FateGuard

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Tahan emerged from the sewage pipes and watched as the rest of his companions enter the tavern. He pulled his hood down, the light rain slicking the hair against his forehead. A few droplets flowed along the slant of his eyebrows, knotted downwards as he squinted into the gray-green sky.

Deep breath.

He barged into the door, all smiles. His entrance was unnoticed among all the rowdy, but a few happened to notice his presence and acknowledged him. He moved, slick as a snake, writhing between the bustling, squashing bodies, the drunken breath and pungent body odour, until he emerged at last, gasping, at the bar table.

"Rose!" His head just managed to clear the bar table, and he hopped slightly to get the barmaid's attention. "Rose!"

"Ah, little errand-boy. Another delivery?"

"Not today, ma'am." He laughed a smile.

An inquisitive frown. "Why are you here then?"

"Thirsty!" He hopped onto the bar stool, lips formed an innocent V.

The barmaid did not voice her concerns but shooed him into a quieter corner of the bar, placing a seldom washed, drenched wooden mug in front of him filled with some sweet concoction. He sipped it, and from his safety point swept his eyes across the slick planks of the two ships, their splintered and merged ends still visible, not rotted away yet. It was a rather crowded night, and the patrons blended into a mosaic ...

Tahan's eyes widened and he choked on his drink. Out of his corner, he spotted someone familiar. The Twins? They disappeared too quickly as he twisted his head to follow them.

But they were wearing regular clothes.

And they did not have their blindfolds on.
 

While the others went inside, intuition made Corben linger on the rain-soaked wharf. It was a usual freezing night and there were workers all along the decking that encircled the Lighthouse Tavern. He followed the lamp-lit clouds of their misting breaths. A couple of fishermen weathering the rain; a pair of youths lugging fish crates; a loner rolling ale casks. Some of these, clearly, worked for the Lighthouse Tavern. Corben paced the wharf and watched them from the shadow of his cowl. He had to stamp his feet to keep warm, and his hands were engaged in constant rubbing.

In time he leant against the pier railing, beside an old fishermen swathed in furs. The water stretched before them and was dark and rainstruck. It threatened untold horrors, for some said the ocean bore the psyche of all the Farborn had left behind - the horror, wrath and secrets of the Old World. It was the void of history behind each man of Gothenheim, an abyss in which memory itself was drowned.

"You'll catch no Gar at this hour," Corben muttered and the old man seemed to stir beneath his coverings. There was the stink of ale and bad fish on his breath.

"Fish be fucked," he spat. "M'haps I'll catch word o' th' Old World, sayin t'all is well and men'r healed again."

It was hard to follow the words that bubbled through cracked lips and tangled beard. But Corben recognised the sound of the phrase. When all is well and men are healed again. It was a common mantra of the Pilgrim Church - the idea that one day the Farborn would be called back to their first home, when the world was good again.

"Yer'll need a sharper 'ook. I can forge ya one - a half Isal."

"Won' get ya' halfway ta th' smithies, boy."

"May well," Corben nodded to the tavern behind them. "But I'll catch more fish 'an you." This made the old man guffaw and the cold between them thawed. A bottle of liquor was passed and they stared together at the raindrops making ripples on the water. It was a a good five minutes before they spoke again. From a section of the tavern behind them, where the second quarterdeck jutted over the bay, a trapdoor opened and a great mess of food waste and beer dropped into the water. A pair of men, as old as the fisherman beside Corben and just as rancid, shuffled over. They got to the spot on the wharf nearest the deluge. They had nets at the ready. "Seems yer in the wrong spot," Corben remarked.

The fisherman threw a glance at the scene, then spat again. "Rats! No sport in't, stuff'n deluge o' th' sinners!" A bandaged finger pointed to the trapdoor above the scavengers. "Them put their waste fro' th' kitchen there, straight to sea. An' they says I scare away th' fishes!"

"Any good catches?"

The fisherman narrowed eyes at Corben and a kind of grin, both mocking and tragic, made his face twist. "Oh aye, boy. Few nigh's ago. Bes' no askin, wha's good for yer."


* * * * * *​


Inside the tavern, a furious blow sent one of the drinkers sprawling. It was the man Atlas had drugged. He was of middle age and had long hair tied back so all could see the idiot smile on his face. He had been flapping his mouth, thanks to Atlas's enchantment, and it had earned him a black eye from the man who'd berated Erilyn. Now the same thug was shouting down at the drugged man. "AT LEAST I KNOW WHO ME MOTHER IS, YA COCKSHARD RUNT!"

One bunch of drinkers held the man back, while another picked up the long-haired man and shoved him around. There was more laughter, more cheers. And against this backdrop, the large man Erilyn had spoken to turned and sipped from his tankard. He seemed like a farmhand. He held his drink well. "You'll be after Sayra. She was on bar an hour ago when I saw her. She's in the back now. Kitchens."
 
