Most of the daylight had faded as Logan took inventory of his supplies. As expected, he was running low on both accelerant and ammunition; the former of which he could freely handle himself, but the latter… the latter would require some guile.
The boys had been kind enough to grant him a bed in the barracks - a visitor’s quarters turned storage, by the looks of it. Large boxes of moth-eaten flags, banners, and standards stood stacked in the corners. There were no windows, naturally, for he supposed there was little to look at out in the crater. But he was not a picky patron - he was used to far worse lodgings and the soft, well-worn, well-pissed bed would serve as a respite from sleeping on the ground or Zeke’s bony back.
Atop his bed, he had laid out his arms. A pair of long, black pistols glinted in the candlelight, both housing three fifty caliber bullets… all his ammunition. The guns were useful, but his weapon of choice was and always would be the two, long silver blades - slightly curved for use in high-mobility settings.
His other trinkets and things were largely undisturbed, but the flask - the black flask decorated with hundreds of small scratches was dreadfully empty; licked clean of the triple-still he had enjoyed on those cold nights in the forests.
Before he could fall deeper into dismay, a thundering knock on the old, wooden door sprinkled specks of dust from the ceiling and onto his rolled-out equipment, turning his attention to the opening door.
It had been some time since last he saw such a massive man - not since his last visit to the Citadel, certainly. His wide arms were crossed over his deftly repaired leather armor as he stepped inside, still uninvited.
His long, red, braided hair fell from his shoulders as his booming voice questioned: “Who said you could stay here? Wasn’t my office enough for you?” The Ghast cocked his head and shrugged. “Three young, kind men showed me to this room. If it belongs to you, I apologize, but I’d like to stay in town for the night - maybe there’s an inn or something you can show me to instead?”
The well-muscled ogre reared his head and raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“You’re nicer than the other one. Or maybe this is some kind of ploy to get me to drop my guard?” Logan reached behind his hood to still the sudden itch at the back of his head.
“Other one? You’ve met a Ghast before? They usually don’t come out this way.” Again, the brute seemed taken aback by the civility in Logan’s tone.
“I’ve met loads of ‘em. None of ‘em have apologized or offered to adjust their plans for inconveniencing someone else… you sure you’re one of them?” Logan demonstratively looked back at the weapons and tools on the bed and whispered back at the Ogre: “No, between us, I killed one and stole his shit. Wanna buy it?”
It had been years since Bear last heard a jest that pierced his ill temper. But the absurdity of his visitor caught him off-guard and with roaring laughter, he clapped the madman on the shoulder.
“You’re all right, stranger. I’m inclined to believe you, but you killing any of the Ghasts I’ve met frightens me more than the possibility you might be one.”
They shared in the respectable silence that followed - both recovering from the common bemusement before Logan found it fitting to address the matters at hand. “But I am serious, Administrator. If you have a tavern-” Bear raised his veiny arm and shook his head. “No, stay. The boys didn’t know I sometimes use this room. It was built to house warriors and even if I’ve got my reservation when it comes to your masks and cloaks, no one can deny that you’re as good warriors as they get.” Logan bowed his gratitude before turning to look at the worn, moth-eaten banner above his bed.
“The boys… they are your apprentices? You certainly fit with their description of their Master.” Bear nodded and allowed Logan to continue: “I didn’t think it’d be proper to ask them… but they’re all orphans, yes? I’m surprised. Anza’s mountains keep her safe. Until the efforts in the lowlands began, Anza was one of few villages with a direct connection to the Citadel, albeit through a long journey.” Bear chuckled. He had met men who spoke too much before, but never a Ghast that’d be prone to the same folly. It was as unexpected as it was welcomed.
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Logan caught himself intruding and hurriedly continued: “My apologies. It’s not my business to dig around in your affairs. And I’m sorry for the history lesson - it hasn’t been that long. You were probably part of that history.” Instead of a window to gaze through, the flag sufficed as a backdrop for conversation. Bear looked up at the sign of the hammer and crossed his arms. “It’s fine. And yeah, I used to run those caravans - I was even part of the Purge of the lowlands. A lot of us were, including their parents. We lost a lot of good people in that operation and still…” Bear narrowed his eyes.
