Fable - Ask Unintended Consequences

[Lyssia D'avore]

The lamp offered fitful lighting at best, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the sparsely furnished room. Shapes danced on the walls in a myriad of fantastical things that could play tricks on a mind, especially one as tired as she was. It had been a trying day, merely one among a seemingly endless march of them. The chain started somewhere back in the mountains of the Spine, a few years ago now. She remembered those hard times, and the bitter things that had come of them as clearly as though they were yesterday, and some of those memories stirred an anger in her heart that honestly terrified her at times.

Lyssia leaned back in her chair. She was tiny, if she were judged by human standards; she didn't even stand four feet tall, and was of such a willowy build that it was sometimes easy to forget she was there. Certainly that had not been advantageous to her efforts over the last several years. Dark circles underscored her eyes, hinting at many late nights, or nights spent without sleep or near enough as made no difference. She rubbed at those eyes, and blinked as she looked down at the ledger in front of her, and the other assorted papers and logs scattered about the desk that was sized for her.

What am I doing? She leaned back, and let her head loll so that her tired eyes stared at the ceiling, catching the dancing shadows there. Why did I even come here in the first place? I should have stayed in Mericet.

With a tired sigh, she righted herself, and brushed fiery hair from her eyes. She closed the ledger in front of her, filled with figures about finances and the sources of those finances - ostensibly legitimate sources - and set it to the side. Those funds were the dark tracery of shipments of materials that were destined to leave Alliria by slightly less than legal means. She hated what it was she was doing with a passion, but she was going to do it regardless. The coin she could wring out of those goods in foreign markets would go a long way towards realizing her return to Mericet.

And then I can redress the balance, she thought wearily. Her hands clenched into fists tight enough to turn her knuckles white, but she did not seem to notice.

With a soft sigh, she rose from her chair. She wore a thin and cheap linen shift and not a stitch more than that. It was really quite late, well past eleven bells. Outside, the sound of dogs barking somewhere in the distance and the stray feral cat fighting over territory the only sounds drifting through the open windows. The air was dead still, only lightly touched by the approach of autumn. For a moment, she paused in the act of turning to leave the room, and then went to the window to stare out over the foreign city. The light of torches and lamps muddied the starry sky to the point where only a handful of those gem-like points of light could even be seen. The moon was absent tonight.

She shook her head to clear the ghosts of the day from it, and spun on one heal, loose fabric flowing around her as she glided effortlessly out of the room, shutting the door behind her. The man standing outside said nothing to her as she flowed past, flickering lamp plucked off the desk and now in hand.

"You know what to do, Eric. Make sure the others know as well." Despite the fact that she was head and shoulders shorter than him, she still had a certain bearing about her. It had a lot to do with her noble upbringing, however far she had strayed from that path. She'd had the finest tutors and instructors that could be had in the Kingdom, and she was not a stupid girl then, nor was she now. The hired hand nodded without a word, and then slipped off to go do what he had been instructed to do earlier in the day. He was not the only one here in her building. The former tenement had once housed seven families in its three floors, but now she owned it outright. It was ramshackle at the best, a complete dump at the worst. Fortunately, it served her current exploits rather nicely.

Even though I know for a fact at least one of the Dukes were involv-

She had been gliding along the third floor hallway. The floor was bare of any carpet, simply weathered and worn wood a uniform grey, splintery and unpleasant to walk on with bare feet. She had stopped at the splintery crash that had echoed from down the hallway to where the stairs dropped to the lower floors. There had been a hollow bang followed by the sound of a heavy thud, like something dropping to the floor. She raised the lamp to look down the hall, eyes gleaming in the fitful light.

"Tessa? Was that you?" There was no response to the slightly high pitched sound of her voice. Ominous silence thundered throughout the house, and she felt a fleeting moment of fear, quickly smashed. It was ridiculous to think of thieves in the night here; it was known that she kept a few street toughs and a merc or two around for security purposes. Likely someone had tripped and fallen, or something like that. She started down the hallway without much caution, footsteps light but nevertheless creaking on the ancient wood. Some instinctive survival skills gained from her training in the courts had, at this point, simply been forgotten.

