As the door creaks open and a swathe of
light from the hallway cuts a path through the otherwise faintly moonlit room,
neither of the soldiers sleeping in the beds on the room's opposing walls pays
any mind: Their slumber is too heavy. Even when the door is pushed back into
place, and the clicking of its settling tumblers sets the intruder’s heart into
a wildly arrhythmic patter, the men do not stir.
The diminutive Wilden holds his breath for
a moment, half expecting the men to awaken the moment he exhales. Gradually he
releases the air in a long, slow burst and when they remain in place, he sets
to work, moving around the room as close to noiselessly as he can manage
gathering as he does the weapons that are propped against the wall and stowing
them under the beds of his new enemies. Once this small feat is accomplished he
saunters up close to one of the beds and reaches under his robe removing a
small sickle that had been strapped to his leg. "Unfortunate," he
whispers, "That yet another life must be taken. Woe be to he
whose allegiance falls on the wrong side of my own. Perhaps one day
you'll be a footnote in the legend of Stadbury." Stadbury raises his sickle
as a look of grim finality crosses his face and brings it down suddenly as the
sound of cloth being sliced fills the room.
Stadbury is blinking at the sickle now, which
he notices, as he raises it is not dripping with blood. In the moonlight
pouring through the window he makes sudden note of feathers floating around his
head he hadn't seen before. He looks down at the man he'd attempted to kill and
meets his eyes, very much alive. The pillow the man's head had been laying on
however had recently been sliced and drained of filling. Stadbury connects the
dots just in time for the man's fist to connect with his jaw. A solid hit for a
man laying down, but the dwarfish Wilden sorcerer is not floored by
this blow, unexpected though it was, his composure is quickly regained, and he
leans forward and puts an open palm to the groggy man's gaping mouth. "Big
mistake." he says through gritted teeth, "You can’t begin to
understand the power with which you trifle.”
A burst of flame erupts from his flattened hand and into the man's mouth
scorching his insides. The man gurgles in pain and goes limp, the sudden
increase in his body temperature causes the sheets he is wrapped in to break
into a smoky smolder.
“Well, what have we here?!” The other
soldier calls across the room as Stadbury turns from his fresh kill to face
him, “Why if it isn’t the littlest Tree-Fuck!” He had always considered the
slur for his people (a forest dwelling “one with nature” type of folk) to be a
bit uncreative, but it still managed to get on his nerves considerably. Add to
that a jab at his height and it is more than Stadbury can manage to maintain
his composure. Seething now, he rushes the other soldier and in preparation for
another burst of fire, thrusts his open palm toward the soldier who is still
quite nude from being freshly awoken. The soldier slaps the hand away with his
left and delivers a fierce right-hook to Stadbury’s nose sending him reeling as
his newly repositioned offense goes off; briefly illuminating the room before
catching a bureau that manages to remain lit.
The room now lit, the man glares at
Stadbury before speaking, “I recognize you. You’re one of those idiot
“mercenaries” the captain hired to help the guard two days ago. What’re you up
to?”
Stadbury climbs up from his position on
the floor holding his now bloodied nose, “Training exercise, soldier! And you
passed! As world-renowned soldiers of fortune, we were hired to whip this guard
into shape. Now, I know our methods may seem a tad unorthodox, but—“
“Enough, Tree-Fuck!” the soldier barks,
and Stadbury’s eye twitches a bit as he says it, “No ‘training exercise’
murders one of the participants in cold blood. Would you like me to beat you to
death now, or would you rather extend your life by the length of your
explanation?”
“Initially I hesitated to tell you,
impudent little soldier,” Stadbury begins, part of him still seeking that magic
combination of words that defuses the situation, or at the very least spares
him another working-over, “because it would mean your death. But of course,
then I realized, there isn’t an end to this conversation where you survive, so
I’ll enlighten you as quickly as I can. We are mercenaries, this much is true,
however we work for the Aldide Family, not for your joke of a captain. Thirty
men have been signaled to attack this manor within the next five minutes, and
my comrades and I have dispersed to do in the sleeping soldiers to even the
odds a bit.”
“Why?” The soldier asks, not so much as
blinking.
“We were hired to get what you are
guarding. The artifact. The sword. Where is it? If you tell me now I might see
you live as a cripple rather than take your life.” The soldier rushes now,
aiming his punches downward so they won’t soar over the head of his foe. One
blow misses but a second lands and Stadbury rolls backwards over himself
landing, with agility that surprises even himself, in a squatting position on
his feet. His thrusts his palm forward and lets fly with another burst of flame
this one catching the soldier (already preparing to loose another flurry of
blows) in the torso. The flames on the soldier catch immediately and the now
flaming man shrieks in pain as the fire spreads up his torso and down his arms.
Stadbury allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction before a flaming fist
lands on the side of his face.
An incredulous Stadbury now gapes at his
enemy, still screaming in agony, and must allow himself a moment to both relish
the absurdity of his situation and begrudgingly acknowledge his respect for his
opponent’s dedication to the fight. Another flaming fist finds its way to
Stadbury’s bruised face and he realizes all at once that he can hear his heart
thumping in his ears over all the screaming and bludgeoning going on. It occurs
to him that he really ought to consider doing something. It occurs to him
further that he really ought to lay off the fire.
Another fist to the face, another
intelligible shriek of intense suffering. Stadbury rides this one backwards and
uses it to make some distance between him and his assailant, distance which his
addled mind correctly assumes would be advantageous. His back hits the wall and
with nowhere else to go, he focuses his effort on swirling his hands. The
soldier inhales and his lungs pop audibly as a luminescent orb appears in
Starbury’s hands, filling the whole room with sickly greenish hue. He hurls it
at the soldier and it splashes against him. The soldier mimes a scream, but is
now incapable. His face melts away as the flames are extinguished and the
flecks from the acidic orb land on the floor around him and eat through it.
Gradually the floor around the dying soldier gives way and he falls through as
Stadbury scooches back against the door to avoid the growing maw.
Stadbury breathes
a sigh of relief and lays his head against the door. The door swings open and
knocks him on the back of the head. Agitated, he looks up, “Sorry Stadbury, did
you get yours taken care—“ the slender dark-haired girl looks around the room
and makes note of the burning bureau and the dripping hole in the center of the
room. Her eyes finally land upon Stadbury’s own battered visage.
“Mayfaire, you
insult—“ he pauses momentarily to spit out a tooth, “You insult me, Mayfaire.
Of course my two are taken care of! Am I not your glorious leader?! Are we not the Fellowship of Stadbury?!” He
gestures grandly at nothing in particular.
“Uh… Huh… Well,
the others have their guards taken care of and we’ve actually managed to find
someone who seems kind of important to take hostage. We think we might know
where the sword is and the men are in the courtyard of the manor fighting their
way in here right now. I uh… I hope you’ve still got enough left in you for a real fight.”
“Of course,
Mayfaire, of course. Naturally, the plan is going off without a hitch. Go on now,
and I’ll catch up to you. I’ve got to finish some things in here.” Stadbury
barely finishes the sentence before he collapses on the bed. Mayfaire leaves
the room, shutting the door behind her and returning to her comrades.
There remains
much to do.
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