User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!

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 {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | | 
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     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}| ]]
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
     Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}| ]]
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 {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
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     Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] 
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} | |
     Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Michael Bard | Michael Bard}}]] 
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September, 707 CR (during the Fall Festival)

Yvarra had been so relieved to get off the bloody holy mountain and back into the civilization of Euper. Had been until, back in The White Hind. She'd bolted the windows, and was fast asleep. She'd been awoken by a bell from the Sword of Songs, a slipped open window, and the hiss of a dart. It hadn't hurt much, and whatever guck had been on it had been neutralized by her Alicorn. And, the attack had been so swift, that she never saw who did it, or had a chance to react. Her thrown dagger just went out the window into the night, never to be seen again.

And it happened three more times.

She'd switched to a different inn, The Lame Nobleman. They'd only gotten her twice that night. Yvarra had slept till past noon as, at least, they left her alone during daylight. At least they were given her a good stock of darts. Once she cleaned the guck off of them.

She hadn't realized what in the Nine Hells the cultists were trying, until she'd staggered down to the common room and went through three bowls of the porridge. And would have had another but that was it. She remembered when she'd killed the first cultist, how drained she'd been. And how drained she felt after the darts. It seemed that the healing took energy, her own energy. And, she only had so much.

It had taken her three tries, but, finally, she'd found a vegetarian concentrated dried ration she could stomach. Something small, portable, and easy to keep to hand.

She'd left The Lame Nobleman to find the streets almost empty. It didn't take long for her ears to pick up the sounds of a festival, or celebration of some sort. It wasn't in Euper, but in the commons outside. The gates were open, there were no tolls for once, and--

The Sword of Songs donged a warning just in time for her to feel the dart thump into her thigh. She felt the warmth from her forehead as she plucked the weapon out. At least she hadn't wasted a throwing knife.

So much for resting in daylight.

She needed a plan, and she needed it yesterday. The cultists were winning, and she had no idea how to find them, or how to fight them. She needed time to think. Maybe in a crowd--

Not running, but walking briskly, she hurried through the gates and off towards the crowded commons. She could mingle, have some piece, and figure out what in Eli's name she could do!

Usually she liked festivals. Perfect grounds for some simple wealth acquisition. But now, now she was afraid to touch anything because she had no clue who was a damn cultist! Snorting she adjusted her fedora. And she still needed to get a proper scabbard for the damn sword. Hopefully here...

The sword donged a warning.

Just great. She looked around, getting a bit frantic, and then saw where the booths were. She pushed her way through, blessing her height. Stopping, she stared. It was! It was that damn monster tiger. From the keep. She was betting the cult wasn't up there, and that suggested he was safe. And, Kelpnos thank, he looked to be selling weapons. She pushed her way towards him.

It wasn't far, and she watched him watching her from the counter he was behind. What was it with Metamorans and counters? What happened to the good old wagon and tent? Anyway, either he was a very poor merchant, or he'd been quite successful so far. Hopefully the later. Still, if he'd been in the keep, he likely wasn't a cultist.

She relaxed a bit, though she could feel her ears still flicking and she kept sniffing at the air. They were here. And they knew that she knew. And she knew that they knew that she knew. And-- She shook her head to clear it. If they got to her this easily, she was just dead.

Why was she here again? Oh right, the scabbard.

The sword plucked a note of agreement.

She stopped in front of his-- stall? Counter? "Hello, sorry, busy. I need a scabbard for this. There was an accident--" She unbuckled the strap from over her shoulder and pulled the heavy thing off. "You got anything that'll do?"

He stared at her with a neutral position. But then, did cats ever have anything else? At least his tail bent, unlike that bloody Brennar. The tiger's voice was deep and measured, full of barely restrained strength, and threat. "I might have something that would fit that weapon, but that would mean pulling apart an existing set of weapons in order to furnish you with the needed item."

She rolled her eyes. Damn smiths, always trying to raise the price. At least she only had to keep turning her head a little to see what was going on around her. "You have anything with throwing knives? I've been going through quite a lot recently--" If only he knew.

She watched him frown. Of course, she could hear him thinking, warriors never used throwing knives! Well, she hadn’t cared what others thought of her for a long time, and she didn't care now.

Still, he said nothing. Instead he asked, "Why are you carrying that large sword ma'am? Even I can see that you don't really know how to use it, and I have seen a lot in my life."

Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! Of course warrior would notice that kind of thing, just like she'd notice the same with knives or a sling. For a second she through of playing the arrogant noble given a toy, but the Sword of Songs was just too distinctive. When in doubt, mix the truth with the lie. "It's kind of an heirloom. It," the sword played the sound of a discordant cymbal, "-- she and I are still working things out. Learning to use it is on my list when I have the time." If I survive till the new year.

