Private Tales Wild Elysium

[Roki]

A sound came from inside, Roki's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wider as his lips set to easy smile.

The door came open, and it was Ilani there. "Oh," he said deflating some. "Right, well," he scratched at the back of his head, his eyes wandered about the door, the wall the floor as his face flushed.

A few other squires were in the hallway. Whispering something or the other to each other. Snickered behind their hands.

Damn. He had already embarrassed her enough today, hadn't he?

Rabbit had some practice... she asked me to give you this...

"Oh!" he replied, shooting up bolt straight. His hand eagerly grabbed for the little note.

If you will excuse me...

"Yeah, right, right!" he stated. "Um, thanks, Ilani," he said awkwardly. "See you in thaumaturgy class tomorow," he said absently.

The door shut quietly. He heard giggles coming from inside. He cleared his throat and turned on his heel. His deft fingers worked the paper open as he stepped across the hall. Ruthiford, barnhouse that he was, was stompin toward him. Roki spun around him with quick feet. "Ruthi,"

"Rook," the big squire said with a nod.

"You pullin Knoll duty tonight?" Roki asked.

"Hmm, yup,"

"Ace," Roki said with a wink as he walked backwards.

Ruthiford, lookin over his shoulder, chuckled, and gave him a big thumbs up. "See you then,"

When Roki turned about, there was a sworn standing before him. Thinly mustached. Angular features and cold sharp eyes. "Squire Roki," he drew the words out like a dagger.

Roki gulped down some spit. "Pursuant Edelbert,"

Edlebert's lips spread into a thin smile. "I presume you understand why I am here... wasting my time... in the squire's quarters?"

Roki smiled nervously, fingers twidling nervously with the little piece of paper. "Contraband inspection?"

Edelbert almost laughed. Almost. He huffed instead. "Oh, more like a Contraband Review, squire," he turned about and stepped down the hall. "Come along then,"

"Damn," Roki cursed. He looked down at the paper, and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

---

Hours later, Roki would be pulling kitchen duty, alongside Ruthiford. It was getting close to the end of afternoon sessions, and the supper rush was about to come rushing in.

Lucky for them, the gardens had a good yield lately, and the rangers had brought back a good many grouse, and pheasants as of late. The big game birds had been processed, and were salted and spiced. Ruthiford was stuffin em with roots and old bread.

Roki was grumpily stirring a pot of stew, full of tubers and root vegetables.

Syr Melga oversaw the operation. "Go on, Ronken, just keep churnin the butter! We'll need plenty more of it!"

Ronken sighed and went on with the churning. "Yes, chef."

"Roki!" she called out. "How is the stew?"

Roki didn't hear her.

"Roki!" she called out once more.

Squire Piplin, a halfling with bright green eyes and a dusting of ruddy frckles across her moon face, elbowed Roki as she walked by with a board loaded with biscuits.

"Oh! Oh!" Roki called out. "Um, the stew," he stirred it faster. Looked down on it. Saw its thick golden broth-near-gravy was a little darker than he'd like. "Shit," he cursed. Took the spoon and sipped some of the liquid up. Flavors were fine. Just...

Melga was already beside him. "Roki," she said coldly. "What is that?"

Roki stammered. Sighed. "It's... over cooked,"

Melga squint. "Take it off the fire, squire, and go take a walk," she sighed, and shook her head.

"Yes chef," he went to grab the big black iron pot with his bare hand. Felt the harsh sting of scalding metal. Sucked in air through his teeth and recoiled.

"Roki, what in the-" Melga said as she turned around.

Roki was already moving to grab it again.

"Stop!" she put her hand infront of him, and with the other she pointed to the door. "Go, now. Get your head on right,"

Roki's eyes were large. Half mixed with anger and shame. He shook it off. Nod, and made to exit the kitchen.

"And go see the medic about your hand!" Syr Melga called out.

Fat chance.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

While Mara had never been someone any instructor would call an 'apt pupil,' she had learned a few things during her time as a squire. One very important lesson, she recalled from one Syr Bebin Theros, was that of preparation. Extra supplies for unforeseen circumstances. Contingencies for failures. An extra dagger in the boot. Mara spent what precious little time she had to herself that evening preparing.

