#Waylan's Sabbatical

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (7/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading) This section contains Terran and Waylan’s first meeting!

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: First | Previous | Next

The Black Knight takes him through the forest. Introduces him to any creature that is sentient enough to understand. He meets a Green Hag who wants to pull out his liver and fill his corpse with frog eggs for whatever reason but she, like Terran, and the forest giants that he meets, seem to follow whatever the lich says. Waylan never sees him threaten them, there is never any animosity. Just short respectful conversations that lead to whatever creature taking a brief interest in him. He wonders if he would be as safe if he ever tried to return without the Knight at his side. These visits go on for weeks, and eventually he finds himself asking, 

“Why do you keep introducing me to, no offense, monsters?” 

“Because you came to the forest to be away from humans.”

“I came here to be away from everyone.” 

“And yet you kept finding your way into my company.” He can’t argue so the Knight continues. “You spoke when you were deep in the fever. You called out for a man and promised him you would not become a monster.”

Waylan bristles. “I wasn’t in my right mind.” 

“Perhaps, but oftentimes people are more honest when they are not. My Queen used to say that when her advisors reprimanded her for getting visiting diplomats thoroughly intoxicated but I believe she was right and the same wisdom can be applied here. You are frightened of becoming a monster, and yet you continue on in my company. Now I am showing you more monsters. Are you frightened of them?”

“Not when you’re around. For whatever reason they listen to you. I don’t think you’d let them kill me.” 

“And if I brought you to them as they were standing over a fresh kill?”

“I’ve seen you standing over a fresh kill.” Adventurers still come and die. Now that he’s staying in the castle he’s bared witness to it. Only once. A small party, four of them, in cheap vestments. When the lich cut the first one down, two immediately turned to run. The third howled, tears streaming down their face. The Knight didn’t leave them in their grief for long. 

“Were you frightened of me then? Did you object to my actions?”

They’re leading questions, but Waylan’s learned that the Knight won’t drop a subject once he becomes interested in it. “I was…” Sad isn’t quite right. He certainly felt something for the group. But it hadn’t been enough for him to step in, it hadn’t stopped him from checking to see if there were any valuable items on them before he left their corpses to mold away on the ground. “I was relieved that I didn’t know them.” He finally says. “This is your home, and whatever you’re planning on doing to the kingdom is your business. If they come here with the intention of doing you harm I understand why you have to defend yourself. But I’m glad I didn’t know them.” Because every adventuring troupe could have been his. And he’s been on the other side of the fight. He’s seen his friends cut down. He’s hated evil creatures. 

But he still doesn’t know what the Knight is doing in the forest.

“If those adventurers knew you were inside, watching as I killed them and their friends, they would believe you are a monster for standing by and doing nothing.” 

“It’s a matter of perspective. That’s what you’re getting at, right?” He rolls his eyes. “Every evil creature I’ve ever heard of, read about, or met has played at that angle.”

“Then perhaps there is some truth to it, Waylan.” 

****

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Terran lounges across the stone floor of his lair, a massive cave that he carved out of the side of a small mountain range that broke up the gently rising and falling hills of the forest. It’s not the first time Waylan has been allowed inside, but it is the first time he’s ventured in alone. The Black Knight had left a few days prior, saying the scouting he needed to do that was too dangerous for the living. Waylan spent the first two days in the Prince’s room reading what he could of the books. But the ticking gears in his arm and the memory of blood dripping onto a stone floor became too much. Seeking out the dragon’s company had been risky. But Terran had looked at him, one massive yellow eye, tucked his leather wings into his body, and taken human form. It had taken him a few minutes, digging through the horde of treasure that he’d warned Waylan would be harder to get to than it first seemed, before coming back with a polished wooden board and two small bowls. 

It’s a game that Gadreel had called Go and that Terran sniffs dismissively and calls Weiqi. The dragon is a more skilled player than him, but after nearly three dozen losses Waylan starts to understand that the dragon is very good at making it look like he’s using one strategy while actually employing another. Waylan thinks he could play with Terran every day until he dies and still lose. 

“You can ask.” But there’s no telling if what the creature says will be true. 

“When I was in the kingdom there were only vague rumors a dragon had come to the forest. Why didn’t you go and seek tribute?”

“Stupid boy, you know of the Goddess’ blessing on the edge of the forest.”

“I know that it’s less a goddess’ blessing that marks the start of the Dark Forest and more the end of the scar that the lich’s ritual made on the land.” The notebook he’d found locked away under the Prince’s desk had extensive notes on the process of becoming a lich and what it would cost. “Which means you’re choosing to stay here hidden away in the forest like a wyrmling instead of claiming Okren for yourself. That seems strange for a creature as powerful as you.”

Terran clicks his tongue and takes seven of Waylan’s pieces in retaliation. “Careful little mage, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I think there’s already enough dragon blood in my family line, not that it wouldn’t be an honor.” He hates how quickly the response comes from him, hates that the rhythm of their flirtation reminds him of Lugh. “Why don’t you go to the kingdom?” He asks again, setting a piece to block what he hopes is the dragon’s next move. 

He and Terran take another few turns before he speaks again. “My horde is smaller than you expected it to be.” Waylan pauses as he reaches for another stone. “You mentioned it to the lich when you left my domain for the first time. The creatures that serve as my eyes and ears have a farther reach than you assumed. I escaped with my life and only a small amount of what is rightfully mine.”

“Escaped from what?”

“An old rival. While I grew wise over the centuries he grew vicious. He would have razed my forests to the ground and killed all that had offered me tribute in the nearby villages had I not abandoned my lair and left a sizable amount of my treasure. As it is, now he is growing fat and contented while my worshippers continue to pay. My spies tell me that as long as he is given tribute my forest stays intact, as do the villages.” Waylan sighs as Terran takes his last stronghold and effectively ends the game. “And the more contented he grows the easier it will be for me to slither into his misbegotten lair and slit his throat.” The dragon leans back and stretches his arms above his head and Waylan notices for the hundredth time how skinny he is in this form. Wonders how he earned his title. “You lose again, little human. If we were playing for your life I would have already swallowed you whole.”

“Good thing we’re not doing that then. Another round?” Terran shrugs, but he helps Waylan clear the board without protest.  “So you’re just buying time here?”

“I have been around long enough to spot a fisherman even when he does not carry a pole, little human.” 

