“You know your place.” This calm and reassuring comment helped. Akhzane and Rufus did know their place. There was no lie or mall intent in Darions softly spoken words. They are the dogs of the magistrates and content with this, as long as it means food on their plates and money in their purses. And so they listened. Heads slightly tilted, leaning onto the timbre of Darions voice.
A guard turned around and opened the door. To the compagnies disgust a spiderlegged creature with wild hair and a bewildered gaze enters the room, followed by a pearshaped companion which has three short fishing spears attached to his body with leather scraps. In the guard’s opinion the shadows of the forest was better lighting for the Bakroes. Their presence felt like a layer of frost, cold and suffocating. Akhzanes hand immediately reached for her sword but Darion’s gaze was enough to freeze her hand mid gesture. Down, he seems to say. And Akhzane leant back.
“Ba Sombre, welcome.” Darion continued, adressing the spiderlegged creature. They expect a catlike howl, but to everyones surprise Ba’s voice is low and almost human like. “Thank you, Darion of Alder.” The face of the Bakroe split open in an awful grin that was everything but reassuring.
“Sit down, sit down. Get this man an ale.”
The courteous behavior Darion was trying to display worked for now. He calmly moved to the head of the table and, without raising his voice, started bartering. “Everybody got his drink?” Everyone heaved their beer glasses off of the table in silence.
“Good, now let us be honest: We need each other.”
Ba Sombre is leaning back in his chair, mirroring Akhzanes nonchalant pose, confident he has the right cards. But when Darion slams something on the table with a force that makes the glasses ring, his yellow eyes widen. From beneath Darion’s fingers shimmers the outlines of a big gleaming Hematite. He moves his hand back, revealing the metallic stone. Its sheen enhanced by the light of the candles. Even Akhzane moves forward a bit, following the rustcolored veins that show where the iron in the stone has oxidized. It’s a mesmerizing mineral, even to the untrained eye its beauty is unmistakeable. And to the trained eye of a Bakroe it’s a very hard sight to resist. Ba Sombre realizes he wants it, and then he realizes he wants more of it. He leans back again nonchalantly and stares Darion straight in the eyes. Ignoring the gleaming fist sized stone in front of him. “As far as I’m concerned you still need me Darion.” Prepared for this battle of wills the commander nods ever so slightly. The shifting of his dark eyes is enough for two other men to come forward with a bag filled with polished quartz.
Ba Sombre picks one up and holds it close to a flame. “Good enough quality I guess.” And so they keep dancing around each other for a while. Darion offering up more stones to the Bakroes and the Bakroes inspecting them, trying hard not to show their greedy nature. After a while Darion moves his hand in a pouring movement. Signaling Someone get me a new drink, now. Akhzane, seeing an opportunity to get out, stands up and leaves the room in order to get the captain and herself a new drink. As she steps out of the space where the backroes are her shoulders feel lighter and her heart starts beating faster again. As if it moved from a state of slumber to suddenly waking up. She lets out a sigh of relief and brushes a hand through her curly hair. “I’m not going back in there any time soon.” She mumbles. “Let’s see if I can find myself something to drink first.”
With a fresh cup of mead in hand Akhzane walks around the main hall of the inn. She sends one of the maids up to serve Darion with a wink and a pinch. This place was too frivolous for her tastes. She picks up a small copper ornament in the shape of a pomegranate and frowns. Why in heavens name would you need a bronze pomegranate?
To make matters worse small polished stones line its crown with the rest of the fruit coated in ruby red enamel. Hidious. She put the pomegranate back with its relatives and follows the wall to the back of the big room. It’s quieter here, only servants take this route from the kitchen to the dining room and the upstairs. She gently kicks open the discreet backdoor, a perfect place for a quick smoke.
Akhzane picks up her long wooden pipe. It was her most prized possession and is attached to her belt together with a little leather satchel. With the tip of her finger she scrapes out the leftover herbs from last time and softly knocks the pipe on the doorpost. As much a small ritual as a way to get the last burnt ashes out. She opens the satchel containing her favorite herbs. A strong blend that keeps her grounded and calm during more stressful missions. Stuffing the herbs into the pipe she thought about the bakroes and wondered what they had which Darion wanted. She put in a little extra tobacco because gemtrading with Bakroes was definitely considered stressful. She still felt their ominous presence looming from the rooms above her. She lights her tobacco and takes a deep puff. The fragrant smoke fills her lungs as she enjoys the sensation of it moving through her body. Then, as she just began to relax, a piercing screech echoes from the stables and a figure comes running out. The figure runs away from the stables at full speed, onto the road and into the bushes towards the village.
