[Low City] Bones and Blades (Solo)
Posted: Thu Nov 19, 2020 4:15 pm
57th of Ash, 120 AS
Location: Dust to Dawn
“The world may change but some things...never do.”
The words seemed to play over and over again in Lyra's mind. They had struck her like a physical blow, the pressure in the room from that day having brought Lyra to her knees. She had been exhausted, but even so, nothing in this age should have affected her so. That vision, she knew it. She had been there. The smell of blood and steel caked in mud and the sorrows of men dying. The sounds of clashing metal and magic shook the fabric of the world. Screams, cries of rage and anguish, cures and promises of death upon the enimines line for all time. Lyrielle had reveled in it, a shadow, a fog that stirred the hearts of both sides to fight, to kill one another. Drawn in the passions of life itself, set free the desires of the beast inside. Give in, submit. Take and never forgive. Now though she only felt disturbed, though she was not sure why.
That man with the burning sword, she knew him. And the voice itself... Lyra shivered despite the cloak around her shoulders. She felt that she should know that voice, but she couldn't pull to mind who or why. She felt... cold inside. A fear she had thought was impossible for her to feel again. She had not been back in her lab since that day, and she kept the candles burning through the night. It was foolish and wasteful, but something deep inside of Lyra could not shake the sensation that she was being watched. No, not watched. She was being observed by something or someone that could sit just beyond her awareness.
A movement to her left drew Lyra's eyes, and she frowned at how swiftly she had reacted. There was a tension in the way she walked, how she pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her. Immediately she cursed at herself, forcing her posture to relax, to release her hold on the cloak and adopt an indifferent expression. Lyra was no lost girl, a simpering child that jumped at the slightest bump in the night. She was Lyra. She was once one of the fiercest creatures on the face of Ransera. She had made entire armies crumble beneath her influence, and broken the will of kings and queens. Yet still... She had not returned to the lab, her refuge. Somehow it no longer felt like hers.
The Low City was much as it always was. Clean enough in most parts, but the deeper once traveled in the more the nature of the city seemed to change. Grand structures and colorful cloth gave way to duller and duller shades of browns and reds. The people here were rough, tired, and haggard most often, and a few that Lyra spotted looked around themselves with a listless gaze as if lost. It was like any other city Lyra had come to realize. The richer, more affluent areas tried to pretend that places such as this didn't exist, yet every city had a seedy underbelly.
Her travel took her down several winding roads, past some houses that were falling in on themselves, and more than a few tough-looking groups of men and women that looked at Lyra as if she were rabbit to be spit and roasted. Lyra of course ignored all of this, eyes forward and focused on her path. She had come here once before, and she already knew what to expect. Finally, Lyra stopped in front of what was possibly one of the most run-down shops she had ever seen. A faded sign hung over its crooked doorway, a rising sun just barely visible on its surface.
Adjusting her cloak Lyra pushed open the door, which creaked in protest. There was the sound of something banging through a door in the back, and a harsh voice shouted.
"Get out."
Pausing, Lyra pushed back her hood, looking around the little shop with mild curiosity. It had not really changed since she was last here, though perhaps she shouldn't be surprised.
"Ale'fira." Lyra called back with a smile, "You will never have any customers if you act so."
The banging ceased, replaced by the sound of thumping before the back door was thrown open. Fletcher stuck his old head out, hard eyes looking around as he gripped the doorframe with one grimy looking hand.
"Myshala's tits, what the hell are you doing here." He grunted, shuffling forward with the thump of his cane hitting everything in his path. He paused, turning before quickly slamming the door behind him hard enough to make a few of the jars on the shelves rattled. Lyra raised her eyebrow at him, but Fletcher just grunted, "Can't let them escape."
Lyra's other eyebrow rose to join the other, but she did not say anything. Her last visit had been much the same way. Fletcher was... interesting. One of the most interesting mortals Lyra had met thus far in fact. He was refreshingly eccentric, though that alone was not enough to draw her attention. No, it was because of another reason entirely. When Lyra had spoken with the circle of Spells she had been certain to ask after several things, including other magical shops endorsed by the guild. Dust to Dawn was referred to rather pointedly as 'an absolute mockery of the magical arts, and the reason why the common man still distrusts the healers of Kalzasi'.