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re here.” Terran clicks his tongue derisively. “Why the Black Knight lets you stay here, and why you listen to him. Liches pose no threat to you and he has no tribute to offer. I don’t understand why you’d defer to him.”

“Perhaps I should kill him then? You certainly make a strong case for it.” 

Cold shudders inside of Waylan’s chest. “No. That’s not–”

“Relax, Waylan.” The dragon orders flatly. “I’m well aware of your soft spot for our Knight. A place scarred with the darkness of creating a Lich gives creatures like the ones you’ve found more power. I stay here gathering strength to take back my home. The others come because they are pulled to it. Some creatures even spawn from it. The Lich, as much as he hates the king, feels a noble,” he hisses the word like a curse, “love for the kingdom itself. He will not let any of us stay on this land if we do not abide by his rule. Were the Knight my only opponent I would have claimed this land for my own, taken my tribute from the people. But he has many who would fight alongside him in these woods. And I am not in the habit of pursuing hard fights for few rewards.” 

“I have some friends in Oshime I wished lived by that philosophy.” Waylan considers this information for a moment. It raises more questions than it answers. “Why does the Knight hate the king?”

“That’s not my story to tell, little human, nor one I know every detail of. You’re just going to have to ask him yourself.” Terran’s head then snaps towards the entrance of the cavern, voice easily switching into common. “Are you going to continue to lurk in the shadows, Lich? Or are you going to come collect your pet?” 

“I have no need for pets.” The Knight says as he steps further inside. 

“I’m not a pet.” Waylan snaps in draconic. 

“Only because he has yet to ask you to kneel.” Terran purrs with a smirk. 

“Fuck you.” It occurs to him belatedly that he shouldn’t be rude to a dragon, but, well, he’s always rude. 

“Come get your yapping pup before he pisses on my shoes.” 

“Waylan is not a pet, he is a companion.” The Black Knight says flatly. “And if he were to piss on your shoes I am sure you would deserve it.” 

Terran’s brow quirks before he turns and smirks at Waylan again. “Maybe he’ll ask you to kneel sooner rather than later.” 

Waylan, very maturely, picks up a stone and throws it at the dragon’s head. 

[lem0ns-art]

Would you draw Waylan? The "Waylan’s Sabbatical" was very interesting

First off, thank you so much! It honestly warms my heart so much that anyone else enjoyed my boy! Second, I'm running around today but I do have this sketch that I might make into a finished piece

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (5/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading)

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: First | Previous | Next

The next time he makes his way back to the ruined castle is because there’s a storm coming. He spots the clouds gathering as an inky blotch on the horizon and notes the various creatures desperately trying to go to ground before it hits. With so many monsters in the forest he doubts he’ll find any kind of proper shelter that will keep him safe from the onslaught he thinks is coming. So after a short debate, wondering if the Black Knight will extend the same hospitality as he had the first time, he decides that he’s better off dealing with the lich than the stampede of creatures moving through the woods. 

He gets to the ruins before the rainfall starts. There are fresh bodies in front of the castle and he doesn’t bother to pick through their belongings, instead making his way straight to the front gate and calling inside,

“Black Knight!” His voice echoes against the stone, dulled under the sound of the raging winds. “It’s Waylan, I was hoping that I could find refuge from the storm with you!” 

There’s a long pause and he has to leave soon if he’s unwelcome. He could probably get to some of the spider catacombs, blast out one of the smaller caves with a few fireballs and take shelter until the rain passes. 

But what remains of the gate starts to click and groan as the old chains are used to lift it from the ground. 

“You are always welcome, traveler.” His voice is low, but Waylan catches it as he ducks into the ruins. It’s still loud inside, enough cracks in the old stones that the wind is rattling through, but it’s not too much. And it’s certainly warmer inside. 

“Thank you.” He says genuinely. 

“The storm might not pass for some time, follow me.”

Liches play the long game. Waylan knows that. Knows that creatures that live for hundreds of years are more likely to stab you in the back after you’ve shown it to them twenty times, but there’s little motivation for the lich to kill him. There are enough adventurers that come to the castle that he must have sacrificed enough souls to live for another two hundred years at the very least. So he follows the knight through the halls, up a spiraling staircase and out onto one of the towers. 

“If you are going to stay here you will need water.” Waylan spots the overturned barrels that look like they’ve been up here for years, but a few of them aren’t crumbling with age. “The well turned putrid many years ago.” He and the Knight set them upright to collect the rain water. But as the first few drops begin to fall the Knight ushers him back inside, and not a moment too soon as the sky splits open into a downpour. 

“Thank you.” And he means it. “I don’t mean to continue to impose.” 

“You cannot impose here. What you do is visit. The dead outside impose.” 

“Still, you saved my life last time. All I did was burn some spiders you could have killed yourself.” The Black Knight concedes the point with a nod before gesturing for Waylan to follow him back down the staircase. 

“Allow me to show you what remains of my home.” 

****

There are places in the castle that cannot be traveled through, areas where the floor is too weak to support weight, areas where the vegetation has collapsed the ceiling, but aside from the areas that are unsafe there are no places that are off-limits to Waylan. 

“Where are you from?” The Knight asks. He stokes a fire to life inside of a study, larger than the meeting hall of the council building. Waylan is eating a portion of rations, sat on the stone floor. The expensive rugs that had once likely lined the entire room have been eaten away by insects, sunlight, time. It feels ancient as he sits with this creature who has existed here for centuries. 

“I’m from Oshime.” 

“Ah. When I was alive there were only nine provinces, I believe there are more now?”

“A few.” 

“I have not heard much about the world beyond Okren since I became this, will you tell me about it?”

Waylan hasn’t ever been much of a talker. Not when it wasn’t trading sarcastic barbs, but he’s safe and dry so he figures he owes the lich at least some world history. 

****

After waiting out the storm he comes and goes from the castle. The lich seems to enjoy his company and Waylan appreciates his reserved demeanor, which considering liches are evil creatures probably says more about him than anything else. But it’s nice to have a ‘home base’ to return to as a resting point between the deeper sections of the Dark Forest and the kingdom’s capital. Eventually the Black Knight even shows him a different entrance into the palace, through a servant’s tunnel that allows him to slip in and out when the lich is not home. 

He never asks where the creature goes. 

The lich always asks why he’s still traveling the forest. 

