Clipped Wings (storyline)/Weighty Moments (vignette)
Weighty Moments - A Clipped Wings Compilation
Originally posted on the official forums by GM-QUILIC on 01/14/2020 at 08:03 AM CST.
"Hey!" A short half-elf limped up to the young skinny human with comical haste. A tall gruff giantman in splintmail followed behind wearing a banded kettle helmet that was too small for his massive melon and jangling a set of keys. "What do ya think yer doin' there! Duntcha know defacement's a crime?"
The human youth turned around with a startled look on his face. He hid the paintbrush behind his back immediately as he recognized the guard behind the half-elf. A poster behind him dripped wet with yellow paint, the word "Flock" altered and appended in a rather vulgar fashion. The giantman guard grabbed the youth by the shirt and looked over to his half-elf companion.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, the half-elf retrieved one of the parchment rolls from under his arm and placed a nail in his teeth. He drew a small tack hammer out of his satchel and muffled out "Put 'im in irons, Dab." The giantman complied silently and clamped the youth in manacles. He dragged the scared boy behind himself south toward the constabulary while the half-elf went to work replacing the propaganda.
Light from nearby gas lamps cast a soft glow over the pawnshop, and the Flock courier had a hard time seeing his work through his shadow against the poster. If it wasn't for that hoodlum, he'd have had the giant with him to help tack up the parchments. He moved to put his armful of posters down... but the ground was damp from the water buckets dousing the last vandalism. They had just been here a half-hour prior replacing one that had been set aflame by a cloaked giantman smoking a cigar.
Exasperated, he let out a sigh and straightened himself. "Hey Dab," the half-elf had hoped his escort was still in range to come back and hold the poster up, "Hey DAB!" The man's shadow against the side of the storefront grew longer and wider. "Thank goodness... hold this here while I tack..."
The words came out muffled as his face was palmed by a very sizeable assailant. The half-elf tried to kick his good leg, but the massive form behind him already had him off the ground and hurried through the door to the pawnshop. Cendadric immediately began to protest as the large figure bolted the door behind them but was silenced when the masked individual shot his glare behind the counter. A quiet voice escaped from beneath the featureless eahnor visage, "Leave. You will be compensated."
Cendadric hurried his lockbox closed and secured and departed through the rear of the establishment.
"Where are the children, Birdbrain?" The giant figure thrust his half-elven quarry against the wood of the door, causing a louder noise than intended. A loud crack that accompanied the thump sounded like more money he'd have to spend in repairs.
"I don't know what you're..."
CRACK! Another slam against the door shut the half-elf's mouth as he bit down hard on his tongue. The glossy mask stared accusingly at the terrified courier. "You know where the kids are, or you know someone who does. The next word out of your mouth had better be a proper noun."
"M... my frien' Dab. Th' guard. He works for th' flock and sometimes goes wit Nehor. He may've heard somefin'."
"He the one that took the poor kid away to the cells?" The masked giant glanced down to see the half-elf's feet hanging a full ten inches above the floor.
"He's on duty tonight. He'll watch the kid there until they come ta try 'im! Vandalism's a crime ya know!"
A small ebon kunai slipped from a sheath at the giant's thigh and up to the half-elf's throat - the weapon looking positively diminutive in his massive gloved hand. "Well then... after I litter here, I should probably go turn myself in." A quick deep cut from the blade nearly decapitated the half-elf and spewed thick vitae on the floors and walls. No sound escaped. No flailing. Just a simple bugging of eyeballs as the husk of the courier dropped to the floor of the pawnshop. Leaving the front door bolted, the masked figure emptied a small pouch into a bulging sack from his duster and weighed it. Satisfied, he plopped the sack onto Cendadric's lockbox and slipped out the way the opulent shop keeper had gone. Moving off at a trot toward the constabulary, he connected a glaesine chain to his kunai and the other end to a hand sickle.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
There was nobody inside the office when the cloaked figure entered. He knew he didn't have long, so he immediately went to work. After a tripod of spears was brought over in front of the iron barred door, the figure leapt from the desk to grab onto a crossbeam. With impossible grace for his size, he swung himself up to mount the load bearing support. His movements seemed fluid and elven as he produced his chain and simultaneously began a small chant. A pair of ethereal eels snaked their way around the jailhouse, bringing a thick fog up from the ground before dissipating in a coiled dance near the entryway.
