Private Tales Scorched Earth

[Fife]

Keeping close behind Lawrence, she watched the others disperse with passing interest until they were all out of sight. The first heavy raindrops landed on her head, and Fife looked up at the darkening sky. Inside of the small inn tavern, the heat of the hearth was thick as a curtain, offering reprieve from the wintry chill outside. Fife’s gaze swept across the room with far more curiosity than Lawrence’s before settling on the innkeeper.

It was all she could do to smile and nod to Lawrence when he spoke to her. She would have rather puked on his boots. Unfortunately, she had a job to do. The sooner she finished it, the sooner she could depart from his company forever.

Fife chose a table that offered the best vantage of the room from those available. She hung her sword on the back of the chair and laid her jacket over it before sitting down. Lacing her fingers in her lap, she let her gaze settle on the flickering hearth as her mind sorted through the various emotions swirling in the room. Fife didn't quite know what she was looking for, but she was pretty certain she would understand it when she felt it. After all, a man gone mad with Empathy was surely easy to pick out of a crowd. Right?

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"Careful how you look around a room. Look without looking," Lawrence said in a hushed voice as he sat down. He was mindful that the two elves could likely listen in on their conversation from where they were. Well, could listen in on half of a conversation.

Lawrence set down two mugs of ale. Behind him, the innkeeper was by the firepit spooning out two more bowls of stew. With his hand wrapped around his mug, Lawrence pointed towards the loner. He'd seen a sketch, he knew that was the mage.

Fife would only pick up a slowly shifting set of emotions from him. A combination of growing unease since she and Lawrence had stepped inside.

 

[Fife]

Words easier said than done, Fife thought to herself. She would listen and rely on her peripheral vision, but otherwise let her mind do the work. It wasn't too different from detecting the Idemni scouts in the hills by their pockets of emotions. Like pins in a map, the individuals in the room were marked by color and feeling.

Joy, Tranquility, Fury. These were all expected here. Fife smiled and nodded her thanks to the innkeeper as he dropped off their bowls of stew. Wiser now, she picked up her spoon before her mug. She wanted to preserve her sobriety as much as possible.

But his subtle gesture pointed to the person sitting alone and Fife listened. A twist of Misery and the distinct lack of Tranquility was an indicator she recognized well from her days as a pickpocket.

Setting down the spoon and lifting her hands, Fife mimed writing on a paper to Lawrence. She waited patiently, maintaining a soft, lighthearted grin loosely on her features. Fife carefully set the bowl aside as she bent over the paper to write, nibbling at her lip for each letter.

He is uneasy. She pushed it back and picked up her spoon to resume her dinner. How Lawrence was going to supply the verbal half of this conversation wasn't her problem. She had enough to worry about keeping her own emotions centered.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Lawrence imagined that if he was on the run he feel suspicious every time anyone new arrived. It didn't necessarily mean they were marked.

Arrol drained his mug and stood up. Lawrence kept his focus on his food as the mage headed through a back door. He assumed that led to the rooms.

A gust of wind rattled the windows and pelted it with rain. He felt slightly sorry for those waiting outside as the storm rolled in. They would all be riding back in that weather regardless.

"Finish up your food and then we'll go to our room," he said politely.

 

[Fife]

Lawrence solved his own problem easily enough and simply didn't talk. For her part, Fife didn't need much coaching at being inconspicuous. She tucked into her stew even when she heard the squawk of the chair scooting back and their target walked past.

While her eyes were trained on her bowl, her mind followed him. He seemed so… normal. Fife had been expecting more chaos, more… So maybe she didn't know what exactly she had been expecting, but it wasn't the relative normalcy.

His tone was still frustratingly pleasant. Fife glanced up and smiled, continuing to play her part. In her mind, however, she indulged thoughts that brought a sort of joy nonetheless.

