Quest Shipment Recovery

[Lilette Blackbriar]

"Stupid," she whispered, "Stupid girl!"

Lilette pulled the stable door shut behind her and collapsed onto her knees.

Then and there her fangs came forth like the assassin's knives, and she knew she would have to feed soon. All around her horses stamped their feet anxiously, their elevated pulses screamed to her, but she had already tried this once before. That dirty flavor would only last so long, and the cries of those innocent beasts would surely alert the entire tavern.

She sighed through grit teeth and stood, knowing this must be her fault.

If she had only fed when she had the opportunity this wouldn't be happening. Instead she waited, hoping for some brigand to accost her on the road, someone who deserved her teeth in their neck.

Yet until now, every face she'd seen was more or less innocent.

"...gods..."

Chastising herself for abstinence from murder. What would Godewyn think?

So she pushed on, licking Fane's blood from her fingers for what little sustenance she could, while fetching those herbs and bandages from her saddle bags.

And then someone opened the door.

---

Marek Rae'twyn Suvalissaere​

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Rae'twyn's features crinkled with dismay.

"Bring her to the woods? But that's so far! At least a hundred yards. Ugh -- and I just got done cleaning my boots..!"

Who cared about some wayward village anyway? There was a perfectly good hole in that well! Wouldn't be discovered for weeks! Ah, whatever, let the humans have their way then and tidy it all up so neatly.

As he helped carry the body to the woods, a few more gripes and complaints issued:

"Why don't we grant her a burial as well, now that we're at it, hm? Dig her a grave, hold hands and sing her a few songs, bless her body in oils and send her soul off to -- whatever Gods you pray to? We even have a cleric for that!" Eventually, as work overtook his moaning, Rae'twyn could address Marek's other concerns with a little more rationality. "Yes, yes, I know, it was an amusing display of our fearless leader. Though not entirely surprising, mind you. I've seen many folk have a delayed reaction to, ah, such gore. Mayhaps she merely wished to vomit in peace?" His mocking grin was vicious, but cooled before Marek's scepticism. "Afraid this is the business, old chap. Never was normal, but the gloves are off, for certain. Whoever is sending murderers our way won't be pleased, I can tell you that much."

Their sordid work done, disposing off the body below a serviceable log, the two men trudged back towards the inn.

"Well, I suppose one of us ought to check up on the Lady. Wouldn't want her painting the walls brown -- or red, if there's more surprise visitors about." He tapped his chin in brief thought. "Now I'm also curious about why there would be coins in our drinks . . ."

Marek

 

[Marek]

Marek let out a long-suffering groan midway through Rae’twyn’s latest barrage of colorful commentary. His arms were straining under the dead weight of the body, his boots squelched unpleasantly in the damp underbrush, and now..

“Gods above, do you ever get to the point?” he snapped, exasperated, dragging the corpse with less care and more contempt. “You probably had to dart to the surface 'cause you wouldn’t stop monologuing when some poor Matron just wanted you to eat her-”

THUD.

The corpse hit the ground with a sickening splatter. Marek froze. Blood oozed across the top of his boot.

“…Shit.” He crouched, swiping at the mess with a fistful of leaves that did precisely nothing. “Fantastic. These were the good pair.”

Muttering curses under his breath in three different dialects, Marek stood, brushed himself off with all the dignity one could muster after corpse-hauling, and fixed Rae with a dry stare. “You go investigate the drinks and their mysterious coin content. I’ll check on the nun. She looked like she’d seen a ghost…and then us, which arguably isn’t much better.”

With a final half-hearted wipe of his boot on a fern, Marek turned and made for the stables, shoulders squaring as he reached the door. He raised a hand, knocked once, then slowly pushed it open.

His voice, now gentled but still carrying a rough edge, called into the dark.

“Uhhh, Sister Lilette? You alright in here?” A pause. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier.”

Lilette Blackbriar
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

"Well, I think we're better to look at than ghosts, at least."

Rae'twyn watched Marek go with a lazy smirk, then peered down next to him by the tree. Fane still lay splattered on the ground like a sack of wheat, neck cradled among the roots of the tree.

Oh yes. And then there was him. He probably ought to bring him indoors.

Rae'twyn pulled a scarf free from his own neck and covered Fane's visible wound. Then he scooped his arms below Fane's legs and back, and could barely lift him. Maelzafan's breath, how much weight had he put on? As he staggered over towards the inn, the barkeep from before saw him quick enough.

"Gods above, what happened to him?"

"Too much drink and too little balance. He tripped and hurt himself."

"Well . . . I'll help you bring him to your rooms," the innkeeper said, though he gave Rae'twyn a dubious look; the drow ever being the suspect. Eventually, they ferried him into his room together, much to the murmur of the few patrons present.

