spyvstailor

[spyvstailor]

I am unwell

[spyvstailor]

Pride and Prejudice (1995) + Text Posts (2/?)

[spyvstailor]

Listen your appreciation of Astarion will rise dramatically when you realize that on top of all the other shit he has going on, he is also legitimately dumb as rocks. Like, all the characters in Baldur's Gate are at least a little bit silly in one way or another, but it really takes something special to, after having escaped 200 years of being under an evil mind control curse, cheerfully and enthusiastically explore options for ingesting worms that will lead to a new, different evil mind control curse because you like. might get powers. And that's not even a certainty.

[spyvstailor]

Stalked

Chapter Six

Have at it @whiskeyskin

The shadows and the darkness seemed to stretch on, shading the land into muted shades of grey and black, the only light the dim silver glow of Last Light's shield over their shoulders.

Rugan eyed the shadows warily, then looked at the faint glow that surrounded his boots wherever he set his feet down. It spread out from him, chasing the lingering tendrils of dark magic that cursed the land back into the shadows they came from.

Beside him the sullen Tiefling glowered at the land around them, golden eyes shining in the darkness like fire.

“I figure this is a death march for you,” Rugan said to the wizard. “But if you could avoid being reckless and taking me into the hells with you, that would be...ah, just a wonderful gift for a new friend.”

“I'm not on a death march!” Rolan snapped. “I just don't want to sit around sober waiting to die. Out here, in there, it doesn't matter! Nothing does anymore.”

Rugan eyed the Tiefling, before sniffing and looking around at the bleak fucking shadowy lands surrounding them. Any lingering effects from the liquor back at the inn was gone, the men sobered up by the graven landscape. “Cheery.”

“What are we even looking for anyways?” Rolan demanded as they made their way down a path, leading away from Last Light, the light like the rising of a full moon, always shining to their right. It was a small, oddly welcome comfort to know that it was there. The haven, should they need it.

“Nothing, I think the lass just wanted us out of her hair for a bit.”

“Lass,” Rolan scoffed. “She's an old woman! An old fool chasing ghosts in the darkness. Do you know how many Fists back at Last Light think she's lost all sense she had?”

“I'm not a Fist,” Rugan said. “And I don't give a rats shit about what they think. Do-gooders who only want to do good when there's an audience.”

“Do you think waiting around is getting anything done, then? We are dying one by one and she waits, stands at her pathetic table and just waits. She can wait until the hells close in for all I care.”

“Aye, you over here making the big decisions. Get drunk, go half cocked into the darkness, come back in defeat, get drunk all over again. Why did you Tiefs even decide to cut through the shadow cursed lands? Eh?”

“Zevlor,” Rolan grit out through clenched teeth.

“Aye? And where is he now?”

“Dead, possibly. Tadpoled, probably.”

Rugan nodded. “And here you are, without a leader, in a holding pattern in the dark.”

“Jaheira's not going to give you the time of day,” Rolan said. “This heroic crap doesn't fool even the children.”

Rugan smiled and pushed to his feet. “Do you think I'm out here to go the long way towards a tumble?”

“I think you're not doing this out of boredom or the kindness of your heart,” Rolan griped, following Rugan as the man headed off down a nearby path. “So, we're what? Just going to mill about the shadows? Do you even a plan that isn't keep your own ass safe? Or are you just dragging my ass into the shadows on a whim?”

“Maybe I'm not looking for a hard tumble, just a miserable one,” Rugan teased idly, pausing near a crossroads and cautiously weighing his options.

Rolan was quiet for only a moment, before he sighed deeply, “I'm going back. I'm not sure if you're an idiot or just reckless, but I'm not looking to find out.”

Chuckling, Rugan held out his arm and stopped the Tiefling, barring his escape. “Alright, I'll-”

A noise, like the gurgling of a drowning man came from their left and both men fell silent, dropping down quickly behind some rotting crates, left at the crossroads by fleeing Reithwin citizens.