It was not the first time, but it would be the last.

 

[Acteon Cass]

Things in Alliria had been weird for the past few years. Many merchants lost their properties following success. Gangs that were once barely able to be more than a gaggle of geese suddenly were organized. The Guard seemed to be tripping over itself as various internal factions began to divide it up. Corruption was nothing new to the city of coins, but it had gotten to a point that questions on the council's ability to govern the city were being asked.

The task of unraveling it had, somehow, fallen into Acteon's lap.

So news of a self proclaimed princess stirring things up in the underworld while looking for allies for some political game got his attention. Certain members of the council were looking suspicious, particularly one he held a grudge against, and he wanted to know if she had made any deals with them. He had already turned one gang's loyalty and goals around to his favor so was not shy about doing it again if this stranger was.

A bit of detective work had gotten Acteon this person's name. Lyssia D'avore. A foreigner. Human. Female. Likely was from the East beyond the Reach. She would not be Cortosi, Anirian, from Elbion, or Amol-kalit then. Did the Spine even have kingdoms? He did not know. Rumors had it that before he was born a mass exodus of Reachmen and Allirians settled down in the Spine. Could be one of them. He did not know. The official logs did not get him more than what he had.

The Redtails had been more informative after he got them sniffing out news on her. Helped having a local gang of lous at hand. They were not much good for fighting but their skills as scouts and thieves was impossible to beat. They had informed him she was involved in the smuggling ring. Very risky but the potentially highly rewarding. They even found out where she lived and that she had hired guards. Resourceful little critters.

The Allirian decided to pay the woman a visit in light of all of this news. A visit he was going to make in the dark of night. Best not to be seen stopping at a smugglers house after all. He had a reputation to worry about around the city. So the man got himself dressed in dark clothing with a hood that could properly hide his face from the sides. A brigandine was hidden below his outer coat to offer a bit of protection as well as some daggers. A single shortsword was at his hip, but he also made sure it was wrapped up in dark cloth as well to blend in as best it could with his clothing. He could be anyone in such a dangerous part of the shallows.

With no need for a torch or lantern, Acteon walked up to his target's home in complete darkness. No one was brave enough to attempt to light street lamps in the shallows. The light was more likely to get you mugged or robbed by revealing you or your door's lock. All he had to do was just walk up to the door and knock....

Iron. Rusty iron.

The man could smell blood as he came close to the house. Fresh blood. A hand instinctively went to the hilt of a dagger as his whole body seemed to shift from relaxed into a readied tension like a bolt sitting on a crossbow waiting for the trigger to be pulled.

The front door had been bashed in. Marks of the forced entry had been scuffed into the wooden frame. The body of a dead man in decently priced armor was being used to prop the door open. The blood was coming from a slit in their throat. A dent in their helmet was the killing blow.

Amber eyes narrowed at the sight. Sloppy yet experienced work. It was not the work of a common shallow street tough but by dedicated gang muscle. Likely not the work of a single person either. Not with the guard's weapon still hanging from their belt. Whoever opened the door was not the one who killed their new door prop.

The Allirian drew his dagger as he silently slide inside the house. Seemed the night was not going to be as bloodless as had he had hoped.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She padded to the landing at the top of the stairs, and looked down into darkness. The lantern served only to make the shadows there sharper, more defined. For a moment, she hesitated, indecision plain on yer youtful features. Her pointed ears picked up nothing from below, only a silence that seemed deafening.

She took a step forward, then started down the stairs more resolutely, if no more confidently. "Tessa? Key? Was that you?" Silence answered her queries. She slowed as she approached the landing of the second floor, and only then did she hear the sound of footsteps on the creaking stairs. Coming up the steps was Tessa, but she had a finger pressed to her lips, eyes darting down the stairs. She had a knife in hand, bare steel darkened by lamp black so as to not gleam in the light.