She went through all of the steps methodically in her mind, again and again, as she awaited nightfall with a rare commitment rooted in anger towards herself. She hadn't seen Roki since their earlier incident, but she'd overheard Edelbert had given him hell about his project. Her guilty conscience wasn't about to let that go. Luckily, one particular squire had no qualms about poking around the armory for the plank's whereabouts in return for a few coins and a future chore trade.

Mara stashed the last bundle of items in a stack of fresh hay near the stable just as the peal of the monastery bell crashed across the courtyard - supper was ready. Well, no use starting this adventure both exhausted and hungry.

Heading into the large, rectangular mess hall, Mara glanced around for a few key people. There was Master Alduin, eating at one of the long tables alongside some of the knights who trained the squires. Syr Castell was among them. Her roommate Ilani was busy chatting with some of the other girls at the squires' table - which at least meant that she might not notice Mara's absence for some time.

She looked around again more pointedly as she grabbed an empty bowl and joined the stew line. No sign yet of Roki; not with his usual group of friends, not even in the serving area. It gave her a pang of disappointment. Maybe he was upset about the whole thing. She should have written a better apology note.

Roki

 

[Roki]

It was on his way out from the kitchen, that Roki saw her. Sharp eyed and lookin about.

Shit.

Roki thought to himself, hid some behind a conveniently large barrel of pickles.

She... she was probably looking to avoid him, right? Didn't want to see him?

Her message had been so short. It only made sense for her to well- He huffed. Shook his head. Something nudged him. He turned to see who, or- "Oh, hey Piplin,"

"Weren't you supposed to go to the healer?" She asked.

"Yeah but-"

"But?"

He sighed, shook his head. "Nothing, its-"

"You are hiding behind a pickle barrel, Roki," her eyes moved, fixed on the barrel, then looked back to him. "It's clearly not nothing," her eyes looked over at the stew line. Saw Mara. She nudged him again. "Go talk to her, you idiot,"

He cleared his throat with a small cough. Nod. "Yeah, spose you are right,"

Piplin nodded. "Course I'm right," she smiled, and went away.

Roki smiled. Looked down at the floor, and gathered himself up. Ignoring the stinging in his hand, as the dull red pain persisted across his index finger and part of his palm. He popped up from behind the pickle barrel, and caught Mara's eye. Grinned, in that dumb boyish way of his, and waved to her, as if nothing had happened.

He approached her. Nervous. Though, it didn't show. Too much anyhow.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Mara acknowledged Roki with a nod. She was relieved by the sight of his grin; he couldn't have been too upset with her... Or he was hiding it well.

Admittedly, she was surprised to find him without his usual cloud of friends and admirers. Most of them were sitting near the middle of the squires' table trying to start a miniature food fight without attracting the notice of the sworn.

"You not eating? Or are you done already?" She asked, noting that he had no bowl. She briefly considered that she should be offering Roki a real apology. No, she thought, she was doing one better.

Instead she regarded him with her best poker face as she moved with the line. Up ahead, she spotted Tarren among the squires assigned to serving the food and frowned. He always messed with her given the chance, and she didn't have time for that tonight.

Thinking on her feet, she handed the bowl to Roki.

"Hey, would you mind grabbing some food for me? I just remembered that I forgot something," she explained, speaking just a bit too fast.

Roki

 

[Roki]

"Um, well," he laughed, and made sure to hide his hands. "You know how cooking duty is, sneak a bite here, sneak a bite there," he said. He didn't want her to worry. So why would he tell her he was starving and on his way to the healer's? Or well, supposed to be.

Then she handed him a bowl. He blinked. "Uh, yeah, right," he smiled and gave a nod. Thought it over a moment as she, well, held out the bowl. He blinked twice, took the bowl, slowly, didn't think that she might see his hands.

Why would she ever look so closely, some part of his over-active mind asked itself. He took it gingerly, lightly, his brow twitched still as he gripped up the bowl. "What, I mean," he cleared his throat.

Damn, she was also so... on. Ready to move. Run. He frowned. "You'll be back?" he asked.

Felt a bit foolish.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Youll be back? he asked.

