Planes of Marrow: Welcome to the Vagabond Arms!
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Rowan leaned against the side of the massive wagon, heavily laden with armor, weapons, and the various other things he had collected during his long life as a traveling mercenary. He looked at the dozen or so men and women who had made their way to his camp.
A Cambion woman, dressed in silks still fresh from her time in the High Citadel of Song sat perched on a branch, fingers gently plucking at the stings of a fiddle, filling the air with a soothing melody. He didn’t know what she had don’t to be banished from her court, but the vine like scars of mistletoe still shone fresh against her cheek.
At the trunk of the same tree, A young Naguai man relieved himself. More than a few cast the man a disgusted look, but none spoke up. Rowan was not surprised. The madness in the Naguai’ yellow eyes were apparent, only accentuated by his quiet muttering and the twitch of his lupine ears. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the youth. He knew all to well how hard it was to keep the madness at bay.
Still, as he looked about the camp, Rowan knew he had much more pressing concerns. The most obvious one, the one he heard being muttered throughout the camp. The same number repeated over and over.
Fifty-five.
The number he had specifically chosen as the minimum needed to complete the mission while ensuring everyone left with a full purse of gold and silver. Fifty-five Mercenaries against a goblin horde of a little over a hundred and five. Not overwhelming odds, but with the element of surprise and a his own skills in battle he believed he could get the job done.
With fifty five.
As he looked around the camp, he counted thirteen men and women. Some with the hardened look of veterans. Some with the look nervous eagerness one saw in the eyes of someone knew their families next meal depended on the mission ahead. Most of all though, Rowan saw the eyes of those who never had seen the face of war. Eyes looking to him for leadership. Someone who could motivate them to place their lives on the line, if not for a noble cause, then for the promise of coin.
This was the part he hated the most. The part where he longed for the days before. Back when he was nothing more than the hired muscle waiting to be thrown at an enemy. Money had been easy enough to come by back in those days, especially for a young Naguai lost in the madness of his curse.
Rowan had lost decades of his life to the blind fury of his bestial side, and he had loved every moment of it. Days spent on the front lines, sometimes in the shape of a man, sometimes as an Elk, mostly in a combination of the two.
He had loved those day of war. The nights spent eating salted meat and drinking ale around the fire with brothers formed in the heat of battle. It wasn’t until his fiftieth year that he realized those friends he had made over the years were all gone. Either fallen in the field battle or more often than not in the battle of the spirit. The battle of the man who had seen war and was now blind to peace.
He was fifty years old when he started the Vagabond Arms. Fifty years for him to gain control of his curse, to come to peace with his human and bestial side. Fifty years and he still was not used to being the one in charge.
The one who had to give the speech. The one to bring strangers together and tell them why it was they had to fight to keep each other alive. Yes, it was for gold. All mercenaries fought for gold.
But those who fought without cause, without purpose, didn’t fight long. They would run when things got ugly. Abandon the men and women at their side, dooming those who remained to die alone.
No, a warrior needed more than gold to fight and die for. They needed a cause. They needed a why.
Rowan cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of everyone in the camp. Rowan was a big man, especially now when the moon was set between new and full. The tips of a antlers had burst from his head nights ago, and he had gained an extra foot in height, now standing some eight feet in height. Most who saw him believed him, like most Naguai to be a monster. Yet as the band of misfits met his eye he could feel his hands tremble, sweat forming in his brow.
You once faced off against a band of Nuckelavee with nothing but a spaghetti squash and a wooden mallet, damn it. Why does talking in front of strangers make you nervous.
“First off, I would like to thank all of you for joining up. Whether it be for just this one contract or for many more to come, know you will always have a home at the Vagabond Arms.”
Won’t be much of a home if I don’t start pulling more contracts. Rowan thought. In truth, home was little more than the cramped wagon he leaned against to now, but they didn’t have to know that.
“The mission.” Rowan continued. “The mission is simple. The village of thimble has hire us to kill off a horde of goblins who have set up camp in the hills. Now, I won’t lie to you, I was hoping for slightly more of a turnout then we got here today. I count about thirteen of you, and I was looking for about fifty-five. The good news is your take will be higher. The bad news we are about outnumber ten to one.”
Worried mutters went through the crowd as the mercenaries looked at each other. One or two began to shake their heads to gather their gear. He was losing them. He knew it would be tough when he said the words, but they needed to know the truth.
“Listen, I understand if you want to turn tail and leave. Hells, if I am honest, I want to turn tail and leave, but I can’t. I won’t.” Rowan lowered his head, pulling the contract from his pocket. “This village, these people they got no one. Couple years back they were set along the border of spindle and Song. Then some prince got into some dispute on where that border was and now no one knows what kingdom they fall in.
“Both kingdoms are quick to collect taxes. But when they asked for protection no one came. So, they put out a contract. They sold all they had, and they paid up front for a bunch of cutthroat mercenaries to fix the problem their kings and queens couldn’t.”
The group stared up at him and Rowan stared back. There was uncertainty in their eyes. Doubt. He shook his head and let out a sigh. So be it.
“I can’t force you to stay he said turning his back on the group. All I can tell you is come morning; I am going to raid a goblin camp. If you fight, you will be paid. If you don’t, the men, women and children of this village will be dead by the following night. You ever see the after math of a goblin raid. I have. They like to flay their victims alive. Leave them out for days, before picking the maggots off their flesh.”
Rowan reached into the back of the wagon and pulled free his war hammer. Its head was formed from hardened bronze, the worn wooden grip worn from use. He rested it on his shoulder before sitting by the fire.
“Some of us our going to die.” Rowan said, not looking up from the fires. “This is the nature what we do. This is our purpose. Because if we don’t fight the fights to dirty and small for those fancy fucks who call themselves lords and ladies, no one will. So, you can leave if you want, but come morning I am going to find some Goblins and I am going cave in their skulls. Your welcome to do the same.”
As Rowan pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped away a spot of rust from the sledge. Others joined him. They polished weapons and talked strategy. They ate dried meat and sipped from ale. For the most part Rowan just listened, feeling again the sense of brothers forged by the promise of violence.
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Welcome to the Vagabond Arms the best and cheapest Mercenary company in the land. You have learned of the Vagabond Arms the same as every drifting sell sword in the land. Flyers littering the form of every tavern, brothel and in across the Summer lands.The mission seemed simple enough, go join the budding mercenary company and split the profits. If only you knew how budding the company was.
Make your mercenary from the below races and classes. Add a short back story and interesting facts.
*this my first time GMing a game. I look forward to your input. Let’s have some fun and build a story together.
Playable Races:
Human:
The majority of the population of the Summer lands, and despite what the Cambion believe, they are the most ancient of races. They are looked down upon the Cambion and Fae alike, but what they lack in physical abilities, they make up for in ingenuity.
Pros:
Ability to use iron and Mistletoe weapons, though it is a crime and must be concealed.Ingenuity: the most technologically advanced race, allowing for weapon and armor modification.
The ability to use potions formed magic flora and fauna to enhance their physical and mental abilities.
Cons:
Inability to use magic.Lack the advanced physical gifts and senses of their Cambion and Naguai counterparts
Cambion:
Born of Fae and mortal blood, each Cambion is blessed with a gift of their birth. This gift depends on which of the seven blood lines they descend from. Cambions are members of the Ruling class and considered to most as royalty. Still there are some illegitimate children of almost every house and even more royals who have been cast out of their houses, their connection to their gift forever weakened. (players cannot play as Cambion of harvest or Mana)
Bloodlines
-Oberon
Ability to control one of the four elements (fire, earth, water, air)
-Spindle
Ability to bind things together. Can be used for healing or trapping enemies.
-Mesh
Ability to talk and form connections with animals.
-Snow
Ability to use ice powers.
-Song
Ability to manipulate the course of a battle through song.Pro:
Ability to use gift.Cambions are faster, stronger than humans.
They have heightened senses allowing them to hear the flap of a moth’s wing from a quarter mile out, see clearly in a moonless night and track s man by his scent.
Con:
Deathly allergic to iron babe. Skin boils and bones char. The scars formed from these wounds never heal.
Weapons made of mistletoe cause Cambions to lose their fey abilities, making them essentially human. A Cambion infected with mistletoe with have vine like scars under their skin. Many Cambions find themselves reliant on their fey blood, becoming weak and disoriented with their heightened sense gone.
Naguai:
The cursed people of Titania’s wood. These people live their lives in a constant transitional state between man and beast. Depending on the phase of the moon, these people take on more bestial traits. On the new moon they are human, on the full they are in their pure animal form. During this transition they take on the traits and features of the beast with whom they share a form with. Some Naguai, like Rowan have become Berserkers, embracing their madness, and gaining control over their transformation.
Pros.
