Good Intent

[Kattze]

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

28th of Eleint, Year of the Enthroned Puppet


I shift atop the horse in an attempt to find some part of my legs that aren't chafed raw from too many days riding. The horse is complaining more than I am. I've ridden her too long for too many days and at this point I don't blame her one bit. I make a mental note to exchange the horse for a fresh one at the next town. The thought twists my gut in some strange combination of foreboding and anticipation.

It will be dark by the time I reach the next village on this trade road, a village small enough to notice and be suspicious of strangers on tired horses. Another lurch in my stomach warns me to skirt the village entirely. Too dangerous. The next dot on the map is the city of Everlund and only a days ride north east of this settlement but with an uncooperative mare it could double my journey time.

By the time I crest the last hill before the village I've made up my mind, a compromise with myself, and with a yank of the reins I lead my mare north and into the hills. I've just enough light remaining to find a clearing and set up camp.  I will rest safely on the outskirts of town and change my horse over in the morning.

I smirk at the thought of Rafferty scolding me for my poor care of the horse, especially as I remove her saddlery to reveal sores not even the thick layer of sheeps wool couldn't protect her from. She gives a snort of disapproval as if to say "See what you did you me?"

"Yeah yeah. Have you seen my thighs? The feeling is mutual." I grumble back. Great, now I'm talking to animals. Better than talking to yourself. With this shivering reminder I methodically set up camp and light fire. After a moment of remorse I give the mare my last two apples, then lay out my blankets and settle down on an empty stomach. At least one of us will have a full belly tonight. I'm asleep before my head hits the ground.

* * *

My eyes have a layer of sand beneath the lids, or so it feels as I pry my eyes open, and I know I did not get enough sleep. The first light of morning is creeping into the room. Room?  A man's face stares unblinking mere inches from my face, a mane of dark hair slick against his head. His mouth is ajar as if to let out a scream, but his throat has been slit from ear to ear. I reel back in horror and suddenly I'm falling. This has to be a dream.

I land with a thump on the wooden floor, bringing a red-stained sheet from the bed with me. So much blood. Its everywhere. On the man, on the sheets, on me. It hits me all at once, the fragments of last night which part of me did not want to know. The coy smile, the unmasked desire in his eyes. He was a shearer, part of me recalls. Why would I want to be reminded? The gooseflesh and rush of lust that follows in wake of his sliding hands as he removes my blouse. After that its a blur. A blur until he cries out with his finish which continues into one of horror as I brandish the concealed knife and draw it across his throat.

I lay next to him and listen to his breathe grow shallow and his heart slow with each beat.

I reel with the memories and vomit what little I have in my stomach - cheap ale. When I have nothing left I continue to dry retch as if it can purge me of the sins committed in this small room, the acid burning my throat and my sides in agony as the convulsions seem to never stop. I stumble to the wash basin, a solid and dark wood table with a ceramic water-filled bowl in front of a mirror mounted to the wall. I rinse the remnants of filth from my mouth and wash my face. The bowl is stained crimson by the time I lean over and stare at the stranger in the mirror.

I should look haunted, ashen, remorseful. The woman who stares back can only be described as... vibrant. She cracks a smile, her eyes crinkling in amusement at my shock, my realization, my denial.

I smash the mirror to erase the image. The piercing sound, so crisp in the early morning  wakes someone in an adjacent room. I can hear a questioning murmur and my pointed ears pick up the distinctive rasp of clothing. This person is intent on investigating and here I am, naked as the day I was born in a room painted red with blood and a body to dispose of.

Something takes over, years of training or mere self preservation; the chair by the bed is scraped over floorboards and jammed under the door handle, I throw my clothes on and scan the room for my belongings. Theres a knock at the door. No time to remove the body now. Im exiting the window, halfway out when the dagger on the bed catches the corner of my eye. The knocking turns into thumping and the shearers name is being called as I lean in to snatch the knife.

Reed. My victim had a name, and this gives me pause. I stare down at his horror-stricken face, frozen in death, and something draws me closer with the knife. My next memory is escaping through the window as the door crashes open.

He had a spider carved into his chest.

* * *

[Kattze]

The following day and night pass in a haze of hunger and fatigue. Unlike my four-legged friend I can't graze on the way, but even so she reminds me every chance she can how I am mistreating her with a tug at her reins. I have no choice after last night but to give Everlund a wide berth and make as much ground as I can before resting, especially as I arrive at its outlying fields well after sundown. 

The night always seems more alive with its cacophony of insects and the querying calls from creatures above in the trees. You're one of them. I wasn't always. My hand reaches inside my vest seeking for the sole emblem of my past. It isn't there. You gave it to Kalec. Oh.  Right..

I had spent the entire afternoon on horseback as I made my way home that day polishing the pendant and chain clean of memories and blood. Clean enough so it wouldn't chafe his neck as it did mine with each movement as a deliberate reminder of my sins.

Would it have stopped me last night, had I kept the necklace? This brings forth a bell of laughter from my lips, stark enough against the night to quell the chirruping of crickets. My horse flicks her ears back nervously and halts in the middle of the trail.

"Oh come on!" I knee her in the sides. I know immediately it's the wrong thing to do with my already tired and grumpy horse. I have to squeeze my thighs and grasp hold of the saddle, lurching around as the horse ungraciously collapses to her knees. This was her way of saying "That's it lady, I can't take anymore. You're on your own." I'm ashamed to say I feel more guilty about this moment than I do about last night.

