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Fable : Fall of the Guild	By : Samson Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 8222 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Brute's Home. Warrior Against Witch.
Fable : Fall of the Guild

Part III - "Lychfield"

By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson

Original Date Written: June 24, 2011

Brute stood near the bow of a small wooden ship, his hands gripping a steel railing in front of him. The ship rocked upwards and downwards, as it had continuously on the days-long voyage. Brute didn't own the ship, and was merely a passenger on it, having bargained his way on to the only average-sized wooden vessel. About a dozen hands were on deck, including the captain, but excluding Brute. Brute still wore the clothes he had had on when he had left the Guild: a faded green shirt with blotches of white along it, dark olive pants to go with it, and a belt that was loosely done around his waist, the belt made of black leather. His sandy hair was, by then, a little salted from ocean water that routinely sprayed up into the air and, more often than not, over the edges of the boat. His deep blue eyes scanned over the land quickly approaching. It was Knothole Glade, his home. He had finally returned, after his years at the Guild.
He had grown into a fledgling Hero, and certainly his family would welcome him with wide arms and wider smiles, proud of what he had made of himself. A smile was on his face as the boat drew closer and closer to a nearby busy dockyard. It wasn't raining, which was peculiar to Brute; Witchwood, the name for the forest that encompassed much of the island's space, was very prone to raining. It rained so often in Knothole Glade that it was considered unusual to see more than a couple of days without a downpour. The only time of year it didn't rain was in the winter, and even then, they got something similar; instead of rain, they received hail and slushy mush on the ground. When it came to using an axe, the most skilled of warriors always came from Knothole Glade. Knothole Glade, residing within such a dense forest, had it's main export to be wood, which the town traded to all the farthest reaches of Albion. While not all Knothole Glade residents were warriors, almost all of them had used an axe of some kind to chop wood at least once in their lives, and so at least had an inkling of an idea as to how to use it for combat.
Because of that, all of the town's warriors had a natural preference for axes, using their experience chopping wood to cleave the heads of bandits and balverines, when necessary. Knothole Glade was frequently under attack from the bandit clans and balverines that lived throughout the island, and while the town couldn't exactly be considered "safe" or one that could provide an easy upbringing, the town's own defenders did what they could, and Heroes frequently made trips to the town to help defend it, either for glory or for simply wanting to do good, their honour compelling them to act. Whether it be a child's ability to ignore the bad in their own situation, or simple nostalgia, Brute still loved the town he was born in. Brute was no different from the warriors of his town.
His love was for the axe, and it's ability to rip and blow through even the thickest and strongest of animals, balverines included, had even more of his fond affection. As the boat he was riding on, the Felon, found a spot in the busy and crowded dockyard, the anchor was dropped overboard, keeping the ship in place. For added security, several dockhands jumped down over the edge of the boat, landing on the dock nearby. Ropes were thrown to them, and the boat was fastened to the dock. That was when Brute grabbed his pack and jumped over the ship's bow, landing with a heavy crash on the dock, going down to a knee with a hand down against the dock to steady himself.
His brow was a little furrowed as he stood back up, but there was a little smile on his face. The sun was high in the sky; he knew it must've been around noon. The dockyard was filled with those either anchoring their ships, offloading goods, or preparing to take off back into the sea. Very few were passenger ships, almost all were merchant vessels. After days at sea, Brute felt strange to be back on land. It felt too static, too stationary. Inside his own body, he still felt the rocking waves of the sea, and because of that, his balance was a little wobbly now that he was back on land. He ignored the sensation however, despite how powerful it was, and made his way through the dockyard until he was passing between a few large storage warehouses, making his way towards the streets of Knothole Glade. As he made his way between the warehouses, he suddenly heard what sounded like a loud horn being blown, not too far away.
It sounded like it was coming from the center of Knothole Glade, about two kilometers down from the dockyard. Brute's eyes widened for a moment before memories filled him up. The horn was only blown to alert the entire town of either a bandit raid, or a balverine attack. It was a massive thing, and sat attached to the chieftain's large home. Coloured like sand, a thick border of green went around the large end, the border decorated with designs like trees. It took a lot of lung-power to blow the horn, and if it ever sounded, people were to take shelter or take up arms. At the sound of the horn, Brute knew that many of the more skittish merchants were likely to leave the dock and at least sit out close at sea for the sound of the horn to herald safety once again. The rest of the merchants wouldn't bother going anywhere. Brute felt that, as a freshly trained Hero, he could do much good for his people and their defence. He had had to barter with some of his possessions to get to Knothole Glade; namely his weapons provided by the Guild, along with his apprentice outfit.
His supplied food, he had eaten on the trip, but his potions and other miscellaneous supplies, he had been able to keep. His pack looked a little silly on him, as it simply didn't match with his rather bulky and muscular form, but he kept it on regardless of the looks he would occasionally receive from the ship's regular hands. When he consciously realized that the horn could only mean immanent danger, he began to race away, running like the wind towards the center of Knothole Glade. Knothole Glade, sitting in a forest, was naturally surrounded by thick trees. The trees of Witchwood were hardier than the ones of Greatwood, though not quite as thick or tall. The leaves in the trees were large and flat, while the trees of Greatwood had smaller leaves that fell to the ground easier.
Most of the trees of Darkwood didn't even have leaves, so they were never able to provide a decent comparison to either forest. The houses of Knothole Glade were all made of wood, the houses formed out of long logs. The grass of the island was tough and slightly wider than most other places. Up above, the clouds began to grow dense and dark, signalling rain. Breathing only slightly deeply by the time he thundered into the center of the town, Brute instantly saw what the problem was. Between a bandit raid and a balverine attack, the worse of the two was taking place. Balverines had swarmed through the front gates of the town, and had ran into the village square.
