Dreadlords Woman of Whispers

[Noel]

6th of the 3rd Pnerian month. Edge of Aberresai Savannah and Aniria’s official border.

The rain was unrelenting. Just constant pelts of water, one after another. This had been a miserable campaign made ever the more miserable by one Special Advisor Cervesti.

Cervesti wore khaki pants, Cervesti spent twenty-five ‘shaving’ every morning, Cervesti had an unusually large gut and his breath nearly always smelt of rotted onions. But, Cervesti was also a “rogue Elbionese refugee” that the Black Guard had worked with for a decade. He had the unique ability of tracking magic itself, almost like a bloodhound

“We’re getting,” the older man vibrated in a violent fashion, “closer… closer…”

She’d sent missives to the closest compounds. Perhaps they’d called guardsmen, ill equipped for the dangers they’d face, or they’d called Dreadlords, possibly too headstrong for the evils that lurked this far from the Anirian borders.

Those that chose to come, or who were assigned to come, would be greeted by a portly man with glasses that he felt constantly compelled to clean. In addition, a mass of patchwork metallic armor with a large twisted rosebud on the back and a head of jet black locks poking out from behind.

”Keep yourself calm,” Noel said to the overweight middle-aged man, ”we have guests.”

The mass of metal turned and a friendly looking face graced any of the new arrivals with a wide grin. ”Welcome.” She surveyed them slowly, one a time, realizing that most of the members of the Anirian Guard that had been sent wouldn’t survive. Her eyes kept scanning, hoping that perhaps she’d notice a familiar face or the patch of a Dreadlord.

Even if that didn’t come to pass… whoever stood before her would serve. And this assignment was too important to worry about the potential casualties.

A stoic face looked upon the small group before her, ”I assume your commander read the missive to each of you,” most Anirians knew how to read. But Noel had encountered enough Guradsmen who hadn’t experienced the privilege of literacy to know that such an assumption wouldn’t serve her. ”We move to intercept and neutralize a woman of whispers.”

Noel paused for a moment, taking in the faces of each of the Anirians before her.

Then, unprompted, Cervesti spoke up. “Witch’s coven,” his eyes twitched like he was high. His left hand bobbed up and down in protest. “We don’t know what… what she has present, but she’s close.” His head nudged to the side as tried to keep his focus on the woman they hunted.

Noel stepped forward. ”Cervesti here will lead us to our mark. A woman of whispers. She uses foul magics to commune with the rest of her coven.”

“Foul. F-f-f-foul magics.” Cervesti added while vigorously scratching at his neck.

”We know,” Noel proceeded, as if Cervesti’s interruption had never occurred, “that this coven has plans that threaten not just Vel Anir but all of Arethil.” She raised a gauntleted hand towards her right pauldron in a traditional Anirian salute, ”we need to cleanse this filth. We need to uncover what they’re planning.”

Cervesti gave a glance over towards Noel before facing the rest of the group. “K-kill. Them all.” The rain continued to fall.

 

[Arn]

WITCHES?! Arn inwardly groaned, managing to keep most of his distress from his features as he stood in line with the rest of the new arrivals. He himself had only arrived late this afternoon, and mostly...not of his own volition. Having only been in the area due to a wholly separate mission, and thus being seen as simply another auxilery when they found him and his partner.

Though ordinarily he was stationed with the army of the West, last week he'd been sent back home for a special assignment. It hadn't actually been...all that special, just a delivery to be made, but his Lieutenant had said he could use the experience traveling more far afield.

A statement that Arn hadn't quite had the wherewithal to question at the time.

Still, the mission had been pleasant enough. He'd been allowed to pick his favorite Horse, Pumpkin Seed, and his partner had been...

Well, Marci had been tough at first, but a few stories about back home and she'd opened right up! Which was how he'd discovered that she had a mouth worse than Uncle Id. Tough thing to do, given that the old codger worked at the Dock all his life and heard more swears from more languages than a mocking bird, but Marci managed somehow.

It was impressive really, and he'd quickly taken a liking to her. Though, Rho had noted before that he took a liking to nearly everyone. Now he just had to hope that Marcia liked him enough that she would protect him in all of this. "Have you ever fought Witches?"

Arn said, attempting to whisper to the Marcia at his side. A task which was rather difficult to do with an actual whisper, given the more than a foot of height that sat between them.

 

[Henk]

She was alive.

It was the only thought that the hooded man allowed himself to ruminate on as he listened to Noel speak from amongst the Guardsmen and Dreadlords that had convened here, this misreable rainy little spack upon the border of Anirian land. The slightest phantom of a smile crossed his lips, scarred from battles countless.