She watched him cock his head and wiggle an ear as the Sword of Songs commented. "I see," he said. He placed on the hilt of one of his swords.

Great. Damn finicky warriors. What had she done wrong this time?

Thank Eli he just continued. "Can I please take a closer look at your weapon so that I can get a good idea of what would fit it?"

Closer look? She clenched the hilt tightly. But then, what harm was he going to do? Especially here. She just prayed the cultists kept their distance. She could feel power here through her alicorn, hopefully the thing wasn't glowing. She needed more time! With an act of will she loosened her grip. "Sure. I do apologize for the scabbard -- it was what I had or nothing."

"It's a hack job if I ever saw one."

She snorted. If only he knew.

"You must've been in a hurry when you did it." He pulled the sword from the cut off scabbard and examined it. It made a low tone, like the long draw of a bow on a string.

She watched him, heart pumping, as he examined it. Her ears were flicking all over the place, and she began feeling a bit light headed she was sucking air into her nostrils so fast. Clenching her fists, she forced herself to calm a little.

The hilt had an elegant downward pointed cross-tree on it and there were subtle engravings on both the cross-tree, the pommel, and the first two inches of the blade. Yvarra had never really taken the time to look at it. Swords were just tools. But this-- When she stole stuff she looked for the ornate, the fancy, this-- No runes, no heavy detail, no sculpting, no gems. Just clean smooth lines. In its own way, it was more beautiful than the gold and gem covered monstrosities she'd seen so many times.

He stepped back, and she stepped forward. Then he pulled on hiw own swords from its scabbard and slid the Sword of Songs into it. It fit perfectly, and the two side thongs slipped over the cross-trees to reach their studs without a problem.

"How does this look?" he asked.

"It looks fine. Appearance isn't that big a thing compared to functionality. May I?" She reached to take it back--

"Wait a second miss! You are forgetting something. This costs money, and you did mention that you wanted throwing knives." He pulled down a baldric that contained four sheathes with throwing knives contained therein. "If you want both that will cost fifty suns."

"No I hadn't forgotten! Though I trust you, if I need this thing and my life is at stake, I have to know now how easily it draws. If you want, hold the scabbard whilst I draw my sword. Then we can talk."

He reversed the scabbard and undid the two peace thongs before pointing the hilt of her weapon towards her. He obviously had no intention of letting go of this scabbard until it was properly paid for. Merchant or warrior, she couldn't tell anymore. Not that it really mattered.

"Sorry -- I've just learned the bitter hard way that looks don't mean shit when somebody's trying to run you through." She reached up, such an experience -- she hadn't had to do that in a while -- and the Sword of Songs easily slid out and into her grip. She slid it back in, and out and in. "Good." She nodded in satisfaction.

"Well now do want the scabbard and these four knives?" he asked her, as he did, he flipped his cloak open a little to reveal the hilt of a monstrous sword and the heart shaped ruby set into its pommel.

She looked at the knives-- looked like good craftsman ship but no way to tell. And he was touchy. Better safe than sorry. "May I handle one, and do you have a target?"

He pointed to a post that he'd dug in for that very purpose two days before. "You can throw it at that post there. I personally guarantee that they will never fail you in combat."

As if he knew! With all the gods that seemed to be crowding into her life recently, she didn't trust anything to perform as advertised anymore. She drew one of the daggers and held it by the hilt. Good grip. She balanced it vertically on her palm -- easy. Good balance.

"Looks like you know your way around a throwing knife Ma'am."

Grasping it by the handle, letting the leather warm to her touch, she squinted, cocked her head, and found a knothole in the post. That'll do for a start-- A swift straight movement back, snap forward, and the dagger was wobbling by its blade, centred in the knothole. "Good balance. You need a smaller target," she continued dryly.

Chuckling, he reached behind his back and whipped out another knife at the target. It stuck into the wood right beside her own weapon quivering slightly. "That's always what I tell the guys at the Deaf Mule."

"May I try a second one?" Without waiting for an answer she threw it and it thunked between the two existing daggers, quivering not at all.

"At least you have some skill with knives ma'am. That makes up for your lack of skill with that sword. Why do you carry it anyway if you can't even use it properly?"

"Like I said, she's kind of an heirloom." She looked around nervously, licked her nose, and sniffed the air. Too damn many food odours. Some grain mush shoved its way up and she hurriedly chewed before swallowing again. "Fifty suns is enough to beggar my sick grandmother, make my poor lonely grandfather turn in his grave, and my eighteen children to die of starvation. Thirty."

