38th of Glade, 720
With the dreary taste of a bitter meal hanging on his tongue, Tom began the day like he always did: escape. He needed to relax, before he could train. He was a night owl before this all began, and being confined to Mistreach hadn’t changed that.
But it was harder.
He was always tired. Grouchy. Grumbly. Too much noise, and not enough fresh air for someone who enjoyed sleeping with an ear to the bare sky.
From around the corner strode a familiar face as Tom skulked towards one of his usual haunts. Tom immediately turned his shoulder, ducking low--
”Hey, Tom!”
The fox’s fur stood on end, and he stood straight. “Yeah, m’guy?” Tom called back.
Oh, not now... I just woke up, man. C’mon?
Mars. A soldier. Someone who was pretty kind to Tom, but Tom hated nice guys more than anything. They always stabbed the hardest when picking sides.
It was all over Tom’s face, but the Sky Guard could read the Rathari fox’s emotions rather well, considering they’d spent a lot of time together. “What’s wrong? I’m not dragging you down to the Deeps, Tom. I’ve got good news.”
“Yeah?” Tom’s shoulder rolled, and he bit his lip. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“My superior approved your request for a mentor, the other day,” said Mars. “But not the funds.”
“Well, that doesn’t help much,” grunted Tom. He crossed his arms. “Can I go now?”
“Wait--wait, Tom. It gets better,” Mars chuckled. “Ever hear of Aeva Straszi?”
Tom shook his head. Celebrities were pretty pointless to him.
“Well she’s, ah, an artist, and you see, I met her at a bar the other day,” said Mars.
“No,” said Tom, turning tail. He started walking.
Mars jogged forward, his chain armor clinking against the metallic plates. “Wait, but she’s an Elementalist! She agreed to help--”
Tom stopped, and turned to Mars. “Look, I get’cha tryin’ ta’ help me ‘n all, but an artist hasn’t seen the shit I see every week down there,” he said, tapping his foot on the ground. Tom glared. “That broad isn’t gonna be able to help me.”
”Tom,” Mars growled. It was the first time Tom had heard the young man raise his voice at him, so Tom crooked an ear. “If you don’t at least see this woman, I’m never helping your sorry ass again.”
Tom’s chest filled with air, and he tongued a bulge into his own cheek with ire. “Fine,” he said. “When’s she gonna show?”
“Well, she’s here now--”
“Ah, come off it!” hissed Tom. “I’ve still got blood on this tunic.”
“She’ll wait. She’s using the main hall as a reference for one of her sculptures--that was part of the arrangement,” said Mars.
“Oh, of course she is.” Tom sighed, then pointed a finger down the hall, mentally envisioning the layout of the keep. “Dress room is this way, right?”
“No, it’s the other way. You’re also going to see a barber--”
“Absolutely not. Nobody touches my fur. Nobody. I’m putting my foot down there.” Tom brushed past Mars, and turned down a staircase with the man in tow. They arrived at a big room lined with coat racks--mostly named uniforms, but there were a few for the Dead Legion for when they needed to look presentable for some haughty silver-blood.
A few minutes later, Tom was more dressed than he’d been in recent memory.
”Ey, Tom, got a court hearing?” hollered a Legionnaire they passed.
“Shut it,” huffed Tom. He turned to Mars, digging at the seams along his chest. “...This thing’s so tight and itchy.”
“Ehhh, you’ll get used to it,” smiled Mars.
“What a big, fat, lie,” Tom lamented, shaking his head. The pair made their way down to the main hall, and Tom hung back to leer while Mars marched on ahead.
He could see her there, sitting pretty with that big, stupid dress and her frilly, pompous hair and a face thick with powdered-white makeup. Her dress was a magic thread, with glowing symbols denoting her House and status, and Tom hated the sight of her already. Her tied-back brunette hair had a dangly curly-cue, and her face just looked so perfect and well-proportioned that he wanted to make it less so.
Mars and Aeva shared a conversation, and Tom could plainly here every word. It all phased through his ears save for one line directed at him.
