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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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Change Of Plans.
Fable : Fall of the Guild

Part VII - "Marauders"

By: Jesse Racine AKA Samson

Original Date Written: April 20, 2012

Timoteo quickly made his way back to the lord’s estate, entering the mansion and heading up to his room. He had been there for mere minutes, having settled down on his bed to read his book on Heal Life, when there was a knock at his door. Sighing irritably, he set his book back down on the bed, getting up to his feet and walking back over to his bedroom door. Opening it up quickly, he, with a bit of annoyance in his tone and on his face, said “Yes, what?” He relaxed when he saw Amanda standing there. She noticed his reaction to her knocking, and she avoided his eyes worriedly. “Um, apologies, my lord...I noticed your return, and I thought I should let you know that lunch had been served about twenty minutes before...The lord and Lady Jasmine are still eating in the fourth hall, if you were hungry and wished to join them.” Timoteo nodded, saying “Alright, thanks. I’ll probably join them, I could use some hot food.”
Smiling reassuringly, he said “Sorry if I came off a little annoyed, I’m just not used to having people knock on my door so much. At the Guild, the room I shared with the other kids didn’t even have a door, and nobody bothered us, anyway. Most of the visitors I’ve had have been...Well, I’m considering asking for a lock or something, anyway.” Jokingly, he added “Maybe a little sign telling people I don’t want visitors, I don’t know.” Amanda smiled, met his eyes, and let out a little chuckle. “If you don’t mind my asking, Timoteo, where, ah...Where did you go? When I tried finding you for lunch, I was told you had left the estate temporarily.” Timoteo said “Well...Could you promise me something, if I tell you?” Amanda nodded, somewhat eagerly. Her eyes had suddenly gained a bit of a mischievous glimmer to them, as if she were excited at the idea that he might be letting her in on some sort of secret. Timoteo took in a light breath, wary of the problems that could arise if Amanda didn’t keep his moment with Bianca a secret.
Raising his eyebrows slightly, speaking as he exhaled, he said “I saw a girl, Bianca. Darrah and her don’t get along. We just...Had a private moment. She’s got problems, and I’ve got problems here...We both needed it.” Amanda’s eyes went a little wide for a moment, her tone faintly surprised as she said “O-Oh! I see.” She smiled a little, her voice under control again as she said “A lover, Timoteo? I see why you want privacy...” Timoteo smiled a little, giving her a bit of a look. Amanda nodded, saying “I somehow doubt my lady Darrah would like that news much. She’s still in bed, hasn’t gotten up once since you left. But, I understand completely. I won’t speak a word of it to her.” Timoteo nodded once, saying “I appreciate that.” She took a step back, letting him walk out through the doorway, Timoteo shutting the door to his room behind himself. “How long have you known her? Bianca, I mean.” Amanda said, her tone just faintly nervous.
The two started to walk down the hallway together, headed for the nearest staircase down to the fourth floor. Timoteo raised his eyebrows. “A long time. As long as I’ve known Darrah, in fact.” “Hm. That explains...” Amanda said, quickly trailing off. “Explains what?” He asked, looking to her. She smiled a little, her voice embarrassed as she said “Well, ah, it’s really not my place to talk about it.” Timoteo raised an eyebrow at her. Amanda’s smile turned sheepish. He shrugged. “Well, alright.” When they reached the doorway leading to the stairway, Amanda stopped, saying “Well, I need to get back to some of my responsibilities. But, it’s fun talking to you, Timoteo. You’re a breath of fresh air, you act like I’m your equal.” Her face going a bit red, her voice going a little embarrassed again, she said “If you ever want to talk again, just ask around for me. I’d make time.” Timoteo smiled. “Sure, I’d like that. Aside from Darrah, I don’t really know anybody here. Having some time alone to read is nice, but having someone to talk to would be good, too.”
Amanda smiled more, confidence coming to her voice again as well as a hint of surprise as she said “Glad to hear it. Have a nice lunch, my lord.” She turned and began to slowly walk off, heading down the hallway. Just as he opened the door to the stairway, she glanced over her shoulder to him, smiling a little. He never noticed, slipping into the stairway. He made his way down to the dining halls, looking through a few rooms until he came across the one with the lord and his wife. The lord noticed Timoteo enter the room, raising a hand and waving him over. Timoteo noticed that Natalie was absent from the dinner table once again. Timoteo took a seat at the table, sitting at the lord’s left side. Jasmine looked over from the lord’s right side as Timoteo began preparing himself a plate of food, Timoteo helping himself to pieces from the many massive servings of food spread over the dinner table. “We heard you had stepped out, Timoteo. My husband had wanted a word with you, but Agnes told us you were gone.”