"What is go-" she began, but the hired hand shook her head violently, and pressed her finger against her lips. She pointed downstairs and, as if to elaborate for her, there came the violent crash of something being overturned. The sound of breaking glass and splintering wood was rather loud in the quiet of the house.

"She went upstairs," came the gruff voice of a man, and his footfalls wended there way to the stairs going up to the second floor. Directly below the displaced noble and her commoner help. "We'll roust the bitch out, and then find her boss." Steps ascending the stairs.

Tessa turned to usher the diminutive woman back up the stairs when she stumbled a step, mouth opening but no sound coming forth. A gout of blood did, though, and spilled over her lips and onto her chest as she took a stumbling step forward before collapsing slowly, fingers tearing themselves on a dagger buried in her throat.

"Found her," the new arrival said, stepping through the shadows of the second floor hallway. "Upstairs." his voice was filled with quiet command, and he moved as if he had all the time in the world. "Well, then, what do w-" he began, but was cut short when Lyssia threw the lantern at him. He barely managed to bat it aside and it crashed to the floor in a crescendo of breaking glass. By some miracle, the flames did not catch the rest of the oil, and the stairs and hall plunged into darkness.

Lyssia bolted back up the stairs as the man she had just been ambushed at cursed. He looked more capable than a street tough, and she had to wonder who it was that had sent them. Who had she angered enough to require a hit? Was it a hit? She was not about to find out. She hit the top of the stairs, her luminous eyes glowing faintly with a light of their own that, sadly, did not grant her the ability to see in darkness. It was just as well that she was familiar with this place, and even in darkness - even with the thunder of steps coming up from below - she knew where she was going.

She hit the door with a shoulder and nearly bounced off before it crashed back, and she slammed it shut and locked it as she did. She ran to the desk she had been at moments before, and fumbled with a desk drawer even as the first heavy blow landed on the door, the sound of splintering wood far too loud in the darkness. "Get back!" she screamed, fumbling the drawer open and clutching a dagger, thin blade wavering in her grip as she turned and put her back to the desk. "Get back, you uncouth oafs, or else-"

The door crashed open. "Or else what, pet?" Three men stepped into the room, the ruined door hanging on its hinges behind them. They were in no hurry. "Put the knife down, or we'll put it down for you."

"Like hell I will," she half snarled, half squealed. She darted forward, light on her feet. The goal was to slip past them, maybe stab one of them on the way by-

-and then something connected with her head, solid and unyielding. Brilliant lights danced before her eyes as her head snapped to one side, the rest of her body following suit to wind up in a pile against the wall. The dagger flew from insensate fingers, sliding across the floor to end up on the opposite side of the room. She felt her gorge rise, but for the moment she had no strength to move under her own power. She felt something hot trickling across her face.

The man - the one that had killed Tessa so efficiently - bent over to pick up the knife that had fallen from her hands. One of the toughs was grinning at her where she lay, a wooden cudgel cracked in half and being tossed aside. The other one went to stand in the doorway and keep watch as the one that had brained her went to pick her up by an arm, lifting her light weight effortlessly off the floor so that she dangled limply in front of the killer. Her eyes were dull and unseeing.

"I really wish you hadn't made me have to do that, Princess, but maybe if you hadn't gone and trod on some fingers they would have sent me to deal with you." he stepped forward and gripped her chin in a hand, turning those sightless eyes to face him. "Not there right now?"

He struck her across the face with an open hand, the clap of it ringing out through the darkness. She made a mewl of pain, and the haze in her eyes cleared, but only a little. "We awake yet, dove? I would hate to have to get really rough with you. Such a pretty face, it would be a shame to scar it up. Royalty cannot be seen to be ugly, after all." He let loose an ugly laugh, and it was picked up by the tough dangling her like a rag. The one at the door remained vigilant, sword out and ready. They had pacified the house, but they did not get paid to be reckless.

