Words from a Devil
Unforgiving, the darkness swirls through every fiber of her being. It’s painful, yet pleasant. A tingle from the bed of her nails to the tip of her tail.
“Bloody fuck.”
It doesn’t have to be this way a familiar voice whispers. You’re a survivor, aren’t you? You’ve lived through so much.
“Piss off.”
Oh, come now, you’ve always been such a dependable child of mine.
“Is this the hells? It’s fucked if it is.”
You want to see the hells? I can show you.
“I’d rather not if you don’t mind. UNLESS I am already there, then let me the fuck out.”
Samael begins to weave his tale, his voice flows through her mind like a stake boring through her.
Many years ago in the snowy city of Cochon, there was once a noble family who served as the hand of the Lorian Empire. A consul, as they are known, if you will. Cochon was one of the most southern cities within the Northern Provinces, and its annexation by the Lorian Empire was seen as an act of war. Despite being turned over to the Lorian Empire, the citizens of Cochon respected the noble family. They were compassionate and kind, they listened to their woes and heeded the call of the populace.
Due to their compassionate nature, the family grew to be loved, and a manor was erected for the new governing figure of the city. A large manor was built with the Lorian Empire’s coin, something to suit the newly appointed Lord’s fancy. The manor was garish in design, a massive structure that stood atop the cliff face overlooking the Lorian Sea. Two wings flanked the central courtyard, which was often settled with a thin veil of snow. Yet, despite the time and effort spent on creating such a beautiful and showy structure, it always had an appearance of wanting. Wanting more. It seemed that no matter how many hours the laborers spent on the structure, it would never be truly completed.
“What is this?”
It was not until several years into the lord’s governorship that the tidings truly turned. After the birth of his first son, Sigmund. The lord was ecstatic, after years of failed attempts, he had the son he always wanted. The days grew ever more light and cheery, the people of Cochon were happy to see the lord walk through the town with his son, but things were soon to change. All too well are the tales known of those who make deals with devils.
The lord, a proud and lesser noble of Loria could never truly make a name for himself, and out of desperation, he prayed for guidance from the heavens. Yet, his guidance came from a more nefarious source.
“Samael. Get out of my head.”
Samael, be he a monster or a devil, appeared at the lord’s side in his time of need. He pleaded with the devil, begged for his support.
‘Help me,’ the lord said with a sincere look in his eyes.
The shadow reached out and stroked the lord’s dark locks from his face. ‘All you need to do is promise me one thing.’
‘Anything,’ the lord replied with a hunger in his heart, his thirst for power clouding his judgment.
‘It’s nothing special, something you won’t even know it’s gone,’ the shadow says with a certain cruel hunger. ‘Your soul.’
“Truly, how cliché,” Ennui scoffs.
The lord only spent a moment contemplating the shadow’s words before he extended his hand. ‘You’ve a deal, creature!’ He replied, in the comforts of his family’s manor.’
The shadow smiled but said not a word before disappearing with the flicker of a candle. For years the lord questioned the efficacy of the devil’s words, but as one wants, one receives. The lord was summoned to the Imperial Palace in Loria where he was given the title of lord of Cochon. Despite it being a new and unheard of title, the lord graciously accepted his place in the frigid coastal city.
“Stop it, Samael. Enough of the bullshit.”
After the birth of his first and most beautif—
“Most beautiful, really?”
After the birth of his first and most beautiful child, the lord was gifted another. A monstrous being born of the lord’s grave sins. Tiny black nibs attached to the top of her pale and bald head, eyes of crimson which pierced the soul. At her birth, not even her mother could bear to look at her, and her father ordered her to be removed from the chamber. The servants were ordered to keep the girl a secret, hidden away until the lord could think of what should be done with such a beast of a child. But what COULD be done with such a beast?
“Nothing.”
That’s right, nothing could be done and so the lord ordered his most trusted servant to take the child, to dispose of her beneath the cliff and into the freezing waters below. When faced with such an important task, the servant agreed, but before he took the final step to the water’s edge, he faltered. He unbundled the babe’s blanket and looked into her burning red eyes. He felt moved. The task proved to be too great and unable to take the child’s life, he took her to the city, where he left her to her fate in a snowy alley.
