Northgate
70-71 Autumn 217
Astarael
Astarael’s mind is racing, as she hurries through the streets of Northgate, invisible to those around her. It’s the final evening of the Autumn’s Turn festival, and while there are still a few revelers about, most have gone home to nurse hangovers and bellyaches from all of the sweets.
The group had just attempted to scope out the situation around Sav’s old hideout, in some Aasimar ruins beneath the city. Sav had been forced to flee about a week before, when the Painted Swans discovered and secured the location. Due to the magical nature of many of the items that could be found there, Astarael was deeply concerned with the Grand Inquisitor and her peers getting their hands on them.
It was so much worse than she had expected. The tunnels were heavily guarded. They managed the first few soldiers well enough. Her new friends have some amazing abilities. But afterwards, an inquisitor arrived to investigate, and it went downhill from there.
She knew that it was likely this inquisitor would be powerful. She underestimated just how much. He seemed resistant to so much that they did. Her lightning had no effect at all. It had been a long time since she has felt fear on this level. Even during her two years on the run. The exhilaration of being free, of belonging to herself again, drove her through most of that experience. Seeing this inquisitor brought back memories of the one she knew all too well. The man who had caused her so much suffering. She could still hear his voice.
“I find often the most simple pain is the most effective. You will find there is no haste in this place.”
The panic she felt, being bound, as he held a knife to her throat, and dragged it down her torso, threatening to spill her blood.
Being too weak to walk on her own, bruised, aching.
The moments she was sure she would drown this time.
Lying in pitch black on the cold stone floor of her cell, the passage of time lost to her. Leaving it only to be brought to a room filled with instruments of cruelty.
The weight of the chains, the pain she felt, the cold, the dark…so dark…
Weak. Afraid. Pathetic. Your fault — It’s your fault.
Astarael feels chilled, and it has nothing to do with the cold night air. Her heart is racing- only partially due to her brisk walk. Thankfully, her arrival back to her new home has jolted her out of her current thought pattern. It’s a comfort, to be somewhere that feels safe. She hopes it stays that way. Still invisible, she ducks around the back of the building, and double checks that no one is around. It’s very dark where she’s standing, but you can’t be too careful. She reappears, and walks through the door that leads up to her and Sav’s new apartment, above the workshop of a cooper near the market in Dustown.
The apartment itself is comfortable enough for two, but not overly spacious. The main living area has a hearth for cooking, a simple table with chairs, and a large basin for washing, but otherwise, the room is fairly empty. A door leads to a second room, where they’ve set up two beds. Astarael’s is a simple pad on the floor. Even that feels luxurious to her.
Astarael finds that Sav is not there. She hopes she’s ok, wherever she is. She’s exhausted from tonight’s ordeal, and after tending to her minor wounds, she lays down, and is instantly asleep.
Sav
It had all gone so wrong, so fast. That first ambush, the quick escape, the plan to take out the inquisitor, it had seemed like it was all on course, and then—
Her mind, her spirit, had been too unsettled to allow her to return to the new safehouse she shares with Astarael. The reminder of her former home, the hope of returning to it being ripped away is too raw to trust a place she’s barely been in for two days - especially one shared by another person.
So she reverts to old habits, creeping through the city and finding an unoccupied stable with a hay stack she can burrow within.
The morning finds her chased out of the stable by the irate stableboy. A large part of her seriously considers not returning to the apartment and simply leaving the city. She had put in her offer to help in the hope they would be working together to seriously strike at the Swans’ weak points in a way none of them could do alone. That first test had failed miserably, and now they were known and had alerted an inquisitor who knew their looks.
She can’t say what eventually moves her to return. A sense of obligation, perhaps, to at least let Astarael know of her plans and survival. If nothing else, the practical need for a bit of privacy to disguise herself.
So Sav creeps back to the apartment in the pre-dawn light, purchasing a few meat pies and letting herself in through the window and setting to work. She makes no attempt to be quiet about it once she’s inside, figuring that the sounds of stealth might put Astarael on higher alert than simple noise.
So it is that Astarael might wake to the smells of hot meat pies, a strange squelching sound, and the sight of Sav leaned over the washing bowl, her hands and hair covered with dark brown goop that she scoops from a tin to the side and smears methodically into her hair.
Astarael
Astarael’s sleep is broken by the sound of someone in the apartment. She hopes it’s just Sav returned, but just in case, she grabs her dagger from where she keeps it under her pillow, and cautiously walks into the other room.
It smells heavenly in here. A strange noise attracts her attention, though, and she looks towards the corner to find Sav bent over, smearing a dark paste in her hair. She puts the knife down on the table.
“You’re back! I’m so glad. I was a little worried you wouldn’t return! …Do you need any help with that?”
Sav
Not turning to look at Astarael (difficult to keep the paste from getting into her face as it is), Sav shakes her head minutely. “Near done here.” A brief hesitation, before she adds, “But if ye’ve a mind, some aid wi’ the shearing of me hair after this would be a kindness.”
On the table, Aloysius looks up from where he’s been supping on his own little portion of meat pie (set decorously on a tiny tin plate, with a matching small bowl of water) and patters over toward the remaining ones covered with another cloth, pulling the cloth aside and gesturing toward them in a clear “help yourself” gesture.
Sav says nothing further unless spoken to for the rest of her task, as she pours the pitcher over her head and rinses the excess paste out. It doesn’t take exorbitantly long, given her short hair. Once done, the dirtied water is tossed out the window (after a quick glance to ensure there’s only mud beneath, a close match to the shade of the water) and she wrings the water from her hair with a cloth, leaving enormous dark streaks in the erstwhile towel. Couldn’t be helped, that; it’d bleed a little with every wash.