****

When another storm drives him back to the castle a few weeks later he finds himself alone. The lich is nowhere he can find and without much else to do he begins to wander the castle. Everything is swathed in a thick layer of dust, so it’s easy enough for him to spot a door that looks like the knob has been polished in comparison. Waylan hesitates in front of it, inspects the floor, and the lock, the lintel above. Because he’s seen Ray stabbed, poisoned, and dropped into enough pits to know that checking for traps is an essential part of being an adventurer. 

But the door reveals no ill will. 

So he turns the knob and enters. 

Nostalgia hits him like a warhammer to his sternum as he peers into the dark room. It’s a massive space, nearly triple the size of his own modest bedroom back home. And here is another moth eaten bed and what what once ornate furniture that’s long since gone to ruin, but the desk, that stretched the entire length of one wall, is mostly intact. There are bottles and books strewn on every surface, piles of crystals, scrolls, tapestries, cauldrons, beakers, even a small pile of scrying bones left casting an ill fate from two hundred years ago. There is magical paraphernalia from what he suspects were all corners of the world at one time. 

He wonders briefly what Faith did with all of the things he left in the basement of his home. If she had to go through his and his father’s stuff, the boxes of his mother’s belongings that were stored up in the attic. Maybe he’ll ask her about it if he sees her again. 

Waylan is careful as he picks through the room. The books on the table are too fragile, even the slightest touch sends the brittle pages crumbling. But the ones sandwiched into the bookshelves are a little better. Their spines are loose and the binding fragile, but he manages to open a few of them. Some are in common, others in what looks like elvish, even some celestial. He knows four languages, but even common isn’t helping him here. Not when the books are written in such an outdated form. 

When the Knight opens the door hours later Waylan is sat on the floor, having found the one text written in draconic and using it to translate the common notes scrawled in the margins as best he can. At least dragons hold a longer lasting fidelity to their language, though it shouldn’t come as a surprise considering how long they live. 

“How long have you been in here?”

“I don’t know, since mid afternoon maybe? You weren’t home.” 

“I’m aware.” The Knight exits the room and Waylan just shrugs and continues scrawling notes into the small journal that he’d bought once he realized that if he kept scrawling notes on his map he wouldn’t be able to read it anymore. He makes it through another two and a half pages before the door opens again. The knight carefully picks his way across the floor until he can kneel down beside Waylan. “It’s past midnight.”

“Shit, really?” Where had the time gone? He startles when he sees the Knight offer him what appears to be a steaming cup of tea. “Thank you.” He doesn’t point out that the Knight long ago told him that he doesn’t bother with stocking things to eat or drink. It’s not hard to make tea from the plants in the forest, and he already knows the lich keeps herbs on hand for whatever reason. “Is this your room?”

“No. My room was down in the barracks.” He sits back, looking around the room. “This was Prince Westly’s room.” 

Waylan is a lot of things-- sarcastic, rude, broken-- but he’s not stupid or unobservant. “I’ll put everything back. I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“You can’t intrude on a space that has not belonged to someone in two hundred years, Waylan. He would have been happy to show you every inch of this room, all of his research, a dozen times over if he thought you were interested.” It’s the first piece of information the lich has offered him about the old inhabitants of the castle. 

And for some reason he feels like he owes a bit of his own history in return. “Where I grew up there weren’t any magic users. That was big city stuff. When I could suddenly light my hands on fire I didn’t have anyone to teach me. So I got my hands on as many books as I could find. They helped me get through the years I was alone.” 

Waylan feels the tectonic plates of their relationship shift. It’s slight, and he’s cautious, but he doesn’t see the harm in it just yet. He wonders what the reverberations will shake loose. 

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (6/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading) This section contains Terran and Waylan’s first meeting!

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: First | Previous | Next

“Wake up!” The slap rattles his teeth as it hits him. If he wasn’t already crying he thinks the blow would force tears to his eyes. A fresh taste of blood coats the inside of his mouth as his vision swims around the dimly lit room. The Crimson Sign sneers down at him. Gods what he wouldn’t give to forget the times that Maurak sat down at the bar to share a drink with Gadreel. Because those memories only make the monster standing in front of him, a monster who has shattered his bones and hacked away at his arm, more vivid. Maurak was always a monster. He had just hid it well. 

Another blow snaps his head to the other side, but this one is harder, hard enough he feels his cheekbone crumple inward and one of his teeth splinter and jam into the side of his tongue. Black spots dance across his vision and he tries to spit out the blood that’s rapidly pooling in his mouth before he chokes on it. 

“He wasn’t the only monster in hiding.” Oh. Oh, thank Gods. It’s another one of these. His head spins as he forces himself to look up. He’s standing in front of his own bound body, Maurak’s knife in his flesh hand, and his metal one raised to deliver another blow if need be. 

“It’s just a dream.” Waylan slurs to himself. “You’re not real.” 

“Not yet.” The blow comes again. But this time he feels it reverberating up the gears of his arm. Sees Gadreel’s head snap to the side. Sees Lugh spitting out blood. Sees Vani’s legs bent at odd angles. Sees Ray’s arm hacked off, tattoos still burning. And it feels so good. He loves pressing his metal hand against their begging mouths, love watching his hand catch fire and the flesh bubble and blacken on their face as their screams rattle against his palm. He burns them until he can’t see their faces anymore, until he wakes up screaming with smoke clinging to the back of his throat. 

****

It’s rare he wakes up screaming, and even rarer that he loses control of his magic nowadays. But when he comes out of his nightmare, brain soaked in pain and fear and sees a shadow moving towards him he strikes without thought. Magic dripping from his lips as he throws out a hand and blasts the approaching figure with a burst of flame.

“Waylan!” The Knight’s voice, so unfamiliar compared to the ones that haunt his dreams,  manages to shake him from the lingering terror.

“Fuck, shit, Gods I’m sorry,” he jumps from the bed and rushes forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m well enough. It would take far more than that to incapacitate me. You were screaming.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t usually happen.” The Knight stares down at him for a long moment. It’s times like this, with glowing red eyes looking down at him, he remembers that the lich towers over him just like Radiance, Lugh and Gadreel used to.

“The screaming, perhaps, doesn’t happen. But I watched over you as you healed. I had thought your nightmares a symptom of fever, but they haunt you now as well.” Waylan swallows the wave of shame that tries to crawl up his throat, reaches for anger instead.

