The light of dawn filtered through the many windows of the abbey, brightening hallways and washing away the chill of the night. Annabelle walked through the sunny corridors, pausing to stifle an unladylike yawn before continuing. Sleep had evaded the saint for most of the night, even after exhausting herself with a lengthy rampage and subsequent cleanup.
Rounding the corner, Annabelle was blinded by the tall window at the end of the hallway. It felt like blasphemy to cringe and squint at the benevolent dawn, but she was only human and her tired human eyes shied away from stimulation.
‘If only I could set time aside for a nap…’ The saint thought, moving through the hall towards her door. ‘But ahh, there’s so much that needs doing.’
Annabelle was about to place her hand on the doorknob and enter her room, but she paused when a voice became barely audible through the sturdy wood. It was Ilya’s voice- it seemed her ward had awoken in the time she was gone.
“…when I…… …okay……my…” Though the saint could only pick out a few words, Ilya seemed to be speaking full sentences- but to who? Annabelle frowned: had someone entered her room without permission?
Opening the door, the saint found no one but Ilya, sitting atop the bed with the blankets and sheets pooling around her. She had jumped when the door opened, staring wide eyed at the intruder until recognition unfroze her body, letting it relax somewhat.
“Dawn warm you Ilya, I’m sorry for startling you.” Annabelle greeted apologetically before looking around the room. “Were you… talking to someone just now?”
The girl shifted in place, looking down to her lap to nervously fiddle with her fingers. “…I- I talk out loud when I’m alone sometimes.” It wasn’t a lie exactly, but it obviously wasn’t the truth either. Regardless, the room was empty, and Annabelle was too tired at the moment to question her behaviour further.
“I brought something for you.” Annabelle lifted the two sets of clerical habit that had been draped over her arm. “Some new clothes that should fit you nicely.” They were the garb of the church, intended for sisters setting out on pilgrimage or hoping to gain experience as an adventuring healer. Not a perfect match to Ilya, but close enough.
“I found the same habit in two colours; you get to pick between white or dark grey.” Annabelle had to dig quite deep in the abbey’s storage to find a dusk set small enough to fit her ward, but it was important to her that Ilya be given choices.
The dark haired girl perked up at the decision before her, shuffling on her knees to the edge of the bed to take a closer look. Annabelle met her half way, watching as her eyes bounced between the two colours for a few moments before holding on the tunic of dusk and locking in on its soft purple embellishments.
“That one.” She said resolutely, reaching for the garments. “I like that one.”
“I think it will suit you nicely.” Annabelle replied with a warm smile.
Placing the dawn set down amongst the sheets, she offered her now empty left hand to help Ilya down from the bed. “I’ll help you put everything on; it can be tricky on your own.“
Ilya remained still as a statue as the overly long nightdress was quickly replaced with a tunic that fell around her calves. The girl stretched out her limbs to admire the form fitting sleeves and the lavender cuffs that hugged her forearms, looking down at the rest of the article to watch it swish around as she moved.
Stepping behind her ward and lifting dark hair up and out of the way, Annabelle brought the guimpe up to Ilya’s neck, shifting the light grey fabric to sit properly on her shoulders before fastening it at the back. “Too tight? Collar too high?” She questioned, looking over Ilya’s shoulder.
A shake of the head signalled Annabelle to continue.
She helped Ilya step into a pair of black stockings next, letting her pull them up before wrapping a leather belt around her waist. “You can hang little satchels off of this.” The saint explained to her ward, tightening the belt so the tunic cinched like a proper dress. “We can even get a sheathe for your dagger and attach it here.”
Ilya silently rushed towards the nightstand where her old clothes were neatly folded. Her scarf was sitting atop the pile, wrapped around various items that the saint fished from her pockets: a broken bone, an empty satchel, and of course, her prized blade, tightly bound in leather to protect her from its deadly edge.
The girl carried the bundle of things to the bed, stuffing the bone into the satchel and tying it to her new belt before picking up the dagger and turning back to her mentor. “Can I just… stuff this between the belt and my waist for now? Will it stay there?”
“I don’t think so. Here-” Reaching an arm into her robe’s right sleeve, Annabelle felt around for the pocket that contained her extra hair tie. Pulling the blue ribbon out of her sleeve, she tied it into a simple slipknot and tightened the knot around the dagger’s bindings. “This will keep it in place until we visit a smith.”
Attaching the ribbon at her hip, Ilya spun around on her feet to test the setup, smiling wide when the motion caused her skirt to flare out. Annabelle let her lips curl upward, her weary body regaining some of its life- her efforts had been worth it.
“Do you want to put on the headdress?” She asked when the blade was proved secure, holding up the coif and veil. “It’s up to you.”
It was technically part of the required habit, but Ilya had taken no vows and was thus not beholden to the rules of the church.
Ilya grasped the ponytail hanging behind her, moving the bundle to sit on her shoulder where she could see it. She regarded the black locks for a few seconds before flipping her hair back again. “I’ve never worn something on my head before.”
“Would you like to keep it that way?”
Two nods.
“Then this is last piece of the set.” A caplet was wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, a dark basalt grey like the tunic underneath, trimmed with the same lavender and embroidered with pale yellow thread. A brass brooch punctured through the fabric to clasp closed over Ilya’s sternum, keeping the garment in place.