The lord looked over to Timoteo, slowly saying “Yes...I need to see you after this meal. Darrah, too, if she’s feeling recovered enough from her encounter with Bernard.” Timoteo glanced at a servant as they walked over, beginning to pour Timoteo a tankard of ale to go with his meal. He looked back to the lord, saying “Yes, I went out on a personal errand. Sorry if it caused any inconvenience.” The lord took a hearty gulp from his tankard. “No, no. I probably wouldn’t have gone into too many details, anyway. I would prefer if Darrah heard the news at the same time.” “Is something wrong?” Timoteo asked, suddenly feeling a little worried. The lord, still speaking slowly, said “The dinner table isn’t the place for such matters. Soon, Timoteo. Enjoy your meal, then we’ll talk of the issue at hand.” Timoteo gave a little nod after a moment, beginning to eat his meal, though he had trouble enjoying the food with his mind so full of curiosity. What had the lord worried? Was it something about Benedict’s army? “That must be it. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, whatever the issue is...” He thought, sighing through his nose, forcing himself to down a mouthful of ale.
“Ugh, I could use another hour or two in bed, in all honesty...” Darrah muttered, keeping a hand near her face, rubbing at her eyes. Wearing a white dress that had a purple torso, she wore a jewelled hairband to go with it, her hair styled as best she could get it without having freshly bathed. Timoteo walked beside her, heading through a hall on the second floor of the mansion, several of the lord’s guardsmen walking past them for some other destination. He smirked a little, looking over at her as she stopped rubbing at her eyes, slowly and jokingly saying “Isn’t it looked down upon to leave your room and walk around without having taken a bath, first? Shocking breach of social etiquette, Darrah.” Darrah glared at him, but she smiled a little, sarcastically saying “Hah hah hah, you’re sooo funny, Tim.” He grinned at her reaction. She gave him a little smack over his arm with the back of her hand, saying “I would’ve taken a bath, but there’d be no point, I just want to get this over with and get back to bed. My head’s calmed down a bit, and I don’t feel so generally messed up, but...I’m exhausted. Lying in bed with a big glass of water would be perfect. I could probably fall asleep in five minutes, if I had half a chance.”
Timoteo’s grin turned to a warm smile as he said “Well, at least all this wasn’t pointless. You got Bernard to agree to follow your command.” “So I’ve heard.” Darrah groaned, raising her hand to her face again, rubbing at her eyes. “Where’s my father?” She asked him. Timoteo took a turn in the hallway with her, saying “Eh, he told me which room to find him at, then left while I went to get you.” “Mm.” Darrah simply mumbled in response. A few seconds later, he came to a stop, Darrah doing the same. “This is it, I think.” Timoteo said, nodding at the door. Darrah’s face went confused. “But...This is the infirmary. Is something wrong?” She asked, looking to his eyes. Timoteo shrugged, feeling worried again as well, saying “I don’t know, I asked your father, but he wouldn’t tell me while I ate.” Darrah mumbled “Let’s see what’s up” as she reached for the doorknob, grabbing and turning it, pushing the door open. Stepping through the doorway, they entered a long rectangular room, the room around the same size as a typical dining hall on one of the higher floors.
The windows on the far side of the room were long, reaching nearly from ceiling to floor, though they were covered in dark blue drapes at that time, letting very little sunlight into the room. The room was filled with four long rows of white cots, only a few people resting on the cots, all spread out throughout the room. A small wooden bedside table sat between each pair of cots, most completely uncovered. The rows reached from one end of the room to the other, a large white wooden desk over by the right-side wall, a few matching white cabinets beside it. They both saw the lord in the gloom, holding a small candle in the same sort of candlestick that Natalie had used on her nightly visit to Timoteo, the kind with a large base meant for catching dripping wax. The cot he was standing by had a figure lying over it, but neither of the two could see who it was. A hefty woman, wearing a pure white dress with long sleeves, stood by the lord’s side.
Darrah quickly walked over, the lord looking at her once he heard her approaching. Timoteo wasn’t far behind her when she softly said “What’s wrong, what’s going on?” The lord looking back to the cot he was standing at, nodding at the figure lying there. Darrah looked over, Timoteo coming up to her side, looking to the figure as well. It was Miller, the lord’s head scout. He had finally returned after days without checking in, though not unscathed. A broad white bandage was wrapped tight around about half of his head, covering his right ear and eye, horizontally going across his forehead to fully wrap around the top of his head. His left eye, uncovered and visible, looked bleary with pain. The bandages were bloodied over the right side of his head, just above where his temple would be. His right arm was resting over his stomach above the cot’s thin white bed sheets, wrapped up from elbow to wrist with bandages. These bandages, too, were bloodied, the bandages thick with red over the back of his forearm. No other injuries were obvious, thought it was possible that the bed sheets were hiding away more injuries on other parts of Miller’s body.
