Her answering smile was vague, a tip of the mystery that hid much of what truly lay beneath the surface. Such a heavy word, fate. So much weight for such a little sound. What was it? A universal force, inescapable as the passage of time? The infinitely numbered and infinitely small decisions of mortals, all compounded in a single crushing weight?
Did it matter? Ruby preached fate. It fed her, quite literally, to speak of it in great depth, and to deny it was not wise. But fate was a chain that if embraced too tightly would drink away all individuality and leave behind a desperate husk in need of purpose. Even as she spread the deck on the table between them, swept the deck faceup and facedown the way she once learned from a merchant gambler peddling card tricks, she had neither the stomach nor the patience to leave her future in the palm of fate's hand.
"The winds of fate carry us all, often against our will." Her golden eyes were unmoving, but shone in the red firelight with a strange intensity."But we each have wings by which we might navigate those paths. My people have lost our wings and our destiny together. If we do not act, we are left to fall from a still sky."
She flipped the cards again, then picked them back up and resumed her shuffling.
"Too many choose to let the earth drag us down, then pretend that flight can only be found in the fall."
No matter their circumstances, it seemed the Aos Gaotha had their sense of community intact, despite - as she put it - falling from the skies, their spirits remained united, a defiance of all expectations from those growing complacent in power. They might never be the same again, losing their place in the world, cast aside by society, and still they persisted with this goal bigger than the individual. That was the sort of thinking that got eyes on you from many different corners.
"Falling is a part of it, no? Survival, that is. Pardon if I offend you in any extent, but here is how I see it." Drake leaned forwards, the fire in her eyes clashing against the ice of his. "The more one worries about the falling leaves, the less one will see of the trees. Reality is what has already occurred to your people. Yet they let themselves be dragged down, not by the earth, but by the memories of the sky. They wish to reclaim what once was theirs, rightfully or otherwise. Reclaim it for the sake of a past which shall never return rather than a future they may mold to their very image." Puffing some tobacco again, he shrugged. "I am but one man, however. Pretending I understand you and yours would be quite the blatant lie."
"Falling is important," she conceded, "but it is more important to survival to catch yourself before the earth can catch you. It is for that reason that many of us remember the Sky with such fondness. Woven stories, woven sails with which to catch the winds of times long past." She made a dramatic wave with her hand as she said that part. She took no offense by his words - in fact, they were truer to her nature than ones she'd spoken.
A kindred spirit, indeed.
But there was something more important under his words. They told of no superstition, no fear of the travelers who followed old routes by land rather than Sky. It seemed... detached. Almost academic, even. The words of a real observer. That piqued Ruby's interest more than all the talk of fall and flight combined. Perhaps it was a foolish question that quailed before quickly evolving to statement, but it passed between them nonetheless. It may have been an observation or an accusation. Even its intention in asking was unclear.
"Whether or not you understand us, you seem to know much of the aos gaotha, stranger. Our stories and our Sky. I've found few who take such a grounded interest in my Folk."
"Well, I have heard my fair share. Crossed paths with one or two of your kind. Crossed paths with many from many kinds." A nonchalant reply, for it held much of the truth despite not all of it. Drake knew of the many distinct people who dotted this land, their struggles were their own, but when it came to their very core? He found it quite difficult to distinguish the elf from the human or the ogre from the fairy. They sold each other out the same, they deceived the same, they bled the same.
"Although this is the longest conversation I have ever had with an aos gaotha. I find it important to learn from all, despite our many similarities, I was taught quite late in life that a difference in perspective may prove advantageous more often than not, even if it is not something you would agree to." Besides, knowing your target was but the primary goal of any assassin who dared call himself a professional, and Drake enjoyed quite a decent reputation for never settling for the bare minimum. "I would be lying if I said I was not more intrigued by you, however. You are surprisingly... realistic as to the workings of the world and your place within it."
The first part of his reply rang as hollow as Ruby's bones. It was a meaningless answer meant to fill space. Most would accept it, but there were quite a few who would claim to have crossed paths with her Folk and then were the only ones to walk away from the interaction. Perhaps it was unkind to think that way, but Ruby dwelt solidly on the ground of an unkind world. As he became more specific, he made it clear that he had noticed that, and her phantom smile appeared once more for just a fraction of a moment. "I did not have stories to catch myself with. The earth hurts a great deal when your body finally strikes it."