The village square was a large clearing, just in front of the town's main gates. The gates, left open, had obviously been the way in for the balverines. Nearby, the blacksmith's open shop revealed a scene of carnage. The blacksmith had tried to take up arms against the intruders, and had been torn apart, with two limbs missing along with most of his innards. Three others were inside the open-aired shop, equally brutalized. Several corpses lay in the square. Every building nearby had it's doors shut and locked. Several of the town's few official guards were already inside the square, battling the infernal creatures as well as they could. A large stone statue stood in the middle of the square; Brute knew it to be of Scarlet Robe, a legendary Hero and native to Knothole Glade who had been quite famous for her skill in slaying balverines. She stood in a simple shirt, skirt, and boots, though she wore a hooded robe over it, and wielded a massive battleaxe almost as tall as herself.
The people of Knothole Glade were proud that Scarlet Robe had been one of them; seeing the balverines to be prowling around by her statue was an affront that could not be tolerated. Brute barely took in what the balverines looked like, seeing the fearsome creatures for the first time with his own eyes. As a child, his mother had always whisked him off to the safety of the cellar should a balverine attack take place, so he truly had no idea what balverines looked like aside from what he heard in stories. They were a little taller than humans, though they all seemed to be hunched over, and weren't displaying their true height. Their bodies were covered in lean and toned muscle, though some displayed thicker and more brutish muscles. Their skin was all dark, almost black, yet only appeared to be a very dark shade of gray. On their backs and on most of the length of their limbs, they were covered in black fur. On their chests, stomachs, hands, feet, and face, however, there was no fur.
Their hands and feet were larger than a human's, and each of their fingers and toes ended in a long, curved claw. Their teeth were long and sharp, and their eyes were cast over in total darkness, making them appear almost demonic. Their faces were much like a canine's, long and pointed, though they didn't have a nose like a canine's. They had almost no nose to speak of, just two black slits for nostrils. There were half a dozen of the creatures, all sitting around in the front square, feasting on the bodies of slain townspeople. One of them let out a long howl as the Knothole Glade guards drew their weapons and approached. Brute wasn't afraid of the balverines. His eyes spotted the blacksmith's weapon, still lying by his corpse in his shop; it was a large metal battleaxe, similar to Scarlet Robe's own. It didn't appear to be iron, yet didn't have the bright shine of steel. Brute knew that if he could only get his hands on the weapon, he could fight the balverines back.
"Shut the gates! Don't let any more inside!" One of the guards shouted just before a balverine attacked him. The balverine roared ferociously for a moment before suddenly sprinting for the guard on all fours. It ran with inhuman speed, blasting into the guard so hard it slammed him straight down to his back, on the ground. The guard was helpless as the balverine began to ram it's claws into him, tearing through his metal armour like it was paper. Some guards ran to shut the gates to the town, the others attempting to either help the attacked guard or began to attack the rest of the balverines. Brute began to run for the blacksmith's, moving as quickly as he could, knowing time was of the essence. A balverine roared before running over to him, swinging an arm for his throat, He ducked and continued running, the balverine tenaciously chasing after him. He barely managed to keep ahead of it as he ran into the blacksmith's shop.
He grabbed the blacksmith's battleaxe. It was long and heavy, almost two-thirds of Brute's height in length. The handle was a long pole of steel. The two blades at the end of the axe were thick and long, covered in wide etchings similar to the roots of a tree. The bladed ends of the axe had a slight blue tint to them, something that Brute more or less forced himself to ignore, at least for the time being. Other than that, though, the weapon was very plain and unornamented, and didn't exactly look very impressive as far as other grand battleaxes were concerned. Still moving forwards, he spun around just before his back crashed to a wall inside the blacksmith's shop. The balverine rammed into him as he raised the long handle of his new weapon, the balverine's raised hands grabbing his weapon, it's claws digging in to his hands. It roared, inches from his face, it's teeth dripping blood. Because of it's powerful roar, droplets of red from it's teeth flew to Brute's face, and the powerful stench of death blasted along it's breath against his face.
Gritting his teeth, he shoved back against the balverine, causing it to take two steps back to steady itself. Brute quickly stepped up to it and bashed the blunt end of his battleaxe, the pommel end, right into the balverine's chin. It took another step back, dazed. Moving as fast as he could, Brute swung the battleaxe around, his eyes wide as he swung for the balverine's neck. It moved with unnatural speed as it jumped back, jumping several feet in a single bound. It roared at him, furious, seeming angry over his attack. It took a few sprinting steps forwards before suddenly jumping in the air, diving for him with it's arms out and it's jaws wide. Brute shouted in rising anger and adrenaline as he swung the battleaxe downwards. It crashed into the top of the balverine's skull, almost cleaving it in two, though it didn't stop the creature's approach. It still rammed into him and knocked him to the ground. Dead, however, it posed no further threat. Brute, panting slightly, pulled the balverine from his own body, getting up and tearing the bloodied battleaxe out of the animal's head. He began to shake slightly as bloodlust rose inside him. He eyed the balverines out in the front square, his eyes gleaming murderously.
