Grodrock used to be the home of the ogres before the fae discovered its mining potential. In exchange for not getting kicked out of their land, the green people extracted minerals, built houses and worked their lives away, having nowhere else to go. But that was many, many years ago.
There were all sorts of people in Grodrock now, though it was still known to have the largest ogre population in the world - Miss Stench was one of them. With the money their sons made working in the mines they bought her a property, where she opened the most lucrative tavern in town. People of all kinds walked in to warm up from the cold weather of the city all year round, and many would order the famous and delicious Stench Special. That night was different, perhaps because of the storm outside that scared the customers away. It was quieter than usual.
(Goal: form a group of mercenary outlaws that will eventually join a pirate crew.)
‘Twas a dark and stormy night. A starless night. A night for tea and soup and tales around a fire. A night when a tavern without beds was usually empty. It was a bad night for business, if one went to the tavern looking for it. It was a good night for other work, uninterrupted, away from a leaky cottage on the banks of the river if that’s what you were looking for.
It was, indeed, what Ruby had come looking for. She had the trappings, of course - Miss Stench was a generous soul, letting her peddle her lies in one corner of the tavern. She had a sneaking suspicion that the old ogre had a touch too much superstition to consider turning her away when she’d asked. She still paid a little, a stipend of sorts.
It always amazed her how much the desperate would pay for a comforting falsehood. A few candles lit about, casting her great feathers and cloaked form in eerie shadows. A glass ball that caught those same shadows, and a deck of cards that had no meaning except what she gave to them. The seat across from her was empty.
Here in the candlelit glow of her corner, she studied an unfurled scroll. Her pen worked in tiny sketched spots, patterns that without label were illegible. Her maps unto infinity, the charts of the stars far from the poisonous lights of cities and civilizations. She could say that as she stared into the constellated spirals that she saw pasts and futures beyond imagining. And perhaps it was a map of the future. Not in a dreamer-sense, though: in the sense of the realistic visionary, the one who had plans to fly this place. It was comfortable, this town on the river, and it had enough desperate souls to line her pockets and feed her stomach for a lifetime. Nine years should be enough to make her comfortable, complacent, even. But she’d long since learned not to become comfortable. Comfort was the realm of the dreamer.
There was another reason to linger in the corners of a tavern like an owl in the rafters of a barn. Like the patient owl, opportunity tended to scamper to her. Not just mice trembling before the infinity of tomorrow, humbled before the golden gaze of the visionary. Sharper even than that glare though was the talon on the seat beside her, a curved saber kept in far better condition than it had been stolen in all those years ago. Sometimes in the quiet someone would take that empty wooden seat across from her not for the cutting edge of deception, but the cutting edge of that blade. And with enough gold, perhaps she could be convinced.
Grodrock was by no means a city bustling with energy, but this particular night's silence was unnatural, one could be forgiven for considering it a ghost town at this point, all due to some pouring rain washing the life from it's roads. It was not all that rain washed away, however, after all it was such an amazing friend. Tracks, smells, blood, it practically cleaned Drake's trail for him, a loving mother doting on the children who dared not hide from her. They had had a long-lasting friendship, him and the storms, he came out to meet it tonight, and in acknowledgement it dispelled prying eyes and rallied the river to carry the bodies.
A good night's work, easy and clean.
Now he found himself back in Miss Stench's quiet, unassuming corner of the town. "One Stench Special and a glass of milk, please." He calmly ordered, just as quickly as he entered the inn, water dripping from his clothes and hair. "I will be taking a seat by the fire, if you do not mind. Today's storm caught me off-guard." Drake smiled at the ogre behind the counter before turning his eyes towards the small fireplace.
Taken, as expected.
Although what was unexpected was the person sitting by it. Drake was no stranger about the purging, he had been taught the same lesson plenty by many different folk who adored history they took no part of, that would then gloat about their accomplishments when they took no part of the executions they ordered. In fact, this might have been the first Aos Gaotha he saw and did not have to immediately draw a sword on. A welcome change no less, wet clothes constricted too much movement to properly fight in.
"Excuse me." His tone was soft and dry. "Would you mind if I borrowed this seat until I am dry?"
