Skullduggery of a Seedy Sneak
-
A noisome clinking brought Gears to painful conciousness. He cracked an eye and immediately regretted it as a white hot beam of light pierced through his light green iris and blasted clean through his skull to shine on the ground behind him…or at least that's what it felt like. Groaning, he closed the shutters on his eye once more and pushed himself slowly up to a sitting position on the thin bedroll which he had sprawled upon the night before. Refusing to open his eyes he pawed the ground around him and near-instantly set off more brain-jarring clinks as the bottles from the previous night's bout of drinking had been added to the sizable amount that already littered his sleeping area. Carefully he picked one bottle of dark, brownish glass up and shook it slightly. Frowning, he tossed it aside, then repeated the process with a second, slightly lighter colored one. After nearly half a minute of this procedure, a bottle was found that sloshed satisfactorily as he shook it.
Eyes still tightly shut, he took an experimental sip. Rom wine. Grimacing, he spat it out and tossed the bottle side to more titanic clinking. He enjoyed the flavor well enough, but he'd imbibed enough of it recently to last him a lifetime. Cautiously, he opened his eyes to slits and was mildly irritated to find the world exactly as he'd left it when he'd fallen asleep. Or passed out. He couldn't quite remember which. With one last resentful moan he raised himself to his feet and decided stumbling down to the pond south of Norwick was the current best course of action. Nothing like ice water to clear your head...
An hour later found Gears somewhat recovered from his hangover, if marginally wetter.
"There has t'be an easier way t'wake up..." He muttered, leaning against the stone statue of Dwin Dolvak. A remarkable and only slightly harder likeness of the original, the expertly crafted three dimensional portrait overlooked the Rawlinswood, which, Gears reflected, was horridly lacking in excitement at the moment. So some fog rolled in every night, and some goblins were running from one side of the woods to another. True, it had been a decent bit of excitement the day before when the resident goblinoids had mounted an attack, but not much of a challenge. The larger threat would present itself sometime, he was sure, but until then there was an awful lot of time to fill. In fact, there had been an awful lot of time for the platinum-headed halfling to fill for a while now. And as this occured to him, his thoughts shot immediately to the topic that penetrated his mind without fail whenever he found himself with the time to think about much of anything. Ginger B. Tealeaf. And with her, Juster Little.
His shoulders slumped a bit. She had left him for that ridiculously attired Peltarch lackey after an extended period of indecision which had been followed by a period in which he thought she had chosen him. Merely slumping his shoulders seemed a bit of an understatement so he set himself straight again and scowled instead. The girl he loved had left him. Worse still, he was reasonably sure she'd be better off with the purple ponce. He'd watched the little git from the shadows a few times...and he seemed to be kind...reasonably brave...sort of an upstanding citizen really, which rather contributed to Gears' strong desire to strangle the filthy bastard. And yet, there was the kicker. Juster was apparently the one who made Ginger happier, so disposing of him was out.
But it wasn't enough that Gears had to be getting eaten up inside by all that, was it? No no, painfully sympathetic, doggedly stubborn, and sometimes annoyingly naive Ginger wanted to still be his friend. That had resulted in numerous horrible run-ins with her: her trying to be as friendly as possible, he doing his best to ignore the pony-tailed hin's hopeful smiles and idignant refusals of being called "Lady Little".
The last argument had gone rather badly. He'd given her a necklace identical to one she'd given him that he'd used to its destruction, to sever one more tie between them he supposed, and it had led to him shouting at her on the steps outside Norwick's great hall. Her brown fawn eyes had filled with tears as he'd tried to tell her to sod off and leave him to suffer alone, but he hadn't given in this time. He'd tried to tell her she was better off being well shut of him, that he wasn't really the good man she'd wanted anyhow, but she was damnably insistent on saying that he was, in fact, good.
Gears, however, did not delude himself. Perhaps he wasn't truly bad, but he simply didn't find himself caring enough about other people to be considered much of a hero. He'd get his mates backs when they were in trouble, but without adequate compensation he'd often leave strangers to rot in whatever trouble they'd been fool enough to land themselves. Unfortunately, (though secretly he felt immense gratitude to her for thinking of him as such, and hence even more pained and irritated), Ginger was unconvinced. She also seemed incapable of comprehending how whenever he was around her he saw his inability even to hold onto the person who had mattered most. Still mattered the most, in fact. Which was why he was trying to get her to leave him alone and move on.
What a joke.
With a last angry shake of his head Gears pulled on his Norwickian Scout equipment and strung his bow. He needed a distraction, and a patrol of the East Rawlins, with the possibility of a mysterious presence and a decent scuffle was good enough. For now at least. Perhaps he would have to take further actions to convince Ginger of his less than saintly disposition…who knew, it might even be fun.
-
Life’s funny. More often “what th‘ hells” funny than “ha ha” funny.
Pale blond hair blown back out of his face, Gears struggled through the snow towards the only landmark he’d been able to find: the crumbling base of a long ruined tower. Inside it two braziers flared orange and yellow, fueled by some unclear source, providing the only color in the bland landscape. The tower’s remains sat atop a hill, roofless; around it the snowy wasteland stretched as far as Gears could discern. He had wandered around for over an hour, trying to find some sign of civilization. But no smoke, path, or building greeted his eyes. None but the tower. Inside a throne sat. Gears had taken a seat on it when he had first found the tower, figuring it to be the logical next step to take in playing along with whatever power had brought him here. The wind had merely whistled through the crumbling rocks just the same as before. Frustration weighed on Gears as he trudged up the hill, occasionally slipping in the snow only to push himself back up until he reached the top. Warming his hands on the braziers’ flame, he looked around, brow furrowed. Something had brought him here. By magic, obviously. But why? Certainly not to freeze to death. Stepping out of the tower, he looked up and around, raising his voice against the ever-present wind. “Well? M’ here, now what th’ hells m’ I s’posed t’do? Heya! Whoever’s there, what m’ I supposed t’ bloody well DO?” As if on cue, a flame sproutied from the ground at the bottom of the hill. Startled, Gears’ eyes dropped towards it as it spread. In a moment it had formed the letter “F” in the common script, and kept on going. “F…I…N…D. Find? Find what? What m’ I s’posed t’ find?” Gears’ head jerked in all directions, trying to catch a glimpse of the writer. The snow kept visibility to a minimum however. The only response he received was the flames that had sprung up extinguishing themselves as quickly as they had appeared. The snow beneath them had not even melted. Gears sprinted down the hill towards where they had been, but there was nothing. Hitching his cloak closer against the wind, he growled and set off into the gray-white storm once more. Apparently there was something to find.The wind had gotten stronger by the time Gears had climbed up yet another sheer-faced hill, blowing the tail end of his cloak furiously around his ankles and driving the frigid snow into his face. He had been searching for a while now, but there was nothing remarkable. Nothing but more snow and cold. His frustration built to a head as he spoke loudly again.
