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Black Bard Journal #5

Reflections and a Bottle of Gin Black Bard Journal #5

Setting: Very late at night in the Black Pistol Inn, Roger Black Bard is alone. His Ward, Claude de Bouchet is uncharacteristically absent tonight, almost certainly avoiding the intense glare of the Black Bard’s soul-piercing and judgmental eye.

In the dim candlelight of the inn, the Black Bard spots his reflection in the mirror as he reaches for a dusty bottle on the back shelf no one ever touches. “Genever”, it says on the label, “flavored with juniper berries”.

He talks to himself in Capacian.
“This looks like the drink for me tonight.”

He pours a shot, raising it and saying, “To my long dead brothers-in-arms, may they live forever young in my memory!”

He downs the shot, then pours another.
Addressing his reflection in the mirror he raises his glass again and says, “And to you, Roger, you should not have survived when better men died… and yet… here you are!”

He downs the shot, exhaling sharply.
As he pours another shot of the strong spirit he begins to have a conversation with himself out loud.

“You know, Roger? This feeling we are having, it is called ‘ennui’, no? I wonder, is there a Gothic word for this feeling? Maybe they just say ‘ennui’…”

He shrugs then downs another shot and grimaces.

Waving the empty glass at his reflection he says, “Roger, be honest with yourself, what good are you doing in Stragosa? What is your real purpose here? You’ve come here for coin and now you’re richer than you’ve ever been in your entire miserable life. You have enough money right now, you don’t need to work for years. No one hears your songs of rebuke anyway. If you’re looking for justice, you’ll not find it here! The poor will be fed without you. So why does the melancholy minstrel go back to that bloody butcher shop every day?”

The Black Bard ponders and groans.

“The dark spirits of this town have found you and told you you’re doing nothing good for young Claude. Do they lie? Indeed he seems to be in trouble right now and will not seek your guidance. Do you still care if he’s somewhere safe tonight…?”

He pours another shot, letting it sit on the bar as he continues to rant at his reflection.

“Your associations are empty, Black Bard. You have no one and nothing. Maybe you are cursed. Your family and comrades in war are all long dead. And it seems that anyone who comes close to you meets an unfortunate end. Perhaps Claude is wise to avoid you. Luca the Woodcutter became your friend at dinner one night and died the next day. You sing for Sybill, the little Inquisitor and she died that night. You sing for the famous Balthazar, he died that night too. Corvo has always been good to you, now he’s leaving town. Your bodyguards, they care more about pursuing their own sinful pleasures than learning your songs. Maybe your songs aren’t as good as you think. Lady Gale though, she sees your talent and she commissioned you to write a song about the dead mage Balthazar, of the power of true love, something you don’t even know anything about. You’re a fraud, no?”

The Black Bard picks up his glass, viewing the candlelight through it as he contemplates a moment. He sniffs the piney shot of gin, and again confronts his reflection in the bar mirror.

“Do not come to me for pity or empathy. Your mock gentility is as obvious as a missing limb and your gloomy nature is as prickly as a fretful porcupine. Oh yes, the good people here—Principessa, Guildmaster Borso, Molly the Cook– they care for you, but that is nothing special. They care for everyone. “

The Black Bard looks down into the glass, slowly swirling it without spilling a drop.

“Last Forum, when the angry Gothic man came into the tavern and interrupted the ‘Vendetta’ song, putting a sword right in your face, you forgave him and offered to set things aright. Where was your mighty wrath, your vengeful streak of youth? You stood there in confusion as the tavern goers rushed to your aid. Are you getting soft in your old age? Is that why you are buying up so much ammunition and firearms lately? Are you so afraid of a fair fight you’ll blast a man to smithereens rather than face him with a blade in your hand? Has courage totally abandoned you?”

The Black Bard puts down his glass with an angry clunk and pulls out a loaded pistol, looking dangerously long into the barrel. He pulls back the hammer to half-cock, then full.

“Would you survive a gun blast to the head, Black Bard?”

The Black Bard moves the pistol closer, peering long and hard down its deadly barrel.

“Probably.”

He un-cocks the flintlock and sets it on the bar, picking up the resting shot of gin.

“So why do you live, then, out of stubbornness? Existing? Nothing but existing?”

He looks deeply into the shot glass, as if to glean some secret message.

“Yes, the tavern people sometimes dance and sing to your music. They offer good coin, but their troubles are still with them the next day. There is no true victory… is there some point to all of this?”

The Black Bard ponders that a moment, downs the bitter shot, and closes his eye for a moment.

“And what of the Dark Beauty…? The sight of her is so intoxicating. You cannot look at her, you cannot look away. You cannot tell her how she makes you feel, lest you risk sin. All you can do is sing her song and hope she never notices you.”

Then he opens his eye and looks intensely into it in the mirror.

“Is it really a sin to escape your pain?”

He reaches for the bottle then stops. He turns again to the mirror with resolve and says to himself, “No. You cannot sin if you contend to be the most virtuous man in town.”

The Black Bard sets down his empty glass, then picks up and looks at the bottle of spirits.

“I was going to take you with me, my little juniper berry friend.”

He smiles a wry smile and lovingly places the bottle back on the shelf. He cleans and dries the shot glass and puts it back with the others. The Black Bard holsters his pistol and takes another look at himself in the mirror.