Mara paused and turned to him. "Meet me over by the old weeping woman," she replied before rushing away. The weeping old woman was a statue, collectively named by the monastery's residents for its rather grizzled and melancholic subject, that stood in lonely repose in one of the courtyards between the mess hall and the library. Mara liked to eat on the bench near the statue sometimes because it was usually quiet and secluded.

She'd noticed the peculiar redness of Roki's hands, but didn't think anything of it until she was already halfway across the expansive hall. Something to ask him about once her mind let her think of anything but all of the things that could go wrong tonight.

Sighing away her doubts, she pushed the hempcloth sack out of sight in a gap between the statue and the bench. All was ready, except for one thing: she'd imagined that she'd just appear with the confiscated project, and Roki would be so happy that they could skip this entire awkward conversation she knew was to come. The guilty look in his eye earlier had warned her; she found that she didn't want to receive apologies any more than she wanted to give them.

A silent battle was raging between her anxious brain and a hungry everything else. Now is the perfect time, while everyone is busy eating, her mind reasoned while she waited with a knot in her empty stomach, a stomach that presently rumbled its own argument. The next time she decided to do something as stupid as this, she would definitely sneak some snacks from the larder to add to her supply caches.

It didn't take long for her fears and wonderings to win the war. She warded away the hunger pangs by balling her fist into her abdomen before shouldering the bag. Looking around, she made sure she was the only one in the dim, lamp-lit courtyard before she scurried off towards the armory, feeling bad for the change of heart but knowing the prize would make up for it.

Roki

 

[Bebin Theros]

It was well known amongst many of the Order's number that Syr Bebin Theros was a slippery bastard.

Able to sneak up on a snake's shadow, some squires said. Which made him all the more pleased when he managed to get a drop on one of them. Not that that was very hard. Squires tended to think quick, and act quicker.

None more so than one Mara Tillerman.

Sharp eyed, and with keen intuition. She had a gift for sneaking about and making quick getaways. Showed more promise than many. Though, even Bebin wasn't sure if he wanted to make good on that promise. For Mara was the sort that was like to survive most anything.

But even she had her blind spots.

So, there in the belly of the armory did Syr Bebin wait. Hidden in shadow as he watched the squire approach across the courtyard. He smirked.

"Well, Tillerman," the Pursuant said in hushed tone. "We will see if you can pass this test,"

Bellow, the entry points had been primed with traps and alarms. He had set them himself. Nothing lethal. Some sleep powders, and itching agents. A spring trap that would give the intrepid squire a right smack in the gut. Nothing they didn't have to deal with in training as it was.

Still, part of Bebin hoped she would make it up the stairs and to the magicked vault. What was her plan for that, he could not help but wonder.

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Only a single barren courtyard lay between Mara and the armory. It was a narrow avenue surrounded by production structures - the smithy on one side, a training area on the other, and the armory at the far end. The squire slipped into the shadows that were blooming beneath the starlit sky with the instinct of an otter diving into a pool or a bird taking wing; a veil of secrecy donned like a comfortable gown as she tip-toed silently across the cobblestones.

Her ease was short-lived, however, when something pulled taut against her leg. Sucking in a breath, she eased back a step and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing else happened. The tripwire had been cleverly set within the alcove containing the armory door. She couldn't see it at all nestled as it was in the nocturnal gloom.

Mara took a small candle from her bag and lit it with an enchanted flame-stick some of the knights had taken to calling 'matches'. Cupping her hand around the tiny flame to minimize the light it cast beyond the alcove, she followed the gleam of wire up to its source - a corked vial set to release its contents when the wire was pulled. Mara could guess that the tawny powder within the hanging vial was itching powder. She knew it all too well from her training sessions with Syr Bebin. Her skin crawled just thinking of the near miss with that horrible stuff, the cork nudged only halfway open.

Apparently the knights had added some extra security measures since adding Roki's board to their stash. She wondered if the board was really that interesting to them, or if they'd somehow found out about her plan. Maybe her scout was a snitch to boot. Damn it all if anything was ever too easy!