“If y’ want me t’ find somethin’ y’ doin’ a piss-poor job a’ guidin’ me t’ it! What m’ I lookin’ f’ out here? What m’ I s‘posed t’ find!?”
No voice answered, but again a flame sprang up on the ground just in front of the cliff, and spread into familiar shapes.
“S…E…L…” Gears blinked as the final letter was revealed. “Self? M’ s‘posed t’ find m’self? What, m’ on some kinda bloody self-discovery vision quest?” His derisive laughter was carried away by the wind almost as soon as it left his mouth. “S’ just dandy, but y’ know, I think I c’n ‘find m’ self’ back at th’ tower just’s well’s anywhere else.”
The wind picked up to a gale as Gears struggled against it back to the tower. His cloak flew out of his hands and whipped about behind him as he tried to hold it closer. He gritted his teeth against the cold of the blizzard as it cut to his bones. And now…now he was certain he could hear voices on the wind. The same ones that had plagued his mind for a moment in Norwick. Now, as then, what they were saying was indecipherable. It was as if a room full of people where whispering different things all at once.
He reached the hilltop whereupon sat the ancient wreck of the building and tried to gain some warmth from the braziers' fire. Looking angrily out at the storm which was now howling through the stones around him, he yelled out the empty doorway.
“Aright, m’ s’posed t’ find m’ self! How’s me freezin’ t’ death help me accomplish that? M’ right here an’ I know perfectly well who I m’!”
It occurred to Gears that this may have been an incorrect answer as a dark, clawed hand shot to where his head had just been.
-
**Y'ever gotten sick, but figured it'd fix itself? Just pushed it t' th' back a' y'head? I tried that. I thought it would get better on its own…Well, hoped at least. But it hasn't. The colors r' leavin' f' longer an' longer periods a' time...Might just be a matter a' time 'til they leave f' good. I've had priests look me over, even Aram f' th' magical view. Not a one found anythin' "wrong" with me.
An' it just gets worse. Th'last time I lost m'sight entirely...nothin' but blackness all 'round. An' somethin'...talkin' in m'head...couldn't understand what it was sayin', but I could bloody well feel it.
Somethin' cold. Somethin' dark…
S'out there.**
Gears took his last shot and sighed as it thunked next to the target's center. He wondered what his record of wins and losses against Willy was…chalk another one up for the human in any case. William said the usual "nice match" claptrap, and Gears moved back to lean against the torch post, unstringing his bow. Some days you're on, and some you aren't, apparently.
The sun had set on the latest Fight Night, and the torch above him wavered silently in the little wind there was. Chatter buzzed loudly in Norwick as people discussed who they were rooting for or betting on, mixed with the groans and exclamations at a particularly well or poorly shot projectile. Gears frowned a moment but shook his head. Always more to win, and he'd won plenty before anyhow.
It only took a moment for everything to change.
His eyelids closed in a blink. In the darkness behind his eyelids his body realized there was no longer a torch post to lean on, automatically correcting his balance. His nerves registered a sharp drop in temperature and the tips of his hair felt a much stronger wind blowing through it. His eyes reopened. And widened.
"What th'...?"
A bleak expanse of land stretched before him. The wind moaned threateningly as it blew between the hills sloping up to his right and left. And all, all was dull. The snowflakes whipping into his face, adding to the already covered ground, the night sky where no stars shone, even the distance faded into a gray haze. The only color he could see was the yellow-orange of the flames in the braziers on either side of the spot where he had seemingly appeared.
"Oh, come on!" Gears glared at his surroundings. "What now?"
He stood there a few moments, looking around, expecting…something. But no one answered him beside the steady, ever-present wind. Gears' face settled into a grim expression as he muttered, switching to his native tongue.
"Fine...someone new r' old wants t' play games? S' soddin' play."
Drawing his sword, the halfling walked forwards into the darkling storm of gray.
-
_So I’ll tell you all the story,
about the joker and the thief in the night,He’s always laughing in the midst of power,
Always living in the final hour,
There is always sweet in the sour,So we
Are not
Going home.-Wolfmother, Joker and the Thief_
**The world’s changed. F’ me an’ f’ m’ friends. Brandobaris’s words r’ a comfort now, remindin’ me t’ enjoy life as it comes, but s’still this…feelin’, in me. Maybe s’ because I’ve seen a few things I can’t unsee. Maybe not. But I’ll be damned if I won’t go on anyhow.
The world wants t’ show its ugly side? Go on an’ let it. I’ll take it with a grin an’ laugh in its bloody face, ‘cause s’ what I do. Bring on th’dead children, th’ Ginger look alikes t’be murdered, th’ demons, th’ apocalypses…See if I don’t take it s’just another adventure. Even if all m’friends leave me, r’ settle down t’ lead s’normal a life s’ they can, I’ll still be here. I will never “settle down”.
