Fable - Ask The Withering [Mal]

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Eske

Out of the Forest
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Character Biography
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Alliria - Center Commons
Early Evening

Dear Travelers -

The Lady Mirlorne seeks the aid of a skilled Mage or Sorcerer who is knowledgeable in most unusual magics. Students and the untested need not apply - this mission requires high expertise and finesse. Applicants should be able and ready to travel for several months or longer, until the completion of the mission. Your lodgings, food, and supply will be taken care of and your reward will be great.

Interested individuals who can meet these requirements please seek out Archivist Faust at the Allirian Library to apply.


The Notice had hung on the community message board for nearly two weeks now. Several applicants had come ... and gone, none fitting of the manner for which Lady Mirlorne required of the mission. Until one such day a man by the name of Maleagant came to call. Suddenly, the post was gone. Now, three days later, he was asked to ready himself for departure and await the arrival of Lady Mirlorne and her retinue in the Commons. He did not have to wait long.

She arrived astride a simple brown horse with simple tack and strappings. A grey traveling cloak covered her figure, and nothing remarkable about her attire spoke to her Ladyship or her ability to invest such fortunes into her mission. Even her retinue appeared as simple guards wearing simple armor. Their mounts were of average size and appearance. All told, the group called very little attention to itself and that was exactly what they meant for.

The woman rode into the Commons circle, guiding her horse quietly through the thinning crowds of travelers, shoppers, workers, and residents. There toward the center she came to a stop and calmly looked around from within her hood.

"Ah," said the Archivist from where he stood by Maleagant's side, "the Lady has arrived. Come." Faust lifted a hand to wave to her and lead their Mage over, greeting her with a bow, "My Lady, it is a pleasure to see you again. Might I present your requested Mage, Maleagant."

From within the shadow of her hood, vibrant green eyes drifted from Archivist to Mage, a sullen expression settling upon him, "You are most anticipated, good Mage. Have you a horse? We leave at once."
 
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Maleagant was chewing the inside of his cheek, looking considerate and deep in his thoughts. His attention briefly returned to the present when Faust said something, to which Maleagant habitually and absently replied, "Yeah, yeah."​
This turned out to be the wrong approach, as quite suddenly the Lady Mirlorne and her considerably-not-at-all-that-merry men were upon them. A whole little party. It made him wonder why they needed him at all, but these are not things to broach with the people providing food, lodging, and supply... Particularly when such things were in high demand for Maleagant.​
He attempted to smile, but he had to work his jaw first to get the muscles to remember what to do. And even then he didn't manage to expose his teeth. "How-" it came out gravelly, so he had to clear his throat and start over, "Howdy."​
Lady Mirlorne looked almost like every other nobleperson's idea of traveling incognito. Which was to say, everything looked new and comfortable instead of old and shitty, so this was clearly a rich person. By contrast, Maleagant was perfectly camouflaged.​
"I do indeed," Maleagant said, rubbing his jaw. "Where are we heading?"​
 
"No questions now, Master Mage," the Lady replied, perfectly aware that aside from the requirements needed for the job, very little about the job itself had been revealed to the man. All he knew is he'd be traveling abroad for an extended period of time and he'd have very little need to provide for himself.

"Mount up ...and Master Faust?" she directed her horse to circle, bringing her closer to the Archivist so that she might drop a coin pouch into his hands, "Your time and effort is appreciated, as always."

"As is your coin, M'Lady," Faust smiled and bowed again, "safe travels!"

She waited just long enough for Mal to find his horse and join them, and then with haste headed due south, exiting the city with purpose. They took to the main trade route at a clipped pace, putting distance between the party and Alliria with efficiency. When the rolling hills of the south had swallowed most of its silhouette on the horizon, she slowed their pace to a meaningful walk.

"Master Maleagant," the Lady summoned him to ride at her side, waiting for him to catch up before speaking again, "the subject of this journey is of great delicacy. Your discretion on the matter is both appreciated and bound by the contract you signed."

It had been a lengthy contract written in small and neatly flowing cursive. It would have taken him all night to read the entire thing.

"Our first destination is to the south at the abandoned Breaktide Ridge Keep, three days travel."
 