Rugan strained to hear the noise, he had never heard anything like it before. It came them, a new gurgling joining the first, from their left and he pressed the Tiefling and himself back, deeper into the shadows by the crates. The shadows were a dangerous place to be, but the blessing seemed to be holding up properly for them.

A strong arm around his midsection was yanking Rugan back and down into the dirt, as the Tiefling sprung up from their hiding place as a small clutch of shadow creature shambled forward into their view.

Rugan, self preservation mode kicking in, watched quietly as the Tiefling wizard stood before the four creatures, robing swirling around his legs, hands held out. The incantation he spoke reverberated against everything within range, bouncing and jogging against itself, garbling the pronunciation to near unintelligible, but the effect was visual. A ripple of energy, like the force of a gale force wind, shook the entire area, blasting out from the Tiefling's clawed hands, knocking the creatures back, sweeping them off their feet.

Rugan, carefully got to his feet, just as two of the creatures did, and reaching down, he pulled a bottle out of his side satchel and lobbed it hard at the feet of the two beings.

Flames whooshed up and encompassed both creatures, but still the shuffled forward, on fire and charring as the other two finally joined them.

Rolan threw a firebolt, knocking one back and down. It stayed down.

Rugan threw his last bottle, taking out two more and watched in surprise as the Tiefling picked up a nearby rock and threw the hefty stone, striking the last creature in the head. It took a step back, then dropped.

“Good aim,” Rugan praised.

For a moment the Tiefling looked shocked at his own aim, before his face settled into its typical severe frown. “Are we done out here?”

Looking about, at the destruction they wrought on an already destroyed land, Rugan sighed. “No, we should find something at least to take back to the Harper.”

Quietly, the Tiefling stepped in beside Rugan as they continued to make their way cautiously through the shadows.

“You are trying to bed her,” Rolan pointed out.

“Have you seen me, lad? I don't need to work hard on bedding anyone.”

They walked on for a bit.

“But I'll wear her down,” Rugan added.

His companion scoffed. “Pathetic.”

They had managed to circumvent the darkest parts of the shadow lands, before they found themselves once more back where they had begun.

Standing just before the bridge into Last Light, Rolan sighed deeply. “Well, that was time well wasted.”

Rugan nodded. “We won't get anywhere without more protection.” His mind was churning, not for plans of what to do to get further into the shadows, but it was churning over why he was suddenly feeling...bad? Like a failure?

It wasn't a feeling he was used to. At least, not over something like this.

Maybe it was because he was getting old and soft, his emotions were getting too...easy to spark.

Or, and he liked this theory better, his pride had been hurt. He didn't set out to do what he wanted to do.

Go out into the shadows and find something to bring back to Jaheira.

Fuck the dead Gods...he was soft.

He was fucking dog, that's what he was. A godsdamned retriever, going out into the dark waters in hopes of bringing back a fat duck for his master.

And why? To get a tumble?

“Anyways,” Rolan murmured, bringing Rugan back to the present where he had been standing stark still, brow furrowed for at least two minutes, the Tiefling scowling at him the entire time.

“I'm going to keep at it,” Rugan said. “See what I can find.”

Rolan stopped, halfway from turning away to go back into the safety of Last Light, his gold eyes narrowing.

“You're going back out there? We've been everywhere in that darkness. There's nothing to find.” He argued.

“Go on inside, lad,” Rugan said. “I'm going for a mooch.”

Turning from the safety of Last Light, Rugan started off again into the shadows.

He was fucking pathetic.

Footsteps crunching behind him had him glancing back, finding Rolan falling into step with him easily, the taller Tiefling's legs making up the distance efficiently.

“Shut up,” Rolan snapped before Rugan could even think of something to say. “I'm not going back there with my tail tucked between my legs again.”

Rugan chuckled.

“Shut up. I didn't mean it that way,” Rolan added quickly.

Reaching out, Rugan took hold of Rolan's tail and had his hand swatted away promptly.

“Don't.” The wizard spun on him, clawed finger pointed in his face. “And don't think this means I like you! I'm just not going to be responsible for another death.”