She stepped carefully over the wire this time and set the candle down in its little stand on the ground. Before her the armory door stood defiantly closed with a large iron lock. Nothing a little time and some tools wouldn't overcome, though she couldn't help but fret over what other unpleasant surprises might be waiting within. Yet she felt a slight thrill at the prospect.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

Click, click went the lock. Pop pop went the chambers. Bebin smiled at that.

Behind the armory door were the weapons. Swords, spears, axes. Tools that gleamed with the promise of violence they were born to bring. Armor shone too, low light of night diffused across the planes of hammered metal plate meant to protect. Hauberks draped across wooden shoulders, pauldrons snug above the chain links of mail. Behind that door still, and all the bristling tools of well forged steel, lay the magicked vault. A chamber well away from the light that poured in from the windows.

A pressure plate trap at the front of the vault, the tile near invisible in the shadows of night. It was armed, and hid an old secret that protected the Order's treasured vault.

"But will you make it that far?" he said with a gleam in his eyes.

Magick traps guarded three of the four forks that lead toward the backroom. Glyphs of ice, sleep, and tangle vines glowed every so faintly. Harsh enough to stop a would be thief in their tracks. But leave them alive.

As the door creaked open, Bebin blended into the shadows. No magick just yet, his position toward the front of the room, hidden behind bulky armor with a clear view of the approach to the vault. Not the first place an eager thief would look.

---

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Mara snuffed her candle and passed through the door, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness before moving on. She passed the weapons and armor without so much as a glance at the mastery of their craftsmanship. Instead, her focus was fixed squarely on the vault and its shanghaied treasure within.

Sneaking from shadow to shadow, avoiding the moonlight whispering through tall, narrow windows. Listening for any sign of a patrol in the courtyard outside.

A rodent scratched somewhere distantly. A wooden support beam groaned in the cool night air.

The organized clutter left four routes to the vault. Mara chose the left-most out of instinct. After her encounter with the trap outside, she proceeded with extra caution. This proved to be wise, for the soft glow of a glyph on the floor as she turned a corner warned her of danger just before she could step onto it. Syr Bebin's work, without a doubt. She wasn't studied enough in the magical arts to know exactly what sort of glyph this was, but she was sure that whatever it entailed was not good for her.

She backtracked to the other two paths and finally found one that had no trap lying in wait... or so she thought until something reached up and tangled around her boots. Calling upon every curse she'd learned from Abrielle, Mara struggled against the grasping vines. The vault door was just ahead - so close she could almost reach out and touch it! She wasn't willing to give up now.

Abandoning her boots to the trap, Mara managed to roll forward to safety. Safety?

Click. The plate in the floor depressed under her weight.

Mara's eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. Shit!

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

Something in the walls clicked. The stonework of the ceilings glowed in hues of saffron, vermillion, and azure. Death, Flame, Loch. The bricks moved up, into the cieling, parted, to show a man-sized hole. A thing fell out and onto the ground. Heavy and with a plume of dust.

A polished surface, round with the sheen of metal. Folded in on itself, it looked almost like a turtle's shell, as the dust settled around it. Something tucked in to its hollow body. Feint traces of magicked light ran along its surface. Pulsed those colors of the pursuits.

Death, Flame, and Loch.

Sharply, the thing unfolded, limbs encased in elegantly curved metal, it stood up, the height of a tall person. Upon its silvery masks, two gems for eyes crackled with blue light. It looked to Mara. Its arm jerked back, and snapped forward in a chopping strike.

---

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Mara had no time to properly identify her enemy; she barely had time to blink once at the moving sculpture before it went on the attack, its metal hand slicing at her shoulder. She ducked to the side just in time, catching only a grazing impact from the automaton's blow.

Still hurt like hell. This thing wasn't kidding around! Clutching her shoulder with her other arm, Mara backtracked rapidly to create some space between her and her unexpected foe. So much for those contingency plans she'd had...

Her mind reeled as it tried to sort through what little information a brief glance around the chamber could provide. The automaton continued its advance relentlessly, and Mara knew without a doubt that any direct blow would end her adventuring career prematurely.