“Is that the dog I’m to train?” asked Aeva, looking at Tom some twenty meters away.
Tom wanted to run. He wanted to run at her, and sock her pretty face. But he stood there, a still statue of pure, boiling contempt.
”Uh, ma’am. He can hear you,” muttered Mars.
The lady laughed, then waved to Tom. “He looks a little small for a rapist. Come. Come on over little doggy. Don’t be shy.”
Mars placed a hand on Aeva’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Listen,” he put an armored finger in front of her nose. “Don’t antagonize him.”
“Too late,” said Tom from the other side of the table. He touched her shitty little rendition of Mistreach and channeled his Emblem, yanking it from the platform with one hand. As the lady stared, aghast, he spun around and dashed for the stairs, shouting “I’m not a rapist, you racist cunt!”
A furor began. Several deep voices shouted at Tom, but he was seeing red. His heart raced as he climbed those steps two at a time, winding up towards the walls as his heart raced. A wall of white light greeted him at the top of the stairs, and he strode out onto the battlements and hopped up onto the ledge, dangling the expensive-looking, highly-detailed and comically large sculpture over the side.
The yawning abyss of the chasm leading to the first deep beckoned inches from his toes, the way down looking bumpy and rough. He had his collar on, so there was no way even a feat of Elementalism would save him if he fell, but he was more angry than scared.
A lone guardsman who’d been manning the post stared at him, mouthing what the fuck, Tom?
Tom hesitated. Dropping the sculpture would mean he’d be in a whole lot of shit. More so than having just nabbed it and running away. “Don’t come any closer,” Tom said. “Or I’ll drop it.”
Several pairs of boots reached the top of the stairs, Mars among the faces. “Augh, Tom. What now?” grunted a higher ranking Sky Guard. “Wait, all this over that?” The man pinched his temples together.
”Tom. I swear to the Gods. Get off that ledge.”
Mars waded through some faces, but Tom tightened up. The soldier’s hand was reaching for him, but it fell away as Tom leaned into the stone.
“Oh, oh, my fingers are getting looser there, bud!”
Push.
“Wh-”
Tom’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened as he clutched his collar, trying to rip it off as the air whipped at every inch of his body. “AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHGGGHHHH!”
He inhaled again, staring up at the little white dots of faces staring down on him, the details swiftly fading. ”Hck!” A boulder slammed into him, knocking the wind from his chest. Tight, burly arms gripped him in a vice, and he felt the world twist and turn until he grew dizzy.
Tom was thrown as everything stilled, rolling against the stone and breathing hard as his eyes stared out at the Avialae soldier perched on the ledge, watching his wings furl. “H-hey,” Tom swallowed. “Who pushed me.”
“You jumped.”
“He jumped,” repeated a few other guards, their arms crossed but enjoying the spectacle. Mars was nowhere in sight.
“Bullshit, I know one of you used magic!” Tom gasped, but a heavy, metal fist came down and bit into his collar, yanking him up by it.
”Hey. ‘Ey. Hghk.” Tom’s eyes shut tight, and they started to tear up as the air just wouldn’t come. “St.. Stop it...”
Lady Aeva finally arrived at the top of the stairs, pushing through. “My sculpture--did you stop him? Is it broken?”
The Sky Guard turning Tom’s collar into a noose shot her a glance. “Begone. I heard everything.”
“My sculpture?”
“It’s gone,” someone said. “He jumped.”
“I DIDN’T JUMP!” howled Tom with his last bit of air. “You feckers PUSHED me!”
“...Let him go, please,” said Aeva. “Look, I’m at fault here. Don’t... whatever it is you’re going to do with it. Him.”
“Mars!” shouted the superior soldier, releasing Tom into a crumpled heap. Tom’s handler appeared, seemingly out of thin air.
”Make sure tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum play nice. It’s your final chance to keep Tom under control, Mars, or I’m assigning you somewhere else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mars, his face creased with a mix of emotions.
The boots began clearing out, the threat dealt with. Audible sobs served as the backdrop to all of this, Tom holding himself as his whole body felt woozy from such a close call.