Never.**
A rare, fairly dull day in Norwick was passing by: An assortment of people chattered on by the fire. Some sort of trip had gone awry, as they often do, and some people were off at the apothecary’s. Kara headed to Peltarch with Meril the bard in tow towards Peltarch, to check on the status of some “tainted” weapons in the care of Daisy. Gears yawned. He stood by the fire, a small breeze tugging gently at everyone’s cloak and tousling his hair. The flames moved fitfully in the wind, going one way, then another. The sky was blue with large, puffy clouds skittering across it. Wait, the flames…? Gears’s head snapped towards the fire. He thought he had seen something, in between the tongues of red and orange that shouldn’t be there. Some flicker. Ronan took a few steps, blocking Gears’s line of sight to the flames. Stepping around him, Gears moved closer, brow furrowed as he looked into the heat, searching…but it was gone. Yet as he watched, something…something else was wrong. The flame slowly grew hotter; the reds and oranges slowly bled out of it, leaving nothing behind but an intense white. No, it SHOULD have been hotter. But it felt almost…cooler. Gears leaned forwards, perplexed. Ronan moved to his right, the movement catching his peripheral vision. Gears blinked, startled. His eyes reopened. The flames were normal, and as he turned his head to look, he found that so was Ronan, and the world around him as well. For a moment he almost could have sworn that…No. Maybe he needed to get more sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, frowning. Ronan’s voice snapped him back to the world around him. “Hey Gears…come on, let’s go up to Peltarch. Check on the status of those artifacts with Kara and everyone.” Gears nodded slowly, shaking off the last lingering feelings of unease. This was aided by the onset of boredom, as Ronan became distracted by the latest pretty woman to walk by before they got more than ten feet from the fire. After waiting a few minutes past what he would have liked, Gears said he’d see Snowtop in Peltarch and started off north. The path stretched ahead of him as he walked along it. Shadows lengthened and nocturnal creatures started their soft rustlings as the sun started to dip below the horizon. Gears walked on. The last rays of light disappeared, but had they been golden…or white? Gears stopped, Norwick’s northern gates in front of him, Barak Tor to his right, his feeling of disquiet creeping back. As if on cue, Aelthas and his bride to be, Lycka, walked up. The pink warrior called out to Gears as he walked in front of the Halfling, turning to face him. “Gears, did Meril go this way?” Gears looked Aelthas up and down quickly, searching for the man’s trademark color. “Aelthas, put on y’helm.” “…What?” “Put on y’helmet.” Aelthas rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Great, I go looking for an elf and find a crazy hin.” The flames from the campfire of Barak Tor shifted in the wind, casting light on Aelthas for a moment. He was still pink. Gears let out a relieved breath. “Uhm, Gears…?” Lycka eyed him with concern. “Are you feeling all right…?” Gears nodded slowly. “Yeah…yeah, m’ fine. Meril went up t’ Peltarch with Kara. S’ where I was headed.” Aelthas grumbled something about losing time and started up the hill to the gates, Lycka and Gears falling in behind him. Gears shook his head to himself. It was just paranoia now. That’s all it was. When there’s danger around every corner you start to see…well…danger around every corner. They went on, encountering Caric and some girl Aelthas had apparently had some sort of disagreement over loot with. When Aelthas simply dropped the aforementioned loot in a peace offering but the girl refused it for pride or some other such stupid intangible quality, Gears helped himself. He was looking the items over with a smirk as they crossed the bridge to the west of the Gyspy camp, and were coming up on the monument of the Civil War when he realized that the flames burning in the braziers in front of it were neither gold, orange, red, or yellow. The color finished leaving the edges of his vision as his head whipped up. White. Gray. Black. The shades in between. But not a drop of color. **S' wrong with me?** Something moved on the cliff top to his left…or did it? Snapping his neck towards the rock, he saw something, or thought he did, but then it was gone. He realized he was babbling, asking the others if they had seen it, and someone saying they had before the color flashed back into his eyes with his next blink. No one seemed as concerned as him. Curious, perhaps, but no more. As the group paused, Gears hurried on north. Normally he didn’t care overmuch for Peltarch, but there seemed to be worse things than a temple of Tyr right now. He had gotten within a short distance of the city when he saw it. And it was an it, not a nothing, not a paranoid fancy, not a trick of the eye. It was his size, standing on the edge of another cliff, a darker shadow against the night sky as Gears sprinted towards the hill leading up to where it stood. It flashed by him as he reached the top. Growling and drawing his sword, Gears followed only to be plunged into sudden, unnatural darkness. Startled, he backed out quickly. He wasn’t alone. Shadows, creatures he was fairly familiar with by this point streamed out of the blackness after him. Gears set himself. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He sprang, darting, spinning, ducking, stabbing at the dark limbs slashing the air where he had just been. He may not have been a cleric, but he’d learned more than enough to best a few of these and end their lifeless existence. A few scratches and many punctured Shadows later, Gears stood, breathing a little heavier. The darkness in front of him disappeared like smoke on the wind, along with the bodies of his former opponents. And there it was again. It was definitely humanoid…Gears narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t discern features, the night was too dark. It turned and ran, the blonde hin in pursuit once more. It flew down the hillside, Gears hot on its heels. It never looked back, just kept going. A river stood in front of them, spanned by a bridge. The thing went straight ahead though, as if it were going to jump into the freezing water, but as it reached the water’s edge…it was gone. Simply…gone. Gears skidded to a halt in the snow and looked around feverishly, his head moving in every direction. But it was gone. The first ray of sunlight crept over the horizon.
-
Ronan stood in the middle of Norwick, looking around with a neutral expression on his face. If he was surprised when Gears spoke, stepping into the torchlight, he didn't show it.
"Town's pretty dead t'day, eh?"
Ronan sighed.
"Yes, so it would seem…"
"Least we're sayin' it figuratively."
The mage turned his gaze to Gears, frowning slightly.
"You've really got to stop being so depressing, you know."
"I don't p'ticularly enjoy bein' s'way m'self. If y've got an alternative t' broodin', m' perfectly willin' t'hear it."
Gears lifted his shoulders slightly, then let them drop again. Ronan tsked and resumed surveying Norwick. A small crease appeared in his brow, and he was silent a moment before he spoke again.
"...I don't really feel like leaving the town unguarded."
"Yeah...me neither." Gears looked around a bit himself, before his gaze drifted back to the fire. "S'...broodin'?" Ronan sighed and nodded. Gears went and sat, putting his back against the small tree behind the stone benches. Ronan sat opposite him, leaning against the rock. The sorcerer spoke first.
"So...how's the married life?"
Gears didn’t answer right away. He hugged his knees to his chest, staring past Ronan at the fire.
"...I can't have children."
Ronan nodded, sniffing slightly. "Well, no surprises there. I never really thought you had the parts for it."
Gears looked over, giving the white-headed young man a dirty look. "Not like that, y' half-wit. I mean...ever since..." Gears detached a hand from his knees to wave vaguely towards the Grapevine Inn behind him, then clasped it back in place and rested his chin on his knees.
"...You mean you can't...you know...or does she not want to have any...?"
Gears growled in vexation. "No, I mean I can't bring a child inta this filthy place. Won't, if y' gonna be s' picky about it."
His companion nodded thoughtfully. Whatever sarcasm had been in Ronan's voice had vanished when he started speaking again. "That certainly makes sense for now." But Gears was already shaking his head before he was done talking.
"Snowtop, maybe s' just 'cause y' haven't been 'round here s'long s' I have, but there's never a good time here. S'just one bloody apocalypse after another."
"…Then you know what you have to do."
"What?"
"Leave this..."filthy place"...to have the child."
The halfling just sighed. "S'not just Narfell that I mean. After hearin' Red's, Maya's, an' y' story...m' fairly certain s'nowhere that'll be safe just because y'a kid. 'Sides," He looked up. "I can't just leave all th'people I care about here t'fight th'nasty a' th'world."
Gears lay his chin back down on his knees, looking off into nothing. They were silent for a little after that before Ronan opened his mouth again. "...I have seen some disturbing, horrible things...but this situation strikes even me as one of the worse." Gears nodded slightly, not looking at him.
"...I've actually seen a town destroyed by demons before."
"What, like Norwick?"
"Nah...worse, Snowtop. Th'whole thing...buildings s’ well s’ their inhabitants, every single person slaughtered. Ripped in half r' eaten while they were still alive. An' not just th' man-sized demons we have here...huge things...horrible things..." Gears hunched his shoulders, withdrawing even more into himself. "Th' sight a' it, th'sound...th'smells...I was heavin' f'nearly a full day afterwards..." He shuddered at the memory, lapsing into silence once more.