“Be patient, you one-eyed bastard. You can take much more pain than this. You are a soldier, so you soldier on. Don’t worry, young Claude will return. He will,” said the Black Bard as he looked in vain out the front window.

“It’s not ennui. It’s only your 55th birthday and you miss your friends.“

The Black Bard licks his fingers and snuffs out the remaining candles. The late winter sun’s first rays are just peeking through the tavern windows. He trudges upstairs to bed, nodding to his reflection one last time in the bar mirror.

“Good night, sir. Thanks for the drink…”

FIN

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On the sacred subject of the dining table

Allegra had 10 copper left to play. It was a week’s worth of food if she spent it right, but it didn’t look like much piled up like that. The lure had worked anyway, ensnaring the two boys who had settled down across from her with their dinners a few hands ago. She was laughing hilariously at a story one of them- a couple years younger than she was and wearing a formed leather half-mask- was telling, when Marco finally slid into his seat at the table behind them. ‘Late’ she flicked a short hand sign at him, not looking, and so she didn’t see him scratch his nose with one meaningful finger.

As she dealt the cards, Marco started eating, casually signing around his spoon and making sure no one one was watching them. ‘Right: seven coins, two, King. Left: five coins, ??, ??.’ She didn’t like not knowing what was in the second boy’s hand, but Marco’s position wasn’t perfect. She tried to place the table cards so he’d shift to one side, and Marco snapped an update- ‘Left: five coins, Knave, three.’ Each time she dealt cards, Marco would sign what they were behind her opponent’s backs, and she’d play accordingly.

The third round was about to close on Allegra’s modest- but not too modest- lead, when she glanced up from her cards to find that Marco had disappeared. She only had a moment before panic was replaced with confusion as her own leather purse landed upside-down in front of her, spilling a silver coin and a fistful of copper across the tabletop.

“Game’s over, ragazzi. Take whatever you lost and go find somewhere else to play cards,” came a woman’s voice from over her shoulder, and Allegra suddenly understood what had happened to Marco. The boys, who had barely even gotten into the ‘losing’ portion of the evening, each scraped a frankly disproportionate pile of coins into their palms and were gone. A heavy hand fell inescapable on the back of Allegra’s neck and lifted her bodily away from the bench. She knew better than to try to slip free- Gioss might not be able to catch her, but she’d still have to come back eventually.

“They wasn’t even ours, cap!” Allegra protested, shuffling quickly to keep the driving hand from knocking her flat on her face. “I never even seen that kid with the mask- I’d remember- and the other one sounded like a Rog!” There was no response from Giuseppina, who steered the girl out the tavern’s front door and across the street towards the low curb and the canal beyond. She walked them right up to the edge and stopped without letting her death grip loose.

“What did I tell you about hospitality?”

Allegra’s face wrinkled as she tore her eyes off the ominously rippling surface of the water and tried to remember an answer that didn’t sound stupid.

“Like… stuff… with guests?”

She did not succeed. Gioss sighed.

“When you sit with someone, eat and drink, that’s a time for peace. When you put your plate down, you’re making a truce. ‘Now we are eating. Later we will fight.’ You understand?”

A sly, sideways smile crept over Allegra’s face. “But that’s exactly the best time to-”

Gioss moved her hand- still holding the girl by the neck- a startlingly significant couple of inches forward. Allegra twisted sideways and back to keep from falling into the murky water a few feet below them, but her capa’s grip was like prison iron.

“You see in there?” the woman asked, shaking her arm gently to make her point. “There’s ghosts in there. More men betrayed and thrown in that water than you’ll meet in your whole life. They know the cost of staying alive, they respect that, but you cheat someone when you’ve made a truce and they will fly out of that water in a second and tear you apart.”

They stood silent, Allegra watching nervously for any sign of the ghosts and Giuseppina Galdi wondering, not for the first time, if her pain-in-the-ass pesan was worth her temperament. After a moment, Allegra opened her mouth again. “There’s no ghosts in there, just the sharks. I’d’ve heard if there w-”

Gioss pushed.

Allegra’s feet scrabbled on the stone curb for a second, but the capa stepped clear of her pinwheeling arms and she went in with a shriek and a splash. It only took a minute or two for the girl to fight her skirts and her new-found respect for canal ghosts and struggle to a rope ladder, hauling herself out of the scummy water. She stomped back over, dripping, fists in furious balls, and Gioss met her impassively with an outstretched handkerchief. Allegra snatched it away, wiping her face with as much spite as she could summon up.

“Listen, bambina. Our rules are all we have.” She tapped Allegra under the chin, tipping her angry face up. “We keep them, or we fall into chaos. You’ve never seen a good churn, maybe, but when the rules go, we all suffer. Only ones do good in a churn are the brutes, and the very lucky. Plus-” Her mouth twitched into a quick, dry smile. “-ghosts.” She ruffled the girl’s soaking, slightly slimy hair and gave her a little push back towards the tavern. “And tell Marco to keep his hands down, or they’ll hear him all the way in Holy Lethia.”

