Open Twice a Sinner, Half a Saint

[Solitude]

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."
​

---

"Vicar Eutrapelia has become a false prophet of our faith," the Archbishop Jubilee told the assassins once they had drunk the blood of the Mother and eaten the flesh of her Holy Daughters. Solitude had gotten pushed into the line to eat the flesh of Holy Daughter Zorza, which was only a dry and brittle cracker with a lingering layer of blandness over the tongue. None of the communions was ever delicious. Holy Daughter Ausrine was a large, crunchy seed that tasted of dirt, and the middle Holy Daughter, Vakarine, the sacrament was always dried fruit, but never the sort that Solitude liked. She'd instead taken the piece of dried, leathery fig over the cracker, but luck never seemed to be on her side whenever she was actually participating in Mass.

Her thoughts shouldn't have been on food or the stale wine mixed with volcanic ash, especially when many of her ilk began whispering and leaning forward in their pew. Brother Godbehir whispered another prayer, shaking his head in disgust. A dark brow raised inquisitively, but he wouldn't look at her. Only the Archbishop was droning on and on about....

"Twelve young brothers and sisters have not returned. The Cardinal has confirmed that their souls are suffering, that Vicar Eutrapelia has kept them from Mother Meness' embrace." Sol blinked and then glanced back at Brother Godbehir, at how there were tears in his eyes, and realized his prayer was one for mercy for the souls stuck in limbo. "I encourage all who seek to put our blood to rest to come up now and receive a blessing. Go to Montserrat before others arrive to get rid of what they're calling the Raven Queen. People will lose faith in the Church if it is found out that one of our own has taken control of Montserrat and its people." Brother Godbehir stomped his foot against the block of wood for all to rest their knees when it was time to pray.

It cracked all the way towards Solitude. She scooted an inch away from him. He had been her senior, and she had never known him to be the sort to have a temper in the Shadow Seminary. Everyone had always joked that his name should have been something akin to Brother Patience or Brother Gentleness. Saint Godbehir was written to be a devout follower of Mother Meness, who would use force to have others convert, because deep down, he cared about them finding the Mother's love at the time of their death.

Brother Godbehir was the first to get up, striding down the short center between the pews. He knelt at the foot of three steps, cupping his hands together and raising them to Archbishop Jubilee.

"In the name of the Mother," the Archbishop began, using one pointy black nail to cut the sign of Meness into her palm. Solitude could smell the blood, rich with the Mother's love. Blood from assassins still had that metallic tang, but the underlying sweetness always filled Sol's chest like pure, crispy mountain air. It always had her heart beating dangerously fast, like it were a spike of adrenaline. One of the first things young assassins were taught was temperance, but clearly, Vicar Eutrapelia had forgotten all about that. The Archbishop finished her blessing, pressing her palm against Brother Godbehir's forehead.

"Kill the False Prophet Gluttony." The Archbishop said, voice loud and clear in the small church that looked far worse on the outside, as if it were truly abandoned. "Repeat it, Brother."

"Kill the False Prophet Gluttony." She bent at her waist, beckoning for him to rise. He was weeping, his fists trembling. "I will set our Brothers and Sisters free from her wicked greed." Archbishop Jubilee smiled and nodded her head. The assassin before pivoted on his heel, his shadow writhing behind him in silent agony. Even Sol recognized the twist of regret and small tendrils reaching out for comfort. No one else got up from their seat.

"If he is successful, he will surely be meeting with Cardinal Solace." That was all Sol needed to hear to get her happy arse up and out of the seat.

---

By the time Solitude had traveled to Montserrat, the Calignous Church's worst fears had been confirmed by those who were out on the road. Bounty hunters, monster hunters, ever do-gooders, knights, mages, and apparently everyone else and their mother were heading to the town overtaken by a witch. Raven queen, raven witch, and "that raven bitch" were a few of the names given to Vicar Eutrapelia. Solitude saw a lot of the young ones returning, but those who were older and more sure of themselves never seemed to be seen on the road returning home.

It wasn't long after that 'witch' turned into 'monster' and then 'demon.' Raven monster, raven devil, raven demon, all began to be used alongside those who still uttered raven witch or raven queen. No one could say what she looked like; each story told could only depict the depravity, the horror, the blood. Solitude was getting rather bored with it, finding herself yawning behind her mask as she heard others whisper their plans of attack against the wretched creature of the night.

