and in walked death (franky)

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

1 Searing 122 Steel

Rain poured heavily down upon the city of Zaichaer. Gutters overflowed and rain barrels were filled to the brim. Yet people, in their unmitigated tenacity, still seemed insistent on carrying on with their lives despite the weather. The night had not been a pleasant one for Franky. But business still needed tending to. The Hobbled Gobbler was perhaps busier than normal as people sought a place to take cover from the rains that had been pouring down on and off. For days the downpour had been coming and going with no end in sight for any of it.The noise of the kitchen, the din of people talking as they spoke about business over a hot meal, the bustle of his employees all going about their business. It filled the space.

Until it didn’t.

The sudden silence was deafening and immediate. Followed sharply by a crack of thunder that was made more poignant by the abrupt halt of any sound of life beyond the door to Franky’s office.

[Franky]

Franky was deep in his books, planning, calculating, rethinking, recalculating, over and over again. The Gobbler was seeing its best success yet, all corners of it were filled every night, and tonight it was even more so. The bar was full, the theater was loud and occupied, the fight rings were brimming with cheers and boos, and the gambling hall saw more coin changing hands than a busy morning at the Bank. And Franky was struggling to find peace.

His staff were doing amazingly at keeping the place running without burning out. They'd overcome many of the challenges, and were operating like a well oiled machine. And they took their well earned bonuses and enjoyed them. Franky no longer needed to be involved in the day to day every single day. In fact, he barely had to do anything anymore. He could simply enjoy the tavern he'd built and retire happy.

Except he'd decided to give up the retirement.

Franky had been making plans since his meeting with Galetira. Soon, he'd be departing for the Imperium with Dalma. She was downstairs, mingling, while Franky sought some peace and quiet in his office. But the walls were not thick enough and the Gobbler was busy enough that there was no peace for Franky on this day. Or any day from here forth. Franky was no longer going to sit back and die fat of old age. He had work to do, both here in Zaichaer and in the Imperium.

Franky was going to war, in his own way.

Franky reached for a glass of Kalzasi sake on ice, hearing the tinkling of the little frozen orbs. Then he looked curiously at the drink. Something was off. His eyes glanced up at the door, realizing that the entire tavern was now silent. It was a predator in the forest. A crack of thunder rang through the impending silence and Franky threw back the sake, finishing it, setting down the glass. He set the glass down with a thud, and leaned back in his chair, grabbing his smoke box and pulling out two cigarettes and two matches, setting one of each in front of him on his desk. He brought one of the Goblin Weed cigarettes to his lips, lit the match, and brought it to the smoke, sucking it in to get the light evenly. He snuffed the match, flicking it into his waste bin with a practiced ease and leaned back in his chair.

"Please, come in."

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Briefly the sound of the outside carried through the halls of the Hobbled Gobbler as the front door of the tavern opened. The din of rain and the peal of thunder grew louder for but a moment before the thud of the front door closing returned the tavern to that unsettling quiet.

Franky’s invitation had been accepted.

Despite the pelting of the rain outside, it was easy for Franky to hear his own breathing. His own heartbeat seemed a loud drum beating in the quiet. There was no corresponding echo of footsteps to announce the passage of whomever this visitor was. But after a minute…

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The knocking on Franky’s office door was not loud. It was gentle as far as knocks went. A hush fell as the lamps in Franky’s office began to flicker and dim. A trick of the storm? Perhaps. It was as though the soft lights were rapidly fleeing from the place but in their wake, it seemed not even the shadows cared to encroach further. As the lights dimmed a curious phenomenon of the world becoming a rotten tone of black, green and grey began to creep out from beneath the door. On the edges of Franky’s hearing, soft whispers began to gather and if he cared to look, the very corners of the room seemed to grow darker. In those corners the whispers grew louder as though beckoning Franky to look deeper, to step into them, to explore them. But was it wise?

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The knocking at the door returned.

[Franky]

Franky was well past the shock and awe that came with being in a world where gods now paid attention to him. He knew not if this was a god, but he knew that it must be tied into the affairs Franky had gotten himself involved in. He wondered what life might be like if he'd said no to Veronica. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled, he'd probably be dead, in all honesty. Franky preferred being alive.

