Private Tales Wayside Fires; Somnolent Eaves

[Aldebaran]

Short in the tooth of night beneath the cackling of fires set at the side of the road sat Aldebaran. Starlight filtered the breath of the moons, light and pale above. Tails of smoke kissed the air between boughs of conversation; quiet voices all, with occasional laughter breaking the awkward vices of unfamiliarity. Few were the faces of recollection. Weathered stones and long fallen logs acted as chairs, strewn about with blankets and rolled cloaks for cushion.

Aldebaran's own robes fell against his narrow frame, preferring instead the added warmth to a comfortable perch. Elbows on knees, he sat admiring the firepit, content with the evening breeze steering smoke to his face. A belly full of bread and salted meats glued him to his spot, smoothing out the wearied eaves of his face. His breath came light, billowing out mustaches peppered gray and white, lulling him from the doors of sleep.

Long days graced this section of the road, longer still before they reached the aeries beyond. This particular wayside stood at the precipice of civilization. A last stop for wanderers and caravans before true wilderness approached. It was a well-traveled spot, known to any who passed westward from the last town perhaps fifteen miles back.

Not so far, really. Half a day at most. The road made for easy walking, a straight shot along a minor tributary. A glance either way down the road cast a few of many miles; flat, open topography hindered little and kept fear from the traveler's shoulders. Dotted with the occasional tree and packed with rounded stones slick from seasonal rains, a lulling rush of water filled the companionable fireside. For Aldebaran it could be described as little more than bliss.

A quiet approach stirred him.

Cracking an eye and leaning his head back he said, "Is it time already? To deny an old man his rest... such cruelty, Fray, as never I have seen before. My bones ache, my joints feel of paper. And still, you would insist we continue?"

He grinned, mischief beneath the whinge of his voice.

 

[Fray]

Fray snarled, teeth flashing briefly in the firelight.

“I’m bored.”

When the old bag of sticks and bones had first approached them for a job, Fray had been all too eager. They’d taken one look at the leathery, greying man, who seemed more robes than flesh upon first glance, and thanked their lucky stars. Easy money, won’t even need to risk my pretty face. Or so they had thought.

What they hadn’t bet on was being dragged along for the longest, most agonizingly uneventful journey this side of town had ever seen. Just straight nothing in every direction, save the occasional rock, tree, or bit of water.

Fray wondered several times up until that point if one could die of boredom. They had even tried talking to one of the trees leaning by the roadside as a last ditch attempt to amuse themselves. It was a scrawny looking thing, reminding them strangely of their employer, with a few spindly branches for arms. The mercenary had placed a hand against its weathered bark, searching for something, anything that could be considered remotely interesting. All that came back, however, was a mild complaint of leaking sap. In a fit of curiosity, Fray peeked around, found the amber drip, and scooped up a dollop on their finger before moving along. It had smelled sharp and good, refreshing their senses.

They wiped the sap on a stick and, in a moment of inspired impulsiveness, threw it with stunning accuracy. It landed on the old man’s right butt cheek. Or at least what Fray guessed was the general vicinity of his right butt cheek, what with a thousand layers of robes being in the way and all.

This seemed to have finally gotten a rise out of Elder Bottom. He accused them of being childish as he dislodged the sappy stick, and they burst out in raucous laughter, finding it all monstrously funny.

That had been hours ago. The absolute highlight of their trek so far. The rest of the way to the pit stop had left Fray’s mind melting with listlessness.

It was a minor relief stopping when they did. Fray wolfed down their rations with gusto before glancing around at all the unfamiliar faces. They were relatively new in town and recognized no one. The mercenary decided to take a piss as an excuse to make a quick circuit, gauging what their temporary neighbors were like. To their disappointment, however, most of the other travelers had either retired early or seemed too engrossed in their own little bubbles of conversation to pay Fray any mind. Pity. They deemed the whole lot of them drier than a box of tinder and returned to Alderbaran’s side moodier than ever.

“Don’t be stupid,” they scoffed as they plopped down by the fire and leaned against a log, muscled arms behind their head and boots crossed. “Last thing I’d want is for you to twist one of your dainty little ankles in the dark and force me to carry you the rest of the way.”

The part Fray didn’t say out loud, of course, was that they were grateful not to have traveled on horseback. Dull as walking had been, the last thing they needed was to worry about four lives rather than two.

Sighing, they chucked a small stick into the fire, watching it flare and eat the wood ember by ember.

“Where the hell are we going, anyway?”

 

[Aldebaran]

"So frightening," Albebaran murmured.

An odd sort. Mischief and violence; chaos sat at the center of the fae, and Fray made no exception.

