Private Tales Wildfire

[Gerra]

“Perhaps they were mistaken.”

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. A host of emotions marshaled within his chest, chief among them a sorrow for what once had been.

Something of her curiosity eeked into him through this strange bond they now shared. One he might have forged but did not fully understand how to wield. Gerra would have stripped the bracer from his wrist and cast it aside. Freed her in that moment.

But this was not how the magic worked.

The bracer was locked tight on his wrist. Perhaps a sword might cleave it from him. His eyes fell to the one she’d discarded. He wondered why she did not take it up.

“You could be free,” he said in a hoarse voice, remembering when he’d shorn the limb from another woman here in an effort to save her.

Would he not pay the same price?

But he could not be sure… the magic might linger on…

Those small and gentle hands pressed against him, holding in the scarlet ichor that sought to seep between her fingers.

Esper

 

[Esper]

Esper’s lips parted on a tremor of breath as the weight of his sorrow pressed through the bond, thick and suffocating. It coiled in her chest, and for a moment she could not tell where his ache ended and hers began. It was a strange and terrible intimacy, to feel another being’s grief mingling with her own.

Her eyes lingered on him as he looked away, denying the claims she had spoken of. Denying the legacy that even fae had deemed worthy to speak of. She did not press him, she did not need to. The truth was there in the way his shoulders sank beneath invisible weight, in the way his gaze would not meet hers. Whatever he had been; emperor, conqueror, god, he seemed now only a man hollowed out by the memory of himself.

Her attention drifted as his did, following his gaze to the blade on the stone floor. Slowly, her brow knit, and she lowered her gaze to the wound beneath her hands. The blood was still coming, sluggish now but steady, soaking through the rags and between her fingers. She pressed harder, jaw tightening.

“I cannot sever it,” she murmured.. “I am free of the devil. That is.. relief enough.”

When she finally looked back at him, her eyes were soft, glimmering with faint light. Exhaustion clung to her; physical, magical and soul-deep. Her body still bore the marks of what Malephis had done to her; each bruise and brand and scar sang a quiet ache beneath her skin. And yet… to feel warmth again, to feel the flame that was hers and hers alone, was a mercy she hadn’t thought she’d ever taste again.

Her gaze flicked to the mangled ruin of her wrist, the flesh black and torn where iron had eaten away at it.. The sight made her stomach twist. It would never fully heal. The ache would never fade. And she would never stop hating him for what he had done.

But when her eyes lifted again, they found Gerra’s face.

“I am…” she faltered, the words catching in her throat. It went against every thread of pride woven into her fae blood. But the bond pulsed, undeniable. “I am yours,” she said finally, quietly. The words trembled as they left her.

Her gaze fell away again, lashes trembling as tears welled anew, born of exhaustion, grief, and the strange, flickering relief of survival.

 

[Gerra]

Her own mixture of emotions trickled through a bond like a spreading pool of blood, staining his heart with her grief and weariness and relief. The half-giant pulled away his hand, disobeying her orders to cover her bare but ruined wrist with a hand, enveloping the iron-branded skin with his own. Warmth to warmth. They were both scions of flame. Small comfort this.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. The droplets fell from her face upon his bare and carved open chest and it was as though they burned him far worse than any fire ever could.

He ground his teeth at her words and let the silence linger a moment. Would not the emperor she spoke of have leaped to have a fae under his command? Gerra did not wish to dwell on what his younger self might have done with a beauty such as hers, totally supplicant to his will.

Perhaps he was no better than the devil slain.

“I do not want you as my slave,” he rasped, knowing what futile words those were when the mastery over the commanding bracer might make her as good as.

“I would set you free.”

Perhaps he should toss himself into the ocean after all. Perhaps that would free her.

Though as Gerra dwelled upon this his eyes came to rest on the demon’s corpse once again. And something in their bargaining words rose back to gnaw at him.

Malephis’ kind did not often work alone. They tended toward packs. Would there be others… searching for her?

