6th of Cylus 720
A pair of footfalls sounded rhythmically against the graveled dirt road leading from the city of Ne'haer to the outlying farming township of Treth. It was another chilly day, although the ice storms had managed to let up for at least a time. Woe's mouth curved downward as he thought about the previous day's events. Another pair of footfalls fell behind Woe. They belonged to the Etzori peasant, Fleaface. While he'd not accompanied Woe on his dangerous journey south, his mother had arranged for transport aboard a ship, giving him the necessary resources and fake identifications in order to infiltrate Ne'haer. Now here he was, walking beside his old new master.
Woe wore one of his newer outfits, procured from the Ne'haer tailor. A navy velvet surcoat that covered Woe well below his knees, trimmed around the collar and neckline with ermine, with silver buttons fastening the surcoat's front seam. Gloves of velvet, starched around the longish cuffs, are threaded with silver cloth. Breeches of black leather, boots of black leather are worn beneath the surcoat. A belt and baldric with silver buckles cinched the surcoat at the waist.
"Do you think I ought to have informed her? That... I was..."
"Mmm? What master, that you were a doltish ignoramus with the social awareness of a Cliff Lurker?"
Woe's mouth twisted in mock amusement. He shook his head nevertheless. Fleaface had always been good with the insult humor. "No, I meant... I meant that I was leaving for Treth?"
"Oh." Fleaface hummed, shrugging, "Sywena is a smart lass, with good connections. I'm sure she'll find you sooner or later."
Woe nodded, his expression turning grim as his tangle churned with worry, "That's what I'm afraid of."
"Well then! Why not use your power against her, sire? Just make her forget all about you, and you to her. You won't have to worry about the lass again. And while you're at it, use it on the harpies at the Order Outpost. Might be best that they forget about your recent escapades?"
A ripple of sorrow surged through Woe at the suggestion. He dispelled any such idea from his head. Besides, he wasn't sure the limits of his power. Would something terrible happen if he overused it? He had aged several years when he tried it in Etzos, day after day against even the most insignificant of contacts. "I don't think she'll come. But, Cutler?"
"Hmm?"
"Could you keep an eye on her, while I reside at the Almshouse?"
"Mmm, aye master."
Woe nodded, relieved. "Good."
The mortalborn still wasn't sure what to make of Fleaface's return to his side. His mother had certainly assured him that it would be most beneficial to have such a resourceful man with him, and also someone who contained so many of his secrets. Fleaface had proven his mettle as an agent in Etzos, bagging rioters for interrogation, and helping Woe ascend in favor to his mother. He was a useful blunt object, and Woe had come to rely greatly upon him.
And therein lay the problem. Woe didn't want Fleaface to be indispensable. The whole point of making his associates forget about him was to cut ties, so he could start anew whenever he needed to. He could just use the power now and see what happened. Yet, something held him back, some preternatural instinct prevented him from taking that step.
"By the way, did you bring what I asked?" Woe looked to Fleaface uncertainly. The Etzori peasant nodded, and took out a bundle wrapped in furs. Inside, a short sword or rather a very long knife. One or the other. Woe had commissioned it from the smith of Ne'haer. Forged of adamantite to the level of masterwork. He had a mind to keep it for himself, and learn more about how to use a blade, along with his whip.
"Gotcher blade right there. What yer need it for? Yer seem good enough with a..."
Just then, a sharp whistle rent the air, and the rustling of frosted leaves on the ground alerted both Woe and Fleaface to the presence of several men, emerging from the woods adjoining the path.
"Welly welly well! What have we here?" Said the lead thug, dressed in hides and furs. He looked thin and emaciated, hungry. Probably another child starved and fallen victim to the circumstances of the preceding season.
"Yon well dressed folk better drop your purse, and go on your way! And we'll take that pretty sword too!"
Woe stopped walking when he heard the men coming out of the woods. Fleaface stood beside him, his fist tightening around the handle of his cane. Woe's hand drifted from the sheath of the blade, to his whip. His other hand was still on the grip of the sword.
"There's no need for violence." Woe said, not quite meaning it. It'd been too long since he had a proper bout of exercise, and these starving bandits fit the bill. Nevertheless, he was ever one to test his ability to talk down people. "But if you want to try us, we'll bloody you easy."