It was by chance that on the outskirts of Montserrat she found a shepherd who knew more than just rumors and stories. He is flock was small but healthy, and he carried his lambs against his chest as if they were his own children. Solitude found out that he had a son who had left the humble home to go into the stone walls of the castle in search of something grander.

"Our King was a boy. His father had died of fever, never remarried after the boy's mother passed after giving birth." The shepherd said gruffly through a curly brown and gray beard. His hands were calloused, but his touch was soft and tender against the lamb's forehead. "This one's a picky eater, still drinks milk." He told Solitude. "Been spoiling her with forbs, dunno how she'll do in the autumn season."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, now back to the story about the mysterious lady that appeared and started telling the boy King prophecies." The shepherd gave her a stony look as cold as the rain pattering overhead the barn's wooden roof. Solitude cleared her throat. "Please?" He sighed, still holding out more poppies and goldenrod for the lamb to nuzzle its velvety soft nose against his rough fingers, pale fuzzy lips pulling petals apart.

"I only know what my son told me. She came, preaching about the stars and moons, and, well, shit, it came true. There was a dry summer and a cold winter, there was a thief in the castle, and there was a bountiful harvest once he started prayin'." He shook his head, as if even after seeing it all with his watery brown eyes, he still was unable to believe it. "He built a church for her, she started hostin' meetings for everyone, every night. Anyone who worked in the castle had to go and listen to her speeches about salvation." There were no more flowers, and so the Shepherd rolled the lamb off his lap so she could get onto her legs. She was quick to poke her head into his basket, snuffling for any secret treats. He rose, much like Brother Godbehir had weeks ago.

"Someone tried to assassinate him—the king, not my son. She saved him. But that's when she started changing. Not saying she was ever, yanno, normal with all her fortune-telling, but she wasn't mad. Started avoiding the sun, started craving food that most wouldn't eat, no matter how hungry. Pig's heart and sheep's brain, chicken liver and rabbit gizzards." Shepherd paused and gave her a particular look. "Hey, maybe she's not a witch but a vampire. I should have told the others this."

"Others?" Solitude questioned, a slight edge to her voice. "What others?"

"You think you're the only one to find me? I told you, tomorrow night, I'm going to the castle. Never said I was going alone. There are others like you staying at my home." He gave her a toothy grin. "You get to go fight the vampire, I get to save my son. He's been at that castle too long; it's time he comes home."

"You're gonna use me as bait," Sol said plainly. Not the first time such a thing had happened to her.

"Yeah. Fair's fair. You're all using me for the secret passage into the castle. I'm the only one who knows about it other than my son and the King. She liked my sheep best, but the King had to keep it secret. It would be a bad look if anyone else knew about her particular appetite." Solitude didn't think it would be right to tell him that the Vicar's appetite was a whole lot worse now. Gluttony was a frightening thing, and if Solitude was remembering right, the Vicar always was too thin for her own good. "C'mon, you need a place to rest, don't you? 'bout time you meet the others." He patted his hands on his thick trousers, leading solitude away from the softness of the barn and out into the night.

The Mother was hidden behind heavy clouds, fat droplets of ice-cold rain smacking against her forehead. She held up an arm, but the wind changed, so the rain started pelting against her cheek instead. His home was about the same size as the barn, but two stories high. It had once been a home to families, but with time, children and grandchildren had moved away, finding the tending of sheep not to be the future they deserved. There were few windows, but those on the ground floor radiated with a warm orange glow. The shepherd swung open his door, wiping his feet on a coarse mat. Sol made sure she did the same, if only for respect.

She eyed the large, round table in the center, close to a hearth with a blazing fire. The Shepherd was right. There were others before her. The only difference from the others she had met on the road was that they were still alive.

---

TL;DR: Anyone who has a character interested in going against a frightening raven monster lady should join in. The shepherd's table is the meeting place for all characters to mingle, as the next night will begin with them all heading to the castle to see what horrors await.

art links: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/QKNLbZ + briscoepark photography on Twitter of Eilean Donan Castle

 

[Fray]

Fray chewed very slowly on a piece of stringy, dried goat cheese, eyes focused straight ahead. She was leaning in her chair, one arm slung over the backrest while the other guarded a plate of half eaten food. Wood creaked as she grew ever more relaxed. The salty white strands dangled from her mouth, wiggling with each mastication.