Rugan walked with the Tiefling for a bit, before he said, “you know, lad, you're all bark and no bite. Big softie under that red skin of yours.”

“Shut it.”

“I'm feeling like we're already best mates,” Rugan went on.

“Stop it!”

“Can I touch your horns?”

“Stop it!”

“Never had a Tief for a mate before,” Rugan mused, enjoying riling up the grumpy wizard. “Have you ever gored someone with those horns?”

“There's a first time for everything,” Rolan growled.

Falling quiet, Rugan decided to ease up on the other man, he figured Rolan earned himself a little respite from his bullshit for the night, the day?

He eyed the sky, it was hard to tell.

A faint sound caught his attention and he dropped his chin, eyes on the shadows around them.

Both he and Rolan paused, hearing the sound, before once more they dropped for cover, ducking behind a stone wall and waiting out the sound.

This time it was voices, murmuring in the darkness. They weren't the gargles of a shadow cursed creature, these were intelligent voices, speaking quietly somewhere in the darkness.

[spyvstailor]

Quick reminder that our favorite wizard has +4 strength over both Gale and Astarion, +3 over Wyll, and +2 over Halsin. He'd have no problem picking you up and throwing you into bed.

[spyvstailor]

Ah yes, the 3 genders. Male, female, and “what the fuck are you, a cop?”

[spyvstailor]

Travelling in style: A selection of american Art Deco elevator doors.

[spyvstailor]

[spyvstailor]

[spyvstailor]

I know I just restating the point of that post but respecting religious freedom will sometimes require you to respect someone's belief that religious beliefs are categorically untrue, and there are a lot of people who are unable to handle this, and even more people who think they agree with this but haven't really grappled with what it means.

[spyvstailor]

?????? rich people are losing it

[spyvstailor]

God the prices of tvs have changed so much let me get my graph

[spyvstailor]

Stalked

Chapter Five

@whiskeyskin

Chapter Five

Jaheira stared at the Zhent hard, trying to burn a hole into his thick skull as he fiddled with the frying pan beside her.

He was lingering for a reason, and it wasn't to flirt and cause troubling.

Anyone with half a sense left in their brain wouldn't come to the shadow cursed lands, and most certainly wouldn't linger long.

“Maybe,” he said finally, almost grudgingly, “maybe I'm just old and tired.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or maybe I'm putting off a death sentence,” he went on.

“Aren't we all?” She asked. “Stalked by time and death.”

“One and the same,” he pointed out.

Jaheira glanced up as a motion caught her attention. A figure walking through the gate. A solitary, tall figure, huddled over, stooping in defeat emerged from the darkness, lit only by a torch. The slump to the Tiefling wizard’s wide shoulders indicated his unsuccessful attempt to traverse the darkness on the trail of his sibling’s kidnappers.

As she spied him, she noticed the Zhent look up as well, eyes narrowing in study as Rolan slumped by them.

The nerve was open, raw for the tall wizard and it was something Jaheira avoided at all costs. Given the Tiefling’s propensity for snapping and snarling like a wounded animal at those who attempted to comfort him, she had kept a wide berth.

Nothing could be said or done for him and his family, she wouldn’t even try. Though, she wasn’t without her pity. To her knowledge these survivors from Elturel were put through so much shit before they even dared crossing through Reithwin, she could only imagine Rolan was on the edge of it all.

“We caught so many fish!” Umi greeted as the two Tiefling children scurried towards them, Mirkon holding a line of fish.

“I caught the most,” Mirkon stated proudly.

“Only because you wouldn’t share the pole!” Umi declared.

Rugan motioned to the area for the children to begin cleaning the fish, and Jaheira smirked to herself. She had used that tactic with Rion when she was young, to avoid arguing or fighting, just point at where you wanted her to focus her energy.

And it worked this time as well, both children settling down to begin their task, halting all bickering to work together on gutting and de-boning the fish.