"Ma'am unless you are not aware I make the highest quality weapons this side of the Western Sea. If you want my stuff you will have to be willing to pay my prices. But right now I can tell you that you will find no better hardware in all of the Midlands. My price stays unless you can make me a better offer."

Somebody was sure full of themselves, and no sense of humour. She'd been hoping to kill a few minutes. Crap. She had it in gold, barely, but she'd have next to no coin left. "Fine. Rules are yours. I'd offer a knife game with winner gets their way, but that's liable to take us all day. How about an equivalent gem in trade?"

She hadn't wanted to dig into this so soon, but things rarely went as planned. She reached into the pouch and felt around -- she'd have been happier if they hadn't been cut, or she'd had been able to find somebody she trusted to recut them. She had no need to go to the keep again, and anything that kept the Sword of Songs happy, and thus kept her alive, was good in her book. She felt a smaller one, felt the facets-- should be. Pulling it out she saw it was a brilliant star sapphire cut in twelve edges. Looked like it'd been pried out of a setting-- what to say--? Heirloom? Bad family times? No sense showing the rest of the wealth she'd taken from the cultists.

She put it on the counter. "Here. Should more than cover it, and your transaction fee to sell it. Old family setting, ring was fake -- no clue how that trick happened."

He picked up the gem and scratched at it with one of his claws before he held it up to his eye. "This is a very nice stone ma'am, but it will more than pay for what you are purchasing. Then again I do have to sell it."

"It's got bad memories. Ten gold from your end to cover the difference?"

He nodded slowly looking at the way she moved and her posture, her scent. Why did she always have to get the careful ones? For a long moment he just watched her, and then he pulled out five gold and dropped them on the counter. "Something isn't right about this, I can smell it. So I'm only going to give you half of what you want for it."

Damn! This was going to come back and bite her, she knew it. Be non chalant-- Where was some cud when she could use the distraction? "It's not worth the memories. Five is fine."

He shook his head at the lady and frowned. "Now you had best be on your way ma'am before you attract too much attention. I've been around long enough to know that something isn't quite right here."

If only he knew. She could scent his suspicion. She had a choice, either stay and try and reduce it, but that didn’t' seem likely, or get the hell out. Of course, if the cultists did try for her here, he'd have far greater things to worry about than a bit of lost money. Of course, they'd strike by a poison dart in the eye, or a toxined sharpened coin slid against your palm. She didn't even want to think of how many times her alicorn had saved her so far.

She felt something nick her leg and felt a wash of heat pour down from her forehead.

And again.

"I'd better be going. You're going to think the wrong thing when I say this, but just forget I was ever here. Sword, scabbard and daggers please?" She slipped the dart out, wiped the poison off on her pocket, and let it slip to the ground.

Taking her purchases, she pushed her way out into the crowd, chewing on the cud that finally chose to come up.

---

For whatever reason, it took a good chunk of the afternoon for the cultists to find her. Yvarra had almost relaxed, especially after getting both her stomachs full of delicious apples. How could a food taste so good? The only thing that was able to distract her from the wondrous taste was what appeared to be a muffin tossing game of some sort.

She just shook her head. Yvarra would never understand this place--

Just as she was turning away, the Sword of Songs gonged a warning. Without thought she dove for the ground, managing to keep her muzzle up this time to keep her Alicorn from getting stuck, in the grassy dirt. Something hissed just overtop of her and thunked into--

Klepnos! Not her, somebody else!

She'd started to turn her head when there was a scream, and she watched what appeared to be a child collapsing.

She blinked.

She couldn't go on like this. Sure, she enjoyed challenges, enjoyed winning her victories, enjoyed tweaking the rich and the slow. But nothing she'd ever done had hurt an innocent. Nothing! And now, now the Eli damned cult--

The boy vanished behind a crowd as she forced herself to her hoof and began to slink away. She shouldn't be here, she couldn’t be here any longer. And, as to the cult, well, fine!

If they wanted to play the game, that way, she'd play it that way. They'd taught her to kill. And, now, for the first time in her life, she wanted to kill.

Her ears flicked as the Sword of Songs played a mournful oboe note--

"He's alive!"

What? Yvarra spun around, trying to see past the crowd.

"She's just sleeping." "Stupid pranksters, playing with sleeping drugs."

Yvarra stopped, blinking.

Sleeping drugs?

How'd they know? Did it really matter? Assume that statement was true. There were people who could know. Find the dart, carefully taste what was on its tip.

