30th of Frost, 120 AS
It started with a knock at the door. The sound made Lyra look up from her work, glancing at the candle on her desk to confirm the hour. It was late, well past when most of the living were asleep in their bed. For a moment Lyra was confused, but then she frowned in realization. Only one person would be here at this hour.
"Oh honey, I'm home!" The sound of Fletcher's voice was like nails on a chalkboard and Lyra tried not to grimace as the man's crust face peaked around the corner. The shop keeper was just as grimy as ever. Bits of dirt and other refuse fell from his hair as he shook his head, leaving a layer of dirt on her clean floors as he walked fully into the shop. Lyra looked down at the muddy footprints with distaste.
"As always, it is a pleasure." Lyra said standing. Around her shoulders, Artur flicked his tongue at the old man, who stared back at the puppet matching unblinking stare for unblinking stare.
"Nice corpse." Fletcher said, shuffling closer with a clack of his cane on the wood of the shop floors, "Had one just like it once, till someone found it in their cooking pot and chopped it's head off."
This made her frown, "Why was it in a cooking pot?"
"For the rust at the bottom of course." This was said gruffly, almost in annoyance as if it were the most obvious thing. Fletcher slammed a metal cage on the top of Lyra's desk, crumbling up papers and spilling in as he did, "Here's the rats you wanted. Feisty buggers. That one nearly took my finger off when I tried to pet it."
He was pointing to one particularly large rat, who hissed at the old man as he pointed. Fletcher hissed back, bearing crooked and yellowed teeth.
"Of course..." Lyra's frown deepened at the spilled ink, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she looked up at Fletcher curiously, "You usually have someone else deliver my requests for me. Why did you come yourself?"
Fletcher glanced up sharply, "Are you saying you aren't happy to see me?"
When Lyra didn't reply the old man chuckled and patted the top of the cage, "The guy I usually use just had a babe, so I took the delivery tonight. I also came to drop off your other request."
Lyra's eyes widened slightly and she folded her hands behind her back, "You mean you found someone so quickly?"
"More like she found me. Hey, get in here." The last words were half-shouted over one shoulder. Lyra looked back toward the entrance hall with surprise. She had not seen anyone else come in with the old man. From the darkness, a figure simply materialized, draped in a dark cloak with the hood pulled down.
"She's a bit rough 'round the edges, but she does good work. I've used her for several jobs since early Ash." Fletcher said, patting the hooded figure on the shoulder.
"She is one of yours?" Lyra asked with surprise.
"I'm not anyone's." The voice from the hood was feminine but was hoarse and ragged like she was sick with a cough.
For a moment Lyra simply studied the cloaked woman, uncertainty plain on her features. Near the end of Ash Lyra had requested that Fletcher find her a new... Body. A living woman. She had told him nothing other than that, though she insinuated that she desired this request for similar reasons to the last. A test subject, materials, etc. In truth, she needed a strong body to become her new vessel, and she had to be living so that Lyra could trap her soul within a soul gem to keep the body from rotting, turning it into a living doll much like Artur. Lyra had expected Fletcher to bring her someone on the brink of death, barely holding on, so the fact he brought her someone seemingly able-bodied, and one of his own 'children' no less, made her suspicious.
"She's dying." Fletcher said, scratching his beared absently, "That's what you are wondering right?"
Before she could say anything Fletcher reached out and ripped the woman's hood back. Beneath Lyra could see a woman with obvious elven heritage. Slim, with dark hair and skin. Beautiful by traditional standards. One look though told Lyra that what Fletcher said was true. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks gaunt and there was a deathly pallor to her skin.
The woman jerked herself free from Fletcher's grip, growling deep in her throat as she took several steps back. So she was dying, but not quite dead yet.
"Whats she dying from?"
"Poison." The woman spat, now glaring at Lyra, "The fucker caught me off guard while I was doing work for this asshole." the glare shifted to Fletcher, who was now scratching his neck.
"I told you not to trust him. Damn ork's can never be trusted." He picked something off his skin, stared at it for a second before flicking it off his finger onto the floor, earning a separate glare from Lyra, "It's a slow-acting poison, magical in nature so that Hytori heritage of her's is making it even slower."