When Allegra was gone, Gioss stretched, considering the dark water below. She’d contributed her fair share of ghosts to these canals, but she knew the real threats were the living left behind. Some day these dumb, unshakable children would figure out the importance of walking the line between being weak and disdainfully ignoring the established order of things, but until then… tales of the mystical dark would have to do. And if they didn’t, well. There were always plenty of real monsters around to do the job.

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Just Business- A Gale Party

“This is boring as all hell,” grumbled Count Strongbull. “Not a single auroch in sight.”
“That’s because this is civilization, Richard.” Count Archibald shook his head.
“It’s late spring now, the aurochs are at their most aggressive. This is the *perfect* time for some wrestling.”
Dame Josefine brushed past William. “Raimunde is looking for you.”
Sighing, William pushed off from the wall and started toward his most recent employer. The party, or ball or whatever, was in full swing now and he found Raimunde Gale talking to Kirk Renett. Perhaps an alliance, though frankly William disliked the boy. He stood to the side and waited for their conversation to end.
“I can’t *believe* Rosomon and Alexandra are going to be finished schooling soon. It’s such a waste,” the Renett boy was saying.
“What do you mean?”
“Well. Why *should* they study. It’s not like they’re going to be doing anything *important*. Just wives and mothers. Why don’t they learn things that would be more fitting to them?”
Raimunde shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s better for everyone when knowledge is more widespread. Otherwise why would the University be there.”
“*I* don’t think women *belong* in the university. Like I said, they should be learning things more fitting to their future tasks.”
Raimunde smiled to William, then looked back to Kirk. “I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting for news. Perhaps we’ll find more time to talk later.”
Kirk looked at William. “He looks like a clown to me. I thought you’d grown out of that sort of thing, what’s with the mask?”
Raimunde shook his head, but maintained his smile. “Excuse me.”
Leading William away from the boy, he apologized. “My father told me I should make friends. No one my age seems to be worth knowing, frankly.”
“I’m sure that I couldn’t say, my Lord,” William replied.
Shaking his head again, Raimunde sighed. “Anyway. Did you hear anything interesting?”
William glanced toward the table where the representatives from the Houses were sitting, specifically toward Count Dracian, who he assumed was the one who was really employing him, rather than Viscount Harlan, Raimunde’s father, who sat beside him. “Oh yes,” he began.
“I heard a rumor that Baron Valerian there came in the same carriage as Count Bradford. The Valerians *could* use the support and the Bradfords haven’t the military to defend themselves if anything were to happen. Though at the same time, Baron Telford sent a few gifts towards the Valerians as well, so perhaps it has something to do with trade, rather than warfare.” He paused as one of the Ascalon servants passed by.
“Master Corvo di Talmerin, there, with the Baines family. He swore he’d seen a servant of House Drake slipping a sealed note to Viscount Avery when she was pouring his wine. Meanwhile I also heard that Count Gareth Addison has sent his second son in secret on a vampire hunt towards the City of Lanterns as well. I *believe* that his eldest hasn’t yet had that opportunity, so perhaps there’s something there.”
Raimunde smiled and pressed a coin into his hand. “Thank you. You’ve done wonderfully so far.”
William nodded, bowing slightly. “There’s nothing else for the moment, but I think I’m going to go wait by the drinks and see who comes around.”
Nodding, Raimunde put on a more serious face.
William laughed. “Keep smiling Raimunde, you’ll find better company that way.”
Raimunde’s façade broke somewhat and he smiled again. William patted him on the back and headed toward the drinks. He stopped at one of the tables on the way and wrote a quick note, then handed it to a passing servant. “Can you take that to Dame Josephine please?” He gestured in her direction. The servant acceded and headed that direction. William watched until Josephine had received the note and had started heading toward its true intended recipient before he continued toward his destination.
Sir Harry Callahan met him there and William smiled again. “Did you talk to Baroness Ismania Faulkner?”
Harry nodded. “She says there’s nothing you can do about the trade guilds on Ard Kreight.”
Sighing heavily, William shook his head. “I wish more of these noble houses acted like the Telfords. They’re not *all* bad.” He wrote another note and did the same as the last, sending this one toward Corvo.
Turning back to his companion, William shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. You probably don’t care.”
He laughed. “You asked, I answered. I owe you after how you helped me with the Faulkner’s problem.”
William shrugged and smiled. “I’ll find you later if I need anything else. Thank you. I mean it.”
Harry shrugged and took a drink, then walked away.
William listened for a while longer, then moved to a corner to write his reports. As he worked, he hummed along with the Wind Singers guildmembers staffing the party. A hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up, glad he’d been writing in his own personal code.
“You are William, yes?”
Nodding, William covered his notes and turned. “How can I help you?” He noted the House Valerian sigil on the man’s armor.
“You will come with me now.”
William stood. “I’m sure there’s no need for that. Perhaps we could talk here? Or someplace quieter?”
“Come with me.”
The man walked away and William sighed, waving to Harry as he followed.
They walked out onto the balcony and the man punched William in the gut. He fell to his knees, winded, and let out a groan of consternation. “What was *that* for?”
“Stop looking into House Valerian’s business. It’s none of yours.”
William shook his head and stood, using the balcony railing for support. “Alright, alright. I have nothing against you or your house.” He backed away a little, putting a hand between them in case the man tried to hit him again.
The man went inside and William sighed and straightened. A moment later, Harry came out. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m alright.” He shook his head again. “Just business.”