Ability to take on human and beast forms.Strongest of the races, with senses stronger than even the Cambion
Cons:
Every day and every night, the Naguai struggles to keep their madness at bay. A constant war is waged in the mind of the Naguai as their bestial nature fights against their human half. The threat of losing control is always a factor for the Naguai.Playable classes:
Hunter:
Agility based class specializing in stealth. Those who choose this class thrive in any environment, whether stalking their prey in the dense forest or moving unseen in the city, a hidden knife in The crowd. Hunters specialize in various weapons, from bows and spears to daggers and short sword.
Fighter:
Strength based class specialist in taking damage and giving damage. No fighter is built the same, some choosing to don plate armor and shields while others prefer the freedom and speed of light armor. Fighters specialize in all types of melee weapons, from bare knuckle brawls to bastard swords.
Herbalist (human/Naguai)
Wisdom based class specialized in medicine and poisons. Learned from their close relationship with nature, those who bear the mantle of herbalist have learned to use the verdant life of the summer lands as both a weapon and shield. Herbalists fight with staffs, bows, and darts.
Shaman (Cambion/Naguai only)
Wisdom based class specialized in healing nature magic and destructive spirit calling. Shamans use their innate closeness with the land to use their powers to call forth the energies of the land, both to heal and destroy. Shamans fight with staffs or unarmed relying heavily on their magics.
Artificer (specialty: human only)
Human fighters and hunters can specialize in the artificer class. This allows them to create weapons and armor of their own design to include grenades, crossbows, and melee weapons with modifications like fire and electric damage.
Alchemist (specialty human only):
Available to human hunters, fighters, and herbalists. Through the advancement of science, they have learned to use the magic in the land to something they can control. Not only can alchemist make potions that allow greater healing and oils that can give weapons various attributes, but they can make potions that bolster character stats and change their physiology as well.
Druid (specialty Naguai)
By embracing their curse, the Naguai gains the ability to commune with nature, allowing themselves to call the trees plants and animals to their aid.
Berserker (Specialty beast man)
By embracing their madness, the Naguai gains control of themselves. They gain the ability to control their form at will as well as increase their strength and senses. The downside to being a Berserker is an aura of madness, drawing others to violence often against the berserker themselves.
*Cambion are able to use the magic of their house gifts and to customize it to their playing style. A Cambion of spindle might use his gifts to heal wounds to stitch close wounds while another might use that same gift to thread the wind around a knife and send it sailing into the back of a man’s head. You may use your gifts how you see fit, as long as it is feasible.
Above all else I hope we can make an awesome story together.
Character sheet example:
Name: Rowan Whitehorn
Race: Naguai (Bestial: Elk)
Class: Berserker
Weapon: bronze war hammer
Backstory:
Rowan was a Mercenary of some great renown during the War of The Faery courts. After decades spent at war, Rowan found himself alone, the last surviving of those he called his brothers in Arms.
He is now the leader of the best and cheapest mercenary company in the Summer lands. He prides himself on taking in warriors who have found themselves stranded afterwar. He dreams of one day opening a tavern and making it the headquarters of the Vagabond Arms
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Name: Caelus Icairit
Race: Human
Class: Artificer
Weapon: Iron Compartmental Tower Shield and an Baselard ( a type of Shortsword)
Backstory: Caelus was originally the fishing village of Knot, most of his youth was built around fishing, and helping his father unload cargo from the larger fishing vessels and the merchants who came by road or by sea. His life was largely uneventful for many of his years, that is until a scholarly Herbalist came about on one of the merchant vessels and regaled him with stories of the outside world. The City of Zentra, the College of Science and its halls of innovation, the the floating city of Mana, The nomadic city of Sparrow tweet and various other sights. With his stories finished the Herbalist went on his way. However it wasn't long after his departure that Caelus would sign on to a merchant caravan and head to the City of Zentra to enroll in the College. Given that he was a human he was welcomed with open arms. All the while he would protect the interests of his fellow artificers and Alchemists while enrolled as a handful of competing inventors strove to steal each others work when being unable to make up for their own shortcomings. Nonetheless the work of an inventor was equally strenuous to him, he worked mainly as a hauler and engineer for many various projects before he met up with that Herbalist once more and further learned of the intracies of the elements. Given that he was human, he was unable to learn magic, but that didn't dissuade him in any way. As he created his own brand of magic, which in reality was the culmination of his shield and blade. Following becoming an accredited inventor, he created the Compartmental tower shield and his Unique Baselard blade. His shield weighed a great deal, however he had the idea of stashing various reactive powders and concoctions within the shield behind various sliding plates that would open outwards when slotting the hilt of his blade into the back of the shield. Unleashing various effects such as blinding flashes of lights, sprays of poisons, caustic sprays, and even a singular flaming blast of powder. Nonetheless, with these two weapons in hand, he set out from the city to further see the sights of this world.
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Rowan stared at the first man to sit by the fire. A Human and an artificer by the look of it judging by the massive iron tower shield. Various hatches covered the face of the shield, no doubt concealing all kinds of human trickery. Many may have looked down on the mortals, yet Rowan had long learned throughout his travels few things were more dangerous to underestimate than the ingenuity of the human mind.
A small blade, also of iron laid bare across his legs, the man treating the razor-sharp edge with an oil of his own making no doubt. The scent of the oil reminded him of the smell of charring wood after a lightning strike. Mankind may have never truly been able to tap into the magicks of this world, but Marrow be damned if they let it hold them back.
“My name is Caelus, and I am a- “
“Fucking Bane bearer.”
Rowan looked up to see the Cambion woman from Song, almond shaped eyes narrowed, and teeth clenched in fury as she stared at the young man with his iron weapons. She kept her distance, perched high on a branch above the flames.
The young Naguai let out a laugh, sitting heavily on the log next to the human. Long canines shone as the leaned in close sniffing deeply of Caelus’s scent.
“The kids got balls; I’ll give him that. Most humans spent their lives kissing the asses of you Cambion nobles.” The Naguai purred, looking up at the Song woman glowering down at them. “This one carries around a walking billboard advertising your greatest weakness. Maybe you should be the one singing for his mercy. Would be a nice change of pace don’t you think.”
“Iron is banned in all the Summer lands” the Cambion girl spat, ignoring the maddened grin of the Naguai. “If you were seen walking through the shores of Song, you would find yourself at the hand of one at the mercy of one of our Swans. See how bold you are at the hands of a Swan’s justice.
“The same swans justice earned you those mistletoe scars, isn’t it?” Rowan said calmly, pulling a barrel of ale from the back of the wagon and filling two flagons “In fact, I’m willing to be there is a nice bounty out on your head. A member of the Swan court stripped of her powers and turned Drifter? Never heard of such a thing. Most of you lot end up rotting, bound to trees as the mistle toe drains you dry. Unless you escaped the Swans justice, of course.”
Rowan held the woman’s gaze in his own, watching for the moment for her to attack run or yield. He was thankful when she chose the latter. With a sigh of disgust, she leaned back against the trunk of her tree, busying herself with tuning her fiddle.
“You are part of the Vagabond Arms now and we lookout for our own. So how about you let the man introduce himself. He is an Artificer of the College of science, after all we could use a mind like his to survive what comes next.” Rowan said, casting the woman a grin which only earned him an eye roll in response. He guessed his charm was waning with age.
“And” the young Naguai sneered, draping an arm over Caelus’s shoulders, “tell us how best to kill a goblin army with thirteen people.”
Caelus looked across the flames at the enormous Rowan Whitehorn and the flagon of ale extended toward him. A map of the Goblin Army stood pinned against the side of the beat-up old wagon, Drawn in the rough hand of Rowan no doubt. In the center sat a crude drawing of a cave where the heart of the goblin army sat. To the north south, east, and west were smaller encampments. Hash marks denoted how many Goblins had been seen in each camp. Roughly twenty each, with the whole of the army set into the caves.
Caelus took the Flagon of ale, his mind blurring through scenarios as he began to recount who he was, where he had come from and most importantly why he was here.
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Name: Sinette Clayborne
Race: Naguai (Bestial: owl)
Class: Shaman
Weapon: Twisted Staff
Backstory:
Sinette was lost, lost and cold. She had been sitting on the outskirts of the encampment for hours. The ragtag group of swords for hire seemed unable to rest, nervous energy running through the lot of them.Sinette stiffled a grown. The ale looked so refreshing and there had to be food somewhere. It had been 3 days seen her last meal of berries and greens. She had never been good at foraging, her mother had love to remind her of that.
The thought of her mother nawed at her sides until her eyes watered and she clenched her teeth to keep from weeping. She was 19 years old. Old enough not to weep over her dead mother. Or sisters or brothers. Everyone dead. It wasn't enough to be cursed into growing feathers, she also had to lose everyone she loved.
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Rowan watched Caelus stare at the crudely drawn map he had made, eyes darting left and right as he weighed different calculations and stratagems. Rowan had never been one for plans, a fact probably working against him as a leader. Most who saw him thought him to be nothing more than a wall moving muscle meant to be thrown at an enemy. And for the most part, Rowan knew they were not wrong to assume as much.
Yet as he watched the young man, the genius artificer he knew he had made the right choice. Rowan didn’t need all those who worked for him to see him as a great leader. He wasn’t. He had spent his life working for great leaders. Watched them hailed as heroes, shaking hands with emperors and royals, while men like him still lay dying in the mud.
