Archives: Lost Humanity
Chapter 8: After the Fight
Scythed sat by himself at a table in the inn, slowly sipping his drink. He soon became bored and decided to return to the group’s table, sitting across from Al. “So, what’s the story with you guys?” he asked.
Zylan sighed. The tea was getting cold. It was still bright in the room too. “Hath the world a fury like a berserker’s interruption upon tea time?” the old man muttered, dipping his finger in the stuff. “Breathe on this,” he said to his canine companion, “see if you can warm that up there.”
Wolfgang sniffed it and looked back at his master.
“Don’t you animals come with fire breath or something? The way villagers talk of you, you two are like dragons!”
Wolfgang stared more.
“Don’t get the joke? That’s alright. Jesters can only play so much to the witless. No offense meant, of course.”
“I am a knight of Flaim, journeying to teach Elainne here—my squire—about the world outside of the desert,” he stated his official story. “Other than that, we picked up others along the way, Zylanthian, Aroal, Mieijha, Sara, and Myel. Accompanying Zylanthian is his two wolves. That is pretty much the gist of our troupe.”
“Watch your tongue, sir knight!” Zylanthian declared, snapping his finger. “There was no picking up involved. I walk well enough on my own, thank you very much! I’d like to see you try to pick me up. Better yet,” he said with a grin, “all of us! What a show! A walking tower, even. Now that, sir, is entertainment. More importantly, good money!”
Sara smiled at Zylanthian’s witty comments. She held the sword on her lap, keeping one hand gripped to it at all times. “Riding Al eh? I bet for that, you’d be first on the list,” Sara whispered over to Elainne, and then covered her mouth with her free hand, like a school girl.
Elainne blushed at Sara’s comment. “I..uh...T-that’s really not an issue between he and I,” the awkward squire stammered. “Really, it never ever crossed my mind.”
“So, good friend, I don’t recall if we all caught your name, and what brings you to town?” Sara asked Scythed with a smile.
Scythed listened to Al’s words. It was obvious that he was conveniently forgetting to include parts of the story, but Scythed felt Al had a right to keep things to himself—of course he’d never let people’s rights effect him before. He listened to Al’s companion’s comments, smiling at their wit.
“My name’s Scythed,” he said in reply. “I’m from...” he paused, his expression suggested that he was thinking. “Well, from somewhere anyway. I’m a mercenary... I guess that was kinda obvious, but anyway, I came here after completing a commission to protect a merchant.”
“Somewhere... Quite the clearly vague expression, isn’t it? I don’t suppose it is possible to single it down a bit?” Zylanthian asked, looking just past his face, signifying his complete blindness in the room. His eyes were closed, hiding the obsidian orbs his face was cursed with...
“Er... yes it is quite vague expression,” Scythed replied. “but it’ll have to do. I figure I have some repressed memories or something... I bet I got eaten by some giant three headed monster and had to be cut out of it’s stomach after it had been killed.” His eyes seemed to fade as his mind took him off along this train of thought, a slight smile on his face. He suddenly put his foot up on the seat of his chair bringing his knee to his shoulder. “I bet that’s how I got this scar,” he said, lifting up the right leg of his trousers, revealing a scar of a long healed gash from his ankle almost to his knee. “I must have caught my leg on one of his teeth on the way in... Wait... What were we talking about?
As Sara listened to Scythed talk about his journey, she couldn’t keep from laughing, although she tried her hardest. Her face ran flush pink with embarrassment, because she wasn’t sure if he was serious, but she couldn’t imagine how such a small man could stand up to a giant.
“Well, we were talking about your source of existence, my dear boy!” the blind man said. “Really now, I should be the one forgetting things. Although I suppose you can call the thing your mother if you sprouted from its belly. Have you sent it a thoughtful gift recently? Or perhaps a bouquet? A good man appreciates those who do good things for them and suffering through having you pop out of it is certainly good enough, I should think.” Wolfgang and Ludwig had long since laid down and maintained their interest in the bone. Surprisingly, there was no scrapping around for ownership. Like two well-behaved human children, they shared equally the remains of dinner, never trying to claim more than the end they had. “Isn’t that right? Oh wait... Sorry boys, you two don’t have a mommy. I keep forgetting that. But I guess that means that you’ve got me. Where’s my flowers? Bah! It’d be wasted on me anyway. Its hard to appreciate pretty things when every things happen to be black and indistinguishable from the rest!”
“Yeah,” Scythed replied, sheepishly. “I’ve never had the greatest memory... Hey, your right, if my guess about my past is right, then it’s like some kind of rebirth... neat, I’m part monster!”