Annabelle took a step back when her work was done, taking in her ward as she spun again and took in her new attire. The girl paused her spinning to grab her scarf, wrapping it around her neck before zipping to the vanity to look at herself from the outside.
It had been a long time since Annabelle had seen someone so excited to look like a nun. Some of the young girls who joined the convent understood the garb’s meaning and treated it as a solemn honour, some were roped into the clergy in some way and resented it, consciously or not. Either way, it wasn’t common for an acolyte to ogle themselves so joyfully.
“Is this… mine now?” Ilya asked aloud, not turning away from the mirror or her reflection.
“There are not many devoted of dusk in Flavenport; certainly no one else who would fit that size. It’s yours.” Annabelle was interested in what the abbess would say, a fledgling cleric garbed in grey for the first time in years.
Eventually Ilya seemed satisfied enough with her appearance to look away from the mirror.
“Ready for breakfast?” The saint asked, stepping close to her student to quickly brush down a bit of stray hair with her fingers. “We have some time before morning service.”
“I get more food?” Ilya had a surprised look on her face, as if the dinner last night was a one and done thing.
“Of course.” Annabelle replied as she pulled the tie from Ilya’s hair, arranging it neatly over her scarf. “‘For as long as you hunger, the gods will provide.’” She recited the scripture passage automatically, forgetting in that second just who she was talking to and the severe irony of such a statement.
“The gods never provided me anything before.” Ilya reminded her with a frown. The words were filled with a quiet frustration that struck Annabelle square in her chest, yanking her from her waking dream and dumping her back into harsh reality.
The saint felt her exhaustion reassert itself. “I…I know.” She stumbled, gaze briefly dropping to the floor, before she forced herself to look Ilya in the eyes. “I apologize, that was thoughtless of me.”
“You don’t have faith in the gods or their promises and I understand: words without deeds are empty.” Annabelle gently took both of Ilya’s cold frail hands into her own, lifting them to hold up meaningfully between them. “But please, have faith in me, let my deeds prove that you should.”
“Okay.”
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Once the two were fully presentable, the saint guided her ward down to the abbey’s first floor and through the hallways towards the common dining area.
A stout old nun in grey reached the doorway at the same time as them, eyes brightening when she saw the saint.
“Ah, Annabelle my dear. Blessings of the rising sun upon you.” Mother Superior Ruth greeted them, the wrinkles on her face creasing as she smiled warmly. “I hear your yesterday was filled with right and just work.”
“Mother Superior. The dawn honours you.” Annabelle gave a respectful bow, Ilya did not, offering the abbess a blank stare and a slight tilt of the head.
“This must be the girl the sisters have been whispering about.” The elder priestess mused, tucking her hands beneath her scapular. “Greetings child, I am Ruth, loyal servant of the setting sun.”
“Ilya. S-“ She introduced in kind, beginning to say another word before cutting herself off abruptly. Seconds passed as the two priestesses stared at her, waiting for the girl to continue until eventually accepting that she would not.
“I see you are garbed in the greys of dusk as I am.” The abbess noted. “Has Saint Annabelle explained the significance of that shade? The long night and the promise of dawn?” Annabelle met Mother Ruth’s eyes as the old nun casted a glance toward her, slightly quirking a brow the same way she used to when questioning the completeness of a younger saint’s chores.
Annabelle shook her head, placing a hand on Ilya’s shoulder. “No, Mother Superior, I haven’t. I didn’t want to overload her with stories when she’s still adjusting.” The world ‘adjusting’ was doing some heavy lifting there: Ilya was consistently surprised by acts of simple kindness and the concept of regular meals seemed to baffle her. Theology was very far down on the priority list.
Mother Ruth didn't frown, but her voice was stern. “I won’t question how you mentor a personal apprentice, but if your hope is for her to join us here, she must be treated the same as any acolyte. Knowledge of scripture is a basic requirement.”
Annabelle's thoughts turned inward- was that her plan? To turn Ilya into another sister of the church? She hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
She had only met the girl yesterday, and though she had accepted her divinely mandated task to guide Ilya and foster her growth, the exact path she would have to take was unclear.
Annabelle had initially assumed her role was a simple one: to pass down her knowledge of holy magic and the teachings of Order, but her attempts to do so had revealed a deep and troubling darkness that would take work to understand and fix.
There was also the matter of what Ilya wanted: it was very unlikely she wished to join the church- so what then?
The saint’s sleep deprived brain groaned at her for thinking too hard, begging her to save her energy for morning service. She tried not to yawn.
“Her future hasn’t been decided.” Annabelle eventually replied. “But she’s a curious girl; the story of the ashen vestment may be interesting to her even if she doesn’t wish to stay here.”
Mother Ruth hummed, closing her eyes for a moment to ponder. “I see.” When her eyes opened again she offered Ilya a slight smile and gestured towards the many tables just through the door. “Come then child, you may eat while I recite the story to you.”
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> This tale speaks of a time of great suffering long ago: an endless night that stood to devour all creation.
>
> Life perished beneath a sky devoid of stars, love dwindled against fires of hate, and Chaos grew fat on the despair of the just.