No, Rowan did not want to be a great leader. He wanted to be one who kept his people alive. He wanted to be a leader who cared.
He made a point not stare to conspicuously at the small Naguai woman skulking along the edges of his camp. At first, he had believed her to be one of the more Feral members of his kind, Lost to their shared madness and scavenging for left over bits of food. Her clothes were worn enough to make the assumption, along with the hunger in her golden eyes. But behind the hunger he saw something more. A pained resolve holding the madness at bay.
Rowan left the campfire, ignoring the bickering between the young Lupine and the Campion perched overhead and made his way again to the back of his wagon. As he pulled back the canvas flap, he looked upon the cramped, overstuffed interior. There was no bed inside his home, He had long grown accustomed to sleeping under the stars. To his left the wagon was laden with barrels of ale, Cabinets of dried meats and preserved fruits and shelves filled with chipped and cracked dishware. On his right was weapons and armor of every make. He sighed as he made his way inside the wagon, seeing the two sides of what he was more clearly displayed than any artist could ever render.
Each bowl he filled with different foods. The first was berries that he had picked from the side of a road the night before. The second was filled with crickets seasoned with salt and garlic. The last bowl he filled with smoked salmon he had picked up during his last trip to Mana.
Balancing the bowls in each hand Rowan made his way past the gathered sell-swords and mercenaries. Some gave him a mutter greeting. Others gave him a simple nod. Rowan simply smiled in response as he made his way to the edge of the camp.
He sat on a dead log placing the bowls beside him. From this far out, he could see the nervous energy gripping the camp. Men and women moved like an ant hill freshly kicked. He had seen it before, the quiet frenzy of men about to go to war.
He reached into the bowl of crickets and tossed a handful loudly into his mouth chewing them as he spoke.
“You know I always dreamed of owning a bar. To be fair, I think every veteran does. Something about a place to go after the battle is fought. A place to grieve over those whose lives were lost. A place for those who saw things no one should unpack it all and compose themselves before doing it all again.”
No answer came from the shadows of the camp. She gave off no sound, a feat in itself with the moon as it was. He didn’t know what type of beast the woman carried inside her, but whatever it was it was one which preferred not to be seen.
“In bars I saw men break under the weight of all they had seen.” Rowan continued, tossing another cricket in his mouth, and mashing it between his teeth. “I saw enemies become friends. More than once I saw those, I call brothers walk out the door to never return.”
He breathed in deep of the night air. Yes, she was still nearby. Closer than he would like anyone unseen to be. A tongue of flame licked against his mind. The ever-constant inferno of his curse threatening to grab hold. He pushed it back with calming breath.
“I want to open a bar, a tavern where those who are lost will always have a home. A place for people to grieve, to love to celebrate, to break and become whole. I want to build the Vagabond arms for every warrior who has feels they have lost everything knows that voice in their head is a lie. I want to open a bar, and I want to see you there. Because the one thing this life has taught me is what it means to be alone. And I want to tell you you’re not.”
He crunched another cricket and reached for the bowl, but it was no longer there. He looked beside him, to the young woman with golden eyes and a pattern of feathers showing just beneath her skin. She raised a cricket to her lips and crunched it loudly.
“It is a beautiful dream. One worth fighting for. “She said, gulping the cricket loudly. But I wouldn’t recommend serving crickets. They are gross.”
Rowan smiled at the woman before passing her the bowl of fresh berries. She took it gently in her hands and placed one in her mouth. He waited a moment watching as her golden eyes closed in delight as the juices filled her mouth and she filled her small hand before dumping the berries into her mouth.
“I guess it is kind of an acquired taste.” He said, plucking another cricket from the bowl. “So, my name is Rowan Whitehorn. I’m a mercenary and I want to open a bar. Who are you?”
-
As Caelus was sitting around the fire and handed off the crudely drawn map. There were a handful of problems. The creation of an obvious fall back line by the goblin army. The various satellite camps of that surrounded the main cave acted in various ways; sentries, logistical supply lines, and the like. However none of that mattered. The simplest way to deal with the army would perhaps be to go on the offensive, destroy one side of the camps to approach the cave. It was a defendable position if there ever was one. Although it was vulnerable. Even despite the crudeness of the drawing, the design of the entrance was enough to show that the cave was made of some sort of soft bedrock. They could always collapse the entrance, and due to the mouth of the cave collapsing, the structural integrity of the cave would grow compromised. It wouldn't kill the goblins, however if they were to dig themselves out via the rubble that would block the entrance, the rest of the cave would soon follow suit. Nonetheless once he devised this first plan, he would take a moment to sip from the flagon of ale. Afterwards however he spoke in a long calm tone.
"... I'm from the fishing village of Knot. When I was a child I believed the world was cruel, when I was a child... I realized that if we don't have our own story. We become a part of someone's else's ... A foot note in the pages... At a young age, I was made painfully aware I had no agency in my life. I realized my race, was manipulated, we were used as leverage for those who ignored the plight of my friends and family. I began to consider the future while watching my friends and family come back as Nyx. A strange concept when I was a boy, cause I truly didn't believe I had a future outside of loading cargo and staying awake for the long hours of the night hoping that the shadows wouldn't puppet my limbs. That is how they get us. There is no future, there was only an eternal now. And the best we could do was to survive until dawn and do it all again. That's no way to live... and I discovered by some surprise when I had a fateful encounter with a worldly scholar. I am interested in living. I'm interested in finding and building my own ways to live. And I came to think... I would start here... I think... my family... my friends, perhaps they deserve to rest... They lived in one long night. When I arrived at the college, and Zentra... I came to realize the world was the same all over the place. No one lived for the future... I want to build something here on the bones of our predecessors and their wild desires... I want to take the first steps so the people I meet alongside my journeys can pick a torch, and see a future... These goblins are my first step here... I want to live."
Kuroda gave the air of a journeyed individual despite only taking his first steps. As soon as he ended his speech, he held up the map Rowan drew towards the light of the flame. Eclipsing his face in its shadow for a moment before gripping his baselard tightly.
"The cave entrance, the bedrock's formation gives way to a great flaw in their camp design.... The Upward slant of the roof of the entrace shows that if the entrance were to collapse, they would be unable to dig themselves out. As the weight of the cave would list towards the destroyed section... Digging themselves out would only bury them further if we take an offensive..."
-
@merlin
“I guess it is kind of an acquired taste.” He said, plucking another cricket from the bowl. “So, my name is Rowan Whitehorn. I’m a mercenary and I want to open a bar. Who are you?”Sinette grimaced into the empty bowl, berry juice staining her finger pads. Glancing up, she realized Rowan was still looking at her. His eyes were bright, wide, and expectant. Patiently inviting her to continue, she stuttered at his resemblance to Ward. Her brother's hawkish features flashed before her eyes. A wide smile, like her own, turned up in impish delight. They had looked so similar, with a sandy complexion and willowy shape compliments of their mother. But Ward had been charming, where Sinette was reserved. Despite the Naguai reputation, he could find a welcome friend anywhere. An unexpectant lump caught in her throat and she gulped, fumbling with her words.
"Sinette, " she paused. "That's my name." It had been so long since she had talked to another person the words came out stilted.
"Thank you for this." She gestured to the empty bowl as she reached for the third, the smell of smoked meat causing her stomach to growl. She gobbled knowing it was rude, but unable to help herself. Then licked her fingers and the bowl, noticing Rowan again when he cleared his throat for the second time.
"I'm sorry. But I'm lost, and I haven't eaten in… a while." She glanced into the cricket bowl, wrinkling her nose before popping some into her mouth.
"I was on my way to the citadel. Well, a little town about an hour outside of it, called Chorus. Maybe, you've heard of it? My grandmother lives there. But not all strangers are as nice as you, especially to people like…" Her voice dropped away as she stopped, studying him. He seemed to tower over her, antlers gently grazing the sparse branches above them. Between them, she could sense the kinship all Naguai shared.
"Us," She finished.
"I can't pay you for the food." Sinette's eye fell away, shame blossoming on her cheeks and creeping up her neck.
"But I could mend clothing or cook. And I have a little talent with healing." Sinette raised her hands and an emerald glow etched across her palms. Holding her breath, she concentrated on radiating the lines of energy. The grass and bushes began to seep evanescence light, their veining infused with the same verdant color that permeated up her arms. The glow deepened, zephyrs of energy beginning to rise around them. With an exhale, Sinette released her magic. The world seemed to tilt in that instant, as fatigue barreled into her and she sagged against the log.
"You wouldn't happen to have anything else to eat would you?"
-
Rowan stared about the gathered group of mercenaries. His Mercenaries. His Vagabond Arms. And he smiled a smile that felt genuine for the first time in a long time.
