Tales of Slackstar & Raelynn: Damsel in Distress

Slackstar gulped down his beer and slammed the mug down on the counter.  “Another” he barked at the tender, then wiped the foam off his face.  The chubby man grunted and slid the beer across the counter to him.  The beer sloshed across the lip of the glass when he caught it, there was more head than beer.  Slackstar didn’t care, he grimaced, tossed back his head and drank.

“Having a bad day?” a voice next to him asked.  Slackstar turned his head noticing for the first time the man sitting in the stool next to him.  He was thin, hunched over, unshaven and dirty.   His eyes were bloodshot and dark, his clothes looked as though they hadn’t been washed during this Emperor’s reign.  Perhaps longer.  Slackstar shook his head as he swallowed the swill.

“Need liquid courage.” he winked playfully at the patron but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Another!” he called to the tender.

“Gold first!” the bartender held out his hand.

Slackstar rolled his eyes but produced a large gold coin, seemingly from nowhere, and slapped it into the dirty hand.  It was enough to buy the entire tavern.

“Keep them comin’”.  The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, he stuck the coin between his teeth and bit down.  Satisfied, he poured another glass and slid it across the counter.  Slackstar lifted the glass and toasted silently to no one in particular.

“It’s a woman.” the voice interjected again.  Slackstar turned and looked at the man around the upturned glass.  “I can see it in your eyes.  She must be something special.”  He chuckled as he looked Slackstar up and down, “funny how women can sap the courage out of even the strongest of us, eh?”

Slackstar slammed the mug on the counter, there was a sliding sound and the dull thump as Slackstar caught the replacement glass against his open hand.  “It isn’t her that terrifies me so much as her present company.”

“What’s her name?”  The man nodded, hesitant understanding forming on his face.

“Raelynn” he spoke her name to his glass.  How could she have gotten into this mess?

“You steeling yourself to woo her away from her man with your musical charms?” he glanced meaningfully at the lute strapped to Slackstar’s back.

“Ha!” Slackstar took a big swig from his glass, “I wish! That’d be far simpler.”  He involuntarily glanced down at the sword strapped to his hip.

“She’s in some kind of trouble then.”  He was dripping the last dregs from Slackstar’s empty mugs into his own.

“You could say that.” he finished the mug and slammed it down.  Slide, thump.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.  You new in town?” Slackstar nodded as he came up for air.  “You better be careful stirring things up, the Magistrate of this town doesn’t take too kindly to troublemakers.”

“Then the Magistrate should take care who he places those filthy eyes of his on.” Slackstar cast a dark look at the drunk with the desired effect.  The man shrank away and returned his eyes to his half empty drink.

“Forget I said anything” the man said to his glass.  Slackstar laughed and slapped him on the back jovially.

“Whiskey for me and my friend here!” he called to the bartender, two glasses and a bottle promptly appeared before them.  Slackstar poured two generous portions and raised a glass.  “To women!” he winked again, and swayed slightly on his feet.  He downed the whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter.

“To women!” his companion chimed in with uncertainty.  Slackstar guffawed and slapped the man’s back again.

“You keep the bottle, I’d better get going.” and like that Slackstar was out the door.

The town outside was hot, and sticky with humidity.  The sun was just beginning to set, but the air would not cool significantly until just before sunrise.  The streets were empty, people had already gone home for the evening.  They’d wake just before the sun and get most of their business done before the hottest part of the day.

He untied his and Raelynn’s horses and guided them through the streets, preferring to walk rather than ride.   They’d only meant to ride through this town, stop a day or so for food and supplies then be on their way.  That was three days ago.  Raelynn loved this town, she said she found something in the air intoxicating.  Slackstar thought it was alright.  He wasn’t a big fan of all the sand, but the greenery was nice.  He didn’t like ocean towns as a rule, he felt trapped, with fewer escape routes.

They’d got swept up in some local festival, lots of drinking and recklessness.  The next thing Slackstar knew Raelynn had caught the eye of the Magistrate, a man who takes what he wants and offers no apologies.

Slackstar’s quiet questions and covert bribes had revealed that the Magistrate liked to keep his ‘acquisitions’ in a tower at the north end of town.  It was likely she was chained up there, being beaten or tortured as a part of some strange and bizarre mental conditioning.  He shivered just to think of it.

