Fable - Ask Your signature please

[Brackard Cain]

"I merely need your signature on the page. And then this will all be over. You will get to live out the rest of your life exiled to one of the frontier settlements to the north."

Brackard leaning forwards in his chair, both hands crossed over his cane. His thin lips pulled into the faintest hint of a smile. The man opposite him was breathing hard and fast, trying to fight back the shock. He reached for the quill with his left hand. It trembled. His fine garments were flecked with blood and spit.

"Any mark will do, I'm sure you will learn to write and go back to yanking yourself off with your left hand in no time. Trust me, another cripple, when I say you will adapt to such things."

Kaltarn, a lowly cousin of hours Luana made his mark. The stump where his right hand had been was held tight to his lap, soaking his fine clothes in even more blood.

"See, not so hard," Brackard hissed. He yanked the confession away before any spots of blood marred it. He was going to get into enough trouble for interrogating a house member - even a minor one - without the confession being covered in blood.

With a groan of pain, Brackard pulled himself up to his feet. He offered a nod to Galrash, one of the half-orc jailors, who was current holding a bucket. The bucket contained a right hand, floating in a thin layer of noble vomit.

Brackard walked away with his awkward gait, shifting his weight back and forth between his good leg and his cane. He walked away to the sound of screams. It had not been quite over. Brackard had lied about that. He had not lied about exile and to be exiled you needed to be alive. To be alive you needed not to bleed out.

Of course, the poker had already been hot. Cauterization had been the next act of torture if the paper had not been signed.

 

[Brackard Cain]

The prison stank of piss and acrid blood and sweat. It didn't matter how much it was scrubbed. Two dwarves marched past Brackard now to clean up the room and their noble guest. They were both mutes. They had been since Brackard had their tongues whipped out anyway. Filthy beasts.

He emerged from the prison from a nondescript building in a quiet merchant district. There was always a Forsaken watching the entrance from the shadows. This evening he couldn't even see them. The sun had set whilst he was underground. Time flew and all that.

The dungeon wasn't on any map, it had no name to be written on any official document.

 

[Ashur-Kan Luana]

Zana Sloan

Ashur welcomed the Dreadlords into the reception room of the minimalistic Luana family home. It was a far cry from the usual gaudy and over-the-top approach to decoration favoured by the other houses and, instead, it boasted simple, sleek and well-made objects that made the manor feel almost quaint and humble. That said, Ashur looked far from at home tonight. Worrying news had reached his ears and he required the service of his Dreadlords. Such was the news that he was forced to interrupt their slumber and awaken them in the dead of night.

"Truly, I apologise for summoning you three here. News has reached the ruling council that a plot is currently transpiring within the confines of the city. A Dreadlord has been slain, several Guards and we believe they plan to target the noble houses." Ashur was a capable commander and combatant, but he would be overseeing the defence of his home and family.

"Sloan... You're familiar with Master Cain aren't you?" He bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable at mentioning the man. Brackard Cain. A necessary evil in a twisted and unforgiving world. Outside their Dreadlord forces, he was the single most important agent they had - saying that, he pulled more weight than some of the Dreadlords.

"Florinthe, Zana... I... I apologise what you might have to witness today. Cain is an agent of our house, a very effective one, yet his methods stand against everything we support. That said, if anyone can uncover this plot, it's him. He is to be protected and allowed every resource to get to the bottom of this revolt." He paused, nodding a dismissal to the trio. Ashur, usually, was not a frank man. He enjoyed taking questions and building a rapport with his comrades and guardians... Today was different. Today he was troubled.

 

[Zana]

Brackard Cain.

The name brought back memories in a violent storm of her time at the academy. Zana's visions were a great asset to the House; it was a source of information and for the Houses' interrogator information was everything. Any little clue she could give him or confirmation of a face or name or time had been vital. He just wasn't a particularly caring man when it came to the methods used to extract his information and it just so happened that pain was one of the best ways they had discovered for getting her visions out of her.

As they were dismissed from the room Zana's hands were shaking at the thought of being near that man again and her face was an ashen grey. She had only had to cross paths with him once or twice since her graduation from the academy but she had tried diligently to be an asset to the house in other ways so that she did not have to spend every lacking hour on a rock had slab being forced into the future over and over again for the good of Luana.