Astarael
“Oh, ok! I can certainly try!” She looks down at Aloysius, and sees that he’s offering her some breakfast.
“Thank you my friend!” She says to him, and to Sav, “Thanks for getting some food for us.”
Astarael sits down, and begins to eat, watching Sav finish up with her hair. It’s now dark brown, like mahogany. “You look so different! That was a good idea.”
“Sav, I’m really sorry about what happened last night. It was just…a huge mistake. I knew there would probably be some guards, but I never fathomed it would be like that. Obviously, we need more time to get to know each other, as a group. Hopefully in the future, we can come up with some better plans. You really saved us, though. So, thank you.”
Sav
Silently, she drapes the wet cloth over the back of the other chair and sits down on it, wiping her hands as best as she can before pulling one of the meat pies over and starting into it. She’s not hungry, exactly — stress and upset leaves her without appetite — but she knows from past experience that she has to stay on top of her body’s fuel supply, or the consequences are unhappy.
“That cannae be hard. Any plan would be better than the no plan that happened,” she says around a mouthful of pasty. It’s not intended to be bitter or passive-aggressive, so much as a bald statement, but it’s probably inevitable that it sounds one or the other. She chews, swallows, bites again. “Ye’ve been on the run for some time now, aye? What in the Hunt coulda driven ye to leap down so recklessly after that boy, an not even withdrawn down the tunnel when that was what we were talking about before the fuddle started?”
Astarael
A troubled look comes over Astarael’s face. “I was on the run, yes. But before that, I spent a long time held captive. I….there was an Inquisitor there. He, well…he was the one who did the torturing. And even though the inquisitor we saw last night was not the same one, it brought back memories of what I’ve been through.”
She pauses for a moment, staring at the half eaten pie before her.
“I didn’t know what this Inquisitor might be capable of, or how many guards might be nearby, but I did know that after enduring everything I have on my own, the only way to make it through, to survive- is to have help. So, when I saw Talith jump down, I didn’t hesitate. There was no doubt in my mind. Whatever was going to happen, I wasn’t going to let him face it alone.”
She looks up at Sav, now.
“It was the first time I’ve ever fought like that. With other people as my allies. I don’t think I was prepared for how scared I was going to be. Not for myself. But for the rest of you. I froze this time, and couldn’t bring myself to just retreat and leave anyone, no matter how dire the situation. But now I know better what you are all capable of. And I know that in the future, I won’t underestimate the power of any of our enemies, ever again.”
Sav
Sav’s lids flicker at the near-casual mention of torture. They’d spoken a little about their experiences, and some of what brought them to Northgate, but mostly in the context of what they could do. She’s quiet for a while, unsure of what to say.
Finally, she swallows her last bite, shifts awkwardly, and says, “Well. That I can understand.” She hesitates again. Speaking of her past is not something she does easily or casually, but a part of her feels the unveiling of a portion of Astarael’s history deserves an equivalent exchange. “Truth, I jumped down meself because of something similar. I was a Swan once, for a bit - or at least a conscript, I dinnae know as that I ever thought of meself as a real Swan. But my unit - we was close, and we supported each th’ other when the cards were played.”
Her lips quirk, and she adds, “We did also drill an’ have tactics and such, which probably helps.” Even if it hadn’t helped in the final reckoning. But one could only do so much about an uncaring commander who would sacrifice his own troops to gain a slight advantage. “So maybe that’s a part we could work on. Like, having particular moves or responses to situations and stuff.”
She sighs, picking up her second pasty and starting in on it. “And maybe leaving the city for a bit, too, to let the heat die down. I heard that crier what’s been shouting ‘bout a Morathi witch. Was thinking of maybe going to see the Jorungun girl an’ offer my help to check out her village.”
Astarael
Astarael is shocked at the news of Sav’s past time as a Swan.
“You were conscripted? But….you’re still so young. How old…?” Her voice trails off, a concerned look on her face. “It’s been my experience that most of those in power don’t care much for the lives of those they see as beneath them. We’re all just pawns, to be used and sacrificed as they please. If getting out of the city for a bit is what’s best for you, then do so. I think I should continue to keep a low profile here. I’m sure Vanja will welcome your help with checking on her village. We’re all in this together now, right?”
Sav
“Oh, I was never on the front lines or anythin.” Until the end. “Conscription’s what the Baroness does to get rid of the street kids and other unwanted trash in the capital. Probably elsewhere, too, these days. But ye get a mess of younguns who en’t much use in a stand-up fight unless you just want warm bodies, so they gi’ ye a wee bit of training and spread ye out amongst the battalions to use as runners and pack handlers and cooks’ assistants and such. If you’re unlucky it’s with the infantry. I got lucky and put on a siege crew.”
She has no disagreement with Astarael’s assessment of those in power, though her expression does twist skeptically at Astarael’s decision to stay in town - or maybe that’s at the notion of all being in it together now. Sav doesn’t say anything about it either way, simply nodding. “Do ye know where she stays at, then? And would ye mind givin’ me hair a bit of a clip before I pop over there?” She produces a pair of scissors from one of her multitudinous bandoliers, pushing them shyly across the table.
Astarael
Astarael is glad that Sav feels comfortable enough to open up to her a bit. She’s also learning more and more about how life has been for those living in Isendel. It seemed like such a nice place, at first.
She knows better, now.
Still, there are always good things to be found, if you look hard enough. Like, Sav herself. Astarael nods. “I believe Vanja mentioned residing at “the best brothel” here in Dustown. I expect it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which one it is. Or, we can always use the message system. Hand me those shears. Let’s see what we can do with that hair of yours.”
Episode navigation
Previous
Previous:
S12 E02 - You Can’t Go Home AgainNext
Next:
Authentic Jorungun Woodworking (Sav)
Bullshit (Astarael)
Back to: