The Empire Weary Wanderer

[Roul]

Oh muse of fire, sing now a song of the woeborn Roul, accursed soul of Cortos, cast out by kin and kith to wander this afflicted land. Witness his hands and feet that blister beneath the Kaliti sun, tell of how he shivers in the dunes at night. A man of honor, he, or one bound to none but the god of gold? His paths spread out before him, divergent and manifold, as he at last comes upon the city of Mamsis on the great river. Slake thirst and wet appetite with the last of his coin at an inn whose name he ne’er bothered to read.

In a week it shall be full moon. Look as the fear of it gnaws at him, hollowing out his heart, even as he gnaws upon the last of a chicken thigh at a table in the corner. Does it turn to ash in his mouth as he thinks of what is to come? Can he stomach the steaming meat with the memory of what came before?

Watch now and see, there is another in the inn, but our hero thinks only to sleep, perchance to dream. And mayhap a bath before.

 

[Keres]

"I told you before, girl. No rooms left." the crotchety old git on the other side of the bar informed her without having the nerve to bother looking her in the eye.

"You're lying.." the girl slammed a hand down on the sticky surface and slid a coin toward the keep, his nose wrinkling whilst he pouted at the temptation. "My coin is worth as much as anyone else's - I haven't done anything wrong, it's only one more night. Do you really expect me to sleep outside?"

"Like I said.. We don't like your sort hanging' around here. Not good for business."

Her sort. Dark hair, dark eyes and even darker thoughts. Drawn to bad ideas like a moth to a flame and more than willing to exploit her gifts for coin, whether or not her customers were happy with what they paid for or not. Last night's clientele were some of such unhappy customers, patrons of the inn who'd been displeased about what their loved ones had to say from beyond the grave and so had claimed her a witch and a fraud, to which she stated she couldn't be both.

"No more messages, I'll pay you half extra and I'll keep to my room. You won't hear a peep." she insisted as another coin slid across the counter. The bastard's beady eyes narrowed on it, and she was certain that he'd been about to cave in when the door opened and in strode the toad-like prick she'd insulted with his dead mother's promiscuity and innumerous infidelities on the evening prior. It wasn't her fault that his mother had been a whore, and she'd told him as such. Her cheek was still blackened by his outburst, but her coin purse was still a little heavier, so whatever.

"Tam, thought this witch had been dealt with." he puffed a plume of smoke and snarled at her.

"Aye, she was just leavin'.." the keep insisted with a grunt.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Keres growled, snatching up her coin and taking a wide berth of the old man stood grinning at her as she made to leave. There were at least four empty rooms, she'd counted. She'd offered to pay more than what it was worth, instead she'd been left without much choice other than to slip in through the window of one such room, and make herself at home.

 

[Roul]

Wood creaked as Roul stood, a looming specter with the hollow-hard stare of horrors witnessed - else horrors wrought. No matter what they had seen, they saw now the blue-black stain of violence on the woman's cheek and the way the old man's right hand curled and uncurled with a longing, a memory of action.

"Stop," rasped Roul, a low timbre that rumbled out like the waking of a bear mid-winter . . . or the growing snarl of a wolf.

Heavy leather boots thudded upon the warped wood floor until he placed himself between her and the door. He stood there in his sweat-stained and begrimed linen doublet, his brow knitted in a frown. His hand did not reach for the dagger at his hip, but it hung there all the same.

"What is she?" he said, his voice a flat affect, gaze focused on the bartender.

"A witch, can't you see, Cortosi? Not one of our lector-priests or the sorcerers. A witch of the Three."

"The Three?"

"The dark gods."

"Mm."

The old man pointed at her, "she communes with the dead. Might even raise them too, against the decree of the Emperor."

Roul reached behind his back and pulled out a set of old iron manacles. It had been a long time since he used them last. Most of his recent quarries did not come willingly. And so they came in cold and bloated.

There was a bounty on unsanctioned necromancers in the Empire. But that was not his purpose here. If she left she would have nowhere to go and the owner of this place would have a mob raised by the next bell.

His boots thudded upon the ground as he strode toward her.