He raced back out into the square, seeing that Knothole's guards were proving ineffective against the balverines. A few men and women were just then racing out to fight the balverines, axes in hand, though the balverines made short work of them, sinking their claws and teeth into their bodies and spilling their blood. The guards were fighting madly just to stay alive by then, the furious balverines attacking them viciously and without any shred of mercy. Brute raised up his battleaxe, shouting madly as he brought his battleaxe down like the reaper's scythe, cleaving off the left arm of a balverine. It howled madly in pain for a moment before a guard ran it through on his blade, stabbing it in the stomach at least three times before the creature finally died. Brute held back a shout as he felt pain explode multiple times across his back, the warrior holding his battleaxe out as he swung around. A balverine had been behind him and had swung it's claws at his back, but his axe cut it across it's belly, spilling it's innards.
Terrifyingly, the creature continued to fight, it's maddened eyes staring at Brute with hatred and hunger. An arrow struck the balverine in it's right eye before it could attack Brute again, however, and the balverine fell dead. Brute heard a feminine shout before a balverine howled in pain. Brute looked over and saw a woman join the fray, helping the remaining guards fend off the last three nearby balverines. She was fairly tall for a woman, around his own height. She had short, ruffled hair, kind of like a boy's, yet having a very feminine sheen and bounce to it. To his confusion, her hair was a deep shade of purple, with streaks of lighter purple going along her short bangs. Her face was remarkably beautiful, augmented by makeup; she had black eyeliner on, along with a bit of pink eyeshadow. On her cheeks, she had a bit of pink blush. Her lips were pink with lipstick, and on the left side of her upper lip, near her chin, she had placed a tiny black dot of makeup.
For some reason, the tiny black dot looked incredibly sensual to Brute, yet he couldn't quite figure out why while his mind was so fogged with battle. Her skin was light like his, though she had a bit of a bronze tan, as if she spent many long days out under the sun. Her eyes were a crisp blue shade, bright and almost appearing to have an inner light of their own. She had a black leather jacket on, undone and open. The right sleeve of the jacket was missing at the elbow. Around the woman's bare elbow, a red strip of cloth was tied off, the strip vivid and standing out quite obviously. Around the woman's right wrist and part of her forearm, there was a steel vambrace, glittering with black gemstones set in the sharp archaic runes of a long-forgotten language. The end of the jacket's left sleeve was split until not too far past the wrist, allowing the sleeve to open slightly and move around. On the back of the jacket, there was a large emblem of some kind, but Brute couldn’t make it out, not in the heat of battle.
Beneath the jacket, the woman wore a striped shirt, the stripes thick and alternating between white and navy blue. She wore a pair of tight black pants, the belt to the pants being a thick strip of deep red cloth, very much like the one tied around the woman's right elbow. Pushed between the woman's belt and left hip, there was a long and thin scabbard for a sword, the scabbard black leather with multiple rings of bright gold around the center of it's length. The woman wore large black boots, her pantlegs reaching over the boots and hiding them up until the woman's ankles. The bottoms of the boots appeared to be some kind of dull metal, and likely weighed the boots down a little, perfect for heavy kicks. The woman wore a few necklaces, but Brute couldn't discern what they looked like, not right away. The woman held only a saber in her right hand. The saber had a polished golden handle, just slightly curved away from the woman and towards her adversary, the handle having an ornate basket hilt to protect the woman's hand against enemy blades.
The basket hilt looked like multiple twisting and weaving tendrils of gold, all running down in front of the handle until they connected to the round pommel. The blade of the saber was double-edged and bright, shining steel, though not very thick or wide. The blade was quite straight, and the point glinted ominously in the darkening daylight over the town. As a balverine struck out as her, she swung her saber over blindingly fast, slashing against the creature's forearm and knocking it's attacking limb to the side. A balverine jumped up high, disappearing from sight for a second before suddenly landing with a crash behind a guard. It swung the both of it's arms at the man in an enraged flurry, destroying his armour in mere seconds, tearing up his back and sending the man down to the ground in shouts of pain. As the third balverine was about to descend on the fallen guard, Brute ran over and swung his immense battleaxe right down at the balverine's neck, utterly decapitating it when his blade bit into the balverine's tough hide.
The woman with the sabre unleashed a quick combo of slashes at the balverine's chest before it swung at her, slashing across her left arm so powerfully that blood sprayed out, the woman being spun around as she cried out in pain. The balverine was about to pounce at her unprotected backside when Brute charged for it, raising a foot and kicking it right in it's left hip. The balverine stumbled for a moment before roaring at him furiously. A clap of thunder sounded out above before the dark skies suddenly began to pour down rain. The rain of Witchwood was heavy, and the region was often besieged with rain for hours at a time, with only brief breaks in-between. In the dark of the rising rainstorm, the eyes of the balverines suddenly began to let off an eery yellow glow. The balverine Brute had protected the woman from charged at him with animalistic panting. Before he could act, it had rammed into his stomach, knocking the wind from him.
It threw the battleaxe from his hands, knocking him down to the ground, pouncing over him. Brute, his eyes wide, stared up at the creature as it raised it's hands. It's mouth wide with it's bloody teeth on display, it's ragged and unpleasant breath came against his face for only a second before it swung it's hands down. Brute raised his fists, punching the balverine's elbows, forcing it's hands up past his face. It's claws stabbed into the earth, the balverine's attack had missed. It had been about to snap at his face with it's mighty jaws when Brute kneed up into it's stomach. His knee planted against it, he forced it back a few inches, then using his other leg to kick it from himself. His heart was pounding in his chest as he jumped to his feet. The balverine swung an arm at him, but he jumped back, dodging it. His battleaxe out of reach, he ran to a nearby guard's corpse, pulling the hand axe out of the guard's dead grip. He swung his weapon at the balverine a few times, but it did as he did, jumping out of the way.