>
>
>
> When all hope seemed lost, and the last hour of man approached, the gods descended in glory to push back the darkness. The Sun’s holy rays were a beacon of hope, calling all the peoples of Order to bask in the warmth of dawn and shelter under the protection of the divine.
>
>
>
> The gods led their faithful across the black seas to safety, their every step met with the most foul beasts Chaos could conjure. The Sun flared against the shadows, The Hunter pounced in defence of his flock, The Mother bundled the innocent in her embrace.
>
>
>
> By the time the blessed of the gods finally touched the soft soil of sanctuary, The Sun’s pure white vestments were stained grey with ash and soot and the blood of the guilty, His light dimming, as if filtered through the endless path toward the horizon.
>
>
>
> “Look upon me, my children.” The Sun said. “See the daylight fade to dusk. Night will always come, and the sun must always set.”
>
> “You endured the long night for you had faith dawn would come, and so it shall be. As night will inevitably fall, so too shall the morning always return- this is the promise I make to you.”
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Annabelle had heard the tale hundreds of times, preaching it herself thousands more over the years, to tens of thousands of people. Despite being the furthest thing from a new experience, she had listened respectfully anyway as she ate her oats, occasionally looking to Ilya to gauge her understanding. Her ward had taken the story in without a sound or change in expression, slowly picking at a small bread roll with her finger and thumb, much like a crow would with its beak.
“Differing perspectives on the meaning of Lord Amasur’s words are the basis behind the differing colours of this clergy’s garments.” Mother Ruth continued to explain, gesturing to her robes, then to Ilya’s. “This habit represents the acceptance of darkness’ inevitability, the will to weather hardship and evil, and the forethought to prepare for the coming night.”
Ilya looked down at herself, brushing away a few crumbs that had dropped into her lap and regarding the colours with new context. She blinked once, twice, before nodding approvingly. Annabelle hoped that meant she understood how relevant the concepts were to her situation.
“The colours Saint Annabelle wears represent Lord Amasur’s promise of dawn, the hope and warmth the sun brings, and the strength of heart necessary to protect and maintain that hope in an ever darkening world.”
Ilya didn’t make any motion after the second explanation, but the churn of her thoughts were visible on her face.
Eventually she spoke. “If the gods took all their own followers and brought them here… what happened to everyone who didn’t have a god? Were they left behind?”
Mother Ruth looked unprepared for Ilya’s line of questioning. “…The scriptures we have don’t say; not much remains from so long ago.” Annabelle knew this to be true, but it wasn’t the answer Ilya wanted to hear.
The saint placed a hand on her ward’s shoulder. “The wood elves aren’t a blessed people but they still live, albeit in small numbers. Perhaps that means some of the godless were saved.”
Ilya didn’t respond to the suggestion, retreating back into her own thoughts; remaining silent for the rest of the mother superior’s tales and the rest of their morning meal.
She stayed that way until most of the abbey filed into the church to prepare for morning service and Annabelle sat the girl down in a pew.
“I’m going to have to leave you here for a bit while I do my job. Is that alright?”
Ilya nodded, pulling out her knife as well as the bone she had shoved in her satchel earlier.
Remembering the state of the floor in the sick house from the other day, Annabelle called for one of the other sisters to fetch a bucket. She would support Ilya’s interests and would not stand between her and what she wished to do, but the house of god was not a workshop; it had to remain clean and clear of shavings and powdered bone.
“Everything in here please.” She requested with a smile. “When I’m done we can go to the guild, alright?”
Ilya nodded again, still silent but no longer ignoring the world outside herself.
The service went well, as it always did. Going through the motions automatically, Annabelle let her mind take a backseat as her body and soul performed the service for her, exactly the same as she did every morning. Only when it came time to give sermon did her three aspects meld back into one, allowing her to preach with her whole self, extolling the virtues of common charity and the familial bond shared by those who live in the light.
As she spoke the truth she looked out over the sea of worshipers before her, quickly zeroing in on the back of the hall where Ilya sat whittling away. It seemed to be a genuine hobby of hers, both something to fill the time and a skill she wanted to improve at.
A gruff looking orc man sat next to the girl, watching her hand motions and whispering occasional pointers throughout the service. It had only taken a change of clothes for people to start acknowledging Ilya’s existence, a fact that simultaneously enraged and encouraged the saint, stoking the fire beneath her sermon.
“Brothers and sisters, a sliver of dawn’s warmth lives within each of you. It is within your power to share that warmth with another, and in effect, kindle a flame that extends the reach of light.
Share the joy and love of day with those who are lost in darkness: offer a hand to the forgotten, a shoulder to the despairing, a shield to the weak, and the sun shall never truly set.”
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With morning service concluded, the saint and her ward departed for the adventurers guild, hoping to find Lucia for their next errand of the day.
It was rather simple to find Lucia.
The adventurer’s voice stood out amongst the thinning crowds of the post breakfast guild, angry and filled with spite as she shouted at another adventurer stood inside her personal bubble. “What’s it matter to you?? Fuck off!”
“Can you do anything with that knife other than stab? I saw you take a rat quest the other day like a newbie.”
“Fuck you care about what quests I’m taking?!”
There seemed to be a dispute.
“You always sit there alone, scowling at everyone like you’re so above us, but no one knows what class you are, except ‘not a thief’ apparently.” The man smirked but the expression was short lived, the amusement sliding off his face all on its own.