She looked over at the Zhent. Did he have children? He didn’t seem the type. But he had the tactics of a man who did. Or at the very least, he had the instincts of a man who worked with younger people, or raised younger siblings.

Focusing on the rice, which was ready and steaming, she began to prepare it for serving.

She was at her table later, listening to the reports of Harper Branthos, when she noticed Tav return with their group. The quiet, steady Drow walked into the room where the Flaming Fist had set up their operations, just off to the side of the entrance.

Jaheira had to curl her hand into a fist. Her impatience over getting word from the Drow about Moonrise had her wanting so badly to head over and ask him if they had been to the tower yet. But she controlled the impatient urge, balled it up in her fist and focused on the report. Nodding to Branthos, she dismissed him wordlessly and turned sharp eyes onto the door to the other room.

To her left, she noticed the Zhent had seated himself at the bar, sitting beside an oddly quiet and miserable looking wizard. The two men weren’t conversing from what she saw, but they sat shoulder to shoulder, drinking sullenly and quietly.

The side room door opened and Tav walked out, followed by his companions.

Jaheira inhaled, ready to ask Tav about the status of their mission, when the Drow made straight for her, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” he said. “Come morning. My companions and I need to rest up. The shadows in this place are hungry.”

Jaheira nodded. She wanted to tell them to hells with the shadows, but she knew it was just her impatience. “Have a rest, have some drinks, there’s cold fish and rice we put behind the bar for those who are hungry.”

Tav nodded once. “Thank you.”

The Drow and his companions moved towards the bar, where at once Tav greeted Rugan with a soft laugh, clearly recognizing him.

The Zhent, as only he would, greeted the Drow with a sultry, almost seductive rasp and shifted on this stool, eyes shining in the darkness of the inn.

Was there a creature he didn’t flirt shamelessly with? She wondered with a mild furrow to her brow. The man was infuriating, really. Did he just throw charm and that rasping voice of his at anything with a heartbeat and hoped it would stick?

She shifted on her feet and returned her gaze to the world straight ahead of her, ears perked to the hushed conversation and grumbling snarls that came from the bar as Tav chatted with Rugan and Rolan both, amiable for a Drow.

Ridiculous how much she cared about what was happening at the bar without her. She had more important things to do, and they would certainly be moving if Tav would get to Moonrise and report back.

She huffed and moved from her table, heading out into the dark of the world outside.

Finishing her patrol, she returned to the inn, finding Tav and his companions gone, finding Rugan and Rolan still bellied up to the bar.

She headed for them, finally giving in to the urge to see just what Rugan was doing that kept Rolan from snarling at the man and pushing him away in his pain and grief, as he did to everyone else.

To her confusion, they weren’t saying anything. As she walked behind them, playing up her patrol, she realized the two were just sitting in silence, drinking. She did note, with a small sense of relief, that Rolan seemed to be pacing himself better, the Tiefling wasn’t belligerent or drunk, but just sullen and silent.

Rugan, for his part, was chatting idly now and then with a curious Ide, who was asking him a plethora of random questions, curious as all children were, and seemingly grateful to have those questions answered by a fairly patient and measured adult.

“Not teaching her any tricks to con people?” Jaheira asked as she passed by for the second time, on her way back to her table.

She nearly fell flat on her face as the hem of her tunic was caught, and she was yanked to a stop by a smirking Zhent.

Jaheira turned, ready to shove the man to the ground and defend her dignity, her anger rising fast and scalding into her chest, to her cheeks, up to the tips of her pointed ears.

He chuckled. “Sorry, lass, you were breezing by so quickly I thought it would be the easiest way to get you to stop for a moment.”

She growled lowly. “You must have a desire to lose that hand, I cannot see any other reason why you’d risk it like that.”

Rugan released her hem and sat back a little, hands up. “Aye, fair. My head is a little fogged from keeping up with this one.”

“You both are on very thin ice,” she snarled, still wound up from being stopped as she had been.

“Nobody asked you to come over here,” Rolan grumbled darkly.