The tower was guarded day and night by an entire battalion of soldiers.  It seemed the magistrate was a favorite of the Emperor’s and consequently had a disproportionately large amount of gold at his disposal.  Slackstar wasn’t concerned though, his strength lie in the shadows.  He could slip in and out past ten thousand men completely undetected.  At least, he was pretty sure he could.  He’d never actually tried it.

The town was starting to thin, the tower was a bit further along, but he could already see it peeking out through the trees.  The air seemed chill here.  He tied up the horses near the road but out of the way where they wouldn’t be seen, and began creeping through the bushes towards the tower.

He eventually came to a line in the brush, the tower was surrounded by a courtyard and a fence barred his approach.  He quietly circled the tower, using the shrubbery as cover, and saw no guards posted outside.  He chuckled to himself, all these guards and gold, and he can’t even properly secure a tower.

Careful to stay out of direct view of any of the windows and arrowslits he ran to the fence and quickly scaled it.  Just as quickly he found himself huddled against the wall of the tower beneath a window.  He shivered and rubbed his bare arms then cursed under his breath for not grabbing a warmer tunic first.

He crept around the building, low and tight to the building keeping a constant eye on the forest surrounding the him.  He couldn’t help but feel something was off, something wasn’t quite adding up.  Where was everyone?

He slipped on the ground, landing hard on his hands and knees, he cursed again as small pieces of ice on the blades of grass sliced into his hands.  It had been so hot only a few moments ago…

Before he could finish his thought he heard a sickening crack and looked up in time to see the tower shiver.  It started leaning towards him, bending about halfway up, as though sketching a bow.  Slackstar jumped to his feet and ran, ran harder than he remembered running in a long time.   He ran towards the tower entrance, and away from the path of the falling stones.  When he got to the doorway a blue corpse exploded through the wooden door.  It had been pierced hundreds of times by little icicles, they steamed in the dusk twilight.

He pulled out his sword and glanced around nervously, looking for someone to fight.  The top half of the tower had finished crashing to the ground, the broken edges glistened icy blue and billowed steam.  Water vapor boiled through the entrance to the tower, and Slackstar could not see anything in the darkness.

“Filthy mage!” a desperate cry sounded from the darkness.

“I don’t really care about your religious perversions,” a woman’s voice, calm and cool.  “Just go get your master, he and I must have words.”  The rustle and thumping of a struggle.

Eventually the first voice squeaked, “yes ma’am.”  A few moments later a tall, muscular man came scrambling out of the tower, glancing behind him as he rushed towards the road.  He squealed, startled when he saw Slackstar but kept running.

“What took you so long?” she purred as she stepped out of the wrecked tower.  She was short and pale skinned, with crisp blue eyes.  Her hair shimmered blue, as though strung up with beads, but Slackstar knew it was ice and would melt once she was done fooling around.  She clung to a icy blue short sword, it steamed in the warm air.

“We’ve gotta go!” Slackstar spat at her, with perhaps a touch more impatience than he had intended.

She raised an eyebrow at him and wagged her sword back in forth in his face.  “Didn’t you hear me? I have some things I need to say to this magistrate.  He’ll be here in just a minute.”

“You don’t actually think he’ll come alone, do you?”

“Of course not” she winked.

No sooner had she uttered the words than Slackstar heard the hurried clatter of an incoming army.  Bellows and horns surrounded them as the soldiers poured into the courtyard and circled the tower.  Hundreds of them, they rattled swords and notched arrows.  The white and gold of their uniforms matched the frosty white ground in the diminishing light.

Slackstar sighed and sheathed his sword, and brought down the lute from his back.  He began strumming a sullen ballad.  His soft voice carried easily through the thin, frozen air.

“Twas once a fool, his heart adrift,

No one denied him what he wished.”

Raelynn smirked and raised her hands above her head, as though in surrender.  “Where’s the magistrate?” she called out.

“I’m here, my love.” he shouldered through the soldiers and took a few steps.  He gestured around, “why don’t we talk about this, hon?”

“One day his heart, a maid did steal,

She loved him not, what an ordeal!”

Her grin grew wider as she brought her hands down to her sides.  In response to the motion, the forest around them exploded, leaves, needles and branches frozen solid and encased in ice came flying at them from all directions slicing and piercing soldiers indiscriminately.  It was chaos incarnate, the soldiers screamed and yelled as they swung their swords and shields seeking invisible assailants and in futile attempts to shelter their soft bodies.  It was over in seconds, the battlefield was nearly silent except for the hissing and cracking of melting ice.  Only three people remained alive then, Slackstar, Raelynn, and the Magistrate.