 

[Acteon Cass]

While for most the house would have likely been quiet after Acteon had entered for him it was noisy. Footsteps. A clash of bodies. Confused movement. Confused movement. Confused movement. And then the yelling began. All of which was dotted with the scent of fresh blood.

The Allirian kept himself back as he silently advanced. Listening was the best thing he could do right now. Walking into an unknown situation was always a problem. And he did not know which side might be his enemy. If the woman was working with who he suspected she might be then he had no reason to stop any of this violence. If she was not however then now was a perfect chance to gain a new asset.

Slowly, silently, he made his way up the stairs. He kept his drawn dagger close to him and used his body to shield it from the stray bits of light that might have stumbled their way in through the windows. The sounds of wood moving told him that the scene had likely made it to a room. Loud thuds told him it definitely was in a room now. Their words got a bit muffled, but he could still make most of it out.

The girl put up a fight. Lost. The intruder was gloating and explaining what she had done wrong. Trodded on some fingers? Not usual of a thing in Alliria. Who's fingers did she step on though?

The body of a female guard with a slit throat lay on the stairs. A quick glance over was given, less out of any real interest than habit. His gaze did notice what looked to be a dagger however. One that was glare proofed unlike his own. Interesting. It might come in handy. So he picked it up as he slinked up the steps further.

At the top of the stairs the sight of a single guard on the door felt almost insulting. Not that this group was aware someone else was even alive in the place. They had not lit any sources of light so the whole place was covered in darkness. How did they expect the man to spot anyone coming? Likely just listen for footsteps. Not the best idea. Whoever else was left was still in the room.

But how many was there total?

Acteon decided quickly. Hidden in the darkness at the top of the stairs, he got his dagger shifted in hand ready to be thrown. Then he sorted out the best place to aim for. The guard was not as armored as a soldier thankfully so it gave him options. Remembering back on the woman from the stairs he made up his mind.

A creaking sound was made from the stairs. When the guard turned their attention towards it, a blade came soaring out of the darkness. Deep into the guard's throat it sunk, forcing him to stumble back. Unable to properly speak he fell into the door frame and then slumped onto the floor. Sword rattling as it fell along side its owner.

And then nothing followed. Acteon positioned himself into a darker place in the hallway hoping it would hide him in his dark clothing. He was waiting now for the enemy to come to him.

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Both thugs whirled at the sound of metal crashing on the floor. The thug that had hold of Lyssia swung her and let go absentmindedly, and she crumpled on the floor with a faint mewl of pain. There was no rising, not now, not when every single heartbeat thundered in her head and each and every one made her want to throw up everything she had ever eaten. All she could do was lay there and watch, prone on the floor.

The one that seemed in charge snarled at the corpse on the floor. "Goddamned idiots, barely worth the coin I pay for you," he hissed. He wore tight fighting clothes that seemed more like a second skin than anything else, but here and there were bulges that hinted at hidden weapons. The thug drew both of the heavier knives at his waist, held in a reversed grip. The other started to rush forward, but the former held a forestalling hand up. "No, do not go out there so blindly," he growled. "That was no simple thieves' throw there." He cast a glance back at the girl, blood smeared across half of her face and forming a small little pool on the dusty floor boards. "Who else have you irritated, pigeon? Whoever they are, they have money."

He shook his head, and then stepped through the door after admonishing his companion not to do likewise. Almost as soon as he passed through the door, the shape of his body blurred and then vanished. Lyssia could feel the tell-tale sensation of magic at play, although it was the inferior quality that humans preferred. The man that had threatened her was some kind of a caster, but it was difficult for her to think at the moment. She managed to get to hands and knees, wobbling drunkenly in the attempt. The other thug looked at her with one eyes, kept his other eyes one the door as he reached down to pick up the sword with the unfamiliarity of someone who preferred blunt objects.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The predator waited in the darkness. Amber eyes taking everything in perfectly. This was his domain now and tribute was owed. That first man had paid in blood. How would the others?