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Sailing the Sea of Coils

Sharp wind cut through the thin blanket that William had wrapped around himself. He took a shuddering breath and crouched next to a crate to block the wind.
“First time to Njordr?”
William looked up at the voice, eyes dead. He nodded.
“You look cold.”
William nodded again.
“I’m Asja. Asja Gatewatch. And you’re William, yes?”
Sighing, William sat straighter. “What do you want, Asja?”
“Well… the others were saying that you were one of the guys in charge of the Sea Beggar? Big fan of your business. I was the one who helped Fearghas Llewyn get North.”
William shrugged, still not really interested in pursuing the conversation.
“Well, before we left, the captain, Julio de Monique? He said that you could use some help.”
William sighed. “No. I really don’t want any help. I don’t care who you are. I just want to be left alone.”
“God, you’re depressing.” Asja folded her arms and shook her head.
William shook his head as well and huddled down again.
Asja shook her head. “Look. Julio told me about Miss Tiarnan. Said you’d need some help getting back on your feet.”
William felt his anger building, but shook his head again and didn’t respond.
“I’m trying to help,” she said with a sigh. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just leave you alone.”
Pulling the blanket tighter around himself, William sank back down to his slumped position.
Shaking her head, Asja turned and walked away.

How dare he. How dare Julio tell this stranger about him, about his business. And how dare she bring up Lile. He gritted his teeth and tried to fall asleep. He dreamt of Lile.
He awoke to wind whipping past his face and his stomach lurching. He was falling. He hit the water and his breath was slammed from his chest. He fought his way to the surface and took a deep breath. He looked around, treading water. It was dark. William grabbed the edge of the boat and began to pull himself from the water, letting his waterlogged blanket fall from his body. He heaved himself over the rail and collapsed to the deck. He rolled over, still gasping for air. An axe hit the deck next to him and his eyes rose to meet those of a thickset man with njordic markings coating his skin. William’s eyes opened wide.
“What the hell?!”
The man lowered the axe toward him. “Don’t move you fat swine.”
William held his hands up, somewhat relieved. Maybe they’d just kill him.

Sitting in the boat, all William could hope for is that he’d freeze to death. His eyes were dull and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He wished they would at least have left him his mask. They were sailing North, towed behind the enemy’s ship. He tried to feel something at the very least, but honestly couldn’t. Maybe it was good that he’d survived, but he didn’t care, not without Lile. North.

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So a priest and a paladin go to a bar…

Late at night finds Adrian sitting in one of the booths in the Stoic Swordsman next to a crackling fire. An unfinished mug of ale keeps him company while he peruses a tome, waiting for his meeting to start.

The door to the tavern opens slowly, framing a white robed figure who casts a few nervous glances around the tavern before noticing Adrian. Lysander slowly approaches the table, pleasant, if practiced, smile on his face. The young paladin raps his knuckles on the table a few times before sitting down, “Good evening, Adrian.”

“Ahh, Welcome to my office good sir. I’m glad you’ve come. Can I order you a drink while we wait for Brother Ansel?” he says with a cheery smile on his face as he slowly closes his book.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Lysander replies, leaning his sword on the table, “I’ve not been here before, how is the ale?”

“Safer then the water, probably.” Adrian catches the waitress’ attention with a quick wave and soon enough there is another full mug at the table. “I was hoping we could figure out a way to deal with the maelific when she shows. I know at last forum I was somewhat incorrigible on the topic. Im hoping we can have a semblance of a plan for when she returns, because based on how she spoke to me during our meeting with Percival, I believe shes going to come back, and is going to probably be angered by something and start spreading fire around.”

“Start setting fires?” Lysander thinks for a moment, “She did have those burns last time we saw her…” He glances over at his sword, in particular silver chain hanging just below the pommel, “I’d hoped to find some people willing to marry before she returned. An eager engaged couple to symbolically resolve the malefic,” Lysander looks back at Adrian, “unfortunately, given recent events not many people are feeling festive enough for a wedding.”

“So the one thing that was different is that last forum she actually spoke to me. The first time we encountered her, she was completely nonverbal. Im wondering if it might be possible to find out who killed her if she’s willing to speak of it. Im sure doing so would enrage her, but it might be possible to actually give her justice?” He finishes his ale in a deep gulp. “Downside, i’m pretty sure anyone else nearby would quite crispy as she became emotional.”

Lysander takes a small sip of his drink, “Her willingness to talk to you is good. I am not sure how comfortable I am with you risking your safety to engage with her, but we may not have a choice.” He sets his mug down, gently tapping his fingers along the side, “Did she appear before you last forum? Or was it more of a voice? If you’re able to choose where you have your conversation it would allow us to minimize risk of collateral harm.”

“She spoke to me without appearing. She mentioned wanting to have our ‘wedding night’ and how happy she was going to make me. I’m not worried about her. I don’t think she can actually harm me. And as for others, I have this.” He slides across a sealed bottle filled with an opaque red liquid.

Lysander sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Adrian what is that?”

“Something to insure whoever drinks it doesnt feel the heat. I managed to purchase it from a, how shall we call it, a disreputable source.” Adrian smiles coyly, motioning for the waitress to refill his drink.