If this 'Woman of Whispers' was to be his end, he would at least know that she still existed.

That was the extent of unhelpful sentimentality he entertained. Henk was was not here to rekindle his relationship with an old classmate. Noel wouldn't be speaking of something so outlandish as a Witch's Coven if they did not post a true threat to Anir and the surrounding territories. Though, if she was getting her intel from that bug-eyed portly fellow... No, surely she knew what she was talking about.

There were similar murmurs of uncertainty that predictably rumbled through the rainy gathering, and while Henk wasn't particularly concerned about the foes they were to combat, he did find himself surrounded by no shortage of unfamiliar faces. It wasn't common for a Dreadlord of his... 'history' to be sent so far toward the border, but his superiors had been having a hard time keeping him busy.

After Edric's escape, and Everleigh's dissapearance, Henk had thrown himself wholly into his duties. He woke, he worked, he trained, and he slept. Long had it been since he'd set foot in the Academy, or spoken to the lion's share of his comrades.

Ironic perhaps, that after spending so much of his youth fighting the idea of becoming a Dreadlord, it was now all that he had left.

"I would infer, then, that we should seek to interrogate?" Henk spoke up, crossing his armored arms and shifting his weight impatiently. "With all due respect to Ser Cervesti, we cannot kill indiscriminately without risking the information we seek."

 

[Marcia]

"No, it's not come up yet," Marcia murmured to Arn, which was indeed awkward due to their height discrepancy.

It was a strange pairing of Initiate and Guard, so much so that when she first met him for the delivery escort, the girl thought it had to be some malicious test of will. At first, she had tried to keep to herself in typical surly silence, hoping that something, anything that required sudden violence, would erupt on their mission. When that didn't come to pass, she eventually succumbed to his constant bombardment of farm tales.

To the Guardsman's credit, it did pass the time, and as far as road companions went, he was far from the worst. It was passable, almost enjoyable, and who was she to spurn the chance to make a rare friend? On reflection, the escort had been a more tremendous success than anticipated.

The pair had heeded the call because they were in the area. They were little and large, pessimist and optimist, sullen and jovial—Marcia and Arn.

She stood next to her new monolith of a friend in stoic observation, not quite bold enough to overstep in her opinion on the matter. As a matter of rank, she was there as another body to see the task to completion, whether that involved killing as suggested by the bizarre Cervesti or interrogation, as brought forth by one of the Dreadlords.

"Don't worry, Arn," the Initiate followed up with, keeping her voice low as to avoid interrupting what actually mattered: the debriefing. "I'll keep you safe." It was objectively hilarious, the five-foot-nothing girl, clad in boiled leather with a large steel buckler strapped to her back, promising to protect the absolute tower of a man.

 

[Noel]

Noel surveyed the room, eyeing over each of the guards who’d been assigned to this task. She’d hoped there’d be more but this is what she’d be forced to work with.

Her vision lingered on a specific pairing, a taller guardsmen and a Dreadlord initiate. But, of course, the initiate they’d sent looked to be a child. She was just… so small.

Perhaps the initiate’s magic would balance out her short stature.

But then Noel noted the lone Dreadlord who’d answered the call. Fuck.

Henk? Why? Of all the people in Vel Anir who could’ve shown up why him? It had been months since they last spoke and her patchwork of metal armor was something she wasn’t prepared for her old classmates to see. These assignments on the frontier had made her, in a word, brutal.

”Henk,” she caught his gaze and paused only for a second before pressing on, ”you are correct. We need to find out the coven’s location.” And ideally what sort of ritual they were planning.

Cervesti buzzed in anticipation. “All. Dead.”

She didn’t allow the annoyance to show in her face. ”Cervesti is a seeker. He can lead us to our prey.” Noel stepped forward, closer to the initiate and her tall guardsmen friend. ”But, you should be prepared. Once we have what we need we *will* kill the woman of whispers.”

Noel spent the next few moments explaining that witch covens used a woman of whispers to relay messages and information between its spread out members. Either by sending physical letters via raven to the members or communication via scrying orbs and other magical means. If they left her alive she’d alert the entire coven that a group of Anirians were en route.

”Cervesti believes she resides in a small shack,” Cervesti stepped forward, gods his breath.

“Trolls.”

”Uh, right, she might’ve, um, enthralled a few trolls too.” Noel noted that one or two of the guards paled at that news.

 

[Arn]

"I'll keep you safe."