"Fletcher said you could save me." The woman said, staring Lyra down now.
Lyra looked between the woman and Fletcher, her face a mask as she considered. Artur shifted on her shoulders, drawing the woman's attention, though she said nothing. This wasn't what Lyra had expected...
"She meets your specifications." Fletcher said before Lyra could say anything. He waved a hand at the woman, "Naila here has a strong body, resilient, and she's got the talent to boot. Oh, and she's dying. You were very specific about that requirement."
Lyra shook her head, "I don't know what you thought I was asking for, but I was looking for someone who was dying and was prepared to die. What good is she to me?"
"Well then... You know, you could use that THING you've been working on." Fletcher wagged an eyebrow at a stunned Lyra, "She would be perfect for you."
"Fuck this, can you save me or not." The woman said, interrupting Fletcher and stepping closer to Lyra, "I can't die yet. Ive still got something I have to do."
Lyra's frown turned thoughtful. She glanced at Fletcher before Looking the woman up and down. The old man's words, shocking as they were, had woken something inside of her. The seed of an idea.
"I can't save you. I am not a healer." Lyra said but held up a hand staying the woman's rebuttal, "But I can stop you from dying..."
"What does that mean? Isn't that the same thing?"
"Living is such a loose term." Fletcher said mysteriously, the effect somewhat lost as he picked his nose, "But if you aren't dead, you could still do what you want right?"
The woman hesitated, looking between Lyra and Fletcher. With amusement, Lyra realized that the woman was beginning to understand the implication of what was being offered to her. Opening herself up to the melodies Lyra gave her symphony a gentle nudge, calming the chaotic mess of emotions she was feeling.
"As I said, I cannot save you. I can, however, ensure you do not die and remove the malady that plagues you. There will be a price, however." Lyra smiled a small smile, and something in her expression made her symphony quiver. As quick as it came, however, it was crushed beneath an iron will.
"If it will let me complete my mission, I will do whatever it takes."
"Then we have an accord, little one."
It started with a knock at the door. The sound made Lyra look up from her work, glancing at the candle on her desk to confirm the hour. It was late, well past when most of the living were asleep in their bed. For a moment Lyra was confused, but then she frowned in realization. Only one person would be here at this hour.
"Oh honey, I'm home!" The sound of Fletcher's voice was like nails on a chalkboard and Lyra tried not to grimace as the man's crust face peaked around the corner. The shop keeper was just as grimy as ever. Bits of dirt and other refuse fell from his hair as he shook his head, leaving a layer of dirt on her clean floors as he walked fully into the shop. Lyra looked down at the muddy footprints with distaste.
"As always, it is a pleasure." Lyra said standing. Around her shoulders, Artur flicked his tongue at the old man, who stared back at the puppet matching unblinking stare for unblinking stare.
"Nice corpse." Fletcher said, shuffling closer with a clack of his cane on the wood of the shop floors, "Had one just like it once, till someone found it in their cooking pot and chopped it's head off."
This made her frown, "Why was it in a cooking pot?"
"For the rust at the bottom of course." This was said gruffly, almost in annoyance as if it were the most obvious thing. Fletcher slammed a metal cage on the top of Lyra's desk, crumbling up papers and spilling in as he did, "Here's the rats you wanted. Feisty buggers. That one nearly took my finger off when I tried to pet it."
He was pointing to one particularly large rat, who hissed at the old man as he pointed. Fletcher hissed back, bearing crooked and yellowed teeth.
"Of course..." Lyra's frown deepened at the spilled ink, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she looked up at Fletcher curiously, "You usually have someone else deliver my requests for me. Why did you come yourself?"
Fletcher glanced up sharply, "Are you saying you aren't happy to see me?"
When Lyra didn't reply the old man chuckled and patted the top of the cage, "The guy I usually use just had a babe, so I took the delivery tonight. I also came to drop off your other request."
Lyra's eyes widened slightly and she folded her hands behind her back, "You mean you found someone so quickly?"