“The jealous fool locked her away,

In his prison, she did not stay.”

“Yes, let’s talk, sweetheart,” the last word dripped with venom.

“W-w-we can work something out.” the nobleman stammered at her as he stood up from where he had cowered on the ground. “Y-y-you are clearly not happy.  N-n-name anything you wish, I-I-I will do anything in my p-p-power.”

“I want your death.”

“C-c-certainly you jest, my dear!” he glanced around hesitantly, clearly not fully digesting what had just happened.  “If you truly wanted me dead, surely I already would be.”  His confidence was growing, he stood taller.  It was almost comical to watch him naively believe he had some upper hand in this confrontation.

“Evil deeds he wrought on her mind,

She was not docile, he would find.”

Raelynn wasted no more time with chat, she lunged at him, sword swinging wildly, leaving blue streaks in the air.  Slackstar winced at the awkward show, she’d left herself open, but luckily the magistrate hadn’t taken the bait.  She had always been terrible with a blade, and today was no exception, but luck was with her as she had caught her foe by surprise.  There was genuine shock on his face, and he barely fended her off in time.

“Twas a great battle in the ice,”

The magistrate seemed to be at a loss for how to fight against her, it was all he could do to block her haphazard and random thrusts and parries.  He kept stepping back from her, trying to gain some footing and didn’t notice the puddle of ice behind him until it was too late.  He fell onto his back and dropped his own sword in the shock.  Raelynn dove on him, blade first, ready to slam it straight down into his chest.  The magistrate caught her just in time, his hands trembling with the effort of holding her at arm’s length, the blade quivered meer inches above his chest.

“My dear,” he grunted out, “you are overreacting.”  His face was red with exertion, sweat beaded on his face.

Raelynn screamed wordlessly, rage and fury pouring out of her as she drove down harder on the sword but it did not move.

“...That day she skewered his heart twice.”

The magistrate looked at Slackstar, as though finally noticing the song’s lyrics.  He looked profoundly confused and terrified.  Realization of the futility of his situation appeared to dawn on him.  The air around them grew very cold and Raelynn’s sword began to steam strangely, instead of wafting away from her icy blade it was as though the blade absorbed the very moisture from the air around it.  The tip began to grow, slowly at first then faster and without moving her hand the ice grew straight into his heart.

“You bitch” the magistrate spluttered his last words then went limp.

“That was a terrible song,” Raelynn turned towards him leaving the sword in her captor’s chest.

“Thanks, I thought you’d like it.” Slackstar grumbled, returning the lute to his back.

“I mean, ‘what an ordeal’? What were you thinking?” she winked at him.

“It’s been a long day, and I needed something to rhyme with ‘steal’.” He glared at her mockingly.  “And I’d like to see you do better!”

She laughed and spread her arms wide, after a deep breath she exhaled hard, as though relieving herself of a great burden.  The entire courtyard filled with steam, the air was warm and wet again.  After the cool winter-like evening it felt like stepping into a kettle of boiling water.  “Where to next?” she asked when she finally opened her eyes.

“Are we done with this town?” he asked, hope bleeding into his voice.

“I think that would be best, don’t you?” she glanced around at the steaming carnage.  “I would like to stick to the coast for a while though.  I like the humid air, it’s a nice change from the dry desert.” She smiled at him and nodded towards the entrance.

Tales of McVurdy: Better Days

Shem crept through the tall grass encircling the army encampment. The light from campfires danced across the field, casting shadows before him.  He kept low under the starlit sky, his eyes were the only break in the black clothing he wore from head to toe.  He could just make out the drunken rambling and shouting of soldiers on the eve of battle.  They beat their chests and joked bawdily.  They felt assured of their victory, so much so they had to repeat their convictions aloud.

He watched as a lone soldier stumbled away from camp.  Shem stalked him, keeping his distance so as to not be seen.  Years of training in The Order had made this second nature to him.  He glided silently through the grass, keeping a safe distance but totally outside of the soldier’s notice.  He was about Shem’s height and build, his uniform was worn and neglected, meaning he took no pride in his enlistment.  He’d probably been compelled into fighting and would not be missed.  The soldier swayed drunkenly as he fumbled at the tie on his trousers, his shadow swung back and forth across the trees and danced in the flickering firelight.  Shem grabbed a stone and tossed it with a practiced arm, placing the soldier between himself and the thud and tumble in the bushes.