The man was not from around here. He didn't strike Ruby as a bargeman, either. There were very few other trades that would fit his description that would find themselves in Grodrock. Perhaps he was just a traveler caught unluckily in the rain, but he was far too damp to have just run from one shelter to another, even in this weather. She knew the marks of the mercenary. She didn't particularly care that he was a mercenary, except perhaps that he might be here looking to hire her. Unlikely as that was.
She hadn't needed to look up from her charts to hear him come in, to catch his shadow as he passed through the door or order in the empty room. Then his boots came towards her chair, and she looked up at him. She prided herself in an air of mystery, these days - she had a reputation to keep up after all. So she did not smile at him, but she did wave to the seat across from her when he asked in a voice like rustling leaves.
"Of course," she said, her own voice soft with a strange depth. More mature than most voiced her own age, although that was her experience or her nature was anyone's guess. Her fur cloak was dry, an indication of how long she had been here. Her movement revealed the ruby about her neck as it caught the light of the fire and threw it back in vibrant hues.
That seemed to be the end of it, as she reached for her pen and dipped it into the inkwell. Before she pulled it back out, however, she continued: "For a few coin, I could do a reading for you."
There were many answers to that question. If he simply said "no, thank you," then he was a normal, reasonable person who didn't waste his time or money on frivolities. If he said "yes," that was an indication of boredom. She ruled out desperation for this one. Although with his kind, she couldn't tell at a glance what his past might hold. And she could only lie about his future.
There was a third answer, though, that sometimes crossed the table. It tended to vary in phrasing, but it always had the same intent. The talon was at her side, sheathed in leather, but whether he was here for that remained to be determined. Everyone was armed these days.
Aos Gaotha always intrigued him, not for their rarity nor their fame as scoundrels, much less for their extravagant and unique appearance - he had seen his fair share of avians, terrestrial or not - but rather that quaint air of mysticism exuding from their airy voices. Always their talk about unreachable dreams, ancient wisdom from a history erased long ago. They were an outlandish people, their fancy spiel never resonated with him. Past, future, dreams. He hadn't had much of those.
This one was no different in that regard, her trinkets systematically placed on the table, an orderly fashion seldom perceived by those sinking to the depths of their minds, distracted by the bright colors and false promises of superstitions. It was a fine trade, dealing in lies not so dissimilar from his own, and yet they shone light whereas he could only cast darkness. Two sides of one gold coin, and if his was the twilight, hers had to be dawning. Yet, no amount of dreaming and fate-telling could keep you from the hard reality. A crooked piece of metal, shaped to take life as all others, and the trusty companion of all who let not chance guide their path.
Surviving. That was the truth of all past, present and future. No few coins could ever teach you what you already subconsciously know.
"My apologies, but I must refuse." He offered a faint smile. "However I could not help but notice that blade of yours. Is the fortune-telling business not paying enough coin?"
Ah, there it was. She fixed him in her steady gaze as he smiled at her. She saw the look he gave her wares. He did not find them amusing, or pitiable. He just knew the truth of life, a hard life that dragged dreamers and visionaries from their slumber. He knew reality much the way she did. His eyes had drifted from her baubles to the blade at her side, covered though it was. Under that sheath it was not a pretty blade, but it was kept clean and sharp. It did its duty to her, just the same as the cards or the stars.
She must be cautious, though. The lessons of survival were hard-learned, its reward hard-earned. Not everyone who came about asking questions meant well. The world was just crawling with liars, herself included.
"Could it not be that we live in dangerous times?" she asked him, after a heavy moment. "The empire, thieves, all sorts of wanderers of ill-repute. Only a fool would be caught unarmed."
She was mapping the lines in his face as she spoke. There was a blessing to having eyes so large, beyond sight in the darkness. Little details hardly ever passed her, and she barely had to move a muscle to absorb the entirety of a person. They were part of what made her so successful, for to tell a good lie one had to know what sort of person she was lying to. But beyond traveler's clothes, a bit of armor, and a sword of his own, there was little to say about the man. A man running, or hiding, or perhaps just a private sort of person. Curiosity stirred in the heart beneath the ruby, and she glanced in a far more obvious manner around the mostly-empty room.