“Yes, good lad!” Zylan clapped with a smile. “Now you are on your trip of self-identification. Take advice from some people who have already found theirs, my boy. Don’t look too deep, because you don’t have the mental capacity for that.” Zylan’s head dropped, thinking suddenly. “Perhaps not.” He glared at the two wolves at his feet with closed eyes. “Don’t you get me in trouble now. Forget I said that,” the old man said, pointing off into the distance, but in the general direction of Scythed. “The advice was from them and, for them its true, but lets hope its not for you. You can look deep if you want, I suppose. I never did though. I hear if you swim too deep, you drown. I think I prefer spelunking to swimming anyway. You get air in mine. Not fresh air, but at least its air mind you. I always had a fond interest in not dying...”
“No, most people aren’t fond of dying are they?” Scythed replied. “As for your friend’s comments, I must ask what difference mental capacity has to do do with it.”
“What doesn’t it?” he asked, tossing his hands up in the air. “When was the last time you saw a chicken appreciating a sunset seascape?” Zylanthian chucked. “Take Ludwig and Wolfgang here! These two don’t search for their own identity. They aren’t exactly the philosophers of today’s society! Have you ever seen any furry woodland creatures with funny hats, glasses, and the current treatises on why we happen to be here? If you have, I would happen to recommend not speaking of it, since it is hard to make friends if you do. How do I know they don’t think about such lofty questions? Well, I asked them. Now, they don’t need to hunt down their identity. Really, now, these creatures hunt by smell and I don’t think your identity smells of squirrel, so that wouldn’t work even if they wanted it. But you, sir, have the capabilities to search for some lofty, intangible thing such as identity. It probably has less to do with intelligence and more to do with how it is found, but either way, you see now that it is your kind only that seeks to label oneself in a few words.”
“Well, I don’t think it has to do with intelligence at all, just different ways of thinking.” Scythed replied.
Boredom quickly overtook Sara as the two men changed the conversation from witty to intellectual. She began to look around at the rest of the party, and the people in the bar. Some folks were still talking about the fight and others were rambling on about various things. Sara then began to ponder about the couple looking for their child. Might her father be looking for her? She soon went into her very own daze and tuned out everything around her.
“Sure, for like-minded men. I doubt you have much insight into the ‘different ways of thinking’ involved with wolves, chickens, or any other being outside of your own and those similar to you. I think it is smartest to avoid such questions anyway. Look at how content these two are with existence, probably because they don’t trouble themselves with lofty questions that have little effect on your life as a whole!” Zylan declared, studying the bottom of his teacup in despair.
“Just because I am unable to read the minds of animals, as you seem to be able to, doesn’t mean I can’t gain insight onto the way they think by watching them. But anyway, I don’t think of it as trouble to think of such things, while boring and pointless on your own, it can be quite entertaining to discuss such matters with others, and as it has little effect on anything, I’d think it’s pretty harmless to ask such questions,” Scythed replied.
Al sighed. “Please, keep it down, you two.” He grit his teeth and checked the tethering on his sword again. Still bound. His fears elated momentarily.
Mieijha moved back to the table after giving her statement. She sat down near Zylanthian and tapped his hand. “Would you like more tea?” she asked softly.
“Mieijha, Mieijha, Mieijha...” the old man said, looking past her face with his closed eyes. “The answer will always be the same when you ask something about tea: the more tea, the better.” Zylanthian Baratoice smiled through his beard. “You are truly a kind woman to know what matters most...”
Myel-Elina followed Mieijha to the table. She sat and turned to Scythed. “I don’t think we were introduced,” she told the mercenary. “I’m Myel-Elina Sorka, an errand bard, a singer and a lute-player. Very nice to meet you and to thank you for your assistance. Well, I hope you will excuse my curiosity, but I wonder why you helped us during the fight.” And I still have thousands of questions to ask you. But she kept this reflection for herself.
“Hmm...?” Scythed looked over to Myel-Elina. “Oh, I’m Scythed, an errand mercenary, sell sword and thief. Nice to meet you as well. Well, you can barely call it helping, but anyway, he did become a berserker, I would think that he’d no longer know friend from foe. And I was quite disappointed when that other woman got to fight him, he was getting on my nerves and was just begging to be taught a lesson.”
Al tightened the binding on his sword. “Elainne, would you be so kind as to take orders for dinner?” He looped the leather around the cursed sword a little tighter. He didn’t want to accidentally draw the accursed blade and possibly injure the people in this town.
Elainne nodded and got to her feet. “Right, rabbit stew for myself and master Al, and the rest of you? No rush, just take your time and I’ll get to you in good time.” She gave the group a little wink and a smile.
Zylanthian tossed some gold on the table, more than enough for dinner for himself and the others. Perhaps one of the many boons of being a noble once and then moving to a place where money had no value was that you tended to simply save it. “Whatever is good. As long as the meal is edible...”