Fletcher was a necromancer and an exceptional one at that. Though the Circle of Spells refused to acknowledge his skills, the other Great Houses seemed to seek his skills often enough that it mattered very little. Though, Lyra suspected, that was not common knowledge. How did she know this? Fletcher had told her himself.
"You killed anyone with those tools I made you yet?" Whenever he talked he sounded like he was just a breath away from coughing up something vile. As if to confirm this he leaned forward, spitting into a brash bucket near the counter.
Lyra eyed the bucket with distaste, inching to the side slightly before answering, "The tools you prepared are exceptional Ale'fira--"
"Stop calling me that." The sound of the cane seemed to emphasize the man's dislike of the title, "I'm no wise man or pompous 'sage'. Save that shit for the nobles with the rod's stuck up their ass."
"Very well." Lyra said with a smile. She knew the man did not like titles, thus she made it her goal to use one every time they met. She suspected he was coming to realize that as well. "The tools were masterful. Though as I said before, I do not use the arts in such ways."
The old man barked a laugh, thumping his cane on the floor, "Now that's a good one. Keep saying it, and maybe someone will believe you." He stroked his beard with one dirty hand, now eyeing Lyra, "So what do you want? Is that corpse of yours finally starting to fail?"
She felt her eye twitch involuntarily, but Lyra kept her smile in place, "I need something... A bit different than our last request. Some raw materials that I cannot easily gain myself."
"How fresh?"
"Fresh?" The question was asked, but Lyra already knew what he meant.
"The body." he cracked a gap-toothed smile, still stroking his beard, "Depending on what you need the cost goes up. A few days or weeks is the standard price. You want it fresh that day well..." he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, "It'll cost you."
Lyra opened her mouth but closed it slowly. She really wanted to ask what was 'standard price', but restrained herself. Now was not the time to display her ignorance. She also noted with interest that despite both understanding the meaning, Fletcher was being very circumspect as to the request itself. Perhaps he was a bit more experienced than she even realized.
"I just need the bones." Lyra said finally, "Cleaned of course."
"Want the whole thing or some pieces?"
"Parts are fine, though I would prefer the skull and spine, as well as the fingers and ribs."
Fletcher seemed to think for a time, eyes flicking through mental calculations, "I can get you something today if you don't care who or what they came from."
Now Lyra hesitated, unsure of how to ask the thought that came to her mind. The old man, seeming to catch on leaned forward slightly, "Or do you have something in mind?"
"In... part." She began slowly, piecing her words together carefully, "I have some... experiments I must attempt. Bones of a warrior are desired, and parts from a mage that used this... negation magic."
Fletcher grunted, "Mages are hard to come by, even in Kalzasi..." He thought for a moment and then shrugged, "Yeah, I can get you what you want. It will take a while, but that's the way of it."
He seemed to look at Lyra's hands then, studying them for something before asking, "You a crafter?"
Blinking Lyra shook her head slowly, "Not... in the traditional sense. I can do small things, but I have no skill in artistry beyond sketching."
"Figured." He turned and started back toward the back door. Over his shoulder, he said, "I'll shape a few of the parts into something you can use."
Surprised Lyra asked, "Why would you do that?"
The man halted suddenly, turning to look at her with a frown, "Your paying for it. That's why."
Lyra relaxed slightly, sighing and shaking her head. As Fletcher started to walk away again Lyra asked him, "What will it all cost?"
"200 gold." he swung the door open, stomping into the doorway and was about to slam it shut when Lyra nearly shouted.
"200? Why so much?" Her voice was incredulous. It was robbery. She could purchase nearly 15 shambler corpses for that price, and two average grade dragonshards.
"30 for the price of the normal items." Fletcher said with a shit-eating grin, "100 for the mage. 20 for the crafting and the rest is for the... Services rendered." He waved his cane as Lyra started to object, "Expect a package on your door in a few days. I suggest checking after midnight every day until then. Last client that missed a delivery ended up in the Dead Legion."
Before she could say anything else the door slammed, leaving Lyra standing there, a look of incredulity on her face. After what felt like hours she composed herself, replacing her hood with a curse under her breath.
Fletcher... He was a true master of his craft. He was also one of the most unpleasant people Lyra had ever met.