"Although, truth be told, people are hardly lining up to witness magic on nights like this. Preparation is a mark of wisdom, as is an open mind."
He didn't really wait for an answer before directing his attention to the fire before them, leaning forward as to dry up his clothes faster. His gaze remained unchanging, simply observing the arrhythmic dance of the flames. She had the right idea about how the world worked, everyone wanting someone else dead, there was no man on this plane who knew about this more than the Blade of Twilight, for him and all fellow sellsword made from this absolute a means to survive themselves. Snuff out a light, and yours dances on.
"That much is true." Drake folded his arms. "I can hazard a few guesses as to why you should prepare. Big city, superstitious folk, afraid of one atypical night. Who can tell the frenzy wrong fortune may cause." He paused. "Still, wisdom alone will not save you if the time comes. A blade is no good if the hand behind it faulters. I suppose you know as much. Folk truly do not take kindly to your people, afraid of pouring water the way they are."
The assassin's hands reached gingerly for the inside of his coat, pulling a small protected sack of tobacco and a white pipe, it's lengthy stem emulating that of flowers, culminating in a beautifully ornate nightshade-shaped bowl. "I hope you will not mind my smoking, it has been a rather eventful day on my end."
Firelight danced across his features as he spoke. All she could tell about him was that he spent much of his time deep in thought, even when he seemed to be giving his attention to something else. His words only confirmed her suspicion, and he knew quite a bit about the ways of the world. Especially with regards to her people. Most people didn't mention what she was, at least to her face. Maybe they thought it rude. Maybe they thought she'd think it rude and curse them with something unspeakable. Those that mentioned it were either free of illusions like "rude" and "polite," or had some form of intention.
She did not flinch as he reached into his coat, although her large eyes followed the careful movement. His words could have been a warning, and a firearm hidden under the cloth, and still she would not have given him the courtesy of flinching. Cruel men liked to startle little birds in their last moments. Hers, when they came, would not be spent pleasuring cruel men. That time was behind her.
As it happened, his weapon was nothing lethal to her. She nodded a little as he lit the pipe. If smells had once bothered her, any amount of time in Grodrock would have cured her of such sensibilities.
"Respect. Fear. They have their benefits." She let go of the pen, still at rest in the inkwell, and let both her arms rest on the table in front of her. "They inspire people to keep their distance. Not ask questions. Fear of curses is only counterbalanced by a superstition that such things as fate and witches can be appeased."
She'd heard of what had happened to other Folk in other places. That wasn't the reason she'd taken up the talon, but it did give the more belligerent members of the town's populace pause before they blamed her for floods, for drought, for mysterious deaths and disappearances. She had no more power over nature than the man before her but people wasted so much faith on it that, had she been inclined, she might have abused the real power it gave her.
Wise or not, she was much smarter than that, even if her eyes did catch stars from time to time.
Drake chuckled a bit as she mentioned fear and respect, nodding in agreement. She had her head in the right place, which was unorthodox for the few other members of her race he had interacted it. It didn't help his job often required removing their heads from the right place, yet the dreamy and optimistic or bigger-than-life rebellious personalities truly did not fit with how the world spun. The Empire's machinations and their pompous attitude toward every single life itself perfectly encapsulated why the Aos Gaotha fell. All those spewing their egotistical beliefs of grandeur were bound to attract the eyes of those believing to be better, collapse would soon follow, such was the way of the world. One can either perpetuate the cycle or pick a pad and row with the tides, those too simple to understand this were left to drown.
The fear of someone greater overtaking you is why the Empire raised assassins, and by the very same extent displayed how they respected their detractors's might, for which other reason would one strike so prematurely if not fearing one's fate and acknowledging the other's capabilities to inflict said fate?
Indeed, these emotions commanded power, a power over the oppressed's suffering and the oppressor's paranoia. It would not be any stretch to conclude this is what closed the cycle. If your oppressor is that which you have no control, like, say, fate? Then the power of revealing one's future perfectly encapsulates the very same bigger picture. The fear of the one who could curse your very next step, to bend your knee to them, until fear turns into frenzy and the oppressed into the oppressor.