“So it’s Mortal Gluttony, gotcha.” Lysander looks back up at Adrian, “I must insist that you not use that.”

“Ohh it’s not for me. It sort of dropped in my lap and I figured it would be good for anyone else to have in case things get a little.. Out of control.” He pauses for a sip from his mug. “Ideally we won’t need it, but I would rather someone use it to survive the encounter rather then die because of a maelific we are trying to help.” Adrian reaches out across the table and grabs the potion, pocketing it.

Ansel emerges from the back room of the tavern, his robe and tabard stained with dirt and blood. Most of the patrons don’t seem to be put off by his appearance, but a table of Capacionnes breaks into a mix of snickers and looks of either pity or disgust. The priest makes his way over to his friends, while setting out his mug in anticipation of the server. “Thank you for waiting for me, I had some business to attend to…” he trails off. “Have you come up with a solution for your lost bride yet?”

Lysander raps his knuckles on the table again at Ansels approach, “It’s good to see you, Ansel. Not yet,” he nods towards Adrian, “We were just discussing what we currently know and can expect.”

Adrian nods and smiles as Ansel sits down with them. ”I’m glad you could join us. As I was telling Lysander here earlier at last forum she didn’t appear to me but she did speak to me. She spoke to me about having our “wedding night.” The fact that she actually spoke to me when previously she was completely nonverbal has me wondering if I could gently ask her about what happened to her. Maybe find out enough to take revenge on the one who took her life.” He pauses briefly before continuing. “Lysander, do you still have the ring from last time? I may need it again.”

The templar furrows his brow. “How did she speak to you? As if in a dream? Or just a voice in your head? You say she was killed. How do you know that? Do we know who her betrothed was or what fate befell him? Do we know if she was buried? What would you do with the ring? What did it do for you before?”

Lysander gestures to his sword, “The ring is hanging from the chain. I’m afraid that I can’t remove it, otherwise the ritual will be undone. Currently, we don’t know anything about her other than her relation to fire. But even that may just be symbolic. We’d need to ask her more questions first. Or maybe do some research on her, but we don’t have a name.”

Adrian pipes back in, “Not having any information at all makes it really difficult to start anywhere. I may be able to get some basics figured out, but it’s not a sure thing that I would be able to do so this next forum. As for the ring, I was thinking of just giving it back to her. Proposing to her with it was what actually calmed her down in our initial encounter. To answer your question, she spoke directly into my mind, as if by magic. I know its probably your least favorite option, Lysander,” he gestures to the paladin, “But im not entirely unopposed to actually marrying her if it’ll help the poor soul find rest. I’d like to pursue some form of revenge on her behalf first, but as a method of resolving her, I would do it.”

The paladin shakes his head, “Marriage is more than just a ceremony. It binds souls together. You would be tying yourself to her on a deeper level than I can possibly convey.” He clasps his hands together in front of him, “It’s not an option I can allow. You’d be sacrificing your soul. I’m sure there’s another way.”

Ansel chimes in, “Last season you waited for her, hoping she would be drawn toward the flame you were tending ceremonially. I think this next forum you should seek her out. Find a couple that is willing to be wed… I’m sure Adrian knows half the city and should be able to find someone who is ready… and take them to the Atopos. Marry them using the ring. That’s my idea. Or… Lysander… have you sworn an Oath of Chastity? It is a vow of love that is often taken in lieu of a wedding. I wonder… if you were willing… to swear one to her?”

“I haven’t, no,” Lysander replies, “It’s an option. But I don’t think it would be enough. And besides, my heart wouldn’t be in it.” He wraps his hands back round his mug, “I think finding couples willing to be wed would be best. Taking them back to Atopos wouldn’t be difficult, I’m sure I could find it again.” Lysander looks up at Adrian, “Would you be willing to put the word out? Find us a couple who wants to be wed of their own volition, and who’d be willing to use their union to lay a spirit to rest?”

“Im sure I can probably rustle up a few people willing to tie the knot,” Adrian replies quickly. “The issue becomes timing. If she shows up in the forum im not sure ill be able to break away from her long enough to get our perspective lovers to us quickly enough. Plus I worry for their safety, if things go wrong she gets angry quickly, and it’s a little bit unpleasant to experience.”

“I’m not sure you’re listening, Adrian,” Ansel begins. “We’re talking about taking the couple to the center of her haunting, the Atopos. The nuptual couple won’t be around or at risk until then. But… you do make a good point that we need a way to protect them. She shoots flame? What kind of protection are you using, Adrian? I don’t generally advocate the use of magic, but this seems like a supernatural problem that warrants supernatural solutions.” The eparch looks pointedly at the new Nightwarden as he says the last.

“I think that, so long as we are careful, she will not attack us. It seemed that she generally wasn’t aggressive so long as we didn’t outright antagonize her.” Lysander hesitates, “But… I am also worried for anyone we bring along. She didn’t outright throw fire, she just made it feel like we were surrounded by it. It starts with a feeling of dread, and if the course of action is continued, you start to burn.” The paladin absently rubs the leonem around his neck, “I’d partaken in the daily bread just before we left. I think that the blessing is what kept me safe. We could offer it to the couple as well.”

