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digitalheartstrings · 3 months ago

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"Come on Tito... Come home..."

The innkeep sat at the end of the bar, worrying her twig thin fingers against strands of her graying hair. Her face was creased with new wrinkles that were like to stay that way if she didn't calm herself soon. Mrs. Garcia was not an unattractive woman. She had high cheekbones and full lips, dark brown eyes that caught the sunlight in a honey gold sort of a way. She was thin but in the way that reminded you of a willow tree fluttering in the wind rather than a malnourished broom. The love between her and her husband were legendary and the warmth between them is what made the Broken Tankard Inn so popular. Having one missing felt as though the inn itself was missing a limb.

Elena wished she had the time and luxury to worry the day away. She watched her boss out of the corner of her eyes as she scurried from table to table. The customers didn't seem to notice Mr. Garcia's absence the same way the staff did. What they noticed was that breakfast was running slower than usual and of course, that was Elena's fault. She tried to soothe them with smiles and pretty words, offering discounts where she could. Part of her wished that a straw would break the camel's back and draw Mrs. Garcia forward to scold her for offering so many cups of free ale. But the older woman didn't seem to notice. She just sat there with her eyes on the door.

"Oi, girl, get me my damn eggs." A guardsman shouted.

"Right away sir!" Elena ran to the kitchen. She was in no mood to put herself in a guard's crosshairs.

Rodrick was a great wall of a man, who looked almost comical standing before a regularly sized stove shoveling wood into it. Nearly every surface was covered in a crackling pan splattering grease in tiny flecks onto Rodrick's tree branch thick arms, which he seemed to not notice. He barely turned his head to pin Elena with an eye as he spooned eggs and meat onto a plate before handing it over.

"He aint comin' home, is he Ellie."

It wasn't a question. And Elena's head dipped. It was the truth she had been keeping to herself all morning. Something that worried her to her core that she could do absolutely nothing about. Mr. Garcia probably wasn't going to be coming back. People who went missing never came back. She could find out for sure but... there were guards in the dining room. And hungry guards became angry guards. And angry guards were just more missing people. Elena couldn't afford to become another missing person. Another unmarked grave.

"I don't know. But thanks for getting this out." Elena muttered, running the plate back to the guard. He sneered at her, his face too broad for the expression to look intimidating. But his teeth, yellowed and sharp, were all the threat that Elena needed. She just kept smiling.

"Sorry for the wait sir. Shall I get you some more ale?"

"It looks like my cup is still full. But I am a guard, I know a magic trick or two. Shall I show you?" His sneer turned into a grin, his eyes crinkling, malice deep in the hazel hues.

"I would love such a thing, good sir." Elena lied, fearing that he meant to set her ablaze regardless of her answer. She must have gotten a minor god's blessing today, for he simply lifted his cup and splashed the ale across her face and clothing. He then slammed the cup before her and waved his hand.

"Ha ha, see, there, it's empty now. Be a good girl and get me a fresh glass. And make sure to give me something decent. I'm not here to drink piss."

He would get what he asked for. The guards always did. They had the backing of the nobility, and the nobility cast far greater shadows than even the worst of the guards. If you kept your head down the most the guards would do is shout a few abusive phrases and take your coin. Elena was lucky, because she was a favorite barmaid. Sure they'd throw things at her, but they left her a few coins on the table and actually paid for their meal. If you were unlucky enough they didn't even do that. They'd eat, drink, smash a glass on you and then take off. Bastards.

It was after the breakfast rush, in the calm and quiet, that Elena felt the grip on her arm. Strong, almost painful, and reeking of desperation. For a moment Elena just kept staring at the empty tavern. She too, was desperate. But her desire to look away was overridden by a low wine. Mrs. Garcia looked at her with wide eyes. Eyes that begged, pleaded, hoped.

"Elena. Will you... will you ask?"

