Flux
Posted: Fri Apr 01, 2011 12:11 am
The tiniest of fires danced in the ash-laden hearth, its flames subdued by lack of fuel or possibly just the understood need to be small. Small, insignificant, and completely unworthy of the attention of anyone or anything passing. Tattered rag curtains had been drawn across the lead pane windows to hoard its light. The faint smear of smoke trailing from the chimney, she could do nothing about. Hopefully the world outside would take no notice.
Fells leaned against the far wall of the abandoned little cottage, sprawled out on the floor like a puppet wired too tightly to properly collapse once her strings had been cut. The fire was a risk and she knew it, only chancing it because of the rain that needled the cottage's roof and still dripped off of her soaked leather. "So," she murmured. "This might'a been a bad idea." Angry, worried voices on her buzzbox shored the verdict up, though she could barely hear them for the speaker being all but muted. They were much fainter than the howl that split the air somewhere in the distance. That was probably distant. She could hope it was distant. The chair she'd propped into place against the already-barred door was doublechecked yet again. She did her best to ignore the clawmarks that rent the bar itself. It'd probably hold.
The cottage was comfortably small, littered with signs of its previous owner and, less than comforting, of his fate. Fells lit a candle that rested deep in a green bottle, filling the small space around her with safer, dimmer light. The tinted glow illuminated a pair of worn boots still set at the foot of a bed, as though ready for the next day's work. The mattress itself was torn and ruined, goose down spilling out where it'd been raked open. She did her best not to focus on it, resting her eyes on the barred door instead.
Shoulda brought Shad, the little voice of reason whispered in the back of her mind. It'd be safer, y'know they's jest home worryin'. An' y'ain't practiced 'nough fer this. Y'need sommat else here. Yer no good 'lone, an' -- As was so often the case, Fells shut Reason down, along with her box a moment later. The hearth's risky fire was company enough.
In the crackling silence it was a different voice, brusque and demanding, that invaded her thoughts as it was so prone to doing as of late. They'll see who's a damn Earner! Fells snorted and shook her head, willing it into silence. She wouldn't call for help out here. She'd do the job, she'd get what Botch needed, and she'd get the Nether back to Shad and Era and her children. "Surelike, darlin'," she murmured into the empty space, settling in to face the door with her back to the wall and her blades at hand. Wet leather creaked. "We'll show 'em."
The Job.
Rain beat off of the gryphon's wings as they cautiously made their way through what scant tree cover there was, not daring to fly any higher. Not with siege engines full of festering plague lining the nearby road. It was slow going, and Deposit yearned to bank and tear up into the sky proper. The Wall loomed high above the trees, seeming to grow as they approached it, a cold and unfeeling sentinel to guard against the uniformed rows of Forsaken that patrolled the woods.
Fells scowled and urged her bird to the ground instead. They'd make a less obvious target, though Deposit seemed none too happy with the decision. "Jest stay quiet," she hissed, heels digging into his disobedient flank. She was one to talk, her hypocritical buzzbox alight with channels that demanded answers. For a second Fells thought that she was seeing things; another channel's light appeared to burn insistently through the trees in the distance, though her box was currently shoved deep into her pack. Fells reached behind her, verifying the familiar lump of its bulk beneath the leather.
Still that glow beckoned, tiny and orange-red in the distance against the wall. "Huh."
Deposit didn't want to be turned, so she forced him with reins dragged almost wholly to the left, craning his head nearly to his shoulder. "Bastid bird, c'mon," she groused through clenched teeth as he reluctantly fell into step in the direction she intended. That buzzbox glow brightened through the trees as they picked their way carefully towards the great wall. Eventually it bloomed into a campfire, its orange aura battling for existence against the miasma. Fells slipped out of the saddle and sent Deposit into the air. The little campsite was tucked against the far corner of the Wall and she hadn't seen a patrol, but she'd be safer approaching on foot than on a gryphon who probably wouldn't mind seeing her get et.
The scent of a cookfire's meal met her first, faint and lean. Fells made herself thin against a tree's straight trunk, leaning just far enough to see what might be waiting for the meal. It couldn't be Forsaken. They didn't wait to cook their meat, not from what she'd seen of the fallen.