Too many nights the lot of them had split up in times of peril and found themselves at a disadvantage for it. With so much at stake he disliked the idea of splitting up too far from one another. Dragons, Werewolves, and a buttload of strange assassins most men would prefer not to lay eyes on for the whole of their lives. Less than a month had gone by and Leonardo had not only seen them all but survived them as well. A true sign of a member of the FateGuard. Not so much their reputations or quirks that mattered anymore. . . just the will to keep on fighting upon surviving night after night of horrors from beyond the city walls.

Hell, their reputations were floating in the fetid sewers they had emerged from not long ago.

Only the pouring rain helped to wash away the stench of those putrid waters off the robes that concealed Saint's true identity. Sandaled feet shuffled along with the unsuspecting gait that belonged to a man of God. Every step brought him closer. As for whether filth clung to the man himself remained to be seen by any onlookers. Efficiency with his disguise had him hidden within the length of the robe. But if his own legends were believed. . . underneath he was spotless from head to toe.

Aidan. . . Nadia why have you done this? Why cast suspicion on yourselves by not coming to the Chapterhouse? I would have protected you. Watched out for you as it was in our younger years. Now I must hunt you down as though you were two devils. But I will not hunt to kill. I will find you before the rest and prove your innocence. Even if our reputations are left torn asunder, the FateGuard disbanded, I will grant you both the absolution and salvation you deserve. Even if I must do it alone.

Now he found himself in a strange part of the docks that felt more abandoned than a babe left on the church's doorstep. Mists whose thickness found itself rent by rain had led him astray from Corben whom he could have sworn he was following. For a moment he nearly slipped as mental agony found itself complimented with old pains of the flesh. Wounds that never healed properly due to the continued strain put on his body from the FateGuard. Pushing himself with aid from his combat medic expertise and access to the hospital he had gone beyond the limits of most men.

Laughter most strange reached his ears and led him farther from solid land along the wooden docks.
 

Of all the responses that Erilyn had expected from the man, such a forthcoming answer was more than she could have hoped to receive. Though Erilyn was taken aback, she did not let it show that she was surprised to have gotten such an easy answer. The fact that she was happy, though, felt appropriate and she smiled in return to the man. It was easy enough to ignore the scuffle going on at Erilyn's back with such a revelation, though she hoped that it would not impede the search any.

"In yer debt!" It was difficult to refrain from chiming, voice much too high, but it was managed with only a slight tremble, which was hopefully similar to that of a manchild nervous of confessing feelings to a pretty girl. Quickly taking to her feet, Erilyn clapped the man on the shoulder, though not with much force, and turned in the direction of the kitchens. She hoped that one of the others could see her, would see that she was heading away, but did not wish to raise suspicion on herself by diverting from her course to retrieve one of the others. Her cover was important to her and to fetch one of her friends to head after a ladylove would seem more than peculiar.

Thus it was that Erilyn approached the kitchens cautiously, grateful that her sword was at her hip and treading with gentle footfall. She was not completely convinced that there would not be more assassins waiting to ambush her in the kitchen. The bar wenches all seemed to be too busy, too absorbed in their work, to notice that she was padding carefully toward the back rooms where the kitchens were located. If Sayra were there, it was Erilyn's duty to apprehend her, though she was once a comrade to them. There would be no hesitation, for her refusal to obey curfew showed little loyalty, even if she was not a traitor.

Doubting that she should call for Sayra and risk alerting her, Erilyn chose to remain silent and edged into the kitchen. She looked around the corner first and saw no assassin, though her hand hovered above the hilt of her sword. She did not now if there was an exit from the kitchen besides the way that she entered, but she doubted that there would be more than one. If Sayra was here, there was little doubt that she would be trapped, though Erilyn could not be certain. Her eyes flicked quickly over the room, though the bustling of the bar wenches made it more difficult to spot a head of dark hair belonging to the Fateguard... ex Fateguard? member.

Still standing near the door to prevent any escape, Erilyn scanned the faces of the women she saw and caught a glint of shiny black hair on a slender figure. Erilyn stepped forward, her right hand brushing the hilt now, her left slightly extended. "Sayra?"
​
 

Through the mists Leonardo found the source of the strange laughter. A trio of men, heavy-robed against the rain and sharing a wineskin. They were huddled by a railing that overlooked the water. And above them loomed the overhang of the Lighthouse Tavern. A part of the quarterdeck jutted out overhead and cast them all in shadow.

Two were old men, likely drunks or fishermen past their prime. They were hunched and their breaths wheezed as they laughed. They were telling their story to a third, who caught Leonardo's eye.

Corben gave a slight shake of his head, to indicate Leonardo come no closer. Then he went back to talking with the men. "I hear ye've food. I've coin fer it."

"Oh aye." One of the old men grinned. He pointed up to the overhang of the tavern. "Kitchen wenches put th' scraps out. Trapdoor. Drops it right 'ere."

The other coot held a dented bucket on the end of a twine cord. "Then we goes fishin'. 'Eads, bones fer soup, broth-slop, crusts. A feast fer kings." They laughed again, rain on their wrinkled faces, as the water lapped below.

Leonardo leant against the railing, a distance from them, and peered into the tides beneath the wharf. They were lapping at the food waste - a foul mess of vegetable peelings, fish carcass and beer-slops. He held his stomach as he listened to Corben effect a peasant tongue.