He didn't have to wait on his perch for long. The fog had barely ceased churning when the door opened. The thick blanket of greyish white shifted out of the entrants' way as the giantman dragged the poor lad toward the iron-bound door. Dab was simple and didn't slow his stride in light of the unusual state of the First Sergeant's Office, stopping in curiosity only as he looked upon the tripod of spears in his way. The next eight seconds were a blur.
The first three seconds saw a figure drop from the rafters, landing a twin hammerfist on top of the guard's too-small helmet. As the sentry's hands instinctively raised to the pain and encroaching metal, the assailant fell low, slamming his kunai through Dab's ankle and tossing the sickle to loop over the crossbeam overhead. The bellow of pain was loud, and may have caused unwelcome attention, but the graceful beast was fast. A quick jab into the guard's lower ribs drove the wind out of his lungs in a quiet puff, rending the bellow muted. The third and fourth seconds were spent waiting for the rattling glaesine chain to drop the sickle down to the stygian figure's waiting hand. Having been released by the guard, the youth ran over to the side of the room and huddled in a corner. Dab was still doubled over from having the wind knocked out of him, allowing his center of gravity to be shifted with a few powerful pulls on the chain.
The guard fell to the floor with a thud. A deep gasp escaped as he tried to catch his wind but was lost again as his skewered leg and lower half were lifted from the floor with consecutive massive tugs on the chain. By the eighth second, the giant was dangling precariously by a chain from the rafters - his helm having clattered to the floor and blood from his forehead leaving red drops along the underside of its kettle rim.
The assailant wrapped the chain around his corded and taught bicep, bracing himself and leaning backward to keep the giantman hanging upside down. He slid the tripod of spears under the giantman with his right foot and tugged a few links more on the chain. The guard panicked at the sight of the sharp weapons aimed up at his dangling form, the pain in his ankle and foot all but forgotten in the face of imminent death.
An eahnor mask glanced away from Dab to the poor youth with yellow paint caked on his hands and shackles on his wrists. "Take his keys. Free yourself. Open the cell. Leave."
The poor lad was dumbfounded and scrambled over to the hanging giant. He hopped up toward the giant's keyring, but the slowly rotating form was too cumbersome to get around. The figure took his sickle in one hand and splintered the floorboard at the chain's full length, leaving Dab suspended above the spears. He moved back to the giant and gave him a little shove. The giant began to yell. An eahnor face slammed into an unbroken nose and one of the two gave way. Dab immediately lost consciousness. "Great. Now I'll have to wait to find out."
He retrieved the keys from the giant's belt and released the poor vandal. "What's your name, sir?"
"I... I'm G-g-gera... I'm G-g-gerald," the youth stuttered. He rubbed his wrists and ran over to the iron door to unbar it.
"Well Gerald, get yourself to the healer. You look a bit roughed up." The youth ran past the masked figure and was caught by his wrist. "Here... this'll pay for that eye." He shoved a handful of coins into the youth's hand and watched some of the fog roll outside of the jailhouse chasing after Gerald.
He dragged the First Sergeant's chair away from the desk and parked it by the kama shoved into the floor. After closing and locking the constabulary door, he straddled the chair facing the Dab chandelier. He lifted his eahnor mask to above his eyes and lit a cigar. The pain was beginning to bring Dab to, and the guard moaned as he blinked away blurry vision from the blood rushing to his head.
"Where are the kids, Dab? You tell me and you live."
The guard mouthed something that looked like "Call for me...", but no sound came from his lips. The black skinned intruder stood up from the chair and replaced his mask. He walked up to the hanging giant and snuffed his cigar out on Dab's forehead. Dab winced but would not scream.
"I couldn't hear you," he said as he dropped the cigar stump to the floor. "Last chance."
Dab mouthed something again, no sound coming from his lips. He winced and reached up to the small of his back in pain. His mouth opened as if to say something, and his eyes closed tightly.