Drake puffed, a single streak of smoke leaving his wife's pipe.
"The Empire inspires people to do the very same, and yet villages burn and discontent brews within it's very heart. A delicate balance, that of fear and respect. A heavy burden on your shoulders for simply being, I would wager." He looked back at her, a sly smirk crossing his face. "That is to say, it is a good idea to have picked up that second trade of yours. Curses may keep others away, but a good blade will keep them where they cannot reach you: six feet underneath the earth."
If she'd had a drink, Ruby would have lifted it to him. For the first time in their conversation a phantom smile passed her face, although it didn't last very long. It seemed she'd found a kindred spirit in this stranger. It was a bit of a relief, to be honest. Neither afraid nor arrogant. He didn't seem like the type to dream of Sky and sing songs of times long since gone.
He compared the grinding wheels of the Empire to the impending infinity of fate. She had no faith in fate herself anymore - had it been fate that took up her Talon and cut her chains? No. But she didn't think about the Empire much in this corner of the world, either. The stories of her people's Sky had long since faded in favor of far more mundane dangers. So long as she did not cross the Imperial path - to its face, at least - then a single aos gaotha peddling deceptions could be overlooked. Especially when trouble brewed among the far more imposing ogre miners of the city.
"It's more weight than my folk usually carry on our own, I'll grant that." There was no sadness in her tone as she spoke the words, for the grief in her heart had long since been banished to make room for practical matters. "But the medium is not hard to find once you know what it is the people want. Never promise miracles, never threaten directly. Perhaps it's treason to suggest the Empire learn a lesson or two from the humble witch."
It was mostly said in jest. But the rest was said in test. Her expression neither moved nor changed as she assessed his answer, and there was very little tat could startle her into taking back the words. He was coming too close to agreement with her at too many points for her to not suspect, just a touch. The Empire had no reason to turn its lofty eyes down to her, but if there was a bounty on her people again - as there had once been - then the talon might see some use tonight.
She gave no indication of that intention, however. She just watched his response and continued to speak.
"Even the Empire knows perfect peace is a fool's dream, it would seem. You never find it in the real world no matter what corner welcomes you, be it the loftiest peak or the lowest crevasse. But there are occasions where opportunity catches the light in unexpected ways, if your eyes are open to the glitter."
"Ha!" He let out an audible chortle, a faint white trail shooting from his nostrils. "The Empire certainly seem to lack the subtlety and control you speak of, they are too focused on appearances, staring too long behind them they will eventually lose the trail, and then it crumbles and another oppressor takes it's place." Drake abruptly stopped speaking as the waitress came with his food and drink, graciously smiling and nodding his head to thank her for the services.
He sipped from his cup, gesturing for his partner to wait, for he had more to say. "Despite all that, folk like you and I, those who deal with what is behind the curtain rather than the illusions displayed to the public. We will be just fine. As long as two people exist in this plane, one will wish their fate to be above the other's." The pipe twirled amidst his fingers. "I suppose that is the glitter we chase, do you not? To take advantage of those too self-centered to realize the world around them."
It was not as simple as that, the sellsword knew as much. The many cogs of this huge machine clunkily turning every season, rotating in this endless cycle of misery, burying the wants and the wishes of men... Dreams adapted to the maestro's tune, what he wanted yesteryear was not what he wanted now, Alewyn taught him as such. In one day your entire world will change regardless, and yet the dance goes on and on. You may change partners, you may even change style, but the one who chooses to step away and chase another ball? The cog who decides to spin out of order? They are forever excluded, and lost to time.
As the waitress came by and placed down the traveler's food, Ruby softly voiced an order for herbal tea and gathered up her papers. Her cards and crystal ball remained in place, and she made no move to remove the heavy brown cloak around her shoulders, but the least she could do was move her precious star-charts out of the way of her table's temporary guest.
He spoke an answer that would be heard in some places as treasonous to the paranoid spies that seemed to pervade every place the Empire touched. He even stopped as the waitress came. The latter words were what finally tempted Ruby to relax, however. Such talk of the self's benefit was far closer to the mercenary she'd first suspected than one of the Empire's ears.