“It’s none of your business.” The words are covered in barbs but the lich doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why do you keep coming back into the forest, Waylan?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” He turns away from the Knight, stalks over to the wardrobe with no doors to grab his few belongings. “I won’t be back.” Because this is too much. Too close. He left Creta so that no one would ask him questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t need those questions to find him here, least of all out of the mouth of an undead. He gathers his things as quickly as possible and makes for the door. The Black Knight’s gloved hand slams into the stone beside his head, cages him against the wall before he can make a break for it. Sparks flick up over his fingers nervously. He can’t fight a lich. He’s not strong enough for that. And even if he could get away from him he doesn’t know the castle as well. The Knight could certainly catch up to him if he wanted.

“Waylan.” He says his name lowly, the sound of it reverberating against his helmet. “You are not a traveler are you?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He says, his throat tight.

“You are not traveling, you are running. A coward, fleeing from a person, or a memory. And you have found a home in woods that makes cowards of all who journey inside.”

“You’re still here.” He snaps. “Two hundred years later in this place for cowards. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding. The forest you see and the one I live in are very different. You will stay here and I will show you.” The Knight drops his hand and gives Waylan a bit of space. “Maybe when I am finished you will be able to face what you were running from.”

“You aren’t going to keep me here against my will.”

“I’m not. But I think you know as well as I that you’d return again even if you left right now.”

And every nerve in him is scraped raw and pulled taut and he desperately wants to walk out the door, take his things, find a ship, and move on to a new place. He could be away from Okren in four days time if he didn’t rest. He could leave and never come back. Never blink at what might have happened to the Dark Forest and the warrior lich that lived there.

But the stump of his arm is aching, and his throat is still raw from screaming. He hasn’t heard from the others in weeks. He hasn’t slept well in months. And he’s tired of running.

****

The next morning the Knight has him up at the crack of dawn and as soon as he’s dressed and fed they’re heading out through the service tunnels and into the forest. To be honest he’s still half furious with himself for staying. The other half is furious with the lich for presuming to know so much about him and having the gall to be right. Which doesn’t make him much for conversation and they head deeper into the forest. 

Waylan’s been past the castle before. He’s gone about four days further, but it was extremely slow going. When he’d first started traveling through the Dark Forest he thought that the castle would be at the heart of the forest and the most difficult to make it to. But while there are plenty of monsters and treacherous land serving as deterrents, he found the actual landscape of the forest beyond the castle is far more hazardous. The Knight navigates through the foggy landscape with ease even as Waylan starts to struggle for breath as a the mist takes on a sharp and nauseating odor. It takes until about mid day, but eventually he has to pause, coughing hard enough that he thinks he might shake a lung loose. 

“Apologies, I forget the boons my existence offers me.” 

“Yeah, well, do you know if this fog is toxic for us lowly humans?” 

“It will not poison you, but it will be uncomfortable.” The Knight looks around and then says, “Ah, little one,” Waylan is about to start cursing when he sees the lich looking over at a squirrel that’s sitting up in a nearby tree. “Get a message to your master. Tell him I have come to visit and hope he will extend the same hospitality to my friend as he has graciously done for myself.” The squirrel cocks its head and then skitters across the branches, leaping into the next tree and then on into the thick forest until Waylan can’t spot it anymore. 

“I don’t think I want to meet your friend.” 

“I will do my best to keep you safe.” And Waylan doesn’t like the sincerity in the tone. 

“What am I about to meet?” 

“‘Who’, you’re going to meet the dragon who has made his home within my borders.”

“A dragon?” Realization slides sickeningly along the same path as sour air to his lungs. “A green dragon?” The lich inclines his head. “I can’t meet a green dragon, Knight! I helped kill one!” He hisses. 

“And why would I care about that little human?” The words come in raspy tones and Waylan tenses as he turns to face the new speaker. Fuck him with a dull pike. Fuck. 

There is no towering creature before him and somehow that makes what is standing there even more terrifying. Only old dragons can take human form and the one standing in front of him has to be old. And the older a dragon is the more dangerous. The man is tall and thin, too thin, with his dark leathers clinging to his body. His cheekbones jut out sharply as if he’s missed a few dozen meals, and the long fingered hands that he folds in front of himself as he considers the two of them are thin with his knuckles making knobby protrusions. His eyes are an unnatural vibrant yellow and his hair is shorn very short against his skull, so short Waylan can’t really tell the color, only that the fuzz is very dark. 

“If you managed to kill a dragon that means it was not worthy of life. What kind of higher being gets slain by a flea?” 

“Waylan this is Terran, the Hungry One.” The Knight dips his head respectfully and Waylan follows suit. “Terran, this is Waylan, the human who has been mapping the forest.” 

“Yes, yes, your little pet project. Why bring him to meet me?” Terran looks Waylan over disinterestedly. “Unless you’ve brought me an offering, Lich?” 

“Not this time.” 

Waylan is half a second away from casting a fireball between them all, turning invisible, and making a run for it. 

“He speaks draconic. You so often complain you no longer get to converse in your mother tongue I thought you would appreciate the opportunity.”

Waylan thinks he sees a spark of interest in the dragon’s eyes. “Is that true little human, do you speak a language far superior to the one that humans use to grunt through their meaningless lives?” 

Every inch of him bristles at the comment. And for a wonderful, suicidal moment, Waylan considers telling the dragon to go fuck himself in clean curt draconic. Instead he settles on, “If a language’s worth is based on how many know it then the ravings of a madman must be far more blessed than even Tiamat’s tongue.”

Terran stares at him for a long moment and Waylan wonders if he can still spit poison in this form. Then he looks over at the Black Knight. “He lives, for now.”

“Your patience is appreciated.”

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (3/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading)

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury. 

Waylan doesn’t rest easy in the Dark Forest the following week. In part because at night more creatures come out and in part because each night he wonders if the lich will decide to come for him. Will tear his soul from his body and consume him. He goes back and forth, wonders if he should leave, but he stays. The oppressive aura of the woods doesn’t bare down on him so heavily anymore. And while he checks for signs of corruption, using his witch’s glass as a mirror instead of a communication device, he finds no black veins branching out from his eyes, no thin trails of smoke pouring from between his lips. He’s not being poisoned by the forest. He’s even getting better at hunting and gathering to supplement his rations. But he’ll still have to go back into the kingdom soon. 

Even as he climbs up into a tree too tall for any land bound creatures to catch sight of him for the night he knows that once he restocks he’ll be back out in these woods once again. 