Simple curiosity had perhaps tied their lots, and the promise of coin kept it whole. Rarely could he count the restful moments since taking the fae into his employ. It lent a certain mystique to his travels. Under Fray's watchful if oft wandering eye, he was allowed a measure of safety. Shielded from the wilds and forlorn souls who would assail him, he could move in peace from town to town. Superficially comfortable. And yet... that lingering volatility.

Watching them with a lidded gaze, he let the grin slip as he adjusted his shoulders. The fire had grown quieter at Fray's approach, as though at the behest of a wild thing. Small surprise, but a weary one.

He waited for the lull to pass, staring up at Fray. A breath, two, maybe more before he finally broke it:

"Elbion," he said. The city of magic, of industry. Even saying its name drew a shiver through his bones. "How many years? No."

He shook his head and adopted a scowl. Low brows that just hid a glint in his eye.

"Don't you listen? To think we've gone so far without such basic comprehension, ah"–he put up a hand–"you'll have your fun. Tomorrow if we're lucky. Or tonight, if we're not. Shriekers."

 

[Fray]

Eugh...

Fray's expression turned sour at the very thought. "Nasty little shits. I don't know if I'd call that fun. Better stay away from the water, just to be safe."

They shifted against the fallen log, arms moving to cross their chest. When they spoke again, it was with a hint of indignation.

"And I do listen. Just...not all the time. Yesterday, I didn't care as much where we were going. Today, I do."

Of course, Fray failed to mention that the main reason they hadn't cared yesterday was because a very busty, doe-eyed wench was batting her eyelashes at them from across the tavern. Their mind may or may not have blacked out for the duration of the old man's briefing. Fray vaguely remembered catching the tail end of the plan. Something about leaving at dawn, on foot, blah blah blah. The rest of the night was a blur. Come morning, they'd barely managed to roll out of bed in time to show up at the agreed upon hour, and only because the doe-eyed lass's husband had stomped up the stairs while swearing up a storm.

On any other day, the merc might have stuck around for a good old fashioned fist fight. But seeing as how they really, really needed that coin, they chose instead to tumble through an open window, missing the cuckold's meaty hands by the skin of their teeth and landing ungracefully at the foot of the tavern's entrance. Right beside Aldebaran and his modest traveling pack.

Before they could explain, there was a whistle. Fray looked up and was greeted with the site of a full, lovely bosom dangling over the window. Then their travel sack came flying out, hitting them square in the face. There was a single moment to spare to catch the kiss blown their way, then Fray was pushing Elder Bottom along, assuring him they were just incredibly excited to get this journey started. An honor, a complete privilege. Couldn't be more thrilled. Here, let me just get this pack on for you, no problem at all. It's my pleasure.

It wasn't until they were fully past the gates and out on the road that the Fae felt they could finally relax.

And now, they were headed to Elbion. An absolute cesspool of nosy, tinkering humans. Humans who came in all kinds of appealing shapes, colors, and sizes, with a penchant for making deals when Fray least expected.

"One of these days, a pretty face will be the end of me," they lamented to no one in particular. Then they grinned and slapped a hand on Aldebaran's shoulder. "Good thing I've got you around. Think I'll live to see a few more days at least."

Their mirth was cut short, however, when a strange sound emerged from the darkness. Fray dropped their hand, head swiveling toward the source.

"What the fuck was that?"

 

[Aldebaran]

A hush fell over the camp. Quiet conversation stifled, cut abruptly to the cackling of embers, to a pitched, gurgling shriek shy of perception.

"So soon," Aldebaran murmured.

Their wayside fire sat well abreast of the bank, leaving several dozen paces between them and any open water. Further still from the river proper, the nearby creek held little more than crawfish and chub and the occasional insect or beast prowling its shallows. Mudflats, truly, slick from the seasonal rains.

Tension, confusion. These stirred in the air, well familiar with Aldebaran. Clutching hands to his knees, he rose, gaze trailing after Fray's.

"Stragglers," he said, "no more than four. Or only the one. Less than a full school either way." Lower than a whisper, just enough for Fray's ear alone. Running an eye over the camp, he accounted for the others. No... he couldn't tell. The faces were too fresh.

Loudly, "There's enough steel here to keep it at bay. Well. Grab my stick, Fray. Let's see what the fuss is about, eh?"

 

[Fray]

Serpent eyes darted back and forth along the black horizon, scanning for movement. Fray fought the impulse to ask how the hell the old man could guess anything with such clear cut conviction. Night stretched thicker and thicker the farther one strayed from the roads, made all the darker by the sharp contrast of firelight cracking merrily behind them. Even with their Fae eyes and senses, it was hard to distinguish one inky blob from another.