Besides, if she was good at anything, it was eating.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

This was difficult to play now. Arrol wasn't an empath, but he was still a dangerous mage. Any hesitation of Fife's part and he would destroy her completely. That was an investment of time and effort that Lawrence didn't want to give up.

"Come," he said simply once they had finished. He went to the bar before she had even stood and handed over a few coins and enquired as to which room they had.

He led Fife though the same door, clutching a very basic iron key. Their room was small. Shutting the door behind them, Lawrence set down his bag and unrolled it.

"That has to be him. Killed three men on the road just two days ago."

That was at least true. Low rent bounty hunters. They had not been prepared.

"Can you tell which room he is in?" he whispered.

 

[Fife]

It had taken months of traveling together for Fife to find any comfort in lodging in the same room as Raigryn. Before then, she had done everything in her power to avoid being left alone in a room with another person. Having her own bunk in the dormitory was still difficult and her sleep habits had abruptly taken a nosedive to resume pre-Raigryn routines.

As Lawrence opened the door to their room, the thought of walking in alone made her nauseous. Fife swallowed thickly and walked in after him. She was cognizant of the knife in her boot now more than ever.

Thankful for a task that wasn’t thinking about vomiting on her feet, Fife closed her eyes and listened -- felt. In the next room there was an eddy of Desire that she hastily avoided. That definitely wasn’t him. Fife tipped her head and finally picked up on a blip in her mind.

The act of linking a specific emotion to an individual was usually not an easy one, but Fife did her best. Still, she was confident as she opened her eyes once again. Misery with the distinct lack of Tranquillity. Fife nodded and pointed to the wall to indicate which way the man could be found.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"We wait."

Lawrence was a patient man. He had not come into his abilities until later in life. He hadn't had the benefit of magic as a youth, hadn't grown lazy in taking shortcuts with it. He knew the value of hard work and in laying down foundations for projects that would take years to bring a return.

It was why he had taken an interest in Fife. It was also the ability to sit in patient silence for two hours to increase the chance of their target being fast asleep.

Lawrence stood up. He took off his travelling coat and set it down on the bed. Fine chains were wrapped around his arms. He left them there for fear of making a sound. He waved slowly towards the door and pointed towards her crossbow. It was time.

 

[Fife]

Fife sat in the corner by the door with her sword on her arms, propped against the wall to offer someplace for her to rest her head while they waited. Even with Raigryn she could have passed the time in silence, accustomed to having nothing to say and no means to say it anyways. Fife spent the time quieting herself. She went through her routine of sorting her emotions and finding her center. She steeled her resolve and reminded herself why she was here.

Her reassurances were all she needed. She had leaned on Raigryn too much the last year. She missed his comfort like one missed the warmth of sunshine, but she was still self-reliant. And she could still box up her morals; Fife tucked them away with her fear where they wouldn't interfere.

Two hours felt like nothing and forever. Lawrence finally moved and Fife's eyes opened. She didn't need any more instruction than what he gave. She took her time loading her crossbow in near silence, the muffled click of the nut setting the only sound she made. Facing the wall for a moment, she listened for any change in the colors of their target's room. The still surface rippled occasionally -- notes of his dreams -- but it remained the same even Tranquility of a person at rest.

This was it. Fife drew a deep breath and adjusted her grip on the stock, then nodded to Lawrence. She was as ready to get this done and over with.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Lawrence didn't make a sound as he stepped out into the corridor. Fife had already revealed where their target was, but he stopped at the door to confirm again.

Speaking would have made the next spell easier to cast, but he formed it without any semantic triggers. The faint flutter of magic would hopefully provide less of a warning than manually opening the lock and swinging creaky hinges open.

He gently pushed the door that swung open silently. The man was in the bed. Lawrence didn't step inside, in case there was a ward below the door that his magic hadn't picked up.

He pointed to Fife's crossbow and then to her sword.

The message could not have been more clear.