“Ah, well, I was about to say I’m not hungry,” Scythed said to Elainne. “But as my good friend here appears to be offering to pay for our meal,” he gestured to Zylanthian, “I’ll have whatever’s the most expensive.”
Scythed watched Al tighten his sword “What’s with the fidgeting?” he said. “Are you not used to wearing a sword? What kind of knight are you? What’s the world coming to when a knight is uncomfortable wearing a sword?”
Al stopped fidgeting with his sword and shot a glare at Scythed. “No, I’m used to wearing a sword, probably more so than many others,” he stated bluntly. “I’m peace-binding my sword, since we are in town. That way cooler heads prevail over those who would draw their weapon at the slightest notion of insult.”
“Rabbit stew is good for me, Elainne,” Myel-Elina answered. “I’ll take a glass of Mossian wine too, please. Tea may heal everything, but nothing softens a voice like wine.” She looked at Zylan and smiled.
The bard took her lute in her hands and began to play softly. Usually patrons in taverns loved when a bard played music, but she didn’t dare to play louder than the noise of a conversation. At least, her friends could hear her, and she hoped they liked it...
“Sara, I still need your order,” Elainne spoke softly.
Sara snapped back to the conversation hearing Elainne’s second request. “Stew is fine. Can you ask for my meat to be slightly undercooked?” Sara stated with a big smile. She then turned to Myel-Elina and Zylan. “I agree with Myel, a good wine is always body warming. I wonder if they carry elven wine?” She glanced over to the bar.
“With such company, this should cover the meal,” Zylan said with a grin. “It is the least I can do, after all. If there is extra, let the kind barkeep keep it. He has put up with enough tonight to deserve a bit more, I think,” he said to Elainne.
Elainne took the orders over to the barkeep as well as the payment. She waited at the counter and let the adults talk.
“Tsk, tsk,” Scythed said mockingly. “With a temper like that, I can see why you feel the need to bind your sword.“ He shook his head in mock disdain.
Al looked at Scythed sharply. “It’s not my temper that we have to worry about. It’s the temperament of the steel I carry.”
“‘The temperament of your steel’?” Scythed raised a skeptical eyebrow to Al. “It’s just a sword, it doesn’t have a temperament.”
Mieijha poured Zylanthian some more tea and placed the cup near his hand. ”The cup is there,“ she stated softly. She had caught Scythed and Al’s conversation but didn’t see the need to interject. Al obviously didn’t want to spill out that his sword was cursed with a spirit of darkness that could sometimes possess his mind. Definitely not after the scuffle outside with Thrighan and the Hyuri possession. She gave a sharp whistle to attract Shisoughc, the hawk coming to her call. Shisoughc nipped at Mieijha’s fingers to get his food. She rubbed his beak softly and pulled some jerky out of her pocket for him. {“There, there,”} she spoke in elven, {“I’ll see about getting you some fresh meat later, my dear friend.”}
“Your kindness is overwhelming, miss Mieijha,” Zylan said, smoothing his gray beard with a smile. His hand felt around until his fingers wrapped around the warm handle of the tea cup. “Surely, there are gods. Tea is proof.”
“All weapons have temperaments,” Al said. “Whether the possessor realizes it or not, the weapons have a mind of their own.” Mine more than the next, Al thought, furrowing his brow.
Elainne brought the food over and placed their respective meals down in front of their respective people. “Time to eat!” She sat at the table and took the spoon up, offering a small prayer to Marfa before digging in. Al did the same, making sure to place a napkin in his lap.
Myel-Elina stopped her music and started to eat. “Epic songs are full of wonderful weapons,” she told Scythed. “All of them have a mind of their own. Some are told to be cruel and evil, some are known to serve only the righteous; there are soul-crushing swords and calm-tempered axes, peaceful bows and sly daggers. But they all have in common their lust for acting on their own. They use their bearer if this latter is not careful. Master Almelchaya’s sword has a temperament too, and he knows it better than anyone.”
The bard suddenly thought about her own weapons. Her thin dagger was a simple steel weapon, but her crossbow was a strange gift of her mentor. It was of fine wood and displayed a lion surrounded by fire. What kind of temperament could have such a weapon?
Al didn’t like talk of the sword. It didn’t have a name, but it had a temperament, a foul one, and talk of it only served to stroke its ego. He ate silently, letting the stew wash away his worries about his cursed weapon.
Elainne shot up out of her seat blushing. “I-I forgot the wine!” She rushed over to the bar to remedy her oversight.