She was about to snap back at the Tiefling, when she realized he was talking to Rugan, golden eyes flashing irritation in the direction of the man.

“Bar is a public space,” Rugan replied easily, taking a sip of his pint.

Jaheira reached over and snatched the pint from his lips. “Ide, no more for either one! I’m sick of dealing with these barflies.”

Rolan managed to fight her off one armed as he downed the last of his drink, his arm longer than her reach as he batted her off too easily for Jaheira's liking. The wizard chugged the last of his drink down, before sullenly clacking the empty pewter mug on the bartop.

“I mean it,” she stated firmly to the two young Tieflings who were tending the bar. “I want these two to dry up or get the hells out.” Storming back to her table, she quelled the rage that rose inside her guts, the rage that made her want to take wild form and tear something apart with her claws.

“There now,” Rugan protested, following her. “You shouldn’t take it out on the poor bastard for my hellish hand.”

She ignored him, standing at her table, eyes forward.

Rugan eased up beside her. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you, lass. But that poor bastard…”

“You’re both bastards,” she snapped. “We’re all miserable, we don’t need you both adding to the tension.”

“Aye,” Rugan agreed, sliding his hip against her table in order to ease up onto it. He sat facing her, angled to look directly at Jaheira. “I am a bastard, and there’s no contesting that fact, but…have a heart.”

“Rolan can wallow in his misery just as easy sober as he can drunk. And weren’t you supposed to be gone by now?” She turned and eyed him, hard eyes glittering. If she could cast thunderwave to blow the man all the way back to Baldurs Gate, she would, but instead she glared at him.

He smiled at her then, offering up a look that would have melted a lesser woman’s heart. “I’m sorry.”

Jaheira glanced over her shoulder, worried more for the state of the Tiefling, than for the man at her side.

Rolan sat, eyes on the bar, head bent.

She had noticed he was gone when she got up for the day, but she assumed he had gone for good, walked off into the shadows to die, when he returned, dejected and quiet, she knew it was a failed rescue attempt.

They couldn’t go on like this, not knowing, waiting for the Drow to make it through the shadows.

She couldn’t even blame anyone but herself.

If this didn’t come to a head by morning, she would go herself, deep into the shadows to recon for them, if she died, she died with a purpose. Because something had to give, something had to be done.

Rugan’s eyes were on her the entire time she worked through this, she could feel him studying her, his slightly glazed eyes not once wavering from their study.

Finally, she turned back, meeting his eyes.

There was something akin to an understanding, though she wasn’t certain of it, Zhent’s had a way of betraying their intentions through greed or sheer deception, but for a moment she knew Rugan knew exactly what she was thinking. It was as though he were a part of her for a single breath in time.

She hadn’t made a connection like that with another being in a very long time, she had avoided that sort of personal connection.

“Rolan needs someone to calm him down and reassure him,” she said finally. “Not drown him in enough Arabellan Dry to drown an Orc.”

“Fair play,” Rugan said. “Let’s give him something to do then. In my experience a wizard just needs research or a task that stimulates the brain.”

Jaheira smiled to herself. It was caught by Rugan who also smiled. “Rolan doesn’t seem like the research or task minded type.”

“Then give him something to blast with his fire sparkles.”

Jaheira inhaled. “Why don’t you take him on some recon for me?”

“What? Into the shadows?”

“Are you scared?” She challenged.

“Getting rid of both of us in one fell swoop? Clever little kitty-cat, aren’t you?” He teased, standing up. “Guess I’ll think something up right sharp.”

Jaheira scowled, at the thought, before she voiced it, “be careful. I don’t want to lose the Tiefling.” At Rugan’s glance, she added quickly. “He’s a very talented wizard from what I’ve heard.”

“Try not to miss me, lass,” Rugan returned easily, heading towards Rolan at the bar.

Blissfully alone, Jaheira sighed and fidgeted with the hem of her tunic, plucking a string from it before stilling herself. Her brow furrowed.

Did the Zhent just trick her into giving him something to do? It hadn’t been her idea, but it was a sound one.