Elena just sighed and nodded. She knew it was coming the moment she walked into work and saw that Mr. Garcia wasn't there. Mrs. Garcia practically threw the closed sign up, locking the front door and dragging Elena into the windowless kitchen. Rodrick had already prepared the space, clearing off the prep table and barring the back door. The service window had fabric draped over it, and the doors had rags shoved against the bottom. He had a chef's knife at the ready and stood near the door waiting.

Sitting near the table was Elena's box.

It was a small box, something easily hidden between crates of potatoes and sacks of rice. Nothing fancy, just simple unstained wood. Nothing that would attract attention. The only thing out of the ordinary was a small lock. Elena crouched before it, ran her fingers over the rough wood for just a moment before pulling the key from around her neck. The box opened to a much finer appearance. It was lined in the softest fabric that Elena could afford, in a shade of cloudy sky blue. Her life's savings, a handful of golden eagles and a pile of silver hawks. Her mother's sapphire pendant. And then the cards.

They sat in a heavy velvet bag, embroidered with gold thread. The edges were gilded, and the backs had an intricate design of moons and stars. Her Reader's deck. In Diarus, it's a crime to cast without a license. And licensing cost far more than she had spent on the deck itself. Far more than she could ever save. If she was found with this... she didn't really have a choice. Channeling without the deck made her ill for days. Her vein of magic could be hard on the body without training, and there would be no training for Elena Clearcord.

The cards were shuffled, and through them Elena reached. "Spirits... those who watch over and guide me. I ask for your help. Through these cards, tell me. Where is Mr. Garcia?"

The room fell silent. Not in the normal way of things, where you could hear Rodrick's quiet footsteps or the wind under the doorway or the distant murmur of the street. No. Sound was consumed until the three stood in a vacuum. Then the heat disappeared and three puffs of breath coalesced over the table. The whispering came last, one that hovered right on the edge of being inaudible. A pressure settled over the room like a dozen gentle hands were resting on Elena's shoulders. She went still, and then nodded, the slowest shift of her neck. The spirits had arrived, and they were ready to talk.

The Shaman. A card that had been appearing a lot to Elena lately. Shaman's often meant nature magic, a domain far from her interest or purview. Perhaps Mr. Garcia had just gone out to the forest for some hunting or fishing and was lingering on a hunt.

The Hunter. Hope bloomed in Elena's heart. The hunter was, well, a hunter. A sign of a search for something, and of success in finding it. The hunter had found their quarry.

The Spirit. Elena's hope flickered. Her most powerful card, it often meant a message directly for her, but for others it usually referenced someone from the other side trying to reach out. It referenced death.

The Fog. Elena's hope shattered. Loss.

The Blade. Murder.

Mrs. Garcia didn't need the reading. She and Elena locked eyes and Elena knew. But still. "Someone killed him. He's... he's buried in the woods."

"I'll close up the inn." Rodrick put a hand on Mrs. Garcia's shoulder before walking into the tavern room and up the stairs. Elena listened to his heavy footsteps creaking upstairs. She could see him. Mr. Garcia. With the cards in her hand he appeared next to his wife, clearly trying to comfort her. Mrs. Garcia stood stock still, holding her wedding ring close to her heart. She stared at the cards with an exhausted acceptance. Like she couldn't even muster the energy to cry.

The spirits kept whispering. There was more to tell. But Elena couldn't bring herself to do another reading when Mrs. Garcia was standing there shocked and tired. The spirits complained, the whispers growing louder. She could catch a few words. Wood. Bone. Tyrant. She wrapped the cards back in their velvet and whispered back to the crowd. "Not now. Not right now."

Wood. Bone. Tyrant.

The box was closed, locked, and hidden away. The cold started to fade, and the noises of the outside world came trickling back in. The sound of Rodrick upstairs, the grumbles of customers, the wheels of carts, the hooves of a horse. One whisper lingered.

Wood.