She shouldn't have been surprised to see Gilneans so close to the Wall. Or at least, she assumed they were. The few that weren't sporting tattered longcoats and well-kept hats were clad in fur coats of a distinctly different nature. They milled around the few tents with an air that eerily reminded her of Precosia after being scolded; a dark air of frustration stained with anger clung to each of them like a sheen of sweat. The men scowled, the women kept their eyes on the ground. The wolves among them bristled and snapped at nothing. One of them sniffed the air. His eyes narrowed and his head jerked around to where she hid, fangs bared and growling. Her heart stopped. He couldn't see her. Probably. Right?
It wasn't until the others took notice that she began to think that she might have picked a better place to nose around. The malevolent maws of three tattered Gilnean wolves snuffled in her direction, and the men yet to shift were eyeing them warily and reaching for muskets. She had to get better at this.
Clearing her throat, Fells slipped out of the shadows with hands raised. "Hey, m'folk. I ain't dead," she declared loudly. As an afterthought, she tugged away the mask that hid her features. "See? M'livin'!" That didn't keep two of the worgen from bounding to her, snorting hot breath into her face as they tried to sniff out the telltale signs of decay. They had to be looking for something newly turned, a fresh one that could be sent as a spy. Fells dared let her gaze fall past the pair to the campsite beyond, silently wondering what would possibly be worth spying on.
"She's clean," one groused, gravelly and growling as he stood back. They towered over her when they stood upright, but she didn't flinch away, instead flicking a gaze over their tattered shreds of clothing and dull coats. Both stood aside for the weary man who pushed past them. His gaze was no less judgmental than her own, and for a moment she was acutely aware of every scratch and stain on her leather. "What do you want," he intoned quietly, gaze boring through her.
Military. He had to be. Or noble? Maybe both. Fells stood all the straighter, not that it did much good. He had at least three inches on her and was somehow more intimidating than the looming figures that slunk back towards the campsite. "Jest scoutin', ser. What're...?" She nodded past him at the figures slowly settling back into the slow pace of their routine. "Yer awful close t'the fight, don' y'know there's Forsook out there?"
He snorted derision and shook his head, finally stepping aside and waving her past. Her ignorance must have earned her passage in. "There's worse than that, poppet," he grumbled without a sliver of affection. "An' we've fought it all, in case our state didn't show it. Here, we've got tea. Oi, Tess!" Tea. Out here. True to his word, the older woman whose head popped up at his call appeared to be tending to a kettle over the flames. Fells shook her head in disbelief. Gilneans. "There's a good miss, see that this, err..."
"Fells Dr...Clemens." She edged past the apparent commander, unintentionally following his direction: sit, drink tea, and then be on her merry.
He eyed her, but shrugged. "Right then, Miss Dr'clemens." He nodded smartly and briskly offered forth a gloved hand. "Maximilian Lew, Gilneas Liberation Front, at your service." Which was an odd thing to say, considering that he brushed her off onto the woman safeguarding the tea pretty much immediately. "See that Fells has a nice sit-down and then help her with directions if she needs."
He turned on his heel without waiting for a reply, and Fells didn't dare call a thanks after him. Not in such close proximity to the battlefront. "Charmin' fella, yer Max."
"'e does wot needs doin'," the woman replied, though her attention was wholly fixed on Fells's face. The examination was keen enough to make her want to pull her mask back into place. "You're 'ealthy?" she whispered, eyes wide and sallow skin licked by the light of the campfire.
Fells tugged up one of the stools that rested nearby. "Umn, last I checked, yes'm." Other than just being old, Tess seemed normal enough; maybe the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth were pinched with more strain than age, and maybe she was paler than she ought to be, but she was living yards away from a warzone. "Y'ain't?"
Her answer came in the form of a jet of steam from the kettle's spout. They'd wisely removed the whistle. "'ere, luv." Mismatched mugs were offered. Fells held them both as tea was poured. "Yew shouldn't be out 'ere. Nothin' stays 'ealthy out 'ere for long. Are yew..." Shaking hands set the kettle down and then waved for her mug. Tess sipped before asking. "Are yew goin' in there?"
"So you're goin' to Gilneas alone."
"Didn' I jest say I ain't."
"Yeah, an' I think you're fuckin' lyin'. 'Cause I can tell you don't want us with you. So just don't get cursed."