"Sounds like an invitation to plunder boys!" Said the youth, and so he charged for the pair. Several others emerged from the woods.
The leader used a longspear, while the others had clubs of various configurations. Some spiked, some heavy, some light. All deadly. In all there were four of them.
Before the leader could close with Woe, he slashed his blade across the air, sending the sheath flying at the lad's face. It distracted him only a moment, but that was all Woe really needed. He unfurled his whip from his belt, and snapped it at the lad's crotch before he could lower his spear. U*nfortunately for Woe, he was too unskilled with the knife in order to wield both at the same time. As he brought his whip into the fray, his grip on the handle slipped, and it fell to the snowy ground below.
The crack of the knotted end of the black snake made contact with the tender tissue, and caused the lad to buckle, even with the adrenaline flowing. The other three went for Fleaface, but Woe had enough presence of mind and time to reverse the course of his whip and snap it at one of them, setting them off balance.
Fleaface took advantage of the exploit and jammed the narrow end of his cane into the lad's solar plexus.
Woe was off guard with his whip, when the spear-wielding leader lowered it once more, his face contorted by rage and pain, as he charged forward. Woe caught the spear on his wrist. Splinters and the edge of the leaf blade of the spear cut into Woe's clothing but was stopped short of the skin by a metal vambrace he wore.
Woe exposed his back only for a moment while spinning around, and then sending his whip over his shoulder at the lad's face. By the time he was under his guard, made a move to wrap the whip around the leader's throat, and then tugged, snapping his neck with an awkward yank of his hands.
Fleaface, meanwhile, was busying himself, taking hits from the two club-wielding lads who were still on their feet. Woe was surprised at his skill with the club, and observed only a moment while making sure his opponent was down for the count.
He watched for a few moments, not deigning to take an action until it appeared that Fleaface was getting flanked and outmaneuvered. Then Woe went into action, sending his whip to snap at the neck of the boy flanking his ally.
It didn't incapacitate him, but caused enough pain to enrage the lad to where he turned on Woe. Then it was two on two.
Woe backpedaled as the boy came at him. This time, he arrived under the guard of Woe's whip, so he couldn't very well use it at full crack. Woe made a clumsy parry with his metal vambrace. The lad took the opportunity to open his guard and send a fist into Woe's gut.
Then everything devolved into a disorganized mess of mortal combat.
The boy didn't have long to celebrate his victorious blow before Woe was knapping him about the head with the handle of the black snake. There was a certain lack of coordination to his stabs, just wildly thrusting it at his torso and hoping it hit some vital organs or blood vessels. Within moments, the lad went down to the ground. And then it was two on one.
Fleaface was acquitting himself well against the bandit that remained on his feet. Woe simply watched, not eager to interfere with his ally's combat, lest he make a poorly coordinated offensive and end up hurting Fleaface.
Fleaface didn't need the help though, it turned out. He blocked a downward swing of the other lad's club, with a two-handed grip on either end of his cane. The club rebounded off the wood of his cane, and Fleaface took that opportunity to make a two-handed grip on the cudgel, and swing it hard across the lad's face. This blow easily busted the young man's skull. And he went to the ground.
Then it was just Woe, Fleaface, and the lad that had been knocked to the ground, still writhing in pain. Fleaface went up to the lad, and gruffly took him by the collar, "Best be on yer way." So saying, Woe's servant tossed him off to the side of the road, where the lad scrambled away.
Woe was still catching his breath, as he picked up the blade that had slipped from his hands. Afterward, he retrieved the sheath, and replaced the adamantite long seax in it.
"Allow me, Master." Said Fleaface, as he helped Woe to his feet. Woe shrugged off his help, and attached the blade to his belt.
"Perhaps we'd best get some backup, we're not even a break out of Ne'haer, and getting attacked?"
"Aye master, let's go. Road is too dangerous."
So saying, the two men made their way back toward Ne'haer. They'd have to inform someone of the bodies they'd left off the side of the road, belonging to the bandits. But for the moment, burying them in solid, frozen earth seemed a fairly foolish proposition.
