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🕑 Added 2024-08-22 15:32:03 +0000 UTC< Previous | ToC | Next >
Luther Alden’s pudgy fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the table as he surveyed his assembled cohorts. To his right sat Eliza, a severe-looking woman with sharp features and even sharper wits. Across from her, nursing a tankard of ale, was the hulking figure of Brutus “The Hammer” Graw, whose meaty fists had settled more disputes than any court of law. Rounding out the group was Silas Flint, a weaselly man with darting eyes and a nervous twitch.
“Well, my friends,” Luther began, “isn’t it just delightful how they’ve gone and set up this little competition for us? Why, it’s almost as if they’re begging us to take advantage of the situation.”
He got chuckles in response.
Eliza’s thin lips curled into a mirthless smile. “Indeed. It’s as if they’ve laid out a red carpet for our plans.”
“Aye,” grunted Brutus. “Makes our job a sight easier, it does.”
Silas merely nodded, his eyes darting nervously between his companions and the tavern’s other patrons. He was hooded, and his face was obscured in shadow, but his golden eyes were still visible.
“Are you sure we should be sitting in a damn tavern?” he hissed.
Luther waved his hand. “Best places are in plain sight. Don’t worry, your identity isn’t about to be exposed. Eliza here made sure of that. You can continue your work. Why have you stopped the murders anyway? You know better than anyone how much more negativity we need gathered here.”
“Yes, yes, I’m trying. That bastard, Thomas—yeah, he might be catching onto me. I’m being cautious.”
“You weren’t cautious when we sent you to kill Theodore,” Brutus said. “Pray tell again, why you fled with your tail between your legs?”
“There was someone!” Silas slammed his hand on the table, drawing attention of the people. Silas shrunk into himself.
Eliza snorted and waved her hand and everyone looked away as if in a trance. Damn bitch, Luther thought, stopping himself from shuddering. Her skills were scary. He hated mind-fuckery.
“As I said, there was a woman. She’s dangerous. She was with him. I didn’t know. I attacked when I got the chance. I was late there as is, he’d killed Malakai by then. But I was there, and I had the chance. I took it. But—but that slithery bitch appeared out of thin air. Literally.” Silas explained himself, and he was more agitated now. So much so that his eyes glowed more golden and cracks of gold began spreading from them.
“Calm down, Silas,” Eliza said, then put a finger on his forehead. “We can’t have you fall to Corruption now of all times. Control yourself.”
“Y-yeah, sorry about that. I—my emotions have been—I didn’t mean it. You get it right, you must understand, right,” Silas said, slurring his words.
“It’s okay. Yes, I understand,” Eliza patted his head, and the man calmed down more.
Damn brain-fuckery. Luther’s eye twitched. She can control godlings too. Well, it’s nothing in comparison to our leader—Lyra.
“Well, drop the matter, Silas, Luther leaned forward. “We lost a godling, that’s unfortunate, but it’s okay. We can proceed.”
“Malakai was not a godling!” Silas hissed. “Do not insult us! He was too weak! He was an abomination! I have no clue what you let him do to himself!”
“Calm. Down.” Eliza said, and Silas deflated like a balloon on the table. “Good boy.”
“Now, let’s review our strategy, shall we?” She said. “Our primary objective is clear: we must utterly destroy Theodore’s reputation. And what better way to do that than through his precious soap?”
Luther’s mind wandered for a moment, recalling the clandestine meeting that had set this plan in motion. The Night Whispers, that shadowy organization that pulled strings from the darkness, had approached him with an enticing proposition. They were locked in a desperate struggle with Montague. Their resources stretched thin against his unexpected resilience at the very moment.
Luther shook himself from his reverie, focusing once more on the task at hand. “Eliza, my dear, you’ll be in charge of spreading rumors about the soap’s ineffectiveness. Whisper in the ears of housewives at the market, plant seeds of doubt among the nobility. Make them question every bar they’ve purchased.”
Eliza nodded curtly. “Consider it done. By week’s end, there won’t be a soul in the city who doesn’t harbor suspicions about Theodore’s product.”
“Excellent,” Luther said, turning his attention to Brutus. “And you, my good man, will ensure that any shipments of quality ingredients are... shall we say, misdirected? We can’t have Theodore producing anything of actual value, now can we?”