“Miller...” Darrah mumbled, sympathy in her tone. The lord nodded his head at Darrah, staring at Miller. “Tell them what you told me, earlier.” He said, quietly. Miller opened his mouth and croaked. The woman in the white dress, apparently the infirmary keeper, reached over and grabbed a glass of water from Miller’s bedside table. She brought the cup to his lips, tipped it back a little, and let him take a few gulps of water. He weakly cleared his throat for a moment before he spoke in rasps. “We tracked down Benedict’s army again, a few days ago...We noticed something was wrong in minutes. There were these crates, a whole bunch of them, at least twenty...Most of them had been opened. There were a whole lot more of Benedict’s men with firearms...” Darrah’s eyes widened a little. Miller weakly shook his head for a second. “At least half of them had them, from what I could see...The crates weren’t even all opened, either...They weren’t even...”
He trailed off for a second, closing his eye. After a few seconds, he spoke again, keeping his eye shut the whole time. “A rookie made a mistake, and it cost us. Didn’t realize it when one the bandits had caught sight of him, since the bandit stayed quiet about it. We never knew anything was wrong...Until they pulled out these long firearms...” Timoteo narrowed his eyes, growing curious. Miller coughed a few times before he groaned out “They were as long as my arm. A few of the bandits got together and took aim. They had only seen William, but they must’ve figured there was more than just him. They fired into the bushes and trees, hit us from halfway across their camp, the bastards! I had no choice. I made us run. Some of them chased us. They chased us for miles. Ducking through the trees helped, but those firearms they had have range twice as far as one of the smaller ones. They-” He coughed a few more times, opened his eye and looked at the infirmary keeper, and she gave him a few more gulps of water.
He continued, then. “Sometimes we had to run through flatlands. That cost us, a lot. When the bandits finally gave up, there was just me and the other four...Not like we got off easy, heh heh...” Miller’s chuckle turned into another coughing fit, and when it had subsided, he closed his eye again, breathing deeply with tiredness. “He needs rest...” The infirmary keeper said, gently. The lord said nothing, turning and beginning to walk away. Darrah glanced at Timoteo, and he glanced back. Both of them knew perfectly well what Miller’s news meant for the battle to come. They both turned and followed behind the lord of the estate, stepping outside the infirmary with him. Once they had stepped outside and quietly shut the door behind themselves, the lord blew out his candle. His expression was grave as he solemnly said “This does not bode well for us.” Darrah muttered out “How in Skorm’s name did the bandits get even more firearms? Who would sell to them? Twenty crates of the things, that’d probably cost...Avo...They couldn’t have gotten that much gold just from raiding a few villages, could they?”
“They might’ve.” The lord simply said. Timoteo’s expression was cold. “Or, they were gifted to the bandits by the League.” He simply said. The lord and his youngest daughter both looked at him curiously. Timoteo glanced between them. “Think about it. The League came to you, my lord, for support against the Guild. They wanted you to support them in advancing firearms. You didn’t. I’ve heard people talk, and apparently, a lot of people still remember how Darrah was taken away when she was younger, and that she went to the Guild. People know I’m here, and that I’m a Hero.” He said, his brow deepening in anger as he spoke. “Maybe the League thinks that by giving the bandits more firearms, they could get revenge on my father for not helping them, and it could get you and me too, Tim. Maybe they think my father’s sheltering a whole bunch of Heroes, even.” Darrah said, darkly. The lord took in a deep breath through his nose, slowly exhaling.
“I’m not sure what to make of this. The battle might not be as easy a victory for us as we first thought.” He said, seriously. “Should we tell the men?” Darrah asked. The lord raised his eyebrows for a moment, hesitantly saying “I...Don’t know. If they knew, it could do serious damage to their morale. Their spirits would be low if they thought they had no chance of winning. But not telling them, sending them into battle unprepared, would be wrong. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” Darrah’s eyes fell towards the floor as she tried thinking of a solution. Timoteo had no answer either, but he tried to think one up, all the same. After several moments of silence, the lord calmly yet quietly said “This new scenario will require a much different battle plan. It’s that simple. I can’t send the men out into a skirmish against a similar number of men with superior weapons. Even if my men have better training, the power of a firearm isn’t to be underestimated, even in the hands of a bloody bandit.”
The lord shook his head a little, walking past the two of them simply saying “I need to see Wesley. We’ll be busy in the war room for a while.” Darrah remained silent, watching her father walk away down the hallway. Timoteo sighed lightly through his nose, walking up behind Darrah, reaching over and resting a hand over her left shoulder. She didn’t react for several seconds. Eventually, he heard her quietly yet unwaveringly say “...We’ll handle it. Somehow. Benedict won’t beat us, even with League support. We’ve still got a week before his army’s supposed to reach us. We’ve still got time.” Timoteo gave her shoulder a gentle rub before slipping his hand down from her. She slowly turned and faced him, and he saw that her expression was less confident than her voice had been. He looked into her eyes for a few silent seconds, Darrah eventually looking off to the side, softly saying “My father will think of a way. New firearms won’t give them too great an advantage, I’m sure...”
