turned away from the tweak footed geezer. Paid no mind to how many names the Inquisitor had been given over the years. How many of his own kin he had seen dragged off by the orderlies.

He'd pay to have their names given to him one day.

But for now, Diaz remained as he often was. Wordless, despite all the rage that stirred down inside of him.