"Well...as long as we're sharing disturbing stories..." Ronan shifted his back against the rock. "I...was once locked in a tower with some others for a few days. We could hear people being tortured through the walls, constantly...people being skinned alive, eaten, screaming...and all the time, the demons doing it were laughing at them with the voices of children."
Gears looked up slowly at Ronan. The normal superior, self-confident look was gone. In its place his face had drawn down slightly, eyes almost sad, brow furrowed.
"…That wasn't the worst of it though. Behind one of the doors we opened we found...a mother and her two children. Still alive, still in a cage. But the children, they begged us to kill them. Not release them." Ronan's arms slowly drew up and he hugged himself, somewhere else. "They said the master of that place, "the Lord", would find them if they escaped, torture them for hours. They wanted death." Ronan looked up at Gears with bleak eyes. "Do you know why he was torturing them?"
Gears gave the slightest shake of his head, looking back.
"The Lord was creating a form of liquid pain...a drug for fiends and demons. It satiated their bloodlust for a while. But the method for obtaining it was far worse..." The handsome mage fell quiet, holding himself. He was looking off into space again. The sadness had left his face, replaced by a blank wall. Somehow, the lack of anything was worse, that void of expression.
Maybe that was all there was to life really: Atrocities heaped upon atrocities against people who hadn’t deserved them, and people who tried their hardest to avert these calamities, failing. But even if they won, there would just be more lined up, wouldn’t there? Ready to destroy whatever was rebuilt in between times. Orcs, goblins, dragons, bandits, demons…did it matter what the threat was? There was always going to be another. Always. But to see that, in the face of someone…who had gotten a bit closer to Gears than he would’ve expected in the amount of time they’d been together…
"Snowtop..." He continued to stare ahead at nothing. "...I c'n do a handstand." "...Y' wanna see?" Gears stood and vaulted onto his hands, turning so he faced Ronan, forcing a grin onto his own face as his pale blond hair trailed on the ground. “What the hells…?” "Bet y' can't do one." Ronan looked back at him uncertainly for a moment. Then he shook his head with a "hmph". "I will not engage in such childish behavior." "Y' just sayin' that ‘cause y' can't do it." "No, I can't. You're smaller, you have a much lower center of gravity. I, on the other hand, have a lot to balance." Going lightly back down on his feet, Gears stood in front of the still seated man and frowned. Ronan looked away, his expression troubled. A determined look crawled across Gears’ face. He looked around for anyone else, nodded to himself a few times silently, then stared right at his friend, a few nervous cracks appearing in his mask of resolve. "When...when Ginger an' I are alone..." The hin took a deep breath. "She calls me…Bumblyberry.” “…Bumblyberry?” Gears swallowed slightly…and nodded. They stared at one another for a moment. Ronan burst into laughter. He laughed. And laughed. And laughed on as Gears grinned back, embarrassed. The conversation lightened, a good humor crept back into the air. They talked. They took turns verbally lambasting the other. And for a while, the world faded into the background, and things didn’t feel quite so dark to Gears. For a while.Days later
The Silver Valley was quiet as Gears kneeled. Night had brought a calm over the town, silencing the bustling activity of the day. The grass was cold under his legs, his feet folded under him and his head turned upwards slightly. Stars winked and glittered, bright but distant. He was on the highest hill in the halfling settlement, but they looked so far away; pinpoints of light in a black covering.
“Brandobaris…I know m’ not always th’ best with th’ regular prayin’, but m’ here now. I certainly live as y’ like anyway, right? …R’ lived, anyhow. Still do, maybe, I dunno…S’just lately I’ve felt…useless. There was this demon, right? An’ he was…he was a new kinda nasty f’me t’ experience. He…killed…a kid. Th’ adopted daughter a’ this friend a’ mine. I’d never seen somethin’ like that right in front a’ me. I wanted t’hurt him s’ badly…An’ then he went an’ got killed. Not by me. I dinnit know until I saw th’body. They dinnit need me. A friend a’ mine, a mage, just threw his power around th’ way I hear it, an’ blasted th’ thing down. They dinnit need me a bit. An’ I’m turnin’ inta this…dull, depressing creature.”
Gears bowed his head.
“…I used t’be real happy, time was. I flirted with pink-haired bards, lay m’head in th’laps a’ more than a few pretty girls. Had laughs mockin’ th’ stuffed shirts, stealin’ here an’ there. Drank with all m’friends. An’ everywhere there were adventures t’go on, scrapes t’get into an’ out a’…but they weren’t like th’ones now. Now, th’ stakes r’ s’high…s’not just my neck on th’line now, an’ whoever I was with. S’ th’ whole land a’ Narfell, maybe th’world. An’ s’not just th’big bads that seem worse than they used t’. Some a’ th’ best s’posed do-gooders we got…they’re just s’…self-righteous an’, an’ they’re just prats! Convinced they’re right, they’ll do as they like, an’ everyone else be damned! THAT’S what th’ heroes r’ like? Overproud bastards?”
His hands clenched into fists on the ground, holding the dewy grass tightly.
“…But at least they c’n actually do somethin’ t’affect th’course a’ these battles.”
He lifted his head once more to the night sky, his face desperate.
“Brandobaris…please…give me somethin’ t’help m’friends. I’ve tried t’find a power on m’own, but I just keep hitting dead ends. I dunno if I c’n live in a world this horrid when I can’t even protect th’things an’ people I care about.”
The hill fell silent again for a moment.
“An’ if I can’t have that…let me see th’ funny bits a’ life again. ‘Cause m’ not sure if I c’n anymore. Let me have that much…Please.”
"If not…I s'pose I'll keep on goin' anyhow...not like s' anythin' else t'do. But if y'could..."
The stars kept twinkling, far up in the cold night air. The grass sighed quietly as he stood and walked away.
-
"Well, yeah, it wasn't pulse-poundin' r' nothin', but it was a bit of a diversion."
"Hardly…it was all very dull."
Gears and Ronan chatted amiably as they walked up the hill towards Norwick, a mildly interesting expedition to the old elf camp behind them, as well as their group of companions. A troop of demons had attacked but were easily handled with spells and blades; nothing to get excited about when all was said and done. The scene that greeted them in the town was, sadly, not the same.
Andrew Tormier lay face down on the road, bleeding profusely. Celestria, in little better condition knelt by his side, cradling him. "Whoa," Gears looked around, raising a brow. The group barely managed to get out a "What happened" before a dark-haired elf appeared, seemingly out of thin air and ran up to them, near-hysterical. Gears had seen him around the town infrequently. His name was Mordechai. "I saw it...I saw it all. A man, in red armor! He killed everyone! The guards, Selene...and then he went into the inn, and killed everyone there too...everyone...I couldn't do anything but watch, he would have killed me too, I..."
Something penetrated Gears' brain as the elf spoke. An image of a little girl with ribbons in her yellow hair, running from Maya, laughing. A cry escaped his throat even as he started to sprint towards the Grapevine Inn.