He heard the storm of the outside as the heavy door of the Gobbler was opened. Franky hadn't heard the thuds that one might normally expect if everyone had been killed, falling to the floor. Maybe they were simply frozen in place, would they see whoever was coming now? Would they even be aware? Were they even down there, or had they been whisked away to elsewhere? It mattered not.

Franky had a meeting and a guest.

No footsteps on the stairs, and Franky was there, listening to his old, scarred lungs. He'd heard smoking was bad for the lungs, but Franky's, scarred and burned by the gases the Imperial airships had dropped on him, actually felt better after he smoked. His breath was returning it seemed. Maybe that was just normal healing, but Franky was sure it was the smokes.

Tapping on the door, his guest had arrived.

Best not to keep them waiting.

Franky stood up from his chair, pausing. The lights were flickering now. They never flickered. Bob made sure of that, he took immaculate care of all aspects of the Gobbler. Franky watched as the shadows seemed to be reaching for him, the colors of the world began to shift and change, and he heard whispers asking him, pleasing with him, begging him, seducing him, taunting him to come into them.

Franky shook his head, pulling away from looking at them. He took a long drag on his cigarette to calm his nerves a bit more. Her reached forward, pulling open the door slowly, standing tall, eyes seeking a face, a soft grin from which his cigarette hung loose from. If he saw anyone there, "Welcome. Please, come in." Franky would step back, pulling the door with him, gesturing into his office.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

The door opened and in front of Franky stood a man who was shorter than him by at least a head. He was pale skinned, thin, and had eyes that were a dark black in color. He wore a black suit and necktie. In one hand he clutched a silver topped cane. As he met Franky’s gaze, there was no answering smile nor warmth. As the two locked eyes, every ache in Franky’s war weary body began to announce its presence in full force. Old scars throbbed. His lungs tightened and burned. His very flesh seemed to burn with the memory of the poisonous gasses that had been dropped upon him during his old campaign. Even the memory of his worst day of life came screaming back to him. And then the man blinked and it all became less present, there but no longer suffocating Franky.

“Thank you.” He stepped into the office, the cane swinging forward. The hand that clutched it bore a single ring in silver, affixed upon which was a bone white gemstone that practically radiated cold power. Warmth in the room was sucked out as soon as he stepped foot inside. His voice was not unpleasant but there was a chill to it that made even the two words that he spoke seem as though they were edged with cold knives.

“So this is the quiet space of the fortuneteller’s trump card.” He planted his cane. The sound of its tip coming down upon the floor echoed throughout the hall.

“You are wondering why I am here.” He ran a hand over the edge of Franky’s desk. His fingers slid over the wood. When he lifted his hand he inspected it for dust. Rubbing his fingers together he grimaced. He flicked his wrist and the shadows in the corner writhed as though wracked with unbearable agony before settling and becoming quiet. They smoothed out and shimmered with a mirrorlike shine that soon cleared to reveal the interior of a terrifying looking cathedral. Lining the columns of the cathedral’s chapel were armored winged warriors, no less than a dozen. Chained and shackled at the heart of a sprawling circle of arcane design…was the silver winged prince who had been taken by the Imperium months ago.

“I understand you are looking for him.”

[Franky]

Franky took in the look of the man, if he were such a thing, before him and passed no judgment. Appearances meant absolutely nothing in a world where gods meddles like children in a pit of sand. It was interesting that the man wore a clean black suit and tie. Distinctly northern sense fashion it seemed, though not as far north as Kalzasi at least. Was he blending into Zaichaer with this? Or did he wear this normally? Was this a man or a god?

Franky dismissed the conjecture forming in his head. None of it mattered. He had clearly become a man of importance since agreeing to Veronica's request, or possibly prior. He locked eyes with the man, with his unending black voids that could be confused for eyes. Then the pain came, starting with the very first scar he'd earned. The slice on his hand when he played with his mom's sword on his Training Day. Every other scar began to feel as though they were stretching, threatening to rip open. His flesh was bubbling again, he could smell his skin burning, it was so acrid, stinging at his eyes. His lungs felt as if they would explode for a thousand years, and yet never did. His eyes were drying, his vision fading, it was just like that day again, they day he'd killed her.

And then the man blink.