Even seeing Sloan return form her missions didn't bring her much comfort and the woman had been one of the few faces that hadn't made her feel sick during her training.

She spoke to neither of them as she strode from the room and back outside to where she had left her horse, assuming the others would keep up or follow at their own pace. If she stopped she would be sick so she couldn't stop. Swinging herself up onto her horse she stopped and took a moment to breathe the cold air. It took effort but Zana had to remind herself this time was different. She wasn't a student anymore, she was a Second Level Dreadlord. She had to be offered respect. But Ashur's words hung in her mind like a curse.

He is to be protected and allowed every resource to get to the bottom of this revolt. ​

 

[Sloan]

Sloan had arrived back in Vel Anir in the earlier hours of the morning, only two hours of rest had been afforded before she was awoken and summoned before Ashur. She tried to mask the exhaustion she felt and make herself presentable enough before attending, but the dark circles under her eyes betrayed just how little she'd rested over the past few weeks. She offered Florinthe and Zana a brief but warm smile upon arrival but didn't speak.

Sloan's chin lifted as Ashur spoke to her, she had a prideful confidence about her that was hard-won yet ran deep, anchoring itself to the way in which she moved and fought and spoke, but above it all was respect for those worthy of it. Ashur was one of those.

She cleared her throat in attempt to clear her voice of grogginess and nodded lightly at his question "I am, yes..". Her tone was a sombre one, and she spared a glance to the other two women, particularly Zana, before turning her attention back to Ashur. Her brow creased as he spoke, but she dipped her chin with an obedient "Of course." at his command and turned to leave at their dismissal.

Sloan's stomach churned just as it always did any time she was assigned to assist Brackard. Not that her face showed it, her expression remained stony and determined, though she allowed a quiet sigh as she pined for the warm bed she'd just left. Tomorrow, perhaps, if all went well.

It was becoming more and more difficult to remember Brackard as a young man. The man she'd known as a young woman, whom she'd looked up to and admired, whom she'd once thought handsome and regal. He'd been an exceptional fighter, she remembered the feeling of pride to fight by his side in his cavalry, how fierce he'd been.. But the memories grew fainter each time she saw who, or what he'd become. He'd grown cold and his heart grew black with bitterness, and she no longer respected or agreed his methods and done all she could to avoid working for him. Sloan never argued with an order, but his caused her many sleepless nights, his had shocked her, and she was not a woman easily shocked.

She followed behind Zana, letting the woman be alone with her thoughts, but she knew what Brackard had done to her and the turmoil that was sure to be storming through her mind at the very mention of his name. She was strong enough to deal with it without Sloan's reassurance. She could offer none.

Sloan pulled herself onto her own horse and kicked her heels at his sides, and rode to find the man, fighting down the nauseating dread.

 

[Brackard Cain]

Brackard's horse and carriage pulled up before a fine house in one of the residential districts of Vel Anir. Even the walk from the carriage to the doors was painful, but not much more than every moment of his life had been since the injuries.

"In the south drawing room sir," said one of the guards at the door.

Up the stairs. Of course it was up the fucking stairs. Brackard nodded and entered the building. If they were quick the others coming to the meeting might beat him to the room.

He made his start, one slow stair at a time. When they had first agreed to a facility they had offered a tower. Secure, they had told him. And you will enjoy the view. Absolutely fucking hilarious.

 

[Florinthe Othal]

Florinthe had yet to meet Ashur. It seemed fate, the universe or whatever gods may or may not exist had bound the two to never be in the same place at the same time. Strange really, considering his reputation of introducing himself to all his Dreadlords. That said, she was the most junior Dreadlord within the House's ranks - it was to be expected.

Carefully, she placed her hand on Zana's pack and cast a small smile towards her comrade. Even despite their long-standing friendship, Zana was still an enigma to Florinthe, but it didn't take an idiot to know that she was uncomfortable. Perhaps, Florinthe mused, the two had encountered each other before? Although, she had never seen the fellow Dreadlord so uncomfortable. Without much thought, Florinthe reached into her satchel and passed Zana a cube of cheese. Magic always left Florinthe starved and breathless, so she had gained a bit of a reputation for the endless morsels of food she carried at any one time.