“Not everyone’s as obvious as you meathead!” Lucia leaned in closer, twisting her head to glare at the adventurer’s face from an odd angle. “You get tired of working on daddy’s farm? You wanted to be a big strong knight like in mommy’s stories?”
A vein pulsing in the warrior’s forehead suggested Lucia had hit the mark. “There’s being subtle… and there’s being mundane.” He spat.
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Lucia’s face twisted into a furious snarl at the accusation. “You…” Her right hand began to reach for a weapon.
“Enough.” Annabelle spoke, summoning two light walls between the pair and using them to pull the seasoned fighters apart before they could kill each other.
“Miss Lucia.” The priestess greeted dryly, returning the brunette’s furrowed expression as their eyes met through the barrier.
“…Saint.” Lucia huffed, equally unenthused. Her eyes flicked to Ilya, standing beside the priestess in her grey and purple habit. “I see you’ve started converting the kid. She even get a say in it?”
The idea of forcing Ilya into anything made the saint frown, the dull ache behind her tired eyes causing her to squint slightly. “Of course she gets a say. Ilya needed new clothes and an abbey has only the garments of nuns and priests to offer her.”
“I like it.” Ilya stated, holding her arms out to show the outfit off. “It’s comfy and the colours are nice.”
Annabelle looked to the party Lucia had been about to draw a knife on. “I will be taking Miss Lucia with me, we have a commission to turn in. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
Their leader’s jaw shifted as he ground his teeth together, but he eventually bowed his head. “No, Saint Annabelle.”
She then turned to address the circle of gawkers that had formed around the feud, a stern motherly glare drifting from person to person. There must have been a smooth talking bard or a charismatic knight among them, and yet no one had attempted to diffuse the situation before she had. If she wasn’t so completely bereft of energy she would have been more vocal in her disappointment. “The show is over. Go, you have jobs to do.”
The crowd obeyed and everyone dispersed, a rumble of whispers and murmured apologies trailing behind them.
Annabelle sighed heavily, gesturing towards the front desk. “Come Miss Lucia, let us finish our report.”
“Finally. The guild wouldn’t give me the whole reward.” Lucia grumbled, shoulders hunched as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Fuckers said they wanted to wait for you.”
The saint paused, looking at the adventurer. Was the story of what they fought so hard to believe? Perhaps it was. “Is that so? Then let us not keep them, or you, waiting any longer.”
With no lineup to slow the process, the trio was quickly shepherded into a small meeting room where a few cushioned couches and chairs surrounded a short table. Ilya immediately moved ahead to sit down on the couch, shifting around as if to test the furniture’s worth. Annabelle sat down beside her, taking the opportunity to rest, however briefly. She heard Ilya speak beside her, complimenting the couch on its softness, and the saint had to agree. She supposed a crown funded institution could afford to splurge a little on seating. So very…
There was no sense of time passing but Annabelle suddenly found herself snapping awake at the sound of a door closing. She had dozed off at some point.
Looking up, the saint saw a guild worker had entered the room with a clipboard in her hands and a large book under her arm. Her light brown hair was styled in a straight bob that was cut level with her chin and poking out from between the strands on either side of her head were two sharp ears.
Ilya jumped to her feet, shooting her finger forward to point at the woman. “Elf!”
The guild girl looked up from her clipboard, hazel eyes meeting grey. “Uh- yes? Yes I am. Hello there young miss.”
“Are you a wood elf?” Ilya asked with excitement.
“…I believe so, yes.” She answered, looking at the other two women in the room as if to ask why she was being questioned instead of the other way around.
Annabelle reached out and slowly pushed the girl’s pointing arm back down to her side. “Ilya, I know you’re curious, but we have a job to do.”
Off in the corner of the room, Lucia snorted loudly, letting out a breathy laugh from her spot against the wall. Annabelle felt her face scrunch in a irritable scowl, shooting Lucia a glare fierce enough to immediately kill the adventurer’s amusement and seal her lips.
“Wow grumpy…” The brunette mumbled quietly, but Annabelle refused to waste effort by responding further.
“Please, let’s start as soon as possible.” Annabelle sighed for what felt like the tenth time today, pressing the heel of her palm into her brow bone.
“Very well.” The wood elf nodded, stepping around the table to sit on the couch across from her and Ilya. The heavy book was placed down on the table between them- it looked to be a bestiary.
“I don’t think the exact moment to moment sequence needs to be recounted.” She began, writing a few things on her clipboard. “But please describe briefly the condition of the sewer system and then in detail the threats you engaged within.”
Annabelle did just that, describing the relatively clean peripheral pipes they walked through before reaching the far filthier main line. “Direrat aggression was not noticeably worse than expected, though most seemed to affected by some kind of skin lesion.”
The interviewer hummed, writing another sentence down while mouthing the words ‘evidence of relation.’ Annabelle was thankful the connection with the recent outbreak was intuited so quickly- these girls really were professionals.
She continued ahead, describing the state of the filters- the black goo that had corrupted a tiny docile treatment slime into a very large and very violent foe. The interviewer lifted the bestiary into her lap, using one of the many ribbon bookmarks to open to a previously saved page.