She met his eyes again, confidence coming back to her voice. She nodded once, saying “We won’t be beat. We won’t. We’ve got better training, and we’ve got a defensible position. We could outlast them. We’ll persevere, and somehow, we’ll get to them.” Her expression rapidly turning dark, she muttered “Then, we’ll get Benedict himself, wherever he is.” Timoteo raised his eyebrows, saying “You don’t have to convince me. Things will be...More challenging now, sure. But, we could still win.” Darrah nodded slightly, her eyes falling downwards. She was quiet for several seconds before she shook her head lightly. “...I’m worried, Tim...This could be really bad.” She eventually said, quietly. He didn’t say anything in response. He simply stepped closer to her, reaching his arms around her own, hugging her close. She slipped her arms around him, her hands on his mid back as they quietly embraced. She shut her eyes as they hugged, the two hugging for about a dozen seconds before they slowly released each other.
“I’ve got a headache, all of a sudden...” She mumbled, tiredly. Sleepily raising a hand near her face, she rubbed at her forehead for a second, shutting her eyes. “I’m going to go back to bed...I don’t know when I’ll wake up. Dinnertime, later tonight...I dunno.” Timoteo nodded slightly, saying “Go on, I’ve got something important I need to read, anyway. It could help in the battle ahead.” Darrah nodded, saying “Alright...I’ll see you later.” She turned and began to walk off, still keeping a hand near her face, obviously exhausted. Timoteo reached up and felt a hand through his hair, much more worried about the battle ahead than he had let on with Darrah. Glancing around aimlessly, he eventually walked off, headed for a nearby stairway.
Back up in his room, he spent two hours reading through the tome about the Heal Life spell. Eventually, he decided the only way he could see if he could cast the new spell adequately was if he were injured, himself. It didn’t have to be a big wound, it could be as small as a little slash on his arm from a kitchen knife. The idea of cutting himself just to test the spell was unappealing, but he knew he didn’t really have any other choices. Finding the tiny knife in his pack he had once used to slice pieces of apple pie, he willed himself to slash over the back of his left forearm, wincing heavily at the self-inflicted pain. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate, visualizing in his mind a tear in a shirt sewing shut by itself. He felt a bit of his mana drain away, a twinkling sound appearing around him. The pain in his forearm weakened, but it didn’t disappear. Opening his eyes, he saw that his cut had healed to the point that it was merely a long, thin scab across his skin.
Though it still pulsed a bit with pain, the spell had obviously had a strong effect. Timoteo’s face wasn’t too impressed. “The spell’s not going to do me much good if I can’t even totally heal a slash from a knife. If I get shot, I might not be able to grab a potion from my pack. This spell could mean the difference between life and death. I’ll need to practice more...Wonderful.” His eyes widening a little, he thought “Hey, wait. I can use the spell to heal other people. I should head back to the infirmary, help Miller and those scouts. Miller could help Darrah’s dad with his battle plans, then.” Timoteo slipped the knife and book back into his pack, getting up and heading back to the infirmary. Heading inside, he walked over to Miller’s bed, first. The infirmary keeper had already begun to walk over when Timoteo raised a hand towards Miller’s quiet figure, likely to tell him he had to leave to let Miller rest undisturbed. Miller, who seemed asleep, didn’t react when Timoteo tried casting the spell at him.
A gentle white glow shone from Timoteo’s palm as well as the prints of his fingers, making six passageways for his Will to invisibly flow through. The light chiming sound appeared, a white glow surrounding Miller for a few moments, the glow almost like mist. When the mist faded, the infirmary keeper had reached him. Hissing out at him, her expression suspicious, she said “Just what do you think you’re doing? He needs rest! Magic won’t-” Miller cut the infirmary keeper off, his eyes opening, the man letting out a pleasantly surprised groan. “The pain’s going away! Oh, I feel twice as good!” He somewhat loudly said. The infirmary keeper looked at Miller with subdued surprise on her face. Timoteo cast the spell at Miller again, Miller beginning to move a little under the cot’s sheets, starting to sit up. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s helping a whole lot.” Miller happily stated, smiling. Timoteo cast the spell a third time, beginning to notice that he was feeling a little drained.
Miller slowly got up from the cot, saying “Ahh, I feel good as new. Just gotta get these bandages off...” Timoteo and the infirmary keeper watched as Miller began to unwind the wrapping from around part of his head with one hand, the man looking to Timoteo, his expression suddenly turning quite serious. “Where’s the lord? We need to come up with a new strategy for Benedict’s bandits.” Timoteo calmly said “He should be in the war room with Wesley. They’re already on it.” Miller raised an eyebrow, saying “I should be involved. More I could tell them.” Timoteo nodded. When Miller had finished unwinding his wrapping, his healed injury became apparent. There was no dried blood visible, the wound had healed entirely, but a scar had become evident.