"Very well, nightie night for you again." The assailant placed his hands on either side of Dab's face to facilitate another meeting of eahnor mask with now-broken nose... and realized his mistake. A shackle and chain clapped closed on the assailant's wrist, securing him to Dab. A defiant and bloody-toothed grin from the hanging sentry brought the inquisitor's anger to a head.
Out in the street, a few passersby heard some of the screams from the jailhouse, but none would dare do more than hurry along their way. With all the turmoil in the town, not one wanted to end up on the bad side of whomever was causing those screams.
As the lamps died down and gave way to the rising sun, light penetrated the windows of the pawnshop - but wouldn't reach the splintered cracks on the back of the shop door. No light would find its way to the blood splattered around the entryway.
Light found its way into a fogless First Sergeant's Office - but not to the broken floorboards that once held a sickle. No light would shine to the top of the rafters where a chain had been sawed too quickly in release of a giantman.
Light found its way to the iron-barred door of the jail - but not to the spear tripod or the trail of blood that lead to the inside cells.
No light would shine on the skewered form of a giantman guard, or the stump at the end of his arm that pooled blood around the cell floor.
It was as though the island itself didn't want to know what had happened the night before.
It was dark when they came. She was expecting them... and everyone in town agreed that it would happen in the dark hours. So when the knock came, she was prepared. Her father's sword raised high, she crept around from the side of their little cottage and swung with all her might, grunting with the effort. The dark form moved with liquid grace, sliding aside effortlessly, and the weapon THUNKED into the doorjamb, the reverberations causing her hands to sting terribly. She let go of the weapon with a gasp, but fear and rage caused her to lunge at the form, fingernails slashing like a wild feline, her face a rictus of terror and fury. The form moved again, so fast that she could barely follow, and she found one hand jerked behind her, and her face pressed against the splintered walls of the only home she had ever known. She felt hot tears stain her face, and she shook from embarrassment, pain, and the terrible sensation that she had failed. One part of her hoped that all the noise wouldn't have woken her boys, but she dreaded their reactions when they found her corpse in the early morning hours.
The dark thoughts wound round and round in her mind, but then she felt something weighty press into the palm of the hand held behind her. Her face screwed up with confusion as she tried to puzzle out what it could be, then she felt hot breath on her ear and she recoiled. A quiet, even voice whispered, "Resist, Mother. All is not lost."
And the presence was gone, as quietly as the mist. She moved hesitantly away from the wall and pulled her sore arm around in front of her. Glancing down, she stifled a gasp. A large pouch of coins sat in the palm of her hand, and fresh tears flowed as she dropped to her knees. She shook with relieved gasps for a long few moments, then squared her shoulders, nodded once to the ground, and stood. She wrenched the sword from the doorjamb and made her way into the cottage, her jaw set with determination.
The silence was a living thing, and Xil felt it like a weight in the room. She moved uncomfortably, clearing her throat, but despite her best efforts, her gaze would not rise from the bartop in front of her. Again, she felt the words rising in her chest, forming into an... apology? Explanation? Epithet? The words fell apart once more, dispersing into disparate wisps of emotion that curled and coalesced into another layer atop the knot in her guts. She raised her mug to her lips and took a small sip, but even the alcohol tasted bitter and out of place. She couldn't place her emotions... there were simply too many of them warring for dominance. From one heartbeat to the next the riptide changed course, flinging her back and forth and causing random surges of adrenaline... from panic one moment, to rage the next, then to shame. And then the cycle would repeat itself.
The door opened, but she didn't bother to look up. It didn't matter who it was. She heard his voice, calm and measured as always, greeting the patrons. Like nothing was different. Like it was all the same as it had been. Her grip tightened on the mug, her knuckles turning an angry white, and she felt the words forming in her gut. This time they survived, and burst forth in a guttural growl.
"No," she growled.
He shuffled in front of her, and she felt his eyes on the top of her head. The rage empowered her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. Placid hazel eyes met hers, as familiar as always, and the familiarity made her all the angrier. How DARE he look at her that way? As if it was all still the same? As if things just... continued on as they always had?
"Are you ready to listen now?" he asked, his tone even.