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"Sure, yeah," he replied, showing his palms. "It was worth a shot."​
Maleagant watched Faust get his money and wondered, pitifully, why he couldn't have a job that easy. He reflected on his choices as he skulked off, retrieved and mounted his horse, and dutifully followed after his employers.​
They practically bolted from the city. A hasty getaway already! How relatable. It made Maleagant nostalgic, but in a purely negative sense.​
Once it was all rolling hills and countryside beauty, the Lady deigned to speak with him, so he urged his sad little mount over. Also in a dutiful manner.​
She mentioned a contract. The contract. Right. It would have taken him all night to have read that thing, so he purposefully spelled his name wrong and called it a day. Maleagant was not sure if that would really nullify anything, but then his actual favored method of contractual nullification was to flee into the wilderness anyway.​
He nodded, doing his best impression of a diligent sort of person. "Discrete is my specialty, I always say. Breaktide Keep. You got it."​
Seemed shady anyone with pleasant means would want to go to a ruin, but he'd hung around worse places, so he elected not to think about it. Or care. And did not bother to ask.​
 
A tethered curiosity clung to the woman's expression. Not for his lack of questions or the sorry state of his mount, but for the man himself. Human, so much as she could tell, and clearly holding a noticeable level of connection to the Ley. Had he previous interactions or ... infractions, as his case may be, with the Fae?

"I consider myself well acquainted with most notable Mages around Alliria but I'm not familiar with your name. What manner of magic and skills do you possess?"
 
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So now was his interrogation. Maleagant tried to feel flattered, but his saddle sucked and his crotch already hurt. He winced but tried to pass it off as a grin. "Notable? Me? No, no, no. Not at all, not even a little."

Which was true relative to their present location.

"I do all kinds of magic, mostly the useful stuff, I'm sure Faust filled you in," he said, clearly evasive. "For everything else, there's always Lagertha here."

For emphasis, he patted Lagertha affectionately. That is, he patted the flanged mace that was slung into the saddle. Maleagant always found the weapon's odd name a sufficient distraction for all of those pesky questions he preferred not to answer.
 
Amusement filtered around the Lady as the man spoke, manifesting as a faint smile that pressed upward into her eyes. What a strange man. Humans ... honestly, she never could quite understand their penchant for misdirection and lies. Not that fae were much better, but at least they had good reason for it. Eske pondered what reason he could have and gave Lagertha a respectful glance.

"How is your nose at sniffing out traps of the magical variety? I have reason to believe the ruins will be littered with them."
 
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Maleagant inhaled as loudly as possible, sucking in an unnecessary amount of oxygen through his nostrils, almost as if he were testing them. He held like that for a moment before exhaling boorishly.

"Not too good," he announced, "Think I lost most of my smell in a mine fire back in the day. But that's what the magic's for. Nothing's surprised me yet. Nothing magical, I mean."

You detect and disarm one fireball rune, you've done them all.
 
And that got more of a smile from the Lady, even the hints of a laugh withheld for the sake of appearances, "Curious," she stated, "your sense of humor." But the way she said it made it seem like she was referring to something more proverbial than his own sense.

"And how many years have you been practicing this art that you have come to be so stoic in face of the ethereal?"
 
"Hmm," Maleagant tallied the years off one by one, having to swap calendars once or twice in the process, "Half my life, I reckon. Fifteen-odd years now."

He huffed and, as if to demonstrate his complete ignorance of who he was speaking with, added: "I'm basically ancient. Very wizened, yeah?"
 
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Eske could not help herself, the broad smile appearing on her face, or the low laugh of amusement to follow. It was a strange sound, one that seemed to make the leaves of the trees around them shiver in kind despite the lack of breeze.

"Yes," she watched him closely for a moment, considering him and how it was that humans could be so ... lackadaisical? Unaware? Like children, going through life completely and utterly detached from the hidden world around them. It was terribly endearing.

"Alarmingly wizened. Master Faust chose very well, indeed." Well enough to provide her with an engaging companion for the journey and a strong conduit for her needs. Or so she liked to believe - time would tell for certain.

The sky overhead had begun to change color. Though, perhaps change was not the most appropriate word - shift was more like it. If one were to pay it close attention, they might notice the strange nature of the clouds that came and went, or now the mountains on the horizon appeared to dissipate out of view despite their progress closer toward them. It was a subtle thing that to the unattuned or nonchalant it happened as naturally as the change of the leaves through the seasons. Except much much faster.

Before they knew it, nighttime had caught up to them and they made camp lakeside. Upon dismounting, Maleagant would find his employer to be quite ... tall. Remarkably so. Curiously so. She hadn't seemed that tall on her horse. But then he'd look away and look back and suddenly she didn't seem so tall after all. Eske removed her hood and pulled free from her cloak the long braid of hair the color of moonlight. Pointed ears slivered through the layers of loose waves and green eyes flickered like tiny flames under the stars.

"Are you hungry, Master Mage? Tonight we share venison and wine ... or perhaps you prefer ale?"
 