Adrian nods. “Ill see if I can drum up a few interested individuals for this. Do you have any idea when you would want to go out and try to marry them?”

Lysander takes a moment, sipping from his mug before responding, “Next forum, preferably. I’ll have to think on it more, but I’ll let the two of you know when I figure it out.”

“Cheers than!” Adrian stands up grabbing his cloak and the tome. “I better get this back to university before Azzam realizes its missing. You two have a wonderful evening!” He slams the remainder of his ale, winks, and turns to leave.

“I’d best be off as well. It was good to see the two of you again. I’ll get in contact once I’ve figured out a time.” Lysander finishes his drink and reaches out his hands to pat the other two, “Stay safe!”

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A Wilted Lily

William pushed his hair out of his face, grinning as he tied off his final line. He waved toward the Capitan. “Julio! I’m going to go! I’ll see you later!”
Julio laughed. “Say hi to Lile for me.”
William waved again and snatched his bag, and the box next to it, from by the gangplank as he left. He smelled the lily he’d gotten for her; his terzo regalo. She’d finally asked for it when she gave him the ring. He grinned as he thought about it, shifting his gear around himself to make it more comfortable.
“William!” came a friendly call from behind him.
Laughing, William turned. “Slaine MacAlister, what are you doing out here?”
“What, I can’t come see the Sea Beggar make its triumphant return?”
William rolled his eyes. “What do you want Slaine?”
His friend put his hand on William’s shoulder, smiling. “Conor and Malmuira are making a big meal tonight to celebrate, why don’t you and Lile come?”
“I suppose we should,” he laughed. “Since we’ve skipped the last few.”
“That’s not your fault, you’ve been travelling a bunch. How many are you at now?”
William smiled. “I don’t keep track. Not enough until we can fix the whole issue.”
Slaine shook his head. “You’ve helped a lot of people William. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
Laughing, William shook his head as well. “Why do you think I’m trying to get back to Lile.”
Slaine grinned and patted his shoulder again. “I’ll see you later.”

Craigellachie was beautiful in the fall. William took a deep breath as he walked through the town. He waved to a few people he knew as he went. It’d been nearly three years since he’d come to Dunland. He’d never thought he’d fall in love, not with the city or with Lile. Something was different in the air that day. Maybe it was that he’d been away a couple of weeks, maybe it was that he was going to see Lile again. He smiled as he thought about Saoirse, the girl he’d taken to Port Melandir, who reminded him so much of Lile. But there really was something different on the air. He sniffed it again. There was the smell of fire on the wind. He frowned. Was there a fire somewhere? There was no smoke on the horizon. Leaving the city boundaries, he kept walking toward the Tiarnan family farm, still thinking about the fire. It didn’t smell like a cooking fire, nor really a bonfire. He shook his head. It seemed too much for that.

William stopped on the corner of their farm, hands growing weak as he saw the stake rising from next to their house. He dropped the box in his hands and sprinted toward the building, dropping his bag when it got in his way. There was the pyre, burnt out on the yard. There was the stake, still standing from the charcoal. He paused there, looking at it. Who had been burned? What had happened here? A moment passed and he tore himself away. He pushed open the door. “Lile!?” he called.
Llwyn, her brother, was standing next to their crying mother. He turned to William with fire in his eyes and ran forward to meet him, then slammed his fist into his jaw.
William collapsed against the doorframe, eyes wild and hand to his cheek.
“It’s your fault, you bastard!” Llwyn yelled in his face.
William shook his head, not understanding. Then his eyes grew wide and he staggered back out of the building, back toward the pyre. “Lile!?” he cried out again as he pushed through what was left of the pyre. His palms were tearing open on the rough wood as he cleared the wood. He found a bone, carbonized flesh fused to it. He cradled it and screamed out.

He didn’t know how long he sat in the pyre, ash coating his skin. When he came back to himself, it was raining. His exposed skin was burning under the ash, but it didn’t matter. His heart was broken. What had happened? He began to cry, probably not for the first time. He slowly began to stand, pulling what bones he could find from the pyre. He pulled his blanket shawl off himself and wrapped up the bones. He walked up to the house, but Lwyn stood at the door.
“You’re not welcome here anymore.”
William didn’t say anything, he just stared.
He glared at William. “They said she was a witch. She was screaming about ‘just wanting a child’ as they burned her.”
William still didn’t respond.
“Get out of here. You’re not welcome here,” he said again.
After a moment, William turned and walked back toward the pyre. He stopped, tears still streaming down his face. He bent down and picked up the little tressertag bracelet he’d given her months before.
He walked to the pyre and paused again, then pushed past it. He kept going, stopping only to take his bag before he continued back to his ship. He left the lily behind, wilting in the mud.

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The Fine Enough Figurehead

A fleet shadow topped with bouncing copper curls darted in the dark into the fen, shoes and staff being sucked into the mud with every step – it didn’t matter; she was filthy enough already – no one would follow her this way. It was slower than the road; she would have to make up for it with her pace.

Bullfrogs croaked, insects sang… and dogs brayed in the distance behind her. Saoirse lengthened her strides.