"If, by a superior fate, you mean to say survival, then yes." She carefully slipped a scroll into its case. Without realizing it, her mind had slipped into the same pattern as his, thoughts of time gone by and time going forward. Of a world controlled by the strong who underestimated the weak, until the weak preyed upon the strong and became themselves the stronger. Thought and word collided there, and she resumed her speech."No matter the strength of the predator, or its glory and repute, it will eventually become old and fat and tired. Another will come to devour it, and take its place in the world, until it, too, outlives its glory. It would seem that nature is best suited for the survival of scavengers."
"Survival. Living another day to eat a good meal, sleep in a warm bed, see a friendly face. It is funny, is it not? Deep down we are the very same. Me, you, even Ms. Stench. But have you ever wondered why?" He shrugged, his perpetual deadpan gaze unwavering even if his mouth curled and expanded in a multitude of expressions. "I think plenty about that. Are we no different from beasts?" It was a multi-faceted question, one with no easy answer, for indubitablly they had coursed such distinct paths to the same table, even if his avian companion had an answer of her own, it might not apply to him - and to no other soul for that matter.
He had been asked this once, why he did what he did, why he ran from the grave even if his hands bled and his feet gave out, why even bother if he had no grander aspirations, no roots to return to, no beliefs to place his faith. Drake still had the same answer then as he did now - none. It was not as if he particularly found joy in what he did, nor did he despise it, death was a constant in the world, there could be no life if it's antithesis did not hold equally true. It was not the gold, money never interested him beyond the absolutely vital. He did it because it was what he knew, it kept attention away from him, kept him fed and well equipped, kept his blade sharp and his mind sharper. All to survive, but survive for what? For who?
Why?
Even if for a very brief moment, he once held an answer between his arms.
Her folk would have said that it was their ability to remember, to tell stories of the past one to another, that separated them from the animals. Beasts could not sing of the past, only of their nature, of their present, and sometimes of the future for those who had faith in such falsehood. The purpose to life, for her folk, had been recollection.
Ruby believed, deep down, that it was the ability to dream that created that gap between the rational creature and the beast. Animals did dream. A hound before the hearth twitched and whined in the depths of slumber behind some imagined prey. But the dreams of beasts could not bear meaning, nor again could they be shared. Animals could not be plagued with what might be. They neither worried for tomorrow nor showed surprise when it came. It had not been visions that made a hunter of her, but even in the dark depths far from Sky, even in her most pitiable moment, the promise of any future had been enough to survive.
That was not the answer this stranger had been looking for. Her head tilted slightly as her liar's mind sought out what he wished her to say, what he wanted to hear.
"It may be that each has their own way to maintain that distinction," she finally said. "There are many who choose to simply be beasts. Slaves to base desire and instinct. Often I have found that this sort are worse than simple animals. Others are forced by fate or fellow men to remain animals. But somehow, to be considered men, we find a way back. And each has their own path out of their baser state. Perhaps it is that escape that separates us. Whether we take that path away from animal nature is our choice, but that choice is what separates us whether we accept it or not."
She picked up the tarot deck and began to idly shuffle it in her hands. She had no intention to do a reading without coin. She was not agitated, far from it. She found this conversation quite enjoyable. It was a calm break in the storm of the mundane, even as the storm of rain and wind continued outside.
"So you say." Drake ran his thumb and index finger through his chin, there was indeed some truth to what she spoke, the concept of choice between trusting one's most base instincts as opposed to accepting what made them different after all. A curious point of view. Yet he could not help but envy beasts, they sought no bigger meaning to existence, surviving not for some greater-than-life purpose but simply because it was their nature to do so. Part of him could believed they led more fulfilling lives, bereft of whys, accepting of the true nature of their little world. That was not to say they were devoid of feeling, much on the contrary, for was it not the hound the one to stand guard for their owner despite danger? And was it not the man who ransacked and pillaged their fellow for naught but glory and misguided vanity?
"Which would you be, then, my dear fortune teller? The beast left to the whims of fate or the man on the path of purpose?" A ring of smoke left the pipe as soon as the inquiry was presented.