Aeva knelt down next to Tom, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re insufferable, and you owe me for that sculpture,” she said. “You’re still maintaining your innocence ever since your judgment, Rathari? Why?”
“I... hfft. I didn’t... do it...” cried Tom.
Aeva turned to Mars. “And do you believe him?”
“Ehm, Ma’am. It’s not my job to say who’s guilty or not...” mumbled Mars, but the lady rose and put a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“Do. You. Believe. Him?”
Aeva and Mars shared a stare, and Mars eventually cracked. “Yeah... I guess so,” he mumbled, brushing her hand away. “But it doesn’t matter. I could be wrong. He’s an Oddsmaker--he picked up your rock sculpture like it was made of paper.”
The woman turned, hissing. “So he really didn’t kill her, then that means... Frederick. You bastard. Probably. There’s not enough evidence.”
Staring up through bleary eyes, Tom wiped the tears away. His chest hurt, but he had enough sense to know her words were strange. “Whaa? Freddie? Yeah, he’s framin’ me... who’re you, anyway?”
“As I said I was, but I am also Lady Thistle’s sister,” replied Aeva.
Mars leaned in close to her. “You lied to me,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. Rather than sticking to his post, Mars marched off. He’d had enough of Tom’s bullshit, and the bullshit surrounding him. Enough for one day, at least.
Aeva laughed. “Did he just... leave me alone here with a Dead Legionnaire conscript?”
Tom picked himself up off the floor, on heavy feet. Everything pounded and pulsed, and his head ached. “Um, lady... Aeva wus’it? I’m a thief and a con, I’ll even get into scuffs, but I’m not a murderer. I didn’t talk to Mrs. Thistle much, but she made me tea once... she was a nice woman, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Very convincing,” said Aeva, biting her lip. “I’m still not certain, but our talk invites the question. What do you know? What is Frederick up to?”
“Look,” Tom panted, drunk on adrenaline. “I’d love to help you with your... investigation. But I need a tutor if I’m gonna survive until my next court hearing. You help me, an’ I help you? Eh?”
“You’re getting helped twice in this arrangement,” smirked Aeva. “But I did come here saying I’d tutor you, didn’t I?”
Tom nodded. “A deal’s a deal. Prove my innocence, and Frederick’s the next suspect... I dunno if it’ll help me though. I don’t know how lawyery works ‘n stuff, but they kept fabricating all these ideas about me, like I wiped my memory ‘n stuff. Kept saying it’s ‘cause I’m an Oddsmaker. Judge seemed to believe it, and... I look the way I do. Can’t help it.” A long, dreary sigh left his lips, and en eye twitched as another stray tear drooled out of the corner of it. “Hfft. Can’t stop crying.”
Reaching into her coat pocket, Aeva offered him a metal container, which he took. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Tilting it back, a rather royal liquor hit his tongue. It was sweet, and tart, with a taste reminiscent of several colors and herbs. It made him feel like a child with a treat--it was the first time he’d ever had something so top shelf. “Mmh... bring me more of this, and I’ll do anything for you, Aeva,” Tom chuckled.
She snatched it back, and slammed down the rest. “I’m of a similar need, Mr. Trite. I’ll be here once a week for our talks, and your training. Don’t miss it, and you really do owe me for that sculpture,” said Aeva.
Nerves warming with the alcohol flowing through his needy veins, Tom nodded and peeled his eyes. “You bet. I’m goin’ to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.”
“Oh, and I do apologize, Mr. Trite.” Aeva curtsied, then turned to walk down the stairs, fussing with her ridiculous dress.
Tom watched her go, his mind heavy. He'd forgotten all about her insults. I never thought anyone would want to help, but I guess she has her own suspicions.
What a strange, strange woman.
Nothing’s going to come of this though. Fate’s sealed. A cringe spread over Tom’s face, and he turned tail to walk down the battlements towards a quiet-looking tower, where he holed up to think about the events of the day.
But it’d be nice... if she really did believe me...
If someone did.