"Word is yer seen more 'an morsels 'ere," said the marshall as he passed the wineskin again. "Jon Finn on the docks, he says ye saw somethin' last night."

The two vagrants shot a glance to one another. "We ain' no 'ens, boy. Jon Finn be cluckin'"

"Still," Corben drank. "I seen in yer eyes th' truth of it."

The second vagrant belched. "Ah tell ye, boy. I worked a kitchin in Dover Street, two-score year, man an' boy. An' I ain't ne'er seen meat as wot they dump las' night..."


* * * * *​


The kitchen was a hot and crowded den. At Erilyn's voice, some of the staff turned while others continued chopping and potting. "Who the 'ell are you?" snapped a matronly type, with arms red-raw and folded over her aproned belly. Then a boy shoved past with a flagon of ale, frowning up at the disguise. "Sling yer hook, boy!"

Erilyn blocked them out, her gaze tunnelling through the smoke and bustle, fixing on the raven-haired servant at the far end. The woman was retrieving something from a shelf. She wore peasant clothes, but there was no mistaking the atheltic build.

Erilyn called again. "Sayra?"


* * * * *​


"Tahan?"

The boy's head turned sharply, hearing the voice at his ear. Tahan shivered. There was nothing there. Only the crowd that encircled the brawlers, only the rushing barmaids, only the drinkers at other tables.

A hand brushed the back of his neck. He whirled again.

"Tahan?"

They were in the corner of his eye... two bodies, lithe and pale, their faces blurred. He shivered again.


* * * * *​


"Drop somethin' big, did they?" Corben asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant as he shared the wine with the vagrants. Further along the railing, Leonardo tilted his head slightly to hear better.

"Aye," one of the old men moved closer. "An' it ain't what you'll wanna be eatin'"

"I wus standin' right here," said the second. "When th' trapdoor opened, crack o' midnight. An' this thing came through."

Leonardo lifted his gaze, and stared at the kitchen hanging overhead. There was a crack of light from the seam of the trapdoor. It was disturbed as someone in the kitchen shifted her foot.


* * * * *​


The girl Erilyn called to shifted her foot, turning from the shelf.

Ice blue eyes met Erilyn's.

In her hands was the thing she had taken from the shelf - a jar wrapped in parchment, which had been buried behind the others.

Sayra blinked.


* * * * *​


The brawl was getting fiercer inside the tavern. The big drinker had put the drugged one in a headlock and was hooking his fingers in the man's nostrils. Others were cheering and pushing the two around. Atlas and Richtor were caught up in the same crowd, being jostled as the fight drew more onlookers. And on the edge of the chaos, Derek did his best to continue the card game with his newfound associates.

"The things I'd do to her," muttered one of the players, who sweated as he shuffled his cards. His winnings were making him verbose. He grinned as he spoke. "They'd call me beast and put me beyond the Wall!"

"Quiet, maggot," snapped the leader.

"The blindfolded girl?" Derek asked, keeping his eyes on his cards.

"The same," said the player, too excited now to heed his boss's warnings. "I saw her last night. Her brother too. Going to the backrooms with that bar wench. Bet he fucked 'em good. I would too. She's his sister, sure, but what's it matter when you ain't gotta look at each other?"

He erupted into laughter and his boss reached out and cuffed the back of his head. "I said quiet!"

"Ow! What's it to yer, Liam?" he shot back at his boss, "You was glad enough to take the wench's coin when she asked us to clear out. Jus' cos she paid us to leave early don't mean there was rapin'! 'Fraid yer God's gonna judge ya?"

Liam threw a punch, flooring the smaller man, and Derek leaned back from the table as the cards and coins went tumbling.


* * * * *​


As the card players wrestled, Tahan clutched his head in the opposite corner. There were whispers coming from a dozen directions. He could see them, always in the corner of his eye... two people, hand in hand, running, fleeing, cowering. He pushed his drink away and fought to control his breath. His blood ran icy as he heard the scream, rattling in his brains.

Nadia's scream.


* * * * *​


"So, ye fished it out?" Corben asked as he drank again. The rain was falling heavier now, and their breaths were misting, adding fuel to the fog.

The two coots looked to one another. The first smiled. "No bucket big enough, boy. And 'sides... they say the sea will 'ave its victim."

Corben paused, the wineskin halfway to his lips. "You mean...?" He could help slipping back to his educated voice. But neither of the old men noticed, quivering as they were to spill their secret. One of them pointed over the railing.

"See fer yerself, lad. It's still down 'ere."

Leonardo's eyes widened. Leant against the railing, none would see him buckle... none would see him come close to retching. Down below, caught between the beams of the wharf, mauled by gentle tides and their load of food waste, two larger shapes were floating. They were directly below the kitchen trapdoor. The water threw their limbs this way and that, and made ghostly patterns with their hair.

Their skin was pale.

They looked up at Leonardo and Corben with hollow stares.


* * * * *​


Sayra let one hand come away from the jar she held. It caused the paper to unwrap and flutter to the ground.

Erilyn's breath caught.

In the jar, which was filled with bilious yellow fluid, two pairs of pupilless eyes floated.