Brutus cracked his knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I’ll make sure them fancy oils and perfumes end up at the bottom of the harbor, boss. Ain’t no one gonna be smellin’ like roses when I’m through.”
“Perfect,” Luther chuckled, before fixing his gaze on the fidgeting Silas. “And you, my skittish friend, will be our eyes and ears within Theodore’s operation. I trust you’ve already secured a position?”
Silas nodded eagerly. “Y-yes. They suspect nothing—” he said, then snapped at Eliza. “—and will you stop fucking with my mind!”
“Splendid,” Luther clapped his hands together. “Your task is crucial. You must sabotage the soap-making process at every turn. A pinch too much lye here, a dash of rancid fat there. Make sure every batch is utterly worthless.”
As his cohorts nodded their understanding, Luther leaned back in his seat. The Night Whispers had chosen their agent well. He was the perfect instrument for their desperate plan.
The organization’s situation was precarious, to say the least. Their conflict with Montague had dragged on far longer than anticipated, and their resources were dwindling. The old man had proven to be a formidable adversary, countering their every move with infuriating efficiency.
But this... this was their masterstroke. The Night Whispers needed negative emotions for their big plan.
Their previous attempt, the plague blight, had been a resounding success until those meddlesome do-gooders had found a cure. Now, they’d lost their only godling that could make the diseases—Malakai—and thus, they needed a new source of anguish, and quickly.
That’s where Theodore’s soap came in. Those guild idiots had orchestrated this competition, ostensibly to promote innovation and improve the city’s hygiene—to the public at least. In reality, it was a carefully crafted trap, designed to elevate Theodore’s product to dizzying heights of popularity.
After all, the guild wasn’t stupid—and they needed their best soapmakers fail against Theodore before they could partner up and make a huge profit.
If Theodore failed, he was just bad investment, and their soapmakers would be the ones getting the popularity.
It was a win-win for the Merchants Guild, really.
They’re impressive.
But... They didn’t account for the Night Whispers.
Luther could almost taste the impending wave of negative energy. Thousands of citizens, from the lowliest peasant to the most esteemed noble, all realizing that the soap they’d come to rely on was worse than useless. The disappointment, the anger, the feelings of betrayal—it would be a feast for the Night Whispers, replenishing their depleted reserves and giving them the strength to finally kick their final plan into action.
Only Desolation awaited.
“This is our last chance,” Luther murmured, almost to himself. “We must make it count.”
Eliza raised an eyebrow. “What was that, Luther?”
Luther blinked, realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Oh, nothing, my dear. Just emphasizing the importance of our mission. We cannot afford to fail.”
Brutus grunted in agreement. “Aye, boss. We’ll make sure that uppity soap-maker gets what’s coming to him.”
Silas wrung his hands nervously. “But what if something goes wrong? What if we’re caught?”
Luther fixed the man with a steely gaze. “Then pray to whatever gods you believe in that the Night Whispers reach you before someone else does. Failure is not an option.”
After a moment, Luther clapped his hands together. “But enough of such gloomy thoughts! We have a plan, we have our roles, and we have the element of surprise. Theodore won’t know what hit him until it’s far too late.”
He raised his goblet, filled with a deep red wine that gleamed like fresh blood in the light. “To our success, my friends. May Theodore’s reputation crumble like the worthless soap he’ll soon be peddling.”
The others raised their drinks in response, a chorus of “hear, hear” echoing in their secluded corner.
***
A caw that could said to be a sudden and sharp sound pierced the quiet of Ethan’s study. Startled from his work, he looked up with a frown. He recognized the source of the noise: a raven, perched on his windowsill. The bird’s sleek black feathers and its eyes were distinct enough for him to recognize who it was.
“Birdy?”
Well, wasn’t that a bad name he’d given it—but it’s to be expected from him, he wasn’t really the best when it came to names.
Ethan rose from his chair. With long strides, he crossed the room and unlatched the window. As soon as the pane swung open, the raven hopped inside, tilting its head to regard him with a beady stare.
“What news do you bring, my dark friend?” Ethan inquired, his gaze drawn to the diminutive scroll secured to the raven’s leg. His fingers expertly released the message. With its duty fulfilled, the raven let out a gentle croak and soared into the twilight, vanishing from sight.