But, if it was a sleeping poison, then why?

Either they had known that dart would hit an innocent. Or--

Or, they wanted her alive.

She shuddered.

Yvarra stood up straighter.

In the scheme of things, it didn't matter. The child was alive, or the adult, or whatever, and that was what counted. And yet, and yet it proved that the cult had crossed the line, and was willing to cross the line.

She wouldn't be safe in crowds. She'd never be.

Her heart steeled itself with a new resolve.

They wanted death, she would give them death.

And there was one place she could start. The only place she could start.

The bathhouse. There had been an entrance to the catacombs there. And, once she got there, got to where she knew how to move in silence, then she would make them pay.

But, first she had to prepare. A quick preparation. She couldn't go as she was now. She couldn't go until tonight.

She pushed her way through the crowd that was starting to disperse. There was a tanners district, by the river. It was impossible to miss -- especially with her newly enhanced nostrils. She'd pick a building at random, pay to be dyed black. Buy some clothes to wrap around her hooves for silence.

And then, tonight, tonight she'd go back to the bathhouse.

Nodding to herself, she made her way off the commons.

---

The dye was cold, and dark. But then it was black. Or it had better be. Yvarra kept a small stream of bubbles gurgling from her nostrils. The longer she crouched there, the darker the colouration. She hadn't told the dyer, but she was holding a knife, letting it move from hand to hand, though she had told her to leave her in her privacy. She didn't know the dyer, didn't trust him. Eli, she didn't trust anybody anymore. She'd picked this dyer at random, literally by flipping a coin. Hopefully he'd be safe, and she'd be safe.

But she wasn't taking chances anymore.

She couldn't afford to. The white had to go. Absolutely. Before she'd just worn dark clothes, blackened wax on her face and hands. Now-- Now she'd do whatever she had too.

Yvarra'd known that most of her alicorn would be above the surface, but she planned to dip it later.

It was odd. She'd have sworn, hell she'd have put good coin down, that she could feel air movment along it. In fact-- was that the door she heard opening? The dyer? She could see-- dagger-- Nine fucking hells!

Acting more on instinct than reason, she burst out of the barrel of dye and whipped the knife from between two fingers. Even as she blinked, even as the black oily dye dripped from her hears, she heard the gurgling and whimpering of pain. In the few moments it took her to clear her burning eyes, the room fell silent. The dyer was lying there in a pool of blood, a knife stuck I his throat. Or, the dyer who was male now and-- Argh! She hated the damn curse!

Climbing the rest of the way out, she let the thick liquid roll off her naked body to pool beneath her hooves, mixing with the dyer's blood. It was cold, cold as ice. Cold as her blood felt now that she felt no remorse at the death. Stepping carefully from the liquid, carefully across the body, she pushed the door he'd open the rest of the way. It didn't matter that she was leaving a trail of black, she needed to know now.

It didn't take her long to explore the small place, sniff around the stored skins to be tanned and dyed, to find -- nothing. Some coins, some fruits that must have been just bought that she wolfed down. But-- nothing! No sign of him being a cultist, no secret passage, no entrance to the catacombs--

She hadn't expected the rest, but where was the robe? If the cultists stopped kindly identifying themselves, then how would she know?

A cold chill swept through her soul. Was she going to be reduced to killing innocents now? But then, he had come after her with a knife. Even if what she'd seen, or thought she'd seen, was a trap, he had still been holding the damn knife! And, why else would he have disturbed her?

It made no sense! It made-- unless-- something she'd heard-- something when she'd been on the holy mountain-- what was it--? She scratched the base of her alicorn as she chewed on the last of the melon. That mouse-- she couldn't remember the name-- he'd said something about her alicorn being valuable, especially in Euper.

Could that be all it was?

This was great, just great! Not only did she have the Klepnos-damned cult after her, she also had random fortune hunters out to kill her for her alicorn! Well-- they wouldn't have it! She'd survived in the streets, survived adulthood and city guard and assaults and imprisonment.

She would survive this!

Spinning on a black hoof, she clicked her way back to the dye. Holding the sides of the barrel, she held her alicorn down and under. It was odd-- she could feel the coldness of the dye. It felt-- it felt wrong, repulsive. Still, it had to be done.

Standing up, she pulled her alicorn out of the black liquid.

Her alicorn that was white. Glimmering, shining white. She could see the last of the dye flowing off it like oil from water and pooling in a cold darkness in the fur of her muzzle.

Nine hells!

Fine!