Suddenly, she gobbled up the rest of the cheese lightning quick. Inhaled it, like eels suctioning back into their holes. One of the children giggled. That earned them an elbow to the rib, and their small, round face went back to being silent and stern. Deciding to switch strategies, the Devahni drew closer, eyes flashing gold. Glimmers of orange and gold danced along her inky horns, mirroring the flames crackling within the hearth. She grinned and bared the sharp ends of her canines. Both children gulped as they fought to hold steady.

Then Fray took in a deep breath and blew into their eyes.

Little lashes fluttered and in an instant they were howling, screeching something something not fair something that’s cheating!

Fray let out a bark of laughter and threw her hands up in victory. “I am the winner! And you, the little losers. Come now, where are my prizes. And that’s one each, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Grudgingly, each child dug into their pockets and handed Fray a piece of cheese, as agreed upon prior. If the other adults in the room looked upon this exchange with any amount of disgust, either from how eagerly the mercenary debased herself to win at children’s games or devoured pocket cheese, Fray did not notice.

She was in the middle of swinging both children around, eliciting all manner of laughing and screaming, when the front door opened. Again. For the how many-eth time, she’d long lost track. Fray gingerly set the small ones back onto the ground. When the children ran up to greet their grandfather, she carefully and discreetly picked up the pieces of cheese that had fallen out of their pockets.

Fray was only half listening as she tucked away her stolen cheese into a secret pouch. Much of the night had passed this way, with people either showing up alone, or escorted by one of the shepherd’s relatives. She herself had been led here by one of the old man’s lovely nieces. Fieren, she was called, with tight curls of dark hair and the hardy figure of a woman used to a full day of labor. Fray had been idling around the edges of Montserrat, gleaning bits of gossip as she ambled back and forth along the road, when she noticed the distinct stride of a woman on a mission. Everyone else had been buzzing with news of a raven monster, unable to help themselves as they whispered and joked, argued and blustered. But Fieren only cut her way through, arms laden with supplies and something heavy strapped to her back. Even from a distance, Fray could pick out the hard, lean muscle of her forearms.

Without hesitation, the mercenary had strode over, offering a helping hand. She was a sucker for a pretty face and bad attitude, and hadn’t expected anything more than a flat rejection, or perhaps an acceptance and then some food or coin as thanks. But Fray found herself utterly surprised when the woman turned out to know more than all of those travelers combined. She was, of all things, the niece of the man whose son was now in need of rescuing.

Try saying that three times fast, she mused to herself.

Fray followed Fieren gleefully. The pragmatic woman kept sliding narrowed eyes her way, expecting impropriety at every turn. But, truly, Fray was on her best behavior, not even minding how heavy the damned sacks were, tale whipping back and forth all the way to the big house. And oh, what a big house it was. The merc was even more pleased to find out that she would not be relegated, as per usual, to the barn. She was given a proper seat at a proper table, with a proper meal to boot. The Devahni was so content with her good fortune that she almost forgot why she came here in the first place. Her stomach was full, her veins buzzing with ale, and her belt carrying the reassuring weight of secret cheese.

But then the newcomer arrived, and Fray found herself rudely reminded of what was to come.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod looked down at the corpse that lay twisted and mangled beneath him. Eyes pecked out. Liver ripped to shreds, and innards hollowed out. As if the work of a thousand angry sheers had turned to hands. Heart gone. Lungs missing. He drew his knife. Plunged the heavy tooth of its point into the sternum. Sawed and yanked through the cartilage so that he could split it open. Like some fucked up meat book.

"Took the heart clean," he said. "All of it, too clean," he muttered.

Heard the crook of a raven, off in the distance. Eye bolted up. Knife in his demon's hand. The blood that coated its pale surface, almost seemed to burn away.

Let them see us, Oh Bearer Mine, Belephus hissed. Too happy to shake there in the darkness of Garrod's mind. Chatoyant jewel, all gleam and purr fixed amidst gore that faded about it, like so much mist burned out by the sun. Let them find us, and let me EAT them.

A grumble from the Cazadore's throat. Wiped his knife clean on what seemed to be the last clean spot of a man's pants, after being torn to bits by a mad unkindness.

Garrod rose up. Sheathed his knife. Hefted his pack, and shouldered his monster slaying greatsword. Its clawed guard rest upon his shoulder.
--

He wasn't far behind the shepherd's trail. Nor the other that trailed along with them. Like a pale haired shadow, he stepped in behind them. Single eye scanned the room. Smell of blood and road on him, mixing with all the... cozy.

"Hello," he grumbled as he squint at them all. Armor plated, and geared up to the teeth.