She didn’t know just what the hell was going on, but she didn’t care for it. Something was shifting, slipping easily in through a crack she didn’t know she had. And it had to do with that bastard Zhent. Was he getting some kind of sick pleasure out of poking a sleeping bear? Did he often dig into a battleground like a tick just to stir the pot?

It only took Rugan a handful of words murmured to the Tiefling wizard, before the taller male was pushing to his feet and sighing in agreement and leaving behind the bar to trudge after him and Jaheira watched it all in mild shock. Was he some kind of spellcaster? Part siren or harpy? Lulling people to like him with just his words?

She recalled the situation, shaking the fog Rugan had spread across her senses away, and managed to reach out as the two men passed by her, grabbing hold of Rugan’s sleeve and holding him fast.

She smirked in retribution as he jerked to a short stop and turned around to face her, his blue eyes shining with delight.

“Get a blessing from Isobel if you’re going into the shadows,” she ordered.

The Zhent nodded once. “Aye, and whose that now?”

“God-botherer upstairs,” Rolan grumbled.

“Tell her I sent you both for a blessing,” Jaheira stated firmly.

“I’m good, lass.”

“Get the blessing,” she insisted. “It’s not for your soul. And don’t go into the deeper shadows!” She called after them as they both trudged towards the stairs.

[spyvstailor]

Okay more memes it is then

Part 1 / Part 3

[spyvstailor]

Stalked

For @whiskeyskin, in which I cannot resist writing cute Tiefling orphans.

Chapter Four

Rugan followed the Harper up the steps to the space over the stables, admiring the view, but also keeping one eye on the surrounding darkness. They had that bubble of light surrounding them, but he still didn't trust the dark of the shadow cursed lands.

Opening the door to the empty, space the woman turned to him. “Here you are. Make yourself comfortable for the night.”

As she made to pass by him, heading out the door they just came through, Rugan asked, “you're leaving?”

“What?” She asked turning to him with a glint in her eye. “You were expecting something else?”

“Wouldn't mind a turn down service, lass,” he teased, dropping his short swords and the removed leather armour he carried onto a nearby straw bale.

“Then consider this me turning you down,” she replied archly. “You're welcome.”

Chuckling to himself as he was left alone, Rugan look about for a good place to lay his head. The woman had efficiently and diplomatically removed him from her hair and he had to admire that about her.

Beating a cloud of dust and mold up into the air as he picked up an old beast blanket, Rugan coughed and shook it out more, before moving towards a pile of clean looking straw. He kicked it fluffy with his booted foot, before laying the blanket out over top.

Didn't matter if the dust and mold killed him, he was fast suspecting that was the direction he was heading anyways. Something wasn't adding up for him with the whole situation he had just left. His gut told him he had a sword dangling over his neck.

Settling his shortswords near his nest, within reach, he eased down onto his makeshift bed and laid back, hands cradling his head. He needed a plan, he was too old and too smart to not have one ready. Exhaustion strangled him with gently squeezing hands, and he closed his eyes to the world.

The next morning, he was washing his face in the horrors of the black waters of the shadow cursed lands, at the edge of the river just past the safety of the light, when he heard the faint sound of sobbing from nearby.

Raising his head, he pulled down a sword in preparation for trouble, cocking his head. The shadows here were tricky.

Slowly he stepped back from the banks of the water, heading for the light and safety.

Inside the bubble of light, he realized the sobbing was coming from under a nearby bridge and headed towards a Tiefling who stood there, her face in her hands, stopping just behind a bit of brick wall which stuck out.

He studied the young Tiefling as she sobbed to herself, before sliding his sword back into place on his back and turning away.

This place was fucking grim. He thought facing down Gnolls was the dark days of this journey, but he was certain it was being trapped in this hells forsaken place. He nearly tripped over a small Tiefling boy who was hunched down, wide, sad eyes on the woman. This one was small, but he made up for it by meeting Rugan's eyes boldly.