“Who’s tha’?” the soldier slurred, and rocked as he drunkenly looking away from Shem, “‘is that you J-” Shem’s knife interrupted the question when he sheathed it in the soldier’s brain through the base of his skull.  Quickly Shem shoved the soldier down and stripped him of his clothes, careful to keep the fresh blood from staining the uniform too heavily.  He doubted anyone would notice, the uniform was even filthier than Shem had first realized in the dim light. It was stained with countless, bodily fluids from any number of sources.  He pushed the thoughts from his head as he pulled the clothes on over his own.  He dragged the corpse into some bushes and piled a few loose branches on it.  It was unlikely he’d be found before morning, and by then he’d be long gone.  He pulled down his hood and tucked it into the shirt behind himself and quickly inspected his disguise.

When he was satisfied he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  His mind emptied and his thoughts fled with practiced ease, hours spent meditating had made this second nature to him.  Drunk.  He thought the simple word to himself and he began to sway on his feet, felt his face flush, and posture slacken.  Wandering back to where the soldier had come from would be too dangerous, someone might recognize his uniform, and become suspicious about the whereabouts of their friend.  If he wandered into the revelry from a different angle, people would simply assume he was a lost soldier from another part of the camp.  He began to stumble into the field, blazing a meandering trail back towards a different part of the camp than his dead soldier had originated.

He scanned the camp before him, and counted three different banners flying over groups of campfires.  He flicked open a pouch in his left sleeve and dropped three beans from it to the ground, tying it shut again with practiced ease.  He continued his oblique trek towards the camp, edging nearer the firelight, until someone called out at him.

“Hey!  You lost?”  Shem could make out the stifled chuckles from his friends.

“Huh?”  Shem called back, making a show of looking for the source of the voice in an exaggerated appearance of night blindness.  “That you Jem?”  He slurred the words and swung his head around, stumbling backwards.  Laughter now from the campfire.  He spotted another new flag, one he hadn’t seen before, and dropped another bean.

“Come here!” one of the men at the fire was running towards him, and grabbing his arm gently, leading him to the fire.  “Sit and drink!”  Shem nodded as if this was the most reasonable plan in the world.

“Name’s Shem,” he hiccuped at the group.

“Nice to meet ya, Shem.” his host replied.  He was clearly an officer, albeit a low ranking one.   His uniform was well cared for and decorated.  He even looked cleaner and better kempt than his companions.  He sat slightly apart from the group as though he had already been promoted, at least in his head.  “I’m Jek, and these dirtbags are Slacks and Trast.”  The latter two soldiers were more like his victim in the field, dirty and disheveled.  Street urchins compelled into military service.  Perhaps they enjoyed it, but they took no pride in their campaign. Shem nodded at each name, his whole body rocked with the motion like sloppy bows.

They chuckled, “What unit you from?”

Shem shrugged, “I’m just here for the booze.” They laughed even louder, slapping their knees.  Shem looked around at the group grinning stupidly.  “You know there’s a war on?”

“No shit!” uproarious laughter, Jek slapped him on the back.  “You work that out all on yer own?”

Shem gave him a proud smile.  “We gonna win, ain't we?”

“Here, here!” Slacks held up his mug, the rest of the party echoed the cheer.

“I mean-” Shem gulped down his drink, “they’ll see us riding up on the city tomorrow and, they’ll shit their pants!”

“Ha!” Trast chuckled, “they won’t see us coming at all!  Not with their city burning down from the inside!”  The three grunted wordlessly, and beat their chests.

“I’m glad they didn’t make me go on that suicide mission” Trast volunteered when the burst of revelry had died down.  “You remember when we marched on Shin’Don?” Nobody responded, Trast had taken a solemn and sobering look, the rest of the group sat quietly, letting him tell the story. Shin’Don, This was news to Shem, communication with his brethren their were limited with all the patrols on the roads between.  “My pal, Jeon was in the infiltration team…”  Trast gulped from his cup.  “He barely escaped with his life.  They set the fires like they was supposed to but they got nabbed on their way back to the sewers.”  He stared quietly into the fire for a long moment, and nobody said a word.

“They was tied up in some underground cellar.  Dank and dirty, uncivilized like.  He says at first they just hung from the ceilings, whipping them and asking questions.  Then those freaks in all black clothes showed up.  Stuff they done was unnatural.”  He took a shuddering breath, “Kept for weeks, strapped on their backs with water dripping on the foreheads.  They couldn’t drink it, and it kept them from sleeping.  They shoved bamboo under their fingernails.”  Trast looked up at the group.  “Other, even worse, unspeakable things.  He ain't been the same since.”