“A greater plague slime. Found in stagnant swamplands, sites of improper mass burial like monster refuse piles, and in some cases abandoned settlements.” The guild worker took up her clipboard and after flipping through the pages made a quick checkmark next to a block of handwritten text.
Ilya raised her hand as if to ask permission to speak, only to do so anyway without waiting for a response. “A sewer isn’t any of those places.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” The interviewer replied. “But slimes are highly sensitive to their environment, both magical and mundane, and so cases of transformation aren’t uncommon. I assume this is one of those cases.”
She silently read through something on the one of the later pages on her clipboard before speaking again. “Miss Lucia’s report mentioned a possible cause for the slimes’ transformations in the last threat you faced.”
Annabelle’s tired expression fell further. Right.
The sinner, the unquiet one, the contemptuous perversion of life that sought to inflict the suffering of the departed upon those who remained.
Her face was stony as she described the undead in detail: from its almost melting flesh to its unnaturally fluid movements, to the toxic black mist that lived within it, darkening the water beneath its feet and corrupting everything downstream. She described the thing’s vast constitution, able to shrug off countless brutal slashes from Lucia, and even a sneak attack from Ilya that had hitherto slain all others.
The interviewer turned to another bookmarked page, frowning down at the drawing of the monster for a second as if to try and will it to become something else. “A Putrifier. One of the stronger variants of the common plague zombie- much stronger.” With a regretful sigh she again flipped through her clipboard to make an unhappy checkmark next to a different block of text.
“So many dangerous creatures on a low threat commission… What was it doing there?” She repeatedly ran her index finger from the base of her ear to its pointed end- some kind of stress tick, Annabelle mused. “It’s clear the guild needs to update threat assessment policies in regard to unknowns and raise the minimum. Any party actually meant for this level of commission would have been butchered.”
Her head shook, as if to toss that dark possibility away. “Nevertheless, the two stories match perfectly, as expected.”
“As expected? Why not give her the full reward immediately if you trusted her report?” Annabelle knew she was the one to initially suggest two reports, but that was only to assuage any doubt about the dangerous creatures they had slain. If they already believed Lucia’s report from the start, then there was no reason for her to be here- she could have been laying down in her bed by now.
“It’s… not really about the report.” The interviewer said hesitantly. “While it’s nice to have confirmation on the Putrifier, Miss Lucia’s file is spotless when it comes to completing and accurately reporting on commissions.”
“The actual reason we withheld the full reward is that- well… you must know better than I what she’s like?” The wood elf let out an awkward laugh, devoid of any actual humour.
Lucia drew close, arms crossed and expression sour. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
The interviewer held up her hands placatingly, leaning back. “It’s just- you don’t get along well with other adventurers. This is your first party in many years, and so we wanted to speak with the other members just in case-”
“In case I was trying to steal their share!? I told you they didn’t want it!”
“Look. I just need verbal confirmation and maybe a signature. Then we’ll go get you what you’re owed.”
Exhausted, irritable, and eager to just get it over with, Annabelle suddenly leaned forward and snatched the clipboard and pen from the guild girl’s hands. She rapidly wrote out a wavier of reward for herself and Ilya before signing off on both of them and tossing the clipboard back.
“There. Now go.” She commanded. It took everything she had left to stop herself from shouting at a woman only doing her job.
“Uh, yes, Sister Annabelle! Right away!” The wood elf bowed her head in submission, swiftly picking up her things and fleeing from the room as if the saint’s wrath would set it aflame.
A ridiculous notion, she was far too tired for [ Solar Flare ].
Lucia was the first the break the silence that followed, and she was blunt. “You look like shit. What’s wrong with you?”
“...I didn’t sleep much last night.” Annabelle admitted bitterly. It wasn’t like she could hide it; her body felt like it was weighed down by mountains of rubble.
Her temper burned at the realization of her all too human limits; she was one who moved mountains, she was Saint Annabelle of Artorra.
Her attempt to stand in defiance of her limits was cut short as her legs buckled and failed her. She would have collapsed entirely for her hubris had Lucia not caught her and summarily shoved her back onto the couch like a sack of flour. “Don’t get up! Fuck!”
“You didn’t sleep after a whole ass quest and then thought you could just go about your day? Are you actually retarded?!” Lucia’s rage, once directed at the guild, shifted to Annabelle instead.
“I said I would take Ilya to-”
“And how the fuck are you gonna do that, huh?!” Lucia continued to shout her down, the adventurer’s hands clenched into fists against her hips. “You can’t even stand!”
Annabelle huffed a frustrated breath; she had no answer.
“I can go with Lucia.” Ilya spoke up, having stood at some point to quietly watch the growing argument from near the opposite head of the table.
““What?”” The two older women exclaimed in unison.
“You’re too tired to help me, and Lucia’s cool.” Ilya shrugged, meeting Annabelle’s eyes. The matter of fact way her ward described the situation felt as much like a shove as the one Lucia had just given her, but the truth tended to hurt.
Lucia visibly tensed as she worked the suggestion over in her mind, but eventually a deep sigh of surrender escaped her lips. “You’d still stalk me even if I said no, wouldn’t you?”
Ilya nodded shamelessly.
Both women knew then that there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop her.