“Bex lost her man Danis,” the boy said softly, standing up, coming only to Rugan's knees. “She's been crying since we got here. Can't be good for her tummy.”

Rugan eyed the little man with the curly hair and wide eyes. “Which one are you then?”

“Mirkon,” the boy replied.

“Are you alone too?” He asked. “Just you?”

“Mol was keeping us safe,” the boy replied.

“She was the one taken?”

Mirkon nodded.

“What are you doing out here spying on that one in the dark?”

“I was clacking rocks.”

“Clacking rocks?”

“Uh-huh.”

Rugan smiled. “That fun?”

“Not really.” Mirkon peered up at him. “You're not a Harper.”

“No.”

“Or a Flaming Fist?”

“No.”

“What are you then?”

“Nowt.”

“What's that?”

Chuckling, Rugan looked around them at the dismal scenery. “You hungry, lad?”

“Yeah.”

“You know how to catch a fish?”

Mirkon shook his head.

“Come on, let's see what kinds of horrors lurk in the waters off the inn balcony, eh?” Rugan motioned towards the inn up the steps from them.

Mirkon smiled only slightly up at the man. “Okay.”

As they walked up the steps, Mirkon asked, “can you clean the fish so I don't get bones? I don't like the bones.”

Rugan chuckled. “Let's see if I remember how.”

Sitting perched up on a table, in order to cast properly from the balcony into the lake below, Rugan worked a piece of thread into a long, thin, and strong enough braided strand to connect to a pole they found.

Mirkon, swinging his legs as he sat on the table beside him, peered out into the darkness beyond their sheltering light.

“What is the shadow curse?” The boy asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“I bet there's a lot of stuff out there just left lying around,” Mirkon went on.

Rugan smiled as he cast his makeshift fishing rod. “You think?”

“Yeah. Good stuff too.”

“Here,” Rugan handed the pole over. “Hold this, you're going to be in charge of the line.”

“What do I do?” The boy asked, slightly nervous.

“Just hold that rod tight, don't let it get jerked out of your hands, when you feel some tugging that's the just the fish nibbling, wait for a bit then give a good tug and hook the bastard. I'll doing the reeling for you,” he said, pulling his gloves off his belt and tugging them on.

“What are you doing, Mirkon?” One of the small Tieflings from the bar shyly stepped out from the open doorway onto the balcony. “Mattis says you're sulking.”

“I'm not! I'm catching fish!” Mirkon argued.

The little boy with the shaky voice and the cloth cap approached. “Well, I want to catch fish too.”

“You can take turns at the helm, aye?” Rugan said to Mirkon.

“Yeah, after I catch one.”

The other little Tiefling hopped up onto the table beside Mirkon.

“Which one are you then?”

“Umi,” the boy said.

Rugan smiled. For the price of showing these kids how to fish, he didn't even have to lift a finger for his own breakfast.

Rugan had to find a basket to hold the fish they caught, apparently in the shadow cursed lands, the fish weren't touched by the curse and had been busy in the inky waters, there was an abundance of them.

He had show the boys how to mercifully kill them and clean them, and was frying them up on a fire outside the inn, when they began gathering hungry Fists, Harpers, and Tieflings.

“How altruistic,” Jaheira mocked as she pushed past a couple of Fists to approach Rugan at the frying pan, cooking a piece of fish Umi had handed to him.

“I'm just a generous sort, lass,” he replied.

“And not at all using children to catch and clean your own breakfast,” she went on, seeing through his ruse.

Rugan tossed a couple pieces of cooked fish onto a plate one of the Fists held and smirked. “Would I be feeding everyone else if I were just after my own breakfast?”

“I think your ruse turned sour when these hungry mouths began watering,” she argued.

The old trader Rugan had met the other day approached, toting a heavy bag of something.

“Here,” she said. “Rice. You can cook it up and add to the fish. Makes for a strong breakfast.”

Rugan nodded his thanks to her, and kicked the bag with his toe, eyeing Jaheira. “You heard her, get cooking.”