They were a rag tag group, even for a mercenary company. The exiled Cambion of Song, named Minoka sat on a log, surrounded by a tight circle of men. All appeared to be human, all bearing the same bronze plate armor. Each chest piece the same scratch and dented surface, where an insignia had been pried free. Mercenaries from one of the bigger companies, maybe. More likely deserters from one of the royal armies, fleeing their lands and seeking a living as sell swords.
Rowan wasn’t one to judge, however. More than once had he turned against a commander who saw his life as nothing more than simple collateral in the name of some greater good. Work long enough as a sell sword and you were bound to face the same choice. Die for another man’s noble cause or become traitor and survive. He knew what choice he had made. He knew what choice he would make again.
The Artificer Caelus had form quite a following it as well seemed, though he seemed quite uncomfortable with the attention. The young man seemed to busy himself with the map before him, occasionally taking small bites of food and sips of ale. He appeared to be doing his very best to ignore the men and women who had flocked to him as a symbol of hope for the battle ahead.
“So, how are we going to get through the surrounding goblin camps, past dozens of armed goblins and blow up the entrance to the cave?” Asked young man, said ale foam lining the fuzz of what he knows doubt believed to be a mustache.
“Well, we will need a distraction.” Caelus said, “A big one.”
“You know what, I always found distracting, Bran?” Mosh said, the Lupine Naguai’s teeth gleaming in the fire light. “Pretty Song girls with magic voices. What you say princess, how about you sing the goblins a tune. Make them fall in love with you like your little posse of runaway guards.”
“Watch your tongue, dog.” One of the men snapped, hand gripping on his sword.
“Oh, awk! How will I ever recover from your verbal wit, Sir vagrant sell sword! You looked at me and pierced through my tough façade and called me a, dare I say the word.” Mosh clutched at his throat as he spat out the word, “Dog. If only I could think of a retort to match your wit. Something, anything. Maybe the fact that the closest I came to being a dog was when I bought your mother for the night with a piece bread crust and chicken bone.”
Rowan got to his feet as the man lunged, sword halfway out of his sheath as Mosh rolled out of the way landing in a crouch, fangs bared and claws sprouting from his fingertips.
Warriors caught in a hateful stare.
Foolish minds and heart laid bare.
A dreamer kiss upon their lips
Their grip on consciousness begins to slip.Rowan fought the dropping of his eyelids as Minoka’s song washed over him. The residual Magick was weakened as it radiated away from her targets. Mosh collapsed to his knees, claws retracting into his fingers as he caught himself from falling to the ground. With great effort he raised his head, staring at the larger man in his bronze armor. The human seemed to be bearing the song with much less grace, eyes rolling back into his head as he swayed on his feet.
“I got you, you bastard.” Mosh slurred before balling his fist and slamming it hard into his own jaw. The blow seemed to pull him free from Minoka’s Magick if only a little. The sell sword swayed heavy to his left, over corrected and landed hard with his face in the dirt. A dumb smile plastered his face as he made strange kissing faces in his sleep.
“I…win.”
Mosh words were marked by the sudden thud of his head on the log he was sitting on. A stupid grin plastered on his face as Sinette ran to check on the young Naguai.
“He will be fine,” Minoka said, her words short and clipped with annoyance. “As for your plan, Trust I will be working independently from the man who carries a weapon designed to melt my flesh.”
With that Minoka, turned and walked to the far end of camp trailed by her noble group of followers. The group around Caelus looked at the two unconscious men laid out in the dirt and then at each other.
“So, as I was saying, if you ask me the best way is to set the boss on it.” Bran continued, “Old Rowan Whitehorn, facing off against a few dozen goblins, legendary hammer in hand.”
“Rowan Whitehorn, killed by a couple hundred dozen goblin arrows, spears and swords.” Mosh muttered, unconsciously, “Born an Elk, died a porcupine.”
“Does he just talk shit as a natural reflex?” Sinette asked, golden eyes blinking as she stared at the unconscious Naguai at the now snoring form of Mosh.
“Whitehorn wouldn’t be killed by goblins” the boy said, looking defeated.
“You ever face Goblins, Bran” An older with short cropped gray hair woman said, the flames dancing in golden light off of her bastard sword, “They use poison that putrefies the flesh. Poison is a vicious thing. Doesn’t matter how strong you are, how quick you are. Poison doesn’t care. Poison eats you from within. Poison is the hero killer.”
“I was thinking of something more…scientific” Caelus said. “Brute strength has its place. In fact, for my plan to work, I foresee see brute strength being an integral part. However, we do it, we will need to draw enough of them off for us to blast the cave to begin with.”
Rowan turned his attention to the largest group, forming a line as they picketed for the young woman’s attention. A camp stove now sat above flame; a stew being made from the meager supplies Sinette had scavenged from the back of his wagon. The smell of cooking meat, freshly dug wild carrots and herbs filled the camp, drawing the eyes of every mercenary as they lined up to get eyes on the most attractive thing to saunter into his camp.
Someone who knew how to cook. Sinette had gone from lost stranger to the biggest celebrity in his camp.
Sinette filled the cracked and worn bowls from his cupboard with hot stew to grateful hands. Few things were more alluring to the traveling mercenary than a hot meal and a cool drink. She looked at him from across the flames, her golden eyes gleaming with a delight that masked the deep sadness he had seen in them only moments before. She raised a ladle full of the hastily filled stew toward him and smiled.
Rowan smiled back and shook his head raising his bowl dried crickets. Sinette wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Rowan didn’t understand. Crickets were a great source of protein, easy to come by on the road and he even had gone as far to season them. What more could they ask for.
“Quite the party you got going, Boss,” A voice slurred in his ear, the scent of alcohol scorching his nostrils as the young woman pressed her body against his back, her chin resting on his shoulder.
“You’re late, Brandy.” Rowan muttered, pushing the drunken woman from his shoulder with a shrug. “And drunk, though why I am surprised I do not know.”
Brandy pouted, her dark brown curls bouncing as she sat next to him with her arms crossed. Years had gone by since he had run into the former Head of Zentra’s college of Alchemy. When they had first met, she had held him captive, a test subject for her study of Naguai anatomy. It was strange to think of her that way, the stern woman with a scientific mind, turned his drunken second in command.
The alchemist was dressed in her usual traveling attire if you could call it that. The ruffled skirts hung just past her knees; a blouse left more undone than not secured by a corset that seemed painfully tight. Worn black boots still covered in dirt from her trip back to the small village of thimble. The belt containing a dozen bottles of various concoctions that jingled with every sway of her hips. Some appeared glowed with a dangerous iridescent light. Others were simple alcohol, the vice of choice for the once famed Alchemist.
Rowan sighed and passed her the bowl of crickets.
“What did you learn from you travels, Miss grace.”
Brandy pout turned into a beaming smile as she spun toward him, grabbing the bowl in both hands as she straddled the log. Rowan braced himself for his second in commands drunken verbal deluge. She held a cricket between her for finger and thumb, eyeing it with mild curiosity before tossing into her mouth with a satisfying crunch.
“Ok, So a couple months back a tax collector comes in from Song, demands the village elders to pay their due. Elders pay up and are like ‘hey, how about some guards to patrol the hills because we got something out, they’re killing our livestock’. Tax guy is like yeah sure I’ll pass that right on to the noble prancing poofs at the Citadel. They never see him again.”
“Yes, Brandy, I know that what-” Rowan started, but Brandy continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Not a week goes by and guess who shows up but the Prince of fucking Spindle himself and his posse Royal guard. Towns like holy fuck we got help for sure with this gold shitting Cambion coming by. Fucking guy drinks their ale, eats their food, bangs a bar maid or four and leaves. Elders stop him out of town, and he is like I’m just here to collect what is owed to us in sheep and barley. They say wait we just got taxed by those Song poofs and he is like cool story give my shit or I’ll lay a Cambion royal beat down you into the next era.”
“I’ve heard of that guy. Heard he attacked a Mana courtesan and-”
“Yeah, yeah not important, Rowan. Can you let me get a word in? Stop being rude.” Brandy, gave him a scornful look which made Rowan regret he didn’t have a barrel of ale to drown himself in, “Anyway town finds itself caught between two nations that don’t give a fuck and some monsters I. The woods. They send some of the young men out to find what’s killing their livestock.”
“And none come back. Brandy, I know this.” Rowan said through clenched teeth “They found them a week later left out to rot. Try to bury the bodies and they get attacked by goblins. They told me that when we got the contract. You were there. Remember I told them Goblins leave their dead out in the open because-”
“Gobs are rot eaters. Maggots, flies, and dead flesh. I tried telling the bartender the same thing and he goes on this rant about how they don’t because-”
“Brandy! Rowan snapped, “You’re no telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“They kennel master was found killed today.”
Rowan blinked.
“I was getting to that if you would stop interrupting. See all you had to do was let me get a word in your big oaf.” Brandy said, jabbing a finger into his chest before tossing another cricket into her mouth. “Yup butchered along with all of his dogs. Guy lived out on the edge of town, you know because of all the barking and howling. Looks like the gobs began their attack already. Testing the boundaries.”