The fat kitchen maid stepped in front of Erilyn. "You deaf, boy? I said get out of my kitch--" Her body convulsed. She screamed. She fell forward with a dagger buried to the hilt in her hip.

Erilyn's breath rushed out and her heart beat with horror.

Sayra reached for another knife from her belt.

 
The fight at the table knocked over the cards, the coins, the drinks, all of it. If the backrooms was the place to go then now was his best chance with the bar in complete chaos. As Derek slipped back there a scream tore through the kitchen. With no hesitation in his movement he charged in, hand on the hilt of Alondite. A large woman on the floor with a knife in her hip and Erilyn look at someone in shock. When Derek realized it was Sayra reaching at her belt for another knife it was all the initiative Derek needed.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"

Grabbing a cast iron pot soaking in the nearby sink he threw it with all his might. Without the Regalia weighing him down, the strength Alondite gave him, and his own natural power Sayra was forced to dodge to avoid the pot smashing her face in. Drawing Alondite Derek looked to Erilyn, "Don't hesitate! You know what we have to do!" his voice boomed. Derek took his stance; a different one than usual. It was the stance of his father, Zachary Vermilion. A fighting stance that none but Eric and maybe Corben would know.

Ironically the one thing his father was able to teach him about fighting to help the FateGuard would instead destroy a FateGuard traitor.
 
When the group had left for their covert mission in the city, Arkavenn walked in the opposite direction, towards the canteen. He had been nursing a mug of wine in his hand - it was his first, and had been there for about half an hour already. Aside from spending much of his time in deep thought, Arkavenn kept himself from drinking too much because he knew that everyone was on alert and he should be doing his part too. The least he could do in this state - injured and not very useful, was to be prepared and being prepared meant that he should be entirely sober in case an emergency arises. The FateGuard was the last line of defence for the City of Gothenheim and he knew that this wasn't just some fancy title they threw around.

His train of thoughts were derailed; he had been thinking about the string of sudden betrayals and were wondering if there were going to be more, if there was any sign that could have hinted at their betrayal but they had all missed, when Alyss came along and started speaking to him. He tilted his head to one side, slowly considering his words before he shook his head. He took another sip of the wine to wet his mouth before he spoke, his voice coming out as a deep rumble.

"I'm afraid I can't, Alyss. It's not that I don't want to," he explained, pausing before he continued. "Look at me. I'm built differently. I can lift tables like these without much effort." To illustrate his point Arkavenn gripped the side of the long canteen table and lifted it up diagonally, effortlessly, before he put it down again.

"My fighting style isn't centered around skill or finesse, like everyone else's. You know what I do in combat? I swing my hammer around and until it hits my opponent. Even if he blocks it, he says goodbye to his arm and perhaps even more. That's all I do. I pack a punch, but I'm not about skill. If you want anything like that, you've got to ask some of the other fighters. Eric, perhaps? He taught so many, he should know what to do about you."
 
'Old man' Atlas was jostled this way and that, as the brawl in the tavern reached new heights. Truly the mage didn't think his concoction would cause quite a commotion. He made a mental note of this as a brute of a man slammed into him. Stumbling into a corner, Atlas stopped himself in time, to further prevent anymore damage to his ribs. He coughed, droplets of blood flying from his mouth to the floor. A scream pierced through the cacophony of men fighting, causing the mage to stand back up. It came from the backroom, possibly the kitchen. The next second he heard Derek yelling - what it was Atlas couldn't make it out.

"Oh damnit," he breathed.

Frantic blue eyes assessed the problem of the tavern brawlers. It wouldn't be good if the fight inside the kitchen moved itself here, where the drunken citizens could be hurt. At the same time however they were a bad distraction. What was the mage to do? He quickly rummaged through his sack of potions, glass clinking madly. No it was best not to use mustard gas, the effects would be far too devastating to everyone around here. Perhaps a pyrite bomb? That would be a horrible idea as well, mad drunks slugging each other in the face for fake money. The thought did make Atlas grin stupidly.

"Oooo, ain't you a beaut?"

He lifted out a small glass vial with a cork stopper. Inside was green tinted smoke, putrid and disgusting looking. It was something he could use to clear out the tavern, and wasn't too harsh on the lungs or nose. At least that's what the mage assumed. Finding Riktor in the crowd, Atlas made eye contact with him. He lifted his cloak to cover his nose and mouth, fixing Ricktor with a meaningful look. Then the mage pointed to the vial. Hopefully the man got the message because in the next second, Atlas tossed it in the middle of the fight, the glass shattering on impact. My what a beautiful sound that always was.

The green smoke plumed over everyone, dispersing quickly. The drunkard that Atlas had drugged earlier gave a strangled shout,

"WHO THE 'ELL -cough- LET A SKUNK IN 'ERE!"

The mage's grin grew wide, despite his watering eyes.
 