She grabbed onto an armor stand and launched herself over the tangle trap, landing on the other side in a ruckus of clanking metal as the top-heavy stand came down with her. She had no idea if the trap could be triggered a second time, but hopefully at least one of the traps scattered in here could slow down or distract that metallic menace.

She cast only a momentary glance behind her as she ran barefoot over the chilly cobblestones and ducked into the first hiding place she could find - a sort of tunnel created between easel-type stands set back to back with their loads of weaponry. The space was barely large enough for her, and certainly not for that hunk of enchanted metal. Crawling into the darkness, she wondered if it would give up the pursuit so easily - or tear apart the entire armory in its pursuit.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

Bebin watched from his hiding spot. Eyes sharp as they measured. Took note of how the squire had turned the first blow into a glance. Put distance between her and the thing that had surprised her.

What will you do now, Tillerman? The Pursuant could not help but wonder.

The blue glow of the automaton's gaze tracked the would-be-thief. Followed her path over the armor. It adjusted its body with clockwork precision. It strode after her with an almost natural gait. Careful around the obstacles present in the armory. The green glyph of the root-tangle trap glowed before its pathway. Its gem eyes looked down toward the magick sign, and looked at it for a long moment.

A boot still trapped in the snaring growth.

It marched forward. Metal legs broke through the organic obstacle with ease. It scanned the shadows where it last saw its quarry as it marched.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Crawling down the tunnel on her hands and knees, Mara had to be very careful not to cut herself open on the sharpened metal edges all around her. Not the best hiding spot ever, but it would do. Meanwhile she scrambled to consider her options. There was always retreat... which meant returning to Roki empty-handed and very, very late. She supposed in his shoes she would be rather upset about the whole thing. Knowing Roki, he might still be waiting there with a bowl of cold stew. In hindsight, having some help - if only as a distraction - would have been smart. Roki even might have known about the golem.

She immediately dismissed that opportunity for regret. This was her fault, so she had to fix it. To do anything less was to invite infinite embarrassment. If only she could explain that it was all this STUPID GOLEM'S FAULT!

A sword that had fallen into the opening laid across the tunnel like an accidental trap. She winced as it scraped across the floor with a dull metallic ring when she tried to push it out of her way. Cursing inwardly, she slipped through the space she created beneath the blade, though she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head for the effort.

Clumsy idiot! she thought as she doubled her creeping pace to the far end of the weapon stand. Only there did she pause to feel the back of her head with one hand, and felt the warm wetness of blood there.

She thought she heard the thing stomping around, but without being sure where it was, she was reluctant to emerge from her temporary hiding place. Instead, she rummaged in the small bag she'd brought and took out a slingshot along with a few bullets. She had an idea about what to do about this thing; she just had to conduct an experiment first.

It proved difficult to position herself properly to aim the sling, but luckily Mara was a decent trick shot. With a soft snap, the first round stone flew into action, ricocheting off of a metal suit of armor hung in one corner of the chamber.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

Plod after plodding step, the metal cased guard moved about the ways of the armory. The dim blue light of its jeweled eyes softly diffused across the polished plate and along the sharpened edge of swords and axes.

It was only until the pale light of the moons caught across the skating sword and flashed a glint across the stone walls, that the golem ceased its march. Its head followed the trail of the flicker, and its gaze idled where the light beam still shone upon the stone brick.

The runes etched across its chestplate pulsed, like tiny rivers of magicked light that flowed across curved metal plains.

It scanned the racks, saw something shift betwixt the pour of light, followed it with step, after metal step.

In the cover of darkness that did engulf the armory, Syr Bebin skulked. In one corner of the room, he left a smooth river stone, with runes of Loch carved there in. Without a sound, he stepped across to the other side.

Rock cracked loud against the shell of armor. The sound did little to grab the construct's eye, but the shimmer of light that bounced from the shaken plate had it lurch upward, its bejeweled gaze fixed on the light. Traced it back to the suit of armor that still shuddered and shook. It moved toward the piece of armor, and away from Mara's hiding spot. The delicate lines of runic script pulsed again with the light of the magicks that powered it. Purple, red, and blue.

Bebin watched, eyes unmoving as he laid down the second river stone.