The commanding voice stepped through the door. In a faint shimmer his figure was gone. Acteon frowned. Magic. How he hated dealing with magical foes. They just never could be satisfied with the simple act of sliding a blade in the gut. Trickery and fancy feats was all they could ever imagine. Especially truer for foes like this one. Smash up a home and paint it red but the moment things got difficult they would just burn it all down or vanish into the night. No respect for honest subtlety.

Acteon could not see the man and was having trouble picking him out by sound as well. Only the near inaudible squeak of a loose floor board would give some hint of his location. Outside of that it might as well have been silence. The only reliable sense was his scent. It was only by focusing on sniffing the man out that Acteon could follow his movements. And his movements suggested he was being cautious.

Finally an action he could work with.

It would give him away but sneaking around would only go so far. Better to take a gamble and potentially draw him out properly than leave it up to a big game of hide and sneak.

Acteon called out in Falwood elvish in a voice low enough only the one in the hallway with him could make out, "My night has been ruined enough already. How about we make a deal and avoid further bloodshed? You agree to leave now and I agree to not stopping you. This deal is only for you. Your other friend needs to pay for making me work tonight."

The Allirian paused. He wanted to give the magic man time to think before he put the pressure back on. So after a few seconds of silence he continued in the way he had before, "Do we have a deal?"

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

A shifting in the air, sublte use of magic at play. Lyssia was aware of it in an acute way, and could likely have pointed to the source without any difficulty. If her head had been clearer, hurt less.

The voice that answered the stranger in the dark hallway came from nowhere and from everywhere at once. "Fine, do as you please. The rogues are dead, or will be soon. I have done what I came to do." Accepting the offered deal did not mean that the fellow was going to show himself, though, and so the silence descended again, aside from the sound of Lyssia retching on hands and knees. The thug that Acteon had struck gurgled on his own blood, but lived. Not for much longer though.

Lyssia managed to master herself enough to fall back maladroitly, head and shoulders against the wall, legs curled under her awkwardly. She looked to the doorway with hazy eyes, and reached for the Prim unthinkingly. Her head swam violently as she tried to channel the chaotic force of creation itself, and while motes of fire spiraled into existence for a brief moment before winking out, she turned her head to one side and vomited noisily, every inch of her body shuddering. After a moment, she collapsed back, wiping her mouth, sweat beading on a forehead that was already showing black and blue from the blow she had taken earlier.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak came out.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The Allirian waited and the answer came. Still using his magic to hide himself like a coward the deal was accepted. But he could not be sure yet if he was about to be double crossed. The scent of the man began to move and then fade back the way they had all came. The deal was legit after all.

The predator smiled.

Silently moving his way to the door, Acteon stopped just by the door frame. He could make out two scents. One was the other thug not dead or dying on the floor. The other must have been the woman he had come to see. The constant sound of a hand shifting against leather told him the man had a sword. It also told him the man was nervous. As he should be. He had no idea what was going on and no idea that his employer had just abandoned him to death.

Acteon stepped over the dead thug into the room. He planned to say something or perhaps the thug would. Instead he was met with yelling and a mad charge. The thug had lost all sense and just planned to end the threat right away.

The sword was raised up in the fashion one would a mace or axe as he charged. Acteon stepped to the side dodging the chop aimed at his head. Then he stepped back once, twice, three times as he dodged wide arcing swings. The thug did not attempt to control the direction Acteon went as he fully allowed the clearly more experienced man to position himself in the more open center of the room.

It was here the thug made his fatal mistake. The swing held Acteon back because of the difference in range, but the thug tried to thrust forward at him suddenly. The Allirian just side stepped to dodge and then moved in for the kill faster than the thug could react.

