"That's not good Ferow!" Moony whispered harshly, his large brown eyes bulging "It d-didn't work!" He continued as he nervously ran a hand over his bald head
"Shut your mouth you oaf." Ferow snapped, "Matters were complicated by the appearance of those magical freaks, had they not been there…" Ferow paused, making sure to examine the surrounding branches for any sharp ears before continuing, "Then our quarry would have been slain, no one can take on that many Fiends alone."
Moony shook his head, a large thing compared to the man's slender neck "He's been fightin' for three days without sleepin' Ferow, he probably could have."
"That doesn't matter now idiot." Ferow said with a glare "We'll just have to fall back on our original plan."
Moony sighed, adjusting his position to come sitting cross legged on his branch. The skinny fellow barely shook the leaves as he moved, his color shifting cloak making it almost appear as if nothing were there at all. Ferow himself wore one of these cloaks, an up-front payment for agreeing to kill this 'Hoplite' creature.
The elf that had hired Ferow and his band had been a very secretive type… more so than what was usual for a person hiring a killer. Ferow wasn't even sure if who had hired them was an elf… Their employer had appeared to Ferow as a cloud of mist in Akan-Dar, Ferow's home. How the strange mist-being had found the Raven, he did not know.
In truth, he didn't quite care. The agreed payment was more than generous, with the acquisition of these color-shifting Watchers cloaks. Semi-permanent retirement never seemed closer after receiving them. Jobs in Akan-Dar were about to get a whole lot smoother once they got back… that would be a journey of about two months, and unlike this first trip, the mist-elf had not agreed to shift them back to Akan-Dar.
A mild inconvenience, yes, but the cloaks and the payment for fulfilling Hoplite's assassination was worth it. No one in Akan-Dar had cloaks like the day-Watchers of the Faewood, the ones made in the metropolis were cheap knock-offs compared to these. Wrought with pure Foundation, if Ferow's guess was correct, dangerous to make without first building the House of Kyria.
With Hoplite opting to remain in the Faewood, Ferow and his band had required the color-shifting cloaks of the day-Watchers as to not draw suspicion. Ferow had also made sure that his crew understood very well not to make eye contact with any of the passing Watchers, for doing so would surely blow their cover. Their employer had insisted that Ferow and his best four men don the cloaks, a condition that Ferow did not argue with. The mist-elf had been right about the cloaks not drawing suspicion, as their presence had not been questioned upon donning the day-Watcher's garb.
That lended credence to his suspicions that the mist-being had to be an elf, perhaps one that held high rank amongst the day-Watchers. After all, he could only assume that the Watchers kept a careful eye on their stocks… it would be difficult for the standard grunt to make five cloaks disappear. A commanding officer though? Not too difficult perhaps, depending on how these elves kept their records.
"Ferow?" Moony asked, "You with me buddy?"
Ferow blinked and sighed, looking in the direction of his failed ambush.
"He's apparently human." Ferow told Moony, standing up on his branch "At some point, he has to come out of that armor, and when he does… I'll put a bolt through his skull."
And after that, Ferow could get the hells out of this cursed Faewood and its flowery air. The muggy stinking streets of Akan-Dar were his home, not this forested hellscape. Sure, Ferow may have been a full-blooded elf… but he was not of the Bastion, the all too-human streets had raised him, and those same reeking streets would always be home.
"It's been three days Ferow, when do you think he will?" Moony asked "What if he simply doesn't? I cannot draw on that much Foundation again, building the House of Kyria to such an extent has nearly Singed me. Sealing that many Fiends into the earth again will burn me out or worse… I cannot do it."
"You will not have to, Moony." Ferow sighed, waving a hand dismissively, "We'll just wait, a bolt will do just as well, tipped with moxvenom just in case I miss my mark."
Even with the color shifting cloak, Ferow could see the outline of Moony shaking his head.
"Miss your mark?" Moony asked, his voice barely holding back a laugh "You're supposed to be the best, you're the 'Raven'. You don't make mistakes." Moony said with a nervous chuckle.