Scythed sighed in exasperation, “Look, weapons are just pieces of metal, heated up until they’re soft, hammered into a shape that is efficient for causing harm and is given some sort of handle. It is not alive.” Scythed drew his dagger and stuck it in the table so it stood upright. “This dagger has no more of a temperament than a piece of unmined metal sitting underground, or even a rock.” He turned to Myel-Elina. “As for those weapons in epics, those are either exaggerated to make it more interesting or magical, and with magic weapons, it not the weapons that have temperament, it’s the magic within them.” He turned away and drank the last of the drink that he’d been brought.
Sara pulled Scythed’s dagger out of the table. “You’re wrong. Even your simple dagger has a life,” Sara spoke softly while running her hands across the dagger. “Every lump, every turn, every twist, even every mistake give this tool a character. It’s the little thing that the instrument tells us about how to use it. While magic maybe change how it reacts, it already has character and character is what give it life. It’s all about how you perceive things.” Sara laid his dagger back on the table balancing it on the hilt so that it stood up right. She then began eating her food like she hadn’t eaten in years.
“Besides, where we going with this conversation? Tell me what we have in store for tomorrow; I have so much I haven’t seen in the city,” she spoke while trying to eat. Sara still found the human city fascinating and wanted to explore.
Elainne returned with the wine, and placed it on the table. “Sorry about that, it slipped my mind completely.” She took her seat, and resumed eating. All this talk of weapons didn’t sit well with her, at least, not at dinner time.
Al sighed. “Oh, how I wish that were true. Magic weapons, normal weapons, fine crafted weapons: all have instilled spirits within them. Although most weapons’ spirits are dormant, there are a few cases when a spirit wakes from their slumber and bless or curse a weapon, usually at the whim of another.”
“I can speak to that,” Zylan said, pointing past Al’s head seriously. “After all, Wolfgang and Ludwig have excellent weapons in those jaws of theirs and I hear those spirits talking all the time. It sounds extremely similar to howling though.” Though it sounded awfully senile, the old man was making a point. Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn’t. Funny thing about beliefs like that were, though, that people could see things in numerous things that may or may not have ever been there. There really, in his mind, was little proof that there were spirits in weapons, as elves claimed that there were spirits in plants or living beings. The old man knew of how mana was channeled through all things and one might mistake that as a “spirit”. Or perhaps there was a personality beyond what it made someone feel. Perhaps all it was happened to be what people felt when they held it, which could be affected by appearance, design, and handling.
“I won’t pass judgment on any man’s belief,” the old sage said. “The sensation and phenomenon of a weapon is not provable either way. All you can know is what some claim. I think none of us have a right to declare one right or wrong.”
Scythed sighed and shook his head and began to eat his meal. “Fine, believe what you want.”
Al sighed and stood up. “I have business in town. I’ll see the rest of you later.” He rubbed Elainne’s head affectionately and left the inn. He had no business in town, he just wanted some night air, to blow off some steam and possibly run into Aroal.
Sara watched Elainne to see if she would follow him, but then returned to eating. Looking up with a mouthful, Sara then turned to Elainne. “When do you plan on telling him how you feel? You know I’d be willing to say even Zylan here can see that tension,” Sara said in a witty tone. She then looked over at her two new furry friends and began howling in a low tone.
Wolfgang replied in kind, returning a low, quiet howl and sitting by Sara. Ludwig, ever the loner, however, chose to stay near to Zylanthian and keep watch. It was all he ever seemed to do.
Elainne blushed. “I...” she sighed. “I can’t just tell him. He doesn’t think of me like a woman. I’m his squire first and that is fine for now. I’ll worry about my master’s love life if and when he realizes my sex.”
Sara began petting and playing with Wolfgang. She would howl and wait for his response although, she wasn’t trying to say anything she just felt comfortable playing the wolf. She tried to keep the noise down so not to bother others but it was no use, they were having too much fun. Every now and then she remembered to keep sharp eye on the blade. If anyone came near it she was ready to drop them like a sack of potatoes.
The elven maid’s ears drooped with weariness. Mieijha forced a soft smile and rose from her seat. “My poor constitution drives me to seek bedly solace at this time,” Mieijha spoke softly. “I bid thee all a good slumber, and I’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed Shisoughc on the beak and let him fly out of the inn. He’d find his own perch for the night. The tired elf leaned on the walls to help her up the stairs, making her way to the room and dropping herself off on the bed. She lazily kicked off a boot at the door, knocking it closed with much luck. She crawled under the covers with much hardship and fell asleep almost immediately.
* * *
Myel-Elina had decided not to argue with Scythed, and Al wasn’t in the mood for talking about swords. She ended her meal silently, wondering how Aroal was feeling. Probably not too good.
Wolfgang’s and Sara’s howls stopped her daydream. Even now she didn’t feel comfortable with the wolves. When Sara or Zylan was with them, she was not afraid, but the old man’s friends were too... wild for her.