She’d had no time to say goodbye; no time to explain; no time to think, not yet. Misty air puffed from her lips, breathing growing heavy, head aching almost worse than her body.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t trust the sailor with the mask and the colorful clothes; the young Dun decided that the only choice she had was to throw her lot in with him. The mud beneath her turned to sand, lending more strength to her burning legs carrying her as quickly as they could to the boat. “Take me with you,” she begged through labored breath, cheeks flushed pink with exertion, “please,”

The man – who she would soon learn to be called William II de la Marck – looked up as she spoke with eyes drooping like a hound’s. “You… I’ve seen you before. Aren’t you… you’re from Craigellachie,”

“Aye,” Saoirse panted, “Please, ye must have room for one more,”

He frowned, looking out over her shoulder. “Do you have papers?”

She did not have papers; she did not have anything at all. “No, I…” She faltered, and shifted demeanor – she could not fail tonight, “I’m getting on that boat and ye cannae stop me, even if I’ve got tae lash myself down tae the bow like a figurehead,” she declared as insistently as she could, her accompanying stomp muted by fatigue and the sand.

“I would pay to see that, maybe we should,” he responded, looking back at another sailor behind him, a patronizing glimmer of mirth in his eyes. They shared a laugh before he turned back to her, “Or you can hide down in the hold with the grain?”

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A White Knight’s Oaths

Candlelight flickered over bare stone and filled the otherwise chilly chamber with warmth. A knight in white armor knelt in the center, his sword on his hip, a heavy book in his hands and his head bowed.

The others in the chamber watched impassively, almost all decorated knights themselves. Dame Blackiron stood closest to the door, watching the ceremony but alert to the danger of them all being gathered here. Lord Sonnenheim stood with Sir Ansel to Sanguine’s right, a stark combination of black cross on white and white sun on black. To Sanguine’s left stood, Sir Hezke. She was the last to enter the room and didn’t speak, but put a hand on Sanguine’s shoulder briefly as he prayed and then stood beside him.

Bishop Adeodatus stood in front of Sanguine with his hands folded and head bowed, the scripture of Dumal covering his missing eye. As all were gathered, he spoke.

“You have come before us today to swear Oaths before God. The Oath of Integrity and the Oath of Reprisal. Speak these Oaths and what they mean to you, Sir Sanguine.”

Sanguine took a breath and looked up.

“There was a time in the past that I thought deception could be excused in times of great need, when the cause was righteous and when the results were more good than bad. I have studied and gained experience since then. I have atoned for my deception. I have learned that the method is as important as the result. Even more important.

We must be honest so that others can trust us. Our word must be kept, even when it is inconvenient. I swear that I will be an example of trust and honesty going forward. I swear that none shall find deception in my words or deeds.”

Adeodatus nodded gravely. “Now speak to me of the Oath of Reprisal.”

“The Order of the White Lions has even more responsibility to be an example of right action than most. And in Stragosa, we struggle more than elsewhere. By my action and inaction, men and women have been led astray. Sir Suriel made mistakes that risked his soul. Paladins have made excuses for actions done ‘for the greater good’. This is not the way we should be. I have learned this lesson in difficult ways. And because I have learned it, I now have the responsibility to pass it on.

I swear to take responsibility for the failings of my order and see that they are corrected. I will not allow the hope that we bring others to be tarnished.”

“Well said, Sir Sanguine,” the Bishop spoke with gravity. “God has heard your Oaths. Keep them and be stronger for their swearing.” He extended a hand and helped the knight to his feet.

Ansel embraced Sanguine. Reinhart clasped his forearm. The white knight exchanged a warm smile with Kirsa and Hezke caught his eye and nodded with approval. They departed the small room together, with much still to be done before the next forum.

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1: A Vexing Situation

Shit.

With a scrap of parchment clutched in her dirty hands, Niamh flattened herself against a wall. Reichsgrafinstrasse wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be at the moment. They didn’t seem to like seeing her sort here. A few guards walked past lazily, and she stuffed what little tartan she had on her in a pouch she’d found on the street the night before.

Seeing the guards round a corner, laughing raucously, Niamh bit the inside of her cheek and walked in the opposite direction, glancing nervously around her as she went. The kindness she had been shown in this alleged godforsaken hell hole in the ridiculously short amount of time she’d been in Stragosa was unnerving to say the least. She hadn’t experienced warmth and generosity since back home on the rare occasions that the abolitionist groups were able to meet and share stories and food.

It had been hard to keep down the food she had been given at the tavern (the Farmer’s Daughter seemed to be one of the more reputable establishments nearby), as she was still weak from her time aboard the ship. Niamh thought back on the conditions of her temporary prison and felt her stomach clench with anxiety.

—

Hearing waves on the side of the ship.

Laughter, swearing, singing.

A sharp creak. The bars opening.

Something wet in a bowl placed next to her.

The dull thud and blood pounding after a particularly nasty punch to the face.

—

Niamh ran a finger around one of her wrists, the skin there scarred from the constant rubbing of the manacles. She figured it would take some time to fade, but if the scars didn’t remind her of why she was here, the shackles on her belt did.

But why worry about evading capture when so many of her people roamed free and happy throughout the city? It wasn’t like she would get dragged out into the streets here, kicking and screaming and biting and clawing. Not like last time.

—

“Make an example out of her.”