The fiery Harper picked up a nearby pot, filled it with rice to wash, and grumbling went in the direction of the water.

Rugan smiled to himself. He was beginning to really enjoy firing her up, her eyes flashed beautifully when she was angry.

“I've seen Jaheira gut shadow cursed fiends,” Umi said from his side, handing him a freshly cleaned fish fillet.

“Thanks for the warning, lad,” Rugan said with a chuckle. “But she won't gut me. She likes me too much.”

“I like Jaheira,” Mirkon declared loudly. “She's nice and smells like pinewood.”

“That's a Druid for you, lad,” Rugan said. “Always nice and always smells of the woods.”

Spying a large mass of muscles moving across the grounds, heading for the inn, Rugan jerked his chin. “Whose that fella then?”

The boys looked up.

“Oh! It's Master Halsin, from the Grove!” Umi said. “I remember him. He gave me an apple! It was so juicy!”

Mirkon giggled. “He let me ride on his shoulders so I could grab my own apple from the tree! He's so big and strong!”

“What's he doing here, you figure?”

“I dunno.” Mirkon said shrugging. “He looks worried.”

“He's in the shadow cursed lands, Mirkon, of course he's worried,” Mattis said, approaching them from the inn, his own clawed hands holding a small plate. “Am I allowed to have some fish?” He asked.

Rugan looked at the boy. “Of course, what made you think you couldn't?”

Mattis shrugged. “People sometimes say I'm old enough to feed myself.”

Rugan handed the boy some fresh, cooked fish, piling it on his plate. “If you finish that, come back, we'll have some rice in a bit.”

The boy smiled. “Thanks, I'm going to share some with Ide, she's hungry too.”

“Tell her to come back as well,” Rugan said.

Mattis nodded, heading off with his fish, snacking on some hungrily as he went.

Jaheira returned, grumpily setting the pot down, rice washed and bathed in water. She put the lid on it and set it over the fire, hooking it on the spit.

Rugan smiled to himself, but wisely stayed quiet. Igniting her fire was one thing, adding fuel was another.

The four of them cooked and cleaned fish and handed out food, until the fish ran out.

“Why don't you boys go and catch us a couple more fish?” Rugan suggested as the hungry mouths continued to come. He tugged his gloves off with his teeth and handed them over to Umi. “Wear these to reel the line in, it'll burn your hands otherwise.”

The boy nodded and put on the gloves, they were too big, but they would work to keep his hands from being burned by the line.

Left alone with Jaheira as she put another pot of rice over the fire to cook, Rugan tended to his frying pan keeping it hot, awaiting more fish, before asking, “what's your plan here?”

“What do you mean?” She inquired.

“The cult? The Tieflings? Harpers and Fists are one thing, they live by the blade, but a lot of these Tieflings are...not fighters.”

She nodded.

“No one around here really talks to you,” he went on. “I've seen you getting reports from your patrols, but...seems to me everyone is a little scared of you.”

Jaheira was quiet.

“Think you like it that way,” Rugan went on. “Blissfully unbothered.”

“I care about these people,” she said sharply.

“I didn't say you didn't,” he held his hands up as though physically defending himself from her. “Only that it seems to me, you like being alone. Untouched as a Goddess on a shrine.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “Let's talk observations, hm? Nobody comes into the shadow cursed lands, unless they are desperate or insane. Which one are you?”

He tilted his chin up and pondered this. “Maybe both.”

“Dragging your heels, perhaps? Lingering where no one will find you?” She inquired. “Kicking rocks up a dusty road and hoping to the Gods you can come up with a plan yourself for avoiding something you're putting off?”

He glanced over at her.

She smirked almost proudly. “A death march is not something a man can hide with flirtations and distractions. There is always a shadow of death that clings to a man's face. Desperation, last minute kindnesses offered up to the Gods, a hope for a clean kill and a happy afterlife.”

Rugan looked down at empty frying pan in his hand, then said, “we're all marching to the grave, luv.”

“Some of us faster than others.”

[spyvstailor]

Same