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Maleagant had a wandering mind and passed most of the ride in the shallow kind of thought, dreaming of places he wanted to see, things he wanted to do, theories he would like to test, components he would like to find.​
And, of course, his personal favorite: what he would do when he finally struck it rich. It generally involved a chateau.​
Something happened when he dismounted and the Lady Mirlorne suddenly looked as tall as her horse. Then he blinked and she was normal-sized again. Maleagant frowned like someone had made a joke and he wasn't in on it.​
This was probably a medical problem. Something brought on to his eyes by dabbling with the wrong sort of spectra. Like all medical problems that were not immediately life-threatening, Maleagant's favored course of action was to wait for it to go away. Usually, it did.​
He rubbed his eyes with his fists in an effort to speed up the process. "I'm good for wine. Love wine."​
And venison, but that went without saying.​
 
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"That is well," replied the Lady warmly, "for we did not pack ale."

There was a quirk of mischief in her expression as she took the reins of her horse over its head and lead it off toward the lake shore to let it drink. Her entourage had a camp set up in little time, with several tents and a roaring campfire. Seemed no one but the Lady dared spare the Mage a word or greeting. They avoided him as much as possible, keeping themselves busy and stepping out of his way when he moved about.

Eske spent her time by the lake, tending the horses while they drank and grazed, walking barefoot along the waters edge as quite as a cloud. When the smell of venison drifted in on the air she left her lakeside vigil to join the others at the campfire, taking her seat upon a log and accepting a skin of wine.

"Might I ask as to where you hail from, Master Malegant?" she asked of her Mage as plates of venison and bread were served.
 
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Maleagant made a popping noise with his lips. "I'm good at guessing these sorts of things."​
The vagrant milled about the camp, delighting - in the masochistic sense - the wide berth and cold regard the entire entourage gave to him. These people reminded him of foreigners. In, like, the general sense. Like the concept of a foreigner.​
He pretended not to notice the Lady Mirlorne wading, barefoot, along the shores of the lake. Not his idea of a good time by any stretch, but to each their own.​
While they were sitting down for dinner, Maleagant wiped his mouth with his forearm before answering the Lady's genteel questioning.​
"Little place in south Cortos," he said, not at all sounding very homesick, "Lovely place, lovely people, to a point."​
He bit noisily into his bread, continuing to speak while chewing as a matter of efficiency. "Why? Looking to visit?"​
 
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This answer seemed to please the Lady, given the brightening expression she offered him in response.

"Cortos," she echoed wonderingly, "well if it is as lovely as you say then it seems I should, yes?"

In their circle around the campfire she was the only one not presently eating, though she cradled a goblet of wine between both hands with care. Her entourage were mostly busy talking among themselves, though some were keeping a sharp eye on the Mage.

"Your travels," she continued quietly, voice just loud enough to be heard clear over the crackle of the campfire, "are for your work or does something else call to you?"
 
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"Well if it is as lovely as you say then it seems I should, yes?"

He paused in his eating. Swallowed hard, then pushed his meat around on his plate a little aimlessly. Maleagant offered the Lady Mirlorne a weak, gormless smile.

"Yeah, sure," he said, "If they ask - and they usually do - make sure you tell them you think 'the Sun' is just neat."

Uttered ruefully as if from personal experience. He looked eager to depart from this subject and anything relating to it, so he quickly moved on to her next question. "It's all work. Living's expensive business. There something else I should be looking to get called for?"
 
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"Well I love the sun," a patient smile persisted, "so I will keep that in mind."

Living's expensive business. Interesting. The Lady Mirlorne supposed she never thought of the mere notion of living as having an expense. There was a balance to keep, for certain. Her green eyes turned from him and down to the glass of wine in her hands. She did not drink from it, but gave it a gentle swirl to watch the play of firelight through the liquid.

"My people call it the minirii, the song of your blood. The purpose for which you are here. We feel it at all times, but strongest when our bodies, minds, and souls are ready to seek it out." Her smile returned, gentle and strangely knowing.

"Perhaps it is different for humans ... or you are not yet ready."
 
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Maleagant chewed his lower lip absently, and looking pensive. "Not as much as they do. Guarantee it."

Songs in the blood sounded painful, somehow. He could only picture people singing underwater, sending bubbles roiling to the surface. Air. Air pockets in the blood. Now that was painful. Or so he'd heard.

When he was done eating, he sat listening to the Lady Mirlorne with his chin propped in his hand.

"Pfft. I'm ready for anything," he scoffed playfully, yet he sounded defensive there for a moment. "Humans just wander around until they bump into something they don't hate. Or they die first, but that's life for you."
 
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