Her eyes drifted towards Sloan as they made their way to the safehouse. The woman was one of the most experienced Dreadlords Florinthe had encountered, terrifying in battle and an excellent commander. Equally, she'd been well acquainted with Florinthe's late master who had served as the spymaster for the House before her untimely death almost two years ago.

"Right, I guess we just carry on then. Whoever this guy is, he's doing important work for the city." She swallowed nervously. She wasn't one for mindless nationalistic pride, wasn't one for duty. But she thought, at least for Zana's sake, she'd pretend.

The trio made short work of the journey and soon ended up at a nondescript, generic, middle-class townhouse in the residential district.

 

[Zana]

Did she tell Flor?

This mission might require her to know, would give her some insight perhaps into why she was so uncomfortable. But she had been sworn to secrecy. It was paramount that her gifts stayed locked behind the lips of only the most trusted. But then, Ashur would not have put Flor on this case if he thought it would be an issue for her to know surely? It could come out at any moment. Round and round the thoughts circled like vultures. At some point she managed to eat the little bit of cheese that Flor had given her but she barely remembered the ride. It was like she had been switched to autopilot.

As they wound down the street towards the manor house Zana quietly put her mental armour back on, finished it off with the blank expression she had schooled for this very purpose. By the time they had reached the door the ruffled Dreadlord that had left Ashur's room was gone and she was back to the stoic woman Flor knew.

"Let's just get this over with," with one swing she was off her horse and briskly handing the reigns to a stable boy who had scurried from the stables.

It turned out the trio had indeed beaten the famous Mister Cain to the designated meeting room. A small tray of tea was delivered but Zana ignored it and moved to stand beside the window; she wanted to see the man in pain as he walked up those stairs. It satisfied a little bit of the hatred inside of her. There was not long to wait as the man stepped out of the carriage and she watched until he disappeared from view before turning her attention to the other two women in the room.

"It's good to have you back in Vel Anir," her eyes briefly went to Sloan before reverting to the door. Waiting. "How was your trip?"

 

[Sloan]

"Yes...Lets." Sloan muttered quietly at Zana's words as she slid from her horse and followed, a subtle frown creasing on her brow as she counted the stairs to the drawing room. He wasn't going to arrive in a pleasant mood.

Sloan only had a short time to feel relaxed enough in her company to rub the sleep from her face in the corner of the room and down two cups of hot tea like shots of whisky. The woman offered a tired smile to Zana and shrugged a shoulder "Eventful.. But it seems I've missed much." her brow arched and she looked between the two.

"We'll talk later. Just...." she sighed and pressed her lips together, unable to find words but she hoped Zana would know what she meant as she straightened herself up again. Her dark eyes followed Zana's toward the door as she lifted her chin, her hands clasped behind her, bracing herself for the impending shudder that she now always felt when in the company of Brackard Cain.

 

[Brackard Cain]

Click, click, click...

After the last tap of a cain on stone floor there was a pause. A dull mutter through the doors. One sound resolved into a swear word. A few seconds and then the clicks started again coming more slowly until the door opened.

His stern face emerged through the door, pushed only half open and then held with with his cane.

"My, my. One two and three Dreadlords. What a waste of such valuable timing, sitting up here in comfort waiting for me to take the stairs as slowly as I do. Perhaps the ground floor next time," he said, all the while shuffling his way towards a chair. His gaze lingered on Sloan slightly longer than the others.

He took his seat and placed his hands on his lap. He massaged the palm of his cane hand, forcing them to wait even longer.

"I have a confession," he announced. "A minor member of the House confirming a plot to undermine Luana. Being backed by a minor house in fact."

Brackard actually had proof that a major house was behind it, but he had to tread carefully. Taking a house member into custody was difficult ground. Telling them that a major house was considering shoving Luana out of its way was a hard sell.

He needed more evidence.

 

[Florinthe Othal]

Florinthe stood uncomfortably as she watched the man hobble up the stairs. The first thing she noticed was the man seemed so small and fragile, hunched and lame. She wondered what made him be such a highly-regarded agent of her house. She shuddered, it probably wasn't best to dwell on that topic.