Without thinking, the bard took her lute to play, and she suddenly had an idea. “Elainne,” she told the squire. “Can you dance? I doubt Master Al taught you how to dance, but it’s an important part of the education of a knight. King Kashue Arnegue III is told to be an excellent dancer; and he frequently invites knights to his balls, doesn’t he? If you want, I may teach you to dance.” And that will force Al to see you as a girl, not only as his squire, without interfering with your training. “What do you think of it?”
“I learned how to dance,” Elainne stated. “It was part of my prerequisites that my parents wanted me to learn. Master Al can dance, though he’s not as nimble as I, and we only dance if the occasion suits it, not that it has in recent years.”
* * *
Al made his way through the quiet streets, his footsteps echoing slightly. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing the few errant strands away from his eyes. He was glad to be outside, the cool night air was enough to keep his mind off the sword, even with it at his side. His ulterior motives were to seek out Aroal and find out if she was well, and possibly post bail if they sought to imprison her for the fight.
The Flaim knight made it to the jail house and entered. The guards attention was drawn to the sudden entry of the six-foot, five-inch man.
“Can we help you?” a constable asked, warily edging his hand onto his sword. He was still a little nervous due to the berserker showing up earlier.
“My name is Almelchaya Al Elazuul, you have my friend Aroal here,” Al stated. “Is she free to leave?”
The constable relaxed. “Yes, we’re finished questioning her.”
Al nodded and looked to Aroal and held his hand out for her. “Ready to leave?”
Aroal watched Al from over her shoulder when the knight came for her. She wasn’t expecting that, but he probably had a few things to say to her. She didn’t take his hand to help herself up, she wasn’t fond of such chivalry towards a capable woman like herself. Instead, the barbarian mercenary stood on her own two feet and turned to head out the door with him. She kept her expression solemn and devoid of emotion, but underneath she was still awash in a sea of confusing and conflicting emotions.
“Let’s go,” she said simply to Al, obviously avoiding his eyes as she busied herself with picking up her axes. The guard had confiscated them, but since she was allowed to go free with the deal they had bargained, she was allowed to take them back.
Al walked out with Aroal, not insulted in the slightest that she didn’t take his hand. He strode out of the jail without as much as a word, until out of earshot of the constables. “So, that was your husband,” Al stated softly. “He seemed...” Dead, Al’s sword chipped in. “...different. I can’t say that the world will mourn his passing, although...you seem a little depressed.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, almost snapping the response back at him, out of habit. She never liked discussing the subject of her marriage. However, maybe it was best to discuss it with someone who just saw the end of it. Al spoke to her about his sword, it was only fair play that she open up to him a little as well. “No, I’m not,” she said, retracting her previous statement. “I don’t understand why I feel this way, I just do. I never wanted to marry him, and the three years I was with him were the three worst years of my life. If anything, I think he deserved what he got...but...” Aroal’s voice became strained as she felt the urge to cry come again. Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached up to brush them away with a growl.
“Damnit,” she cursed. “I guess it’s a part of being a woman.” She gave a bark of a laugh through her tears. Emotionally, she wasn’t in pain, but her eyes begged to differ.
Al listened silently and waited for her to finish. Once she had finished though, her eyes were clouded with tears. Al stopped and held her hand. “Don’t think that I’m trying to use your emotions to weasel into your good graces,” Al said, looking into Aroal’s eyes. “People die. Whether we like them or not, or want them to or not, they do die. Death affects people, both male and female. Grief, anger, sadness...these are common emotions. You think that because you are a woman that you feel conflicted about your feelings for him?” Al sighed. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re male or female, young or old; a person that was close to you died. You may have hated him, and it may have been well deserved, but now you don’t have that person to motivate you to be better than him.”
Aroal gave a small smile for his attempts to understand, but it wasn’t quite it. “I don’t feel any of that though,” she replied. With her free hand, she wiped her tears away again and sniffled. She allowed him to hold onto her hand still. “I feel like a ball of ice inside. I’m grateful he’s out of my life forever and that I defeated him, but for some reason my eyes won’t stop crying.” He did have a point at the last part though. She didn’t have Thrighan to hate anymore.
Al shook his head. “I don’t know then. I’ve never been married, and as far as having a rival or someone to hate...” Al sighed. “I’m afraid my life has been too easy. The only thing I hate is this sword.”
Aroal chuckled a little, trying to force away the tears. Wiping her tears away again, she had composed herself more. “A evil sword that tries to possess you and makes you kill people? I suppose that would be worse than an abusive ex-husband,” she said. The urge to cry was fading and she gave a heavy sigh of relief. “If you tell anyone you saw me crying, I’ll deck you,” she added with a smirk. She was joking, for the most part.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Al chuckled. “Terrible ogre of a husband, evil sword that makes me want to turn everyone into julienne meat kabobs...hmm hard decision,” He said with a smile. “I think I’ll choose the mortal of the two.”