---

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Mara noticed the golem's delayed reaction to her shot. Apparently it didn't have very good listening skills, but it honed in on the play of dim moonlight on the reverberating metal plate like a hawk to a mouse.

Perfect.

She reached back into her bag and retrieved a few things: Her lockpicking tools, which she held carefully between her teeth, and a second bullet. This one was inscribed with tiny runes and had a distinctly smoky odor to it. The Signal. A special ammunition taught by Master Alduin to only a select few of his pupils, the flash pod was a rare thing. Mara had managed to 'borrow' one of them. Enough, she hoped, to draw the automaton's attention elsewhere for a few precious minutes; because even if it was just a hunk of enchanted armor, even it would know the Signal when it saw the Signal.

She held her breath for a moment while she aimed towards the far wall, and released the bullet. A bright flash of light followed as the bullet pinged against the stonework and spun into the air, its runes flashing in fire-hot blue. With a fizzling noise, the bullet released spiral waves of light that seemed to propel its revolution and draw dazzling arcs of brightness in the dark chamber.

Mara was too busy scurrying for the vault to appreciate the display behind her, though she kept a weather eye on the golem as it plodded loyally towards the far wall, its creepy lantern stare fixed on the new disturbance. Like throwing a dog a stick, the squire thought with a smirk.

There it was - the vault door. She knelt at the lock and gave it a quick inspection before grabbing her tools out of her mouth. It would be a challenge, poking and prodding around the pins while making sure the guardian remained distracted.

If ever any gods gave a damn, she hoped they'd choose to give a damn now.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

Bebin blinked away the tears that had come to shield him from the blinding flash. Half grinning as he did so in the pervading darkness. His mind, disturbed by the sensory overload, took a moment to come still, to turn tranquil as the Automaton reached its target.

The metal guardian stood there, with blue-flame light refracted across its bejeweled eyes. How it watched the Signal bullet fizzle and hiss. It chopped at it. Swiped clean through the hot sparks. It reached for it and clenched it in its hand. The ethereal light that spewed from it heated up the finely constructed hand to a glowing red, orange, yellow.

It died, clutched in its hand.

With a plink, the automaton tossed the spent Signal bullet aside. Its head turned and it scanned the room. Saw the intruder crouched by the gate. It plod toward them. Plod after plodding step. Watched as the small intruder sift through their tools.

One by one, three stones etched with carved runes pulsed. Loch's light spread from their epicenter, across the channels of rock like water across dry stream beds.

Its eyes shift to the nearest stone, toward the right of the vault. Its head turned, and its eyes locked onto a second stone to its left. It turned once more, saw a shadow before it, the broad outline of a man, whose eyes glowed with the brilliant blue of stars.

Upon the floor three lines of lapis light struck across the stonework, pinged three stones in unison, burned bright and cold and flashed. When the triangular field came to darkness, the automaton stood still. Its eyes without light.

It slumped, and its arms fell to its side without the power to go on.

"The Signal shot," Bebin croaked, as the blue light from his eyes slowly bled away from his gaze, and shadows crept about his face to hide his grin. "Last I spoke to Master Alduin, such specialized amunition," he strode, step, after steady step toward the squire. 'Was to be requisitioned by knights, on assignment, Squire Tillerman," he stepped into a beam of light thought poured in from the window. Tall and beturbaned, Syr Bebin Theros smiled down with grim humor at the squire. His hands, neatly folded behind his back.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

The commotion caused Mara to turn away from her work, one of her tools dropping to the floor with a clang. A triad of stones lit up, lit the floor up in some magical working, surrounding the golem in arcane fire before winking out and taking away whatever semblance of life had filled that metal menace. She felt the welling of a familiar knot of cruel expectation well before she heard Bebin speak - the crashing wave of disappointment that carried her out to sea.

The jig was up. The cat had caught the mouse, the gods in her mind had returned to their haughty thrones to mock her for yet another failure.

She forced herself to look at Bebin rather than the floor, though her mind was grasping at straws for an explanation. A part of her wanted to lash out in frustration, but open defiance wasn't in Mara's nature. There was just that creeping voice that spoke louder than the rest in situations like this.