Almost immediately, that thought was quelled and she felt a pang of guilt grasp her stomach. Had she have known of his condition she would have suggested waiting for him at the foot fo the stares. She sighed.

"So uh... What are the next steps... What do you need from us?" She swallowed audibly. The game of houses as it was known within Vel'Anir was a dangerous one. She had had a few run-ins with rival houses and it had taught her enough to be scared of them.

The news Brackard brought was worrying. While she suspected House Luana were not the saints they painted themselves to be, she also knew they were a far sight better than the other houses she had met. Better the devil you know after all.

 

[Zana]

Waste of time? Probably going to be the highlight of my day...

Of course she said nothing out loud though unlike Flor there was no shame on her face about waiting in the room for him to climb the stairs, even if it had wasted time. As he seated himself at the table she walked over to the table and poured herself a cup of tea and then one for Cain which slid over to him with a gentle push from her telekinesis then she sat down. When he looked at her she lifted a half shoulder.

"To refresh yourself before the journey back down," then she casually stirred some cream into her own cup and leaned back in the chair as she took a sip. Zana was not a nasty person usually. She kept to herself and was a quiet and reassuring figure; she had taken after Sloan in that regard. But this man turned her bitter and nasty and all the hate was bubbling up under her skin. She contemplated how much worse he would actually look if she threw the contents of the tea pot in his face.

Another dainty sip.

Flor had asked the important question so she merely sat to listen.

 

[Sloan]

Sloan caught the man's gaze and held it despite how difficult she found it to do so, her chin dipping just a little as he spoke and her lips pressed tightly shut. Every time she saw him he looked a little more weathered, as though the man's soul had darkened just that little bit more. Most people looked upon him with fear or burning hatred, Sloan felt those things, but there was pity there too, and a deep sadness that she kept to herself.

Her brow creased. So he had already tortured some poor soul for a confession. Her lips parted to speak but Florinthe asked a valid question and she would await the answer instead. She'd rather simply take her instruction and go if that were possible.

Sloan's eyes darted to Zana, hearing the subtle lilt of smugness and anger in her tone, and she gave a brief mental nudge at the woman. It wouldn't do to provoke Brackard's anger, he'd only make their job a little more difficult.

She remained silently stood in the corner for now, calm and stoic whilst her mind was otherwise.

 

[Brackard Cain]

He could feel Sloan's eyes on him. Would she be looking at him with regret, pity, disappointment or frustration today? It didn't matter. They all made him feel deeply uncomfortable. As if he didn't feel uncomfortable every moment he was trapped inside this broken body.

Breckard's lips drew into an even tighter line. He drummed his fingers on the table, preventing a pleasant silence from sneaking its way into the room.

"Jerald Bruant. Always guarded by several quite deadly house guards. I need him and I need him to end up in the back of my carriage intact. Well, I need his tongue still attached. The rest is optional."

 

[Florinthe Othal]

She paused, leaning back against one of the dull stone walls. Florinthe's gaze never left the strange figure before her. Despite his words, she found it strange. Conspiracy within the walls of Vel'Anir... She knew it happened, but to think somebody would act against a ruling house.

"Will you be accompanying us? It might be safer to bring you along, saves us having to split our forces by leaving a Dreadlord here to guard you." Her face gave no ground, but she almost cursed herself once she spoke.

She had willingly suggested the group spend more time with Backard than, potentially, was needed. Hopefully, Zana would forgive her transgression.

"I suppose we best go collect him sooner rather than later at least." She said, trying to change the subject.

 

[Zana]

The mental nudge had Zana half turning in her chair to glare at the other woman; why did she care after everything this man had done to her? Had lied to Sloan, too, about what he had intended to do to Zana during training. She sat forward once more with the rage simmering beneath the surface but kept her tongue in her mouth and listened.

She had to always do her job, do it well, to not end up back on the slab as the Houses personal forecaster.

Zana had been about to offer to be the one to collect the guard and bring him back when Flor spoke. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard blood welled in her mouth.

"Just as long as you stay in your carriage and stay out of our way," she stood up abruptly.

 

[Sloan]

Sloan’s brow furrowed gently toward Zana as she glared back at her, thoughts and feelings and histories had to be put aside. Their house needed a job done and they’d do it regardless of what they thought about Brackard, or the things he’d done.