Fate or perhaps something else took sympathy on the child and sent a young canis down the alley. The canis, surprised by the discovery, thought to care for the child but soon discovered his faults as a father. And so he brought the child under the cover of darkness to an orphanage. The orphanage was run by a cleric of the Faith, a woman who raised dozens of other abandoned youths. Despite her kindly reputation among the people of Cochon, she had an aggressive temper.
“I know how the story goes.”
The child was raised for years by the cleric, the ill-tempered woman would often take her rage out on the girl, and the abuse would continue into the early years of her youth.
The other children regularly feared her, her devilish features a source of fear for the others. No one, not even the beastkin wished to play with the little nameless devilkin girl, that is until she met her first real friend — Samael. He appeared to the girl as a shadow, and though she hardly understood him, she knew he had only the best intentions for her.
Erelong, the girl came to think of the shadow as her closest friend and staunchest ally. When times were tough, when the cleric mocked her, when the other kids jeered at her, Samael was there for her. The shadow had a way of making the girl smile, despite the complexities of her situation. On the day of her birth, the shadow even gifted her something special, a lamb. A most precious thing, fleece as white as snow, its pointed ears shook at the sight of the girl, and all too soon they were inseparable.
“You don’t get to do this, not again.”
The girl and her lamb wandered the snowy city streets, seeking purpose as she carried him about the landscape. And on one particular dark evening, after traveling through the forest outside Cochon, the girl made her way towards the towering manor sitting over the cliff. Samael appeared to her, a shadow before the gates, he told the girl of her past, of her tragic heritage.
The girl was in disbelief, but through the gates, she could see the lord and lady of the manor in the snowy landscape with a young boy not much older than herself. The thought of being abandoned, and the life and hardships she bore, it was too much for the little girl to bear. And so she looked at the shadow and said.
“How can I be happy?”
Samael knew all too well how to make the girl happy: vengeance. ‘All you need to do is give me something innocent, and I can make everything right as rain, my sweet child’.
‘Really?!’ She asked with a sense of excitement. ‘I can really be happy too?’ She adds in a high-pitched squeal.
“Stupid girl.”
‘Of course,’ Samael replied, the shadow’s great maw extending in a great smile before the gates.
“You’re painting yourself the villain.”
I am a devil, after all.
“Whatever, can we skip ahead?”
It doesn’t work quite like that, does it? You can’t just skip the most vital parts, otherwise there is no impact, no OOMPH. Besides, we’re just getting to the best part.
“For you, maybe.”
Samael laughs a shrill chuckle. And so the devil urged the girl again, to offer him something innocent. Not understanding his meaning, the girl returned to town and inquired at the orphanage, asking for something innocent. The cleric, a shrewd woman, recognized the signs. Some infernal children, those bearing the sins of their forefathers, are wont to reach out to their fiendish kin. And so she took the girl by her pointed pale ears and tossed her into the basement.
Alone, the girl wept, she didn’t understand what she did wrong, she only knew she needed to find something innocent. And so she asked the shadow for guidance. Asked him for support, and the shadow listened, for the shadow was the only one who ever truly cared about her.
“Liar.”
The shadow appeared to her in the basement and offered her his support again. He told her that all she needed to do was embrace her true nature, the devilish heritage coursing through her veins. She seemed not to understand at first, but then Samael explained; she understood.
So it was there in the darkness of the basement that she held that little lamb close to her body, squeezing him while he bleated for help, his cries echoing against the oppressive walls surrounding her. The girl cried, tears pouring down her cheeks as the lamb stopped moving. He was such a small creature, cute as a button. But that was quick to change; the girl slid a rusted knife against the skin, blood pooling on the ground before her.
Under the direction of the devil, the girl followed his every command. Line for line, mark for mark. Until the sigil was complete, the blood of her precious lamb stained upon her hands. The girl closed her eyes. With the sigil finished, she uttered the words Samael taught her.
“I am of the blood, and of the blood, I will always be. Samael, my guardian, I summon thee.”
And hence he came, the devil Samael appeared before her. Dust scattered about the room when he climbed his way through that arcane sigil, an ichor of pure red pouring and overflowing from the dark scar she left upon the world. The devil stood before her, his body slouched against the ceiling, his massive hooved feet clattered against the hard stone floor while he edged towards her. Yet, the girl stood still with a blank face. She held that little, bloody lamb in her arms so tight, one would think it would burst.