"More like she found me. Hey, get in here." The last words were half-shouted over one shoulder. Lyra looked back toward the entrance hall with surprise. She had not seen anyone else come in with the old man. From the darkness, a figure simply materialized, draped in a dark cloak with the hood pulled down.
"She's a bit rough 'round the edges, but she does good work. I've used her for several jobs since early Ash." Fletcher said, patting the hooded figure on the shoulder.
"She is one of yours?" Lyra asked with surprise.
"I'm not anyone's." The voice from the hood was feminine but was hoarse and ragged like she was sick with a cough.
For a moment Lyra simply studied the cloaked woman, uncertainty plain on her features. Near the end of Ash Lyra had requested that Fletcher find her a new... Body. A living woman. She had told him nothing other than that, though she insinuated that she desired this request for similar reasons to the last. A test subject, materials, etc. In truth, she needed a strong body to become her new vessel, and she had to be living so that Lyra could trap her soul within a soul gem to keep the body from rotting, turning it into a living doll much like Artur. Lyra had expected Fletcher to bring her someone on the brink of death, barely holding on, so the fact he brought her someone seemingly able-bodied, and one of his own 'children' no less, made her suspicious.
"She's dying." Fletcher said, scratching his beared absently, "That's what you are wondering right?"
Before she could say anything Fletcher reached out and ripped the woman's hood back. Beneath Lyra could see a woman with obvious elven heritage. Slim, with dark hair and skin. Beautiful by traditional standards. One look though told Lyra that what Fletcher said was true. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks gaunt and there was a deathly pallor to her skin.
The woman jerked herself free from Fletcher's grip, growling deep in her throat as she took several steps back. So she was dying, but not quite dead yet.
"Whats she dying from?"
"Poison." The woman spat, now glaring at Lyra, "The fucker caught me off guard while I was doing work for this asshole." the glare shifted to Fletcher, who was now scratching his neck.
"I told you not to trust him. Damn ork's can never be trusted." He picked something off his skin, stared at it for a second before flicking it off his finger onto the floor, earning a separate glare from Lyra, "It's a slow-acting poison, magical in nature so that Hytori heritage of her's is making it even slower."
"Fletcher said you could save me." The woman said, staring Lyra down now.
Lyra looked between the woman and Fletcher, her face a mask as she considered. Artur shifted on her shoulders, drawing the woman's attention, though she said nothing. This wasn't what Lyra had expected...
"She meets your specifications." Fletcher said before Lyra could say anything. He waved a hand at the woman, "Naila here has a strong body, resilient, and she's got the talent to boot. Oh, and she's dying. You were very specific about that requirement."
Lyra shook her head, "I don't know what you thought I was asking for, but I was looking for someone who was dying and was prepared to die. What good is she to me?"
"Well then... You know, you could use that THING you've been working on." Fletcher wagged an eyebrow at a stunned Lyra, "She would be perfect for you."
"Fuck this, can you save me or not." The woman said, interrupting Fletcher and stepping closer to Lyra, "I can't die yet. Ive still got something I have to do."
Lyra's frown turned thoughtful. She glanced at Fletcher before Looking the woman up and down. The old man's words, shocking as they were, had woken something inside of her. The seed of an idea.
"I can't save you. I am not a healer." Lyra said but held up a hand staying the woman's rebuttal, "But I can stop you from dying..."
"What does that mean? Isn't that the same thing?"
"Living is such a loose term." Fletcher said mysteriously, the effect somewhat lost as he picked his nose, "But if you aren't dead, you could still do what you want right?"
The woman hesitated, looking between Lyra and Fletcher. With amusement, Lyra realized that the woman was beginning to understand the implication of what was being offered to her. Opening herself up to the melodies Lyra gave her symphony a gentle nudge, calming the chaotic mess of emotions she was feeling.
"As I said, I cannot save you. I can, however, ensure you do not die and remove the malady that plagues you. There will be a price, however." Lyra smiled a small smile, and something in her expression made her symphony quiver. As quick as it came, however, it was crushed beneath an iron will.
"If it will let me complete my mission, I will do whatever it takes."
"Then we have an accord, little one."