Marek
Lilette Blackbriar

 

[Lilette Blackbriar]

Lilette went very still for a moment.

"...'tis not the first time I hast seen a noble's throat gored, ye know."

She closed up the bag and turned around, her hands noticeably cleaner though blood still clung to her sleeves like sin. It was dark, enough that if she spoke quietly through thin lips--she hoped--Marek would not see her long, faintly curved fangs.

Even so her eyes may be diversion enough, producing enough light of their own that even when she walked through the blackest shadows towards him, one could always make out their quicksilver hue.

"But ne'er didst I think t'would happen 'pon mine watch" she sighed.

"...thought I wert faster..."

Though calmer, she still spoke with a faint shakiness at odds with her sweatless brow.

Nor did she even think of the mess till she put her hand on the door.

"Ugh!"

"I can't be seen like this."

---

Marek Rae'twyn Suvalissaere​

 

[Marek]

Marek shifted where he stood, one boot scuffing against the stable floor as Lilette turned toward him. There was something in her voice, something brittle.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, eyes narrowing faintly. “I know. I just thought…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t know how to. The horses told him what words didn’t.

They snorted and sidestepped restlessly in their stalls, muscles twitching beneath their hides. One reared back entirely as Lilette passed too close, eyes rolling white. Marek caught it from the corner of his eye and then he looked at her properly.

Her eyes caught the light, even here in the shadow. Too bright. Too steady. Even when she winced. Even when her voice trembled.

He went still. Not hostile. Not alarmed. But watchful.

“…Are you alright?” Marek asked slowly, his voice rough but not unkind. “Something’s off.”

He tilted his head slightly, keeping his tone even. “Did that assassin do something? You look… off.”

The question wasn’t an accusation, not yet. But the tension behind his words said plainly enough: I’m watching you now.

Lilette Blackbriar
Rae'twyn Suvalissaere

 

[Lilette Blackbriar]

He wasn't giving up, but why?

Lilette hummed pensively but said nothing at first, wandering instead to sit upon a hay bale.

"I heardest so every day in Vel Anir, ye know." she sighed.

The nun would--for the first time in many days--pull away her bloodstained wimple and vestments. A full head of silken hair lay draped over her shoulder like a cloak, almost perfect in that elvish way of hers, albeit tousled by the fighting. It too caught the light, lunar-white, just like her skin.

Her pointed ears cut through sharp peaks, only to pull back like a scorned cat's.

"First t'were my pallor. Then my eyes."

"Thank Astra, they ne'er didst see mine ears." she said, giving a tired glance.

She then set aside the bloodiest clothing, down now to her white dress which was still bloody at the hem and cuffs, though rolling her sleeves seemed to solve the latter issue.

"Yea, and the coughing fits. Much prodding didst they elicit."

It appeared she was clean as one could get in a barn, and she stood to push the door open and rejoin Rae'twyn in the tavern. All the while she arched a brow at Marek and said;

"So, thou'rt Anirian I presume? or art all children o' man so curious?"

---

Marek Rae'twyn Suvalissaere​

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

Spoiler: Music

When they re-entered the inn, the barkeep had vanished from his domain. A handful of surly patrons sat by tables and chairs, but otherwise, Rae'twyn was left alone at the bar; legs dangling from a high stool, chin in his hand, churning one of their untouched drinks with a spoon. Their three drinks bought by Fane still loomed on the bar like forlorn sentries.

"Ah, good to see you're back. All well, I trust?"

He smirked, but his ruby eyes were as hard as any gem, and just as pointed. When they approached, he would extricate his wooden spoon and point upstairs with it.

"Our host was most understanding to Fane's plight. Particularly after a little tip or two. He is making him comfortable as we speak." The spoon went down into one of the drinks and scooped out something from it. Wine dripped like blood from the spoon, parting to reveal some hard object in its bowl. Like a dark fetus from some horrific origin, it glared up at them with an eye of a tiny red fragment. He placed it on the table for them to see.

Spoiler: The Black Coin

A large, black coin, about the diameter of a thimble. A skull leered out from its revealed side. The skull was encircled by diminutive ropes in its iron mintage, even passing through the skull's clenched teeth, as if chowing down on the very rope choking it. The red fragment gleamed from its left socket, the other hollow. A grisly token, to be certain -- it didn't help it stained the bar with red wine.

Rae'twyn leaned in conspiratorially, only allowing them a glimpse before he covered the coin with his hand, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the other patrons. His voice lowered into a mellifluous whisper:

"A gift from the Court, I wager. The Black Coin, they call it. A mark for those destined to die. Oh, don't worry, they weren't playing favourites here -- one for each of us, in all our drinks. Fane may have paid for them, but I wouldn't drink them, if I were you."

Marek
Lilette Blackbriar