Belephus just laughed inside his head. Hello, he says. Like he doesn't look every bit the deranged murderer he is. The white gauntlet, eerily clean despite the earlier butchering.

 

[Solitude]

Hunger gnawed at her gut, heavy and oily and sick. Solitude swallowed thickly, crimson eyes finding Brother Godbehir had his eyes on the blazing hearth. He ignored the children playing with the Deva, his shadow undulating strangely beneath him, a shape with wings instead of a large man on a stool too small for his size. His hair was greasy and unkempt, a beard growing in patches on a square face that was usually kept clean-shaven. He was muttering a prayer in the old tongue, reciting words that Solitude knew by heart but hardly understood the meaning of.

"Hey! Watch the shadow, man." Solitude whirled, looking up at a man with a shock of white hair. The smell of blood made her shiver, her head spinning as she got closer to the table where the assassin with shoulders like an ox ignored her. The shepherd didn't notice, welcoming the knight into his home regardless of how he looked or smelled. Maybe it was because the white hair reminded him of his lambs.

"Little lambkins, come here." He said to the children who had once been surrounding the devahni. Solitude looked over at her, bending low to pick up food off the ground, before her gaze went to the children running into the shepherd's arms. One child clung to his leg while he hoisted the other into his arms. Both of them with serene smiles, eyes glittering even in shadows. "I'd say we got ourselves a well-rounded group. Got some swords, got some daggers, got some... muscles." The man looked at Fray when he said this, and Solitude felt almost insulted, even if she felt bile rising in her throat like a snake that had coiled itself in her stomach and now wanted out. Bitten red lips moved in prayer, silent like her namesake.

"I'm Valois," The shepherd introduced himself. "Don't call me Val, that's my father's name, and he ain't dead yet. He's upstairs sleepin'. My niece, Fieren, the little lambkins are Narni and Corti. Fieren's husband, Pieve, is right there." He pointed at a man who was clearly in charge of dinner and doing the dishes. Even Sol could see how smooth and pale his hands were, fingers stretching out from his palm like spires on top of a hill.

Brother Godbehir rose abruptly, tossing the stool onto his side. His black gloved hands were in fists.

"Feeble beings of a lesser God." He hissed under his breath before storming upstairs. The hunger ebbed, no longer blurring Sol's vision, no longer having the thought of biting linger about shadowy corners wherever she looked. The children looked towards the devahni, preferring her black horns over a man made of nothing but insults.

"Fuck you, too," Valois said under his breath, setting down either Narni or Corti, Solitude couldn't remember which one he said was which.

"Dad, the children!" His niece scolded him.

"Oh, they heard ya say worse." He waved off Fieren's scowl with a rough hand, went towards the pot hanging above the hearth. "We got plenty extra. Muscles, c'mon, grab another plate. Nothing like introductions over a hot plate of boiled potatoes and whatever else Pieve has in here. Got some chicken, carrots, onions, and rice in here, I think. Not that I give a damn as long as there's a potato." Valois said and piled his plate high, righting the stool that had tipped over, and sat down. "Y'all better eat up. Tomorrow we're all skippin' dinner."

 

[Fray]

Fray’s brows shot up in surprise as a second figure pushed through the door and into the warmth of the main hearth. There was no mistaking that shock of white hair, nor the hard bitten air surrounding him. She grinned at his terse little greeting and said nothing, only moved her hand to cover one of her eyes while the other pointed straight at him.

It was fortunate she was already in this pose when Valois officially dubbed her the muscles of their rag tag group. She flexed, honoring them all with living proof.

Fray listened as the old man introduced the rest of his family, most of whom she had already met. At the mention of Pieve, she did, in fact, feel mildly peeved, but the unsuspecting man had given her a hearty plate of food not long ago, after which she had decided she couldn’t exactly fault Fieren for choosing a steady stream of home cooked meals over the chaotic and often bloody life of a mercenary’s mistress. Besides, their spawnlings were amusing, and Fray wasn’t a complete villain. Pieve could keep his doting head another day.

The Devahni’s wandering thoughts were rudely interrupted when one of the other guests–an older man of the religious variety–insulted them all before storming off.

She watched his angry, retreating form, then noticed Narni and Corti looking her way. They seemed scared, their momentary slice of peace ruined. Naturally, Fray’s solution was to jerk a thumb in the grumpy zealot’s direction and then wrap her hands around her own throat. She went cross eyed as she made choking sounds. The children giggled, even as their mother glared.