She remained quiet though, glad Flor was doing the talking, she didn’t much feel like it, and she desperately needed sleep. The woman’s words almost forced Sloan to wince and she drew her eyes from Brackard and to the floor, her body tensing at Zana’s outburst.

“All tensions aside. We are a collective and our house is threatened. Brackard we are to provide you with whatever assistance you require to help you resolve the issue at hand. We’ll take our instruction and go.” She spoke up finally, a touch of irritation in her tone, but her expression remained on of exhaustion as she lifted her gaze to the man once more.

 

[Brackard Cain]

"Just as long as you stay in your carriage and stay out of our way," she stood up abruptly.

"I was not planning on dancing a jig after you all in excitement," he snapped back. "Nor do I need guards, but I suppose coming along means I would find out sooner if you have succeeded.

He cast a glance towards Sloan briefly. He couldn't decide if he appreciated her trying to smooth the situation or not. He could handle the attitudes of a few jumped up dreadlords on his own. They were not as invincible as they thought. More than one had found themselves under his 'care'. On the inside they were all the same.

"I intend to get a confession by the end of the night and I always get what I want."

This time he did not meet Sloan's gaze. Not at all. With a grunt he drew himself to his feet and started clacking towards the door.

 

[Florinthe Othal]

"Well... Ashur said he was allowed all resources at the House's disposal... So I guess that means us too." She gulped audibly, outside sat a perfectly mundane and nondescript carriage, faded insignias and signs spoke of distant and strange families - likely to throw off the scent of any Luana involvement. The perfect getaway carriage really.

She sighed as the four of them sat awkwardly in the back of the carriage. Cain had barked a few orders at the driver and now the group awaited Jerald Bruant and his entourage.

Florinthe stared out the window. Bored. They had been here for an hour or two and, despite the single reassurance the torturer had given them when they arrived, she felt a pang in her stomach as if he wasn't coming.

Thankfully, the gaudy and ostentatious carriage of a wannabe noble pulled into sight - surrounded by several tasty looking guards. She sighed, glancing towards Sloan and Zana, her fingers moved instinctively to find comfort around the haft of her spear.

"Do we start?"

 

[Zana]

How had she ended up here?

The carriage was a small thing and her knees knocked against Flor's who sat opposite her and her thighs were tense against Sloan's own who sat next to her. Even then her shoulder still brushed up against the wood of the carriage door and she tried desperately to push herself into it further to get even a breath more distance between her and the man who sat in the carriage with them. The minutes had gone by agonisingly slow until Zana had begun to debate getting out and sitting with the coachman at the front. Just for air, for space, for distance. The atmosphere inside was so tense you could have cut it with a dull rusty knife.

When their targets carriage pulled up she actually let out an audible sigh of relief.

It was as Flor asked the question that Zana twisted her fingers and loosened the bolts on one of the carriage wheels. It hit a bump in the street at the same time the whip in the coachmans hand mysteriously hit the horses rumps with a little too much vigour. The horses leapt forward with a cry and, with a little loosening of some more bolts, the horses went galloping through the streets with the harness still attached to them at the same moment the carriage hit the rock and lot a wheel sending it crashing to the ground. It split the guards into two and created enough confusion for the rest of them to work.

Zana tugged up her hood and then her hand was in the door, pushing it open.

"Focus on grabbing him I'm going to create more distractions," she muttered and then she was gone, slipping into the chaos she had created.

 

[Sloan]

Brackard’s words took her mind back a little too far, words that once had brought about feelings of pride and determination in her, her feelings of awe over him, now only conjured more dread.
She’d been something he once wanted, now all he wanted was to hurt people and unleash his bitterness on the world. Not always, she felt like saying but held her tongue, and followed to the carriage.

She avoided his gaze entirely despite sitting directly across from him in the small space, instead focusing on trying to sooth Zana’s mind a little as her discomfort radiated from her. Being empathic was tiring, not only has she her own emotions to deal with but everyone else’s too.

Sloan watched Zana’s work and lifted her own hood with a gentle nod to Flor. “I’ll grab him. Keep the guards busy.” she told her with a soft sigh, not bothering to draw her own weapons just yet. With a glance to Brackard she stepped out, and closed the carriage door behind her, making a mental note to ensure their own carriage remained protected also.