"Hands," it was all he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Keres

 

[Keres]

The deep growl of command seemed to sneak up on her, and the girl flinched and spun to set a dark stare upon the speaker that followed him as he moved. His was the sort of voice that dominated the room, rooted feet to the floor and anchored her soul to a single moment in time.

Keres stood her ground, but it had more to do with her reluctance to make a move rather than any sort of bravery. She was a slight thing, and he was not, and she was moving anywhere it was backward. Her expression had shifted from pissed off to something of defiance, other than the slight quirk of intrigue in her brow as she wondered at his reasons for intervening. It quickly furrowed, however, as she realised that he had not stepped in on her behalf and proceeded to speak to the men about her as though she was not there at all.

Her attention followed the conversation and she blurted a quiet but incredulous laugh and shook her head. "Was it not just yesterday that you named me a con? A fraud? A witch now am I? And who said anything about raising the dea--?!" she had stepped toward her accuser but stopped as she heard the clink of chain and set her eyes upon the manacles the grizzly man now held.

'Hands...'

"Fuck no." she bit back, her feet shuffling backward with his approach and her hands held up only to gesture him to wait. "For what?! Claiming that old swine's mother was a whore? Now I'm raising the fucking dead?! That's some bullshit-" she stumbled slightly as she backed into a chair which she swiftly gripped and swung at him, hoping for at least a moment's distraction to clear her path to the door.

 

[Roul]

Fear in her eyes, terror in her beating heart, and the instinct of a cornered creature to fight, to claw, to survive. The chair came for him and he did not move. He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes a mix of some strange emotion, like the look of a man about to be hanged who welcomed the judgment of his sins. Welcomed the pain.

The chair struck Roul’s shoulder with a solid thump and the crack as one of the wooden beams splintered slightly. Roul grunted at the impact, but otherwise stood there, unfazed.

He took a slow step toward her and looked down into her eyes. Hoping she understood. But no, how would she?

Numbness spread along his arm from the point of impact.

A grasping hand, calloused and weathered, reached out to seize a wrist, to stifle resistance, to end this quickly. In his eyes was resignation. She would resist.

Better this than to be burned in the city square.

 

[Keres]

Dark eyes narrowed in a wince as she saw seat splinter against shoulder without so much as a grimace from her would-be captor. Well fuck.

Keres was no stranger to iron bars and dank cells, and she had no desire to go quietly back to any such hell hole. She shrunk back from him as he approached her, backing into a table as his hand shot out, finding purchase on her wrist. Talking was pointless, because men didn't listen. It was her word or the accusations of two, offended bloaters of the opposite gender and she stood not a chance in hell of being heard.

It was still very much her intention to flee, but her odds of that were dwindling by the second, and so fight she must. Without a weapon to hand, her fist clenched and she threw it hard at her oppressor's jaw, praying it wouldn't meet the same fate as the splintered chair on the floor.

 

[Roul]

The fist flew toward his face - as he had known it would - but never reached it, momentum arrested as his other hand darted out to also seize this hand by the wrist. He was stronger than her. Far stronger. But he did not twist as he might have with a true foe. Did not seek to bend bone or twist sinew. Only to immobilize her hands, while with a grunt of effort he sought to pull her toward the stairs.

"Enough," he said, the word a low growl. His eyes darted toward the innkeep, who watched open mouthed. "My bounty. My gold. Keep your mouth shut."

He did not utter further threats, his look and tone implied them enough. The innkeep knew how easily inns could be burned down. How violent men took violent action.

With a tug and a hoist, Roul sought to toss the woman over his shoulder as he lumbered for the stairs, one booted foot thudding after another.

 

[Keres]

Her heart seemed to stop as her hand did, the subtle groan and slightest wince a tale told that she did not expect to win this fight and that she fully expected retribution for now two miserably failed attempts at clearing him out of her way. No strike came, nor could she take back her arm regardless of how she pulled against him.

Looking to Tam, the bastard behind the bar, for any sort of help was pointless. As always, Keres was on her own and any mess she got herself into, was her own to get herself out of and she would not do so without kicking, screaming and cursing a lot.