Fray, of course, was not entirely oblivious. She had picked up something odd about the last person in their makeshift crew, after the religious creep had left. Well, they were all odd, to be sure, and this stranger was no exception. But the woman (or at least what Fray assumed was a woman) seemed…somehow more at ease without the other man’s heavy presence. It was hard to gauge what this individual was feeling, their face partially masked and eyes inhumanly red. Not for the first time that evening, Fray wondered why she had yet to see this one eat. Not a morsel of food, no matter how scrumptious a scent wafted through the air.

Once everyone seemed more settled in, Fray helped herself to a second pile of food. She flopped down on a stool, speared a roasted potato with a fork, and brandished it in Garrod’s direction.

“Well then, One Eye. We meet again. And under such auspicious conditions,” she addressed him cheekily. “Bet you didn’t think I’d know that word. Fancy sharing a meal? Old Valois here is right about the potatoes.” And then she took a massive bite, chewing enthusiastically as the seasonings delighted her mouth, unbothered by the scalding temperature.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod stared flatly at Fray. Smirked when she covered up her own peeper to point at him. Shook his head. Nod. Arched a brow as miss red eyes turned on him quick. Green eye looked down to the floor.

Watch the shadow.

What a strange thing to say.

Looked back to her. All one eyed, and solemn. "I'll keep that in mind," waited for her to move, before he moved. Tracked her shadow.

Strange, these two, Oh Bearer Mine,

Strange.

As if he were anything near normal. Set his pack down by the wall. Greatsword and messer there with it. Introductions rolled in. "Garrod," he said at some point in the juncture.

"Feeble beings of a lesser God." tight with a rage that felt so familiar to the Cazadore.

It's your blood lust. All sharp toothed and jagged.

Stool screeched as it toppled over. Off the strange man went. With his face stained by tears.

The laughter of children brought his eye back to the table. Little lambkins. Valios had called them. Didn't the shepherds round these parts offer up their lamb? To their Lord. Sacrifices and tributes. Still, he found himself taking a bowl of the stew. Was never shy about the portion sizes. Took a seat when his bowl was sfull and steaming.

Well the, One Eye. We meet again...

Garrod laughed. "I fancy, Muscles," he added. Took a spoonful, laden with the chicken, and a chunk of potato. Blew air across the top of the steaming helping. Monched it down. "And you're right about being impressed," shook his head. Smiled. "Auspicious," stirred his bowl to vent the steam. Watched the spices and the stuffs mix. "You are starting to seem like my good luck charm," he said absently. Took a bite. Tried not to think on all they had uncovered in Farholm. Chewed. Passed. "Damn, I'm going to need the recipe for this,"

 

[Solitude]

What the heck did auspicious mean?

Auspicious.

It sounded like one of those words that really fancy people used. Or one of the words someone who did nothing but read books all day would use. Solitude debated on what it could mean. Was it about coincidence? She wasn't sure. Solitude also wasn't sure if it was a good sign for her. Was it auspicious that she would be beside Brother Godbehir, pretending she didn't know him, pretending that she didn't know he had wept at the chapel, pretending that she didn't want to devour him because sadness had a taste that was like salt -- it made everything better.

"Pieve gots the recipe, alright."

"I don't measure," Pieve said, timid and small and gentle like a lamb himself. The grandchildren started yipping and yapping about how they learned the difference between grams and centimeters at school. "Really," Pieve raised his voice only a little, "My recipe is no good. A pinch of that, two big pinches of this."

"It's damn good and you know it, Pieve, stop fishing for compliments!" Valois grunted. He gave an approving look to both the lady he called Muscles and the strange knight. "One Eye is your name, eh?" He said, looking towards Garrod. "Nice and simple, I like it."

"Really, the magic cooking potatoes is letting them cook in the cold water, low and slow." Pieve mumbled. His two children pushed him around until Fieren scolded them to behave. Their mother's words cut them deep enough to at least have them look a little sorry. "And lots of salt in the water." Pieve squeaked.

"Right, right. Now, you all see why I need you to come with me tomorrow night. Fieren gots more balls than me but she's a mama and needs to protect the little lambkins. I'm too old to give a fart about whether I die or not."

Solitude didn't grab herself a plate. Instead she hung awkwardly about the table, looking at the stool Brother Godbehir had sat on. What was he thinking?

"What's your name? Hey. I'm talking to you." Solitude looked up. His eyes were on her.