Akhzane frowns, looks at her herbs then back to the road. She puts out the pipe, curses and starts running after the figure. As she passes the stables she can hear a commotion coming from within. Those herbs relaxed her muscles, but she can still run at an impressive pace. The figure in front of her seems to know the outline of the village. It runs through the vegetation near the road, clearly careful to stay out of the torchlight. Nimble as a deer it jumps from stones to old logs, gracefully dodging large obstacles. Akhzane follows at a steady pace, closing the distance between them. Just when she thinks she has it cornered the figure dashes across the road and disappears between a group of houses. Akhzane turns the corner and slows her pace, methodically scanning the shadows. Her trained eye takes in every detail, hunting for the mysterious silhouette. Suddenly, in the distance, the figure jumps the fence to house near the forest’s edge. Moments later a faint light starts to glow in one of the windows. Akhzane rests her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Tobacco and herbs cut back the capacity of her lungs. “Fuck.” She pants and spits a piece of tobacco onto the sand. Through her bloodrushed ears the commotion of the stables can still to be heard. No doubt the high pitched noises are from the furious bakroes.
“Hello?” Akhzane pushed open the side door to the house. The faint smell of charcoal and wax greet her. A big wooden table sits at the centre of the room, on it lies a backpack which a young woman is frantically packing. She had lit one candle and is stuffing the bag with a diverse collection of supplies. Startled by the sound of Akhzane’s armor she looks up and straight through the guard. “Whát?” She growled. Even though Akhzane was a guard of the law and this woman a commoner, her back was straight and her eyes confident. This is my house. She said without words. Akhzane opened the palm of her hand, pushed two fingers into her palm and let the other three rise in a gesture that came from a faint memory. I mean well. Was its symbolical meaning, and all the people that honored the old Gods knew it.
“Zaire.”
“Akzhane.”
The woman said, and her eyes softened a bit. She continued packing while Akhzane thought of the choice she had to make. “Is that the thing the Bakroes stole?” She asked, vaguely gesturing towards the bag. The clasps where tightened and Zaire quickly put the bag on her back. Zaire shot another piercing stare.
“Yes, it’s a precious relic of the old Godess. And I will return it to her for the sake of my community.”
She took a deep breath and walked around the table. “I know you are a guard. And a pawn of the magistrate.” This time those words sounded so hostile. A pawn, a dog. Akhzane restrained herself from punching the woman in the face. “So what will you do? Bring me back to your master and his demons or will you let me do what I must, for our people. For us.” Zaire tried to appeal to Akhzane’s sense of community. The guard laughed mockingly.
“Us? Do you think I would wear this armor if I believed in ús?”
“I believe you would have arrested me immediately if you weren’t questioning your assignment.” Akzhane hesitated. Did she question it? This time she did, yes. Her loyalty had been tested by every one of Alder’s assignments. And now it had all been spent.
A tense silence hung in the room. Outside, in the distance, the bakroes chant and cry. Akhzane was filled with the urge to follow her heart rather than the law. With a resolute stare she ripped the metal insignia off of her cloak, which was all the confirmation Zaire needed. “Follow me.”
-
Zaire’s last minutes in her hometown are punctuated by the panicked beating of her own heart. Blowing out the candle and closing the windows. Her eyes scanning every part of the house of her father, trying to find anything that might cause troubles in her absence. Her fingers trying to find a steady grip on the key to the side door while her blood is rushing through her body.
When the guard and the blacksmith’s daughter disappeared into the shadows of the forest, the Bakroes howl into the night. And although they lost the key to new riches they are confident that they would get back what had been stolen from them. Panicked cries turned into chants and an eerie song echoes through the streets of Firr. Dore Dore’s days are over, Dore Dore’s days are done. When you screw us bakroes over, wait and see, your time is gone. Their rythmic words creep through the streets and into the houses. Filling everything with dread. And from the Inn’s shadows a darkness grew. Swelling, swelling untill it poured over and silently dissapeared into the woods.