Irihi
Evildoer
Faan smiled at Lucianus as he was the first to volunteer. “That’s perfectly alright, I’d like to get to know you better as well, Lucianus.” A tiny bit of her canines showed as she pressed her tongue against her teeth. Ooh, you wicked flirt. she scolded herself. Faan wasn’t sure if she was reading the same subtext in the tall man’s demeanor, but she certainly hoped so. While she was a little disappointed that Lucianus didn’t want the job, she realized that was likely for the best. After all, how could she hire just one of his entourage? Also, her own personal feelings would have immediately muddled any employer-employee relationship.
Faan enjoyed the bespectacled man’s trip down memory lane. The snippets of adventures, theater, performance, and travel stitched together a comfortable quilt of good feelings. She detected not a hint of complicity in the man’s thoughts, and she was careful not to delve into anything he seemed reluctant to show. She had the impression that Lucianus held some resentment toward family and so she steered their shared thoughts away from such matters.
Thank you for sharing, Lucianus. Faan’s words were as clear in his mind as if she had spoken them. A bit about myself, then. Faan thought, and then broadcast a few memories of her own; tidying up around her sun-dappled forest homestead, gardening, animal husbandry, and long quiet hours cutting, sewing, and fitting fabric on her well-worn dress form. There were images of her hands carefully folding and packing the pieces she was selling into her travelling trunk and closing the lid with a sense of excitement to be leaving home.
Faan was practiced in filtering her thoughts, so the images and feelings were clear and simple. Still, though she selected her most human of memories, Lucianus would feel an alienness to them; a sense of gravity of years--decades and more--rolling peacefully but inexorably by. Even the simplest memory would hold the sense of a changeable world swirling around the observer with creatures and people coming and going as their ephemeral lives were spent, while she remained unchanging and unaging. There was a weight and a melancholy underpinning it all--until there wasn’t--until Faan’s fingers left the back of his hand, where they had rested, and she closed their connection. Just before she did so, one last memory slipped through; so fast and subtle that it would only be perceptible as a buried subconscious image--Faan was a talented and practiced telepath after all, and she was not beyond impishly placing suggestions (especially with a few drinks in her). Perhaps Lucianus might half-remember or dream it later; the elfmaid, fresh from bathing, looking over her shoulder at a mirror with a wide-eyed expression halfway between shock and delight.
Thank you for sharing, Lucianus. Faan’s words were as clear in his mind as if she had spoken them. A bit about myself, then. Faan thought, and then broadcast a few memories of her own; tidying up around her sun-dappled forest homestead, gardening, animal husbandry, and long quiet hours cutting, sewing, and fitting fabric on her well-worn dress form. There were images of her hands carefully folding and packing the pieces she was selling into her travelling trunk and closing the lid with a sense of excitement to be leaving home.
Faan was practiced in filtering her thoughts, so the images and feelings were clear and simple. Still, though she selected her most human of memories, Lucianus would feel an alienness to them; a sense of gravity of years--decades and more--rolling peacefully but inexorably by. Even the simplest memory would hold the sense of a changeable world swirling around the observer with creatures and people coming and going as their ephemeral lives were spent, while she remained unchanging and unaging. There was a weight and a melancholy underpinning it all--until there wasn’t--until Faan’s fingers left the back of his hand, where they had rested, and she closed their connection. Just before she did so, one last memory slipped through; so fast and subtle that it would only be perceptible as a buried subconscious image--Faan was a talented and practiced telepath after all, and she was not beyond impishly placing suggestions (especially with a few drinks in her). Perhaps Lucianus might half-remember or dream it later; the elfmaid, fresh from bathing, looking over her shoulder at a mirror with a wide-eyed expression halfway between shock and delight.
…
Next up was the armored knight, who first protested that she could not lie, and then warned Faan that her memories might be disturbing. “Dame Joanne, I’m honored by anything you choose to share.” Faan reassured her.