Esper

 

[Esper]

Esper’s gaze fell to where his hand covered hers, much larger than her own yet careful in its touch, shielding the ruined flesh of her wrist as though to offer her comfort. The warmth that seeped from his palm met her own in quiet recognition. Flame to flame. The sensation was so achingly gentle, so unlike the searing bite of iron or the cruel, possessive grip she had come to expect, that it caught something deep in her chest and twisted it tight.

Her throat worked as she tried to speak, but his words caught her first.. 'I do not want you as my slave.. I would set you free..'

The simplicity of it, the quiet ache in his voice, hollowed her. Through the bond, she felt the weight of his remorse pressing against her own relief like two currents converging in a storm.

“That is… not how it works,” she murmured, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “And I have a great debt to pay. Laws are laws." Her eyes flickered up to his, the faintest curve ghosting her lips, a shadow of what might once have been a smile. “But to know that…” she trailed off, unable to finish, though he would feel the gratitude bleeding through the tether between them, warm and bright as the fire in her veins.

"You are a good man." she said.

When she looked down again, her expression sobered. The rag beneath her hand had gone a deep scarlet.. She lifted it just enough to see the wound before pressing it back down, firmer this time.

“It’s slowed,” she whispered, brow furrowing. “But we should seek a healer.” Her voice had softened, the sharpness of survival giving way to something quieter, something like concern.

“My name is Esper…” she said finally, realising he had not heard it from the Tiefling's lips.

 

[Gerra]

The half-giant snorted at her words. A good man. No. She did not know him. But it seemed she would, unless they found a way to set her free and undo his handiwork. Her hands on him were soft, delicate. And she was beautiful, in the ethereal way of fae that often exceeded mortal comprehension. There were worse people to be bonded to, surely.

"An adequate name," he chuckled, immediately regretting the jest as his own laughter caused his wound to stretch.

"I am Gerra. Or was once. Whatever you heard, I am merely a blacksmith."

The former emperor struggled to rise, placing one hand against the wall and trying to push himself to his feet. He loomed over the fae woman, height ever an impediment to such conversations.

"There is a fishing village. Other side of the island."

He thought he could make it that far. Wincing, Gerra hobbled his way over to the chest and stooping, collected a belt and skirt of the Kaliti fashion, for the fires had burned the clothes from his very body and he had no wish to traverse the island and subject Esper to his nakedness the whole way. Every motion sent a lance of pain through his chest, but he belted on the skirt.

His eyes found the corpse of the tiefling again.

"Will there be others looking for him?"

Esper

 

[Esper]

Adequate. That was what he’d called her when Malephis had boasted of her beauty. The memory made Esper’s lips twitch faintly, and she let out a quiet huff through her nose. The low sound of his gravelly chuckle rumbled through the bond like distant thunder, and despite herself, her lips curved the slightest bit higher.

When he gave his name, her brow arched, unsure why he would want to deny what he had achieved in his life. “Alright then, Gerra just-a-blacksmith,” she murmured, her tone suggesting she didn’t quite believe him, though she didn’t press further. It wasn’t her place.

When he rose, she moved to his side, slender arms bracing against him in an attempt to help. It was near comical, a fae several feet too short trying to steady a mountain of a man, like a cat trying to support the weight of a bear, as though it would make any difference at all, but she didn’t seem to notice the futility of it.

She stuck close to him as he moved. It was habit perhaps, that she had learned to stay close to whoever held her chain so that they wouldn't have to pull against the iron, and though she was unbound now, the proximity lingered like muscle memory.

Her eyes darted away as he reached for the garments, turning instead toward the blackened heap that had once been Malephis, his horns the only discernible remnant of him.

At Gerra's question, her expression darkened.

“It wasn’t him who captured me,” she said quietly. “He stole me from those who did. Tricked them with an illusion of coin so they thought they’d been paid. Long enough for him to escape with me.” Her jaw tightened, and shame crept into her voice. “He told me he was taking me home, so I’d run faster.”

She swallowed, eyes flicking to the ground. “It was foolish to believe him. But we… we cannot lie. Not like those who walk this realm.” Her cheeks flushed again, not from heat this time but from the humiliation of admitting it.