*****

Nightmares still sink their talons into his mind as he sleeps. Sometimes he’s under the trap door, peering through the floorboard as the Crimson Sign slaughters his father. Sometimes he’s down in the thieves’ caverns, heavy leather straps around his body, the sharp thrumming agony of the Sign’s knife biting through flesh and splintering bone. Or in the catacombs with the scent of salt water clinging sickeningly to everything as Gadreel stalks towards him, not even the barest flicker of recognition in his eye. 

He doesn’t wake up screaming. No, he wakes up with his chest too tight to breathe, eyes to clouded with tears to see, and the taste of blood on his lips. Sometimes he worries he’ll bite through his tongue in his sleep. 

But more often than not he’s just glad that there’s no one around to ask him if he’s okay when he wakes.

***** 

The next time Waylan goes into town he gets enough rations for a month. He tries to avoid speaking to anyone but the shopkeeper, is careful not to let on that he’s been going past the border, and keeps his ears open. 

The king is getting restless. Monsters have been seen testing the Goddess’s magic, pushing the barrier back just a few feet for now, but those few feet will add up eventually. Thirty miles of space will turn into twenty-nine, to twenty, to ten, until the monsters come for this kingdom like they did the last. He’s calling for more adventurers, for paladins, for anyone who thinks they can help and he’s attaching a large sum of money to entice the foolhardy into coming to Okren. 

When Ray calls to check in on him a few days later he’s half tempted to tell her about the reward. Then he remembers the lich’s blood red eyes and the aura of magic pouring off of him and he changes his mind.

*****

Being in the dark forest, while not as horrible as he had at first feared, does not mean that the travel is easy. Waylan often finds himself fighting for his life. Sometimes the battles are easy, sometimes hard, but always made disorienting because he is alone. The first few times a creature came across him determined to turn him into a snack Way had taken damage he could have avoided because he’d expected a grasping vine or a cutting word to distract the foe. But he’s getting used to it now. Learning how to use his magic better, how to fight on his own as fragile as he is compared to others. 

But he is still fragile. And the reminder comes to him in the form of a dire wolf lunging at him and clamping its teeth into his side. Waylan swallows a scream, trying to shove his metal hand hard enough into the side of the wolf’s jaw to get it to open its mouth, and when it only bites harder he grabs the creature’s massive head between his hands and sets its skull on fire. 

It’s jaws fall slack as it dies and Waylan collapses on the ground, agony racing through him and blood pouring out onto the dirt. Fuck. Something else is going to be drawn to the smell. He fumbles in his bag for one of his healing potions and downs it. The pain doesn’t lessen, but the bleeding start to slow. He digs around for another one, but all he comes up with are empty bottles. Fuck. He doesn’t have enough magic to heal himself and he’s still at least a week of travel away from civilization. 

Except…

Except for the castle ruins. If he can dress his wound he might be able to get to the ruins within half a day. And maybe if the lich doesn’t kill him, maybe if his wounds don’t get infected, maybe he’ll live. Or maybe the lich will rip his soul from his body. But he will die if he tries to get back to the kingdom. 

God he misses Ray. 

Fuck. He doesn’t want to see the Raven Queen before he sees her and the others again. A pang shoots through his chest. He doesn’t want Nara to have to tell Ray that he’s gone. 

Waylan hastily dresses his wound before pushing himself off the forest floor. He has to get to the ruins. And hope. 

*****

He thinks getting to the ruins should be harder than it is. He’s pretty sure there are supposed to be traps, maybe magical ones, but as he sways and staggers towards the crumbling castle, reclaimed by two hundred years of vegetation, he doesn’t find himself falling into a spiked pit or an orb of oblivion. No army of undead come to life out of the scattered pieces of armor and bone that litter the landscape. Some of the corpses are fresher than others, their blood black and their skin just starting to sag away from their bodies and Waylan wonders if he should just give up and lay down beside them. Let himself die out here rather than become just another drop of oil that burns to keep the lich in its state of unlife. 

Instead he makes it to the crumbling castle wall and slumps against the stones. He needs to call out, to try and get the knight’s attention if he’s even around. But his vision is spinning and he bled through his bandages hours ago. There is sweat clinging to his brow and he doesn’t have the strength to raise his voice. 

The cool stones against his side are the last thing he remembers before his vision blinks out.

***** 

He wakes up in fits and starts. Sometimes remembering his mother’s hand pressing a cool cloth to his forehead like she had when he was young, sometimes feeling the harsh slap that the Sign had delivered to keep him awake when the pain was so bad he thought he would pass out. His side is like fire that’s eating into his bones, charing his ribs black and turning his organs into liquid. He thinks if he could wake up for long enough, focus for more than just a few seconds, he could cast something to help him heal, but when he reaches for his magic he is too weak to touch it. After facing monsters and murderers, a dragon even, he’ll die from an animal bite?  

If he had the energy he’d be furious. 

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (1/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading) 

There’s probably no good time for it. Because they’re all always getting into trouble, jumping from one place to the next with some new crisis dogging at their heels. But Waylan thinks he picks the best time he can. He and Gadreel have been broken up for a couple of weeks. They’ve finished their mission for the Slayer’s Take and are flush with gold. The rest of them are staying in Creta to catch their breath before they move on, following Vani’s need to go home and Ray’s pull towards the reward her goddess has promised her. 

And they don’t need him tagging along like the world’s foulest owlbear. 

He gets up early. They’ve all been living out of packs for a while now so he spends half an hour getting his things together and organized. He cleans the joints of his prosthetic arm and checks and rechecks that he has his casting crystal, as if he ever goes anywhere without it. And then he has to admit he’s stalling. And if he keeps it up he’ll have to stay put another day. 

Waylan takes a breath, looks around the room that doesn’t belong to him any more than any of the other rooms he’s slept in for the past few months. But it’s different now. Maybe because it’s Creta. Maybe because when he leaves this time he knows he’s leaving alone. He picks up the folded parchment he’d prepared the night before and takes a breath. The humid air of their Dragonborn hosts’ house settles in his lungs unpleasantly. 

As he heads downstairs he flinches at every slight noise. But if any of the others are awake they haven’t deigned to leave their rooms and greet the morning just yet. He sets the letter on the dining room table and heads for the door. 

The guards posted out front don’t even blink as he moves past them but he barely takes a step past the gate before he hears the front door creek open. He grinds his teeth and turns back to see who’s followed him. 