"I'm... I'm on a special assignment..." she said quietly to the intimidating knight - before the better part of her brain kicked in to tell her that deception was probably not the answer here. Sure, she could say Alduin asked her to test out the security, but that lie would only last until tomorrow. And then what?

She glanced over at the lockpick still sticking out of the not-inconsequential lock on the vault door and felt stupid. As if she was ever going to be able to pick that.

"It isn't fair, any of it!" she thought aloud angrily, aiming a kick at the door that both surprised her and hurt her foot.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

He gave no response to her first reply. Simply stood there within the beam of moon's light. The lines of his face relaxed. His lips flat and rid of what little mischief had been there prior as Mara looked between the Pursuant, and the locked vault.

A shout. A clunk. And a whimper of pain that did not go unheard.

Bebin let his eyes come shut, and a cool breath left his proud nose. A moment of quiet. A pull of breath.

"No," he agreed. "It is not fair," his eyes came open, and he looked to the angry young squire once more. "None of it," his eyes did not waver, and there was no anger there in the darkness of their stare. Only pools that did reflect that light they saw.

"Tell me, Tillerman," he said with even measure. Voice steady. "What do you find so unfair?"

---

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

The pain in her foot felt like a twisted sort of vindication, a punishment for her failure. She wanted to stick that foot in her mouth in this moment for saying anything at all. Maybe she should have, to dam the torrent of rage that had flooded out of her unbidden. But it was too late; she'd given away something, and now a question - nay, a demand she thought - hung heavily in the air, waiting to be answered.

She took a moment to wrestle with her feelings. To tell Bebin everything was to award him what precious little trust she had to give. So fragile was hers that she hid it behind a wall of other peoples' secrets. She couldn't even offer it fully to her best friend, much less to an authority figure.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest, but a sudden quiet fell over her; the silent acceptance of fate at the executioner's block. She glanced at the vault door.

"Something was stolen. It's there, behind that door. I'm just trying to return it."

"I didn't think the blasted vault would be guarded by a freaking monster," she added under her breath acidly.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

What sternness kept stoic the lines of Bebin's face broke with a curl of his lip. A smirk, that threatened to grow to grin.

The recklessness of youth.

"Here, I thought I taught you better," he bob his head toward the squire. "Measure your challenge with tact," he cast his eye toward the defunct construct. "Prepare for all outcomes," his eye trailed back toward Mara. "You acted against the Knights of Anathaeum," his face turned serious. Flat lipped and stony browed. "Raided our magick vault," his lips quirked, ever just. "A monster or two are to be expected,"

Bebin stood before the young thief. The squire so prone to duck and dodge, run and hide. Called to action, and adventure, no matter how perilous.

"Yet, you did manage to pull a Signal shot from Alduin, and keep your head, mostly," there was a measure of approval in his tone, a sense of measure. "You are a mystery, Tillerman," he confessed. "And you are bleeding," he nod toward the dark trail of wet that ran down the side of her head, how it shone in the low light of the moon. "Come, let us see to your wounds, and then we will discuss," he motioned to the mess about them. The automaton. The blood. The spent shot. "This, after,"

---

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

Where the first and expected retort from the Basilisk stung Mara, the second lashed her down to her bones. She knew that she had well earned his ire and his criticism, but she hadn’t paused to consider that the Knights as a whole might view her actions as a serious offense, even treason. It was such a small thing in her mind. A favor for a friend, and nothing more. But of course, how was she such a fool as to expect them to see it that way?

Fear welled up like acrid bile in her stomach, and with it came grim premonitions of the worst. Would she be cast out for her perceived treachery? Made a pariah by her former peers? Never see the monastery again? Never see Roki again? Her throat grew tight. Angry hornets of possibility swarmed around in her skull.

Then there was the unexpected - was it praise? - in Bebin’s tone. It drew her partially out of her doomsaying, at least enough to choke out a response.

“Yes, Syr.” She hung her head and followed him out of the armory toward whatever humiliation was sure to come. The night breeze was cool as it blew across the silent courtyard outside. The play of the moon and shadows that had felt so comforting before now seemed like bitter enemies to Mara; the cold rays of cosmic judgment falling like lead weights upon her shoulders, the bitter whispers of her folly carried in the wind.