The press of bodies in the kitchen seemed to grow unbearable as Erilyn reached her hand out to the woman. She didn't know what she had been expecting, for Sayra to apologize and claim ignorance of the situation? That was less likely than the events that followed and yet, something told Erilyn that she had been hoping for that sort of outcome. She had wanted the girl to turn, smile, ask politely what she was doing in a place like this... that wasn't the case. What had caused such a rift, such a disparity between the facade and the truth of things to make so many members of what was once a solid team turn against one another?

This was certainly not the time nor the place to wonder about what had turned their minds so fully against those with whom they were once comrades. Were they even as conflicted as those who had not turned, or had they so easily gotten past the fact that they too were aiming to kill those that had once saved their lives in grueling fights? This second of stunned pause was nearly dangerous for Erilyn as Sayra raised her weapon to her. A knot in her throat felt like it was keeping her from breathing, but Erilyn knew what she must do.

Taking a step back and working not to stumble over anyone or anything behind her, Erilyn's hand found the hilt of her sword and Sayra's eyes narrowed. The screams of the women around blocked out any noise in Erilyn's head. Before either Erilyn or Sayra could move further, though, Derek had somehow managed to find his way into the kitchen with due speed and had found a pot in his progress. He was swinging it at Sayra and, incidentally, Erilyn, who nearly tripped backward getting out of the way of his swing.

"It would be easier to not hesitate if you weren't flinging heavy objects, Derek" Erilyn retorted, her eyes never leaving Sayra, who had also avoided the attack. The sounds had reached near deafening as more screams were issued from the women, men were yelling and shouting directions, the people inside the main area were pushing and shoving to leave, and there were some shrill voices of women demanding that the men come to order. Edging closer to the door, Erilyn hoped that she was correct and that the kitchen did only have one exit. It was highly unlikely that there would be another.

Thus, blocking the only true route of escape, Erilyn unsheathed her sword and stepped slowly and deliberately toward Sayra. The adrenaline had stopped impairing her steady hand and legs many a month ago but she still felt nervous this time. This was the face of a woman Erilyn had once spoken with, someone with whom she'd shared her fears about what being in the Fateguard might mean. Ironic, since this is now what her duty meant. Even with those memories fresh, she would not stay her hand. Neither of them would.

Wishing that she had her shield, Erilyn advanced on Sayra, trying to make it so that she would have no choice but to engage Erilyn or Derek. From there, the one that she did not focus her attention on would be at an advantage. Two to one was oppressive odds, especially with more of the Guard waiting in the wings. With so little time and more than just Sayra to worry about for traitors, though, Erilyn could not afford to take a defensive stance, especially lacking her shield. Instead, she closed distanced and slashed with her sword, aiming for Sayra's midsection.
​
​
 

Kitchenhands were spilling out into the noxious smoke that Atlas had loosed. And as the seas parted, the three combatants were given room, with the injured matron between them. The old woman, clutching at the dagger in her shoulder, was also tugging at Derek's ankle as she cried for help. It threw his stance off, as did the dagger that flew past his shoulder. Sayra had thrown it as she dodged the cooking pot.

He reeled off balance and Erilyn got past him, swinging at Sayra's waist. The other woman leapt back, colliding with the shelves. More jars fell around them. Sayra caught one and tossed it straight at Erilyn. It shattered across her sword, spraying vinegar in her eyes. Erilyn barely dodged as Sayra swung a chopping board at her, then parried a kitchen knife as it was thrown.

Now Derek came forward, and Sayra had to fling what she could. She was fast, for her own blessing mist had mixed with Atlas's smoke. Derek saw her as a rapid aura, arms fluttering with each toss of a jar, knife or pan. He resorted to putting his head down, suffering scratches and bruises as he barrelled straight into her. They collided with the shelf and Sayra dropped, rolling as Derek stabbed with the sword.

She ended by the trapdoor, and kicked Erilyn's legs from under her. One hand hooked the latch while the other slung a hairpin which had kept her raven curls in check. It stabbed into Derek's shoulder. Then there was a clunk and the trapdoors swung outwards, dropping Sayra and Erilyn into the night. Both girls ended up dangling from opposite doors, hanging out over the sea.

"Shit!" came a cry from below. Corben and Leonardo were looking up, hoods pulled back. The old fishermen they had been talking to fled. Erilyn and Sayra were hanging over them, about twenty feet up, legs kicking, hair blowing, and lashed by rain.

"ERILYN! HOLD ON!" Corben gripped the railing of the wharf, trying to gauge how far to reach if he had to catch her.
 

The fight in the kitchen had gone worse than Erilyn might have hoped, though she hadn't ever thought before what it would be like to face one of their own in combat. Still, the situation had not seemed too horribly dire with both Derek and Erilyn trading off in attacks against the one girl, who had barely enough time to recover. The vinegar that splashed in Erilyn's face, however, had been a start of things taking a turn for the worst and the disorientation caused by the stinging fluid had left her most vulnerable. Taking advantage of that vulnerability, Sayra had knocked Erilyn's feet from beneath her, causing her to fall onto the ground with a painful thump.

Before Erilyn could right herself, the trapdoor was dropped from below and she barely managed to cling to the door on her side to avoid toppling down into the water. The wind rushing past, as well as the abrupt fall, had caused Erilyn's hat to flutter off her head and she watched for a second as it was swallowed by the tempestuous waves breaking against the rock. That would be her, without doubt, if she could not hold on.