Radiance is shoving her arms into her cloak, his letter clutched tightly in her hand. It could be worse, he supposes. It could have been Gadreel. Barbs ready themselves on his tongue anything to get her to turn back inside and leave him alone. But he knows there’s nothing he could say to the tiefling to get her to turn away. She trots up to him, shoving the paper into her pocket. 

“You heading straight for the city gates?”

“Yeah.” 

“If we hurry we’ll be able to catch the sunrise before you go.” A tightness constricts his chest. She’s not going to argue with him. She’s not going to try and force him to stay. 

“Okay.” 

They fall into step together as they make their way towards the edge of the city. Ray chatters as she always does, but not about anything in particular. She talks about something dumb Lugh did while they were drunk, how she can’t wait to see Vani’s kingdom again after so long, about how it’s cool they can still find quiet moments in such a busy city. She doesn’t ask where he plans or going, or for how long. And then they’re at the gates. 

“Come sit.” Ray takes hold of his arm, the flesh one, and pulls him over to a bench. She sits down beside him, curling her tail over her lap. The first light of dawn is reflected in her black eyes. “Did you really think just leaving a letter would be enough?”

His throat tightens and he turns his eyes to the sky. “I’d hoped you all would respect my wishes.”

“And when have we ever done that before? Nah, you can leave, we’ll give you some space. But you’re our friend, of course we’re gonna check in with you.”

He bristles. “What if I don’t want that?” 

“I don’t care. You told me you’re scared of going off the deep end. You’re gonna be able to fall right over if you don’t have someone checking in and keeping you human.” 

They don’t speak for a few minutes as the sun climbs higher on the horizon. 

“Are you going to come back?” Her voice is soft. 

“I don’t know. Not for a while.” 

“We’re gonna miss you.”

“You’ll be better off without me.” 

Ray reaches over and catches his hand, squeezing it tightly enough it hurts. “How many times do we have to tell you that we adopted you? No way we’re gonna be better off without our problematic son.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think staying here will do me any good.” 

“Okay. Then I’ll tell the others. Do you know where you’re going?”

“Not yet.” Far. Somewhere he’s never been before. Somewhere where no one knows him and when he looks around he doesn’t have memories tying him to the landscape. 

“Be safe.” 

“You too. Try and keep the others alive.” Ray hesitates, but Waylan accepts it when she leans in for a hug. 

When he finally walks past the gate he doesn’t look back.

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (2/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading)

It takes him two weeks of making his way across Oshime before he finds himself on one of Vonda’s ships heading to Okren. It’s a long trip and during it he learns more about sailing than he ever really cared to learn, and by the time they arrive he’s even more ready to be left on his own. Waylan ventures into the nearest port town and gets himself a map of the land, a history book, and what he hopes are enough rations and potions so that he can head out into the bordering forests for a while. 

From the map he learns that the immediate thirty or so miles are considered mostly safe, with the worst things one’s likely to come across large bears and mountain lions. He can handle both with a few bolts of flame. But past that boundary is the Dark Forest, crawling with monsters that few can face and all fear. Heroes have been hired to go into the woods to try and clear a path so that the king can reclaim the old castle, but few have come back out and none of the survivors were able to set eyes on the ruined castle. 

The history book has some light to shed on that. Waylan reads it as he camps in the safer sections of the woods. About two hundred years ago the current king had worked as a religious advisor at the side of the ruling Queen, Queen Cordelia McLeod a woman who once was kind, became obsessed with death after her husband passed. So terrified of the prospect of dying she had her son trained in the arcane arts so that he might find her a way to live forever. 

And he did. 

But the ritual would call for human sacrifices and the Queen called for subjects to be rounded up for the slaughter. However, before the ritual could be completed Mielikki, Goddess of the forest, sensing the corruption that would take root in the land, sent a blessing in the form of a champion to kill the Queen while she slept. Enraged by his mother’s death the son cast a curse on the forest, making it a beacon for the monsters that infest it now. It was only through the current king’s own sorcery that the kingdom was given enough of the forest to allow them to still gather natural resources. It is the King’s belief that if some brave adventurers are able to reach the ruins of the old castle that they might end two hundred years of suffering. 

Waylan tries his hardest not to think about how quickly the Revengers would have taken up the job, completely undaunted by the failures of those who came before them. 

*****

He does his best to keep to the normal parts of the forest, but as the days go by he finds himself wandering the border between the two sections. It’s obvious where the passable section ends and the Dark Forest starts, he could have figured out that something was different with the landscape even if he didn’t have the map. Because the Dark Forest has an energy to it. It practically pulses with something dark and toxic that sickeningly reminds Waylan of how it had felt to stand above Umberlee’s prison underneath Oshime. He thinks if Vani were with him she wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

He tells himself again and again that he will not cross the border. That going into a forest as monster infested as this one without any backup is a suicide mission. He feels a phantom pain race along his metal arm. 

He didn’t come out here to die. Especially not after it took so much for him to just be able to stand here now. 

*****

“Waylan! Way, can you hear me?!” Radiance’s voice rebounds off his skull and he nearly trips over a tree stump. 

“Fuck!” 

“Oh, whoops, sorry!” 

“Did you get him?” Lugh’s voice chimes in and he resigns himself to having his former companions tagging along in his mind for the foreseeable future. 

“Yeah you got me. I would literally have to leave this plane of existence to avoid you.” He snaps. There’s no need to talk aloud, they would hear him if he just thought at them, but he doesn’t know the last time he’s used his voice and it feels good to hear some kind of sound that’s not just the rustling of the forest. 

“Oh, well, yeah. But still!” Ray’s chipper as ever. 

“How are you doing?” Vani, more subdued and formal. 

“I’m fine. I’m camping.” He didn’t think he’d ever find himself camping on another continent but here he is. He didn’t think he’d ever be tortured in an underground cavern by a legendary assassin either, but here he is. “What have you all been up to?”

They launch into a story about their excursions. They visited Vani’s kingdom, Ray is thrilled by her Goddess’s blessing, they met a particularly aggressive tadpole from another dimension who didn’t like to say ‘please’, Lugh is Lugh. And Gadreel, though he never joins the riot of noise in his head, is still alive and tagging along with them. 

“But camping is great too!” Ray adds towards the end. Waylan is building a fire. 

“Never took you as a ‘one with nature’ soul searching kind of guy.” Lugh says and Waylan can practically hear their eyes rolling. 