‘Can I be happy now?’ She asked, her lips tugging into a smile.
There was no sign of fear on her face, only a faint sadness while she held the lamb. ‘Of course, you can be happy,’ Samael replied. ‘But first, let’s see your family.’
After the devil, a handful of hounds followed behind from the sacred bloody sigil, creatures torn from their home to serve the devil’s will. They made quick work of the orphanage, the screams of the matron and her children were heard throughout the town of Cochon, but upon their arrival, there was nothing left but fire and smoke. The hellhounds worked quickly to spread the blaze; the townsfolk themselves fought against the spreading inferno.
The girl followed behind the devil, her pale bare feet padding through the snow to the manor. In her arms, she still clung to the body of the lamb, her blank face staring ahead at the devil.
‘They’re going to die, aren’t they?’ The girl asked suddenly, standing in the snow.
‘All men must die,’ the devil replied before he turned back and knelt before her. ‘All men are liars… and therefore all men must die.’
The girl was silent but nodded to the devil. After a trek through the freezing snow and icy rain, the manor appeared before them. The structure was nothing more than a symbol of the lord’s failed promise, and so the devil swore to take it back. How poetic is it that his own beautifully monstrous child would be the one to write his fate?
So poetic, Samael.
The iron gates snapped open like twigs, and the rows of hedges along the landscape erupted into flames. The soldiers sworn to the Consul of Cochon rushed outside to greet them; they were quickly brought to heel by the hounds under the devil’s command. All the while, the little girl watched what should have been her home erupt into flames. Her parents’ flesh rent from bone and a grisly display was erected before her very eyes. Bodies of servants, soldiers, the lord, and lady stacked high in a pile before the wooden doors.
Weeping before the gory mass, the young Sigmund. The boy wept while the young devilkin girl stared at him, distaste clear on her face. How could their parents love this… impossible child more than her? They chose him, a sniveling baby? The thought must have haunted her because when the devil kneeled beside her and laid the blade at her feet, she dropped her lamb and picked up that unbearably heavy saber in her hands.
‘Finish it,’ Samael whispered in her ear. ‘Cleanse the line.’
“Stupid girl.”
The girl lifted that saber in her hands, her arms struggling to bear the weight of the steel. The hounds surrounded them and then with a halfhearted swing, the blade fell upon Sigmund. But… the cut wasn’t clean, and the boy called out for help. The blade fell over him, again and again. Blood splattered across her fur coat and adorable face. The body turned to nothing more than a pile of mess and gore. How harmonious the sound of the blade, the silver saber severing sinew. The girl screamed finally, a scream that echoed across the city of Cochon… then all went quiet.
‘Will I be happy now?’ She asked the devil, a hopefulness in her eyes.
The devil knelt beside her and took the silvered blade, and with a smile on his lips, he said. ‘Little girl, happiness is just a dream, a folly, from now on you shall only know ennui.’
“Samael… did I die?”
You’ve long and fruitful years ahead of you, but just remember who made you, my sweet little Ennui.
“As if I could forget.”
THEN WAKE UP!
Awakening
Ennui’s eyes burst open, the light piercing through the back of her eyelids. The filthy window beside her is covered in a thin layer of salt spray. I’m still on the coast, she thinks to herself and glances about the room. The room is small and dark beside the single window, a chittering mouse scurries from beneath the wooden door over the wide plank flooring. She begins to sit up, the rattle of chains causes her to be alarmed. She tugs her arm in a panic, and the manacles reveal themselves from beneath the thin sheet covering her. Fucking hells.
Kicking aside the sheet, she glances down, her undergarments still in place, though someone had taken the time to dry them. Ennui always had a penchant for finding herself in dire situations, and she guesses that this one was none so different from any others.
The iron manacles are latched onto a metal loop fastened to the wooden planks. Ennui rolls from the bed, making an effort to keep the noise to a minimum, while she crouches in front of the loop. What am I working with? The loop was welded to a metal plate which was bolted to the planks. Ennui releases a heavy sigh and then grits her teeth. The sharp tail behind her whips about in aggregation, showing her mood.