Ethan returned to his desk, sinking into the chair as he unrolled the parchment. He recognized Jack’s handwriting immediately. Taking a deep breath, he began to read:
“Lord Theodore,
I hope this message finds you well, though I fear our times grow ever more tumultuous. News has reached me through means I shan’t talk about given it’s best they remain a secret. News that will undoubtedly bring both relief and trepidation to your heart.
First, the good tidings: word of our current circumstances has finally penetrated the thick walls of the royal court. The king, it seems, has at last been made aware. He has dispatched his men—the finest soldiers in the realm, if the reports are to be believed—to deal with the twin threats.
These men are en route as I write this, their mission twofold. They are to eradicate the Night Whispers, those shadow-worshiping abominations that have terrorized our people for months. Additionally, they are tasked with liberating the towns that have found themselves encircled by our enemies, cut off from aid and slowly starving behind hastily erected barricades.
At long last, we may see an end to the fear that has gripped us.
However, we both know that the arrival of the king’s men is but the beginning of a new chapter in our struggles. Now that we have seemingly dealt with the plague—though I hesitate to declare total victory—I suppose it is time for us to turn our full attention to the matter of the Night Whispers.
There is one more matter I must bring to your attention, though I confess I am unsure of its significance. The king saw fit to include a specific message along with his general orders. I was instructed, in no uncertain terms, to relay this message to you verbatim.
It reads simply:
‘Shadow, eliminate them. I lift the Geis.’
- Jack”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, the parchment slipping from his fingers to land softly on the desk. He closed his eyes. Finally.
“Shadow, eh?” he said to no one in particular, but he knew she was there. Edgy, he though.
And sure enough, the shadows stirred. He wasn’t startled; he’d grown accustomed to her silent arrivals. Turning slowly in his chair, he faced the figure that now stood motionless in the shadows of his study.
“It is merely a code name,” she said.
He shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. The king’s men, arriving like heroes from some grand tale to save the day.
“Miss Bodyguard,” he acknowledged, his voice betraying no surprise. “I assume you’ve heard the news?”
Ethan leaned back, regarding her carefully. “Will you be going to eliminate the Night Whispers?” he asked, casually.
She appeared to ponder this, though Ethan couldn’t be certain. Her face remained as blank and unreadable as ever.
It revealed nothing of the thoughts behind it. After a moment, she shook her head.
“I’m pretty sure there would not be a need to do so,” she stated, flatly. Then, as if an afterthought, she added, “Though, I will still kill some people.”
He cleared his throat, then changed the topic.
“What’s a Geis?” he asked.
Miss Bodyguard’s gaze fixed on him, her eyes seeming to look through him rather than at him.
Uh... is that something I’m supposed to know? Damn you—incomplete memories! Ethan wondered whether he’d fucked up.
“A Geis is a vow,” she said before he could overthink things. “It’s a binding magical contract,” she explained. “In our case, it is the vow that keeps us in our place, imposed by the king. It limits our power, caps our abilities. We cannot draw upon our full strength unless explicitly approved by the king, or some very specific conditions are met.”
Ethan’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Oh, so you can use your full power now?” he said.
That would be crazy.
She already appeared strong enough to level a forest—well, if she intentionally tried to do so.
“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice as emotionless as ever. “My levels are no longer capped. They’re restored to full.”
A moment of silence fell between them as Ethan processed this information. Then, his brow furrowed, a mix of concern and indignation crossing his face. “Isn’t that slavery?” he asked in realization. “Aren’t you basically a slave, then?”
The bodyguard’s gaze remained steady. “No, it is not slavery,” she stated. “A Geis is a voluntary agreement, entered into willingly. We chose to accept these terms in exchange for the power and position we hold. While it does impose limitations, we retain our free will and the ability to act independently within those boundaries. Unlike slaves, we can refuse orders that violate our core principles—or the terms of our agreement. The Geis is a safeguard, not a chain.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ethan finally said, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it. He straightened in his chair, adopting a more formal posture. “Dismissed, Miss Bodyguard.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than she vanished, leaving no trace of her presence save for a lingering chill in the air.
Hmm? Chill?
Ethan remained still for a long moment, staring at the spot where she had stood.
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Comments
Tim Judge
Geas is the normally used spelling I believe. sorry