Fells lifted her chin. "Ayeh, am. Right after, y'know." She lifted her mug before sipping. "Tea." It scalded the roof of her mouth and she pretended not to notice.
She expected the old woman to tut and shake her head and warn her against it, maybe murmur disapprovingly about folly and ignorance. Instead Tess's eyes lit up and she pulled at a golden chain that adorned her neck. A plain, numberless key dangled from the end. "Luv, could yew do a favor for me."
"Favor." Fells leaned in and squinted at the key. "What kinda favor?"
Tess cast a glance about the camp and lowered her voice to a haggard whisper. "There's a bank in Southglen, I meant to get my safebox out before Geoff and I..." She sucked in an uneven breath, then ground the threat of tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm. "If yew can get into the vault, and get my safebox, luv..." Arthritic fingers fumbled over the necklace's clasp, and she let them fall to the side when Fells reached to help. The iron key fell into her gloved palm, and Tess closed her fingers over it insistently before sitting back and cupping her mug. "...I swear on my name I won't tell a soul wot yew do with anythin' else inside."
Unspoken implications rang clear as a bell. "M'goin' in t'find the tree," she answered hesitantly. "Tal'doren. Fer a...friend. Needs it fer his longear ritual. Issit close t'there?"
"South. Just south, through the Blackwald. Please, I don't want to leave it to those rotten, blighted -- "
Ceramic cracked. Fells glanced at her hand; Tess's knuckles were white where they clenched around the mug, and tea leaked out around fingernails that had lengthened into claws. Tess kept her eyes narrowed and fixed on the ground. What wrinkles had previously been there seemed to smooth away under the force of flesh that craved transformation. "So," Fells murmured quietly, palming the key and tucking it deep into a pocket. "Been t'Darnassus yet?"
The Elf.
"I'm sorry I don't measure up to the little happy fantasy world in your head. I'm sorry that havin' two men gettin' along ain't enough for you."
Fells's jaw clenched so hard that it hurt. Her nostrils flared, and it was a lucky thing she was too short to meet most Darnassus foot traffic eye to eye; the last thing she needed was to get arrested for glaring some random stranger to death.
Of course Era was mad again. Of course he was! It was only, what, the fifth misunderstanding that one or more of the three men in her life had blown obscenely out of proportion? Wasn't "single" supposed to translate to "simple"? Wasn't it enough that she had to deal with three actual children, without a second set of overgrown ones fighting over her like a favored toy?
"Why'm I askin' s'damn many stupid questions," she growled under her breath.
Her pulse pounded behind her eyes as she veered away from the peaceful marble temple. She didn't want to take this mood out on Zeve, and she doubted she'd be able to avoid it if she went to see him right then. Despite being, in some twisted way, the most to blame for the latest fountain of rage, he hadn't really done anything to deserve her wrath. On the contrary: Zeve was a help. Dear, sweet Zeve, who lit up every time he saw her, who knew who he was and who he wanted to be for her, was everything she could have asked for at the moment. He was happy to be with her, and just as happy to let her do the things she needed to do.
That made him the precise opposite of Era, who didn't know what he was about and seemed to want nothing more than to tie her down worse than she'd ever been bound before. And Shad? Shad was a lot of pretty words, a lot of promises and urgings to go and be free as she wanted, but the minute she showed signs of doing something he didn't agree with?
"I can go 'lone."
"No, you cannot."
She didn't know precisely when she decided to go. It was somewhere between slipping into armor and heading towards the city's glowing portal tree. Aboard the ferry, she had the presence of mind to actually let someone know why she wouldn't be found when he went looking. Or if he did. "M'gonna git started onna way. Won' go in 'thout ya."
"WHAT?" Era exploded over the thoughtstone. "NO! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"
Again with getting to make her own choices. Shad and Era both needed to decide what they wanted to be. Druid, friend, lover, babysitter, what? "Oh hush," she groused, whistling for her stolen gryphon before the ferry even landed. "I ain't goin' in."
The panther's thoughts needled at her, every bit as acute as the wind whipping her hair into knots as she and Deposit streaked towards the broken country. "Thought you wanted to see him before you left."