Eventually, it jumped up high into the air, disappearing. The woman noticed this even as she fought the remaining balverine, shouting "Behind you!!" Brute glanced over his shoulder, seeing the balverine to silently stand there, already raising it's deadly claws. A final remaining guard ran out from the side, courageously ramming into the balverine, smashing it to the ground. The balverine, much stronger than the human guard, quickly slashed the guard to ribbons, even beginning to feast on his body as if not even realizing that hostile enemies were still nearby. Brute ran over and swung his hand axe down into the balverine's back, causing blood to spurt out. The balverine howled in pain, swinging an arm over, bashing into Brute and causing him to stumble backwards with a grunt of pain. The woman with purple hair eventually stabbed her saber into the balverine's throat, killing it. Turning her attention to the final balverine, the one that had just stunned Brute, she ran over to assist him.
He threw his hand axe at the balverine, which it, surprisingly enough, swatted out of the air with an agitated growl. Brute ran for his battleaxe, but the agile creature beat him to it, clawing at it and launching it off in the air for a good three feet, keeping it out of his reach. The balverine roared again, swinging a hand at Brute's face, Brute barely dodging an attack that surely would've left him with lifelong scars. The woman reached the balverine, swinging her saber down at it's right shoulder, slashing across it's skin. The balverine swung a hand at her, the woman diving and rolling to the side, dodging the attack. She grinned and taunted the balverine, saying "Here, doggy! You missed me, hah hah!" The balverine growled and spun around, lashing out with it's claws. The woman deftly dodged the attack. Leaning backwards with extreme flexibility, she planted her free hand against the ground, pulling her legs up. Doing a sort of backflip, she landed comfortably on her feet, holding her sword up.
She grinned playfully, saying "Missed me again, mutt! Not so fast, are ya?" The balverine roared furiously, diving forwards for the woman. Grabbing her around the waist, it obviously surprised her with it's speed, as her eyes went wide. They crashed against the ground, Brute racing for his battleaxe. The balverine crashed a hand down against the inside of the woman's right upper arm, painfully trapping her arm, and by connection, her saber, against the ground. The woman punched the balverine across the face, though it only responded by snapping it's jaws at her forearm, the woman yanking her arm back before the beast could sink it's teeth into her. Brute reached the balverine then, the creature raising it's glowing eyes from the woman. Brute brought his battleaxe swinging down for the balverine's spine, his battleaxe biting so deeply into the creature's body that it went limp. Totally paralyzed, it simply collapsed against the woman. Brute was panting heavily as he tore his battleaxe out of the creature's spine, the woman crawling out from under the creature. When the woman was away from it's underside, Brute raised his weapon and mercilessly brought it down on the balverine's head, vertically splitting it in two.
"Not bad for a regular townsperson." The woman said pleasantly, panting slightly. Brute looked at her, raising an eyebrow. He pulled off his pack and reached within, pulling out his Guild Seal. He flashed it at the woman before throwing it back in his pack. The woman grinned at him, pulling the right side of her jacket to the side, showing him the interior. Clipped to the inside of her jacket sat a Guild Seal, just like his. Brute smirked, still panting as he said "Should've figured...You were a Hero." The woman sheathed her saber, saying "Name's Pyre. Yourself?" Brute took in a deep sniff through his nose before saying "Brute. Call me that." Pyre raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly, daintily holding a hand out towards his battleaxe for a moment as she said "Big, tough, and armed with a weapon as tall as a normal person. Yeah, you look like a "brute", all right." Brute grinned slightly, taking the woman's words as a compliment.
A second later, the town's massive horn sent out it's bellowing call, signalling that all was safe once again. Glancing towards the nearby gate to Knothole Glade, Brute realized that the way into the town had already been shut by the guards, locked securely and defended once again. Brute looked back to Pyre, finally looking to her necklaces. She wore four, all different than the last. One was comprised of a black cord with a flat pendant shaped like a bird, a small sapphire set for the bird's eye. The second was longer than the first, and hung lower down on the woman's chest. It was comprised of a white cord, along with a silver pendant shaped like a snake coiling around a cross of some kind. The third necklace was as long as the first, and was comprised of brown thread suspending a small charm carved out of a strangely dark blue wood. The charm was of a peculiar symbol Brute didn't recognize. The fourth necklace was shorter than the first and third, and was made up of a bright silver chain holding up a golden hoop.
"Like my necklaces?" Pyre coyly asked. Brute met her eyes once again, saying "Yes, actually." Pyre smiled, saying "Good thing you said "yes", otherwise I'd be forced to think you were looking elsewhere." Brute realized that Pyre might've thought he was staring at her chest, when in truth, he hadn't even noticed her curves up until that point. She had a fairly sized bosom, pushing against her shirt. Her hips were a little curvy, but Brute couldn't make out if her rump was actually curvy or not. Brute raised an eyebrow, narrowing a single eye, saying "No, not looking there. Just at the necklaces." Pyre grinned slightly, as if with amusement, but her grin quickly died as the village chieftain approached the two of them.
The chieftain was a burly man with a rather hairy body, thick brown hair covering his arms, legs, and chest. He wore green shorts that had connected straps like overalls, which went up over the chieftain's shoulders for support. The outsides of his arms were covered in tribalistic tattoos, and many more were on his stomach. He had his long, dark brown hair tied into a braid behind him, with his long moustache tied into small braids of it's own. He looked to be in his early fourties. He grinned happily and held his hands out and up, almost in praise. "Ohhh, thank Avo! Two Heroes in Knothole Glade, just as the attack starts! We are so fortunate!" Pyre looked at the chieftain in confusion. "Fortunate? Many of your guards were killed, good man. As well, several of your townspeople died, along with the blacksmith." Just then, the homes nearby began to open up, the occupants peeking outside to see if the danger had really passed.