With the dreary taste of a bitter meal hanging on his tongue, Tom began the day like he always did: escape. He needed to relax, before he could train. He was a night owl before this all began, and being confined to Mistreach hadn’t changed that.
But it was harder.
He was always tired. Grouchy. Grumbly. Too much noise, and not enough fresh air for someone who enjoyed sleeping with an ear to the bare sky.
From around the corner strode a familiar face as Tom skulked towards one of his usual haunts. Tom immediately turned his shoulder, ducking low--
”Hey, Tom!”
The fox’s fur stood on end, and he stood straight. “Yeah, m’guy?” Tom called back.
Oh, not now... I just woke up, man. C’mon?
Mars. A soldier. Someone who was pretty kind to Tom, but Tom hated nice guys more than anything. They always stabbed the hardest when picking sides.
It was all over Tom’s face, but the Sky Guard could read the Rathari fox’s emotions rather well, considering they’d spent a lot of time together. “What’s wrong? I’m not dragging you down to the Deeps, Tom. I’ve got good news.”
“Yeah?” Tom’s shoulder rolled, and he bit his lip. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“My superior approved your request for a mentor, the other day,” said Mars. “But not the funds.”
“Well, that doesn’t help much,” grunted Tom. He crossed his arms. “Can I go now?”
“Wait--wait, Tom. It gets better,” Mars chuckled. “Ever hear of Aeva Straszi?”
Tom shook his head. Celebrities were pretty pointless to him.
“Well she’s, ah, an artist, and you see, I met her at a bar the other day,” said Mars.
“No,” said Tom, turning tail. He started walking.
Mars jogged forward, his chain armor clinking against the metallic plates. “Wait, but she’s an Elementalist! She agreed to help--”
Tom stopped, and turned to Mars. “Look, I get’cha tryin’ ta’ help me ‘n all, but an artist hasn’t seen the shit I see every week down there,” he said, tapping his foot on the ground. Tom glared. “That broad isn’t gonna be able to help me.”
”Tom,” Mars growled. It was the first time Tom had heard the young man raise his voice at him, so Tom crooked an ear. “If you don’t at least see this woman, I’m never helping your sorry ass again.”
Tom’s chest filled with air, and he tongued a bulge into his own cheek with ire. “Fine,” he said. “When’s she gonna show?”
“Well, she’s here now--”
“Ah, come off it!” hissed Tom. “I’ve still got blood on this tunic.”
“She’ll wait. She’s using the main hall as a reference for one of her sculptures--that was part of the arrangement,” said Mars.
“Oh, of course she is.” Tom sighed, then pointed a finger down the hall, mentally envisioning the layout of the keep. “Dress room is this way, right?”
“No, it’s the other way. You’re also going to see a barber--”
“Absolutely not. Nobody touches my fur. Nobody. I’m putting my foot down there.” Tom brushed past Mars, and turned down a staircase with the man in tow. They arrived at a big room lined with coat racks--mostly named uniforms, but there were a few for the Dead Legion for when they needed to look presentable for some haughty silver-blood.
A few minutes later, Tom was more dressed than he’d been in recent memory.
”Ey, Tom, got a court hearing?” hollered a Legionnaire they passed.
“Shut it,” huffed Tom. He turned to Mars, digging at the seams along his chest. “...This thing’s so tight and itchy.”
“Ehhh, you’ll get used to it,” smiled Mars.
“What a big, fat, lie,” Tom lamented, shaking his head. The pair made their way down to the main hall, and Tom hung back to leer while Mars marched on ahead.
He could see her there, sitting pretty with that big, stupid dress and her frilly, pompous hair and a face thick with powdered-white makeup. Her dress was a magic thread, with glowing symbols denoting her House and status, and Tom hated the sight of her already. Her tied-back brunette hair had a dangly curly-cue, and her face just looked so perfect and well-proportioned that he wanted to make it less so.
Mars and Aeva shared a conversation, and Tom could plainly here every word. It all phased through his ears save for one line directed at him.
“Is that the dog I’m to train?” asked Aeva, looking at Tom some twenty meters away.