Bawdy sounds erupt from the adjacent room, the sound was known to Ennui from the many pleasure houses she visited in the past. Bloody fuck. She places her feet on either side of the metal plate and pulls towards herself with every ounce of her strength, to no avail. In the back of her throat, a salty taste lingers, reminding her of her immense thirst. On a cupboard at the foot of the bed, a pitcher of some type of liquid and a pewter pint glass sit as if waiting.
Ennui lifts her chains carefully over the edge of the bed, barely able to reach the pitcher, she brings it in its entirety to her lips and gulps down the metallic-tasting water. As she sets down the pitcher, she peers out the filthy window, only shapes can be seen through the thick film of grime. But she could ascertain that below her window was a ledge or balcony not too far down. I’ll break my bloody neck, she thinks before glancing at the pint glass in contemplation.
Footfalls startle her and with a swiftness, she returns beneath the sheets, the chains rattle slightly as she does. The wooden door creaks open and the sound of heavy boots on the planks becomes more clear. Whoever the figure is, they are heavy, gauging from her own estimations they are roughly three times her own weight.
“She’s still down,” a deep voice says gruffly. “Been like this for over a day.”
Ennui is startled by the second voice, a high-pitched shrill voice. “She washed up with all that other junk, she must know what was on that ship.”
“What’s it matter anyway? The shit is gone if it’s in the Lorian Sea.”
The shrill voice scoffs, “If that was a Lorian vessel, it could have been carrying gold bound for Vicchi. I’d sooner hire a sahuagin than see that kind of coin sit at the bottom of the sea.”
“And you think she’ll tell you what was on the ship?”
“If she doesn’t, the madam says that she can find clients interested in this kind of thing, sure we’ll get something decent anyway.”
The larger man hums loudly in thought, “Should we wake ‘er?”
“Just be careful, you know what they say. ‘Can never trust a devil.’”
Ennui laughs to herself, these idiots. Their feet scuffle across the floor before a sudden burst of cold wet water splashes over Ennui. She sits up in haste and opens her eyes. A squirrelly-looking beastkin stands by the door, while a massive man stands at the edge of the bed with the pitcher of water in his hand.
Neither man has notable features, and both are fairly plain. Their skin is pale and both have jet-black hair which appears to be greasy and ill-kempt. The squirrely man’s face is pockmarked and pink, with a few deep scars that run along the length of his brow. The larger man wears a heavy fur cloak which speaks of the weather. Had she not seen Hugo struck by lightning on Ole Lucky, then she would have sworn this was the same man.
“W-what happened? W-where am I?” Ennui asks in a faux haze. “Why am I chained?”
“Answer me something, and we’ll let ya go, how’s that sound?” The larger man says, putting his weight on the foot of the bed. “Tell me… what was on the ship?”
It takes every ounce of Ennui’s patience to use the gentle voice she put on. “I-I think we were carrying goods from the Isles to Vicchi. I saw there were rugs and furs.”
“What happened out there,” the squirrely man inquires. “Don’t lie,” he adds with an unusual insistence.
Ennui places a hand over her heart. “Just because I’m a devilkin doesn’t make me a liar, sir,” she says with disappointment in her voice. “Besides… it was just a storm. We were blown out to sea from Vicchi and wound up in the Lorian Sea. The captain was a faithless man,” she pauses, hanging her head.
The large man grunts. “Faithless heathens. That’s what happens when ya don’t acknowledge the gods.”
Ennui holds back a growl. “Right, right. So how about you both let me go?”
The squirrely man releases a shrill laugh. “Sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. Fortunately for you, you’ll be well cared for here.”
Ennui never had much patience, and she felt at this moment that there was no time to waste. The options before her seem clear. Either she calls upon Samael’s aid or she attempts to handle the situation herself. She knows that with a certain amount of finesse, she could escape, but it would take time.
Ennui lowers her head and glances up at the man, her lips moving with an unnatural and unnerving speed. “I am of the blood, and of the blood, I will always be. Samael, my guardian, I summon thee.”
The man jumps back in shock, “W-what did you say?”
“You should run,” Ennui says with a quick tug on the chains. “You don’t have much time.”
Samael, having no physical presence on Talmus can not make an appearance himself, however, the words allow him the knowledge and location of his followers. They will come.