"Gold?!" she barked, stunned motionless for a brief moment until he pulled and she stumbled. "Are you fucking mental!? What sort of fucking idiot is going to pay you a single-- What are y--" Her words were sliced off by a yelp as she was lifted clean off of her feet and slung over his shoulder, her legs kicking at air and her fists pounding at his back.

"Put me the fuck down!!!" she screamed, her voice cracking with panic as he carried her up the stairs, knowing fine well not one single person would do a thing to help her, whatever he planned on doing.

 

[Roul]

Her fists pounded against the heavily padded backing of his arming doublet, reminded him of a time long ago. A time in a training square and falling off a horse over and over. The force of the fall knocking the wind from him.

Her fists did not fall with the same force. Although her fury was a match.

Halfway up the stairs, he rasped to her amid her shouting.

"Quiet."

Already the former knight regretted his attempted good deed. She bleated louder than sheep at feed time.

When they reached the top of the stairs and the entrance to one of the four rooms, he pushed the door open and set her down, not gently, but not unkindly.

"Quiet," he said again, his dark brows lowered like thunderclouds, "I'm not going to sell you."

He slammed the door shut behind them.

A look, as he knew it would come.

"Not that either," he growled. "The innkeeper wanted you burned in the square. I do not."

 

[Keres]

She felt the kiss of a fresh bruises on elbows and knees and at the base of her spine as she landed with a dull thud, the floorboards creaking in protest of the assault. Her wide eyes darted to the door as it slammed, and then to the window as she staggered to her feet too quickly and stumbled again. Once righted, she huffed stray tresses of dark hair from her face to glare at him, her balled fists raised and ready. Her lack of weapon wouldn’t stop her putting up a fight.

“Bullshit.” She muttered under her breath. All men cared about their pockets and their dicks, and that he was claiming to wish to please neither of those things was met with dubiety. Her jaw clenched when she couldn’t argue about the point he made about the innkeeper and her nose wrinkled in a sneer.

“So what? This is just chivalry?” she snorted and shook her head. “If you expect me to believe that your skull is as thick as I thought.”

 

[Roul]

Chivalry. A sudden stillness in him. Eyes that stared at her, but not at her. Through her. Past her. Stared at something in the distance she could not see. Something in the past.

"No."

The word came out hoarsely. Clouded by his thoughts.

"I am no knight."

He grunted then and started toward the corner of the room, where he began to set his pack down. His heavy boots thudded across the wooden floor. Dust spilled from his pack when he dropped it. The relief from his shoulders was immediate and nearly overwhelming.

Gods I need a horse.

 

[Keres]

The girl's head tilted slightly as he stared through her like that, her gaze narrowing warily on him and her muscles still tightly bound to fight or flee. Her knuckles paled with tension, her fists still raised as though she had a chance in holy hell of beating him with them. Regardless, she wasn't going down without throwing a few decent punches.

Her tension took its time to ease, but her arms slowly fell back to her sides as she watched him move to the other corner and relieve himself of his pack. "Not all knights are chivalrous." she murmured in bitter response and shot a glance toward the door. She considered the possibility that he perhaps was telling her the truth, but being one so unused to such help, her eyes squinted in confusion.

"So you're just letting me stay here to protect me from being torn apart and burned by a mob? Out of the kindness of your heart?.. Why would you do that when you don't know me?"

 

[Roul]

“Don’t know,” he grunted, kneeling by the window and starting to take things out of his pack: a whetstone, a rag, oil.

“Didn’t seem right.”

He shrugged out of his arming doublet. In his pack, something heavy clinked.

“Go die if that’s what you want.”

The wanderer took a seat up against the wall and leaned his head back on the window sill. At least he still had a few more days before…

Roul frowned.

“The ides…” he muttered.

 

[Keres]

Dark brows rose at the gruff answer. A conscience was a rare thing, and her lips twisted in dubiety. The less interest he paid her, the more she eased, and she snorted as he presented her with a choice.

"I'd rather not.." she murmured and slid down the opposite wall onto the floor, her eyes narrowed on him, on his pack and his things, trying to gauge who he was, or what.

"The what?"

 

[Roul]

"Nothing," he rasped, his gaze still focused on sorting out the items in his pack.