"Sol." She said. It wasn't a lie, it was mostly the truth.

"Muscles, One Eye, Sol, and grump Valois. My, what a team." Valois ate everything easy, as if he wasn't planning to use them all as bait. "That vampire got another thing coming, I'll tell you what." Solitude sat down on the stool after she rightened it up. She hunched over like Godbehir, trying to emulate what he was feeling. Her shadow laughed at her.

“I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.” Solitude mumbled. That sounded like something Brother Godbehir would say, all edgy and cool and mysterious.

"What?" Valois asked.

"Nothing." Sol said quickly, straightening up and trying to look anything other than suspicious.

"Humph." Valois finished his plate. "When we go tomorrow, I'll lead us into the castle. But I won't keep leading while we're inside. I think you all should split up. You find any gold, you can keep it. I won't say shit to no one about a little theft to a boy king."

 

[Fray]

Fray merrily mashed away at the food as the old man chattered on and the rest of the folk around her rearranged themselves.

Sol. An odd name for an odd duck. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being lumped together as a team, but at the very least, the merc did not mind working with One-Eye again. To this day, she couldn’t even tell stories of their last misadventure without being accused of lying. So much had gone afoul that day that it was hard to say whether the two of them being in the same room was a sign of ill omen or good fortune. And yet, here they were. Somehow still alive and ready to gamble on terrible odds once more.

What a pair of idiots they were.

This Sol, however…Fray found themselves paying more attention as time went on, having marked the others as known quantities. With the rest of the household being some variation of loud, warm, or animated, Sol stood out in her quiet stillness. Fray gave all pretense that she was still absorbed in her plate, even as her eyes darted in between bites, curiosity hidden behind requests for her cup to be refilled or shifting focus on whoever was speaking next.

That was how she caught the strange words Sol mumbled. Her Deva ears twinged, head cocking slightly to one side. Cryptic and downright eerie, that shit was. Like something said at a funeral, or by a poet drowning in sorrow. Fray had met quite a few of the latter during her tavern crawls. She’d even been employed by one, once. Gods, how they made for terrible drinking companions.

But then, Sol made the curious decision not to repeat her mysterious words to Valois. She looked not unlike a child caught slouching by their mother. Fray frowned at that through mouthfuls of potato. This duck was getting odder by the minute.

“I’m all for playing finder’s keepers,” Fray finally interjected, after washing down a mouthful of food with whatever had been poured most recently into her cup. “But I’ll be honest, old man. I don’t like the idea of splitting up. Especially when we don’t know exactly what we’re up against. Is that the entire plan? Or you got more details to spill. Because if you do, might as well spill them now.”

Frayed leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up onto an empty stool, sighing as the crackling fire warmed her back. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Attention split. He nod to one, then the other. Shoveling spuds and stew, and whatever else managed to get scooped up by his spoon.

"Low and slow, huh?" he chimed in at the mention of cold water. Watched the kids fuss. The mother laid down the law, and Pieve gave more of his secret.

"Salt, is it?" Garrod chuckled at that. "Called that love when I was growing up," shook his head as he stuffed his face with another spoonful. Mulled over the taters and stew as his jaw worked them. Savored the flavor. Real food. "Course, old man tended to dash a lil too much love into most the things he made,"

The conversation moved on. Sol. The name came up. Garrod's lone eye looked to whom it belonged. Flit to the old man. Then to Muscles.

Good. Much as she tried to play it dumb, the rogue mercenary, evident trouble chaser in perpetuity, she had the right sense of things. So, Garrod but jerked his head toward her in agreement. Ate spoonful after spoonful.

Grinned with the last gulp. Grabbed up his bowl. "And more potatoes," he said with a smirk. Stalked over to the kettle. Poured himself another steaming heap.

 

[Solitude]

There was a long silence that stretched on and on like hot mozzarella cheese. Sure, there were sounds like chewing and munching, a crackling flame, dry logs breaking and falling, young children screaming and shouting, hushed whispers and soft scoldings. But Valois shifted on the stool like a bad gambler; his face said it all. Long shadows flickered across his aging face, wrinkles more pronounced.

"We don't have time to split up, meet back up, all of that." With a wave and a scoop of her hand, Solitude wrapped it up. Packaging her thought neatly, like a sachet used for herbs inside a stew, the flavors would remain, but the leaves themselves wouldn't disintegrate. "Harder to tell when one of us dies, even harder yet to know when one of us finishes off the witch."

"Aren't ya seasoned mercenaries? You can handle a vampire. Look at Muscles, look at her, look, look." The old shepherd gestured grandly towards the Deva. If there was anyone that Valois fancied out of their group, it was her. "You think some skinny bloodsucker's gonna do her in? She'll have that vampire in a knot and doing pushups." More potatoes were shoveled into his mouth. Solitude regretted not getting her own plate, especially when the mysterious knight with an eyepatch was getting seconds. Potatoes, Potatoes....

"Look, Old Man," Solitude began, sitting up straight, suddenly serious. "You're not really being fair. Not all of us are here for gold." Some of them were there to clean up a mess and get a pat on the back.

"HMPH," Valois huffed. "HUMPH." He speared a potato without mercy, such force driven through the utensil that the big chunk of potato cracked in half. The fissure made two pieces, one bigger, one smaller. Valois chose the bigger piece to scoop into his mouth. "So you expect me to believe you've come here out of charity? What does saying the raven witch get all of you? Fame, another claim to your propaganda, experience, more money?" Pigeon blood red eyes rolled far into the back of her skull, far enough to where Solitude saw a pack of black dots congregating along the corners of her vision. They met eyes, the assassin and the shepherd.

"He plans on ditching us," Solitude smirked into the words. "He thinks we'll be bait." Valois's face was red. "I bet he plans to let us take on all the hard work, and he just searches for his son before running away along secret passageways."

"Cunt." Valois cursed. He had lost his appetite.

"Ooh, a compliment." Solitude cooed, smirk growing larger. Valois sighed, throwing his fork into his bowl, accepting defeat.

"Look, I don't know how to swing an axe unless it's to make firewood, I don't know all the motions, I don't even have the strength: the know-how, the gumption. I got none of that. But I am a humble," He looked to Fray, then Garrod, ignoring Sol. "A humble shepherd. That's it. My son, I only ever had one. I want him safe. Is that so wrong for a father to want their children to be alright, to be driven by the thought of their kid alive and well?" Pieve and Fieren were solemn and silent. Even the children knew to be quiet. "Is it wrong to want safety, is it wrong to want health, is it wrong to want the peace of knowing my boy is alive and well and not dead and discarded?"

Valois looked to Garrod. "Never oversalted his food. Stellan never had to worry if there was a fire, if the food was warm, or if he had a bed. He outgrew his shoes quickly as a boy; I would wear shoes older than him. And I was glad to do it. Eating his leftovers so I know he was full, buying him new clothes because he grew like a giant."

"He always was your favorite," Fieren muttered. Valois slammed a fist onto the wooden table. Plates and silverware clattered.

"All my children are my favorites. All my children I want..." Valois choked. "I want all my children to outlive me. I want them all happy. Even if they marry a... a...." His hand gestured towards Pieve, although not to him. "All I want is for them to be alive and well. I can't kill a vampire, but you all can. Wouldn't it make sense for them to go after you rather than me? I'd still be risking my life, you know, not for glory but for family."

 

[Fray]

A single, dark eyebrow raised at the odd duckling’s words. She voiced what was no doubt on all three of their minds. Fray was not expecting that; she thought maybe Sol was slow and her mind adrift in some other plane, given how disinterested she’d seemed up until then.

In response, the old man started laying it on rather thick, even for Fray’s tastes. It was true, her being an absolute specimen—a life of endless violence will get you that. But when it came to the Shroud and all of its ill-begotten mistakes, Fray knew better than anyone how useless her brute strength could be. She wasn’t a weaver, nor did she own any magically enhanced weapons. Hell, she didn’t even have a lucky trinket to be superstitious over.

Tampering with the Shroud got people killed. Tampering with the Shroud also saved her life about a dozen times over. So, while Fray was perfectly capable of cutting down most things thrown her way, even a weave-ignorant, meatheaded cretin such as she knew that there were limits to what she could do on her own.

She would have died in that forest without Lady Second’s help. And in those moonlit waters without Eilin’s. And in the tunnel of endless Blighted horrors without One-Eye’s, if she had survived the alley first.

Sol spoke again, and this time, Valois lost his temper. How quickly peace was undone by just a handful of words. The old shepherd threw everything he could at the red-eyed girl, but nothing he said rattled her. Instead, she continued to antagonize him, albeit with logic that even a simpleton like Fray could follow.

It made sense that he would want to find his son amidst all the distraction. But that didn’t mean his plan wasn’t completely fucking shitty.