“What are you blabbering on about?” The large man asks, crossing towards her, the pitcher raised in his hand.
The man backs towards the door, “W-what did you do?” He asks an anxious twitch at the corner of his lips.
Ennui crosses her legs and looks up at the large, dark-haired man. “I’m not sure what is coming… but something or someone is coming.”
The pitcher comes down hard against her horn, the pain rockets through her skull from the vibration. “You little bitch,” he says as he raises the pitcher again.
Ennui grips the side of her face and opens her eyes. People were exhausting, and she hated nearly every single one, had it not been for her fondness of Khimi, she doubted that she’d truly care about anyone. “Come on, tubby,” she spits through her teeth.
A heavy cloud blocks the light, the room goes dark. Not even a minute had passed since Ennui uttered the words Samael required. But a tingling along the back of her spine alerts her of imminent aid.
The heavy-set man moves before Ennui and grips her by the upper arm, curses fly from his lips in anger as he shouts. The room becomes a cacophony of confusion, the erotic sounds of the adjoining room joined with the shouts of the man. They are both drowned out by the quick scream of the squirrely man. Ennui smiles at the large man and as she peeks past him, the squirrely figure lifts into the air by some invisible entity. His feet kick as he croaks, hands trying desperately to free himself from whatever grips his throat.
Ennui releases a hearty laugh as she grips her horns, buckling over. Her laughter cuts through the room like a cold wind. Samael sent her shadows, unseen servants to dark forces. Devils, demons, and necromancers were all often masters of these dark and powerful creatures. Forged from souls, a shadow would serve, its life debt never able to be paid.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Ennui laughs, her eyes narrowing as she glares at the heavy man swinging his fist at the invisible force. “How helpless you feel. Watching someone die before your very eyes?”
“S-Shut up! Help him!” He shouts at Ennui. “We’ll let you go! You can go!”
Ennui sighs, laying on her side. “Sorry, mate. Doesn’t work that way,” she says as she nuzzles her horn against her palm. “It’s not my call.”
The sound of the squirrely man’s neck snapping brings a smile across Ennui’s cheeks. That’s right. As his body hits the wooden floor and tumbles into the hallway a series of womanly screams ring out down the hallway.
“What are you?” The large man asks, glancing at Ennui.
“Where are my clothes?” Ennui asks as she stands from the bed and walks with her fetters towards him. “Maybe I can convince it to spare you.”
“Downstairs, the madam has them… she said ya wouldn’t need em anymore,” he murmurs quietly as he drops to his knees beside his now broken friend.
“Keys to the manacles, do you have them?”
“Lance had them,” he croaks as he begins to dig through the jacket of his friend.
Ennui wishes he would hurry. The shadow likely would not hold back much longer. “Quickly, quickly,” she says with a click of her tongue and hand extended forward.
The man picks them from the jacket pocket and slides them across the floor, landing just short of her reach. She swipes her tail towards them and curls it to bring the jetting towards her. With a sigh, she closes her eyes as the gurgling sounds erupt from the large man before her, shadows were never ones to wait. The manacles fall from her wrist and as she looks over the room, she mouths a quiet thanks to the darkness. From here on, there would be no need for a shadow, not as long as she was free of her shackles.
Standing over the hulking figure’s body, she tugs on the fur cloak and places it over her shoulder, her fingers deftly connecting the brooch. As she kneels, she grabs hold of a small dagger hidden amongst a leather satchel along with a bag of silver coins. Fuck… if they stole my gold— no, the fucking sea probably stole my gold. She stands and begins to pad down the hallway, the doors open and close, revealing scared women half-covered in sheets or undergarments. Ennui feels ridiculous walking down the hallway in her own undergarments, the large fur cloak enveloping her body.
As she steps onto the balcony overlooking the bottom floor, a thin-framed woman with a prickly expression rushes up the stairs toward her.
“What’s the meaning of all this commotion?!” She calls as she steps onto the loft. “Why are all the girls running? Oh — it’s you.”
“Yes, it’s me,” Ennui replies, raising an eyebrow. “Certainly, you didn’t think I was the whoring type, did you?”
The thin-framed woman’s cheek grows with color. “I don’t care who you think you are get back to your room, girl.”