So when the guild girl finally returned with Lucia’s reward, Annabelle locked eyes with the adventurer. ‘I am trusting you with her.’ The intense stare said. ‘I allow this because there is no other option.’
Lucia held her gaze, blindly snatching the coin pouch from the wood elf and tossing back an empty one. “Let’s go kid. Make sure to keep up.”
Nodding her head, Ilya fell in step behind the adventurer and the two vacated the room without any other words. The two that remained looked at each other for a second before the elf nervously bowed to the saint and followed them, closing the door behind her.
With no eyes but those of Amasur left to judge her, Annabelle tilted over and collapsed on the couch, laying her head down on the soft cushions.
“‘Action and consequence are the driver of all things…’” The saint recited sleepily. If she hadn’t wasted so much time and energy on anger, she wouldn’t have had to allow another to take up her responsibility; she wouldn’t have had to feel so useless.
She supposed this was her punishment.
Those were the saint’s last thoughts as the blackness of sleep took hold.
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Flavenport’s streets were just as busy as ever, the river of people rushing through the city strong enough in current to force all things to conform to its flow.
Lucia fucking hated it.
As much as she tried to sweeten it with metaphors about the movements of water, she was still stuck walking in a stuffy crowd of people. Obnoxious, fake, judgemental people.
The saint’s stray followed close behind her, constantly making slight movements to dodge aggressive shoulders or avoid crushed toes. Her opinion of the girl had mellowed over the past 24 hours: first impressions of a buzzing nuisance giving way to the image of a deeply strange but amusing character.
Reaching the end of the street that opened out into the city’s central market, Lucia felt something tug at her cloak. Looking back she saw Ilya had stopped, scanning the stalls with an appraising expression on her face. “Can you stay here and watch my back?” Ilya requested.
Lucia’s eyebrows shifted, the edge of her lip curling upward. “What, you gonna go rob someone?” She joked, only to be met with a serious answer.
“Yes.”
No matter how much time she spent with Ilya, Lucia felt she would never get used to the little thief’s disinterested honesty. Maybe having nothing to loose from the start gave the girl no reason to learn a fear of reproach? Wouldn’t that be nice.
Lucia crossed her arms and leaned back against the brickwork. “I’ll keep a lookout, but if you get caught I’m pretending to not know you.”
A few moments of silent thought followed by a silent nod and Ilya stepped away from the wall of buildings to mix with the crowd. Lucia tracked the girl’s movement across the market the best she could but it only took a single blink of the eyes for Ilya to vanish entirely, like she was never there.
“How am I gonna watch your back when I can’t see you?” She grumbled. “Fuckin’ stealthy types…”
For a time she just stood there against the building, enjoying the experience of being apart from the teeming hordes, unnoticed and unbothered.
That was until someone did in fact notice her.
That same meathead and all his friends from the guild, back to belittle her for no reason.
“You again.” She spat. This was the largest number of repeat encounters Lucia had ever had in one week. Did someone stick a sign on her back that said ‘please keep bothering me!’?
“Come to get your ass whooped? If not then step the fuck off.”
“Where does all that ego come from?” The annoyance huffed, shaking his head slowly. “How does someone like you think themselves such a big shot?”
“Because I’ve got the blood on my hands to back it up.” She glared at the warrior, pressing her fist into her palm to crack the knuckles before doing the same with the other fist. “Want yours on them too?”
“We’ve tried for months to get Saint Annabelle to join us on a quest and she suddenly picks you?!“ For once one of his party members actually joined in, the ranger, her shrill voice rattling Lucia’s eardrums with their grievances. “Why you? You aren’t special!”
So that’s what this was about: someone was actually jealous- of her. Hilarious.
“It wasn’t my fucking choice, the kid does what she wants and the saint follows.” If they were fans of Annabelle, they weren’t very good ones; they didn’t even know she’d adopted.
The explanation seemed to only fill the warrior with scorn. “How lucky for you, you get to leech off of someone so powerful. She blows through all the monsters and you get paid for it.”
A quick pull upwards and a skilled twist and Lucia’s twin blades were glinting in the sun. It was clear by now what direction this was going to turn.
They drew their weapons in kind, their bodies flashing in colour as multiple buffs strengthened them for battle. Lucia did no such thing.
“Arrogant enough to not set up? Or is it because you can’t?” She didn’t reply to the taunt or make any move. She knew what they wanted: a reaction, an outburst, something to justify themselves or entertain the growing crowd- she wasn’t going to give it to them.
“Fuck, you really are mundane aren’t you?!”
Lucia’s eyelid twitched at the M-word. “I don’t need anything to pulp you, shithead.”
The warrior’s club rose to attack. “We’ll see how you feel after-”
He froze mid sentence, a shiver shooting though his body at the sensation of something pointy gently poking into the skin of his back. A feeling that should have been impossible given his torso was wrapped in multiple layers and covered in platemail.
The other members of the party and the gawking crowd looked at the warrior when he suddenly grew silent, jumping when they noticed someone standing directly behind him.
A little shadow- a short girl with black hair and black robes, her right hand holding something sharp enough to pierce through steel and leather without a sound. She held the blade against the man’s spine, the slight twitching of her inexperienced hand carving the shallowest divot into his skin. At no point had anyone seen her slip past them.