And then the smile was gone, the cards returned to their place as her tea arrived. She took it in her hands with a grateful nod. It burned hot against her palms, perfect for a night such as this one. While she had hunched onto the table before, she now leaned back in the wooden chair as it creaked behind her. The cloak would fall back as she relaxed, resting at her sides like great wings, and more of her body might be visible to the keen eye. She had no reason to hide except drama for the paying customer, and it was becoming clear that the traveler was neither going to pay her, nor a customer.
She still did not trust him, but he'd now openly expressed his interest in her. She wasn't flattered by it, but she did lean into his desire for information. It was very important to her to know what people wanted, and this mystery of a man was becoming clearer with the words he spoke. Perhaps she'd discover some of the information she desired in exchange for a little more openness.
"You get used to the pain in due time." Drake nodded, acknowledging her struggle. Being pulled from the land of dreamers to the land of the living was indeed quite the fall, though he had never fell himself, the Twilight Blade witnessed broken dreamers aplenty. Seldom did one see someone who bounced back from the fall such as his feathered friend at the opposite side of the table. Ruby, as she announced her name. A jewel many a man would kill to lay their hands on deep within the mines.
This gem fought back, however. No more than a mere glance and the hitman could tell, in spite of the engulfing plummage her arms and shoulders were well defined, a frame fit for a fighter, the sword by her side no longer a mere prop to any vigilant eye. The blade had seem some practice at the very least, and some blood at the very best.
"Name is Drake." He nodded. "You mentioned falling a couple times. You miss it? This sky of yours?"
She nodded in turn. The pain never dulled, not in truth, but when pain was expected it was less excruciating. He did not seem himself to be a dreamer. Then again, there was little he did seem to be. Her revelation did earn a reply and the stranger shared a name with her. Equivalent exchange - a name that was short and true as her own, she was sure. Drake, a great beast of legend possessed of immense cruelty and curling flame. She never would have associated it with the man before her - but even in legends, dragons slept.
She watched as he measured her in turn, and while her face was that of the mystic, unreadable as prophesy, her body betrayed an active life. The plumage along her arms was relaxed and betrayed none of the caution of her experience. She did not mind the curious eye that traced her figure. If a hand or worse tried to follow, then she'd flash her talon. No sooner. "The world does not give you time to miss such things," she answered, matter-of-fact in tone, hands still wrapped around her tea. "You strike the ground, and then you learn to walk on it. There is no other way."
She did not speak of the dreams of flight above the sea of stars. Or the smaller, more subtle visions that invaded her sleep. Such an impossible dream was just so: a dream. A distraction from the dangers of reality. A simple lie she told herself each night as she slept before the sun stripped her once more of wings.
She was correct in her assessment, yes, life never stops, discriminating against no race nor age, the hands of the clock care not for your joy and woe. That did not mean you could not miss the sky, a wounded heart find time for everything, and if you're not careful, you'll soon join those too distracted by the clouds to realize the cliff ends in a few steps.
Which Ruby was? Drake couldn't tell, and he cared not enough to pry. Information was a precious commodity, the only which all could partake in the trade - poor or not. Taking it forcefully for yourself was easy enough given the right tools, many times it was his job to do so, but for small talk he could settle for whichever chunks of her treasure she could spare, even if possibly dishonest. Dishonest to herself, at least.
"A sky, eh?" He smiled, delicately twirling the dimly-lit pipe. "I have walked the earth from a very young age, and before I crawled. Never cared much to look up." The mercenary jerked his shoulders indifferently. Setting his briar aside for a moment, Drake's fidgety hands instead focused on the nearly empty glass before him, but his eyes never left her general direction, despite the insurmountable distance they posed. Analytical in nature rather than interest, always alert nonetheless.
"Isn't it part of your specialty? Finding someone's sky?"
The analytical eyes would find her own stare steady and unblinking under the feathered brow. There was a sparkle behind them, however, as she set her tea aside and with a deft movement, spread out her cards. She leaned forward once more, sharp elbows placed against the hard wood of the table.
"Such magics should not come for free. Some payment - coin, or perhaps something of value to you."
For he was correct: information was of as much value as gold. As with all things, she had a 'magical' spin on the purchase, but often it was unto the same purpose. On occasion a customer would have no coin, but to do anything for free was out of the question. She did not need a reputation for charity. Instead she asked something more, an object with which they would not normally part. Sometimes she could sell it, others she could learn more before her reading, and on occasion it was the sort of shiny trinket that stayed on the shelf in her leaky cottage by the river.