Aroal chuckled a little more, almost forcing herself to feel better. She wiped her cheeks again, getting the last signs of tears off her cheeks. “Well, they decided against putting me in jail after talking to me and the witnesses. But, for the disruption and the fact I did encourage the fight, they settled on a fine. I didn’t have all of what they wanted, but almost enough, so they settled for every last copper I had,” she explained with a frown. Though it was inconvenient, she felt it was a good deal, and hopefully her companions would help support her.
“They took...all your money?” Al shook his head. “Well, I guess it’s good that I’m paying for most everything,” he joked. “It keeps you from running into the red and me from having to pay loan sharks for you.”
“Thank you,” Aroal said graciously. “I suppose I’m broke until my next job. All the money I have to my name is in Roid.” She glanced down the street, a gesture to show that she was ready to continue. “Let’s get back to the inn.”
Al grinned. “You know, if you need a warm bed, a soft wake up, or a broad shoulder to cry on, you can always use me.” He walked a little ahead of her. “But if you’d prefer to to bash my face in with a skillet, I assure you, if any of what I said gets back to Elainne, I’m sure you’ll be waiting behind my squire for those honors.”
Aroal smiled a little and looked aside to keep him from seeing her favorable reaction to his flirting. She was starting to feel attracted to Al, and now that she was alone with him, she didn’t feel the need to put up a strong front for the other women. She burst out laughing at his last statement. “Don’t worry, I won’t beat you with a skillet unless you beat me first,” she replied.
“I would never hit a lady,” Al stated. He rolled his neck and felt a satisfactory pop. “Sometimes I feel like this curse isn’t so bad. That’s when I know that I shouldn’t fight for a while. When killing becomes less about protection and more about excuses, then I’ve lost to the blade. Only thing to do then is kill me.”
“Hmph...well, that’s honorable,” Aroal replied with a nod. “Does a man like you really run that risk, though?”
“The chances are slim that it will ever get that bad,” Al stated. “I’ve been with this sword for many years, and my resolve is as strong as ever. It has only a little control over me, and whether or not that is because of my history of violence, being a knight, or because my will is stronger than his previous victims is unbeknownst to me.”
“Your will, most likely,” Aroal replied. “It is said that Emperor Beld was unable to control the demon sword Soul Crusher, so it controlled him. Lord Ashram, however, had the will to overcome it and he controlled the sword.” The barbarian woman glanced around the street, recognizing a few landmarks. “Well, we aren’t far from the inn now.”
Al nodded and took the lead. He was sure that everyone else had finished supper by now, and some of the less physically active would have retired.
* * *
Scythed listened to the other’s conversations as he finished eating in silence. He began to feel the effects of the eventful day and all the drinks he had. He smiled to himself as his weariness gave him an idea. Scythed leaned back and closed his eyes slowly, as if he’d fallen asleep, and he slowed his breathing to the shallow breaths of one lost in their dreams. He continued to listen to the conversations of the others. It’s always fun to hear what people say when you’re asleep, he thought to himself.
Elainne looked over to Scythed who seemed to be asleep. She kept her mouth shut though; she wouldn’t turn in until Master Al returned, and it would be presumptuous to take Scythed to a room procured by her master for him to sleep off the night.
Ludwig eyed Scythed quietly for a moment before noticing the man’s unceremonious state. Unlike most animals of the forest, Zylan’s magic had bestowed a certain understanding of what is and what is not appropriate over the years. But, many animals that have been trained, including ones that happened to be trained by the backwards old man, also learned that getting caught is the only danger. This man was asleep...
So, the wolf very quietly inched forward with curiosity. The padded paws and the way in which he stepped added up to an undetectable level of stealth, especially considering the noise of a tavern common. As soon as Ludwig found his place standing before the chair in which Scythed leaned back.
Ludwig... It was Zylan, echoing in his mind.
Sniff... was all the old man got in return. It hadn’t really crossed his mind that the animals hadn’t gotten a true whiff of these peoples’ scents yet. It could be valuable, should they get separated. Normally, Zylan said no, since it bothered people, but the hope for a good prank overwhelmed his sense of propriety.
Get a good ol’ sniff this once! Zylan mind-spoke with a grin on his face.
Ludwig’s head focused back on his target. Then, almost as if the wolf enjoyed the idea as much as the old man did, he shoved his nose right in Scythed’s crotch forcefully, snorting up the man’s scent as he did.
The sudden pressure to Scythed’s crotch caused him to jerk backwards, and with a cry, he fell back over his chair. His head hit the floor causing the room to spin and to instantly wake him completely. “What the hell?!” he shouted, trying to bring everything into focus.