Logan continued where Bear could not: “Still you’re stuck up here in the mountain. Because there’s that one hive in this sector that keeps spitting them out.” Bear nodded.
“Anza’s our home, but we were never meant to stay locked up behind walls. That’s what a lot of us believed when we joined the Purge - that’s what we still believe. But we can’t even keep this place running, how’d we do down there?”
“Yeah, I noticed your people seem hungry. The lights down the crater flickered about noon - I take it your growing systems are power-based?” Bear suddenly seemed a smidgen more skeptical.
“You’ve an observant eye. The other one - the one that speaks through his nose, you could teach him a thing or two. Yeah, we’re having supply issues with our power. The lines run through an area where we suspect either the Spawn or some beasts keep gnawing on them - that partition’s been replaced several times already.” Logan raised his hand to his chin, nodding.
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t an issue with the logistics. You’d see them cut out permanently if that was the case - this is either due to too little production or too high a demand. Probably both. Are all your reactors up and running?” Bear hadn’t expected this insight into the mystical field of power production and in truth, he had little to no interest in it. What he cared about were his people and, by the sound of the stranger’s contributions, he knew more than he was letting on.
Bear smiled sideways and went on to accuse, albeit amusedly: “You know a lot about this stuff. You a child of Logos or something?” Logan scoffed, shook his head, and chuckled.
“Knowledge isn’t heretical in itself, brother. My approach to life is to try to learn as much as possible - be it electricity, swordcraft, or the science of life. I’ve found that it’s the best way to reach your goals - even if the knowledge doesn’t make sense to you in the present.” Bear got the feeling Logan didn’t have too many to talk to. He wasn’t usually one for talk, but something was endearing about his curious visitor that loosened his tongue and it seemed for the time being he could not keep quiet.
“Wise words, Ghast. My apprentices could learn a thing or two from you… but on the topic of our problems, your colleague doesn’t seem to think electricity’s an issue. I don’t suppose you’d take a look at the powerplant without him?”
There it was again, this talk of a colleague - another Ghast.
“Maybe. But I could be wrong… I’d like to see the farms for myself. I’ve never actually been to one, but I’ve studied the mushrooms back in the Citadel. It’s weird - it’s the same species that’s found all over Cradle, maybe even beyond that. It seems almost tailored to-”
Bear laughed and raised his hands. “C’mon stranger, it’s been a long day. My boys will take you to the farms tomorrow, just please don’t teach me anything more tonight.”
Logan bowed, continuing his bemusing display with an apology. “Sorry. I don’t often meet others like us. I spend most of my time with my hound.” Although he hadn’t said it, Bear had seen the fiery red beast out in the stables and had watched it for nearly an hour. What warrior would go with a field setter was beyond him, but he was thankful this one did - such magnificent hounds were rare, after all.
“Understandable. Before I leave, Ghast… can I ask you a favor? Call it a service. One warrior to another…” Logan cocked his mask and motioned for Bear to go on.
The humongous man crossed his arms and sighed, as if mulling the words over - already regretting speaking the still-unspoken.
“The boys… they’re capable warriors. But capable or not, they’re still my boys. They’ve got high hopes of joining the Ghasts - wanting to leave home and all that. I… I fear they’re misunderstanding the warrior’s life. That’s not to say I don’t support your work, but-”
Logan cut Bear off with raised hands, already understanding the request.
“I’ll talk to them. This life chooses you, not the other way around. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the young idolize monsters like us and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Bear wanted to protest - he wanted to clarify that he hadn’t called him the monster he claimed. But something in the Ghast’s voice said that it was not about putting words in his mouth - it wasn’t even about the boys. That was his own conclusion; his judgment. Who was he to argue another man’s self-reflections?
“Thank you, Ghast. I’ll send them to you tomorrow. Feel free to use them as you want - just keep them away from your freaky friend.”
“I will. Thank you, Administrator.”