Franky was hunched over, his brow sweating, his breath heavy and staggered, as the man thanked him and stepped into his office. Franky knew he was meddling with affairs beyond his scale of power, and yet, this man was coming to him. Just as Galetira had come. Just as Brenner had come. Just as Veronica had come. Apparently what he could do with his life meant more to them than his death would. So even with this charade of pain, pain he'd felt before, Franky was well aware of his own importance in this.

For if there was one thing Franky had always truly known, it was his own capabilities.

And right now, they were endless. This man, this god, this being, whoever he was, came into this negotiation, for what else could it possibly be, strong handed. A mistake. Franky composed himself, taking the time to adjust his collar, pulling the kerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his forehead. He walked back around the office, finding his desk and sitting down in his chair.

He listened to the man guess at what Franky was thinking. Then the man opened some sort of portal or window into a building that couldn't have been more obviously Imperial. The Imperium was so proud of its style, it flaunted it often. It must be Gel'Grandel. Man with silver wings in chains. A large arcane circle on the floor. Franky counted the windows, estimated the height of the ceiling from his vantage point, even looked to see the angle of the shadows within there to see if the sun might be shining in. Franky took in all of it.

A gift.

Franky interlocked his fingers, holding his hands in his laps, still looking the man in the eyes, unafraid of the pain that might come again. He had already experienced it once, for real. He lived with the repercussions every single day. Franky would never be able to run for more than a block again because his lungs were burned beyond repair. He would never be able to see the world in beautiful colors as he once had because his eyes had been burned so heavily. He would never be thought of as a goblin first because the color of his skin was burned away. He would never be called the Scarlet Knife of Risea again, for his hair had all been burned away. He would never be able to truly feel his wife's skin as he once had, for so many of his nerve endings had been burned off. This man could put him through that again, but it would always pale in comparison to the original.

"Would you like a smoke? A drink perhaps?"

Then Franky's eyes narrowed, "Or perhaps a lesson in etiquette? For if you've come to negotiate anything, or to offer anything, you've done poorly."

Franky's hands came above the desk, opening and flipping over, showing the palms, a gesture of openness. "My name is Franky, as I'm sure you know. You know that I'm in league with Galetira. And you know why. I doubt she would've let you know herself, and I know I haven't informed you intentionally. So either you know because my wife, a Seers, is a traitor to me and the Goddess she's loved far longer than she's loved me." Then he glanced over at the shadows in the corners of the room that writhed at every movement of this man, "Or perhaps you've got a few parlor tricks for eavesdropping on a married couple's bedchamber."

Franky's hands turned over once more, interlocking his fingers as he leaned forward on his elbows, "You come in here, without any respect, without any decorum. You've shown that you can make me hurt and probably can kill me. But, like so many others before you, I'm more useful to you alive than dead. Give me your name and what it is you want, or go bother someone else. My days are already numbered, and if you wish to fill them with pain and death, by all means. That's the life I signed up for."

He leaned back into his chair, his hands returning to his lap in their original position, "I don't have all night. You're interrupting a birthday party for a young man who is enjoying himself."

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

The thin man did not even regard Franky as he spoke. His eyes seem transfixed on the environment around him, examining and exploring it in his own way. When Franky finished speaking, there was a pause before the man turned and rest both hands upon the top of his cane. He pinned the Hobgoblin with a stare that was a mix between apathy and boredom.

“You have an inflated sense of your importance.” The barest hint of a smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “However, given the circumstances, I suppose I shall entertain this.”

The wall upon which Talon was reflected shimmered like liquid becoming a mass of gentle ripples that showed only wisps floating through it.

“I will be brief, then.” The man held up his hand and into it appeared a humble goblet that looked to be made of metal that had been scorched by a terrible fire. “You intend to travel to his prison and engineer his freedom. I care not whether you succeed in freeing him or leaving him to his prison. What I want is simple.”

He thumbed the rim of the cup before turning it in his hand.

“Serve him wine and have him drink it from this cup.” The man looked into the cup. He looked at Franky from over the cup. “Do this for me and I will return to you that which has plagued your heart with suffering untold.”

The bone white jewel on his ring shimmered with a pale light for a moment and the wall of shadows behind him shifted. It distorted like the ripples in a pond until it showed the ghostly form of Her.