Zylanthian could barely hold in his childish mirth. He had to literally bite his tongue to keep from bursting out in laughter. That was perfect, he thought. Though the old man couldn’t see it happen, the sounds were amusing enough. He coughed, trying to make himself sound as serious as possible. “Bad dog... bad dog,” he sputtered out, though snickers filled each syllable. Mentally, to Ludwig, he had a different message: Good job!
Elainne covered her eyes in slight shame. “Sheesh...if I did that I’d be reprimanded for sexual misconduct. A wolf does it and it’s just his way of checking out the new people.” The young squire took the finished food dishes over towards the inn keeper. She dropped them off with a small smile and returned to her seat.
“Damn animal,” Scythed groaned, then looked at Elainne in response to her comment. “I think he should still be reprimanded for sexual misconduct!”
“I wonder if it had been a female of the breed, if you would still feel the same way,” Sara said, giggling at the fact that Ludwig had violated Scythed. She then stood up and gathered her things. “Master Al has been gone for a bit, no? Wow, Elainne you now have me using formality with his name. I guess it just seems wrong to refer to him in any other way now,” she said, wondering when Aroal was to return.
“There is no sexual conduct there. Don’t you know anything about wolves? You’ll be thankful that Ludwig did that, should I have to come find you!” Zylan said for a smile. “He could probably zero in on your crotch any day!” The old sage began to crack up again, but smothered it with a quick swig of his tea.
“... No, I don’t know anything about wolves,” Scythed replied angrily as he stood up, still swaying a little from hitting his head. “Anyways, if your going to have wolves in the inn, you should at least keep them under control.”
“Should I be controlling you and the others as well? I can get you a collar as well, if you believe living creatures need to be controlled,” Zylan replied quickly. “I am an equal opportunity friend!”
“... You know, that’s probably a good idea,” Scythed replied to Zylan’s comment. “The incident with the berserker earlier shows good reason to.”
* * *
Aroal and Al stepped through the door of the inn. The barbarian woman seemed quite somber, and was ready to retreat to her room. Despite the late hour, nearly the entire party was still awake. Aroal had a meal at the jail, though she didn’t have much of an appetite anyway. She found Sara immediately. “Sara, do you have the sword?” she asked.
Sara lifted Aroal’s sword from her lap and handed it to her upon request. “I trust all is well?” she asked and then followed up with, “The hour is getting late, we may all want to retire for the evening.”
“I’m here, all is well,” Aroal replied, taking Thrighan’s sword from Sara. She hoped Sara might have cleaned it, but apparently not. Before she went to bed, she would take care of it. “I’m going to bed. Which rooms are ours?”
“Mieijha is already off to bed, and I myself would like to sleep with the windows open. So those would be your choices,” Sara said. She thought it might be a bit rude to open the windows in Mieijha’s room while she was sleeping, in case she had problems with it. Sara was pretty energized but knew they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow and would need their rest.
“Then I will share a room with you,” Aroal replied. “Lead the way.” She didn’t know which rooms were theirs, so Sara would need to show her.
* * *
“Since you believe them proper, we can start with you. I’ll have it ready in the morning then!” Zylan declared with a smile.
“Your wolf-things first, then I’ll wear one,” Scythed said to Zylan. “And then maybe our testy knight friend next,” he said, gesturing to Al.
Zylan reached over and tugged on the simple-looking hemp ropes tied around the wolves’ necks lightly with a smile. “Already done, my friend. That means you are next, if you are still interested to see what bondage is like, of course. Teach by example, they always say.”
“I won’t wear collars,” Al growled. “Elainne, take to bed, now.” The squire curtsied and ran up the stairs to her room. The knight rolled his neck getting a satisfying pop to his neck and went to the bar for a heavy draft of ale.
Myel-Elina stopped playing and began to untie the strings of her lute. She had been bored by Zylan’s and Scythed’s argument, but she had too much respect for the old man’s wisdom and too much curiosity toward the mercenary to say anything. When Aroal and Al came back in the inn, she went on playing, trying not to stare at them. She did not know what happened outside, but it was surely not a pleasant time for Aroal.
“Well, I hope I won’t disturb Mieijha,” she told the two women. “Although I don’t think I could walk silently enough for an elf’s ears. Have a good night.” She stood up and followed Sara and Aroal. She wanted to do something for the barbarian woman, but she could not find the words. All she managed was to say to the two women with the most casual tone she could afford: “Well, sleep will probably not come easily this night. If any of you want to speak, I’ll be greatly pleased to talk a little bit.”
Sara nodded, picked up the key and led the way. She gave the pups one last scratch and hug, on her way up. “Night all,” she said softly.