Over Miller’s temple, a patch of his hair was missing, that section paler than the rest of his skin. Obviously, Miller had been fortunate; had the slug been a mere inch or two more towards his forehead, he would’ve been killed. As it was, it looked like the slug had simply grazed along his skull. He left the bandages on his cot for the infirmary keeper to take care off, unwinding the bandages from his arm, tossing those with the rest. He promptly left without a word, presumably heading straight for the war room. Timoteo glanced at the infirmary keeper, saying “I need a minute to rest, myself. Then I’ll take care of another one.” The infirmary keeper smiled with surprising warmth. “Keep this up, and you’ll put me out of a job.” She joked. Timoteo smiled a little with amusement, but said nothing.
“...So, we’re all a bit worried. Benedict’s guys sound a lot more dangerous than we first thought.” Timoteo said, looking to his Seal. Seated on the edge of his bed, he had only been back in his room after helping Miller’s men for a few minutes, before Bianca’s voice had come up from his Seal. He had just finished up his explanation of the new situation regarding Benedict’s army, his tone a bit weary and worried. “And it’s all because of the League?” Bianca quietly asked. Timoteo sighed heavily through his nose, raising his eyebrows, saying “Well, that’s my theory. It’s possible that the bandits somehow had the gold to buy all those firearms, but Darrah doubted it. Well, she doubted that they got the gold from raiding villages, anyway. Maybe Benedict sent them the gold from his supposed fortress near Hook Coast, who knows? I have to wonder, if the League didn’t send the bandits the firearms for revenge against Darrah’s family, then who would sell all those firearms to them? They had to have known that the bandits would use a shipment that huge for nothing good.”
“True.” Bianca murmured, thoughtfully. “It’s a good thing you passed me the book on Heal Life. I practiced it not long ago, and figured out how to cast it. Was only really at novice strength, but it’s a start. I used it to heal the head scout of this place, the one who found out about the extra firearms the bandits have. He’s still talking to Darrah’s father about new battle plans, I bet.” Bianca sounded pleased as she softly said “I’m glad it helped. Maybe we should meet up a couple more times, then?” Timoteo chuckled lightly, smiling happily, his eyes warm. “Absolutely. Some time soon, too.” He said. Bianca softly said “With a week left before Benedict’s men reach the territory, I’m sure we’ll have our chances.” Timoteo was about to speak, but Bianca suddenly said “Grizelda, you’re awake!” Timoteo heard Grizelda titter. “Yes yes, I’m awake, now. You must be talking to Tim. Hello, Tim.” Timoteo said “Hi, Grizelda. I heard you had been hurt?”
Bianca quickly and worriedly said “I found all that blood in the cottage earlier, but you weren’t here, and then you finally came, but you were roughed up-” “Relax, my dear. I’m fine, now. When I was hurt out there, I scrapped together a few poultices and healing agents. Kept me alive. I only fell unconscious when I came back because I was drained of mana, heavily.” “I assumed as much.” Bianca replied, her voice softening. “What happened, though? Why didn’t you let me know you would be gone for so long?” She asked, a second later. Grizelda calmly said “Things didn’t go as I had planned them. I ran into League members, just by the coast inside and outside Greatwood. But, that wasn’t how things started.” “Tell me. From the beginning.” Bianca earnestly said. Grizelda said “Well, first, I checked the Gloam Shrine.” Grizelda said. Bianca curiously said “The Gloam Shrine? But it’s infested with balverine hordes. At least fifty balverines, I bet.”
“Not anymore.” Grizelda calmly said, giving in and letting out a little chuckle afterwards. Timoteo raised his eyebrows with surprise. “I checked the site. It had a decent enough concentration of dark energies, but not enough for what I think Octavia has planned. There were signs of a presence, obviously, but it had just been the balverines. Nothing suggested Octavia had been there, or any human, really.” Bianca said “And then?” Grizelda said “And then I checked the Chapel of Skorm. Called in a favour, got myself a lead. They didn’t know where Octavia was, they had never heard of her, but the dark monks there have their sources. They gave me an idea of where someone by Octavia’s description might’ve been seen. Slim chance, but it’s better than looking around wildly and without a clue. I headed to the Chasm of Blood.” “Chasm of Blood’s near the coast...” Bianca murmured. “Mhm.” Grizelda simply mumbled. “An odd place. Twisting tunnels all throughout the coast cliffs. I faced unholy abominations in those caverns, Bianca. Banshees and shadows...And altered humans.”
“Altered?” Timoteo repeated. “Yes...The necromancer there, he was conducting experiments. I’m not sure what he was trying to accomplish, exactly. But his minions...They were almost like crosses between humans and hobbes. Much taller than hobbes, but thinner, more dextrous and agile, though still possessing all the same brutish strength. Just as stupid as hobbes, too.” Timoteo smiled a little with amusement. “At the center of the Chasm, I found a massive chamber. I figured out why the place has the name it does, because of that chamber. It was a huge pit with pathways going all around it, steadily heading downwards towards the bottom. The pit didn’t have a floor...It seemed to go ages downwards before there was finally just a massive pool of blood. It was more or less an underground lake, Bianca. I don’t know if it was blood, exactly...It wasn’t dried, and I doubt that that much blood could be collected so quickly that it never dried. Magic could’ve been involved, which seems more and more likely as I think about it.”