“And if you must know who I am…” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I am all that Suffers in this world and all others, both its source and the shoulders that carry it.”

He extended the cup to Franky.

“I will offer you this only once.”

[Franky]

The slightest bit of a brow ridge at the insult given by the man, if he was such, that had sought Franky out. He certainly had Franky's attention. A burnt goblet. Then the man spoke, not wishing to stop Franky's plan. This was getting interesting then, for that was not what Franky had expected. The ask had been given, now came the offer. Franky saw the ring shimmer Franky saw the background behind the man shift and morph.

Franky knew that silhouette, those eyes anywhere. This man truly knew about him what no other in this world could. Beatrix, the Lysanrin woman that loved and had been loved by Franky. That was still loved by Franky. The woman, grown from the dirt covered girl in a burlap sack, a refugee from her home that had been sacked by the Imperium. The woman who sparked a revolution in the Imperium, a revolution that Franky ended by shoving a knife into her gut, and holding her close as her life faded out.

In this moment, Franky knew that this man was speaking truth. Of what he wanted, of what he asked, and what he was offering. Franky could be with her again. He felt his pulse quicken. There was no shame or guilt or thought of Dalma. Franky never thought this could be possible, but now, he knew it could be. They could disappear into the wilds together, somewhere away from the affairs of gods and governments. A nice cabin, a small bit of land to farm. Perhaps a couple of children, and they could grow old and happy together, like they had always talked about as kids.

The cup was extended to Franky, waking him from his thoughts. His hand trembling, Franky reached out, grasping the Goblet by its stem. He cast dark, serious eyes on this man, "I accept."

He looked the cup over, it felt otherworldly, unnatural.

"One request, since you've shown me a bit of what you're capable of. Might you turn this into something more convenient for a man such as myself?" His eyes pointed at the ring with the pale white stone on his finger, "As a ring, perhaps?"

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

He shook his head as he gave the cup to Franky.

“The cup’s true nature will defy any enchantment meant to conceal it.” It was not large and weighed practically nothing. It might as well have been made of tin for how expensive it looked. Touching it sent a cold shiver through Franky’s body but nothing more about it seemed to suggest it was an artifact being gifted to him from an otherworldly being.

“But I can perhaps offer you this…” He brought the fingers of his hand up as though to grasp something. Smoke and shadow gathered between his fingers and produced a silver ring upon which was fastened a pristine diamond jewel. He extended it to Franky. “Consider this a downpayment for your services. A gift.”

The ring was cold to the touch and the jewel was even colder. The chill was so sharp it was almost biting but there was power in that ring.

“Press a drop of your blood to the jewel. And then…well…then you will see.” The whispering shadows began to extend within the room. The thin man brought his hands to the top of his cane once more. His form becoming blanketed in shadows.

“A word of caution, let no other drink wine from the cup. Unless of course you are prepared for the consequences.” The barest hint of a smile tugged at the man’s lips before the shadows passed over him completely and he was gone. The candlelight returned to normal. The sound of people and their activities came rushing back, the noise of the busy Hobbled Gobbler returning as though it had never stopped.

[Franky]

Franky was handed the cup and listened. It was surprisingly light, it almost felt... cheap, despite looking otherwise. His body shuddered as a chill raced through him. Always trust the instincts, his mother would say. And his were saying that this was real and powerful. Still, carrying around an expensive cup would be inconvenient if he traveled conventionally. Oh well, nothing to be done there.

The man offered Franky a ring now, a down payment, further cementing this agreement of theirs. A large diamond and a silver band, curious. Cold, far colder than the chill from just a moment before, just on the edge of pain as Franky slipped it on, finding it a perfect fit.

And then the man was gone, traveling through same shadows that had betrayed Franky in order to invite this man. A dangerous cup and an even more dangerous agreement made. All for the chance at seeing her once more. Franky looked up, the room back to its normal lighting, the sounds of the Gobbler returned, a comfort to Franky. He saw himself in the mirror there, he could see guilt and shame on his face, he knew what this could mean. Would mean.

He brought his thumb to his mouth and pressed it to one of sharp, goblin incisors and easily punctured the flesh. As a drop of blood welled up, he pressed it to the jewel, and waited to see just what this man meant, and how valuable his reward might truly be.