Aroal gave a small nod to Myel-Elina, but she was eager to get to bed and find some solitude in her sleep. The barbarian woman followed Sara upstairs.
Al sat up with Zylanthian. He had no wish to retire to nightmares. The knight sat up drinking until he fell asleep at the table. It was better in his mind to reduce himself to a drunken stupor than to deal with the nightmares without the aide of alcohol.
* * *
Aroal entered the room she shared with Sara, silent as she had been since returning. She set her belongings aside, then found the kit she needed to clean the new sword. The barbarian kicked off her boots, gloves and removed her armor, then sat down crosslegged on the left bed. Quietly, she unsheathed the claymore and began to wipe it clean.
Sara yawned deeply and watched as Aroal began cleaning the sword. “Had I known how to, or even had the equipment I would have…” she said, then paused. She then turned to open the window. “Oh, I almost forgot… I feel it only right to warn you; I have another side that only comes out during the full moon or in a spite rage. I have it under control, but the appearance tends to alarm people,” Sara spoke as if she was whispering to a star out the windows. She then waited for a response, if any.
Aroal focused on wiping the blade clean, but she listened to Sara. ‘Another side that only comes out during the full moon’... the barbarian mused. “A were-wolf?” she asked, not lifting her eyes from her work. Were-wolves were certainly not uncommon on Marmo, and she knew that they shifted forms under the full moon—though the most advanced ones could do it at will.
Sara turned and smiled at Aroal. “Yeah, a were-wolf,” she replied. Sara was quite taken that it didn’t seem to bother Aroal. This just added to her admiration of the warrior. She then climbed up on the window’s ledge and made herself comfortable.
A thought came to Aroal and she paused her work on the blade for a moment. “The full moon passed two nights ago. What do you do to restrain your bloodlust?” the barbarian asked, though her eyes were still focused on the greatsword. After she spoke, she continued wiping the blade clean with her oiled cloth.
Sara pulled out her amulet, and held it out for Aroal to see. “It keeps me sane for now, but I still don’t have control if I lose this,” she said. “I never tried to transform on a whim but its better that way, right?” Sara asked.
The barbarian woman gazed at Sara’s amulet with little show of emotion. “It’s good that you have such a talisman to protect you from your own beastly rage. How long has it been since you were afflicted?”
“I’m not totally sure, I know I was young. My new father told me the story of how he found me and said that I was this way when he did,” Sara replied.
“You were a child? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a child so young becoming a were-wolf, usually children never survive a were-wolf attack,” Aroal mused. She had finished cleaning the blade, and decided against sharpening it so as not to disturb their neighbors with the sound. So, she sheathed her new greatsword and laid it beside her bed. “How did you acquire your amulet?”
“The elf who raised me had a wizard of great power and a dwarven blacksmith forge the enchanted amulet. It keeps me sane, but doesn’t stop things from happening,” Sara said, as she pondered how Finrod was doing.
“Then, do you mind being able to shift shapes?” Aroal inquired.
Sara smiled to herself. “You know, now that I think about it … not really, it’s kind of scary and exciting at the same time. It could be dangerous though, if those around me don’t understand what is going on someone could inadvertently get hurt,” she replied.
“You should let the others know before the next full moon,” Aroal advised. “But let’s get some sleep now.” Sara agreed with a simple nod.
* * *
When Myel-Elina went to bed, she thought she would quickly sleep, whatever she might have said to Aroal. But sleep didn’t come easily. The events of the day had reminded her of the death of her mentor and friend, and a lot of memories came back to her. She could not hold back her tears and cried a lot before falling asleep.
* * *
Unlike the others, Zylan chose to stay up a bit longer. It cost him something the others took for granted: sight. Oh, but to see the light of day again! When the main room had emptied and the innkeeper was cleaning up, Zylan requested that the fire be put out. With an odd look, the burly man stifled the flames and plunged the feeble old man into darkness. For a time, he reveled in being able to see Wolfgang and Ludwig. It comforted the sage to peer into those knowing eyes of Ludwig and the observe the playful glimmer in Wolfgang’s stare. Though it meant little to them, it meant the world to him.
Finally, when the twilight hours were deeply settled into the sky, but a few hours from their demise, the last three members of the party went to rest. The old man smuggled himself easily through the dark halls. His eyes were sharp to every detail. Creeping into Scythed’s room, he looked blankly at the bed. When was the last time he slept on one of those?
Zylan spent twenty minutes writhing in the bed. He couldn’t get comfortable. Finally, he gave up and curled up in the place he had been sleeping for years: the floor. Wolfgang instantly laid in front of him, curling up against the coverless old man for warmth. Ludwig, ever vigilant, chose the bed for its height. As it ready to leap off, his paws sat right on the edge and his face hovered only inches from his charges’ bearded face.