“Fuck me.” Rowan groaned. He had already signed the papers saying he would protect the village and he was already failing.
“It gets worse.” Brandy said, her words soft so other couldn’t hear.”
“How?” Rowan said.
“The kennel master had gotten six mastiffs. Big old beast he kept in cages. You could see the blood pooling through the bars of the cages. Broken spear shafts from where they fought.” Brandy said, placing the bowl in her lap. “But there weren’t no mastiffs when the villagers arrived. No bodies left to rot. Only bloody paw prints from where they walked out of the cages after being killed.”
Brandy plucked a cricket from the bowl and crunched it. Rowan stared at the remnants of a leg, still twitching on her lips. She didn’t say the word. She didn’t have to.
“Nyx.” Rowan said the word as if it were a curse.
“Yeah, you know what they say, where there is Goblins, it is only a matter of time before there is Nyx.”
Rowan took a long swig from his drinking horn. There had been a time when you go years without hearing about a Nyx sighting. Occasion one would be seen shambling from the site of a battle, only to be destroyed as the sun rose over the hill the following morning.
Lately however, it seemed every village he passed through had a tale of shambling corpses, teeming with twitching black tendril. Some even spoke of living beings, possessed by the Nyx, maddened beasts running at the head of a shambling horde screeching commands in a guttural tongue.
Ghost stories. They had to be.
“We go to the village at first light.” Rowan said, “Talking with the elders and attack at noon when the sun is at its highest. Might be able to get some people to join our cause.
“Sounds right. mean we got a plan now, at least. Might help motivate the villagers to fight if they believe it might work.” Brandy said, crunching another cricket, “Speaking of which, if Caelus is planning on bringing down that cave I might have-”
“Absolutely not.”
“Rowan.” Brandy said, laying a hand on the Naguai’s chest, “If you’re worried about another hiccup like in Snow, I assure you-”
“Hiccup? You caused an avalanche. I spent a week digging the wagon out. I nearly lost a toe to frostbite and-”
“We completed the contract.” Brandy snapped, crossing her arms.
“The contract was to get s troll out of a mine.” Rowan hissed throwing his arms out to his side. “When you were done, there was no mine left.”
“Or troll mind you.”
“You are in charge of the medical tent. You are always in charge of the medical tent. Look, I even got you a new apprentice” Rowan said lifting his chin to Sinette. “Girls a Shaman. Plus, she won’t be shot faced. Should work miracles for your survival rate. Now how about we call it a night before you hatch any more ideas to get us all killed.”
Brandy glared at Rowan as he made his way to the campfire, relaying the latest news of the Nyx and their plan to make their way to the village at dawn. She watched the looks of worry, doubt and resolve cross the faces of the new formed band of sell swords. Brandy let out a sigh as she pulled a flask from her belt, checked the label to ensure it was simple whiskey and not one of many deadly concoctions before raising it to her lips.
“You seem to forget, Rowan my love, who I truly am.” Brandy muttered under her breath, before raising the glass in a toast to herself. “I am the great spirit Alchemist. I once ruled over the college of Alchemy. I was respected. I was feared.”
She watched as Rowan dropped to one knee, placing a hand on the small Naguai woman who had wandered helplessly upon his camp. Those hard calloused Hand and that gentle smile. Brandy sighed and craned her head back staring at the starry night sky.
“You forget who I was.” She whispered, “before I fell in love with a brutish man with a gentle soul. A man who I had imprisoned and tortured only to have him save me when my ambitions nearly tore me apart. You’re lucky I love you, even if you never look at me the way I look at you. I love you.”
She emptied the flask with one last deep swig before looking at the fire. Nearly everyone had left. The young wolf Naguai snored loudly by the flames; his lean body draped over the log next to the young man Caelus. She watched as the young man sat, map in hands and brows furrowed in concentration.
A smile worked past her lips as she stared at the artificer, as she unconsciously fingered two orb like flasks at her hips.
She was not the woman she once was. But that didn’t mean she still didn’t have some tricks up her sleeve.
She hummed a tune as she made her way to the back of Rowan’s wagon. Popping open the small cabinet that held her alchemist tools she smiled, pulling free the rattling orb of unseen power and the glowing embers of pulverized salamander tongue. Grabbing the tinted goggles, she whistled a tune as she went to work.
The next morning The whole of the vagabond arms found themselves with in the shoddily built walls of Thimble. The village was a simple place, a ring of thatch roofed hovels surrounding a town square containing a simple tavern and various merchants peddling their wares.
“Caelus. Sinette. Minoka. Mosh. A moment, please”
Rowan watched as the four made their way through the small crowd of mercenaries under his command. Sinette looked nervous being called out of the crowd. He gave her a reassuring wink as the other gathered. Caelus looked focus as always, Minoka annoyed to be near the man she seemed to believe was her enemy. Mosh appeared to be working a kink out of his neck from his rough night’s sleep.
“I need to meet with the village elders who hired us.” Rowan said, “it might be a while. I need to smooth over our low numbers and get more information about the man who was killed last night. While I am at work, I need you to take care of somethings. Can you take care of that for me?”
Caelus opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the soft form of a woman he had never seen before pressing against his arm.
“Of course, we can,” She breathed against his cheek, “I have been dying to speak to another man of science, Caelus. Maybe you can- Ahhhh!”
Brandy yelped as Rowan’s massive hand caught her by the waist and dragged her away from the Artificer. He moved her as if she weighed nothing, all but throwing her into Sinette.
“Sinette, meet Brandy. Our resident doctor. She will help you with buying medical supplies. Won’t she?” Rowan all but growled.
Brandy rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Of course, she will. Still meet me in the tavern when we are don’t with our errands. I would love to buy you a drink, sweetheart.”
Brandy gave Caelus a wink before all but dragging Sinette with her. The man seemed more confused than anything else.
“And what do you need of me, Master Whitehorn” Minoka said with slight bow.
“For you to never call me that again.” Rowan said, “And recruitment. You were here for a couple hours, and you already had men willing to kill for your honor.”
“To be fair,” Mosh interrupted, “I do have that effect on people.”
“I have learned,” Rowan snapped, “Do me a favor and post up in the tavern and see who you can recruit to our cause. No using your Gift though. If people are going to risk their lives, I don’t want it to be because they believe in the cause, not because they are in love with you.”
“I don’t use my gifts to manipulate humans.” Minoka said, “Not all Cambion are monsters. Some of us care about the mortals we were sworn to protect.”
Rowan blinked, caught back by the sincerity in the woman’s words. He opened his mouth to speak but she had already grabbed her fiddle and walked away. He made a mental note to know more about the girl, regretting judging her so quickly.
“And what is it you need of me.” Caelus said.
“I am assuming you will need more to blow up that cave then what you got in that shield of yours” Rowan reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a pouch of silver. “Buy what you can I am not sure if they will have what you need, but if you can find something we will make it work.”
“And lastly, what can I do for you, boss man.” Mosh said beaming.
Rowan stared at the young Naguai and then back at Caelus.
“Also, I need you to keep Mosh alive.”
And with that Rowan turned and walked away.
**Players, the battle is about to begin. I want to give you this opportunity to role play your characters and truly explore who they are before the battle begins. It is important to let you know this fight is going to be tough and depending on what comes next, it is likely that some may not survive the coming conflict.
If at any points you have any questions about the NPC’s, please feel free to reach out to me on discord. I will help however I can. Thank you again for writing this story with me. See you next week, in the tavern with Rowan Whitehorn**
-
Caelus upon being entrusted with funds of the company, quietly opened up the pouch and saw a fairly decent sum of silver piled within the cloth sack, combined with his own funds, primarily the research stipend provided to graduates of the College of Science, he assumed he had more than enough to fulfill his plans. Especially given that he could ask to employ the many hands of vagabond arms in the joint prospect of mutual survival. As such he took immediate charge of the situation barking out orders to those who remained. Given that it was just Mosh, Caelus brough the bottom of his fist and gently hit Mosh's chest.
"Well if Rowan's not giving you anything to do, let's make use of you boss. I'm going to need hands on deck for this coming raid. Tell the rest of the group to meet me in the town square and make sure they come, the faster the better. We're going to make mobile siege weapons for the raid. Also relay the info to the others who gone off to do those jobs for Rowan. Once you're done meet me back at the town square like everyone else."
Unlike previously, Caelus had an air of authority about him, perhaps it was due to his early life as a militia man back in his hometown, or perhaps he learned how to command his presence as a inventor of the college of science. Ultimately however he was standing upright and tall akin to a soldier. He was speaking louder, and more pronounced. A stark contrast to the previous night. Who seemed far more relaxed and introspective. He had decisiveness in his eyes, and a spark of life gleaming in his eyes. However it was just his work ethic shining through, as he was the epitome of "Work hard, Rest easy"
"Also Get my shield, I keep some tools in a compartment, so just get someone to drag it there. It won't blow up in your guys face if you don't have my sword anyhow!"
-
As Mosh would soon arrive with 4 other workers two beaten bloody and the other two scared stiff. Caelus would then let out an exasperated sigh before barking shouting towards the two scared individuals before pointing to one.