A sense of relief washed over him almost as soon as Marci said the words. He had been in enough scraped involving magic now to know that things would quickly be getting out of hand. It wasn't like he was incompetent, the training the Guard had given him and his reach made him more than a fearsome opponent on the battlefield.

But what the heck was he supposed to do against someone that could turn him into a freaking newt!. "Thanks Marci."

The Farmboy said with every ounce of genuine sincerity within his tone. Though he quickly quieted down as Commander...Officer...Dreadlord? He was still not entirely sure of which title to use, explained what a 'Woman of Whispers' was.

His stomach sinking slightly at the thought of such slaughter. Eyes flickering down as he took a breath and tried to remember what those same women were trying to do. Head only shooting up when he heard the last of what their commander had to say.

"Trolls?!" Arn asked incredulously, not quite realizing that he had said the words out loud...and quite audibly too. "I mean...err."

The Farmboy cleared his throat. "You mean soldiers my size, right, Ma'am?"

He asked with as much hope as he could muster.

 

[Henk]

Trolls? Oh, this sounded more and more fun by the second.

Henk closed his eyes as Noel spoke, acknowledging her words with only an affirmative nod. If he was at all put off by the brutalist armor she'd donned, or the idea of slaughtering their mark once they had what they needed, he didn't show it.

He didn't show much of anything.

"Well, it doesn't sound like a boring day. If she can send out a distress message so quickly, though, our best bet will be to strike quickly and quietly." A rather tall task, when Trolls were involved. "If we waste too much time on her muscle, she can call for help before we can get to her."

With how imposing his presence was becoming, there was some small part of Henk that wondered if maybe they could use Cervesti as live bait. Judging on the looks Noel was giving the portly man, she wouldn't object.

Between him, and the quivering Guard standing beside Henk, The Dreadlord wasn't so sure stealth would be feasible without a little improvisation. He almost missed the stone-faced killers he'd come into the fold alongside, now.

"So, we take down the Woman of Whispers, track down the coven, and prevent the ritual, whatever it is." Henk ran down their objectives, his working eye opening to longer on Noel as she paced. "And make it back before dinner. Am I missing anything, Noel?"

 

[Marcia]

Marcia had to remove her gaze from Arn before the man actively began to infect her with his wholesome nature, which to her seemed to stand in direct opposition to what it meant to be a Dreadlord. Not a slight on him, but still...

However, when she looked to the Dreadlord leading the assignment, the girl was immediately met with a sudden crippling headache. Each individual segment of her patchwork armour bore a different angle of reflection, and by setting eyes upon them, she automatically split her soul between them. For a brief moment, the girl was in too many places at once, a kaleidoscope of new perspectives invading her head, which caused a strange glug sound to leave her throat as she winced.

Diverting her eyes to the other Dreadlord, who was nowhere near a reflective, she found swift relief just as the mention of trolls arose. Never a smaller foe. Just for once, she craved an imp or a goblin instead of shape-shifting bear men and trolls.

"And you can keep me safe," Marcia muttered to her towering companion, her eyebrows knotting at the thought of trying to withstand a blow from a troll with her shield. She could already anticipate the vibration in her back teeth.

She tried not to scowl at the seeker, whose mannerisms and general demeanour could only charitably be described as odious, instead keeping on track with the formation of a strategy.

"I can do quickly and quietly," Marcia finally piped up, aware that her station as an Initiate ranked her lowly in the category of opinions to be listened to. However, being timid in the fear of being rebuffed would have been so completely pathetic that she might as well have walked away. "I just need some protection."

 

[Noel]

Noel gave the taller Guardsman a once-over. She'd faced her first troll when she was still an initiate but she frequently had to remind herself that to normal Anirians they likely only ever heard of the things in folklore or from dull texts with varying descriptions.

She was pretty certain that in more rural parts of the Anirian Republic the common folk might even regard trolls as being nothing more than a myth.

"They are significantly larger than humans but you needn't worry your training will," Noel was interrupted as Cervesti pushed forwards.

"Four, sometimes FIVE stories tall!" His head twitched back and forth upon his neck before he could continue, "they'll use your bones as toothpicks lad."

Metal clattered as Noel stepped forward and placed an arm in front of their seeker. "They're incredibly stupid and slow. No one is going to have their bones used as toothpicks." Probably. Maybe.

Turning her attention towards Henk and the initiate she straightened her back and nodded.

"Stealth is probably the safest way," though it was something her magic was less well equipped for. "Mostly need to be careful for hex circles, the trolls, and any other traps."

Cervesti scratched at his stomach. Noel gave her full attention to the small girl before her. "If you think you can get it done I can hang back and intercede if things get... complicated."