I know I only have myself to blame. If I'd only controlled myself last night I would have a fresh horse, full belly and be miles on the other side of Everlund right now. I unsheathe the short sword from its strapping at my thigh, letting out a sigh of regret as I peer down at the miserable animal. With three strokes of the sword it's over. The saddle slides to the ground with a heavy thud. The sound combined with the cold steel against the horse's flesh is enough to send her galloping into the darkness, free of her entrapment of saddle and reins.

"Worst journey ever." I speak to the trees as I resheathe my blade.The sounds of night return slowly and I stand very still, letting the noises flood my senses. I turn my head right, then left, and think I hear the two things I'm searching for. The night is best for hunting after all.

By the time Selune is at its peak with her trailing sisters I feel a little more accomplished. I've skinned a hare and am cleaning it's guts out by a stream, preparing it to roast over the campfire already burning away merrily. It doesn't take long for my belly to start rumbling as I watch the oil lick its way over the cooking flesh while I rotate it over the fire. I have to remind myself to let the meat cook through. I don't have the luxury of getting sick while on this errand. Not with time ticking away, and not sure what I might do in the haze of a fever.

Rafferty had seemed a different man. The changes subtle to others cut me to the core. His face was gaunt, hands slightly shaking unless he kept them clasped. His eyes would haze over and become vacant as I spoke with him, and he would forget what we were discussing entirely. And Kalec said he was having a good day. He had taken leave from his training to spend the last months of Rafferty's life by his side.

Months. That's all I have before Rafferty loses his mind entirely and asks someone to end his life. Would it have been better if I stayed by his side, like our son, until his time came and done the deed myself? Will he ask our son to do it in my absence should I not return in time? A man should choose his own death. Wasn't that what he was doing? Choice. Fate. This journey would tell me which one governs our existence.

* * *

[Kattze]

My belly is full, I'm freshly washed and well east of Everlund by high sun. I actually look like I can pass as a regular traveler. Well.. apart from the arsenal of blades and a bow strung over my shoulder. Okay, maybe not. I still haven't slept but I feel full of energy and in higher spirits. I can do this. You don't even know where you're going, or what you're looking for. I push the thought to the back of my mind. A test of fate? It's what brought me in this direction in the first place. The hair at the nape of my neck stands up at this memory.

I pass two patrols heading along the road; one in Everlund colors and the other in Sundabar garb. Neither stop to question me, but I know I can't return by this road once word travels in my wake of the raven-haired seductress who fled after killing her lover. I come across a caravan of minstrels as the sun kisses the horizon at my back. They are setting up camp for the night and a cursory examination of the road tells me they're traveling west.

"Allo there!" A barrel of a man in a gaudy tunic and vest greets me, a thin mustache outlining his smiling lips in a way that seems more comical than height of style. His fellows seem not to notice my approach, too consumed in their monotonous work. I gather from their expressions this may not be where they want to set down for the evening.
"My greetings to you." I offer with a disarming smile. I admire the courage of this man, who would openly greet a heavily armed adventurer, but feel sorry for those who put such trust in him. He asks me to join him and I accept, not because I want company but because I know the chances of sleeping soundly are higher if I have.. witnesses. Raol, as he tells me his name is, even helps me unfurl my blanket for the night after a free dinner and a few songs.
"I know what you are doing.  What you're asking of me. I can't." Raol is a smart enough man to not look surprised or confused by my words.
"My people could use a blade in their defense on this road. Please consider it."
"Why did you leave Sundabar without protection in the first place? These hills are riddled with orcs. Don't tell me Sundabar has run out of mercenaries for hire." I try to keep the scorn from my voice.
"We left Sundabar with a knight who happened to be coming this way, and offered his protection as long as our paths were aligned. I hired another man for the journey. It's only two days and there are rarely attacks outside of the first night."
"So where is your knight and hireling?" There had been no sign of anyone with a weapon more proficient than a staff, and knew it was the reason Raol was so welcoming this evening.

Raol proceeds to relay the day's events in a way only a practiced storyteller can. The knight and hireling had slain several orcs throughout the day, more usual than Raol's company were used to encountering. He had been informing the knight of the notable areas along the route, as he proclaimed he was not familiar to the region. This proved to be a mistake, or so it was for his troupe's well being, as he pointed out a disused trail said to lead to a vault commissioned by a wizard, and was famed for being impervious to the many attempts to breach its stone door.

The knight had bid his farewell with only small apology, cantering off on his mount into the trail and leaving the caravan with its sole protector. The group encountered no more orcs but long before sundown the mercenary expressed in a crude choice of words he no longer wished to risk his neck, even for the extra coin Raol offered. The same coin he now offered me.

"I really can't. I'm headed in the opposite direction and in a bit of a hurry myself. If it makes you feel better I encountered no orcs, dead or alive, on the road west of here." I feel sorry for him but the man should learn to wield a weapon himself if he plans to travel across the Marches. Most do. These thoughts I keep to myself though. Raol would have enough trouble sleeping tonight. As I lay down my own head I wonder if he has enough sense to post watch.

So. My Doomguide friend is closer than I thought. And so is my destination. Unfortunately he seems to be on horseback and I'm not, but if I leave right now I can probably catch up. That is if he isn't as eager as I am to reach this arcane vault. My heavy lids protest the suggestion of yet another night without proper rest and I compromise with myself once again. A few hours can't hurt and I'll need to be at my best for whatever I face on the morrow.

* * *