Ferow shook his head again, brows knitting as his face grew warm with embarrassment. He had never handled praise well.
"I just make sure to cover all bases, that's all." Ferow muttered with a frown.
He really wasn't all that special, he was just very paranoid about failure. In this line of work, mistakes of any sort meant getting hounded by guards while making impromptu escapes. Oh how Ferow hated that, nothing angered him more than a plan not working out just the way he had intended. He countered this tendency by overplanning, taking into account every possible point of a plan that could fail, and making a plan within that plan. Really, he was more of a schemer than a master assassin, yet that was what the people knew him as. This 'Fiend-trap' plan had not worked out as he had hoped, but that was okay. He'd just have to regroup with Briggs, Gerry, and Luthil and tell them his next scheme for eliminating this over-sized bucket-man.
…Just in case the moxvenom somehow didn't work.
Lance put her chin in her palm, her legs dangling over the high branch she sat upon. She stared down at the entrance of the star- er, pod that Hoplite had secluded himself within. It had been nearly five hours since he sealed the doors shut behind him. It was by far the longest amount of time he had taken to restock on his… ammo, was what he usually called it for those thunder staves. It was a shortening for the word ammunition, though it sounded funny to her ears, like a made-up word a child would use at play.
"Ammo." She said to herself, her brows knit together "Ammo." She repeated in a mockery of Hoplite's deep monotone.
Nope, it still sounded silly, no matter the tone. Lance shook her head lightly, her long dark hair shifting with the motion and reflecting the green moonlight overhead. He must have fallen asleep; Lance hadn't known him long, but Hoplite wouldn't take this much time to simply restock. The man was always sensitive about the time spent on tasks. Lance fully believed that Hoplite wouldn't allow himself even a single second of lollygagging under even the most peaceful conditions. It was as if he really were a soulless construct, simply going about its assigned task until it was completed to the binder's satisfaction.
Yet Hoplite was a man, not a golem. She knew that from the barely contained heat in Hoplite's voice from when they had argued earlier in the day. It had been somewhat relieving to hear Hoplite border on some kind of emotion, all Lance normally heard from him was that flat monotone.
Perhaps she should irritate him slightly more, help bring out the person inside so he'd stop acting like a living stump. Yes… just a little bit though, nothing too extreme, she was not aware of his limits and didn't want to bring him into a fit of monkey-wrath. Lance supposed she could poke fun at him for sleeping in after he came out of that pod of his; knowing how much he cared about time, that should surely get his blood to a good sizzle. If he ever came out anyway, surely he must have fallen asleep in there?
At most; he would have spent five minutes in that pod to gather his precious 'ammo.' Maybe he had taken some extra time to maintain those guns of his? All those metal parts working together had to produce some kind of wear… did Hoplite oil them? How did he go about that? It seemed as if guns could potentially be taken apart… Did he oil and clean the individual pieces? That sounded as if it would take a long time, but five hours? No, he surely must have succumbed to slumber. Hoplite may have been some sort of strange super-human creature, but at the end of the day he was still human.
Yet her thoughts wandered to worrying places… Lance had not heard a sound from within the shuttle after Hoplite had sealed the doors behind him. Was it sound proof? If so, what if he had accidentally shot himself while cleaning that shotgun of his? Hoplite seemed to be well-versed in using his tools, but Lance had no idea how volatile those weapons could be. Yet the blast likely would have still made some kind of noise, those shells might have even dented the pod. Or not, it had fallen from the heavens unscathed after all… No, Hoplite did not shoot himself, she was mostly certain of that.
What if he had a heart-attack though? Lance shook her head and drew her lips in a line, growing irritated with herself. A heart-attack? Preposterous, Hoplite seemed to be in great shape, he probably had the heart of three horses… knowing that his lineage was not purely human, who was to say that he didn't? Yet was a horse-heart compatible with the human body? What if Hoplite's body had rejected his horse-heart and he had perished!?
Should she be concerned? Should she knock? She pondered this for a full minute before she gave a small frown.
Nah.
Hoplite was fine. He'd come out when he was well and ready, and all the better if he was getting a nap in. Perhaps she could bully him into eating and drinking finally, or maybe he had already done that in the pod before sleeping? Lance wished that she could actually see what was in there, After all, it was something from a completely different world! Her curiosity boiled at the thought of what all may lay within its steely confines. Curiosity had been a constant weakness of hers, but it was so for many elves. Cats and elves both had high mortality rates when it came to sating these curious desires… but maybe she could just sneak a peek?
There was a window to the interior at the front of the pod, but she could only see her own reflection staring back at her when she attempted to peer into the strange metal ovoid. She had studied the shuttle quite a few times during the routine stops Hoplite had made. At first glance, it seemed a solid hunk of metal, save for the window and sliding door, but upon closer inspection, she could see ultra-thin seams in the construction.
Tight rivets kept the star together, the metal must have been akin to dwarf-wrought steel to withstand falling out of the damn sky. There was a matching symbol on the broadsides of it as well, the red paint having been somewhat marred by the fall. It was an unsettling image of an octopus, the eight tendrils each ending in a broad human hand, each gripping a sphere. A single massive eye dominated the head of the octopus, the pupil unlike any she had seen before. Was the eye supposed to be a representation of Hoplites' world? Was this octopus the symbol of this 'Terna' he kept blathering on about?
Yeah probably.
Nodding sagely to herself, her thoughts turned back to Hoplite himself. An honest to Draoi Outworlder in the flesh, there hadn't been one of those on Ahkoolis for a long time, if myth were to be believed. Outworlders were usually arbiters of change in those old tales that survived the Godling Wars. They brought almost as much change to the world as Pillar-Born did, just with less… Apocalyptic loss of knowledge.
Indeed, Outworlders were generally seen in a more positive light than the Pillar-Born. They brought new innovations and ideas to Ahkoolis, whilst Pillar-Born destroyed nearly everything in their quest to ascend. Oddly, Outworlder ideas had a habit of surviving such turbulent times.
She supposed that the Harkhall would question him more on the subject once they returned to them and her watch was lifted. Lance was not looking forward to another meeting between Hoplite and the Harkhall however. By the Pillars that had to be the most awkward situation she had been in, no one spoke to the Harkmother as Hoplite had, not ever. It simply wasn't done, even Terlin Fire-Eyes hadn't ever dismissed her outright.
But maybe the Harkmother's curiosity about Outworlder behavior had held her tongue back from lashing. She had always been a curious woman before her rise to Motherhood. Surely she must know about Outworlder tales better than Lance herself did.
Lance thought about those old stories for a moment. What kind of changes had those ancient Outworlders wrought? Lance didn't usually pay attention to the old stories, and she seldom remembered them well. As she recalled it, all Outworlders were from the same plane of existence and were all humans, not wrought by the Blood of Zodd as the humans inhabiting Ahkoolis were.
Her frown deepened. If that were the case, then were they truly human or did they just happen to be creatures that looked exactly like them? Outworlders weren't made from Zodd's Blood after all… Lance then decided that Outworlders were indeed, not technically human. At least, not in the way that she knew them. After all, Geravall had confirmed it by viewing Hoplite's blood. According to Geravall, he apparently wasn't pure human, just as Hoplite himself had claimed. Maybe he was a half-orc? That would explain his ridiculous size after all.
She was actually quite tall for an elf, able to look most human men in the eyes, but Hoplite had been one of a few people to actually make her feel short. It was an infuriating feeling, the world simply felt right when she had to look down at someone to make eye-contact. She frowned again and tsk'd to herself. Hoplite couldn't be half-orc, there weren't any orcs on… what was the Outworlder plane called? Was the name of it even still recorded in the histories, or had it been lost like everything else?
Well, the bottom line was that there weren't any orcs there, so it was just that Hoplite was freakishly huge for a human. Her eyes narrowed at the sliding door of his pod. Maybe all Outworlders were that big? A terrifying thought. Maybe they really were more like orcs than she thought? She rubbed at the point of one of her ears as she considered.
Yes that had to be it, outworlders were actually orcs that looked like humans.