"EVERYONE!?"
He hadn't particularly cared for the girl, really. The little time he had spent around her hadn't made much of an impression on him. She had been loud, as children often are, and he was certain she had been giggling about his height once or twice when his back had been turned. But she was important to Maya. And Maya was important to him.
He dashed through the door, and the bittersweet smell of death rolled over him like a wave. Bodies littered the floor, which was itself slick with blood. The blood pooled around the bodies, slid down the walls were it had spattered; a few drops even plinked quietly from the ceiling.
"YANA!"
Up the stairs, throwing open doors. Hedia behind him, doing the same. Nothing. Nothingnothingnothing.
"Yana, pet...are y' hidin'? Y'...y' c'n come out now, love!"
No answer.
Up the last flight, Hedia had left, there was nothing here either, back down, down to the desk, she'd often hung about there, maybe she was hiding in the coat closet or under the desk, maybe he hadn't noticed her, she had been small after all or maybe she had been out playing when it happened and hadn't even had to see it because she was small after all she was small and who would really kill a chil-
She didn't really look like Yana anymore. All the color had left her face, the blood on it like some grotesque imitation of rouge trying to make up for it. Her dress was torn around the spots where the blood had yet to dry. The pale mask, the mussed hair, even her lips were slightly parted...she looked like some porcelain doll, thrown aside by a careless child and forgotten. Beautiful and ruined. There were others in the inn now. Gears didn't see the horror on their faces, if there had been some, or hear the cries of shock, if they'd uttered any. She was heavy in his hands though. Looking down at her, he'd forgotten she was the same size as he was, maybe bigger. At first he thought she was warm, but it was just the blood leaving her. He turned slowly and took a few steps towards the door just as Ronan entered, as confident as if nothing had happened. "Well, he ran from me. Definitely a wise move on his part..." Ronan's boast trailed off as he looked down and saw Gears, wide-eyed and looking up at him. "Snowtop...help me..." The sorcerer averted his gaze from the two small bodies, looking pained and a bit sick. "...Hedia's...outside." Gears walked out, into the rain that had started to fall. He called for Hedia, softly at first, then louder. He didn't realize he was screaming until his voice stopped as he sank to his knees in the damp ground. Hedia wasn't there anymore. Merin was in front of him, gently telling him to take her to Tristina, that she could help her. Gears nodded numbly, rising and plodding after Merin to the apothecary. Andrew, Chet, and others were there already, dropping off the other bodies. He gently laid the bundle that had been Yana at Tristina's feet and said in a hoarse, harsh voice "You...make her better." Tristina stuttered out that she would, a hand to her mouth, but Gears had already turned to Merin. "Did y' see where he went?" "Yes, he was chasing your mage friend... eventually he just went North." Gears' hands shook as he unsheathed both of his daggers and walked silently out the door. They had all teased him lately about having children, his friends had. How quiet the progeny of Ginger Tealeaf and he would be, how many they'd have, whether he'd decided on a name yet...and now his friend's daughter was dead. This was what happened to children in Narfell. What would happen to his. He ran north. Hobgoblins fell before his poisoned blades. Spiders. Goblins and beetles. Everything he could see. Others showed up. The man must have doubled back Aram said. Gone through the spider woods, maybe back through the Rawlinswood. Gears ran from shadow to shadow, kill to kill. Finally they were back outside Norwick's gates, with nothing more to hurt. The one whose throat he'd sought had not been among those he'd opened. Useless again. "Remain calm," Aram had said. The flame had left him, now. He put away his weapons, walking to the apothecary. He raised a hand to knock, but lowered it. He couldn't do anything to help there. His feet took him back to the fire, where a crowd had gathered. He looked around it once, not sure who he was looking for, before he continued north for the second time. The wall surrounding the Kelemvorite temple was cold against his back as he slid slowly down it to rest on the ground. He puts his face in his hands. Maya...gods, how would she take the news? He knew Maya...she would probably blame herself, bring more pain, another burden. Yana would be brought back to life. Maybe. Would that be better? The sun set. Trees and cliffs stretched out their shadows, slowly, gently, covering him. People passed by him in the gloam, not seeing him. Night came on, cold and clean after the rain earlier. He sat there a long time.
-
“…I s’pose it doesn’t make much difference with th’time now, but runnin’ might convey a more penitent attitude when we show up.”
…
“You’re probably right.”
Gears and Aelhaern sprinted away from Norwick, the pounding of the large elf’s boots keeping time with that of his small friend. They were both about a day late for Ael’s wedding to Niccah, the lovely head Sister of the Sisterhood, with hair as red as Gears’ was blond. They were not expecting her to be pleased. Gears hoped he wouldn’t have to play peacemaker…he wasn’t particularly good at it. Aside from that, the two of them were thoroughly worn out from what had turned out to be a complete waste of time: a supposed assault on the demons plaguing Norwick, which was in reality the entirety of the assembled forces, Militia, Legion, Gypsy representatives, as well as freelancers like Gears, being duped and distracted while the demon forces slaughtered the Bugbears in the southern Rawlinswood. So, looking rather a mess, they ran on through the Nars Pass and on until they skidded to a halt in front of the Sisterhood farm. Farm indeed, Gears thought, glancing around. More like a bloody mansion, if one overrun with a buncha kids.
Ael pulled the door open and they ran in, stopping as the sight of Niccah greeted them. It impressed Gears how well the redhead could intimidate other tallies when she was between half a foot and a foot and a half shorter than almost all of them…though at the moment it mostly intimidated him. Arms folded and thin-lipped, dressed in her normal Sisterhood robes of red and black and certainly not a bride’s veil, she frowned at them.
“Hello love…” Ael ventured, smiling tentatively at her…
Gears tugged the collar of his green formal wear straight as Ael dressed in white and green robes behind him. “That wasn’t s’bad…she wasn’t even mad. Well, not at us anyhow…. Not very much.” Ael didn’t appear to be listening, more intent on nervously smoothing out his ensemble. Gears glanced back at him. Ael took a deep breath and turned around as well. Gears looked down at himself and back up, shrugging. “Bit woodsy f’me, y’know, but not bad.” “Here,” Ael smiled and rummaged in a pack, his hand emerging with a bright green cloak that he tossed to Gears. “Try this on.” Gears pinned it around his neck, then twisted his head around to look back at it dubiously as Ael laughed. “Very nice, very…green.” “Whatever,” Gears smirked and shrugged again. “I look good in anythin’ anyhow.” Jerr stuck his head in the door. “Wash it, scrub it, dry it, and dress it, five minutes. The bride’s words, not mine.” Ael and Gears walked out into the corridor as the Skald bustled off. “Get into the garden Ael. You too Gears.” With a deep breath the elf and the hin wandered off to the center of the Sisterhood building.Much longer than five minutes later, they stood amid a circle of pillars, still waiting on the bride-to-be. Gears raised a brow when Ael took a quick gulp from a small flask concealed in his robes, his hands shaking slightly as he replaced it, but left it at that. The guests milled about the garden, some already drunk, some amusing themselves with torturing Lucidious, some pausing to joke with Ael, still others looking on quietly. Most of the faces Gears knew, or at least recognized: Grag, Kresha (who had already helped herself to more than a few drinks), Thorn, Devlin, Calendel (once he stopped harassing Lucid in the guise of a giant cat), Ronan, Legionaires, many Sisters, and more. The loud chatter stilled in a matter of seconds, however, once a single door opened, silence rippling out from it.