“They chased us for many days,” she continued, her voice softer, distant. “But we lost them a few days before we boarded the ship here.."

 

[Gerra]

Of course. Gerra had forgotten that fae could not outright deceive. So they played games with their words, every one of them having a double meaning. Strange. He did not sense such deception from Esper. Not at present. Peril tended to drive such games far from view, he supposed.

What she spoke of gave him more pause and was of far graver concern. There were others after Esper, more dangerous even than Malephis. And likely just a few days behind. Gerra looked around his forge for a moment, imagining it might be his last such look for a long time. Perhaps forever. Then he just nodded.

"I see."

Reaching out, he sought to place a hand upon her back. A gesture meant to reassure, though he suspected she would wish to avoid being touched by any after Malephis' handiwork. Gerra forced down his own pain for a moment, looking to her neck where the monster had bitten her. He'd likely done far worse out of Gerra's sight.

Sighing, Gerra made to leave his forge. They would have a long walk ahead of them and with him much bloodied besides. He owed it to her to see her safe from those who pursued her, but first he would need to collect instruments of war long buried.

"We must make haste then. But not to the village."

He had not wished to take them up again, the rings. Had hoped that a village healer might be all they needed. But he did not have time to recuperate from this wound.

"I've buried something behind my home."

She seemed intent on following him and the thought that it might be compelled by their bond grated on him. Still, he made his strides swift as he might, crossing the distance as he held a hand to his chest. They reached the hut in moments and he went around the back to a small garden. He went to his hands and knees and started digging. The loose, volcanic soil pulled apart easily from his scraping fingers and he unearthed a very small box.

Gerra sat back on his heels, staring at the box for a long moment, then opened it. He had no other option. An array of rings lay before him, of all shapes, colors, and sizes. The Ten Rings of Amon-Thun. Well... nine rings now. He seized the gold banded one set with a ruby and slipped it on his finger. It glowed with power. The ring of Sekhem, granting the wielder control over life force. He closed his eyes and exerted that control. The plants in the garden all shriveled up at once. A paltry offering, but just enough to give him the energy he needed to close up the wound in his chest. Muscles writhed and bunched and coiled in knots. An agonizing itch, absurdly painful rose in his chest as the flesh knit back together in a matter of seconds. It left the tissue still red and angry as if barely healed.

"There," he gasped, taking the rest of the rings and fitting them one by one onto his fingers. All nine of them. One missing from each set. The price of a dragon's demise.

Eyes like forge fire turned on her.

"Now. Who are they who pursue you?"

Esper

 

[Esper]

Esper stiffened at the touch of his hand, the instinctive flinch betraying the reflex carved deep into her bones. But she caught herself, breath trembling as she looked up at him through the fall of her hair. Whatever she saw in his face seemed to quiet that fear, and she gave a small, guilty smile, an apology without words.

When he said not to the village, her frown deepened. Her tired legs had barely found their rhythm when he was already striding away from the forge, and she had to hurry along to keep pace with him, her smaller steps sinking into the ash and grit. “Then where?..” she asked, the uncertainty in her voice edged with a faint note of worry.

She stopped at his side as he dropped to his knees, curiosity momentarily overtaking her fear, and she crouched low as he tore at the volcanic soil until metal gleamed beneath his hands.

Her breath caught as the box opened. Inside, the rings shone like the treasure of kings, each humming with power so palpable that it raised the fine hairs along her arms. Her magic, attuned to the ebb and flow of energy, felt them before her mind could truly grasp what she was seeing. The air thrummed, almost alive, and she could taste the metallic tang of it on her tongue.

She watched as he slipped one onto his finger, and she felt it pull. The ring’s hunger reached out in invisible tendrils, devouring the life from the garden. The flowers withered and blackened, curling inward, and she scurried back a few paces, eyes wide with a mix of awe and alarm.

When she saw the wound close, when the flesh knit itself together, her stomach twisted. Terrifying, and yet… magnificent. He was no mere blacksmith.

Her gaze flicked to the other rings. What else could they do? she wondered, before his voice drew her from her thoughts. That voice, rough as grinding stone, made her shrink instinctively, but his question pierced through the fear, and her chin lifted again.