 

[Fife]

Fife followed him just as quietly. She waited a few steps behind as he paused at the door. A moment later, he pushed it open without even a squeak. Another time, a younger version of herself might have been curious how had managed that. Right now, she saw it as one less obstacle -- one less thing that could go wrong.

But the door was now open. Her bow was already propped against her shoulder and prepared, but now her target was in her sights. Lawrence's gesture was painfully clear.

Risking detection, Fife tapped her reservoir of Tranquillity. Her hands became steady and the bead of her sights slid unerringly to the man's chest. When she exhaled, she pulled the trigger and the bolt slung through the air.

This time, Fife's aim was spot on. The sound it made as the bolt buried itself well into his chest was the same as it had been when she had hit the werewolf.

She wasted no time in hastily setting the bow down and withdrawing her sword.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

The man cried out. Sitting upright, the bolt pinning his blanket to his chest. Even in the moonlight, the darkness swelling out from the wound was visible. Lawrence dropped his arms. The long chains wrapped around them tumbled to the floor.

The air stilled. A low thrum shook the floor as magically energy built.

And was unleashed.

Lawrence was thrown from his feet. The door slammed back shut and everything loose was thrown around the room. Behind the mage part of the wall was blasted away. As Lawrence dragged himself up from the floor he could see the silhouette of the mage moving through that hole.

"He won't..." Lawrence stopped to cough. He was dizzy and the impact with the wall had knocked the air out of his lungs. He was interrupted by the sound of beams creaking overhead.

"Get out!" he called. The toxins had to be working by now, but his immediate concern was the inn collapsing.

 

[Fife]

Her quarry sat up with a yell but Fife stepped forward, steeled and ready. Her mind was closed and guarded since there was no more cause for deception. What she was not prepared for was the stillness that settled in the wake of his cry of pain or the swell of magic in the room that matched the rapid bloom of blood on his chest, black in the darkness.

Fife took the step back, but the guard she put up was pointless. They were both thrown back as the room exploded. Fife tumbled back, her breath heaving out of her as she hit the wall -- along with several other things from around the room.

She felt the singe of magic like a burn in the air as she pushed herself back upright on unsteady arms. Her eyes scanned the room, barely focusing in time to see the empath leaping out of a hole he had made in the wall.

The floor creaked and tilted. Or was that just her? She braced a hand on the wall and picked up her sword. The crossbow wasn't beside her anymore, and she wasn't going to waste the time finding it. The floor was definitely canting now. Lawrence yelled to get out and she knew why.

Fife needed no time to decide which way she was going. Drawing on her Tranquility and Fury to keep her steady on her feet, she ran after the empath and leapt.

The fall was almost exactly like one of the Elbion city walls. While she was a bit out of practice and Desire might have helped break her fall a little better, her borrowed Aspects kept her calm and steady. Fife dropped into a roll and sprang back up. Her gaze swept across the street and up at the inn.

In the brief clarity something felt wrong, but she ignored it. There wasn't time for anything but the focus she needed to get this done. As much as he was bleeding, he had surely left a trail to follow.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

There was no need to follow the trail of blood. Rain falling heavy on his shoulders, the man had stopped and fallen to his knees just a stone's throw from the house.

It was impressive, Lawrence thought, that he had used some kind of spell so quickly to slow the spread of the paralysing coating. The mage was still resisting, hands balled up tightly against his thighs.

"Quickly," hissed Lawrence. Behind them the creaking became a crashing as more supporting beams in the inn collapsed.

 

[Fife]

He hadn’t gone far at all. No sooner had she lifted her eyes to look, there he was. The rain blurred the edges of his silhouette in the darkness and muted the sounds of chaos coming from behind them. The oil was working, but he was still upright. Not a great sign, and likely one of several reasons Lawrence urged her forward.

Fife stood from her own crouching position, her sword suddenly a terrible weight in her hands. This was it. Everything up to this point had been preparation for this single conflict. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind -- had drawn on every lesson Aretta and Raigryn had taught her. Still, there was a silence in her head as her mind fanned out, touching her Aspects in preparation as she took her first running steps forward.