There was no stubborn pride left in her now, only that urge to run as fast as her feet would carry her until she found some mote of faraway comfort. The instinct, she thought glumly, of a rabbit.

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

A nod of acknowledgement. While the shame was plain upon her face, Bebin was glad to see the young squire accept her fate. "After me, then," he said, and lead her out into the courtyard.

Some knights milled about, in from a quest, or just done with training. They snapped a quick salute to the Pursuant of Dusk, before their eyes found the slumped form of the squire that trailed behind him like a wounded duckling.

They said nothing. Stayed stiff until Bebin gave them a bow of the head, brought the flat of his fist down against his heart as salute. The knights went on about their business. Talked about some hill they had found, and how old man Elandri's son had the hots for Markov.

Trivialities of life, that in the end gave them so much meaning.

The hut was not far. And inside its stone walls the smell of medicinal herbs hung in the air, and burned into the nostrils with each pull of breath.

In one corner of the room, adjusting clear glass that sat above a flame stone was the great round shell of Master Brambleshell.

"Well, if it isn't the serpent himself," she said, though she had not turned to see either of them.

Bebin huffed a breath. "Master Brambleshell,"

The old testudo turned to regard the two newcomers. "Mara, my," she rose from her station of work, the glass just fogging up as its red colored contents stirred with the motion of heat brought upon by the runes carved into the stone. "Training Accident?" the wizened Master's eyes shift their gaze to regard Bebin as she stepped forward, a finger uncorked the waterskin at her hip.

"We can call it that," Bebin said with a nod that motioned toward the seat the Testudo had vacated. "Go on," he said, and moved to fetch bandages and other supplies.

With a pull of clawed hand, a glob of water came free from the leather skin. It moved easy, and glowed gentle. "The Basilisk coils around his secrets," Brambleshell said with a soft smile in her eyes as she looked over Mara.

The scrapes and purpling of bruises still swelling. The slick sticky mess about her head as the herbal scent of yarrow and marsh mallow seemed a blanket about them.

"Well, no matter the cause, let's see to this wound, hnn?" She raised the water to Mara's head, and with a pulse of loch's light, and a golden pulse of life's glow, the water eased against the wound like a salve. A gentle motion within the body of the globule seemed to pull at the dried blood from her scalp.

A sensation of ease may be felt by the squire. Along with the odd itch of flesh being coaxed to knit back together. Bit by tiny bit.

Mara Tillerman

 

[Mara Tillerman]

The heady scent of herbs and astringent odor of medicines enveloped Mara as she followed Bebin into the healer's hut. The plants in here always made her throat feel scratchy and her eyes itch.

"AH-CHEE!" she proclaimed in the violent fit of a surprisingly-dainty sneeze, which only made her head throb worse. "Ow..."

She sniffled a bit in an attempt to keep her nose from running as she sat quietly in the chair. The magick-infused water felt pleasant against her burning wound; cool, cleansing, relaxing after all of the tensions of the night. She welcomed the sensation, even if she wanted to scratch everything.

She was currently trying to resist the urge to scratch the itching on her scalp as the wound closed.

"Thank you, Master Brambleshell," Mara said, turning her gaze to her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Not the first time she'd had a visit to the healer, but probably less than most of the other squires. Mara usually avoided trying to add scars to herself.

"AH-CHEE!"

Bebin Theros

 

[Bebin Theros]

"Of course, dear," the venerable testudo said in response to the young one's thanks. "Humor an old turtle, would you, Mara?" Brambleshell's eyes peered up past the curve of her beak, her neck stretched just so to lift the weight of her skull, and she regarded the squire. "You aren't the sort to take to training with such, vigor," her eyes showed the hint of a smile. "How did you go and get a blade wound like this?"

A gentle clattering of glass in the distance. Bottles shifted, and tools moved to knock against old wooden shelves.

The walls of the room shook some. Shuddered. As if a chicken, ruffling its feathers. The dried yarrow and thistle shrubs that hung from the rafters swung lazy, back and forth, and a warm laugh knocked in the testudo's throat. "Even the old hut seems curious,"

---

Mara Tillerman