The chieftain said "Yes, and they will be mourned...But in balverine attacks of the past, Knothole Glade has almost been wiped out numerous times. They only attack every few months, and typically, many more are slain before it's over. To have you kill them all after only a handful of people die, without the balverines turning any of them into even more balverines, is an acceptable loss to our people." Brute knew that the chieftain spoke the truth. He felt relieved, too, to see that only a few people had died, when balverine attacks typically claimed many more victims. Pyre, however, didn't seem to feel the same way. She gazed forlornly at the nearby corpses for several seconds, the rain beginning to wash away the heavy amounts of blood, letting it seep into the ground. "Is there anything I can do to reward the two of you?" The chieftain asked. That's when Pyre's head snapped over, a glittering and almost greedy look to her eyes.
"Cold, hard, gold would be appreciated." She said, a smile creeping on her face. Brute raised an eyebrow at Pyre for a moment before holding up his battleaxe, saying "I'll take this as payment enough, thank you." The chieftain nodded at Brute, turning his attention to Pyre, saying "Gold, I can pay you. Let's head on up to my home, we can discuss an appropriate reward." Pyre grinned, and began to follow after the chieftain as he turned and headed away. Brute, still gripping his bloodied battleaxe, watched the chieftain and Pyre walk away for a few seconds before he looked away. He decided to return to his family for his desired reunion, setting off down a nearby street...
Timoteo, Darrah, and Bianca had continued to walk for the rest of the day. After the hobbes, they encountered not a single hostile creature. Timoteo and Bianca had been able to subtly hold hands for several hours, as while the trio spoke to one another along their trip, Darrah didn't seem to look over at them much, preferring to look straight ahead as they spoke. When it came time to stop and finally eat and rest, however, Bianca and Timoteo were forced to release hands. The group got another fire prepared, and Bianca removed her cloak and boots before slinking off into shadows, hunting for animals. Darrah and Timoteo were left alone at their campsite.
As they waited for Bianca to return with dinner, they passed the time by quickly getting out of their armour and setting down their packs, followed by some talking, sitting beside one another in front of their fire. "Darrah, what exactly did your blacksmith commission entail?" Timoteo asked, starting off their conversation. Darrah raised an eyebrow for a moment, perhaps surprised by his curiosity, relaxing a moment later. "Oh, um...A suit of chainmail, specifically in my size. That'll go under a full suit of plate armour, including a winged great helm, pauldrons, gauntlets, a fauld, some greaves, the cuirass itself, winged sabatons, tassets, culets, the whole package, really. Along with that, my own unique longsword, and a personal kite shield to go with it. The kite shield will have the heraldic crest of my family, and the longsword will be a beautiful thing to behold." Timoteo's face wasn't entirely impressed as he asked "...And all that cost almost thirty thousand gold pieces?"
Darrah glanced at him, a small and slightly amused smile on her face as she said "Believe it or not, a full suit of armour can cost a ridiculous amount of gold. Throw in personal weapons, and the price only gets jacked up even higher." Timoteo raised an eyebrow before asking "You know your family crest? I don't think my family has one..." Darrah gazed into the fire as she said "Yeah, I know my crest...It's important to my family, and means much to us. If I'm going to be a Hero of Strength, I'm going to want to dress in plate armour, like a knight. If I'm going to dress like a knight, I want my family's crest on my shield. It's only proper, that's what all respectable knights do. Wearing one's family on one's shield is just the way things are done." Timoteo was quiet for a moment before asking "Darrah? What's your alignment?" Darrah sniffed slightly before saying "That's hard to say. If someone can flat-out tell you their alignment without any thought involved, it'd almost seem like they were just playing at being a Hero, and didn't realize what their real values were."
She began to reach in her pack before softly saying "I don't think neutral people ever realize they're neutral, because they evenly feel tugged at good and evil. So if you're confused about yourself, there's no need to worry." Timoteo felt a little surprised. It seemed like Darrah was calming down, becoming more thoughtful. This was the side of her he liked, the side she hadn't been showing the last few days. The calmer side, the more relaxed side. He lightly said "I guess...Are you neutral?" Darrah pulled out what remained of her loaf of bread, the loaf having been reduced to just a few slices. "No, I don't think so." She said lightly, pulling out a jar of jam, along with a small knife. "Why not?" Timoteo asked. Darrah pulled out her slices of bread as she said "Because I can't stand to see someone hurt someone undeserving and get away with it. I value loyalty and honesty. I want to stand up for the right thing, and stomp down wastes of space like bandits and traitors and kinslayers.
Those are all honourable qualities found in the most pure and beloved Heroes, the kinds of Heroes immortalized in stories." Timoteo curiously asked "Do you want to be immortalized in stories?" Darrah chuckled lightly, smiling a little. "Well, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it? I mean, I'd be remembered for as long as the story went around. Maybe I could inspire someone to be like me, some day?" Timoteo shrugged lightly. Darrah suddenly handed him the sandwich she had been preparing, using the last of the slices of bread to make just one more. "To tide you over until Bianca gets back." Darrah said, explaining. Timoteo nodded, feeling a little surprised, saying "Oh, thank you..." As Timoteo took a bite of his strawberry jam sandwich, he asked "Do you really dislike Bianca after all this time? She explained why she did what she did, and I've accepted it." Darrah's brow furrowed. "I don't trust her. If she killed Travis over a bracelet, who's to say she won't kill us over something equally as stupid? Or, since she seems to like you so much, who's to say she won't kill me over something insipid?"