“Lucia, I’m done.” Ilya said with her normal tone, as if she was simply greeting a friend after stepping away to the latrine and not holding someone at knifepoint. The girl’s head leaned out from behind the man to look at her temporary guardian. “Who are these people attacking you, are they enemies?”
Lucia was conflicted.
On one hand, this was extremely funny. Serves these bastards right for fucking with her- for once in her miserable life she had backup.
On the other hand, Ilya’s stupid rock knife was the most dangerous improvised weapon Lucia had ever seen; one wrong move and this man would be dead. Not that she cared about his life- he could choke -but there was an entire circle of witnesses around them to scream and point fingers. Lucia wasn’t keen on facing an executioner’s block, or worse, Annabelle.
Still, if she was going to save this asshole’s life, she decided to have some fun with it.
“I don’t know, are you my enemy?” She questioned, her words dripping with smug derision even as she handed the warrior a lifeline. “I remember you being pretty fucking rude to me earlier.”
The druid of the party was the quickest to understand the situation they were in, floundering to make use of her generosity. “That’s… that’s why we came to apologize!”
“Oh really?” They all knew it was a lie, and yet they all had to play along, lest the saint’s charity case became subject of a murder case. Lucia could see the ranger’s teeth grit as she forced out an unconvincing “Sorry.”
Another scrape against the party’s leader spine was enough to activate his self preservation instincts, joining in on the grovelling. “Uh, r-right! We don’t want to be e-enemies!”
“Well apology not accepted!” Lucia shouted, pointing back in the direction they came with the tip of her blade. As satisfying as this all was, she still had shit to do today and would rather never see any of these fools ever again. “If you don’t want to be my enemy then get the fuck out of my sight!”
“Kid.” She signalled Ilya with what she hoped was a ‘come here, let them go’ motion and not a ‘make them never walk again’ one.
Thankfully for all involved it was interpreted as the former and Ilya came to stand at her side, allowing the hostage to escape.
“That goes for all of you!” She snarled at the surrounding bystanders. “Fuck off, or you’re next!” She swung her knives through empty air in a few showy arcs that sent the crowd scampering.
“You showed up at a pretty decent time.” She said after a minute, standing next her temporary charge, blades sheathed as they watched everyone flee in different directions. “They were probably trying to get me to attack first so I would get blamed. I don’t know how many strikes I get before they kick me out of the guild.”
“So… thanks, I guess.” She stumbled, awkwardly scratching her elbow. The genuine gratitude tasted weird in her mouth; she almost felt like gagging.
Ilya held up three or four different coin purses in reply, each weighed down by an ample amount of gold. “It was a good diversion.”
Lucia slapped the stolen goods down quickly before someone still watching could put two and two together. “Idiot! Don’t show it off like that!” She whisper-shouted.
Ilya continued explaining regardless, smiling at her haul. “I mostly just wanted the bags, so the money is bonus.”
Stealing from strangers, almost killing a man, all while wearing the robes of the church. What would the saint say if she knew about this? Her sweet child was a stone cold criminal.
Lucia would certainly not be the one to tell her when she awoke.
“Come on kid, let’s get out of here before the guards show.”
----------------------------------------
The smithy was empty when they walked in, though many empty spots on the weapon racks showed it wasn’t from lack of business. The blacksmith himself sat a distance behind the counter, slamming his hammer down repeatedly on a red hot ingot. His dark green skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, showcasing both the intense heat of the forge beside him and just how long the orc had been working away.
“Yo, smith.” Lucia greeted, pulling out her daggers and tossing them haphazardly on the counter. “Got some shitty scrap for you to sharpen.”
He gave a sideward glance at two humans in his shop but said nothing, continuing to work the metal before him into a longer bar. Once the red hot glow of the iron finally started to cool, the smith ceased his blows and placed it back in the forge, only then approaching the counter.
“Chip my fang, these are scrap. The fuck is this?” The orc exclaimed, examining her blades with the same look someone gave to carrion left on the side of the road.
“I fuckin’ told you they were, unplug your ears next time, lardass.”
His yellow eyes flicked to her from where they had peeking across the face of the blade and checking for warp. “Not everyday a human wench says something important.” The clusterfuck he had for teeth revealed themselves as his lips curled into shiteating grin.
Lucia made a face in return before they both let out matching amused huffs. Orcs were fun.
“Gods, this is shoddy work.” The smith sighed, looking at her again with an expression approaching concern- or the closest an orc face could manage. “You sure you want them sharpened? Not melted down into something new?”
Lucia was aware how much she could have improved her main weapons, but their quality hadn’t been an issue before and a travelling mercenary had travel expenses. “I don’t have that kind of time or money to spend, I just need something that can gut a man.”
“If you insist.” The orc grunted, carrying the daggers over to his grinding wheel. “If you ever want a real pair of twin blades, head up to the highlands, blood brother of mine in Krod still smiths in the old ways.” With that he spun up his wheel and got to work, sending a hail of sparks shooting across the shop.
“They’re allowed to have weapons up there?” Lucia asked, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip. “I thought the strongholds were demilitarized.” It was half small talk and half a genuine question.