“I suppose you found that necromancer in the central chamber?” Bianca asked. Grizelda said “Mhm. When he spotted me, he summoned more skeletons than I could count from the blood pool. I killed him before they could climb the pathways up to us. When he died, so did they. That place had a very intense concentration of Dark Will, it could probably feed Octavia’s powers enough for her to perform the ritual. The necromancer there was trying to do something similar, at least.” “What do you think Octavia’s planning, Grizelda?” Timoteo asked. Octavia solemnly said “A very dark ritual, only attempted by the truly foolish. It’s quite obscure by this age, and for good reason. Most Dark Will-users have put it aside, just like with attempting to open portals to the Void. I believe she may be trying to change herself, turn herself into something infernal; a shadow, perhaps. She may think it’d be a way of ascending, of turning herself into a god. It’s true, converting herself into something dark like that would grant her much more power, she would lose everything about human fragility, but what those who attempt such rituals never seem to grasp, is that...”
Grizelda’s tone went cold and serious. “...For whatever they gain, they always end up losing more.” “I had no idea someone could try that.” Bianca said, surprised. “I know, I made sure of it.” Grizelda openly admitted. “I never wanted you to know...I never wanted you to try it. The cost of such strength is far, far too high. Only someone who’s completely lost touch with sanity, or is extremely desperate, would pursue it. I didn’t want you to try and gain the reagents needed for such a ritual, no matter what danger you found yourself in, some day. I didn’t want you to experience the fate of changing into a shadow, banshee, or similar shade. Even if I, myself, were fearful for my life...I would not try and change my body. The prize is simply not worth the price.” Grizelda said, coolly. “Don’t worry about me. I am not my mother, and I’m confident in my abilities. I don’t need to turn into something infernal for power. And, besides...If one of the reagents of such a ritual is my spouse’s heart, then I will most definitely never even consider such a foolish thing.” Timoteo smiled a little. Grizelda chuckled faintly. “Good. I’ll be watching the Chasm for a while, in case Octavia returns. I won’t be spending much time at the cottage, because of that. But, back to my story...”
“...And after I killed the seven, another group of eight came after me. They were quicker with their firearms than I was with my spells, by that point. I was getting too drained, I should’ve fled, but I felt I needed to see them dead. Once they were down, I eventually made my way back through Darkwood, eating healing-herbs whenever I came across them. By the time I got back, I was fine, but my mana was taking too long to replenish itself. The rest, you know.” Grizelda said, finally ending her story. “Wow.” Timoteo said, surprised. “A whole group of Anti-Hero League members...” Bianca said, as surprised as Timoteo. “I doubt they’re happy about losing all those crates of supplies.” Grizelda said, obviously smug and pleased with herself. Timoteo and Bianca both chuckled a little. “I’ll make sure to never get on your bad side.” Timoteo remarked. “I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that, Tim.” Grizelda warmly said.
Timoteo smiled, suddenly looking up from his Seal when he heard a little knock at his door. “Come in!” He called. A moment later, his door slowly opened, Timoteo seeing Darrah there. She looked like she had gotten out of bed and really cleaned up a little, having had a bath and applied fresh cosmetics. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn when the two had seen her father in the infirmary, however. She smiled pleasantly at him, glancing at his glowing Guild Seal as she said “Hey, just thought I’d come by. Dinner’s gonna be early tonight, but light, to make up for it. Should be ready in about half an hour. Busy?” Timoteo waved her in, looking back to his Seal, saying “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Talk after dinner?” Darrah walked over towards his bed, Bianca gently saying “Okay, I’ll try contacting you again in an hour. Talk to you later.” “Bye.” Timoteo happily said. The glow from his Seal faded, Darrah taking a seat on the edge of his bed beside him. “Talk to her often?” She asked, watching him slip his Seal back into his pack, his pack resting on the floor by the side of his bed.
Quickly changing the subject, he said “Every now and then. Was something on your mind?” Darrah nodded lightly. She was quiet for a moment before her mouth hung open a crack. She still didn’t get around to speaking her mind for another second or two. “...I did some thinking after I woke up, and...I’m beginning to think that having the both of us on the frontlines would be a little foolish now, if so many of the bandits could kill us in a split-second.” A little rapidly, she said “If either of us fell, it could have a serious effect on morale. My father’s men are in the high spirits they’re in purely because of us. If they saw us die...It could mean winning or losing, beyond us losing our lives. Everyone else could lose their’s, too.” Timoteo curiously asked “Then...What do you suggest? We sit the fight out? That doesn’t sound like you.” Darrah shook her head, her brow lightly furrowing for a second. Her eyes weren’t on him, but they weren’t exactly on the floor, either.