Tom wanted to run. He wanted to run at her, and sock her pretty face. But he stood there, a still statue of pure, boiling contempt.
”Uh, ma’am. He can hear you,” muttered Mars.
The lady laughed, then waved to Tom. “He looks a little small for a rapist. Come. Come on over little doggy. Don’t be shy.”
Mars placed a hand on Aeva’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Listen,” he put an armored finger in front of her nose. “Don’t antagonize him.”
“Too late,” said Tom from the other side of the table. He touched her shitty little rendition of Mistreach and channeled his Emblem, yanking it from the platform with one hand. As the lady stared, aghast, he spun around and dashed for the stairs, shouting “I’m not a rapist, you racist cunt!”
A furor began. Several deep voices shouted at Tom, but he was seeing red. His heart raced as he climbed those steps two at a time, winding up towards the walls as his heart raced. A wall of white light greeted him at the top of the stairs, and he strode out onto the battlements and hopped up onto the ledge, dangling the expensive-looking, highly-detailed and comically large sculpture over the side.
The yawning abyss of the chasm leading to the first deep beckoned inches from his toes, the way down looking bumpy and rough. He had his collar on, so there was no way even a feat of Elementalism would save him if he fell, but he was more angry than scared.
A lone guardsman who’d been manning the post stared at him, mouthing what the fuck, Tom?
Tom hesitated. Dropping the sculpture would mean he’d be in a whole lot of shit. More so than having just nabbed it and running away. “Don’t come any closer,” Tom said. “Or I’ll drop it.”
Several pairs of boots reached the top of the stairs, Mars among the faces. “Augh, Tom. What now?” grunted a higher ranking Sky Guard. “Wait, all this over that?” The man pinched his temples together.
”Tom. I swear to the Gods. Get off that ledge.”
Mars waded through some faces, but Tom tightened up. The soldier’s hand was reaching for him, but it fell away as Tom leaned into the stone.
“Oh, oh, my fingers are getting looser there, bud!”
Push.
“Wh-”
Tom’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened as he clutched his collar, trying to rip it off as the air whipped at every inch of his body. “AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHGGGHHHH!”
He inhaled again, staring up at the little white dots of faces staring down on him, the details swiftly fading. ”Hck!” A boulder slammed into him, knocking the wind from his chest. Tight, burly arms gripped him in a vice, and he felt the world twist and turn until he grew dizzy.
Tom was thrown as everything stilled, rolling against the stone and breathing hard as his eyes stared out at the Avialae soldier perched on the ledge, watching his wings furl. “H-hey,” Tom swallowed. “Who pushed me.”
“You jumped.”
“He jumped,” repeated a few other guards, their arms crossed but enjoying the spectacle. Mars was nowhere in sight.
“Bullshit, I know one of you used magic!” Tom gasped, but a heavy, metal fist came down and bit into his collar, yanking him up by it.
”Hey. ‘Ey. Hghk.” Tom’s eyes shut tight, and they started to tear up as the air just wouldn’t come. “St.. Stop it...”
Lady Aeva finally arrived at the top of the stairs, pushing through. “My sculpture--did you stop him? Is it broken?”
The Sky Guard turning Tom’s collar into a noose shot her a glance. “Begone. I heard everything.”
“My sculpture?”
“It’s gone,” someone said. “He jumped.”
“I DIDN’T JUMP!” howled Tom with his last bit of air. “You feckers PUSHED me!”
“...Let him go, please,” said Aeva. “Look, I’m at fault here. Don’t... whatever it is you’re going to do with it. Him.”
“Mars!” shouted the superior soldier, releasing Tom into a crumpled heap. Tom’s handler appeared, seemingly out of thin air.
”Make sure tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum play nice. It’s your final chance to keep Tom under control, Mars, or I’m assigning you somewhere else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mars, his face creased with a mix of emotions.
The boots began clearing out, the threat dealt with. Audible sobs served as the backdrop to all of this, Tom holding himself as his whole body felt woozy from such a close call.