With the soft tapping of her shoes the only audible sound, the beautiful if not blushing bride walked slowly in. Her dress was an obviously expensive, frilly affair, snow white and highlighted with green, but managing to bare more cleavage than outfits Gears had seen some courtesans wear. He managed to only take one quick glance at her chest before shifting to the side. Jerr, dressed in his ceremonial Nars robes, was beside her, as well as Maya in a green dress whose tone matched his own outfit. The large barbarian woman looked proud, and happy…and nothing short of fetching either, Gears thought, and then he did smirk. Niccah came to stand beside Ael, Jerr hung back behind them slightly, and Maya came to stand by Gears, off to the side of the bride and groom, apparently the spot for the main attendants.
The green-eyed elf conducting the ceremony stepped forward, and began. Gears didn’t pay too much attention to the words he said…they were the usual, about gathering to witness this joyous occasion, do you love one another for forever, keep this vow sacred, blah blah blah. It went perfectly smoothly until the part about anyone having objections came up.
“Aye!” Said, unfortunately, a familiar one-eyed man. Milshot.
“There’s one in every weddin’,” grumbled someone in the crowd.
Maya glanced back to the axe and shield resting against the pillar behind her, frowning. Gears one-upped her and actually drew one of his daggers silently, lips curling a bit. Niccah, however, merely rolled her eyes as Milshot stepped forward.
“Can ya honestly say that this is the life ya want?”
“Yes, Milshot,” Niccah sighed. “That’s why I’m getting married.”
More words were exchanged, but that seemed to shut him up for the most part. He walked out, and the audience breathed a collective sigh of relief. Jerr gathered the children who had begun to cry beside him, soothing them with quiet, calming words. Gears resheathed his dagger. Maya stopped eyeing her axe. The priest ahemed.
“Now, if we might return to the ceremony…?”
As will happen at weddings, rings and vows were exchanged, followed by the kiss. The room erupted in cheers, or in some of the more delicate cases, heartier sobs. Gears grinned and roared along with the rest of the room; someone certainly deserved a happy ending, and it was all the better if it could be two of his best friends. They irritated him, they nauseated him, they made him jealous and, he knew, would have helped him, whatever mess he got himself into. They may flirt with anything that came within a fifteen foot radius of them, but you’d have to be blind to not see how they care for each other: the way they touched each other, looked at each other, and the things they said to the other, or didn’t say. He hugged them both, and looked on happily as they received the good wishes and gifts of the crowd. Even Milshot ended up coming back and apologizing. Pretty perfect, all in all, f’a high profile marriage in Narfell, he thought as everyone filed into the dining hall for the dinner.
The sun had set two hours previous when Gears left the Sisterhood. In his hand he carried an extra piece of the wedding cake, carefully wrapped in wax paper. He felt good. His friends were in each others’ hands, were he was sure they would be both safe and happy. Far too happy that night in particular, he was sure. He smirked and shook his head as he trudged up the last hill in the Silver Valley to his destination. The fire flickered warmly, casting the shadows of the hay bales around it in odd, exaggerated shapes. Padding over to the flap of Ginger’s tent, he stuck his head in. “Ging?” Nothing. The tent was empty. Gears withdrew his head with a small sigh. He looked around, then walked over and sat down on one of the bales. What was he doing here? Aside from giving Ginger Tealeaf a piece of wedding cake, that was. He had been playing the good man as best he could. And where he was now looked surprisingly similar to where he had been when he had just done what he wanted. Nothing was enough for her. Yet here he sat, with a piece of cake. He should just get up and leave. Bloody stupid was what this was; she’d never be satisfied. What if that purple prat came up here? What if Ginger came back with him? What if they came back together, and embarrassedly, but surely, went into the same tent? He should leave. Forget the whole bloody mess and leave her alone. And he would. Right now. Just in a little bit after he rested his legs. It was a long walk up those hills after all. Right. Gears sighed and settled back on his elbows. The fire’s orange glow bathed his face in shadow or orange light, depending on how the mood struck it. Right…The moon had been up for a good while when she finally walked up. Alone, thank the gods. Gears stood and smirked. She smiled in return.
“Hello there, Councilor.”
“Heya…been out adventurin’?”
“Will and Z wanted to go into the Cold Caves again. What about you? You‘re dressed awfully well for sitting around on hay.”
“Oh, right,” Gears glanced down at himself and his green formal wear. “I came here right after th’ weddin’…haven’t really changed yet.”
“What happened to the blue outfit? No scarf?” She asked, smirking a bit.
“Nah…got changed t’green at th’last minute,” Gears shook his head. “Damned if I know why.”
“Because it’s a wedding between a bimbo and a twit?” Ginger laughed…and set Gears’ sideburns to bristling. It was not a nice laugh, and that made it all the worse coming from her mouth. He didn’t like having to think of her as anything but nice.
“They’re not that.”
Gears said it quietly. But he felt stretched as he said it, taut as a bowstring about to release. The moment was ruined now, somehow. Soured. He could see it in her face as sure as she could see it in his.
“Anyhow, I was just bringin’ y’ this,” He said, and tossed the carefully wrapped piece of cake onto the hay bale he had just occupied for the better part of three hours. “Thought y’might like it.” He turned, starting to stalk off.
“Well I don’t!” Ginger yelled at his back, and there was steel in her voice, too. “I wouldn’t want ANYTHING from them!”
Gears whipped around, but the flap of Ginger’s tent had already swished shut. The piece of cake still sat by the fire. This…this was too much. He hadn’t sat out there like a doe-eyed fool to be treated like this. The tent’s flap closed on his back a moment later.
“I can’t even do something’ nice f’ y’ now, s'that it?”
Ginger was making dinner, presumably. The violence with which she was treating the pots, pans, and various food items was nothing short of spectacular, however. Any creature that received the knifework she was giving to the potatoes was deserving of pity. She didn’t pause in her best imitation of a dwarven smithy to speak, snapping loudly over the ruckus.
“You think it’s NICE to remind me that the –------ ----- in Narfell can get married and I can’t?”
Something in Gears broke. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could feel the change. It just wasn’t worth it. Not after all he’d done, been WILLING to do. To try so hard, and get little beyond abuse for his friends. His best friends. His voice raised above the clamor of metal as something poured out. Something true.