And were smarter.
More in control of their bloodlust.
And…
She pursed her lips before dismissing that train of thought. No matter what she thought, she simply could not bring herself to consider Hoplite as an orc. She'd have to see his face for any sort of confirmation-
Suddenly, the door to the pod slid open and her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a mass of pale flesh, muscle, and scar tissue emerge from the pod. She stood on her branch, staring down at…well, that had to be Hoplite out of his armor… but wait… by the Pillars, why was he naked!?
A pair of golden eyes found hers, and they locked. His face was square and made up of seemingly nothing but hard plains and sharp angles. His round golden eyes were housed beneath a low brow that was as bald as his head. Indeed there seemed to not be a single lick of hair anywhere on him and the sheer amount of scars he possessed went completely uncovered as a result.
They were mostly burns, all the way from his collar bone to his knees, looking almost like patches of ingrown scales at first glance. There were other scars too, numerous slashes from what looked to be beast-claws across his face and body, the most prominent of which was a thick, jagged scar that ran all the way from his left temple and down past his lip to end at the tip of his chin. The scar narrowed considerably the further down it went, a good thing, for Hoplite's jaw would have likely been completely exposed by whatever weapon had inflicted that horrid wound. Perhaps he had dodged it just in the nick of time?
That and a great many other scars looked as if they had been received in battle, but there were other longer gouges that looked…Too precise, as if a surgeon had sought to make a grid out of Hoplites body. She could not believe that Hoplite would allow such scarring of his body unless it was for a good reason… or if he was restrained. She shuddered at the thought of whatever could possibly restrain this beast, he made many orcs she had seen look scrawny by comparison.
He was an absolute pillar of a man, with arms and legs like tree-trunks and strong calloused hands that looked as if they could bend steel. Yet out of all his physical features, Lance found herself drawn by those golden orbs set in his skull. It was difficult to look away from them… they were practically aglow in the darkness, like a predator that stalked the night.
Lance felt a tinge of sadness as she looked into those eyes. Elves could all somewhat peer behind the veil of the eyes to glance at the soul within a person. The members of the Harkhall took their abilities further than that of course, but normal elves could all get a read on a person's emotions through eye contact like this. Hoplite's eyes bore almost nothing, as if he barely had a soul to begin with… and what she did see made her visibly shake. This was a man of swirling hatred, anger and… strangely enough, fear. Fear of what though, she could not say. He had all of these emotions bottled up in a sturdy container of discipline, an unbreakable box of dwarf-wrought steel.
A more talented eye-seer could probably discern much more than that, but still she wasn't the worst at it. What could a man possibly go through in order to become like this? That hard face bore no laugh lines, as if Hoplite rarely (if ever) smiled. She sniffed and felt her eyes begin to moisten. What a poor man-
"I need to clean myself." Hoplite said suddenly, causing her to jump and nearly lose her balance on the high branch "Guide me to the nearest body of water and when I'm finished I will suit back up and continue our objective."
His voice reminded her of a bucket of rocks being poured onto another, bigger rock. He had sounded a bit different in that suit of his, but not by much. Hearing it in the raw like this though was quite the experience. Lance felt a stab of irritation at that commanding tone, would it kill him to say 'please' at least? Or would that use up one more additional second of what was allowed!?
She shook her head with a sigh, and leapt from the branch, landing before him and being forced to again crane her neck back to look him in the eyes. Even out of armor Hoplite was head and shoulders taller than her. Lance had almost forgotten their difference in height while looking down upon him from atop the tree branch.
Her face felt hot with embarrassment as she maintained eye-contact, how dare he just come out in his birthday-suit like this!? It was very improper!
Keeping her eyes well above his nudity she said "There is a river a mile to the south… do you… do you not have normal clothes you can wear?"
"No." He replied simply, moving straight past her.
It was then that she noticed that he had his 'smaller' gun clutched in his right hand, the barrel being about as long as her arm. Lance suspected that even the dragon-men of the Blastlands would be jealous of such a weapon.