The sellsword locked the thug's sword arm in his free arm. Then a series of swift thrusts aimed for the man's vitals was made. If he had some kind of armor it might block some of them, but it would not block all of them. At least the strike to his neck would not be stopped.

As Acteon felt the thug's body going limp, he let the hunk of flesh drop to the floor. He bent down to wipe off his new dagger's blade before turning his attention to the central figure of all this drama.

He smiled to her as he said, "Good evening Mistress. Your house seems to be a mess this evening. You should really look into cleaning it up. But first, mind if we have a little chat?"

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Even the haziness of the blow she had taken could not shelter her from witnessing the thug that had assaulted her in the first place being taken apart. She had been trained by the finest, although the art of swordplay had been more her brother's thing than her own. Still, watching a veteran of the craft dismantle an opponent as if they were literally nothing would have been awe inspiring.

If the spilling of blood and ending of a life right in front of her had not been so appalling. If she could not have put herself all too easily into that nameless mans' place, and see her own life blood spilled before her.

She didn't have anything to offer, really, and so she had to settle with retching violently, head exploding with pain as each convulsion wracked her thin frame. After a seeming eternity, she slumped back, wiping her mouth and spitting the acid on the floor. She regarded the newcomer with wary, haze-filled eyes. "Wha....t do y...?" The words were stammered out and incomplete, thick to the point of being near indecipherable. She put a hand to her head as a sharp pain stabbed through it, and pulled it away, seemingly surprised to find it sticky with her own blood. She looked up at the man questioningly.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The Allirian frowned a bit as he watched the woman in front of him. Retching. Wobbling. Stammering. This was no condition to get solid answers or hold a serious conversation. In order for him to get what he wanted it was clear that first her condition needed to be stabilized. This was becoming a rather long night already.

Acteon held a hand up at the woman's questioning look. "Hold. We need to get you cleaned up and clear headed before anything else."

His gaze went about the place to study it over. The room would not do from the stench of bile alone, but there was all the blood to consider as well. Two dead bodies. One was in the middle of the floor and the other was blocking the door. In her current condition it was likely she would trip and fall over either of them or slip in their blood.

Acteon could not have any of this.

The man turned his attention back to the woman. She was far too short to be human and her ears had points to them. What fool thought she was? The dock master was slipping or hiring inferior assistants clearly. No wonder she got into the smuggling business. There was a good chance someone could sail right out in from of the old man's eyes screaming your illegal business and he would never notice.

"I will be picking you up. Do not worry. My hands will mostly stay where they should." Acteon said with a smile directed right to her. "All I need from you is directions to a better room we could converse in while you rest."

And with that said he moved to go pick her up off her feet.

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She stared at him dully for a moment. The pain was not getting any better, but her head was getting marginally clearer. She tried to stand, and the wave of dizziness and nausea that swept over her was nearly able to overpower the massive spike of pain through her head. She gave a soft mewl at it, and clutched her head with both hands, careless of the sticky blood smearing in her hair and on her hands.

"You will...not handle me so," she managed thickly. She still had her head in her hands, was still obviously struggling to overcome all that ailed her. "The hands," she started, and then swallowed awfully hard. "The hands of common...of common thugs shall not..."

She couldn't control it, and began to retch again, back digging into the wooden wall behind her. She had managed to stand, but it was a precarious thing, especially hunched over and heaving so that her head was no longer the only part of her that ached abominably. Once the dry heaving ended - there was nothing left in her by this point to spill upon the floorboards - she leaned back. "I can take care of myself," she said in a pained, stubborn voice, and tried to suit her words by taking a step.

And ended up nearly falling in a dead faint, world hazing and coming aright just in time for her to catch herself, and lean back against the wall. "What...the hell did you do to me?" It would seem she was at his mercy for the moment, as she couldn't even do a simple thing like walk without falling over.