"You there tend to their wounds... And Mosh You did what I asked, but you did it in a way that invalidates your hard work. What use are those who can barely lift their limbs from the beating you gave them. Give me a second I'll treat their wounds... I'll give you another assignment for at least fulfilling this much."
As Caelus said this he would take his blade and slide the haft into a wedge on the side before a small compartment popped out towards him. As it did so he rummage around a bit while approaching mosh. He made it seem like he was going to give him something however a bright flash of light was broached in their general direction blinding mosh, followed by a loud defeaning bang. In that moment he was quick to dart down and jab his leg with what was effectively one of his stockpiles of poisons some of which he made himself. Held over in preparation for his journey from Zentra. This tranquilizer was made from various toxic animals, one most noteably the Veldoran moth, a feline like moth with a large bulbous tail capable of storing strong sedative fluids which it used to defend itself. After quickly Injecting Mosh, he kicked the Naguai away and to the ground as the poison was taking effect it was tailor made to paralyze the individual's peripheral limbs, due to the body's predispostion to distrubte muscle and fat accordingly. As such the arms and legs were best built to retain this toxin and negate responses from the brain and even cause a vasoconstrictive response that helped further numb the limbs to hamper the individual. All the while Caelus stood a little ways away from Mosh looking down at him, with a look of indifference.
"Was it fun beating up your comrade in arms? I believe Rowan thinks of everyone here to be his family correct? I doubt he would like it if I used you as a test dummy for the weapon we're going to develop... Ain't that right Mosh? Although he's not here now is he, and I'm ultimately left in charge of you, don't worry you're not going to die from this. I got no use for corpses... Well not now, later maybe I will."
Caelus had dealt with Naguai in the past, and the few that had began to delve into the pits of madness that were in his fishing village would fall in line when he, fellow naguai, or his comrades began to evoke fear into them. And in turn he was going to see if Mosh would respond well enough to a rougher touch than merely being knocked out by Rowan in a quick blow. Nonetheless Caelus was quick to turn around to face the others once again.
"So then, we gotta get to work those who got injured, should see to their wounds. I'll bring a task later for you that'll be simple even for your injuries alright. You others, oh you're looking rather pale from the scare this lad gave you, I'll ask that you scrounge up unwanted crates, barrels, and wheelbarrows, and let's start stock piling them here. Now you other 2 go grab some onions, I only need about 10 or so, You go grab some scrap metal or ask for unwanted metal, and last but not least... I'm asking you to go shovel up either shit, or go into those fields and pick up the scraps of their harvest buying peat is also good. I need materials for the explosives we're going to make, and the mobile siege weapons we're going to use."
As he said this, he would divy up 2 silver to onion grabbers, The shit shoveler was going to get 10 silver for if they found a good deal on peat, and in the meantime, Kuroda would throw down his hulking shield down onto Mosh's body before sitting down on him
"Behave now otherwise I'll make you into a bloody smear in the ground.... This shield has a directional explosive in it, one that I can trigger at any point.. and look at who I'm sitting on..."
Caelus's voice was fairly cold in comparison to the warm human that was there the night before.
-
Sinette stumbled behind Brandy, the brunette stomped through the crowded square, rudely sidestepping villagers in her way. Her hurried pace did nothing to prevent the perfume of spirits from wafting behind her. Sinette felt dizzy. How was this woman still standing?
Suddenly she stopped before a stall, Sinette pulled up short and slid past her straight into a man selling fresh eels.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Sinette squeaked. She hopped away, turning back to Brandy, who had stopped to inspect the wares. The stall was full of colorful vials and stone pestles. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the beams under the cloth ceiling. Blossoms of lavender, chamomile, and other small pots of fragrant flowers stood before the table.
"Well baby bird, Rowan tells me you're an apprentice of medicine," Brandy began. She shot Sinette a glance from across the lid of a tiny jar of white powder. She sniffed its contents before tasting a bit from the pad of her thumb. Turning back to the stallkeeper, Brandy continued. "So tell me what you know about Hinter flowers?"
"I'm sorry. I don't..."
Brandy cut her off, arm sweeping the air between them.
"What about Nesta's Nap weed?"
"I don't know what..."
"Falcum powder?"
Sinette paused considering the woman's impatience. Brandy's hand tapped rapidly at her leg, eyes darting across the table without seeing anything.
"Is this a test?" The words came out slow, temperate, so Brandy would see them as the question they were.
Even so, Sinette's companion's eyes flashed. She swept into Sinette's side, bringing a hand up to gently tuck her shaggy bangs behind her ear.
"What we're about to do, isn't some flippant questionnaire. If you get it wrong, there's no slap on the wrist. Instead, someone dies. So I need to know baby bird can you fly?" Brandy searched her face. Sinette knew the look of someone with something to lose. She had seen it in her own reflection often enough.
"I'm young I get it. You may use Nesters Nap, to what? Sedate? Well, my process is a little more painful than what you're used to. But it doesn't matter if I'm mending skin or bone, it's quick." Sinette ran her finger along the edge of a particularly wilted plant baking in the sun just beyond the canvas roof's protection. Green lines webbed across its leaves in the wake of her hand. They fluffed and stretched, vitality gently lifting them back up toward the sun.
"I can help, Rowan sees that," Sinette continued. She had always been good at reading people, their sighs and tells. She had spent her life watching her siblings, too many bodies, and her mother without enough eyes to keep track of them all. Nothing could hone a person's senses like 4 younger brothers with a penchant for mischief. She didn't miss the widening of Brandy's eyes or the soft intake of breath she made when Sinette mentioned Rowan's name. But it was lost in the gathering darkness that dwelled deep within her. Then her brother's laughter rang in her ears and then their screaming. Desperate pleading for her to help them, save them from the darkness. That malicious agony raged for an outlet.
"Don't pretend to know anything about Rowan," Brandy snapped beside her.
"You know I'm so sick of the suspicion. Of every good intention being met with questions and anger." Sinette pulled her touch from the vibrant plant. It shriveled into its pot, leaves turning an ashy brown. The plant crumbled and into the next pot the blight spread, each plant leeched until all that was left was a desiccated husk.
"You care about him," There was no need to say his name, realization swept across Brandy's face, her mouth dropping in an audible pop.
Sinette nodded in reply, the words tumbling from her now. "I use to care about people too. Gods, how ungrateful I was. You don't even realize it until they're… gone." A bitterness lanced her words, she hurled them at Brandy, allowing her bleakness to wash over the older woman. "Then when everything you cared about is gone, you’re a silent spectator as hollowness carves you open." Resignation twisted her face. Deep lines furrowing her nose and lips, all clenched to hold back the tears beading at her eyes.
"In the end you embrace the devouring anger that fills you in. Because without it, well how would you even go on?"
Sinette opened herself to the madness, the only feeling that could replace the hopelessness. A well of fury that fed her life now. Brandy watched as the young girl's features soften, rivets of tears cutting through her cheeks. The feathers along her skin, a delicate imprint before, curled and ruffled. Sinette's soft features were betrayed by the feral appearance of her other form.
She fed the fury and felt it swell within her until it burst, a torrent of air sweeping the jars from the table. Brambles of thorny vines sprung amongst her feet, curling along the ground and clasping whatever lay close. Brandy stumbled back, clutching at the next stall to raise herself above the frenzied creepers.
Sinette raised her chin, eyes leveled at the alchemist. "I understand your fear, your… love." Her eyebrows raised in understanding. "What better person to have on your side than someone who has fought death and lost?"
She hoped death came, swift and fierce, to claim what it had left behind. She was ready to settle that score.
-
@darkwalker57
"Behave now otherwise I'll make you into a bloody smear in the ground.... This shield has a directional explosive in it, one that I can trigger at any point... and look at who I'm sitting on..."Caelus words were cold and emotionless. He took a breath in as he stared at the trembling form of the Naguai beneath his shield. The bestial nature of the Naguai would burn the poison in his veins off quicker than any human. The threat of the explosive charge in the shield was necessary if the Mosh’s madness had not yet burned away. It was a threat he hoped he would not have to make a reality, but Caelus had faced tougher decisions in his-
Caelus’s focus was turned away as the small hand caught him by the nape of the neck with an inhumanly powerful grip. A moment before his mouth could form any sound, he was launched backward twenty feet, sent crashing into a cart of fresh meat pies set at the other side of square. His vision blurred and whirled as he desperately tried to gain his bearings.
“I knew what you were the moment I laid eyes on you.” Hateful venom seeped from every word of the melodic voice. “Another mortal, gifted with an intelligently cruel mind believing they know best of all. Another human believing the only way they can climb their way up is by dominating others.”
Caelus raised his head, jaw clenched as he stared at Minoka, silken robe flung off to reveal a plain white tunic and leather pants and worn leather boots. A leather strap held her fiddle across her back, the bow held in hand as if it were a short thin sword. For the first time since he had met the hateful woman, he saw her scars laid bare. Vine shaped scars, trailing her wrist and up her arms all the way to the throat.