“I was a victim of a shipwreck, hag,” Ennui spits, her knuckles turning white on the dagger hidden beneath the fur cloak. “I’d like to be on my merry way now.”
“Where are the boys? Lance and Veni?”
Ennui tilts her head back towards the hallway. “In a neat pile down there. Lance tripped and broke his neck. Then the big one banged his head against the door. He didn’t get up,” she adds with a shake of her head. “Pity really. Now out of my way, you old sow.”
“I’m calling the guards,” the homely, thin-framed woman says as she turns back toward the stairs.
Ennui palms her face and sighs, she does not need the dagger for this woman, a simple hex would suffice. She lifts her hand before you and raises her little forefinger at the woman. Misfortune rears your head, Ennui thinks. Dark energy envelops her hand as the sound of fabric tearing comes from the stairs. Falling head first, the woman stumbles down the spiral staircase, grunts muffled by the sound of her fall continuously leaving her lips until she lies at the base of the stairs.
With a slow swagger, Ennui walks down the staircase with the dagger in her palm. As she nears the bottom, she carefully steps over the woman’s body and sits on the floor beside her. Still breathing, she turns her head to Ennui and glares at her with vehemence in her heart.
“Devil, shoulda had them stick you when I had the chance. You ought to be thanking me!” She shouts as she begins to pull herself up.
Ennui produces the dagger, then slides it beneath the woman’s jaw. She shushes her before she speaks, “Now, now that’s a foul thing to say. Besides, It doesn’t appear that anyone in this… hole is going to come to your aid. So why don’t you just get me my clothing and my belongings, and we can go our separate ways.”
“You barely had anything,” the woman trembles. “A sword and your clothes.”
Ennui growls, her tail slaps against the planks. “My gold? What about the leather pouch?!”
“Nothing, I swear!” The woman replies, her eyes wide with terror.
“If you’re lying, you’ll meet a similar fate as Veni and Lance. I swear you won’t like it,” Ennui says as she leans back and looks about the room.
The foyer is small, similar in fashion to many taverns she had been in but more akin to the entrance of a manor. A seating area with plain wooden chairs and tables was situated against a wall. A small bar was situated across from the area with a hideous portrait of what appears to be a younger version of the woman splayed on the ground before her.
“Well, give me my shit, and I’ll let you go,” Ennui says with a sudden grin. “Seems you’re an honorable lady, so maybe you’ll keep your word.”
The woman begins to rise as she dusts off the lengthy gown. “Truly?”
Ennui shows a toothy smile. “Not all devils are evil, you know? Besides, all these girls here… they work for you, right?”
“Right,” the woman answers, trying her best to regain what little dignity remained. “They do.”
“I couldn’t punish such hardworking girls. Are they… also from shipwrecks?”
The madam looks up with a startled expression, “What makes you say that? These girls are here of their own volition.”
Part truth, part lie. Ennui could read madam well. “Right, my things… ?”
“Past the bar and in the drawing room to the side. I placed them in a cupboard. They weren’t washed, so they stink like the sea,” the madam replies as she clasps onto her wrist with one hand.
Ennui rises from the floor and with gaiety hops over the short bar. She wonders if the madam will flee, or if she will seek help outside the walls of the small whorehouse. She could tell the madam already seemed nervous, perhaps it was because of the source of her trade or other nefarious reasons.
The drawing room was small, a series of cupboards lined the room. A heavy stone hearth jutted out from the wall and seemed to take up the majority of the room. The only other piece of furniture aside from the unlit chandelier hanging from the ceiling was an upholstered high-backed bench with a floral print. It was hideous but managed to draw the eye away from the depressing nature of the room. Cupboard after cupboard, Ennui shuffles through in an effort to find her belongings. It is a horror, girls’ clothing, bloomers and blouses, dozens of garments from what Ennui guesses are victims of the madam’s years of terror. Who is the real devil?
Finally, she stumbles upon a bundle of clothing, a dampness to them as she touches them. The dark trousers and shirt are easily recognizable. A bit of sand brushes off the wet fabric as she unbundles them. I hate sand, she thinks as she lets out a loud groan. Behind the bundled clothing is her gladius, the blade she stole so many years ago from a Lorian before she fled to the Desert Cities.
