In the Name of the King

[AnyOtherName]

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*****​

A tense silence surrounded the small group's camp fire. No doubt the members of the newly formed alliance were examining how it was that they found themselves in their current circumstance. The only thing the assembly had in common was that they were wanted for treason - and they were surrounded by strangers. Strangers they'd have to rely on if they had any hope of survival.

It had all happened so fast.

Wilhelmina's dark green eyes focused on the dancing flames of the freshly constructed pit. Were it not for the mage among them, they would not be able to afford such a luxury. A camp fire equated to a beacon; the former knight only relented in her concerns after being assured that the light could be dampened, confined by some magical barrier. Even then, Wil had saw fit to question the mage's abilities. She took to a walk that carried her to what she had been told was the limit of the luminance; indeed, the mage's words proved true. It seemed to have strained relations between the two immediately. The other woman didn't respond when the knight returned to give words on her final approval in the matter.

The throne was pursuing the small group of traitors. They hadn’t slept in days, had barely eaten, and spoke to each other even less. In all, there were four of them. Wilhelmina wasn’t even sure of their names.

-----

The King had been in failing health for months. In recent weeks, an unfortunate turn had placed him on what everyone knew would be his deathbed. Wilhelmina had witnessed his suffering first hand - she had listened as he spoke feverishly of what she had assumed were delusions brought on by his illness. He was terrified and full of suspicions and regrets. The woman hadn't believed a word that passed his lips...nor had she repeated any of it. And why would she? There was no honor in spreading terrible stories invented by the madness of some unknown disease. One need only look upon the profusely sweating, trembling, wide-eyed terror of the dying man to know that his mind wasn't right.

Wil had only been present at his bedside because of her inexperience among the King's knights. No one was certain if the unidentified illness was easily transferred - she was asked to lay her life on the line in a way she had never expected. And while she had been happy to stand at attention at the door, the King had demanded that she hold his hand while he babbled his insanity to her. He eyed the servants with mistrust whenever they came into his chambers and he had Wil refusing visitors on an hourly basis. His wife had died years previously, and he had no direct heirs. He firmly denied his own brother and cousins their requests to see him.

The knight might have never believed her King's deathbed ramblings, were it not for his brother's reaction to his supposed death.

…And she had even been so bold as to tell her King that his ploy was in incredible bad taste. He laughed and - in what seemed a surprising moment of clarity - he proclaimed, "I am still your King, am I not? Do as I say, knight."

And she had. The King's brother was easily found in the throne room - he received the news expectedly. That was not so alarming - everyone knew the King to be dying. But as the final words passed the woman's lips, with the full confirmation of his brother's death hanging in the air...the man smiled. It was not broad. His lips lifted only slightly - and only on one side. Still, his pleasure in the matter was undeniable. He nodded stiffly and made a dismissive gesture towards the messenger knight. She didn't dare to correct her most recent statement. Instead, she returned to the King's chambers at an unsuspicious and leisurely pace that allowed her to sink in every word she had branded as madness.

-----

Wil rolled a vial between her fingers. Her King's final command to her had been to retrieve the evidence he knew his brother would be quick to discard. A poison...not traceable by conventional means. But with this? Surely, there would be some way to prove that the King had been fed this toxin.

Her emerald eyes lifted to study those around the fire.

She cleared her throat. “Let me start by thanking each of you for joining my cause.”

The priest made a scoffing noise.

“In your case, sir, I apologize. I can do no more than that.” Wil sighed. “The conditions aren’t ideal, granted. It was not my intention to be so easily found out as suspecting the usurper. Though I can’t say I’m surprised he’d be ambitious to be rid of the knight who stood at the late King’s bedside for the weeks leading up to his death. It’s just unfortunate that I had such evidence as this on my person when his men deemed fit to search me.”

“What is that, exactly?” the mage asked.

“A poison,” explained the rogue, who immediately received a cold glare from Wil. The man had been part of the plot, or at the very least was a greedy and dishonorable man who had participated in murdering his own King for profit. Wil didn’t know his exact role then, much as she didn’t now. But when it was that she traced the source of the poison, and found herself in conditions which were highly unfavorable, the rogue had turned on his own to save her. It wasn’t enough for her to forgive or trust him, but she had little choice but to risk his help at present. “Used to kill your late King,” the rogue continued, unflinching to Wil’s leer.

“Well, at least I know I’m on the right side, then,” the mage responded.

-----

She had joined the party on such assumption; being a Court Mage, she just happened to be passing through the same corridors as the knight and the rogue in the moment that they were attacked by the men who served the late King’s brother. Perhaps it was the appearance of a small mob of the new King’s Guard preparing to execute a young knight of the former order in the middle of a hallway that struck the woman as wrong. At the time, it would’ve appeared that the rogue was a captive of sorts; Wil had saw fit to bind him shortly after he saved her life. No doubt he could’ve freed himself, but for whatever reason he was fairly non-resistant. Perhaps he was wise enough to know that something like this would transpire within the capitol, whereas he would be given an opportunity to appear a non-threat long enough that he’d be able to act in such a dire moment as this. And he did, taking out the man who held Wil’s sword arm just moments after slitting the throat of the one who had held him almost lazily out of the way of the business at hand.