Drake chuckled, there was no magic in this world that came for free, from the tempests caused by witches of legend to the simple vanishing act offered by himself, all came at the price of arduous practice from the performer and coin for the employer. He reached into his coat, the clinking of coins broke the silence of negotiation, and with a quick flip a single golden coin fell at his companion's lap. "I believe it should suffice. Hardly have much use for these other than roof and food."
He straightened himself on his chair, watching the deck of cards intently, not for tricks or anything of the sort but simply out of interest. Nimble fingers tell more than meaningless words. They both knew as much. This reading of his, it was not a result of being tricked into a fortune reading nor was it charity for the downtrodden. They shared their wisdoms before, and if Ruby's mind was as far from dull as he believed it to be, she would know exactly what to expect.
"You can keep the magics for some unfortunate soul. I will accept words." He added sarcastically. A reading could be many things, finding meaning in cards, finding meaning in dreams, finding meaning in words. Drake did not want Ruby's usual mystical flair, no, he simply asked for her opinion of him. Not as a friend asks another, or as a man asks a woman, only how Ruby read this man sitting before her. Their wildly different lives which led them to extremely similar conclusions were bound to give, in the very least, a quite compelling answer indeed.
She caught the coin before it could land on her lap and weighed it in her palm. She learned more from that movement than from much of her interaction: he could afford to be wasteful. Or, more accurate to her assessment: he felt he could glean something more valuable than his person. He said to keep her magicks, but that did not stop her from once more sweeping the deck together, shuffling it loosely, and spreading it out once more. His observant eyes would find no tricks, no sleights of hand. She was a liar, after all, in the purest sense: the sense of a storyteller. The trappings were as much for her as they were for the poor fools across from her - or in this case, the clever observer.
Her long fingers produced the first card at random from the spread.
"For the past."
Then a second.
"For the present."
And a third.
"For the future."
Then, with great care, she overturned them, one by one. The Knight of Swords. The Six of Cups. The Chariot. She studied them, with the same broad gaze she had given him, and wove these pieces into his tale.
"Your past is paved in blood," she intoned, clicking a claw against the card. "A blade well polished and pointed with purpose, swung neither with relish nor regret. You served that purpose well, and you rode that road without question or fear. But...." her hand shifted to the cups. "So grounded were you upon the path that even the simplest joy became, as my Folk would say, the Sky. It should seem that you drank the cup of peace, even if since you have found your boots once more upon the road you once tread with more relish."
Her guesses were not groundless. He was a man of the sword, carried himself as a man of the sword, but there was something to his silence that spoke of another life. His pipe, for example, was a slender thing, not the broad pipe of the ogre miners that filled the tavern with choking black. And she had not failed to notice, printed on the side, more delicate letters: A. M. A name of his, perhaps, or perhaps a memento of a lost love. Perhaps her pieces were out of place, but the alertness of his eyes seemed older than the gentle puffs he took upon the pipe, like deep roots into parched earth. And here he was again, a lone stranger in a strange tavern.
Her finger slid to the Chariot, but paused there. Her eyes had not left his face.
"You said you do not wish for my magicks, so I suppose if that is enough to satisfy you...?"
Ruby could have pulled any tricks she so desired, chosen the cards she seemed fit to represent him and his path, or simply her wildest guesses. It made no difference to him, the meaning of their images and symbols was not something he had acquainted himself with. They could have said the very opposite of that which she preached, he could never have known as much. Yet she remained honest, if not in her assessment, at least in how she swindled the most gullible souls.
Her words, however, those did not disappoint.
It was common knowledge amongst those of their ilk that to fool another into hanging to your every word, you should blend a small dose of reality to the vaguest statements and recite those aloud as if some universal truth. She had good senses, fingers skilled enough to handle a deck with utmost care and a mind sharp enough to connect dots.
Indeed, his past and present had been soaked in red, be it his own or someone else's, the reaper and the assassin shared an intimate relationship few could come close to, every step Drake took on this earth had been stolen from another. That was no secret for the insightful. What truly set her apart from the good analysts was her brief remark about his Sky.
He had one, years ago, yes. A place to look up to. If one could have read his memories they could easily see part of him still marvelled at it's dazzling glory. It was shown on the pipe he so cautiously handled, on the red cloth keeping his wet threads from his forehead and in so many other small, significant ways one couldn't believe.