“There’s some strange things happening in the forest,” he finds himself saying, bristling at the tone, “I wanted to investigate for myself.”

“Oh, well good luck.” Ray encourages. 

“Stay safe.” Vani adds. 

“Don’t fuck a bear. The ones in the woods are not the same as the ones in Creta.” There’s a slight grunt which he thinks means Vani has punched or pushed Lugh.

“Talk to you again soon.”

“I hope not.” He half means it. 

*****

And damn it, they’re nowhere near him, have no way of finding out if he’s doing as he said, but damn it, Waylan can’t help but feel like he has to go into the Dark Forest now. Fuck. It’s stupid. He’s going to get himself killed just to prove a point to a group of brief companions who aren’t even around anymore. It’s stupid. So stupid. But he finds himself heading back into the kingdom, spending a fair chunk of his money on some healing potions, just in case, before he’s heading back out towards the border the following day. 

He doesn’t reach the Dark Forest for another few days, but when he does the same oppressively wrong atmosphere greets him. Waylan doesn’t think he’s going to die the instant he sets foot past the border, but he asked around the kingdom. There are many different beasts here. Basilisks, dire wolves, blights, lycanthropes, giant spiders, hags, rumor has it even a green dragon might have taken up residency. So if he goes he will need to be cautious. Waylan casts invisibility over himself and is careful as he moves through the underbrush, keeping a cautious eye out for anything that might be lurking in the shadows ready to attack. 

He travels for about six hours before he comes across anything. 

The clicking screeches of the giant spiders are easily identifiable, even from a distance. And Waylan prepares to turn and head in the other direction, but then he hears a different, but familiar, sound of a sword splitting the air and gouging through flesh. Someone else is in the forest and they’re taking on some of the creatures. He still tries to turn away. The last time he got involved with someone else’s battle he’d ended up fighting a green dragon and with a brand on his arm. He should know by now to turn and go as far as he can. 

Instead he allows a soft litany of curses to slip from his lips as he moves as stealthily as he can towards the sounds of fighting. He finds himself looking over a clearing, stones pushed aside, webbing and animal skeletons strewn about. There are a few of the creatures dead already, their corpses leaking a sludgy purple blood, their legs curled tightly against their chest. But there are still several alive. Clicking and screeching as they circle a humanoid figure at the den’s entrance. He looks like a knight. Black armor splashed with purple, a large helmet that covers his face, and a greatsword in hand. 

He’s outnumbered. 

Waylan tries once again to convince himself to turn and walk the other way. He doesn’t need to get involved here. The knight was outnumbered before he arrived and seemingly has the fight under control. And then one of the spiders brings a massive leg down across the man’s back and knocks him off balance. 

The burst of flame is pouring from his fingers before he has time to reconsider. The fireball consumes the spider in one brilliant blaze and a brief quiet falls over the entire clearing. Waylan hesitates, catches the knight looking up at him, and then there is a spider turning away and crawling along the wall, up towards him and he doesn’t have a chance to rethink his decision any more. 

The fight itself doesn’t take long. Giant spiders are dangerous, but they’re not nearly as hardy as other foes that Waylan has faced. He doubts that the knight really needed his assistance, but damn it. The Revenger’s tendency to get involved in others affairs is still clinging to him. 

When the fight is over he scales down the side of the small bluff and joins the knight in the clearing. The smell of charred corpses is overpowering and foul, but he thinks he’s getting used to it. 

“Thank you for your assistance.” The knight’s voice is deep and has a tinny quality as it rattles against his helmet. “But you needn’t have troubled yourself.”

“I’m sure. But better safe than sorry. I hear a lot of adventurers die in this forest.” 

The knight offers his hand. “Indeed they do. Are you planning to stay within its border for long?”

“Maybe. I’m not an adventurer, though, I’m just a traveler.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. As far as I can before things start to actively try and kill me.” 

“I doubt you’ll get far then.” But the words aren’t cruel. And Waylan can sense no malice coming from the man, though there is a heavy pulse of magic that seems to pour from him. Enough magic that he could be standing in front of a great mage and yet he’d used a sword to fight. “If you ever seek asylum in this forest find the ruins of the old palace. I will give you a place to rest in return for your assistance.” 

Waylan’s blood runs cold and he takes half a step back. “I don’t make a habit of resting in cursed castles.” 

“A wise choice, but I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you in my home. I cannot guarantee the same if you continue to travel these woods.”

“Thank you for the offer.” He says with stiff formality, wanting to be anywhere but here. He doesn’t think he can win in a fight against this man. If he even is one. There are plenty of monsters that take a human shape and no matter how closely he peers into the slit of the knight’s helmet he can see nothing of his face. Only the faint glimmer of light reflected in his eyes. A dull red glow–

The sun is still high in the sky. It colors the forest shades of dark green and warm yellow, even in this section of the woods. There is no red light to be reflected from anywhere in the environment. Lich. 

Waylan resists the urge to fling his hand out in front of him and cast another blast of fire at the creature. Because the knight hasn’t moved any closer, has only sheathed his sword and continued to look at him consideringly. 

A lich. That’s what the Queen wanted to turn into. A dark ritual like that would have been able to seep the earth around the castle with enough evil that it would become a breeding ground for monsters. He wonders how many other magic users have gotten close enough to learn this. Wonders if the lich killed them before they could kill him. 

For the first time since he got to Okren Waylan feels acutely alone. There is no Ray to be overpoweringly friendly and strike an accord with the creature before him. No Lugh to flirt, no Vani to diffuse the situation. No Gadreel to stand recklessly before all of them like he’ll take every hit so the others don’t have to. It’s just him. And his sharp tongue and cruel remarks will do him no good here. 

“I think that I’ll continue on my way.”

The knight dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Until we meet again, traveler.” 

“Right.” He hopes the day never comes. 

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (4/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading)

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | Here

Waylan wakes up, all the way, with an ache still in his bones. Every part of him is exhausted and he feels disgusting. But he’s in a bed with a threadbare blanket and someone has lit the torch on the wall. He reaches for his side and is met with thick bandages plastered over the wound. He decides to use his metal hand, the one less likely to shake under the weight of his exhaustion, to peel away the bandages. As he does he’s greeted by a foul earthy odor and he’s half scared that the wound will be gangrenous. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds that, while yes the wound is in fact green, it’s because of a packing of what he assumes are medicinal herbs laid carefully under the wrappings. The bites look better, clean, and not as swollen as they had been immediately after the initial injury. He reaches inside of himself for his magic, finds his crystal laying on the nightstand beside him along with his other belongings, and casts a few healing spells on himself. 