A voice behind her caused Erilyn to turn her head, catching a glimpse of figures behind her, one of which seemed to be Corben. She returned her attention once more to Sayra, who dangled further from help than even Erilyn. She did not know what had become of Derek, but she hoped strongly that he jammed that sword down at Sayra. The pangs of guilt over attacking one of their own had been greatly subdued by the burn of vinegar and the fear that gripped Erilyn's heart as she dangled above the unforgiving waters.

"I'm certainly trying" Erilyn responded, though over the noise, she would not wager that Corben heard her and the words were more for herself than for him anyway. If she weren't so precariously placed, she'd have certainly considered trying to kick Sayra, but the risk of falling was more intimidating than the prospect of connecting her foot with Sayra's face was lucrative. Inhaling deeply, Erilyn cast a glance down to where Corben stood, trying to gauge whether she could jump and lang on the wharf.

"If you ever wanted to cut off a few fingers with Alondite, Derek, this would be a glorious opportunity" Erilyn called up, her voice whipped away from her with the wind. She could see Corben testing how far he could reach over the railing and hoped that fortune smiled on her for her endeavors.

The mages had whispered once with Erilyn on matters of the mind, when she had joined the council, and their words had stayed with her though she had maintained that she'd no gift for magic. It was to do with inhibition, the mind preventing the body from injuring itself. In this instance, she could not see the merit of not trying to use her full potential. Swallowing, she closed her eyes tightly and reminded herself that a few torn muscles were preferable to being tossed into the sea. With that, she opened her eyes and aimed a kick for Sayra. It was hard to tell if her foot connected with the other girl's side of the door or the girl herself, but Erilyn could feel the motion cause her to slip a little and that instantly earned her focus. She pulled herself back up, her arms launching some protest already as she did so.
​
​
 
"If you can think of a way for me to actually get a decent swing, I'd gladly cut off her entire hand but for the time being that's not exactly an option!" Derek's mind raced to assess the situation. Two people dangling; Both of which the FateGuard needed. Sayra was still armed. If Derek tried to reach down to save Erilyn she's likely slash at him. He could use Alondite to destroy the hinges of the trapdoor, but she'd still be armed and if Corben couldn't get her she'd either die in the water or get away if the fall didn't kill her first. There was no time to waste and Derek had to choose now.

"Corben! I leave the traitor to you!"

Pulling the hair pin out of his shoulder and turning Alondite downwards Derek raised his sword above his head and slammed it down into the hinge. As is broke the door dropped to one side leaving Sayra hanging on the door by one hinge. Apparently she had expected Derek to try to save Erilyn first and leave himself open as the look on her face was of complete surprise. Raising and bringing down Alondite one more time the last hinge broke and sent Sayra plummeting below towards Corben. Leaving their attacker to the marshal Derek reached down to Erilyn, "Grab on!"
 
To Tahan, the voices were very real. The screams in his head echoed around his skull, their reverberations making the inside of his head seem extremely large and hollow. Though he did not hear them, his ears throbbed with imagined pain. He could feel his heartbeat pounding away in his head, face flushed from the pressure. He collapsed from the stool and vomited up the sweet syrup; not that the bile-ridden concoction was any different from the mossy coating on the rotting planks.

The screamed died away, but it seemed to echo amongst the tavern's walls. His handles trembled, as if he had just done fifty pushups, but he pushed himself to stand all the same, wiping the spit from his mouth and swiveling his head to track the echo. He ran up the incline of the tavern, feet scrabbling for grip, and grabbed for a porthole, standing on his toes to peak outside.

There he saw the bodies, floating in the water. From there, all he had to do was look up, and ...

He burst into the kitchen, robes slapping wetly against his legs, and skidded to an abrupt halt, eyes wide as he took the scene in. There was no time to think. Derek would not be nimble enough to reach down that low to pull Erilyn up. Looking around, he grabbed a roll of sailor's rope off the wall and tied a lasso around his waist. With just one look to Derek, he gave the Knight the other end.

Tahan crouched at edge of the trapdoor and tipped backwards into the opening, hooking his knees to the floor at the last moment to prevent himself from falling. Sweat (or rain?) dripped from the tip of his nose as he hung upside down. If he moved too far forwards or backwards, the momentum would send him slipping from the floor above. Slowly, he extended his arms downwards, fingers splayed and beseeching, lips bit in a grim line.
 
Pain seared him with the intensity white hot flame at the sight of the Twins' hollow eyes. Acidic anguish burned the lining of his throat as it rose like an unforgiving lava flow. Vomit would not come though, he would not allow it. Bile could not mix itself in the waters where his childhood friends now floated, lifeless. He could not let that come to pass. Revulsion almost overwhelmed him nonetheless as he fought it and tamped it back down. This battle kept him occupied for several key moments while his fellow FateGuard struggled. Ones that later on he would realize required a thankful prayer that no one else met their cruel fate during them.

Upon regaining control of himself in the pouring rain he finally got a grasp on the current situation.