Walking behind Hoplite, she noticed another patchwork of scars on his back. And there were… orbs of a deep black metal, all grafted to his spinal column. The interconnecting metal orbs were all seemingly fused together, running all the way up from his tailbone to the base of his neck. What was the purpose of that?
Maybe they were magic in some way? Lance could hardly imagine how painful it must have been for Hoplite to have molten metal grafted to his spine. What was the purpose of it though? A talented battle-mage could meld metal to their flesh to form a 'natural' armor for combat. Hoplite only had metal grafted to his spine, not across all his flesh… and unlike those mages, Lance doubted that Hoplite could un-meld from the metal if he wished.
Lance quickly pulled up beside him, not wanting to be stuck staring at his rear end for this small trip. His eyes scanned the forest ahead, constantly looking above and behind him as they walked. Strange… he never did that while in his armor. Perhaps he was just overly confident when within his plate? No wait… his armor bore a device that could pick up on the motions of living things surrounding him. Without his armor, he had no access to this 'motion tracker'.
"What was the objective of those strangers?" He asked in a flat tone.
"Oh, yeah." Lance replied after a second "Well like they said, they're going to the Fiendwall to help plug it up." She explained "What we've been fighting is the stragglers that got through the hole before the Defenders could block it up. Several Tongues of Zodd have been passing through the Faewood to get to the wall and killing any Fiends they find along the way." She continued, pausing for breath, "I think that we should go there too. We haven't been running into nearly as many lately… save for today of course, and I haven't seen even one while you were in your pod."
She'd honestly been relishing fighting Fiends with Hoplite. Her blood got pumping in a way she'd never felt before while fighting those creatures. It was almost addicting... maybe she should become a Tongue of Zodd if she ever ended up not wanting to live the Watcher's life? Hmm... well, maybe she could just request temporary leave as she had been pondering. Would she really take leave just to become a Tongue though? The world called to her, but kicking the world's ass would take a long time, and Lance did not want her leave to last that long. If she did leave, she'd want to be a simple adventurer, nothing as intensive as being a Tongue.
She'd worked at this trade for a long time, this was her two-hundredth year within the Watchers. The Harkhall would probably approve of a little vacation such as that... but how long would she ask for? Maybe... twenty, even forty years, a short time really.
"What are sanctioning papers?" Hoplite asked her then, drawing her away from her thoughts.
She cleared her throat "Proof of mortality." She said "Not many people are capable of learning magic, but demi-gods always are able to utilize Foundation. The papers ensure that they went through the proper tests to be able to legally use magic."
It had been a relief when Twindil had shown Lance the papers, the way they had easily wielded magic had made her fearful for what they could be.
Hoplite, upon receiving this information… scoffed? It was a small noise, barely audible, but it had certainly been there. The man was so stubborn about magic simply not existing, despite the evidence to the contrary. Evidence he'd experienced first hand no less! How dare he scoff at her words, he was the one being silly for believing that magic wasn't real.
"We'll head to the Fiendwall after I get suited back up." He said after a moment "We have to cut the Fiends off at the source."
She blinked once before she refocused her attention on him. He was right of course, the breach did have to be dealt with if they wanted to end the constant onslaught of Fiends. Hoplite should take care of himself first though, no one could fight Fiends on an empty stomach, no matter how meat-headed they were.
"We'll go there after you eat a proper meal and drink some water, that is what we'll do." She told him sternly, placing her fists on her hips.
It looked odd while walking but hopefully that would have the added effect she'd need. Lance had seen her mother do that to her father and brothers when they had needed to see sense. Hoplite's head slowly turned toward Lance and he stared at her flatly, irritation rising behind those golden irises. A human likely wouldn't be able to see any difference in Hoplite's eyes, a thought that unsettled her. His face didn't change whatsoever, his brow still glaring and mouth still turned down in a frown.
"I've already taken care of that." He said, turning that golden gaze away from her "And you do not give orders to me." He finished, his tone hadn't changed but the words still sent a shiver down her spine.