The knight had been held by two, with a third standing in front of her, the point of his sword balanced at the base of her throat. The cry of a man being stabbed in the back, and from such proximity, prompted him to drive his blade forward.

That is where the mage came in. As the guard began his movement, it was enough to puncture Wil’s pale flesh, but unexpectedly, he jarred to a stop. His arms dropped, his sword clamored to the floor. Blood burst forth from his mouth with a series of violent, choking coughs, much of the mess splattering on to Wil’s breastplate. Under different circumstances, she might gawk at such a sudden happening and try to decide if it was that the man’s heart exploded (she was not entirely familiar with the workings of magic) or what had happened to him if it were otherwise...but as it was, the knight was quick to re-arm herself and take to turning on the remaining attackers.

The three fled shortly after, of course. They managed to escape the castle through a mostly-forgotten passage whose entrance was concealed by arcane means, a point to mage’s credit, surely. It was for this reason that, when the small party was attacked during their escape from the city itself and the mage was run through the stomach by a blade, that the knight and rogue worked desperately to drag her along as they adopted a tactic hiding and springing upon small groups of the searching parties while slowly making their way to the outskirts of the capitol. At a stable, they took two horses, and the rogue helped to push the mage up on to Wil’s lap. She sat the terribly bleeding woman up and leaned her against Wil's breastplate, holding firmly onto her stomach with whatever linen they had found to wrap around the wound.

Their retreat eventually brought them to a peasant farming community. Unknowing of what was happening just miles away, the poor and caring people bought Wilhelmina’s story that the three were at the service of the King, and had been set on by bandits on the road. They immediately moved to summon their local healer, who seemed to be proficient priest fit for a higher station (though no doubt he was doing divine work here, caring for the peasantry). He didn’t know any better than to restore the mage; for the most part, their party looked to be legit, two of three members wearing the King’s insignia.

The process took just long enough that another mob of pursuers was able to catch up to them. It was at this point that the priest was essentially taken captive by the small group. Branded as a traitor himself, he stood to argue the claim to the men intent to cut him down with the rest of them. To no effect, obviously, but he remained unwilling to join the suddenly realized-to-be-vagrants. He didn’t have much of a choice when Wil firmly grasped his arm and yanked him closer to the group.

The mage teleported them.

As their new surroundings set into their senses, being in the middle of wilderness, the mage calmly explained. “They didn’t have anyone with arcane abilities in their group. They’ll have someone on site to trace the portal signature before it completely fades, though. We had best keep moving.”

For days, little else had been said.

-----

More stifling silence. The sleep deprived and somber group seemed content as a whole to stare at the fire, let their minds process their present situation or perhaps trying to escape reality all together.

For Wil, it was the former.

“I’m Wilhelmina Agrias; or Wil, if you prefer,” she offered suddenly. “A knight of the former king, rest his soul.” She let the words linger for a few moments before continuing. “Truly, I think what I am trying to accomplish is right. But it seems a rather futile quest, and likely we will die. You are all welcomed to go it alone, try to become uninvolved and hide from execution... You’re not my hostages.”

“In any case, I think it is only proper that I learn your names. I sincerely apologize for not asking for them sooner.”

 

[StFornicate]

Quinn the Half-Elven

Quinn had been working hard that day. The sun was hot, almost unbearable, beating down on his deeply tanned skin as he guided the plow, behind the big old horse, in lines through the fields. He could hear, in the distance, some kind of commotion in the town square; his pointed ears were sensitive to mere whispers in the wind, after all, and despite the distance, he knew he was needed.

He halted the horse, released the plow, hopped on the great beast's back, and rode him back to town. One of the villagers, a boy named Tomas, was waving to him. Quinn brought the horse to a stop and hopped off, and headed to the square to see what was going on.

His eyes narrowed when he saw the crest of the King. The royal family had done precious little for this town in the thirty years he had been here. Peasants were nothing more than tax revenue, and the taxes had gotten heavier over the years. Quinn was about to get heated; the villagers had paid their dues already this year, how dare the king send more tax collectors?

But then he saw the blood, and the look of reserved desperation on the face of the knight. These were no tax collectors. He went to the royal wizard. She was bleeding out, a stab wound. "Lay her down," he insisted, pointing. His bronze skin shone in the morning sun as he prayed over her, and laid his hands on her wound. The blood seeped through his fingers, and elicited a strangled cry of pain from the wizard... but then there was light beneath his hands, for a mere moment, and when he pulled them back, the wound was healed.