The Shaman was being noisy. Elena would have to check on the constellations that night. Perhaps there was some sort of alignment that would make nature magic easier. But Elena wasn't a Naturalist, so why would the spirits be so insistent.

"Elena."

She looked up. Mrs. Garcia was paler now, leaning on the table. Her age seemed to deepen, an unearned canopy of years blooming on her shoulders.

"Go home."

"But, do you need anything? Water, or, I could start cleaning up, the floors need sweeping and -"

"Go home, Elena. See your family. Tell them you love them. You don't know where they go when you're not around. You don't know when you're going to see them again. My Tito is Dead, Elena. He's gone. I don't even get a body. I don't even... I didn't even get to say goodbye. We were supposed to die in each other's arms and... Please. Please go home."

Elena watched tears carve their way down Mrs. Garcia's face, leaving new wrinkles in their wake. She couldn't help but just, nod. Nod and walk away. When her friend was starting to sob behind her. Alone. Mrs. Garcia didn't have kids. It was just her and Mr. Garcia. And Elena, and Rodrick. There may have been friends but... Mrs. Garcia wouldn't reach out. It would just be her alone. Elena was leaving her alone.

"She needs time." Elena muttered as Rodrick gave her a questioning look. He didn't say anything. Just kept setting chairs on top of tables. He'd likely clean the entire inn on his own. Mrs. Garcia likely wouldn't stop him. He was better at handling emotions than Elena was. He could soothe anyone if he had a mind to. But Elena, she just. She just left things alone.

Always alone.

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digitalheartstrings · 3 months ago

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The sound of ravens split the world apart. They circled in a great swarm, one akin to a cloud of living smoke. They swirled, dancing from rooftop to rooftop. Crying for the dead. Cheering for a feast. A fresh delivery of corpses of those foolish enough to rebel sat leaning on the alleyway walls. Their innards scattered. Devoured. The local wildlife held a vicious court and declared the killing just. Fur and feathers stained with gore. Bellies finally full after so, so long. Hunger and sound soon abated, as a figure appeared at the far, far end.

They moved with grace and purpose, tall and lithe, cloaked in the shadows cast from both buildings and the moonless sky. The only sound was the soft squeak of the wheels of their cart. A simple hand pulled thing it rolled over stone and blood until it stood at the apex of it all. One by one the bodies were pulled onto the cart, the wood creaking under the increasing strain. But it held firm, blood seeping through the lacquer, not quite making it through to the ground below. Bloody dirt was swept up into jars and tucked into corners, the air cleansed by a small flower pot of burning incense.

The animals followed the grim harvest, pall bearers and witnesses, farmhands and harbingers. They were the only mourners that would know the fate of these wretched lost. To the world their fate would be a mystery, a misery that stained the hearts of those they left behind. Hearts would hope for their freedom, their escape from this place. And in part they would be right. The corpses were free from this place.

The lake road wove through woodland. The branches became pews and the procession became parishioners. No prayer, only observation. A faith that needed nothing. The bodies were spread out for the carrion eaters, who came to perform the greatest blessing, the sweetest communion. They gathered here in this eve to dedicate themselves to body and soul until naught but bone remanded.

It shimmered, pure and innocent, in tiny torchlight.

The stone was gifted from such fire, the melting of earth into something sharp enough to pierce bone. And it did so in looping handwriting, delicate but precise. All down the length of the bone and all about its width. Each bone was treated with care, a precious porcelain artwork, a delicate lace of magic and intent. Soil was shifted until the lakewater began to whisper through in tiny puddles and loamy moisture. The bones were buried in pockets with soil separating each one. The soft soil would protect them for the time being. They needed to soak in the magic of this tiny quiet glade. This little vocal point. So small most mages would overlook its use. But their new gardener was not most mages.

One by one the animals left. First those on the ground, the dogs, the cats, the foxes, the wolves. Then the rodents, squirrels and rats and the like. Birds flitted away until all that remained was a few scattered feathers and the figure. They scrubbed the cart clean in the empty silence and then proceeded back to the city.