“They lifted that decades ago.” He answered. Every few passes he made against the grindstone, the smith raised her weapon to check its edge before continuing. “Even if there wasn’t a fort of soldiers right next door, there aren’t enough of us living in the holds to bother worrying about. A few hunters with swords aren’t gonna do shit.”
Lucia supposed he was right: no matter how much rage you have against the world, on your own, all a person can do is survive.
“There’s soldiers near Krod?” Ilya suddenly asked, ending her previous ten straight minutes of silence. “I live in Bearwood, but I’ve never seen any soldiers ...only the town guard.” A hateful expression briefly washed over little street rat’s face before being consumed by her trademark blank stare.
"A highland girl, eh?" The orc quirked a large brow, taking a second, real look at Ilya before returning to his work. “You probably wouldn’t’ve in Bearwood though; the soldiers at the fort are for invasions or rebellion. I hear most of the real military is further east, near the border.” Seeming satisfied enough with the first blade’s edge, he swapped to the next, pressing it against the rough spinning stone.
“That’s what adventurers are for, after all: scrawny kids like you take care of all the day to day monster slaying while the army is off measuring hogs with our neighbours.”
“If you’re gonna kill each other or fuck each other, just do it!” He barked. “This foreplay is getting boring.” Lucia snorted a laugh for the second time that day, flicking her eyes right to see Ilya’s reaction. As expected her face was blank, but she nodded a few times as if in agreement- to what part, Lucia couldn’t say.
“That should do it.” The smith hummed, quickly wiping the edges of Lucia’s blades with an old rag before handing them over. “Don’t expect the edge to hold though.”
Lucia pressed the knife flat against her forearm, slowly dragging it towards her wrist to watch how it cut through the delicate hairs. When both blades passed her test, Lucia slid them back into their sheathes, pulling out her hard earned reward to pay with.
“Um, do you have ash resin?” Ilya asked, suddenly again. “I want to put these two together.” She unwrapped and held out her dagger as well as a white handle that looked to be carved from bone. It wasn’t a master craftsman’s work, but the groove made to fit the blade was cleanly cut and looked to be shaped decently well.
“Finally attaching an actual handle?” Lucia said, lightly jabbing the girl with her elbow. “About time, that shitty leather hack job was pissing me off.”
The smith stared at the weapon, something like recollection in his eyes before he blinked it away and scrunched his brows. “A homemade dagger? And I thought your friend’s knives were sketchy.”
“Don’t underestimate that thing, she almost killed a guy with it today.”
He pulled a disbelieving face, gesturing towards Ilya. “Really? Little church girl like her?” It was amazing what a difference in wardrobe could do.
“She’s kind of a freak.”
The blacksmith burst out laughing, slamming a hand the size of Ilya’s head down on the counter. “Well shit, guess I have to then; arming budding psychos is my job.”
He disappeared into the back of the shop, returning with a large jar of something. The jar was slightly blackened on the bottom and sides from regular exposure to heat, and from the way the smith placed it so close to the mouth of the forge it was easy to see why.
After a minute or so of warming, the smith shoved a stick into the jar, stirring around the contents before scooping out a blob of gooey resin. The warm tree blood spread easily on the bottom side of the blade and the inner groves of the bone, sinking into cracks and pores where they rapidly began to solidify. Once the handle and blade were one, the smith wrapped the hilt tightly in leather to ensure it stayed that way.
“There you go kid.” He said, slipping a tough looking sheathe over the blade proper. “Keep it wrapped up like this for a few hours and then you’re free to kill whoever.”
Ilya’s eyes sparkled at the finished dagger, excitedly hooking it to her hip with a ribbon that someone had tied into a decent knot- probably Annabelle. ‘Slipknots aren’t permanent though, by definition.’ Lucia instinctively found herself criticizing the saint’s choice of knot before dropping it when she realized that Ilya hadn’t paid. Another, much harder, elbow to the side reminded the girl that she had recently ‘come across’ more than enough gold to cover the fee.
Counting up the two humans’ coin, the orc swiped up the whole pile in his fist and stuffed the payment into a pocket on his apron. “Pleasure doing business. Now fuck off, I have work to do.” With that the green skinned smith returned to his forge, pulling out the red hot bar of metal, picking up his hammer, and beginning to swing anew.
The pair exited the shop onto the busy street, a little more dangerous and a little lighter on gold.
“…Maybe I should go back to the highlands.” Lucia mused, idly juggling one of her newly sharpened knives. “I left because it was a dead end, but maybe that was fine.”
Ilya eyes grew wide, as if her half hearted decision was a bigger deal than it actually was. “You wanna go back?”
“It was quiet; people didn’t bother me there.” Lucia explained with a shrug, pausing by the end to lightly kick the girl beside her. “Except you.”
“The highlands have monsters to kill; merchants or gatherers that need escorts… There’s way more orcs, and they’re less annoying than humans or elves.” Maybe she had gone far enough, maybe she could stop and just… live again.
“I don’t know- thinking aloud.” She concluded lamely, resuming her forward march without looking back. If she had, Lucia might have noticed the girl had not yet followed.
If she had, she might have seen the glimmer of madness in the little shadow’s gaze, fully trained on her retreating form.
If she had, she might have heard the quiet giggle that passed through Ilya’s lips; the conspiratorial whisper to something unseen.
“Bonus.”