Xil glared daggers at him, but held her tongue. Even in her state, she knew he should not be the target of her ire.
"What ah been tryin' to tell you since you came in here, Xilly Girl... is that Ah'm OK."
Xil felt her eyes suddenly grow hot with tears, and she looked away, blinking furiously. Her tone was rough and ragged as she responded, her gaze remaining averted.
"But you might not have been. And I wasn't here."
Greth chuckled slightly, and Xil felt the rage return. The constant switching of strong emotions was quickly exhausting her, but she glared back at the placid bartender.
"Do me a favor, Xilly Girl... take a look at the floor behind you."
Xilona narrowed her eyes then glanced at the prominent smear on the floor behind her. Before she could look back, Greth had continued, his voice going quiet.
"Nobody... an' hear me clearly here... nobody... is gonna come in here an' end me. Do you understand? Not in here. This is my place."
There was a curious intensity to the bartender's face, and his tone was more forceful than she was used to hearing. Xilona watched him for a long time, her face growing calmer by degrees, until she nodded, just the once, and took a long pull from her drink.
He gazed tiredly at the vaguely avian mask on the wall, hating the thing with every pore of his being.
"Ends and means," he grumbled, though the words brought him no more comfort than they ever did. He heaved a sigh and began to dress. His finest garb, though it was starting to get a little tattered. He needed to replace it before the ruse fell apart completely, but he didn't have the funds. This particular role, he knew, had about run its course in any event. He finished dressing and stood, studiously avoiding the looking glass. It made him nauseous to see himself dressed in such a fashion, especially given what he had done recently while so garbed. He steeled himself, forcing ten long, slow, breaths in and out of his lungs, willing his heart to slow, and his hands to cease their trembling. When he had finished, he began the slow, painstaking construction of the smile he had been wearing for nearly a week now. It was an awful thing, and it made him taste bile every time he donned it. The smile was cold, mocking, and cruel, and carried with it a bargeful of arrogance. He knew it was in place when he felt as dirty as he could possibly imagine.
He fastened the lily to his lapel on his way out the door, his mind squarely on his mission. He could not fail... and so he would not.
She was gone. She'd taken his ring, and his hand, and his heart, and now she was gone, and those things were but a portion of what he had lost in the process. She hadn't paid, they said. She hadn't given enough. She hadn't been supportive enough. It was all garbage, and everyone knew it. They'd taken her because they could, and didn't give a damn about anything more than that. They'd taken her, and he had nothing left.
He hadn't eaten for two days, nor bathed, nor left his cottage. He sat and he waited. He hadn't paid his tithe in those two days either, and he knew they would come for him soon. He just couldn't find a way to care any more.
When the knock came, he did not rise. He didn't call out, or attempt to hide, or even look at the closed door. It wasn't locked, he knew, and even if it had been, it wouldn't have stopped them. They came in, loud and arrogant, and for the first time since she had been taken, he smiled.
He carefully opened the chest in his lap, feeling the tug of the mechanism inside, and then then percussive force that propelled the deadly shards throughout the small space. The flechettes, razor sharp, shredded everything they came into contact with, bathing the entire area in blood. His final thought was a happy one, as his eyes closed for the last time.
"Five less to deal with."
Mayor Lylia, I appreciate your efforts to be frank, and let me return the courtesy in the only way I know how, by being completely forthright in return. I shall take you at your word in this matter, as there are some residents of my Isle who have indicated that I may do so without reservation. However, I must be plain. I will brook no harm to my Isle or its residents, and I will not hesitate to seek justice where it is warranted when it comes to those I have sworn to protect. Do not believe that the relative distance between us would stay my hand, should I seek redress for wrongs perpetrated against my home. Avoid those circumstances, and we have no need of hostilities between us. As you are aware, there is currently a dire situation which is taking a large portion of my time and attention, but when it has subsided, I would like to meet face to face, that we might take better measure of each other, and know what to expect from any further interactions. Sincerely, Socius Leiffen
OOC Note: These were developed, as always, as a collaborative effort between myself and the players listed, where appropriate. Thank you all for playing along so wonderfully!
-GM Quilic