“Y’ wanna know why I’m unhappy Ginger? Why I’ve been mopin’ about lately? It’s YOU! I’m at th’end a’ m’ bleedin’ tether here…” Gears paced back and forth a few steps. “I have done EVERYTHIN’ f’ you! Y’think I want t’be a bloody Dragoon? T’be a soddin’ COUNCILLOR!? Y'think I wanted t' have responsibilities, t'have t' be ready t'smile whenever th'Valley needed it? I don't give a sod about th'Valley! All I wanted…” His voice faltered, and he swallowed. “...All I wanted was you. I thought, maybe, if I could show y’ I could be th’ kinda man y’ wanted…” Gears stopped moving, as his eyes found his boot tips. “…But m’ not. An’ I can’t pretend t’be anymore.
The clanging had stopped. He didn’t notice until he felt a gentle hand on his arm and her voice behind him. It was much softer now.
“But you are…you always have been. I love the man you are…the man you were.”
He gently pulled his arm from her grasp, not looking at her.
“No…you don’t. You love the man I could be.” Gears took a deep breath. “But I’m not him. An’ all th’ make believe got me was a few looks an’ smiles, an’ I think...I think we both know they’re not leadin’ t’ anything’ more than that.”
She had moved in front of him while he spoke, and he slowly raised his head, green eyes meeting brown. She was so pretty it hurt. Her tanned skin was darker than his, going well with the inky silk of her hair. It was pulled back in its customary ponytail, leaving her face free to give him the same desperate look she’d had the first time he’d tried to say this to her. He opened his mouth.
“Ginger, I…”
“Marry me.”
And that was about the time the world stopped its flimsy pretense of logic and sense. He wasn’t sure how long his mouth worked soundlessly before he managed to squeak out “what?”. That didn’t really seem to help, however. Later, it all seemed jumbled together when he tried to recall it, but he sank into those brown eyes, and onto one knee. Of that he was sure.
Her grip was iron, her fingers intertwined with his like the teeth of a bear trap. She was nearly dragging him now, still stupefied, out of the Silver Valley and towards Finnius. The hins on patrol raised their eyebrows at the sight, but the determined expression on Ginger’s face kept them quiet. “But, why now? What…what changed?” Gears managed to get out, poleaxed. Ginger was quiet a moment before she answered, though she didn’t stop walking. “I don’t know… Nothing I guess.”Finnius complained about being given work, but he performed the ceremony. Vows were exchanged. Random rings pulled from their pouches. The kiss. Her arms as tight about his neck as they had ever been. Tighter. She felt as if she weighed nothing at all in his arms as he carried her back to her (their?) tent, no longer stunned but grinning. It had been rushed, unplanned, completely lacking in ceremony, stumbled through. Completely perfect, in other words.
Much later, when their breath and hearts had finally slowed, and Ginger’s hair trailed across Gears’ chest like a beautiful accidental tattoo, the world started to reassemble itself into some sort of order. He slowly traced the line of her neck with a finger as she started to slip into sleep. He knew he wouldn’t be far behind…but he wanted to enjoy this a moment longer. She was the single thing he had desired most when he came back, strived for, dreamed about. The love of his life. She was his again, and he was hers…all was right with the world.
Now, he thought with a yawn and a smirk as he drifted off, holding Ginger tighter. What else was there?
-
The Council chamber's door swung closed behind him, but not before a long, rather loud sigh escaped him. Gears looked down at his hands, his long (relatively, anyhow) fingers bared after the first knuckle from the tight black fabric that made up his gloves. He flexed them in and out a few times and took a couple deep breaths in time with their movements.
No more thieving…for even longer now. He shook his head and padded off, away from the murmur of talk he could hear in the room behind him.Getting into politics...he must be mad. He was hardly civic-minded. And Councillor of Outside Relations? He knew what that meant: smiling like a prat to every idiot who had something the Valley wanted, and putting up with whatever further idiocy they had to say. He slipped on into the shadows, his Dragoon Robes weighing heavy in his pack.
But a hero was what she wanted.
He'd be damn well Kanen bleeding Hightower if he had to.
-
He watched the armoire with a carefully neutral face, as small rustling noises emanated from it. His eyes flicked around the large tent he was in…pillows scattered on the floor...bookcase...the king-sized bed. He quickly tore his eyes away from the last, clenching his hands into fists a moment before letting out a short breath and smoothing his features as Juster appeared from behind the armoire, holding a set of robes.
"Well, I think these should be about right," he said, glancing from them to Gears. "If not, I'm sure I can find something to fit you better."
" 'M sure these'll be fine," Gears replied calmly, but hesitated a moment before taking the clothes, eyeing them uncertainly for a second before closing his hands around them.
"Yeah, as fine as any dress can be," Juster replied with a small grin.
Gears didn't return it.
"So, s'pose I'll see y' 'round th'Valley then. Patrol n' all." Gears nodded to Juster, who returned it, before he turned and left, robes in hand.
He didn't stop walking once he had come down from the hill where Juster and Ginger's tents stood, continuing on to Jiyyd. As he turned the first corner around the hills behind the Regal Whore Inn he crouched a bit lower and crept ahead, silent enough to give a mouse pointers. He kept going until he stood behind the council building. Straightening, he held up the robes of a Silver Dragoon, defender of the Silver Valley, looking at them rather unhappily. With a sigh he pulled them on…All members of the Silver Dragoons must set an example to others...No stealing, pickpocketing or otherwise allowed. Oh, how that last one was going to chafe him.
He pulled the outfit over his head, straightening it slightly before walking over to the nearby stream and looking down at his reflection. His unhappy expression deepened as he saw himself frowning back, looking quite the prat.
"I really hope y'appreciate this, Ging..." He sighed, looking down at himself.
She cared yet. He knew she did. And he wasn't one to quit, not when the stakes were this high...her wanting to be with him or ending up with Purple Boy. He would be the man she deserved. The man she wanted. She had yielded to him again, if only for a few brief, wonderful moments in the dark. He knew she wanted him more. He would just have to show he was worth it.
Bloody love.
Pulling the robes off, he packed them away in a magic pouch and went the hill, setting his jaw. It would be worth it. She was everything.
The stream burbled on, crashing as it turned into a waterfall, obliterating any sound of his descent.
_Bitches in Tokyo
You can write my place out
Of the life you make
And all the things that mattered
When you knew my face
Cross off all the ways I failed you
Because I failed you
But I'm still in your blood
You're still in my bloodThe time when all our mistakes made sense
You needed it
The time when all the lying
Sympathized with sin
All this sabotage and blame
Well I can take it
Because I want you back
I just want you backTemporary battles
Can take up half your life
How you dig your bed
Will it help you sleep at night?