Timoteo muttered "Well, you haven't exactly been treating her like she's welcome..." Darrah glanced at Timoteo, her brow furrowing more with annoyance. "Because, as far as I'm concerned, she's not. We were getting along just fine without her. She was exiled from the Guild, for Avo's sake. Weaver said it himself, probably nobody's ever been exiled before. That means we should be avoiding her like a plague." Timoteo narrowed his eyes, looking over to Darrah, saying "Are you so hostile with Bianca simply because she was exiled? Just because she was told to leave, doesn't mean she's suddenly an evil person that needs to be avoided." Darrah looked over to him, her eyes widening a little. "Tim, her eyes are red! Red! And her skin is pale like gargoyles! She's evil, those two changes come over evil Heroes! How can you ignore that?" Without thinking, Timoteo snapped, saying "Because she treats me with kindness and respect!"
Darrah seemed a little surprised, her brow no longer furrowed, her eyes remaining a little wide. He looked away from her with a sigh, and Darrah simply began to gaze into the fire. Timoteo shook his head lightly, continuing to look away from Darrah. "...She treats me better than you have, the last little bit. She treats me like a friend. The kindness I showed her, years ago...I guess she's trying to show it back to me, now. I guess...I guess I can ignore her skin tone and eye colour. Gray and red don't bother me, I'm not repulsed by them. And, even if she got them from doing something deeply evil, it doesn't matter to me. Alignment means nothing to me! She's a friend...I don't care about how she looks or what she's done, she's done nothing but good for us, so far." Timoteo noticed as he stopped speaking that Darrah wasn't making any sound. It didn't even sound like she was continuing preparing her second sandwich. "And so what if she gave me a necklace? It's just a necklace, Darrah. I don't know why you got so damn worked up over it."
Timoteo's voice grew obviously agitated as he said "To tell you the honest truth, I had been thinking about leaving you behind after Lychfield. Give you some time to cool off and remember how we were friends. I was going to go with Bianca, she's got some business to take care of, and she doesn't mind my company. You could use that time to calm the hell down." Suddenly, there was a sound Timoteo recognized, yet not from the voice that produced it. It was light and quiet. It was sad, and made his eyes widen. It was a little sob, and it had come from Darrah.
Looking over to Darrah, he saw her eyes to be screwed shut, her teeth grit slightly. Several tears had already flowed down her cheeks, her head hanging down slightly. "D-Darrah?..." Timoteo said with surprise and rather deep worry. In all his time knowing her, he didn't think he had ever seen her cry, not once, except for the time he had very nearly died against the bandits in the picnic area. He felt a cold sinking sensation in his stomach, and regret burst in his mind. He realized that his words must've been harsher than he had realized, and that he had actually, albeit unintentionally, hurt Darrah. He raised a hand to her left shoulder, gently touching her, saying "I...I didn't mean to-" Darrah turned her head away from him, and the gesture felt like a slap against Timoteo's face. His mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes widened a little bit more, but eventually, a resigned look came over him, and he took his hand from her shoulder.
He looked back to the fire. He heard her lightly sob once or twice, looking over to her, seeing her back tremble as she forced herself to take quiet, weeping breaths. They were silent for almost a minute before Darrah looked back over to him, finally. In that time, he had rested his unfinished sandwich on his nearby pack, not feeling up to finishing it. Darrah's eyes were red from crying, as well as a little puffy. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her bottom lip quivered for a moment every few seconds as she said "Tim...I know I...Might not always make it obvious..." Timoteo looked over to her eyes, his face worried and regretful. Darrah raised her eyebrows, saying "...But...I want you around, with me...I...You're my best friend, and...I just don't want to lose you...I'm s-sorry..." Timoteo was so moved by Darrah's words that he had to blink once or twice to keep his eyes from watering up. He reached his arms out slightly, raising them up around her.
Darrah shut her eyes, her bottom lip quivering heavily in response to her heartfelt apology, fresh tears running down her cheeks. She came closer to him, bringing her face to the right side of his neck, leaning against him. Timoteo hugged Darrah and held her close, feeling Darrah wrap her arms around his waist. She wept for a minute or two before a series of sniffles signalled the end of her outwards sadness. When her tears had ended, though, she didn't pull away from him, nor did he release her. The two sat in silence for several minutes, simply listening to the crackling and popping of the fire. "Oh, I'm exhausted after that..." Darrah mumbled against the side of Timoteo's neck. Timoteo smiled a little, wanting to turn the situation more cheerful, a little jokingly saying "I don't doubt it. Bursting into tears can be a little tiring." Darrah opened her mouth and drew in a short breath, as if to speak, but then she stopped herself.
She exhaled lightly, and closed her mouth. She was silent for a moment before lightly mumbling "...Yeah...Especially when you promised yourself as a kid that you'd never do something like that..." Instead of questioning Darrah on why she'd make such a promise to herself, he simply said "...I'm sorry for making you cry like that...I really wasn't trying to hurt you. I was just..." "...Frustrated?..." Darrah said, completing his thought. He nodded slightly, rubbing his right cheek against Darrah's forehead. Darrah, whose head was throbbing with pain after crying, kept her eyes shut as she nuzzled her face into his neck. "...I...I don't even think I can...Mmm, stay up for Bianca's food...I'm..." She trailed off, taking in a deep yawn that lasted multiple seconds. Timoteo soothingly rubbed along Darrah's back. "Want to go to sleep?..." He asked. Darrah nodded gently, rubbing her face against his skin, Timoteo feeling her eyelashes and lips tickle against him.