His breathing was heavy, as was the wizard's. Their eyes locked for a moment, before the cavalry rode in.

Apparently they were being hunted. And now, Quinn was a collaborator. The knight-woman grabbed him and in a flash, they were gone.

*****

For days they travelled in silence. Quinn said his prayers, but his faith was in tatters. His life had been one of peace, for so long... He had not desired to return to the adventuring life. Yet here he was. Hopefully, his villagers would be smart enough to renounce him. He was a traitor now. Not that he was ever committed to the throne, really.

He listened to the knight's story, and how she introduced herself, and he spoke first in response to her.

"I am Quinn the Half-Elven, outcast of Tanalyn, and now of Abideen. I have no home to return to, no thanks to you. I care not for your king or your country, but it seems I'm wrapped up in this anyway. And it seems I'll not have a peaceful life again until this mission of yours is seen through."

 

[KattDclaw]

Fayne Renard

Fayne's world had changed in the blink of an eye. In that fraction of a second she had decided to react to a situation that was beyond her. Instinct had driven her onward, had raised her hand and brought the spell to her lips. Or was it something else? Something bigger and grander than just one simple mage? Some might call it fate, though Fayne had never been one to put much weight into that word. To think that one had a destiny the couldn't avoid, no matter what action they took to change it, was something that she had never been able to accept.

Yet now, sitting in front of the flickering flames of their well-warded fire, Fayne couldn't help but wonder. She had reacted without concious thought. In hindsight she had thought it was the right thing to do. Once the Knight produced the vial and the scruffy man declared its contents, Fayne couldn't help but feel a little relieved. Her words had been true, the confirmation that she was fighting the good fight was enough for her. She had a sense of honor and duty that had been driven into her from an early age by the Mages of Rekkenmark. One did not succeed without a sense of diligence and order. Fayne found she enjoyed the hierarchy of it all, at least there she had a place and a purpose.

Just as she had as a Court Mage, just as she did now with this small band of weary souls. Of course that sense had nearly gotten her killed. While Fayne was an experienced and accomplished spellcaster, the chaos of the situation was one she wasn't accustomed to. Swords were drawn and one nearly went straight through her, never had she experienced such pain. She was as good as dead, or so she thought. She remembered little of that time except agony, faces flashed before her eyes and words were whispers in the wind. The first face she remembered seeing was the bearded face of the cleric who healed her. Amidst the sheer torment of her wounds his touch had brought succor and had brought her over from the verge of death. She really hadn't known just how bad the wound was till she could sit up on her own and investigate it herself.

Her robes were bloody tatters, they barely covered her and were soiled beyond recognition, yet far from ruined. A few simple cantrips, spells that barely took any time at all to cast and prepare saw that her garments were restored, both mended and cleansed of her blood. They were useful, if only to bring a small comfort to herself. Unfortunately, the hard trail and life threatening wound had left her in no position to properly take the time to meditate and prepare her spells anew. She still felt exhausted and ragged, each spell she was forced to cast was a limited resource. Who knew when they would find the time to properly rest?

This fire seemed good enough, their position cloaked with one of those valuable spells she had remaining. It was one she was very familiar with, much to the obvious distrust of the Knight. Fayne didn't fault her, from her looks and mannerisms she was a woman bred for battle not books. Still, she didn't offer much in the way of recognition as the Knight returned, seemingly pleased the spell worked as it should.

Sapphire orbs shimmered brilliantly from underneath the cowl of her robes, reflecting the harsh light of the fire in an almost hypnotizing manner. Fayne could have been considered beautiful if not for the emotionless value she often wore. It was a stoic, impassive mask; even what emotion that did creep out was more sarcasm and wit than anything else. Yet those eyes told more than they should, especially this night. Coming that close to death often made one look back on their life and contemplate it. Fayne wasn't above such a feeling, the experience was traumatic to say the least.

She survived though, in no small thanks to the curious man with a bushy red beard. There came those thoughts of fate...all over again.

Thankfully someone spoke up, the Knight it seemed finally decided to introduce herself. It was in poor taste to wait for introductions, though these were indeed unique circumstances. The man who healed her spoke first, declaring himself half-elven. Fayne almost felt foolish for not noticing earlier, though she had been more than a little distracted through it all. She could feel a certain bitterness in his tone, he was a victim of circumstance. Or was he just another pawn in the grand scheme of things? Just like her.

“My name is Fayne Renard. I am...or at least was...the Court Mage to the King. I'm not sure how fruitful our endeavor may be but it is the right thing to do.” Fayne spoke softly, though tone carried an undeniable weight to it. She turned her gaze to Quinn and spoke once more.

“Without your assistance I would have been nothing more than a bloody mess in the town square. I owe you a great debt.”