The silence stretched into minutes.  The roar and laughter from other campfires drifted over to them, but Shem could clearly hear the crackle and pop of of their own fire.  He knew if this Jeon had escaped at all, it was because The Order leadership in Shin’Don had wanted him to.  They probably wanted him to spread his fearful tales throughout the army.

Shem abruptly stood, all eyes turned to him quizzically, and he swayed on his feet momentarily.  “I-” he shook his head, making it look like he was clearing his head as he tried to come up with an excuse to continue his patrol, “I just remembered, my commander said he had a special assignment for me tomorrow-“

They laughed, “That’s tomorrow you blockhead!  Sit!  Drink!  It’s not like you’re on the infiltration team.  They only send The Warrior Priest to do those now.”  he leaned towards the fire again, a mischievous glint in his eye.  “They say he’s died a thousand times, and been fightin’ this war since it started five hundred years ago!”  Shem’s breath caught in his throat.  He whispered a silent and ancient prayer of protection under his breath.  If the Crimson Blade was among this army his reconnaissance mission had just become more urgent.

Shem shook his head and laughed.  “Well, I at least need to take a leak.”  he announced to nobody in particular and then stumbled away from the camp walking further than necessary in a wandering path so they wouldn’t be concerned when he didn’t return.  He made a show of standing in the field a minute, facing away from the fire, and pretending to piss on the ground while he considered what he’d learned.  This might not be any army from the west, this might be The Army. He needed to finish his reconnaissance and confirm his suspicions.

Shem continued on a circuit around the camp, dropping beans every time he saw a new banner, casually fending off advances from other drunken revelers.  Halfway around the circle he stopped and his blood ran cold.  He hadn’t really believed it when Jek said it, but now he saw with his own eyes.  The white flag with the red dagger and an emblazoned golden “M”.  The flag of The Warrior Priest.  Shem hastened his patrol, but decided not to venture into the camp again.  It was said when in the presence of the warrior priest an enemies disguise would fall off, or he would simply trip and fall onto his own knife.  Freak accidents seemed to favor the priest.  Shem didn’t believe in superstitions, but he didn’t feel like putting his convictions to the test.  He needed to return to the temple as soon as possible.

When he’d finished his circle of the camp he quickly doffed his disguise and dove into the bushes fleeing from the army as quickly as he could while remaining reasonably hidden.  When he’d passed the outer circle of patrols he opened his left sleeve and counted the beans remaining, there were only three left, meaning forty-seven houses in this army.  Each house brought between two and three thousand men.  This meant three to one odds for Shem’s people.  Those were despairingly steep odds.

He sprinted silently towards the city walls on bare feet.  His pulse thudded in his ears, he needed to alert the elders, they must begin the evacuation tonight, now!  There was a small grove up against the walls on the south side of the city where an unused sewage tunnel let out, it was his favorite covert path in and out of the city.  His heart was racing, and this close to the city he abandoned all stealth in favor of haste.  He openly sprinted through the bushes, and could just see the small pile of rocks indicating the exit when his foot caught on a branch and he fell face first.

He must have hit his head on a rock and lost consciousness because the next thing he knew he was on his back and the tip of a sword was pressing down on his throat.  He looked up at the blurry figure before him.  He squinted and blinked his eyes, trying to bring the shifting colors into focus and when they did he realized he was beneath an old man in strange robes.  They shifted colors even in the dark, continuously shimmering and swimming before him, they seemed to draw Shem’s eyes to the old man’s hip where he found a sheathed red dagger with a single gold wrought letter on the side.

“Hi,” the man above him said congenially.  “I’m McVurdy, priest of The Lord of Chaos, Maelstrom. You might know me better as The Warrior Priest, The Lord Catalyst, The Crimson Blade, and a few others I can’t think of.  ...and you are?”

“Shem” he choked out.

“Shem,”  The old man stopped and considered Shem for a moment.  “Shem, I’m afraid you’re going to die today.  Right now, actually.  I just don’t have time or the patience for prisoners, and if I tie you up out here, you look like the kind of guy who’d find your way out with ease.  It’s nothing personal, just bad timing really, and I don’t trust you.”

Shem stared up at the priest, speechless.  He should stand his ground and insult him, he should beg for his life.  He should fight back, but he couldn’t.  His body wouldn’t respond.

“I’m glad you understand.  Good bye now.”

There was pain and then the world went black.