—

But she wasn’t stupid. If she was stupid, she’d be dead. The weeks onboard the ship had taken their toll on her body, making her sickly, and she knew she couldn’t fight off anyone who tried to apprehend her, no matter how hard she struggled. It didn’t matter how many Dunns were out in the open here. She couldn’t let her guard down. She wasn’t stupid.

She climbed atop a low building, parchment gripped between her teeth, and found a spot relatively free of moss, sitting. Her lungs heaved with the strain of the slight exertion and she heard a quiet wheezing, which was concerning to say the least. After pounding her chest with a fist, hoping to dislodge…whatever had decided to take up residence there, she spread the parchment over the roof tiles. Tiny lines of words ran along the page, rows and rows of them. It was written in a similar script to that poet’s handwriting. The Cappacian lad had given her a few of his poems to read, and seemed very excited to share his work.

The paper she had was crumpled and had indents where her teeth had bitten into it. Niamh seemed to recall having seen a few of the flyers spread about town, some posted outside of shops, others on tavern tables. She ran her eyes over the text a few times. It didn’t matter. She knew it didn’t matter. But she still wanted to try. She cursed and hung her head, defeated.

Shit.

I still can’t read.

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Divergent Paths

There are some things better left unanswered don’t you think? The things we could have been, the things that can never be, the truth that our most feared mistakes are correct. And more importantly, where does one go with that knowledge afterwards? To feel such deep regret but no longer the agony of the unknown. I’m unsure which is the lesser evil… …

I step onto the blue glyph grasping the book so he can read it. “Ibatoran Hahm Put Halo Tahom Sois Oran de Ibat Fulos Kei Sei Fulos ibi Aran,” he shouted within the church.

-What sort of trust fall is this Kirsa? Who leaves their body vulnerable in Stragosa like this? Do you seriously believe Adrian isn’t going to leave you if shit starts rolling down hill in this room?-

The dark blue light darkens inward from my peripheral and I can feel my muscles give way under my weight. For the briefest of moments there is nothing just inky blackness and then I see her. My life progresses before my eyes just as I remember in such accuracy that this can not be some trick of the mind but reality replayed before me.

I leave my home at a young age to take up the blacksmith trade for my family and I sense my motivations are the same, to better our lives in the only way I can. As I watch myself grow older I wonder maybe if this spell has been cast wrong. That this version of me is simply going to be the same and the differences will be too minimal for me to see.

That is until she waivers in her conviction to become a knight. This Kirsa upon entry to the Black Guard lays down her spear and resigns. These people, the person I am, are too much for her. She recognizes them in a way I had pushed down and ignored in the same moment. That their monstrous nature would eventually consume her and their toxicity is not something she wishes to join.

My heart races and my chest tightens, terrified of seeing what comes next. The nights are nearly endless that I have laid awake thinking of what my life would be like if I had made this choice. That the worst decision of my life was becoming a knight to House Baines. That I should have said no knowing what these people were. It is too late and I am forced to see what truth surely comes next.

She rises within Blackforge as a blacksmith in a way that I am proud of. The path was not without its own injustices and trials but I am unsurprised of her ability as the sin of vanity pangs within us both. And I watch those injustices befall her, I feel the rage within her and a helplessness that strikes me too deeply. I pity her for I, in my life do not have to let people treat me in such a way.

Her injustices are championed by a knight named Thomas and I watch her fall in love with his kindness and support over time. My fondness for him is not in the way one might think. I recognize that Kirsa saw good in someone of the Black Guard enough to love them meaning, just maybe, there was a chance that I am the kind of knight he was. The weight of regret forces itself down upon me as he asks her to marry him. Her refusal that she will never marry resonates with me but he continues to ask her every year until it is simply a renewal of their dedication to one another.

I want out of this nightmare now, as my sole justification for my path is ripped from me. That I would find someone so capable of loving me that wasn’t Ulric. That this feeling of happiness still awaited me if I had just made one different decision.

Together she spends her time helping the children around her further their lives by teaching them. Protecting them in the ways she can. Their love for her obvious and her kindness unending.

Until everything stops. I can sense her there before me waiting but I don’t know what to ask her. Too shaken by what I have seen of her life.

There is a flaw with this spell, she has no concept of the life I live. I can not ask her what she thinks of me. So I am forced to ask her opinions on the things we both know trying to piece together the type of person she would want someone like me to be.

My eyes open and stare upward at the church ceiling and the tears my consciousness could not produce manifest now. Kaykavoos’s voice echoes out to me asking if I am okay and in that moment I hate him. The hubris a man has to inflict something he fears on someone else under the guise of betterment.

Adrian stands beside me in the cold and I do not have the humility to reach out to him. To press my tear soaked face into his gambeson and let out all of my regrets. Instead I slowly stifle them explaining what has happened, how I can not change my life now to be this person I yearn for. My hatred fades and my attempts at understanding how this new found truth will shape me begins.

I now know that I was not entirely broken by my experiences as a human but rather shared core beliefs with this other self. As I saw her distance herself from the people she loved, her strong beliefs in what was right and wrong, her vanity even. I knew we were the same person. While I had committed the atrocities she was unwilling to I gained the strength to help others. She had found a way to humbly help those she could. And while maybe both of these paths are valid… I just wish I had chosen differently.