Looking around, ignoring the cold, dead body, she saw a dirty cloth and stalked over and started wrapping it around her--

It felt wrong! A burning itching filled her, pouring down her alicorn. It grew and grew, becoming unbearable as she ripped the cloth off and threw it away. The silver-white horn glimmered between her eyes and a feeling of comfort and relief filled her.

Hmph! So much for that! She'd learned long ago not to try and changes thigns she had no control over.

The sun had set by now, she unswallowed and chewed some cud as she grabbed the cloth, and found a few more in another room. There were some things she could do something about, and high on that list was the sound her hooves would make on the wooden floor of the bathhouse. She wrapped them hard and tied them tight, painfully tight. But, a little pain was small price to pay for silence..

Then she left the small shop in the blackness of the narrow streets of Euper. He alicorn glowed gently, enough so that she could see where she was going when the towering buildings closing in the narrow muddy streets let in a few driblets of the shining moon far overhead.

The door hung open behind her.

---

Euper was quiet. In the distance she could hear the crackle and boom of fireworks as they exploded above the commons. The soft rustle of the river, the honking of a few geese, a flag flapping in the wind. In the distance, a voice called out, it's meaning unintelligible. There was just enough moonlight to see by, and when there wasn't, the soft warm glow of her alicorn sufficed.

The cold mood oozed between her hooflobes. She really should have kept the boots on, but she didn't know how much time she'd have when she got to the bathhouse. It was likely abandoned, but she didn't have any ideas. All she could do was stay quiet, take a look and improvise.

A lot of her life seemed to be like that these days.

She ducked into an ally as a squad of the town watch squelched by. She could hear them grumbling at not being able to go to the festival. Yvarra hoped the cultists were there. All the cultists. Then she'd have some peace and quiet for her investigations.

And if you find the passage still there, what then?

She had some provisions, her pack, her weapons, and her skill. It was a start. What else am I supposed to do?

Only silence echoed through her brain.

They passed, and she resumed her walk.

---

She ducked into an ally a short distance away from the bathhouse. Spitting on her hands, she eyed the worn brick wall, and swiftly climbed up it. Far easier than that wall in the keep. Damn that keep! Damn it to the Nine Hells! She was never going anywhere near the place again.

No time to think about it.

The roof was worn wooden tiles. She stayed at the peak, not so much for silence, but to ensure her weight was on a support beam. Keeping her balance was easy, and her hooves stretched and gripped the wood with surprising ease. Maybe she'd gotten something useful out of the curse after all. As she reached the edge, she crouched down, eventually laying on her chest to look over the edge at the bathhouse.

The bathhouse was a separate building. That had seemed odd, but maybe it made it easier to hide tunnels. And strange sounds. She lay there and watched, looking around, hoping that the moonlight washed out her alicorn from anybody looking up. Normally she wouldn't have worried -- people almost never looked up -- but she expected that the cultists were more used to the idea.

The bathhouse looked abandoned. The door hung open, still in the windless night. Licking her nostrils she sniffed. Mud. Fresh wood. Leather. Many animals. Had the watch investigated already? Scratching a flicking ear, she tried to remember is she'd closed the door -- she'd have sworn she'd closed the door.

The building was two stories, slightly higher than the one she was on now. There was a window almost opposite where she was, shuttered and closed. It wouldn't work though -- no easy way to get to it without making noise. Unswallowing some cud, she chewed and thought-- The roof sloped downward on either side. Leaping would be easy, but she'd slam against the wall making sure anybody inside would hear. Leaping onto the roof wouldn't be hard either, and also noisy. Maybe--

Cocking her head, she looked at the edge of the roof, the bottom of the slope. It could be doable. She could leap, grab the edge and then swing into the opening at the side until her momentum stopped. Then go hand over hand up the slope to the window, pry it open, and get in that way. It would be a bit of a climb, but it had the advantage of a number of abort points -- swing to the ground and run, drop from in front of the window to the ground and roll.

She crawled back from the edge of the roof and sat down, pulling the rags from her pack and tying them snugly around her hooves. They were not comfortable. She stood up, carefully, and still almost slid off as they gave her almost no traction. But, balance was one of the things she was good at, and this body seemed to have a very strong natural sense.

She walked to the edge of the roof, each hoof making a thudshush on the roof as she put them down, and they slipped a bit before the cloth stretched enough to provide a stable grip. At least they made almost no sound, which was the objective of the exercise. On her back, the Sword of Songs let out a nearly inaudible flute-like tweet, a warning, but Yvarra ignored it. She had no other idea what to do, and if she could find the thrice cursed entrance, maybe she could go on the offensive.

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