Above them dangled two women that Leonardo cared about for reasons that could not be greater opposites. One was a woman through whom he could seek justice at best and revenge at worst. The other was his comrade and one of the few friends he had in this world. Lucky for him Tahan and Derek came to the aid of Erilyn which left him free to contemplate the fate of Sayra. Darkness raging within him called for her to die in the same waters to which she had condemned Nadia and Aidan. Hate smoldered in his eyes, giving them a wrathful glare which pierced straight through the traitor toward the very heavens above. Rain could not wash away the rage that made each clenched fist dangling at his sides shake. Should he let her fall? A swift trip to hell for a soul that so richly deserved eternal damnation. Temptation to take no action at all dared take root in his heart of hearts.

For a moment the gaze focused on Sayra turned to look at the twins once more.

You deserved better. She deserved to drown there, not you, my friends.

Skyward once more, his eyes narrowed at the sight of Sayra.

But a swift death is too good for traitors and murderers.

He would do whatever it took to bring her to justice. Whether it was that of God or man, was yet to be decided.
 
Tahan's hands grabbed Erilyn's, as the hinge on the opposite door broke. One girl rose as another fell.

"No!" Corben lunged across the railing, reaching for Sayra as she plummetted. He grabbed a handful of clothing but her weight was too much. It pulled him over, into rain and darkness.

He jolted backwards. Leonardo had caught him, one hand on his belt, the other at the folds of his cloak. Then his arm wrenched with Sayra's weight.

For a moment he had her, by the wrist. Their eyes met. Hers were glazed, pearly white. Then she slipped from him.

She was gone.

In the lightning flashes of the storm, they saw her crash into the shallows. A tide carried Sayra into one of wharf beams, and the severed door went with her, slamming her body against the wood. Bone cracked. And then she sunk, carried at once beneath the blood-dark waters.

Corben's outstretched fingers shook, still grabbing for the traitor's phantom limbs. Another lightning flash and Sayra was gone, no trace of her remaining. It had been as sudden as Lilith, as swift and meaningless. Leonardo pulled him back onto the wharf and he fell down, despairing, in the rain.

And at the same time, Erilyn fell down on the floor of the kitchen, having been hauled up by Derek and Tahan. They all gasped for breath.

And on the floor beside them, the jar of severed eyes Sayra had carried still rolled. Beside it, the scrap of paper that had been wrapped around it. It was a torn book page, the text illegible, and yet half the insignia of the Gotheheim Library still showed in the corner.
 
Derek's breathing stabilized as he looked around the room. The chaos had settled but the aftermath was apparent. No one appeared to be dead upon first glance and kitchen hands tended to one another. Looking down the trap door into the raging sea below he shook his head. It would seem Corben couldn't hold onto Sayra and she had plummeted to her doom. As Leonardo pulled Corben back over the railing he felt guilty for having risked something like that in the first place. Not only did he put Corben at risk, but any answers Derek could have gotten out of her about the Wounded Hand and it's goals died with her. It was a dumb and reckless move that he should have never tried. He turned to Erilyn, "Sorry...this was my fault."

As he stood up he felt something roll into his boot. Looking down it was the jar Sayra had been forced to leave behind in the wake of the battle. Picking up the jar and the paper he looked to one then the other. His eyes narrowed, "One of you go get Corben and the others. They need to see this."
 

Alyss nodded quietly at Arkavenn. "Right, I should have known that.... Sorry, my head has been... unclear." She spoke softly, looking down at her hands to see frost clinging to her skin.

"Maybe I should just learn how to use this against our enemies.... but what if it goes too far?" She added the question, her eyes seeking her teammate's before she looked back down. "I don't want to scare anyone else... I wish I was more like the other members.... instead of doing.... this..." As she spoke , she let down her guard and the frost turned to ice that steamed in the air.

"I fear that if I let this....thing inside of me free, I'll... only scare people more... I'll scare the rest of our lot, and then I'll end up like Ferrick." She mulled, then shook her head of the thoughts.

"Arkavenn.... What can we do while we're here? Surely something's going on where they are, surely there's some way we can help them?" Alyss asked, looking up at the giant, hoping for some kind of answer that she couldn't come up with herself. "Where is Malwin? I haven't seen hide or hair of the man in some time.... even after we were all told to come to the chapter house...." She paused and then shook her head again.

"I apologize, Arkavenn, I'm not much for happy company it seems." She chuckled at herself and then looked to the giant of a man.

"It's been some time since they've left... hopefully they have some answers when they return." She spoke as she paced. Finally she figured she'd get some of her nervous energy out by walking around the chapter house, stew on her thoughts a bit and be done with with it.

"I'll be back in a moment... I think I need a moment to myself to collect my thoughts." she explained as she walked away.
 
Around the corner from where Alyss and Arkavenn spoke, the common room was being tidied up. Dyne was picking up dropped paintings and pieces of furniture and handing them to Alexander. "...and another thing: why do we assume they are willing? Perhaps they have not chosen to betray us, but have been compelled."