Forgiveness like a blanket
That you want to forget
But you still crumble at my name
You still crumble at my nameThe time when all our mistakes made sense
You needed it
The time when all the lying
sympathized with sin
All this sabotage and blame
Well I can take it
Because I want you back
I just want you back_-Stars
-
Dwin stood glaring at the halfling in front of him. Stocky, sturdy, and every inch of him covered in metal save his head, displeasure and frustration emanated from him. Gears stood his ground, outfitted somewhat more lightly, returning Dwin’s scowl with interest. They stayed that way a moment, eyes narrowed, each dripping goblin gore behind the archer’s tower. They had helped fend off the latest goblin attack, though a slight disagreement in how to do that had come up.
“Gears, how long have we been friends now?” Dwin asked, his expression fixed. “Years? Decades?”
“Been a while, yeah…” Gears replied flatly, motionless.
“Then I hope you’ll take it with all due respect when I tell ya that I could rip your head off right now,” Dwin said, folding his arms. “Never mind that ya basically told me ta fark off in front a’ Grag, an’ the Peltarchians besides...Norwick’s been through some tough times lately, in case ye hadn’t noticed, an’ I need to show that we’re still strong! An’ I can’t do that if one a’ my scouts is doing whatever the hells he wants without regard to me on the field!”
Dwin continued to frown at Gears, who did the same. A few more moments passed in silence before Dwin sighed and the scowl slid off his face, replaced by weariness.
“Lad, this is a militia. Did ye honestly think ye could get through it without having to obey orders from anyone?” The dwarf looked at the halfling tiredly, and somewhat bemused. The halfling, however, remained silent. Dwin sighed again. “If that’s the way it’s gonna be, Gears...then maybe this ain’t the outfit fer ye.”
Gears remained silent a few seconds more, staring straight back at Dwin. A few seconds only, before he undid the clasp on his Scout’s cloak and threw it at Dwin’s feet, followed quickly by his bracers, belt, and boots. Dwin shook his head.
“Ye sure...?”
Gears tugged on his own boots and looked at Dwin through narrowed green eyes.
“I don’t take orders from anyone.” With that he turned and stalked off, tossing his Scout’s helm over his shoulder, leaving Dwin to pick up the equipment. He shoved through the gates and out into the darkness of the Nars, the night’s biting cold wind rustling his hair. Dwin had been quite reasonable really…but Gears would be damned if he was going to be told to use his skills to less than full effect, let alone be something so mundane as reasonable. Aelhearn had told him he wouldn’t have to take orders from anyone but him, and that he hadn’t really wanted to order Gears around anyhow. He’d been on the verge of saying that, but what would the point be in getting Ael in trouble? The amiable elf was a good friend; no sense in getting Norwick’s higher-ups mad at him as well.
He stole up the hill and looked behind himself, out over the Nars Valley. He wouldn’t really being leaving Norwick either…too much was happening there. Plenty of distractions. But some time by himself would be good for the time being. He glanced east for a moment, before quickly turning west. There wasn’t anything around Jiyyd for him. He slipped a bottle out of one of his pouches. One long pull later, and he was lost to the shadows.
-
The gates of the graveyard swung open before Gears as he exited. After a recent and nearly fatal encounter with some dead who weren't quite resting in peace (typical) in the Norwick family's crypt, he'd been patrolling the graves as often as he did the east Rawlinswood. The last spirit (if spirit it had been) had appeared after all the others had fallen to Melanie Stern's sword and his arrows and wand, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared, imploring them to join in its unending search, as well as its similiarly eternal agony and suffering. Melanie and Gears had politely declined and been blasted with some sort of energy beam by the apparition in return. Just another sinister power lurking in the dark places around Norwick.
Gears padded towards Norwick on feet that moved less grass than a deer's hooves. Or so he'd thought…lately he'd been heard or possibly seen by more people than made him comfortable with his talents. That damn elf Eluriel foremost among them. Keen eyes, he thought darkly as he slipped through the gates into Norwick proper and immediately stopped.
Before him, back turned, was a figure who had appeared to him not long ago. In fact, he had been right by Norwick's ruined walls after Melanie and Gears had shuffled, exhausted and a bit the worse for wear, out of the graveyard. He had been decked out in a full suit of platemail then, as he was now. In fact, not an inch of skin showed anywhere on him. He had almost sadly felt the ruined walls' sharp edges, the savaged earth where they had been torn through. He said he was a man who had lost everything in his homeland out west, and thought Narfell had seemed an "interesting" destination. He seemed the personification of a cold, grey day: he had spoken of how hope had deserted this land, and left Melanie and Gears, saying he was going to the "mead halls" to drink to friends and loves lost. Gears himself had felt less than enthused for the rest of the day following that...the stranger's words had struck a bit close to him.
And now here he was again. Kara Du'Monte, that paragon of paladins, stood in front of him, apparently involved in chatting with him. Gears snuck forward, regarding the stranger's broad, shiny back. Kara and he were chatting about some holy relic that he was apparently looking for. Kara seemed a bit puzzled, but told what she knew: some poems had been unearthed, hinting of a relic that a man, a champion, had searched for across the breadth of the Anauroch desert, hoping to save his people. The story stopped there however. Gears spoke up.
" 'Less s'made quite a journey that blank space 'tween then an' now, s'not likely t'be here," Gears said with his usual air of indifference.
The stranger turned to regard the halfling through the eye slits in his helmet.
"Greetings again."
"Heya. World any cheerier f'you yet?" Gears asked, looking back steadily into the helmeted visage.
"Joy and peace have long left the lands here, Little Master of Loves Lost," The stranger replied.
Gears stiffened. He stared up at the man, his eyes narrowing. Who was this man, to walk into his life and remind him of his pain? " Th' hell d' you know about m'life?" He almost spat out, unnerved. A short moment passed before the tension went out of his shoulders as they slumped slightly. "Not like s'a secret, I s'pose…"
It seemed as if the stranger froze a moment as his gaze locked with Gears'. "Your words speak to the heavens as does your loss...such hopelessness it fills the lands."
Gears stared back mutely, temporarily speechless and even more thrown off than before. As he stood, the stranger turned his head back to Kara.
"I must continue my search," he said calmly. "Farewell."
Kara nodded and thanked him for answering her questions as he turned and walked out the gates. Gears stared after him. Who the bloody hells was he? How did he know anything about him? What was he doing here? Why did he think Gears was…hopeless?
...Was he?
The halfling looked down at his boots blankly. He certainly hadn't needed another reminder of her. But who was that man? Gears head snapped up, voice open with a question ready for Kara, but she had left too. Gears snapped his head around to the closed gates and headed right back out them. He needed to talk to that man more…find out his purpose, who he was. Maybe he could...help? Maybe Kara would know something too, some clue. Gears broke into a run as he passed the gates. Perhaps if he hurried he could catch up to the red headed paladin on the road.
...Hopeless?