Fray didn’t even remember getting up. They had simply moved on instinct as the noises continued, nearly imperceptible at first but growing louder with each passing second.

The mercenary blinked at Aldebaran’s confident declaration. Protecting a bunch of traveling numpties isn’t exactly what I signed up for, they thought bitterly to themselves. But they stood straight from their crouched position and fetched their employer’s stick regardless. After all, watching a bunch of mortals getting slaughtered by mermen would be a pretty shit way to start the job.

That, and there was the troubling oddity of Shriekers encroaching on dry land at all. Nasty little monstrosities they were, but of the slow and webby variety. To approach a well lit and sizable group like theirs...how hungry must these fuckers be?

Fray tossed Aldebaran his stick before unsheathing the blade hanging from their belt. Hildy was too pretty for the likes of this inevitable butchery, but Fang, their short, double edged anelace, would do nicely. They held it before them in an answering challenge. Excitement coursed through the Fae’s body, an electric itch of violence waiting to explode.

The shrieks grew silent in complete unison. Fray’s pointed ears rang with anticipation.

Then the first maw of sharp, deadly teeth flew forth from the darkness, and Fray’s own fangs met it without hesitation.

 

[Aldebaran]

Aldebaran stuck behind his companion, content to scan the darkness for further of the creatures in the sudden hush. The guise of silence caught breath in his throat, hesitation thick as the haze of sleep. His body coiled, knuckles white on the walking stick, swallowing against the urge to stop, to flee. It drew his steps jagged in the taking. Forced his attention on putting one foot in front of the other, denying him the cognizance to keep abreast of their surroundings.

He all but jumped from his skin when Fray's strange weapons clashed on a shrieker's maw. Noise erupted. From him, from the violent struggle between beast and fae.

Aldebaran fell back on a heel, stick dug into the dirt for desperate perch; he managed to keep from matching the creatures' own pitch, wails instead creeping out as murmurs that trebbled along lips he struggled to purse. Reigning it under tight controllment, he modified the gesture to a heavy release of breath and righted his stance.

Those quivering knees braced, hips creaking as they flexed to remembered grace. His eyes returned to their scan, narrowing to drown out the nearby melee, sparing no further exertion for it. There. A rustle of drought-cracked brush, the skitter of nails on exposed slate.

He jabbed out with his stick calling, "Two on the flank!" and withdrew a step to stay handily out of the fae's path.

 

[Fray]

There was that single, bone jarring moment when steel met teeth, and then Fray was no more. In their place stood a bottomless hunger to not only survive, but to win. Their blood sang as sharp, beastly jaws raged against them, creating just enough force to hold them both in place. Everything was but a tool, their arms and muscles a means to an end, and though the next possible moves remained frozen as fae and beast struggled, that would change soon enough.

The Shrieker made the first mistake, as desperate, bottom feeding cretins are won’t to do. They let out a piercing little shriek and their maw loosened.

Almost simultaneously, Aldebaran shouted from behind. The murderous intent once known as Fray wasted no time. They planted a boot against the soft, slick underbelly of the first Shrieker and sent it flying back into the dark. It squealed all the way, landing with a wet thud.

Fray whipped back around just in time to
meet the two flanking fish heads with Fang’s deadly arc. There was barely enough time to register that the old man was clever enough to stay out of Fang’s way. The new arrivals, however, no so much. One gurgled as bright crimson bloomed across its neck, but the other suffered only a slash on the chest. Easy enough to kill them one at a time, since they were clumsy and slow on land, but where there was one, or two, or three…

Dread curled in the Fae’s stomach. They could butcher Shriekers all night long, but only so fast, and they couldn’t say the same for the other travelers.

No time to worry. The webbed pattering of the first Shrieker was nearing again from behind. Then both remaining creatures burst into synchronized screeching, and Fray was decidedly done playing fair.

The fae rushed forward with a snarl, dodging that horrid, needle filled maw as it gnashed at empty air. They sank Fang into the Shrieker’s vulnerable chest and cut downward, spilling steaming hot fish guts into the floor. The beast wailed shrilly as it fell. Without waiting to admire their handiwork, Fray yanked their blade free and met the remaining Shrieker’s chin with Fang’s pommel with enough force to knock loose a few spindly teeth. It went down for a second and final time as Fray slashed downward, severing its freakish head.

Splattered with the stink of fish blood, Fray turned to Aldebaran wide eyed, just as screams—mortal screams—erupted behind him.

“The others!” they cried.