The allomancer tapped at the armor on her left arm, chancing a quick look at Henk. He'd changed in the months they'd been apart but there'd be plenty of time for them to speak after they took care of their immediate problem.

"We should get moving, any other questions we can address on the road."

 

[Arn]

Hex-Circles? Traps?! Not to mention the trolls!

Arn felt the sweat bead on the back of his neck.

As much as he appreciated Marci's notion, the Farmboy wasn't entirely sure that he wold be much use against anything that was three or four stories tall. Maybe I should grab a shield.
The Guardsmen thought to himself as he heard Marci volunteer. His eyes bugged for a moment, frown dipping on his lips as he looked at his diminutive companion. Fear grasping his tongue for just a second before he remembered his fathers words; 'The only time a man can be brave, is when he's scared'.

Arn swallowed hard.

"I'll protect Marci." He said, and then suddenly corrected himself. "Err, Initiate Marcia."

He restated, remembering to use proper titles even as every nerve in his body frayed. "I'm used to just leathers anyway, and If I can grab a tower shield from armory I can carry that..."

Perhaps it was not the wisest choice. An Initiate and a Guardsmen of only nine months, but the two had volunteered, and if the others could keep the trolls busy...then perhaps the unassuming twosome really would be the best for the job.

Not that there was much time to question the whole thing. Within minutes of Noel setting them out, Arn had his shield, and the rest of the company was quickly mounted on horseback.

 

[Henk]

Admittedly, Henk hadn't paid much thought to the pair standing beside him. A Guard and an Initiate, they'd seemed to be forging some level of camraderie. Good, he'd been on enough missions that Guardsmen and Dreadlords had turned into pissing contests to last a lifetime. Some teamwork would go a long way, and at last did Henk find a small smile as he nodded to the redheaded Initiate.

"That's the attitude to have, Initiate Marcia, is it?" He'd been too preoccupied to get around to acquainting himself with the newest class incumbent. "You cannot improve without trial. Ogres should be a fine exercise for one of your title." It was the skittish looking Guard he was concerned about, but he was nice enough to hold his tongue, as he turned to head out toward the horses.

The ride itself gave Henk time for a bit of introspection, so long as he was sure to ride far enough away from Cervesti's constant warnings of doom and demise. For one willing to help them, he seemed to lack a certain faith in their chances.

That reminded him of somebody.

Only stolen glances were made towards Noel, her body clad in an incredible peice of patchworked metal armor. She looked a completely different woman, every bit the warrior she had always aspired to be, albeit without the title of Archon. It was coincidence that they reunited on this day, but one he was thankful for, even if he was not keen to express it.

Stubborn as he was, though, knowing she was here did cause that ball of resignation and defeatism that had eaten away at his spirit for the last months to shrink and struggle, just a bit.

Tossing his hood up over his head to shield it from the increasing downpour of rain, Henk leaned forward and gripped tightly the reins of his horse. "How long do we have, Cervesti?" He reluctantly inquired. "If we can close in before the storm passes, we can use it to our advantage."

 

[Marcia]

Cervesti had not taken terribly long to move from the realm of bizarre to incredibly fucking irritating, his abilities as a seeker surely only just outweighing how repugnant and terrible for morale he was, given how he had taken to frightening Arn with the prospect of his bones being used as toothpicks.

Only the attention of the two Dreadlords halted the urge to pass comment, or rather hiss something entirely unpleasant at him. The assignment took precedence over all. The girl nodded at them both, her lips pulled into a taut line.

"You'll be fine," Marcia had remarked quietly to the nervous, towering Guard before their departure. Her desire to reassure him was a mythical moment of kindness from the Initiate, who could acknowledge that he had grown on her across their comparatively tame mission, much like moss upon a rock. "I trust you."

In the rain, she was glad for her own shield, the large circular buckler that, more often than not, next to her small stature, made her look like a shiny turtle. The dome of the steel shield bore wicked short spikes, the rust of old blood in the grooves between washing away as she used it to shield both her and Arn's heads from the rain.

It was easier for the pair to share a horse, even if the size disparity looked ridiculous; even the shield above them was ramped awkwardly in a slant to account for the difference.

"They keep looking at each other," Marcia muttered quietly at Arn's back, moderately concerned at the prospect of the two more qualified people being distracted for the occasion. "Small glances." It wasn't uncommon for Dreadlords to get entangled in interpersonal affairs; trysts seemed to be an unofficial class for Initiates. Well, most Initiates.

"How are you feeling, anyway? Still scared?"