Aeva knelt down next to Tom, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re insufferable, and you owe me for that sculpture,” she said. “You’re still maintaining your innocence ever since your judgment, Rathari? Why?”
“I... hfft. I didn’t... do it...” cried Tom.
Aeva turned to Mars. “And do you believe him?”
“Ehm, Ma’am. It’s not my job to say who’s guilty or not...” mumbled Mars, but the lady rose and put a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“Do. You. Believe. Him?”
Aeva and Mars shared a stare, and Mars eventually cracked. “Yeah... I guess so,” he mumbled, brushing her hand away. “But it doesn’t matter. I could be wrong. He’s an Oddsmaker--he picked up your rock sculpture like it was made of paper.”
The woman turned, hissing. “So he really didn’t kill her, then that means... Frederick. You bastard. Probably. There’s not enough evidence.”
Staring up through bleary eyes, Tom wiped the tears away. His chest hurt, but he had enough sense to know her words were strange. “Whaa? Freddie? Yeah, he’s framin’ me... who’re you, anyway?”
“As I said I was, but I am also Lady Thistle’s sister,” replied Aeva.
Mars leaned in close to her. “You lied to me,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. Rather than sticking to his post, Mars marched off. He’d had enough of Tom’s bullshit, and the bullshit surrounding him. Enough for one day, at least.
Aeva laughed. “Did he just... leave me alone here with a Dead Legionnaire conscript?”
Tom picked himself up off the floor, on heavy feet. Everything pounded and pulsed, and his head ached. “Um, lady... Aeva wus’it? I’m a thief and a con, I’ll even get into scuffs, but I’m not a murderer. I didn’t talk to Mrs. Thistle much, but she made me tea once... she was a nice woman, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Very convincing,” said Aeva, biting her lip. “I’m still not certain, but our talk invites the question. What do you know? What is Frederick up to?”
“Look,” Tom panted, drunk on adrenaline. “I’d love to help you with your... investigation. But I need a tutor if I’m gonna survive until my next court hearing. You help me, an’ I help you? Eh?”
“You’re getting helped twice in this arrangement,” smirked Aeva. “But I did come here saying I’d tutor you, didn’t I?”
Tom nodded. “A deal’s a deal. Prove my innocence, and Frederick’s the next suspect... I dunno if it’ll help me though. I don’t know how lawyery works ‘n stuff, but they kept fabricating all these ideas about me, like I wiped my memory ‘n stuff. Kept saying it’s ‘cause I’m an Oddsmaker. Judge seemed to believe it, and... I look the way I do. Can’t help it.” A long, dreary sigh left his lips, and en eye twitched as another stray tear drooled out of the corner of it. “Hfft. Can’t stop crying.”
Reaching into her coat pocket, Aeva offered him a metal container, which he took. “Oh, uh, thanks.” Tilting it back, a rather royal liquor hit his tongue. It was sweet, and tart, with a taste reminiscent of several colors and herbs. It made him feel like a child with a treat--it was the first time he’d ever had something so top shelf. “Mmh... bring me more of this, and I’ll do anything for you, Aeva,” Tom chuckled.
She snatched it back, and slammed down the rest. “I’m of a similar need, Mr. Trite. I’ll be here once a week for our talks, and your training. Don’t miss it, and you really do owe me for that sculpture,” said Aeva.
Nerves warming with the alcohol flowing through his needy veins, Tom nodded and peeled his eyes. “You bet. I’m goin’ to crawl into a hole somewhere and die.”
“Oh, and I do apologize, Mr. Trite.” Aeva curtsied, then turned to walk down the stairs, fussing with her ridiculous dress.
Tom watched her go, his mind heavy. He'd forgotten all about her insults. I never thought anyone would want to help, but I guess she has her own suspicions.
What a strange, strange woman.
Nothing’s going to come of this though. Fate’s sealed. A cringe spread over Tom’s face, and he turned tail to walk down the battlements towards a quiet-looking tower, where he holed up to think about the events of the day.
But it’d be nice... if she really did believe me...
If someone did.