“I am not dominating him,” Caelus snarled, “I sent him to get people to help me prepare for the battle to come. In response he attacks and all but kidnaps them. What am I supposed to do with broken and beaten-”
“You sent a half mad Naguai, who you were tasked with keeping safe mind you, to go off on his own and recruit people to your cause.” Minoka snapped, perfectly straight white teeth bared as she advanced toward him, “You think that is great leadership? You think Rowan gave you Mosh to be what, your lackey? He chose him because he believed you responsible. He chose you because the Naguai had shown he obviously cared for you, for some insane reason. An effect of his madness no doubt.”
Caelus was no stranger to the Cambion ways. His time in Zentra had shown him how little they truly cared about honor or fairness in combat. Minoka wouldn’t wait for him to get to his feet. She wouldn’t wait for him to get his bearings. So, he simply chose not to get to his feet.
Minoka all but blurred toward him closing the twenty feet in the span of a heartbeat. Caelus launched forward, ducking into a roll, and pivoting in a crouch to face the Cambion Hunter. She whirled toward him, poised to strike but not daring to move, her almond shaped eyes affixed on the iron blade in his hand with fear and fury. Caelus winced as he felt the fiery line, both hot a wet just below his left eye. Only then did Caelus see the thread of the silvery bow string stained crimson with blood.
“Use your Bane iron, boy.” Minoka taunted, her teeth bared in a blood thirsty snarl “It will be all the justification I need when I end your life.
Caelus lunged to his feet, blade raised as Minoka dashed toward him again, a promise of death in her eyes. A simple thrust, low and with his arms fully extended out. The attack would leave him exposed but even if the tip of his blade pierced her skin it would be enough. Cambion might be stronger and faster than humans, but a cut from an iron blade was more than enough to balance the odds.
Yet his thrust never came close to its mark.
He made it two steps before ramming into an immovable object, catching his arm, and knocking the wind out of his lungs. A similar whoosh of air followed by the crashing of wood, and he looked up to see Minoka, slumped against the same cart Caelus had extricated himself from moments before.
“I owe you an ass kicking later, Caelus.” A voice, familiar and yet somehow more composed spoke in his ear., “But not now. We need you now.”
Mosh released his sword arm, his russet brown eyes more focused then had seen before as he looked down at Caelus. The Naguai turned to face Minoka, who had already leapt to her feet, fury mixing with confusion as she stared at Mosh. The young man stared back at her, his lupine ears and clawed fingers still trembling as the last remnants of the poison burned through his system.
“Mosh?” Minoka said, “Are-are you ok? I heard the bang and saw him standing over-.”
“My curse.” He said, turning to look back at where Caelus had pulled himself into a ready crouch, “It got the better of me. Normally, before, I had my own kind to keep me in check. I never really had to manage my madness, not when I had other Naguai to brawl with as an outlet. Caelus, he managed it the best way he knew how.”
“By poisoning you?” Minoka said, leaping to her feet. “By threatening to detonate one of his human traps to kill you while you couldn’t move. Why, so he could show others how great a leader he was.”
Mosh ran a hand through his long mane of dark red hair and sighed. “I didn’t say it was the best way to get things done. Next time, let’s try something a little less potent than a tranquilizer dart. Maybe a beer. Or we could step back somewhere and brawl it out. Unless you’re scared to face off against a Naguai without your little gadgetry.”
Mosh looked at the gathered crowd forming around them in the town square. All eyes were on the three of them in the square. In the distance he thought he could see Brandy and the little owl girl Rowan had found spying from the shadows at the edge of camp. The scent of wild Magick caught him unsuspectingly. It wasn’t the flowery scent he had become familiar with while traveling with the shamans of his old tribe. No, this Magick was darker, the sickly-sweet smell of poisoned thorns and withered earth.
How the fuck did I become the grown up today.
Without warning, Mosh spun grabbing Caelus by the lapels and hauling him to his feet. Caelus’s grip tightened on his sword as he was pulled so close the young Naguai he could feel warm breath on his cheek.
“Listen to me the both of you. Yes, I know you can hear me, you self-righteous Cambion vagabond princess” He snarled, casting an eye toward Minoka as he spoke. “I don’t care if you want to kill each other. You can do that later. We have a battle to win.”
“I have been trying to say that this whole-” Caelus started.
“I won’t fight with a man who treats-” Minoka snapped.
“Oh, my gods I do not care.” Mosh snapped, “These people need to believe we can keep them safe. They need to believe there is a reason to fight and die for this little shit hole of a village in the middle of nowhere. I don’t care what you do. Beat the shit out of each other. Walk away. Get a room and fuck your brains out. I. Do. Not. Care.
“But when the time comes, I expect to see you beside me in the tavern before the battle begins. Neither of you are allowed to die until after the battle is done. Now figure it out. I got other more important things to take care of.”
Mosh let go of Caelus and took three steps toward where he sensed Sinette’s Magick going wild before stopping. He looked at the town square. At the gathered crowd of villagers, mercenaries. All staring at the spectacle his new tribe had made. More than part of which was due to his own loss of control. He watched as all who he made eye contact looked away.
He cursed himself. The damage was done. There he was all the truth the humans would need. Another Naguai lost to his curse. Another poor victim to the madness running in all his kind’s veins. For most in this village he and Rowan were probably the first Naguai they ever had seen.
He thought back to his time with the tribe. Roaming the lands, attacking traveling merchants. Everything they had came from the land. Everything they didn’t have; they took from those killed.
Mosh never wanted to be a monster.
But if a monster was needed, then a monster he would be.
“Get back to work!” He roared, baring his teeth and claws as he whirled on the crowd. “Goblins are coming! And if that isn’t enough to scare you will have me to deal with. Any man moving to slow loses and arm. Any man who runs gets beaten to death with said arm I steal. MOVE!”
The crowd hurried to complete whatever tasks Caelus had given them. Only the old woman Towa remained, her bronze great sword glinting in the sunlight. She smiled and gave him a wink before heading back to work. Mosh did his best to hide his smile.
At least someone didn’t see him as a wild beast.
He turned on heel and made his way down the narrow street toward the scent of Naguai Magicks. The smell of madness tinged the air as he hurried toward the source. He couldn’t change what people saw him as. He couldn’t stop them from seeing him as a monster.
But maybe he could save the little owl girl.
Maybe he could save Sinette.
In the square Caelus looked about the square watching as those under his command hurried with a frenzied pace, purposely not looking at the two mercenaries remaining in the square. He looked back at Minoka, her eyes still filled with hate and distrust. Slowly she rose the bow of her fiddle and placed it in the sheath behind her back. Her stance didn’t change however, the muscles of her legs flexed and ready to pounce.
“Your move, boy.” She hissed.
Brandy gripped the cart pulling herself away from the frenzied crawling of black thorned vines. She of course had heard the stories of Naguai Shamans. They were renown healers and protectors of the Wild woods the Naguai called home. She had even met one or two in her travels with Rowan, back when they were still saving up for the oversized wagon, he would claim to be the heart of his Vagabond Arms.
But this girl, this little bird, was different. The Magicks those Shaman she had met used had been a gentle thing. The healing touch for a wolf caught in a trap. The snatching of vines to hold an intruder at bay. Their power had made them the hearts of their tribes. A sense of order and strong familial bonds.
Sinette’s power was something different altogether. Not only was her Magick stronger than any girl her age should be capable of, but it seemed, damaged. Broken. As if her Magick had been corrupted. As if she herself had been corrupted by the very lands which gave her power.
“Little bird,” Brandy whispered staring at the young Naguai girl, pushed deeper into her curse and further into her madness. Sinette didn’t seem to see her, her golden eyes focused on a memory hundreds of miles away. It was a look Brandy had seen before. One Rowan wore when he started a story of his time at war. Stories he would begin and never finish. Stories of brothers in arms whose stories had ended too soon.
Brandy looked at the vines below, twisting and climbing as the made their way up the legs of the cart. The herbalist, an old, wrinkled woman who was selling her wares backed away from the cart eyes wide with fright. Brandy saw the telltale look in the woman eyes at the small Naguai woman. She stared at the curling feathers, the fingertips ending in talon and the dark vines forming a circle about her. She saw the young woman, suffering from a curse with which was no fault of her own and she did what humans always do.
She sought to destroy and not understand. Brandy watched as the woman gripped the large paving stone from the side of the road and raised it over head. Brandy had remembered her hateful words. Her stupid fear of the fact Rowan didn’t love her the same way she did. The stupid belief that he would prefer the company of one of his own kind to her own.
A fear she would never have to worry about if she simply let the woman do as she believed to be right. No law in the land would fault the old woman for killing a feral Naguai. Hell, they might even call her a hero for it.
The sharp whistle drew the attention of the panicked Herbalist, eyes wide with terror as she met Brandy’s eyes. Brandy smiled drunkenly at the woman, sitting cross legged on the cart covered in vines. She drew the feather from flask and twirled it between her fingers.