Sloan strode toward the chaos without so much as breaking the stoic expression on her face, a bolt flew at her, but rebounded before it struck and fell uselessly to the street. She was heading straight for the man who was being bundled out of the carriage under protection, and the guards were coming at her, weapons raised.. she wasn’t stopping. She trusted the two women to do what was necessary.

 

[Brackard Cain]

He disgusted them all. And why wouldn't he? He had aged well beyond his years, a wretched cripple who couldn't even draw sympathy?

Brackard had been an arrogant and foolish young man who spent his time prancing around on the practise yards and never achieving anything. Woman had thrown themselves at him. Sloan had thrown herself at him.

Now he did great work. He had real achievements instead of false medals for riding over peasants on his glorious charger. As soon as they could they would discard him despite everything he had done for them. Doing all the work that they could not do, had not the resolve for.

He watches events play out through the window with mild disinterest.

 

[Florinthe Othal]

Florinthe bit her lip. She didn't want to draw too much attention to the group - especially when they were targeting such a high profile target - yet her magic was flashy, loud and destructive. She sighed, she would just have to make do.

Without so much as another pause, she lept from the carriage - withdrawing her trusty spear and raising it aloft before her.

Carefully, Florinthe targetted the guards Zana had split up and chose the ones currently not occupied by her fellow Dreadlord.

She inhaled briefly, drawing a brief gale around her figure and begun to spin on the spot. The wind whipped itself around her, warping and twisting the Dreadlord until she looked less of a human and more a spinning top.

The first guard lunched for her - was meant with harsh resistance in the form of an intense gale - before being struck and immediately bisected by her blade.

The Dreadlord sighed and stopped spinning entirely. With the attention of the Guards, she flicked her hand forward and directed the, still spinning, vortex of wind upon the militants.

The majority of her group dived out the way, but a couple were thrown forcefully into the surrounding buildings - they did not rise afterwards.

She smiled, spear twirling in her hand - readying herself for the guards to pounce.

 

[Zana]

Zana was usually known for her kindness. Her patience. Her calm disposition.

There was none of that in her today.

As she walked towards them she didn't even bother drawing her blade. One of the men walked towards her, called a greeting but when she said nothing he nervously went for the blade at his hip. Her hand lashed out, her magic pulling the guards sword from his scabbard before the man could do it himself and slashed its way across his throat. He crumpled, wide eyed. Now this was turning into an attack the others were approaching her. One guard went flying against the wall of a house with enough force to cause dust and brick shards to come falling down on top of him, another ended up with one of her daggers through his throat and one she swept off his feet and held him in the air for a moment. She watched with a burning hatred as he grappled with invisible hands around his neck and then slowly, slowly, he slumped. She dropped him and he made a sickening squelching noise as his body hit the cobbles of the street.

Her gaze flicked towards Sloan where she was dragging the man out of the carriage and Zana raised her hands. Around them the cobbles rose from the streets and splintered into pieces so that dust filled the skies and obscured the view of different people running here there and everywhere. It would be enough to mask it - in the confusion who would notice another carriage trying to escape the chaos?

 

[Sloan]

Zana and Flor cleared her path and she didn't pause for a moment. Two men still held on to their quarry, and they pushed him against the carriage to stand in front of him, weapons raised as they yelled a warning to Sloan as she strode toward them, her expression making it very clear she didn't have the time nor the energy to entertain their threats. Her fingers splayed and curled together into fists at her sides, and the two men crumpled to their knees, screaming and writhing in pain on the ground as they held onto their heads, pain searing through their brains.

Sloan reached out and grabbed the quivering man by the collar and yanked him away from the carriage toward their own. He struggled and Sloan huffed, grabbing her blade from her hip and slamming the hilt hard against the back of the man's head. He was a dead weight, but she dragged his limp body along the path that Zana had created for her and opened the carriage door to throw him in unceremoniously.

"Let's go!" she called to the two women and hopped back inside with a brief look to Brackard.

"Will you be requiring our presence for your interrogations?..." she asked him as they waited on the others, her tone as stoic as her expression.