He pulled out a vial and stared at the inky depths within. A grimace twinged his lips. At least it would keep it at bay for a moment yet... Delaying the inevitable.

Uncorking it, he downed the contents. Monkshood, or wolfsbane as it was also known, could be fatal to him in large doses. In quantities such as this it would merely weaken the monster within and provide him with more hours of sanity in the coming nights. Or night.

He closed his eyes for a moment, head resting against the sill, the weight of his travels weighing on him to the bone. Consciousness faded in and out, getting up seemed to great of a task. Instead, he drifted off.

 

[Keres]

Keres watched wordlessly, her expression shifting with the questions she murmured in her own mind but wouldn't speak aloud. She wouldn't push her luck - she had a safe place to rest for another night, and she'd get moving in the morning.. And yet her curiosity was untamed.

The moment it seemed that he was no longer conscious, she slipped a small pin from her coat. Her knife had long been confiscated, but she didn't need much for such simple spells. Her gaze flicked warily back to his face as she pressed the pin into her fingertip without a flinch. She squeezed at the digit until the bead of blood grew large enough to draw a few crimson symbols on the floor. Keres whispered under her breath in the language of the dead, inviting Roul's ghosts, were there any, to speak to her..

 

[Roul]

Asleep he lay, head lolled against the lip of the sill, sound asleep. She called upon the dead. The damned. The forgotten. She called upon those who had thought their suffering over, who had passed on from the mortal plane. The very ones the inn keep would see her join by fire infernal.





Around the sleeping man, specters arose. Bound to him by chains of his own guilt, else the weight of some unfulfilled duty which kept them there. They appeared to her vision, translucent and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. They appeared as they had in death. One sat upon the floor, young he looked, head in his hands, a dark stain upon his tunic. One stood solemnly, arrayed in a tabard and chain mail. He might have been handsome once, but finger-length gashes marred his face where some beast had struck him with its claws or fangs. Where a throat should be were only flaps of torn flesh, drenched scarlet. A woman stood behind the faceless-man, her hand upon Roul’s sleeping head. One of her hands. The other was missing, torn off at the elbow.





“She sees us,” garbled the faceless-man, his words choking out of his lips, barely intelligible.





“How?” The woman frowned, “Who are you?”

 

[Keres]

Keres had long ago lost count of the number of dead faces she'd set her dark eyes upon. She had seen all sorts of things, but she couldn't help but wince at the sight of one of the once-soldier's garish wounds. Her attention drifted then to the young man, and then to the woman with her one remaining hand settled on the sleeping man's head. They too had met a premature end in the face of violence..

"Yes, I see you." Keres answered quietly, careful of waking the stranger. "My name is Keres.. My family have long conversed with the dead."

"My questions are simple and brief. Who is the man you are tethered to? Who are you? And why do you linger?" she whispered..

 

[Roul]

At her questions, more commands though softly whispered, the ghosts gave a twitch. All of them in unison.

Then they spake as one.

“Roul of Cortos. Squire. Knight. Murderer.”

The woman said, “He was kind.”

The young man said, “He was proud.”

The faceless man only gurgled.

“He is a monster,” sobbed the young man.

“He is just a man,” whispered the woman.

“Cursed,” gargled the faceless.

“We haunt him because he killed us. We haunt him because he loved us.”

 

[Keres]

Keres listened to each of the dead in turn, her dark eyes drifting over each as they spoke, painting a dreary picture in her mind, their last cries and pleas echoing in the back of her mind. There was so much fear and devastation she found her breathing grow tighter, her pulse striking a staccato in her chest..

He loved them, yet he murdered them?.. She looked over the sleeping man with a furrowed brow. "Thank you for answering me." she replied quietly, turning her attention back to the spectres.

"If there is anything I can do, or any message I can pass on to let you rest, tell me now."

 

[Roul]

“There is nothing you can do for us, child. The chains of Fate link us to him. We are all-“ said the woman.

“Crowfeed,” sobbed the man, “Crowfeed. Crowfeed.”

He muttered it over and over until their images distorted and faded into the nothing.

Leaving only the bearded knight, head propped against the wall. Breathe rustling softly from his lips. A tangle of dark hair obscuring his closed eyes.