The door creaks open and he glances up. The knight is still in his full armor, helmet and all, and Waylan briefly wonders if he ever takes it off. 

“You’re finally awake, and well enough to perform magic?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Because he could have been killed. He’d half expected to be killed. 

“On my honor I swore to lend you aid if you turned up at my door.” 

“I haven’t heard of a lich with honor.” He bites his tongue too late. And well, while he’s already digging his grave, “Or one that couldn’t use the magic they’re imbued with.” Because even undead-- liches used to be mages. And nearly all mages have some kind of rudimentary knowledge of healing spells. But this one had relied on herbs to treat his wounds and a sword when engaged in combat. 

He waits for the lich to approach the bed and drive his sword through his chest for his insolence, but the knight just inclines his head again. “My creation is a different one than those you have likely heard of before. Perhaps someday I will tell you about it.” 

“My name is Waylan.” He says after a long moment, peeling the rest of the bandages away. There is a row of silvery crescent scars curving along the front and back of his side. But the healing is done. And considering that this creature lended him aid when he could have easily been killed he thinks maybe the lich should be shown some courtesy.

“You can call me the Black Knight.” The Knight moves further into the room and Waylan startles to see the man pull two items from the pouch at his hip and set them on the nightstand. The witch’s glass and the map he’s been modifying of the Dark Forest. “What do you plan on doing with the information you gather as you travel, Waylan?”

He feels stupid. Sure thus far he’s been careful in town and worked to make sure that no one knows the relative ease with which he’s able to travel through the forest. His notes in the hand of the King or his adventurers would be enough to get them to this castle. His knowledge that the grounds are guarded by a lich incapable of magic could be enough for someone clever to reclaim the ruins. 

“I have no reason to get involved in whatever feud is happening between you and the kingdom. I’m not from Okren and I’m not a hero. I won’t be sharing what I learn here.”

The Black Knight hums thoughtfully. “You say you’re not a hero, and yet at the first sign of someone in trouble you lend aid for nothing in return.” 

“There’s a difference in lending aid to a single person and getting involved with the political affairs of an entire country. Trust me, I am intimately familiar with the later and it’s not a position I’m interested in finding myself in again.” Because it hadn’t worked out well for the Revengers. Because if they hadn’t been so insistent on helping him then they wouldn’t have ended up under Creta or in the council hall. They wouldn’t be tied to the Oshime government. And maybe they could have saved themselves some strife. The Knight stares down at him and in the low light of the room Waylan can see his eyes burning like embers behind his helmet. 

“Then you are welcome to stay for as long as you need.” He takes a step back from the bed and Waylan lets himself breathe a little more easily. “I’m afraid I have little to offer you in the form of human hospitality. I stock no food and the well ran dry years ago.”

“I won’t be staying long.” He says easily. “Another night to regain the magic I expended healing the remainder of my wound. Then I’ll have to head back to civilization to restock my supplies.” 

“And then you’ll come back to this forest?” 

“Yes.”

“Why are you so insistent on explore a place even the gods have shunned?”

“I have a morbid curiosity.” Waylan responds dryly. “Any chance you’ve collected the coins off the corpses strewn all over your front yard?”

“I have no need for their money, but you are welcome to whatever you find.”

“Thank you.” 

The Black Knight inclines his head again before turning from the room. 

Waylan waits for a few minutes until he’s sure he’s gone before he picks up the witch’s glass. 

“Ray, Vani, Lugh--” He doesn’t ask for Gad. 

Vani picks up first, looking exhausted. Shit what time is it in Oshime? What time is it here? “Way? What is it? Are you alright?”

“Way, you never call, what’s going on?” Ray’s head pokes up over Vani’s and he thinks he catches Lugh grumbling drunkenly in the background. He doesn’t recognize the room they’re in. Maybe a hotel? Maybe a tavern?

“Just checking in.” He hasn’t been the one to check in since he left. 

“We’re fine, exhausted, but fine, what about you?” Vani gives him as much of a once over as she can with only the small mirror to glean any information about his physical state. “You look a little tired yourself.”

“And shirtless,” Lugh adds. “Are you calling us post-coital cause that’s just mean.”

“Fuck off Lugh.” The dread that has been sitting heavy behind his ribs seems to loosen a little at the familiar jab. “It’s been a long few days, but I’m fine. You’ll be happy Ray, I think I’m making friends.” 

In traditional Ray fashion she grins and can’t help but talk at length about a few of the friends that the Revengers have made in his absence. 

An hour or two later all of them are on the brink of sleep and Ray yawns, sleepily asking, “Are you coming home soon?” 

His throat tightens. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. You should call more often though.” She tucks her head against her arms and Vani angles the mirror so he can see her instead. 

“Take as long as you need Waylan.”

“Thanks Vani. Keep those idiots safe.”

“That’s asking a lot.” But she’s smiling. “Keep yourself safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”

*****

He leaves the next morning as he said he would and the Black Knight wishes him safe travels before he heads in the opposite direction even deeper into the brush. The trip to the kingdom will take about a week but Waylan’s getting good at navigating this section of woods. He knows the times when the spiders are most active, what paths the wolves stick to most of the time, how to tell when the far off groan of trees are the thick trunks bending as forest giants make their way though. 

When he was younger there was nowhere in Ketterdam he was allowed to explore. The woods were home to bullywugs that were always happy to skewer a traveler and take their goods. And while the guards within the town did their best with the minor incidents that cropped up in the farming village there were no fighters to clear out the forest and make it safe. Waylan could do it now, maybe. If he was clever. If he found where the more dangerous creatures gathered he thinks he could manage it. 

Not that he’d ever go back to Ketterdam. 

Not the place he watched his mother and his father die. Where he spent years down in his workshop after his father decided his presence was too disruptive in the small town for him to be seen. He met Gadreel there, he acknowledges. And Gad had been the one bit of good in his life that kept him from doing worse than setting fire to an empty barn and field. But he doesn’t have Gad, or his father, or a home anymore. What he has is a mechanical arm, nightmares, and a rage that bubbles hot and oily in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about these things for too long. 

So he pushes them away. Lets the thoughts drop to the forest floor and get forgotten with the soft echoes of his footsteps.