She stared off to the side a little as she said “No, that’s not what I had in mind. We won’t sit it out...But maybe take a less active role. As it was, the bandits having firearms was bad enough, but now?...It sounds like a big chunk of them are going to have them. A big confrontation with them sounded risky enough, but now?...It sounds a bit like suicide. Like my father’s men would just be throwing their lives away. The bandits could aim and fire for who knows how long before my father’s knights actually reached them to attack.” Darrah met his eyes again, saying “If most of them are using firearms now, then it would only make sense for us to fight them with ranged weapons, too. But, we don’t have firearms...So, the way I see it, if we want to win, we can’t do it with big confrontations. We should stay inside the estate, shore up the front gate, make sure the bandits can’t batter it down. Hit them with crossbows when we can, get out of the way when they start firing. We could outlast them, it’s not like they have a supply line they could cut us off from. I’ll be running that idea by my father when I can. But, just in case...I had another idea.”
“Which was?” Timoteo asked. Darrah looked off to the side again. “We both get a firearm, somehow...Just in case. Either of us might find ourselves in a situation where we’ll need it, like I’m disarmed or you’ve run out of mana, and someone’s pointing their gun at us, or charging us with a sword. A firearm could give us that one life-saving chance to take down the enemy.” Timoteo lightly nodded, twice. “Alright. But where would we get some? You said so yourself, nobody in Sundale knew how to make any. Without anybody in your father’s fiefdom that knows how to make firearms...” Darrah nodded. “We’d probably need to use our Seals to teleport somewhere...And buying firearms means we’ll probably have to deal with someone from the League.” Timoteo thought for a moment. “Wait, maybe we wouldn’t have to. Gibbons is staying in Oakvale, last I knew. Maybe he could get some for us?” Darrah was about to speak when Timoteo continued. “Think about it, Darrah.” He said, seriously.
“Gibbons is already there. He might know the people there, a firearms seller would be less suspicious. Neither of us would have to worry about trying to blend in. And, we wouldn’t have to worry about someone seeing us use a Cullis Gate or our Seals.” Darrah raised an eyebrow, saying “We’d have to teleport to meet up with him, anyway.” Timoteo looked off to the side, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Well, still. I like that idea more.” Darrah sighed subtly through her nose, but she smiled faintly, raising her right eyebrow a little. “Alright, you can contact Gibbons and run the idea by him. But first, let’s head to the dining hall. We can relax a little before dinner is served.” Timoteo groaned lightly. “And what will we do, Darrah?” He said with incredible boredom in his tone, the mage foreseeing an immensely boring wait until food was placed before him. Darrah grinned a little, got to her feet, and leaned over close to him.
Grabbing his hands, she pulled him up to his feet. Releasing his hands, she took a few steps backwards, saying “You can drink some ale and relax, I guess.” Timoteo raised his eyebrows, slowly and unenthusiastically walking after her. “I hate the taste of alcohol.” He simply said. Darrah grinned more, turning around, looking at him from over her shoulder. “I know that. I don’t like it much, myself. Definitely don’t want to get drunk again, so soon. But, a little wouldn’t hurt, would it? At least finish your tankard this time, instead of passing it to me.” Timoteo furrowed his brow, smiled with amusement, and said “I didn’t ask you to go ahead and drink it, now did I?” Darrah half-smiled. “I figured I’d save you the trouble of trying to explain to my father why you’re such a lightweight.” She innocently said. Timoteo smiled more, an annoyed gleam coming across his eyes. He quickened his pace after Darrah, and she grinned again, almost running out of his room. He gave chase, Darrah letting out a little laugh as she took off for the dining hall.
Late that night, Gibbons was creeping through Oakvale towards the home of his next target. Dressed in his darker, stealthier clothing, he slipped through a few alleys between simple village homes on his way to his destination. Quietly walking out from between two homes, he glanced left and right down the village street. He narrowed his eyes, curiosity running strong in him. “That’s weird...I haven’t seen a single guard anywhere. What’s going on? I find it hard to believe that they’re all just taking a day off from their jobs.” He thought, glancing behind himself, just to make sure nobody was trying to sneak up on him. Looking back to the street, he began to get an uneasy feeling in his gut, almost like a brick of ice had been dropped inside his stomach. That feeling probably would’ve made him decide to turn back and try getting his target another night, were the building not just a few houses down the street, easily within sight.
Staring at it for a few seconds, he decided to proceed with his goal and get it done with, beginning to slip down the street, making as little noise as possible. It took a while for his uneasy feeling to pass, Gibbons not feeling it subside until he had made it to the home. It was a simple dwelling made primarily of wood, the roof brown tiling. What few windows Gibbons could see were all pitch-black, even darker than the sky above. The sky, at least, had the watchful moon and twinkling stars. Still spotting nobody around, he made his way around the home, looking for a window he could slip in through. He checked every window he found, but discovered them all locked. Suddenly feeling thankful that nobody was walking the streets, he crept back around the building to the front door. Glancing around one last time to be sure he wasn’t being watched, he pulled out a pair of small metallic tools that he kept in his pocket. Gently pushing one into the lock, he felt his way through until he was sure he had the lock totally undone.