The element of surprise ruined by the puddles of rain between them, she quickly closed the space between them. Fife angled her sword back, preparing the upward stroke that gave her the best advantage.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Arrol barely looked back at Fife. His hand was clenched so tight that his fingernails were drawing blood. It was taking almost everything he had to try and fight the toxin. Instead of paralysing him it was now a battle throughout his body. Fire in his heart.

He had just enough concentration to speak a few words. He was almost angry at himself for the simplicity of the spell. A bolt of energy hurled wildly at the two behind him.

The rain didn't care about the magic being thrown around. It would put out any fire. Soak up any energy before the morning.

 

[Fife]

Her caution bore fruit. Fife's feet planted in the mud and she leaned back suddenly, angled her torso away from the bolt. She felt the tug as it grabbed the shoulder of her tunic, barely grazing her.

More than barely. The smell in the air wasn't just magic, but singed skin and hair. A tremor ran down her arm and in its wake the pain followed. Her right hand suddenly felt weak, drained.

But it wasn't Empathy. Or was it? As her mind flared bright with pain, Fife didn't know if his emotions were really his or remnants of spent magic. But his emotions hung in the stormy air like a thick cloud, impossible to ignore. Fear and anger carried a distinct tang that overwhelmed any others. His mind was wide open, unguarded and vulnerable to a person just like him -- just like her. Fife didn't have time to let her doubt unfurl as she latched onto it.

She drew his Fury. Deep. Angry. Red and bitter like a thick wine in her throat and just as intoxicating. The feeling swelled in her, and the pain in her shoulders and cheek was deafened by the thrill of stolen adrenaline howling in her veins.

Fife planted her foot again, pivoted, and swung her sword.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

It was the end. When he felt his anger draining away, he knew he had to be fading. Whatever they had poisoned him with was finishing him off. The bolt had passed through his defensive wards before they had activated. Such a simple mistake to make. What a pitiful way to die.

His muscles spasmed and it took the very last of his strength just to stay upright on his knees and turn to look. It wasn't another elderly mage, no master of their trade. A young girl, a tiny slip of a thing bearing down on him with a sword.

There was a sense of misplaced indignation at being bested by tricks and primitive weapons. Right up until the sword cut deep into his shoulder and neck. Despite the paralysing toxins, he felt it all. Pain unlike anything he had felt exploded through him. His pulse thundered ahead and then started to falter.

His body gave in to the toxins first and he collapsed in a heap. When he lost his grip on life itself he was almost glad for the reprieve from the agony.

Shadows emerged around the crumpled form of the rogue mage. An audience of accomplices to the murder. The torrential rain washed the blood away.

 

[Fife]

The blade met no resistance as she had expected it to. Not a shard of Avarice blocked it, or even a speck of the emotion rose to wield it. No Misery was summoned to curse her and the Disgust she felt didn't attempt to sway her mind. There was only the acute fear and suffering she left untapped as his blood sprayed across her face and chest. It mingled with the rain, strangely hot in the cold downpour.

As her sword stilled at the end of its arc, Fife felt the strength rapidly draining from her arms. One shoulder complained of a much older strain and the other was burning and raw from the magic that had scorched it. The man collapsed and she took two unsteady steps back. She didn't want to be so close to a dying man. She didn't want to bear witness to a person's final erratic, terrified struggles for life -- or feel them unfiltered in their mind, raw splashes of color as loud as the flare of a match in absolute darkness.

And yet, Fife couldn't take her eyes away. She had to be sure. She had to know for certain… even if the anger still coiled around her heart and mind was making her doubts clear. It parted her confusion and she could see it as plainly as the man dying at her feet.

This man wasn't an Empath.

The dark spaces between raindrops took shape, silhouettes of the Steel Coin assassins. She only looked up when the last flicker of emotion sputtered out, heralding an end. Drenched, streaked with blood (both her own and a stranger's), and her grip on her sword trembling, she turned toward Lawrence.