"What could compel such acts?" Alexander's voice sounded from behind the stack of debris, which was piled twelve foot high in his gauntlets of strength. "Even if someone took the one I loved, threatened them, threatened my name... I would not betray the FateGuard. We have taken our vows. And they include sacrificing our families if God wills it."

Dyne tossed another piece of wood on top of the tower his friend was carrying. "Did I knock your head too much, man? I said perhaps they have not chosen to do what they are doing. Think of the things we have seen in our time. Witch spells, demon enchantments, hive minds and curses. There is much beyond the Wall that would compel a man against his will."

"Rat's piss!" interrupted Harrell, the Quartermaster of the House, who worked in the corner, polishing Derek's armour. "If some fiend was working their magic on us we would have detected it by now. The boy Atlas, or Malwin, or Richtor - one of them would have felt such evil amongst us."

Across the room, Castanamir slept on a bench, a wool blanket wrapped around him. He had swapped places with the herbalist Jelyssa, who now stood by the window feeding meat scraps to the messenger's falcon. "And if it were poison or infection, the servants would know. I have them make regular checks of the kitchen deliveries."

"Something else then," Dyne muttered as he straightened the rugs. "Something each of the traitors did or were exposed to."

"You reach for what is not there, Dyne," Harrell said as he applied more polish. "The facts are clear. Elayna has made repeated donations to the gypsy community, and regular visits to the Town Library. It was the gypsies who staged the assassination attempt. And it was at the library where she is in regular contact with Aloysius and with Sayra, who herself has regular contact with the Twins, and trained beside Kael, a known traitor. It is a simple network and a simple answer. Elayna is staging a rebellion."

Alexander's voice sounded again from behind the tower. "The boy Tahan did say that Elayna worships outcast gods..."

"Then how do you explain Lilith's experiments with alchemy?" Dyne countered. "And the break-in at the Twins' shop, where a circle was drawn on one of the fabrics? How does any of this add up, old one?"

"None of it makes sense," Jelyssa muttered, stroking the falcon's head. "I was always taught that a FateGuard's blessings will not work unless they are true of heart."

"And yet those blessings have been turned against us," Dyne sighed as he plonked himself down in a chair. "Lilith's pendant of farsight; Kael's tunic of darkvision; Aloysius's Everlasting Eye..." He trailed off as he realised what he was saying... what he was listing... what pattern he had inadvertantly revealed. And everyone else in the common room realised it at the same time and turned to look at him.

"Wait..."
 

Rescued from the terrifying fate of toppling into the water with Sayra, Erilyn could do little more than lay on the floor at first, trembling. Her arms ached fiercely and her whole body was still quivering with adrenaline. She just laid, then, where they had pulled her up for a few long seconds that felt like hours. Derek was speaking now, though his voice sounded far away. After a moment, Erilyn lifted her head and pushed her body off the floor with her arms, which wobbled treacherously.

"It's not all your fault, Derek, it is the fault of those who betrayed our trust. Think not on it. I will fetch the others." Aside from the pain in her arms, she was at least feeling in good enough shape that she did not need to be coddled or babied through. Truth be told, nothing really had happened to her, she told herself. She'd been through much worse injury before and this was not the first time she'd feared death. It would be weak to fold beneath such minor circumstance, especially when the papers seemed ominously informative.

With all the commotion that had been caused, the lot of them needed to hurry and leave the premise either way, as soon there would likely be people to investigate the disturbance and the woman who had been stabbed. Learning that, by all witness accounts, a Fateguard member had stabbed her? That would be even worse. Erilyn tucked her hair down the back of her loose shirt, edgy about the possibility of being discovered.

Pushing her legs to react and work as she wished, Erilyn managed to get down to where Leo and Corben were standing in little time. Her arms hung to her sides, now, throbbing dully, but she was quickly recovering from the shock. It would be less easy to push the image of Sayra plummeting to her death from her mind, though there could be no arguing that she had been a traitor.

"Corben, Sayra left something. Derek found, a paper. I don't know what it is, but he thought we should all take a look at it."
​
 
It wasn't long before Atlas left the tavern with the hordes of men rushing through the door. Every single one of them was in a coughing fit, including the mage. Obviously using only a cloth to stifle the smell wasn't going to be enough. Hacking out what seemed to be a lung, Atlas caught his breath against the wall of the tavern. The drunkards disperesed themselves along the dock, some of them even continuing their brawls. The sight was slightly amusing. Others were asking how the hell a skunk got into the tavern, although their inebriated states couldn't come up with a coherent answer.

A large splash caught Atlas' attention. Grabbing hold of the railing, the man peered over to look at the swirling torrent of water. His eyes narrowed deeply as he saw a pair of hands grasping out of the surface. Atlas would have jumped in to save them, but in the next second he saw a face, Sayra's. He steeled himself then, watching as the body was swallowed up the water. Surely Atlas wasn't the only one who knew she was drowning - no all of Fateguard knew she was in the water, none of them were willing to rescue her. A shame that was...

It was time to meet back with Corben and the others.

Crouching and hunching his back, Atlas waddled his way back, his thoughts torn between Sayra's death and how stupid he must look. The mage made another mental note to never use his disguise again. The old man look just didn't suit him.
 
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