 

[Acteon Cass]

Acteon just watched as the woman tried to be defiant and tough in her condition. So she made bold words while stumbling and seeming as if she would begin to throw up what she had for dinner the week before. He just watched and nodded along as she spoke. There was nothing she could do to stop him and he was just waiting for the last of her resistance to be made.

After her question, the Allirian walked away from the woman. He wandered over to the dead thug in the doorway.

"I did nothing. They certainly seemed to have though." Acteon said as he pulled the dagger out of the dead man's throat then pointed to both of the bodies with it. He began to wipe it off as he continued, "Not sure what or why. May find out. May not. Depends on how our discussion goes."

His dagger now roughly clean, he slide it back into its place. Then he wiped off his new dagger and found a place for it too.

Acteon stood up and turned back towards Lyssia D'avore. He smiled to her and began to walk back to her. "But as I said before, we need to get you cleaned up and clear out your head before my business with you."

Not waiting for any further protest he scoops her up into his arms and begins to carry her off into the hallway. He would look down at her and say in a calm, friendly tone, "Do not worry. The hands of a common thug are not touching you. I am far from being one of them. Now direct me to a better room or I will go through every one until I find one."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She made an angry sound in her throat when he laid his hands upon her slight frame, picking her up as easily as a child. It wasn't as though she could offer much in the way of actual protest, but him handling her unbidden filled her with a rage that bordered on murderous.

"So you say," she spit out, face gray from the sudden spike of pain. She managed to master herself well enough though. There was no sense in arguing at this point; if the hooligan wanted to carry her out into the street and dump her in the bay, she was powerless to prevent it at that moment. "Most...are unused on this floor," she said, grimacing and clutching at her head again. Her blood smirched his clothes; it still oozed from a wound hidden by fiery hair. "I don't care which. Just stop shaking me," she said through gritted teeth.

She knew she should be afraid, that this situation could quickly devolve into something truly nightmarish. She had not expected the first assault, and had no idea who, what, or why this seeming commoner had come into her home at the same time the others were smashing things. What they would have done to her turned her bones to jelly, but there was no reason not to expect similar from this gruff figure. Hazy recollection of this floor, hazy because of her current problems, at least affirmed to her that there were no bedrooms anywhere. Somehow, that notion seemed worse than just being killed, the hidden fear of...that.

 

[Acteon Cass]

Shaking her? That was something Acteon was not doing. It was not a good sign if her body was shaking on its own either. Head trauma was a strange beast. He had seen it do things to soldiers and people that you would not believe. The worst example was he watched a soldier with head trauma walk right over the edge of a wall they were patrolling and fall straight to their death. No sense of fear or seeming notice of what they had done on their face.

The Allirian went a couple of doors down the hallway before trying a door nob. It opened and he walked in with her still in his arms. Inside it appeared to be a guest room, although a bit dusty. He set her on the bed gently and then took a step back to look her over. Some blood in her hair revealing where her head had been hit. A few stains from her bile on her nightgown. Some warm water and a change of clothes would work here. Likely also some things to eat and drink.

"Not as bad as I expected. Wait here. I need to get you a few things and it may take a bit of time." Acteon said to her with a smile. He began to head to the door. Once at it he turned around and said, "Anything you enjoy eating and drinking? You might not feel hungry or thirsty right now but you need to do both. It will help you recover."

The man would wait for her response and then head out.

Acteon had little trouble navigating the house. The scent of blood was common enough now that it was simply the background smell. He could ignore it and focus on other ones. Thanks to it he tracked down her kitchen. He got a fire going in her stove first and then went looking for a kettle to boil some water in. After that it was a matter of tracking down everything he needed and had been requested.

Lyssia D'avore

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Every motion, every footfall was agony, and she couldn't help low moans of pain every time he moved her. Blinding, white-hot pain that radiated out from where she had been hit, where visible swelling now rose like a mountain over the forest of her hair. The bleeding, at least, had finally stopped.