"Can I sleep with you?..." Darrah asked lightly. "I don't want nightmares, tonight...." She sleepily added. Timoteo softly, and in an almost fatherly way, said "Okay, let's lie down...C'mon...Ease down..." Darrah turned away from him once more, resting her sandwich supplies on her pack before slowly lying down on the ground, pulling part of her pack over and using it as a pillow. Timoteo laid down behind her, and the two naturally began to spoon with one another, Darrah bringing her rump to Timoteo's groin, his legs fitting behind her's, closely aligning with her own. Darrah sleepily reached behind herself, grabbing his left hand, pulling his arm around her waist until his hand came to her stomach. A moment later, she pulled his hand a little higher, until Timoteo thought he could gently feel her ribs through her body as his hand was pressed against her. He realized his hand was being placed somewhere along the bottom reaches of her chest.
"Come closer to me..." Darrah said in little more than a murmur. The only distance between the two had been Timoteo's chest and her back; between his front and her back, there were several inches of space. Timoteo came up a little bit closer to her, the intimacy of the position feeling rather strange and alien to him. And yet, despite not being familiar with it, he felt himself in a strange sort of contentment, bringing his face near the back of Darrah's head, breathing in her light natural scent. He found himself smiling for several seconds before he calmed back down. Much quicker than he would've expected, he plummeted into a deep and relaxing sleep.
When he awoke, he could still feel the warmth of Darrah's body, close to his frontside. His arm was still over her left hip, they were still spooning, and she appeared to still be asleep. Timoteo kept his eyes closed as he awoke, giving himself a minute or two to fully wake up and get his bearing. He could still catch Darrah's natural scent, and for some reason, breathing in her aroma made him feel light in his stomach for a moment before a shudder ran along him, followed by a pleasant smile on his face. Eventually, though, he began to sit up, moving back from Darrah. That's when he realized, with a bit of horror, that his body was aching for morning passion; his member stood stiff in his pants, and was likely creating a bit of a bulge on his groin. A moment later, to his surprise, Darrah turned and looked up at him. He realized that she must've already been awake, and wondered with fear if she had been able to feel his member press against her rump, which it surely must have.
She turned and laid on her back, smiling softly with her eyes only slightly open. "Good morning..." She said lightly. He smiled a little, saying "Good morning..." As Darrah began to sit up, Timoteo glanced over, seeing no trace of Bianca; her cloak was gone, her boots were gone, and she, herself, was no where to be seen. The fire pit was blackened and dead, but the lingering smell of smoke emanated from it. Timoteo stood up and quickly turned away from Darrah, not wanting her to notice any bulge in the front of his pants. He grabbed his chainmail shirt and began to pull it on as Darrah stood up beside him. Before his chainmail shirt came down over his torso, though, Darrah surprised him with a hug from behind. She playfully made a light roaring sound, saying "Wrrraaaawh!..." as she came up behind him and reached her arms around his waist. She grinned a little when he made a confused peep. Darrah released him, walking around him, letting him pull down his armour shirt.
"You're...Not gonna leave me after Lychfield. Are you?" She asked, hopefulness in her voice. Timoteo thought about how he should be firm with Darrah, and looked her in the eyes, saying "We'll see." Darrah's face went a little serious, a little crestfallen, the young woman looking down towards his stomach for a moment. A few moments later, she walked over to her nearby pile of armour, beginning to get dressed in it all. Timoteo turned to his pack of supplies, seeing his sandwich on top, the bread beginning to toughen a little as it turned a touch stale. Timoteo grabbed it and forced himself to eat it for breakfast, despite loathing the taste of hardening bread. All of Darrah's sandwich supplies were still out, sitting on her pack. She had just begun to put them all away, however, before turning to her armour. "Another day or so of walking, and we should be down Windmill Hill. Then, the Gibbet Woods. Then Headsman's Hill...And then we'll finally be at Lychfield."
Darrah shook her head slightly. "Whoever thought of burying Travis at Lychfield was out of their mind. Whoever thought of putting Lychfield on the north end of Albion was insane." Timoteo crossed his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I'm still sure that Lychfield is important to Heroes. Maybe that's where we're all buried?" Darrah paused, suddenly. Her eyes went wide. She looked Timoteo in the eyes. "I just realized something." She said. Timoteo raised an eyebrow at her. For a moment, he thought she might've realized that he was stiff in his pants. She raised her eyebrows, saying "After we killed those bandits a while back, we all teleported back to Bowerstone South. How in Skorm's name was Bianca able to teleport, she doesn't have a Guild Seal!" Timoteo was about to speak when soft footsteps came into the camp. "The answer is clear, isn't it?" Bianca's soft voice sounded out. "It's because I have something that can function in the very same way." She added as Timoteo looked over to her.
She was wearing her cloak, but the hood was pulled back, revealing her head. Timoteo was mildly surprised to see that Bianca's hair was dark and damp, as if she had just recently bathed. She had a brush in her right hand, and she was busy brushing and smoothing her hair. She brushed her bangs to the sides, slightly clearing her forehead. Her brush was black, with the bristles being pure white. Silver rings went around the handle, bright and glittering. Bianca didn't seem to care as much for her hair as a typical girl did, as instead of spending many minutes brushing her long hair, Bianca simply gave her hair a quick once-over, giving everything a quick brush so any potential knots in her hair were undone. She must've already been brushing her hair as she approached the camp, because it seemed like she was already finishing up, about to put her brush away. Darrah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Like what? What could enable you to teleport across Albion? Old Kingdom technology, perhaps?"