Something wasn't right. Her angry eyes looked to deny it -- to argue and satisfy the rage still making her heart race. Fife couldn't even voice the yell that nonetheless clogged her throat. Her doubts and accusations remained silent, but she didn't put her sword away.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Now came the act. One well rehearsed. Not every member of the Order was a skilled liar. Many of their professional murderers had little tact or subtlety.

Those that did were well versed in their part in this.

"That bolt of energy didn't feel like Empathy," he said, cautiously approaching the body. He cast a questioning glance towards Fife, even if he hadn't raised his tone to make it sound like a question.

One of the other assassins stepped closer. She dropped to one knee beside the body to roll him over.

"Spell reagents," she declared, opening a pouch at his belt.

"Fuck," spat Lawrence. He has to hold Fife's attention for the next part.

 

[Fife]

Lawrence and the other turned over the body to inspect it. Something still wasn't right. Lawrence seemed surprised that this wasn't an Empath. The Order of the Steel Coin didn't seem like an organization that often got their quarry mixed up. So why had it now?

Fife hadn't always been wise, but learning to be had been what kept her alive in Elbion. She watched and listened and she survived. They weren't in Elbion and she was older and much wiser now, but she did the same once again.

She shook her head. No. That certainly had not been Empathy. And as the other assassin confirmed, this man's magic had been that of a mage. Things Fife knew but they didn't. Or claimed not to. Breathing steady and trying to get back her balance, she listened and watched carefully for more than his words and physical cues.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"So he is not an Empath, but he murdered bounty hunters with magic on the road and was uneasy when we entered the inn?" Lawrence asked, trying to hold Fife's attention.

Shia found some bloodied papers on the man's body. Covering them with her own cloak, the brought the bloodstained papers to Lawrence.

 

[Fife]

What was he getting at? Fife nodded. Yes. He had been very nervous. She had not gotten it wrong.

Or had she? Had she misread him?

No. She had made a living on knowing when people were at ease and when they were suspicious. She knew this, even after a year away from this life. Lawrence had identified him, too, and his informants had signaled them here in the first place. She had done her part.

She had done her part to kill the wrong man. The anger was slipping away, leaving her raw and cold and drenched. Fife's hands were beginning to shake.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"Huh," went Lawrence, taking the bloodied papers. "Credit notes to an Arrol Barr."

Lawrence frowned as if the name meant something to him. He gave nothing further away. Folding up the papers before the dark rain drops could ruin the evidence, he slipped them into his coat.

Moving to the body, Lawrence showed it no respect as he grabbed Arrol's hair and tilted his face to catch what little light remained.

"This isn't our empath. Arrol Barr is...was a powerful mage who skipped out on significant gambling debts." He patted his coat where the papers had gone.

"That's why he killed a group of bounty hunters on the road with magic. He was on the run. I would not shed a tear for this man Fife, but your work isn't yet done."

 

[Fife]

Fife wiped her sword on her trousers and sheathed it, grateful that it was too rainy to notice the tremble in her movements but still wincing at the pain in her magic-burnt shoulder.

Her eyes hardly left Lawrence, however. Riffling through the belongings of the deceased and lifting the man by his hair to inspect his face... It wasn't his irreverence that unsettled her. It was knowing his name. Arrol Barr. A rogue mage who owed a debt. He wasn't even remotely close to the Empath they had been chasing.

The facts he had given her clanked together in her mind. She was too ranked to make heads or tails of it. Her anger was crumbling more surely than the building collapsing behind them. Fife wanted to scream the way a few people inside did. Time oddly began to slow.

Something had been wrong and she had ignored even her own rational concerns. As a result, she had killed the wrong man. Why did it still feel wrong? What happened next? Did this compromise her plan to see Raigryn?

Though she refused to do it in front of these people, Fife felt ill.