Lance gulped and hoped that he didn't hear it. Where was her own fire? She should be biting back about him ordering her about! But with that hard face out in the open… it was hard to summon up the anger she'd need. Lance was not sure why, but it had been easier to fire back on Hoplite when his face was hidden beneath that featureless helmet… either way, fists on hips definitely wouldn't work on him… maybe that had been foolish to attempt. Bullying wouldn't work on Hoplite and she did not want to be under that golden glare again anytime soon.
She blinked.
Humans didn't have golden eyes, she was at least sixty percent sure of that. Maybe the Outworlder variety did? Well, it looked pretty neat in any case, if only they weren't windows to such negative emotions. They continued on in silence until they reached the river, Hoplite approaching the river and holding up a single finger. Lance felt her brow furrow as she stared in confusion at Hoplite. What was he doing? Was he gonna jump in or not? Lance got her answer after Hoplite's index finger split open at the tip.
A small steel needle stuck out from the hole, and he knelt down, submerging his finger in the stream with a completely flat face. After a moment, Hoplite simply nodded to himself, put his gun on the bank, before promptly face-planting into the water. The water splashed high and flew far, as if an entire wagon had been chucked into the water rather than a man. A stray toad was washed away in the tsunami, its angered croaks seeming to curse Hoplite just before it passed into a hollow log.
The water seemed to engulf her entire frame, the shock of the cold sending her scuttling back with a gasp. Lance clenched her teeth in rage before she took a deep breath to calm herself, it was an accident, he didn't mean to soak her with what seemed to be the entire river. What a heavy fellow to create such waves, were his bones made of stone? Sure, Hoplite was a huge man and heavy with muscle, but the resulting splash had still been far more than what it should have been, even accounting for his monstrous size.
When Hoplite broke the surface, he let out a sigh. A soft one, nearly inaudible, but it was definitely there. Was he relieved to finally get a wash?
As Hoplite scrubbed hands across his scarred frame, Lance asked him "What was that thing in your finger?" She asked before her brows knit in a glare "And next time, try stepping into the river please, I can only handle a few tidal waves at a time."
"I was checking the acidity and toxicity of the water. It is above standard water quality for most Ternan worlds." Hoplite replied quickly as he scrubbed a finger behind his ear.
Lance had simply stared. At least she had for a second before she realized she was staring at a naked bathing man. Face growing hot again, she quickly turned from him to observe the surrounding forest. Rehtyna wasn't full tonight, yet the moon was still bright enough that she could see fairly well in the darkness between the trees.
She noticed the occasional forest critters going about their business, but she also noticed the Watchers in the branches above the river. Not many of them, perhaps four in total. They were all staring at Hoplite, their shifting weight not disturbing the branches they sat upon. Certainly it wasn't appropriate for them to be watching Hoplite bathe… but a Watchers duty was to… well, watch. They hadn't been following her and Hoplite that closely the last couple days, but they knew Hoplite only when he was in his armor.
These Watchers (if they haven't figured out that it was Hoplite yet) would just see a big scary human brute bathing in the river. She frowned up at them as she thought. They would surely know it was Hoplite, after all, Lance was standing here right beside him,close enough anyway. They knew that Lance had been assigned to watch him. So why were they still here, watching him?
They would put two and two together surely-
Something whizzed past her ear and she heard it thud into something behind her. She gasped and turned to see Hoplite gripping the shaft of a crossbow bolt in one of his massive fists, snapping it in his tight grip as he glared at its origin. She followed his gaze, seeing a blur scrambling away through the moonlit branches above.
That elf could not be a Watcher!
Not a night Watcher anyway, the colors shifted beneath the green moonlight to mask his surroundings. Lance might not have seen him if he had held still, but now that he was moving it she could easily make out the blurring outline of a figure retreating across the branches.
Lance turned to explain that it wasn't a night Watcher to Hoplite, but he was already up and out of the river, gun clutched in his hand and his wide-eyes conveying…
Determination, discipline, and wrath.
He sped past her without a word, quickly scaling the closest tree and giving pursuit to the quickly vanishing blur of motion, face unchanging.
She quickly ran after him, screaming "Alive! We'll need him alive!"