It loomed in the distance, looking for all the world like a terrible maw. But in that, it was a beast. And it would join the procession whether it liked it or not. A smile curved under the weight of a scarf. A beast of that size would have far more beautiful bones. And what a joy it would be to finally collect. Worth the wait for the slaughter.

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digitalheartstrings · 3 months ago

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Cacophony. Madness. It was bubbling up from the center of the room like a wellspring. There, standing radiant, the sun herself paced, robes dripping in rubies like freshly falling blood. Her body was fluid, frequently curving over itself like a hook only to lash back up again like a knife. Her hands were curled into claws that glowed at the edges, flame licking through the hair with every swish and movement.

"They are forgetting us! Forgetting our worth, our value, our work! All that we do, everything that we have been through, and they are so prepared to throw us away!"

Yes, because the only ones who had ever suffered now sat in this room. Disdain poured from the maiden of shadows. She watched the Sun as she gathered everyone's attention, whipping them into a frenzy. The Moon rose to greet his twin, far more stiff in his movements but no less intimidating. His pale glow, the cold of his eyes, the steel of his spine, served to send a chill through the room. Madness tempered by steel. By purpose. By resolve.

"We should remind them of who we are." His voice echoed, and was echoed again, and again. A chorus against the cave walls. The sound rose higher and higher in unison, agreement dancing with itself in a spirograph. There were only three voices that did not raise themselves with the Sun and the Moon. Healing was growing angrier and angrier as she watched the proceedings. Hope was frightened, but he also had a resolved look in his eyes. He held onto Loyalty while Loyalty called out his agreements to the failings of mortals. And Darkness. Ever silent darkness.

The Stars finally stood, finally shouted for silence, and everything fell at their feet. Divine eyes like the shifting of the chariot's wheels burned in their direction. For a moment, nothing. All was still. All waited. They put a hand to the Moon's shoulder and banished him to his seat. They put a hand to the Sun's shoulder and returned her to her throng of supporters. They stood alone on the dais resplendent and terrible. The look on their face. It was twisted, duty and hatred, love and despair. They struggled, arms gripping themselves, a hug like a vice. Their breath haggard, choking, raspy, broken. Fighting, even still, even now. Fighting.

But not all fights can be won.

"I don't know what we're doing. I don't know what they're thinking. I don't understand and I can't understand and I can't handle it anymore. We start again, we start again we rip and we tear and we scream and we bleed and we start again!"

The roar of approval. Her lips curled into a sneer as she watched. She would not regret this. With a flick of her wrist, the doors to the hall disappeared, fading into darkness. The crowd was too wrapped up in their own fervor to notice the shadows that barred any hope of leaving this place. They were too busy shaking with bloodthirst to notice the gentle fog that spread through the room and caused those present to waver between wake and sleep. They were too foolish to notice the poison being dripped into their wine glasses, their lungs, their hearts.

This would not go unnoticed. Those left behind would not have much time to find someone to raise the sun, to control the tides, to mind the beasts. But at least this way there would be those left behind.

Darkness never considered herself kind. But she did consider herself pragmatic. All of them were infected with madness, the kind that would twist them all into unnatural versions of themselves against their own wills. Even the great golden serpent that was healing. Even the survivor of unimaginable pain known as Hope. Even her, Darkness made manifest, the shadow of doubt, the great night and the void between the stars. And she was not going to let that happen. With this act of rebellion, of sacrifice, the world would have the chance to continue on. And perhaps someday they would recognize the great mercy done for them by Darkness herself.

They would not understand at first. There would be fear. Madness would have won one small victory. But they would recover. Mortals always did. It was their gift. They were, together, Resilience itself. She had faith in them despite it all. And that was her last thought, as her body finally slumped in its chair, as everything went dark for the first and last time.

And so the gods died.

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