Bianca smiled, as if with amusement. "No, to my knowledge, I don't possess anything that dates back to the Old Kingdom." She reached into her cloak with her brush, pushing it into a pocket. Looking to Darrah, she calmly said "I crafted my own Guild Seal. With a jolt of Will energy, it activated and serves me the same way a regular Guild Seal would." Darrah's brow furrowed. "You don't deserve a Seal, you were exiled! You're mimicking our identification as true Heroes!" Bianca took a few steps off to the right, looking out into the trees. "But not mocking. I can understand why you'd get offended, but I only made one because I value teleportation as much as anybody else." "And because you wanted to talk to Tim." Darrah added with annoyance. Bianca nodded. "Yes...That too. And also because, deny it all you want, Darrah...I am a Hero. The blood of magi from ages past flows through me, same as Timoteo." "You're not a Hero, Bianca! You never graduated from the Guild!" Darrah said, her face becoming angry.
Bianca turned and looked to Darrah, her face beginning to grow cold. Coolly, she said "Graduating from the Guild does not make one a Hero. If I'm not a Hero, then how can I use Will? People with Heroic blood walk amongst normal people every day, either ignorant of their abilities, or unwilling to bother with the Guild." "Hey, c'mon, let's not argue. We've got a long day of walking ahead of us." Timoteo said, raising an eyebrow, his mouth hanging open slightly as hopefulness ran across his eyes. Darrah, standing on the other side of the fire pit from Bianca, was only dressed in her boots, armoured pants, and chainmail shirt; she hadn't had time to pull her gauntlets or coif on. The air had almost grown still with energy charging between the two.
"Tell us, Bianca. I'm coming right out and asking you, now. Answer the question and put me at ease. What have you done that's evil? What sin did you commit so great that it turned your eyes red and your skin gray? Hmm? Answer me, mage!" Darrah barked. Bianca narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brow a little. "I owe you no answers, Darrah." She said a little venomously. Timoteo was about to say something when Darrah responded "No, you don't. You don't owe me anything. But if you're to continue accompanying me and Tim, then I want to know! Answer me! Why do you look like a demonspawn?!" Bianca was silent for a few seconds. Just as she opened her mouth, Darrah angrily said "The truth!!" Timoteo raised a hand towards Darrah, saying "Darrah, stop! Just drop it, already! Where is this coming from, all of a sudden? Can't the three of us go one day without one of us jumping at another's throat?" Darrah shot Timoteo a dark look, saying "Quiet, Tim! I want answers! She's been avoiding this every time I hint at it. I want to know! What has she done that's made her look this way?!"
Looking back to Bianca, she stared hard into Bianca's eyes. Bianca's face was frosty as she said "You have no right to question me on my actions, Darrah. You have no right to judge me. You don't know what my goals are, you don't understand what I'm trying to do." Darrah marched up to Bianca, looking down into her eyes. "Murderer? Betrayer? Seducer? What have you done towards evil, you damn mage?" Darrah practically hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Timoteo's heart was beginning to race in his chest. Things were coming to a head, he could see it easily. Bianca's face grew quite obviously angry, as obvious as was on Darrah's face. Her brow furrowed, her eyes a little wide, she kept her voice calm as she softly said "I'm willing to let go that you just suggested that I may be a murderer, a betrayer, or a seducer. But do not insult my heritage. I'm capable of things you've likely only imagined in the form of your worst nightmares."
Darrah smirked for a moment before warningly saying "You're not the only one that can fight, Bianca. And don't think, even for a second, that you could possibly threaten me. I'll insult your magehood as much as I please, until you answer my question." Timoteo pleadingly said "Stop, please! C'mon! For Avo's sake, calm down!" The two seemed to ignore him. "My magehood is more noble and enviable than any lineage you could possibly come from, warrior." Bianca said in a dark whisper. Darrah smirked and let out a light exhale, like a chuckle that didn't quite make it all the way. "You think so? You know nothing of my lineage, don't assume that your filthy Will abilities make you any better than me, witch." Bianca snapped. She had finally lost patience with Darrah, her last slanderous comment towards mages pushed her over the edge. Darrah grunted as she was suddenly tossed into the air, her arms and legs sticking out in front of her in the air as if she was rammed in the stomach.
Rippling air could be seen against her stomach, and Bianca subtly had an open hand down in front of her stomach, sticking out from the inside of her cloak. Timoteo realized that she must've cast Force Push. Darrah flew several feet through the air until she rammed against a tree, promptly collapsing to the ground. To Bianca's mild surprise, Darrah wasn't even stunned. Darrah's face was now one of murderous rage. She sprinted towards Bianca. On the way, she grabbed her steel longsword from her pack, bringing it up towards Bianca's neck. Bianca's eyes widened slightly. "Darrah, no!" Timoteo shouted, bashing into her, causing her to stumble off to the side several steps. Bianca brought a hand to Timoteo's chest, pushing him back, causing him to stumble back several steps. "Stay back, Timoteo. Let us resolve this." Bianca said calmly, her angry eyes on Darrah. Darrah, steady on her feet once more, held her blade in her right hand.
Staring right back into Bianca's eyes, the two slowly began to circle each other, Timoteo watching, feeling thoroughly helpless...
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Fable : Fall of the Guild