Friday, March 30, 2012

Lost and Found Pt. 2

Im-Slatner reached among the strings of pouches hanging from the ceiling above his sleep-space, grabbing the cloth or leather bags and twisting them around to read their contents. Some contained gemstones, metal filings, or rare sands; others had the dessicated body parts of various creatures; still more were filled with pungent herbs. He wrapped the sack of fellweed he'd received from the Corsair in among the herbs, then snatched two bags of powdered iron on impulse.

"Slatner, I know you're in here!" The voice coming from the other room was vibrant and haughty. The Minion heard clopping footsteps on the stone floor as his visitor paced.

Im-Slatner shoved the pouches of iron into his pockets and straightened out his robes. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, swept aside the thick curtain dividing his workspace from his living space, and strode out to meet his guest.

"It's about time." Ophelia looked much as Im-Slatner remembered: tall and slender, beautiful in a distant, chiseled way. No hint of compassion touched her eyes. Her lips were curled up in a small smile, but the Minion knew this was caused by pride and gleeful superiority rather than joy. The woman extended a pale hand in his direction, fingers extended and palm down. A golden charm resembling a pair of inverted, nestled Vs glimmered on her wrist. "You may greet me."

"Welcome, Sister Ophelia," Im-Slatner said in his precise monotone. He did not react to her gesture. "To what do I owe this visit?"

The woman turned on her heel and the green hem of her dress flared out around her ankles. "I was passing through and noticed one of Cahllyn's ilk exiting your...quaint hovel," she said, inflecting contempt into her words. "Since when have you begun consorting with the enemy, Minion?"

Im-Slatner shook his head. "The Dread Sister remains neutral in the affairs between the Dark and Lucid Brothers. As I am bound to her, so am I bound to her decisions."

Ophelia snorted and strode towards the middle of the room, where the candles from Im-Slatner's earlier ritual still burned. She extended a hand and the bobbing flames licked upward eagerly, winding around one another. The fiery thread's tip followed her hand as she moved it slowly from side to side. "You are already once a traitor to Maurcke's vision of Etossa, so why not again? Cahllyn deigns to allow treasonous Minions to serve his will. Rhys," she spat, snatching the candle flames out of the air in her fist. The fires struggled in her grasp like tortured serpents for a moment before winking out of existence.

Im-Slatner exhaled slowly and laced his fingers together before him, close to the pockets in his robe. "If you have no business here, Elementalist, then I must ask that you depart. Marone remains a Freelance city."

"Of course it does." Ophelia's face curled into a sneer. "You realize that I will hunt down that Corsair and his slut as soon as they leave the city. They will burn for me. Living flesh does nicely, but that of the Realive...ah, that is a pyre of beauty beyond words."

Ophelia turned towards the door but stopped when her hand touched the handle. "Ah, yes. I ought to remind you that your precious neutrality will be violated if you should find it in your craven heart to warn the Cahllesque. Perhaps they shall escape me, for a time." She turned and looked at Im-Slatner over her shoulder, her green eyes flaring with excitement. "But you, you are right here and so immediately accessible. Whistle up whatever abominations you like in the name of Cs'e'erah, but they will only serve as additional fuel at your own cremation. The fires will burn all the hotter." Sister Ophelia chortled and stepped outside, leaving Im-Slatner in the cool darkness of his abode.

Once she had gone, the Minion hustled into his bedroom and loaded his belongings into the worn gunny-sack crammed under the small pallet which served as his bed. Tomes detailing Cs'e'erahn rituals and magic went into the bottom, carefully wrapped in a woolen blanket. What spare clothing he had went atop that, then the strings of reagents hanging over his bed. He retained some of the more valuable of his possessions, such as the small pouch of fellweed, on his person.

It was time to relocate to another Freelance city, perhaps Navat or Rebesway, something closer to East Borena and the Cs'e'erahn sphere of influence. He had grown complacent at the living he had chiseled out in Marone and it had led to trouble. He feared Ophelia. She was not only a skilled Flame Elementalist, but she stood high in the Maurckian heirarchy. She had more important things to do than check up on a single Minion who had turned his back on the Dark Brother. The sooner he could call upon his patroness's protection, the better.

He had just finished cinching the top of his gunny sack shut when he heard scrabbling at his front door. "Im-Slatner, it's Kathan. Let me in!"

The Minion snorted his ire. Just as he thought his day could not grow worse. What could the Mock Stalker want now?

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