Also, Sol’s impudence was amusing, as much as her comment on coin was mystifying.

Fray squirreled away another morsel of odd duck facts, choosing for now to focus on the more pressing matters of staying alive. It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand the old man’s motives. He just made it abundantly clear that he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was up against. To assume a set of swords and muscles, no matter how spectacular, could take on a creature as cursed as a vampire and come out unscathed spoke volumes of his naivete. And Fray, for one, was not about to gamble all their lives on the brainless scheme of a country bumpkin, no matter how desperate that bumpkin was to save his son.

“It’s not wrong to want your son back, old man,” Fray drawled as she let her chair fall back down on all fours. She turned to him, eyes flashing with thinly veiled impatience. “But it is wrong to throw us all in there as bait while you try—and likely fail—to get him back.”

She scooted up to the table, surveying the various utensils and bowls left on top of it. “Look, no one wants to go into this blind. If you can’t tell us the layout of this place, or where your son will most likely be kept, or even what this creature is capable of, then we have every reason to tell you your plan stinks worse than the ass end of a donkey.”

The children giggled at this, but their parents shushed them. Meanwhile, Fray plucked out four forks, a spoon, and a half empty cup. After clearing some space on the table, she threw the spoon in the cup and set it in the middle of the table.

“Let’s say your son is being held by the vampire.” She then placed three forks in front of the cup before tossing the fourth somewhere off to the side. “What are you going to do, sneak behind her and free him? What if he’s chained? Bewitched? Dead? Or worse, turned?” Fray could tell by the grim expressions on all the family’s faces that these were not new thoughts.

The Deva looked around at her companions. For better or for worse, they would be relying on one another to see this thing through. “So no, splitting up is not advisable. And if you’re going to attempt a rescue, you need better odds than blind hope and some poorly organized bait.” Fray moved the forks around, leaving only one facing the cup and spoon. The second and third, she placed behind some bowls and plates, near but out of sight. And the fourth, paired with the third, kept safely at its flank while still able to maneuver independently.

“Better to have one really juicy bait, while the rest are positioned in the shadows, ready to do whatever is necessary to carry out the rest of the mission.” At this, she grinned at One-Eye, though she did so humourlessly. She could still remember how charred and ruined he had ended up. And how there was no saving Fang, either. She’d had to commission a completely new messer after that debacle.

“And even better, you have one of us scout ahead first. But whether any of us are fit for that job or if we even have time is up for debate.”

Fray shrugged, tapping a sharp finger against wood. “Well, friends. What do we think?”

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod stabbed his fork through a fat potato. Still smiling from the grin Fray had shot his way. "I'll be the bait," he said easy. Picked the tato up, and waved the morsel at the farmer. "Though I'll need that recipe written down, on top of all the treasure we'll be looting," Chomped down the potato. Forked another.

Nerves.

Everyone had them. Worries. Anxieties. Had his hand trembling most nights where sleep failed to claim him. Aching, and raw. As if the gauntlet had never been taken off. And when he woke the next mornings to find it on. Smiling and gleaming as it always did.

He just laughed.

Little ease went a long way. Even when people were trying to pull one over on you.

The old man. Valois. He had his reasons. Good. Bad. Ugly. Who could say.

Too many pieces missing. And a vampire that needed killing. He grinned at that. Good blood there. Good parts. His right hand twitched. Encased in its strange pallid metal.

Garrod squeezed his pale hand tight into the tined, clawed, and toothed fist it made. Felt the nerves tremor and shake. Squeezed it the more as his brow furrowed, and his hair stood. Wrinkles on his face gathered with his held breath.

The shaking stopped.

He went on eating. Spoonful after seasoned spoonful.

"Red eyes," Garrod cut. As if nothing had happened. "You seem like a good scout," he said. Slurped down the last spoonful. "Minding the shadows and all," he said between chews. Looked to Fray. "You seem to be the brains of the operation," he winked. Looked to the stairs, up which the priest had vanished. "Does the priest do blessings?" he asked. Curious.

"A good blessing, can make all the difference," spoke like a fact. Leaned back on his chair. Took his hunter's knife from his belt, and laid the blade flat along his strange gauntlet's knuckles. "Holy Man's Tears pack power in them, far beyond any I'd be crying," he grinned wicked as he turned his blade. "Could give the bloodsucker some trouble they weren't counting on,"

No matter what came next. It was clear. The One-Eye was ready to hunt.