It was what changed the brooding, quiet type so often associated with those in his line of work to the smirking man before Ruby.
"Well, we have come this far together, Ruby. While I don't particularly believe divination, I do, as I said, enjoy a different point of view."
"We have much farther to go, or you do, at least." Ruby slid the card into the middle. His smile made it impossible to tell if he was entertained by failed guesses, or impressed with her insights. She felt he knew the cards were a facade. Still, he urged her on, out of the realm of the knowable and into the sea of stars that served as infinite. And so the Story began again through lying lips.
"It is ultimately a path of victory, of final satisfaction, where stain and Sky are satisfied. A path with one end, yet one that is easier on the sore feet of the tired traveler as you are taken up by a new vehicle toward destiny. Pain fades to peace. Memory becomes dream. But -" she held up her talon, once more for dramatic effect "- there shall be obstacles to that ultimate joy. I see a choice ahead of you that must be met with wisdom, lest you become lost. Should you choose wisely, your days will pass in promised satisfaction. Should you stray, the consequences will be dire."
It had taken her years to find the happy medium between vagueness and certainty. The secret was in the weave of the story, the method by which it was presented. Never a sound promise. Never a word that could be taken as absolute truth. But never a word that could be called a lie, either. Unlike her glimpses there would be no hint, no sights or smells or sounds to describe. And just enough possibility of failure that should it fail to come to pass, that, too, would be taken as proof by the fool. Drake was no fool. She watched him for his reply, if this truly was what he wanted to hear. Had she done well, and given a plausible answer, or simply amused him for a moment? Was this the perspective he sought, or a transparent lie? Or would he perhaps take it as her own genuine insight into his way ahead, based upon her observations?
Fate. That was a quite loaded word, some believed it to be set in stone, others believed in it's oscillating nature, the truth most likely hid somewhere in-between. Man was no slave to fate, at least not in Drake's eyes, still every past choice carried weight into the future, and paved the way to what was to come. A man who's steps painted the floor beneath him red was bound to have misery and death as his ever-lasting companions, therefore it would be no surprise if tomorrow he was to be found lifeless, an arrow sticking between his eyes. Sowing and reaping, as they said.
What good is a fortune telling, though, if you reap only what you have sown?
Drake snickered over her words, not out of disrespect, not even as a form of disagreement. The future had not come yet, her prophesizing held as much value as his or anyone else's, it was a valid reading. Choices that lead you down a certain path of satisfaction and victory. It was not something he was unacquainted with, much on the contrary, he had walked said path once, and although he diverged from it, it's effects were not lost on him. "I can see why others come to you for their fortunes." The sellsword clapped slowly, before leaning back on his chair.
He dared not think beyond the obvious. He would do what he had always done - his job. Anyone willing to pay his price got their requests answered, no strings attached, no prying further from what was demanded. Maybe it meant he would chase the path laid to him by coin, maybe it meant he could scent the blood and followed after it. His victory and satisfaction could be interpreted as a job well done, today's work had been quite satisfactory after all, or perhaps it appealed to his most basic instincts, the well-nigh animalistic thirst inside every man, for a challenge to stake their all on.
A beast in a man's cloak.
"How often does an unsatisfied customer try taking his satisfaction from removing the fortune from it's teller? That blade has seen more than their owner seems to lead on. Those are some dire circumstances I could see plenty a drunken fool to walk into chest-first."
He laughed with slow applause. She had entertained him, then, and sometimes that was as good as faith. He hadn't demanded his coin back at least, and she'd slipped it into one of the pockets of her cloak. But that sense of danger never departed, that knowledge that she was dealing with no ordinary traveler. His next words could be read as warning under the facade of satisfaction.
"As I said before, sir," she said, her voice a soft croon, "I promise no miracle, and superstition leans itself to a respect of sorts. And as you said, a respect based in fear, however baseless, does have consequences. If they decide they have quarrel with their destiny, most drunken fools find pain enough of a deterrent to not attempt to seize their fate a second time."
Murder tended to get a lot of attention, after all. Even in a city like Grodrock. She saved her sword for when it would pay her to take the risk, and no sooner. But a quick slash to the wrist or face, a jab to some place on the body that was not vital for survival, had not been out of the question in her long stay in the ogre settlement. Pain was a language as universal as fear and superstition. Most of the locals who called her Ruby had seen or heard of the owl witch's attitude toward confrontation, and were content to leave her be.