She did not try to make him feel better over it all, it wasn't her place to put another man's soul at peace. She owed him a debt though and intended to repay it.

 

[StoryTime87]

How did he end up on the wrong side of things again? Cid contemplated the thought as he unceremoniously dug bits of brown earth from underneath his fingers with his dagger. Cid lounged against the trunk of a hearty tree as the four strangers sat around the fire. He surveyed his three companions out of his peripheral vision. They were visibly ragged and worn; the wear shone on their faces and vibrated in their voices as they slowly introduced themselves. Although he was used to existing in such conditions it began to tire him as well; dust and blood caked his skin and his muscles throbbed in exertion. Though before the recent events, all he had to worry about was himself.

Why did he even intervene in the first place? Why get involved? One moment, he was on lookout, doing what he was told and the next all hell broke loose. Cid was just a lowly thief in the small gang; well small before being 'absorbed' by a syndicate capped a ceremonious beheading of his old leader. The new leader, Ramza of House Stein, was ambitious and had a long reach. He maintained his noble disguise and made numerous visits to the King's Castle despite maintaining an iron grip over the syndicate and its followers. Cid thought it was peculiar but made no fuss of it, keeping his head low so that he kept it.

He lifted his eyes from his tedious movements and gazed at the Knight as she spoke. Ah yes, it all began with her. His eyes traced her broad armor, and the more primitive instincts of his body piqued curiosity as to what lied beneath. He followed her long blonde braid to the intense emerald orbs that pierced the air. Those eyes gave Cid a familiar feeling; reminding him of days in his deep past but nothing concrete that he could put a finger on.

Those orbs were defiant as he explained the contents of the vile that danced in and out of her slender fingers. Cid knew the Knight did not hold him in high regard and he felt the same contempt shared by the other companions. He saw the same pride when he first crossed the Knight's path as she danced the deadly dance with several of his associates. The wails of men she had cleaved down permeated the air and their red life force collected into ruby pools. Cid was crouched in the shadows biding his time to escape the chaos. It seemed a time as good as any to sever himself from Ramza's grasp.

He didn't know exactly why he hesitated, why he deviated from his plan of freedom. Was it because he had no where to go? Or maybe he was inspired by the valiant effort of the Knight in front of him, fighting for her survival, something he could identify with. Possibly the guilt of participating in regicide, albeit unknowingly, weighed on his conscious. Whatever the reason, Cid unsheathed two throwing knives and stabbed the closest man in the jugular, a pitiful gurgle rolled out of the wound. He tossed the knives in a continuous motion into two of her foes circling around her back while she cleaved another man's arm clean off his body.

That was the last he remembered of their first meeting as the Knight's metal gauntlet made contact with his ribs, unexpectedly, which sent him crumpling him to the ground. When he awoke he found himself bound though in a shoddy manner in which he could've severed the ropes easily. Instead he followed her into the castle, not wanting another meeting with her plated fist. They ran headlong into the new King's Guard which quickly apprehended the Knight by force before she could get any weight behind her swings. Cid went off to the side, claiming to be a part of the coup as the knights held her at sword point. Here was another point he had the chance to escape, until the mage's entrance caused enough of a distraction for him to slit his captor's neck. Not to test their luck the group decided that the battle was lost and began their escape from the castle.

Cid's consciousness came back to the flickering reality of the camp's flame as the half-elf finished his speech and the mage piped up. Her clothes were in tatters, stained in blood and dirt, revealing parts of her shapely bronzed body underneath. He looked down upon his own cheap leather armor and found blood caked in patches; thankfully it was not his but the mage's. In their escape from the city, she was run through by a sword in the scramble. Cid and the Knight carried her to a nearby village; she tried to stop the bleeding while he scouted ahead. He should have left the two women then and there if he truly valued his life...

But maybe there was more value in life than caring solely for his own as unnatural it sounded it him. His gaze shifted to the auburn haired man that sat across from him. Observing the half-elf gave him a new sense of wonderment. Here was a man who seemed as selfless as they came, despite the sharpness in his voice about his current circumstances. The villagers he tended to held him in very high regard and he seemed to have no major qualms in tending to the injured mage. Cid still did not know exactly what kept him here, but maybe to learn from the strangers that shared this set of circumstances.

The crackle of the fire persisted for a while after the mage's speech before he mustered the courage to speak up. "I am Cidolfus Gerad, but please call me Cid." He paused as his steely grey eyes swept back to Wil, the female knight, and soaked in her unorthodox beauty. "I had nothing to do with the King's death, nor would I desire such an event to occur." He spoke with conviction though unsure why he felt the need to convince her. "I am just a mere thief in company of such talented folk so I am unsure how much help I can provide. But if you have a need for deft skilled hands and a liaison for the seedier parts of our adventure, I would be glad to be of service." This time, he would attempt to raise his honor to the strangers that surrounded him even if it threatened his survival.