“I am a bitch.” Brandy mused, “But not that much of a bitch.”
The old woman blinked in confusion, barely recognizing the sharpened quill of the feather flicked from Brandy’s fingers and bit into her neck. The woman swayed, rock falling from her hand as she crumbled to the ground. Brandy sighed and shrugged her shoulders, bracing herself as she stared into the whipping vines.
“You made your bed, Brandy. Time to get fucked in it” she muttered to herself before leaping off the cart.
The black vines immediately lashed at her ankles, black thorns tearing at her flesh as she pushed herself forward. With every step more thorns whipped at her, tearing her clothing and biting into her skin.
“Sinette.” She said, through gritted teeth., “I am sorry I pushed you. I judged you unfairly. I placed my own baggage upon your shoulders and did my best to assume the worse about you. I wanted to hate you because-”
Against her will a whimper escaped her throat as a thick vine snatched around her wrist, thorns biting deep as it pulled her to her knees. She was three paces away from the girl. Those Golden eyes stared at her unseeing. Nothing coming through.
“Fucking shit.” She hissed, before dragging herself froward fighting against the vines. “Listen to me, little bird. I need you to let me in. I won’t say I know what you have been through, but I can tell you I have also seen horrible things. Hells, to a lot of people I was the horrible thing. But I want to be better. I want to believe that with every step forward I make, I have a chance of the world becoming better. I-”
The words died in her throat as the vines whipped around her throat, thorns slicing deep into her neck. Brandy pulled at the vines weakly with her snared hand, reaching a cut and bloody palm to Sinette’s face.
“I. Am. Sorry, Little bird.”
And Sinette blinked, tears staining her cheek as the feather drew back beneath her skin. Brandy gasped as the vines loosened, the thorns fading away to nothing.
“Brandy, I am so-”
“Hyah!!!”
Brandy could only blink as the dirty barefoot of Mosh whipped around her, colliding with the side of Sinette’s head with a dull thud and sending the small woman somersaulting into the unconscious form of the old herbalist woman.
“It’s ok.” Mosh gasped, out of breath, “I am here to save you, M’lady.”
Brandy blinked; jaw agape as she looked at the Wolfish grin of Mosh.
“I know you are crazy, Mosh” She said, “But are you actually just stupid?”
Rowan sat in the small room set on the second floor of the tavern, politely holding the teacup offered to him in his oversized hand, ready to renegotiate the contract for a higher price. He had his reasons clearly listed and organized in his head. They had been paid to fight goblins. Now there were Nyx and goblins.
More risk.
More rewards.
It was simple.
Yet in the past thirty minutes of his Mercenary band coming to town, the sound of small explosions, screaming orders breaking carts and the sound of obvious fighting filled the streets.
The village elders looked at him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. The old woman who owned the bar tapped annoyingly at the table and the Mayor of the village kept twisting the ends of his enormous mustache turning a deeper shade of red with every cacophony of sound.
“I am assuming there is a reason you called us here, Mr. Whitehorn.” The mayor said annoyingly.
Rowan smiled setting his teacup down and placing his hands on the table.
“No, Sir I simply wanted to tell you I have my best and brightest preparing for the battle ahead.”
A resounding “Hyah!” came from the street below, drawing the eyes of both elders to an open window.
“And we will reimburse you for any damages my people cause in preparation of the defenses.” Rowan said, getting himself to his feet and excusing himself for the room.
He quickly made his way to the bartender on the floor below and tossed him a silver coin.
“Just keep them coming.” He said grabbing a horn of ale and slumping against the bar, pinching his brow as he began to nurse the headache of a mercenary band called his Vagabond Arms
-
"Mr. Whitehorn, what is the meaning of this? Bringing feral Naguia upon our peaceful town! Unleashing them upon our citizenry!"
The mayor waved his arm over the villagers that had crowded into the common room of the tavern, jeers of agreement rising from among them. He had hauled his considerably large self onto a considerably small podium the tavern owner Wendy had scrounged from a storage closet. It made an audible quack every time he shift his bulk, plumes of dust rising when he settled his pot belly with a pat. He offered the crowd a pitying grimace, fueling the growing unrest.
Unrest he was sure to capitalize on thought Rowan. Not for the first time today, Rowan cursed his body's inability to get drunk. Faster healing, but no buzz. It hardly seemed fair at this particular moment. He settled for grinding his teeth as the mayor continued to enumerate his team's disgruntled antics.
"My dear townsfolk, at this rate there won't be much of a town left to save!"
"Mayor Laxduff, I would kindly remind you that I have paid the herbalist and the baker for all their destroyed property," Rowan cut in and to himself mumbled "twice".
He had paid them handsomely for the handful of meat pies and flower pots destroyed in his brigade's growing pains. But Rowan had wanted to smooth out any hostilities between the villagers and the band, and nothing tramped down anger like coin.
The cart and stall had been an easy fix, nothing compared to the damage caused to the villager's collective psyche. The whispers had traveled fast. An assault by men, beasts they said. The very men hired to save them. They had already been afraid, helpless against the assault before them, goblins and Nyx. Easier to confront the known enemy. Fury was a useful tool in the face of fear, fury turned toward him. Toward the feral Naguia he had brought to save them. Feral. He spat. The word disregarded the suffering his people had endured for years. The word feral turned them into animals.
"Tell the beasts to leave," a faceless hackler called.
"AYE, we don't need them!," Came an answering reply.
"Now friends," the mayor soothed. "We should expect them to protect us! Protect us, and return the hard-earned coin we have paid them."
The mayor turned an expectant gaze on Rowan, glee twinkling in his eyes.
"Surely, Mr. Whitehorn, you wouldn't want the reputation of the Vagabond Arms tarnished by the activities of your mercenaries. A respectable gentleman…" The Mayor drew out the word until all that rang in anyone's ears was "man". He meant a respectable man, not a beast like him. "Would ensure his customers are satisfied," the weasel finished.
No, thought Rowan, I'm not a man.
Sinette woke to the throbbing in her temples and a muffled ringing penetrating her ears. The high-pitched note spiraled in and out as she turned her head, like a fog horn off the coast. She felt sick, but couldn't manage to push herself off the small cot, arms buckling beneath her. It had happened again. She had gotten lost in the darkness. A third time submerged in a mire of fury, only to awaken with no memory of it. The panic began to set in, the pressure building in her chest and holding her down. Her lungs cleaved from trying to catch her breath. What horrible things had she committed this time?
Large hands cradled her shoulders, Rowan appeared from a chair behind her. He looked ruffled and less kept than when she had left him this morning.
"Slow, now. Your body is trying to protect you. But you're okay now. Everything's okay." He spoke slowly, each word deliberate, like he wasn't sure she could hear him.
Sinette tried to focus on his face, but the pain pushed him in and out of focus. Closing her eyes, she willed the suffering away. The soft energy of the earth lay just beneath her fingertips, its gentle rhythms calling to her. With a sigh, she opened herself to it. A gentle quickening and the warmth of power suffused her, dulling her pain. But it didn't stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry for whatever I've done," she choked. Sinette couldn't bare to look at him. There would be judgment, loathing, and worst of all fear. She knew that other people's fear could take things from you. There was so much to lose. A warm meal. A safe place. A friend. "I can leave. I won't stay."
"I don't want you to leave," he confessed. "I want you to tell me what happened".
She stifled a sob. "I don't know. I got angry and now I don't remember."
"You and I both know there is more to that story," Rowan replied. He pulled the chair forward and sat, folding his hands patiently in his lap. "Why don't you tell me what you do remember."
Sinette took a steadying breath, opening her eyes to focus on the ceiling. Rough-hewed beams braced the room, her gaze drawn to the cracking plaster along their length. The last person she told about the darkness was Ward. Now her brother was dead and she had killed him. Fresh tears dribbled down her cheeks.
"I was arguing with Brandy. She was testing me. Testing me to protect you, I think." Sinette raised her eyebrows at Rowan, but she was met with a brisk nod to continue.
"It doesn't matter why, I guess. But I was angry and then I heard them," She barely breathed, the last word hung heavy between them.
"Who?"
"My brothers," she whispered. "They were calling for me again. But I couldn't save them." Resignation stained her voice and her puffy gaze met Rowans. "I killed them, and now I hear their screams." She bit her lip to drive back the agony, glassy eyes pleading with Rowan to understand. She missed them so much, her sadness driven deeper by the guilt of knowing she killed them. She had done everything to save them, called every spirit she could muster. But the energies of the earth had forsaken her.
Rowan sat back, the chair groaning under him. He crossed his arms, considering her words before asking "This kind of episode has happened before?"
Sinette nodded in reply. "Three times now. Once when I was little, then again about 3 months ago. Now today." In a sudden burst of strength, she clasped his hand and drew it back to her.
"It’s the maddness, the feral maddness that comes for every Naguai. I'm what every human fears, and I can't be allowed to hurt anyone else. Please, Rowan." Her nails clenched onto his fist, as she pleaded with him.
"Please end this".