Using his second tool to turn the mechanism, he fully undid the lock, slipping his tools back into his pocket before quietly opening the door a crack. Slipping inside, he shut the door behind himself, glancing around. He was in a front hallway, a short one, that quickly revealed two doorways on either side at the far end. Gibbons crept down the hallway, being sure not to make any sound with his steps. When he came to the first pair of doorways, he glanced into the one on his right, first. It showed a kitchen-like area, dark with shadows and appearing completely empty. He peered into the doorway on his left, then. He found a study of some kind, bookshelves lining the walls, a small desk situated before a comfy-looking chair. That room, too, appeared empty. Gibbons proceeded down the hall until he came to the second set of doorways. He glanced into the one on his right, once more. He spotted a bedroom, but he saw that the bed was suspiciously empty.
He furrowed his brow in confusion. It was already well past midnight by then, and he had never seen his target leave the home once he had gone inside around dinnertime. He looked into the final room of the dwelling. He saw a solitary chair and stool placed before a dead fireplace, nothing else at all in the room, leaving it oddly empty. One odd thing he noticed about the room was that it appeared to be the only one without windows in the walls, leaving the room isolated from any possible sunlight during the day. The chair was facing away from the doorway, the chair made of thick, solid wood. The backrest was so high that Gibbons couldn’t even see the top of the man’s head from over it. The stool was situated closely in front of the chair, and Gibbons froze when he saw a pair of legs resting over it. He narrowed his eyes. He had found his target. Silently unsheathing one of his dirks, he crept into the room. Slowly coming closer to the back of the chair, he half-smiled a little, glad to be putting down this particular mark.
Sneaking up just behind the chair, he violently swung his arm around the side of the chair, ramming his dirk into where he was sure the target’s heart would be located. He felt his dirk slice through a shirt, and hit something that felt like a body, but his expression still turned a little confused. The dirk had passed into the body with more resistance than he had expected. In fact, the dirk hadn’t even gone into the target for half of the blade’s length, which was unusual to say the least, given the force Gibbons had known he’d need to use to kill a man. The man had made no sound either, nor had he reacted to the wound in the slightest. Gibbons tried pulling his dirk from the man’s torso, but found he had difficulty yanking the dirk back out. Too confused to ignore things anymore, he released his dirk and walked around the chair, facing his target. His eyes widened. Sitting there in the chair was not a human being, but some sort of mannequin, dressed in a villager’s common attire. It had a mocking little smile painted on it’s brown face, the dirk jabbed into it’s wooden chest. Gibbons stared at the mannequin for a few seconds, awful realization dawning on him. He had walked into a trap.
He grabbed the dirk and tore it free from the mannequin, keeping it gripped in his hand as he quickly crept back to the front hallway. Lights were quickly becoming visible through windows in the two front rooms, the light flickering in and out of the hallway. Gibbons gave up on stealth entirely, rushing into one of the front rooms, peering out through a window with wide eyes. He saw a mob of people, around sixteen individuals in total, all of them bearing a lit torch in one hand. Many of them were dressed in the long, black coats that travelling League members seemed to prefer, though some were in average villager garb. Someone shouted out. “Alright, assassin! We know you’re in there! You’ve got no place to go! Come out without incident, and we’ll at least make your execution quick! Hell, we’ll do it right here, for ya!” Several of the other League members let up chortles of laughter. Gibbons slowly developed a snarl of a smile. Firmly, almost with amusement, he muttered to himself “No.”
When no response rose up for the League members, the leader shouted out “Okay, assassin! You asked for it!” The League members all raised up their free arms, revealing their firearms. Gibbons dropped to the floor of the room as the attackers outside fired through the windows, broken glass flying inwards, firearm slugs slamming into the walls. Crawling on his belly to stay as low as possible, he made his way out of the room. The firing ceased temporarily, the danger subsiding for no more than four seconds before another round of slugs was sent hurtling into the building. Gibbons made his way to the bedroom of the home, getting up to his feet and racing over to a nearby window. Unlocking it, he slid it upwards, beginning to climb through the opening. A third volley of slugs shot into the building before the pause lasted a second or two too long for Gibbons’ liking. Just as he had gotten through the window, he heard someone bash open the home’s front door.
Breathing a little quick with adrenaline, he slid the window shut as quietly as he could, dropping down low a moment later. Rushing away in a crouching run, he slipped away into the shadows, rushing past another nearby home. He could hear the League members searching inside the house for him, some of them rushing outside to see if he had slipped past them. He got as far away as stealthily as he could manage before he went into a full sprint, taking off like the wind towards his home. Certain that he had already gotten far enough away from the trap that nobody would notice him, he sprinted home, slipping in through the backdoor. Locking the door, panting from his mad dash, he walked into his bedroom. Sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed, he pulled his clothes off, his heart racing from the situation he knew he had only narrowly escaped from. Sleep did not come easy that night, but eventually, the darkness embraced him.
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Fable : Fall of the Guild