It took a moment to realize she had been set down, that the motions had ceased. She unscrewed her eyes, a little at least, and took in the image of the stranger. Her face was a ghastly white, strained by pain and stained with blood.

When she could speak, she answered him. "I do not eat out...out of necessity," she replied shakily, voice thick. Truthful; she could live off of the magic that hated the world almost exclusively. Eating just helped certain things along more quickly. "Water is fine," she said, then pause. "Or tea."

After he had left, she found that she could not really move without causing blinding, sickening pain. It was better now than it had been, but it was not getting better fast enough that she could be anything other than at the complete mercy of a stranger - a killer- in her house. She knew she should be terrified, but all she could feel was empty apathy toward the situation. All she could do was wait, and see.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The woman, or perhaps girl, had requested tea and mentioned she did not eat. Odd for that later part. But he was not going to worry about what she said. Instead he rummaged through her pantry for supplies. A cup and saucer. A plate. A bowl. Another kettle. Some rags.

By the time the odd pieces were together the kettle began to whistle. So he walked over and lifted it off the fire. Then he set the second kettle on top of it with water and mint leaves inside of it. She would have her tea. He even had found some honey to go with it. She might want cream or milk or other things for it, but he was not going to take the time to hunt it all down.

What Acteon did do was find some cheese and bread. He cut them inside bite sized pieces that would require little chewing and set them on the plate. No food she said but food is what she would need after being struck in the head, vomiting, and losing blood.

The tea began to whistle so he removed it from the flames as well. The fire was put out, or else it might burn the house down with him in it, and everything aside from the kettles were put onto a large serving tray. They needed to cool a bit longer, which he gave them the time to do that by getting himself some cheese and bread to eat. It was going to take him a bit to clean the woman up and get his answers.

=========================

With kettles cooled from boiling to just hot, Acteon re-entered the room he had left Lyssia D'avore in. As he entered he made sure to smile to her. "And I return. Do behave. There are hot things here and I doubt either of us want more pain inflicted on you tonight."

He set the tray down and poured the contents of the hot water kettle into the bowl. A rag was dipped in and soaked through. He pulled it out, rung it, and then went over to the woman. Gently he began to wipe away at the blood and bile she had collected about herself throughout the night.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She suffered his ministrations in silence, wincing when he worked on the lump on the side of her head. The warmth seemed to push the pain aside, briefly, but the touch made it seemingly worse.

She did not trust this man. It was all too plausible that he was a plant, that the others had been decoys just to get one close enough to her for whatever purpose the original threat intended. It sounded paranoid in her head, but she had been raised with court politics as a prominent feature of her every day life, and some of the convoluted plots that the courtiers came up with could make you tie your head in knots.

After a short while, she sniffed. "Why," she said in a cool voice, pitched for her diminutive size, "are you doing this. I do now know you from any commoner on the street." She swallowed hard as she shifted on the bed as nausea rolled over her and the room started to spinning briefly. She lay still, and it all went away. "Why?"

 

[Acteon Cass]

Acteon was still focused on cleaning the young woman, what he had ultimately settled on identifying her as. She clearly intended to continue with her struggle. Ideas were rolling through her mind as they both remained silent. Anyone could tell by looking at her eyes. She was very guarded. It made sense. It especially made sense after what had happened to her.

Finally the young woman began to speak. It was weak and filled with her attempts to pull back her pain. Still more questions about what he wants. He had said what he was here for already. Paranoia did not suit her.

The Allirian began to clean the rag off and redampen it. "I told you. I am here to have a conversation, but it is going to wait. It is hard to speak with someone about to pass out and vomit all over themself. Now stay quiet and stop asking the same question over and over again."

The man went back to cleaning her up. "You can learn more about someone from how they act than what they say. Staying quiet and watching is a valuable tool."

Lyssia D'avore