“Found your things?” The madam says from behind, her arms crossed.
Ennui turns back, somewhat surprised at the madam’s quiet approach. “Among other things.”
“If it gets you out of here quicker, take what you want,” she says hurriedly.
“Got any coin?”
The madam sighs and reaches into a deep pocket in her gown. After rummaging through it she procures a leather pouch and tosses it across the floor to Ennui. “Get out, you’ve caused enough trouble.”
Ennui grabs the small sack of coins and leaves it before her as she pulls the black shirt over her head, moving the fabric over the horns carefully. She stands and tugs her trousers on before grabbing the leather pouch and gladius. “I’ll be off then. So sorry about Veni and Lurch.”
“Lance.”
“Many sympathies for Lance, then. Say, could you tell me where we are?”
The madam rolls her eyes, “At a crossroads north of Vicchi a good way. Hermon’s Well is to the North of here.”
“Did anyone else wash up?” Ennui inquires, a strange knot forms in her gut at the question.
“No one alive,” she replies with a sharp glare.
Ennui brushes past her and rushes out the door grabbing an oil lantern from one of the tables. She calls back to the madam from the entry. “Thanks for not sticking me. Whatever that means,” she says, knowing full well the meaning behind the madam’s words.
The short porch in front of the building is poorly constructed, with massive holes in several parts, but that was to be expected as Ennui glances across the town. Only a handful of buildings could be seen within view, and numerous smaller hovels are in the distance and along the wood line. The scent of a cookfire reminds her of her aching stomach. The knot in her stomach seems to tighten, causing her to dash to the alley beside the building. She turns out the contents of her empty stomach across a pile of hay atop the muddy street. Bloody salt water. She knew she would be reliving this experience for many more hours at random.
As she wipes her lips, she peers up through the grimy window. A young girl sits on a bed with an uncomfortable look on her face as the door closes behind a middle-aged man. Ennui’s hand shakes on the handle of the lantern, and with a sudden determination kneels beneath the window and lights it with the bit of flint remaining from her boot. Using the hilt of her gladius, she breaks the window and tosses the lantern inside. A sudden roar of fire from the breaking lantern fills the room, followed immediately by the young girl’s scream. Get out, Ennui thinks to herself as she peers back into the room. There was no one left in the room after her impromptu firebomb. A sense of relief washes over Ennui as she continues down the muddy street and into the crossroad town, tossing the fur cloak over her shoulders.
You better be alive, Khimi. You too, little lion.
Ennui saunters through the town, which only exists because it has the good fortune to be positioned where trade roads intersect. The people of the nameless town vary greatly in appearance as well as in wealth. In one of the two small taverns in the town, Ennui finds herself filling her stomach at a table beside a capri woman, a half-elven man, and a domuz man. There is little conversation between them as they stuff their gullets with the warm brothy soup that had been offered by the barmaid.
It is only halfway through their meal that the majority of the tavern’s patrons rise from their seats and rush outside to watch the brothel across the street consumed by a blaze. Ennui sips the broth from her spoon as she crosses behind the tavern counter and pulls open the drawers one by one. With a bit of good fortune, she stumbles upon a drawer filled with silver coins and other bits of finery. A glance back at the inferno to ensure she would not be interrupted, and she begins to line her pockets with the coins.
Once she steps back onto the muddy streets, she takes a final glance back at the blaze and notices the girl standing among others in the street. Good for you, you didn’t die, she thinks as she begins her journey further north. She knows the longer she stays in the small town that her chances of survival will dwindle. Within hours of her waking, she had already made several enemies, and it would not do her well to remain much longer.
Under the cover of darkness, Ennui travels further to the north, the crossroads at her back. Despite the onset of spring in the Desert Cities, there is a nip in the air and as she travels she begins to wish she had taken more clothing from the twiggy madam. The fur cloak around her shoulders serves as her only source of comfort during the journey, the thin leathers that normally adorn her body provide little warmth during the cool northern nights.
A skilled hunter, Ennui has no difficulty finding food along her trail as she scours the damp coastline for mushrooms and other fauna to sustain her along the way. Unhindered during her journey, she finds her way along the outskirts of a small town known as Hermon’s Well.