Sure. Now he cared. Or maybe he just wanted to flop back again, get Shad encouraging her to go out and be her own woman and make her own choices. Until it came at odds with their plans. What kind of freedom was that? Her reply was forcefully clipped. "Ayeh welp, changed m'mind."
"Why."
The shoddy dam that held back her temper cracked. "'Cause I don' wanna deal withit! Him or you! I wanna go an' scout an' do sommat simple!"
"So you're goin' to Gilneas alone," he sneered
Fells breathed, deep and even. Era was bad enough, and where was Shad? Silent. Of course. "Didn' I jest say I ain't."
"Yeah, an' I think you're fuckin' lyin'. 'Cause I can tell you don't want us with you. So just don't get cursed."
"Y'know what? Fine." As if on cue, Silverpine's border approached, and she sent Deposit diving down into the trees. If Era was fishing for reassurance, she was simply too frustrated to provide. He didn't get to shut her out, blame her, and then hope that her tattered nerves could pick him back up. Maybe he'd learn to be more careful what he wished for. "Right the now, I don' want no one with me."
The Curse.
Zevedron Bosch twitched, and Fells knew to stay at arm's length. It was the worst of his symptoms, an outward sign of inner urges that they were not discussing. It persisted through potions and -- his most recent attempt at coping -- running himself to exhaustion. His efforts left him too worn out to move, but still he twitched, and the days that followed only saw a marked increase in the lengths it took to earn him a moment's peace.
All of them knew that they should have taken him to Darnassus sooner. They just didn't know that their hesitation had consequences beyond Zeve's growing mental and physical exhaustion.
Side by side, they both peered up at the druid who loomed over them like a displeased parent. "It doesn't matter how you contracted the curse." His voice was water flowing over smooth riverbed stones and expressed not a whit of distress. It reminded her distinctly of Shad when he was at his most wroth, and it was how Fells knew that they were indeed in trouble. "Now we have to resort to more severe measures. You've gone too long with it in your blood."
Fells and Zeve exchanged a brief glance, containing "I told you so" and "I know, I know" in unspoken seconds. "Right, well I'm here now, mate," Zevedron said, shifting his attention back to the druid. "Figure there's like to be somethin' we can do what'll make things right?" His voice held all the strain that was easily visible in clenched fists and dark eyes sunken with exhaustion. His first rest for a week had come in the form of a dreamless sleep potion on the voyage over, and it wasn't enough by half.
"What kinda measures're we talkin' 'bout here?" Fells added, though it appeared as though the elf ignored her completely. His whole focus was fixed singularly on Zeve, as though weighing options based solely on the signals he could divine from the way the man spoke and moved. He was likely testing him with senses Fells couldn't perceive; Shad could have an especially keen sense of smell when he needed to.
Zeve shifted his weight under the scrutiny, and eventually tightly crossed his arms. All the better to hide hands that kept twitching every time a breeze stirred. Fells should have really stood downwind. "Right." Whether he meant to snap or not, Fells couldn't say, but the druid's countenance darkened just a hair. "Are you goin' to answer the miss or not, mate? If you can' help -- "
"Allonel Stonewaker," he interrupted, holding a hand up for their silence. "We will help you, Zevedron Bosch. I simply worry that we won't have time to gather what we need. The Howling Oak, I fear, won't be enough to aid you in your transition. Tal'doren could be required."
Zeve quirked a brow. "How do you figure on movin' a big feckin' tree then? Or are we goin' home?"
"We'll retrieve a branch when we're next able."
Something in his tone gave Fells pause. "When yer 'next able'." His nod was noncommittal. "In the habit'a sendin' yer folk inta Gilneas t'fetch twigs?" No nod answered, though he leveled a cool gaze at her. Fells grinned broadly. It really was the perfect excuse, wasn't it? And here they'd been trying to talk her out of it altogether. "An' y'need this t'help him."
"We do."
"Miss..."
"No, no truly now." Her grin grew, broad and self-assured. "I'll do it." She and Shad could fetch his branch and the pictures she wanted for him, all in one tidy little bundle. And what was he going to do, say no when his humanity hung in the balance? "I'll go inta Gilneas."
Worse than being caught in it, he knew he couldn't refuse her help. Zeve sighed and shook his head, crossed arms falling limp at his sides. "At least promise me yer gonna take Ears 'long with."
"Pfft, 'course. Why wouldn' I?"