“You mean to cross the sea again? To find them?..” she asked quietly, her voice trembling with dread. The thought of that voyage, of the water, cold and endless, made her stomach knot. She had barely survived the last.

Her gaze fell to the ground between them. “They were traders,” she said reluctantly. “They hunted magical creatures… fae, beasts, spirits. Anything with ley-touched blood. They sold us at the Goblin Market in the Inbetween.”

Her voice hardened faintly then, anger beneath the weariness. “That’s where he took me from.." Her eyes met his again, burning softly, like coals dimmed but not extinguished.

 

[Gerra]

Gerra straightened to his full height and rolled a shoulder to test his range of motion.

“We have but two options,” he rumbled, “We can run far and run fast. Hide somewhere they would never look for you, or…” he clenched and unclenched his fist, as his sinews recalled their former strength, “we can stand and fight.”

He took in a deep breath, lungs filling with clean air untouched by the metallic particles from the forge.

“Either way, we must cross to the main island of Sheketh and reach the portal stone.”

His eyes stared out at the ocean.

“Long have I wished to see the continent of Malakath. Perhaps now I will have my chance.”

The half-giant looked down at Esper and his figure seemed an echo of faded glory, an august and imperious air hanging about his shoulders like a cloak.

“Which is it to be, Esper? Run… or fight?”

Esper

 

[Esper]

Esper let out a breath that felt almost like laughter there was so much relief in it. That there was the option of a portal stone to another land made the blackened horizon seem suddenly less like a prison. If she ever set foot on a boat again it would be too soon.

Then, he gave her a choice.. And it seemed that he was willing to do either of them to protect her..

She searched his face then, combing it for mockery or the practiced smooth lies of men who traded in false promises. He gave none; there was no jest in the set of his jaw, no silvered falsehood in his eyes. For once, she did not feel herself being pulled into one of their games.

A slow, hard smile curved the edge of her mouth. Her chin rose and her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion that had buried itself deep in her bones. “They deserve death,” she said, the cadence of her voice soft and terrible all at once..

 

[Gerra]

It had not taken them so long to cross the narrow span of sea between Gerra's island and that of the mainland of Sheketh, nor to journey to the portal stone in the mountains. They passed several days in this journey together, but Esper soon found that Gerra was a melancholy man who seemed but of few words unless asked. Indeed, her very presence seemed a frustration to him, though the anger was directed at himself, he could not but feel a loadstone of guilt around him for Esper's present fate.

In the few days that past, Gerra caught himself watching her more than once, for his eye had ever been drawn to beauty and who could deny that of this slight and slender fae who shared his affinity with flame? Yet only shame burned in him at the thought. He could not imagine any such feeling to be mutual, knowing ever that she was bonded to his will by this bracer. The very thoughts that eked into his mind seemed... malformed and unsightly things. So he pushed them away. Pushed her away.

He would help her kill these traders and then, once done, they would find a way to set her truly free. He owed it to her, perhaps to Arethil, to restore some balance to the world.

Before they passed through the portal stone, Gerra used what coin he had gained from forging weapons on commission to purchase supplies. These he carried in a pack on his back, for both of them.

This done, they passed through at last and arrived at the last known location of these traders who dealt in the trafficking of exotic beings - the Ruins of Ravaryn upon the newly discovered continent of Malakath. A cartographer of some fame had uncovered a portal stone there and it was to this that they traveled.

Gerra and Esper emerged in the Ravaryn excavation site and the half-giant looked about with wonder at tumbled down stone of a city vast and ancient perhaps as the dragons themselves.

Hardly any others traveled here, for it was a dangerous place. There were a handful of stalls surrounding the portal stone, but these seemed more geared toward archaeologists and scholars. Someone had set up an enormous tent that passed for an inn amidst the ruins and it was here Gerra led Esper first.

He bought them some food and drink and sat down, then - feeling guilty for the silence - at last broached a question.

"How is your neck?"

Malephis had bitten her there. Gerra had avoided touching her, or prying into the details of how the devil made her suffer. It seemed obvious.

Esper