The knight had not lied; her memories were violent, disturbing, and filled with anguish and despair. Faan found herself gripping Joanne’s shoulder tightly at times as she filtered the powerful images and emotions streaming through their telepathic link. The woman had seen suffering that she was powerless to ease, felt anger she was helpless to vent, and faced foes she could not defeat. The elfmaid felt a knot of empathy twist in her chest even as she noted the vow and the quest with which the knight was still charged.
Faan was impressed with Joanne’s healing and martial skills, and more so with her strong sense of duty and honor. The seamstress very much wanted to hire the knight, though her own quest was trivial in comparison to Joanne’s. Can you work for me on this journey without conflict with your vows? Faan wondered, aloud. She believed so, and if Joanne likewise felt this to be the case, Faan wanted the powerful warrior in her employ if she could afford her.
Faan shared her own thoughts and memories with Joanne. Like those she had broadcast to Lucianus, they were bucolic scenes of domestic life in the depths of the forest--of creating clothes between the duties of the homestead, and of long lonely years spent without seeing another soul. Perhaps intentional, perhaps not, Joanne would have the sense that Faan wanted to share more with the knight; that the elfmaid was holding back a flood of empathy behind a dam of self-control. It did not feel disingenuous, but rather like the respectful caution of a subject of the queen in the presence of a warrior of allegiance to that same monarch.
Faan was impressed with Joanne’s healing and martial skills, and more so with her strong sense of duty and honor. The seamstress very much wanted to hire the knight, though her own quest was trivial in comparison to Joanne’s. Can you work for me on this journey without conflict with your vows? Faan wondered, aloud. She believed so, and if Joanne likewise felt this to be the case, Faan wanted the powerful warrior in her employ if she could afford her.
Faan shared her own thoughts and memories with Joanne. Like those she had broadcast to Lucianus, they were bucolic scenes of domestic life in the depths of the forest--of creating clothes between the duties of the homestead, and of long lonely years spent without seeing another soul. Perhaps intentional, perhaps not, Joanne would have the sense that Faan wanted to share more with the knight; that the elfmaid was holding back a flood of empathy behind a dam of self-control. It did not feel disingenuous, but rather like the respectful caution of a subject of the queen in the presence of a warrior of allegiance to that same monarch.
…
Faan grinned and even giggled at Conner’s scatterbrained start to their encounter. Please, Mister Erland, relax. He would hear her thoughts cutting through the dismay at his cluttered stream of consciousness. I can sort whatever I need. She reassured him, reveling in his memories of finding lost pets and sawing away at his fiddle as revelers stomped a lively jig in some unnamed village tavern. Such memories were a welcome relief from the weighty experience with the knight.
Like the others, Faan was pleased that she detected no obvious signs of duplicity. Every person carried the seeds of good and evil, but those who cultivated evil while pretending good had a hard time hiding it from empaths like Faan. The elfmaid had ordered herself another drink when she’d sat a little while with Joanne, and now she sipped at what little remained while she connected with Conner. The elfmaid even found her toe tapping in time with the remembered tunes. Her heart lifted as lost pets were reunited with their owners and threatening monsters were dispatched with a sword that sang just as adroitly when fiddling as it did when flaying fiends.
Conner felt fun; a kind of carefree weightless spirit that Faan so wanted to share, join with, and adventure alongside. Forgetting herself a little, she leaned back laughing at one delightful memory. This man’s world seemed one of music, laughter, and derring-do that
had once been
there
too.
Faan froze, the laughter stilled in her throat. A thought, a single thought came--unbidden--and blew into the shared connection between elfmaid and man, like an icy draft into a sun-warmed room. Music fell silent, light dimmed to darkness, and the great pale airless disc of the moon was the image that supplanted all others in their shared consciousness.
Faan’s fingers lifted from Conner’s shoulder and that desolate alien landscape vanished. Before the man could open his eyes to look at Faan, the stricken expression fled from her face.
Conner felt fun; a kind of carefree weightless spirit that Faan so wanted to share, join with, and adventure alongside. Forgetting herself a little, she leaned back laughing at one delightful memory. This man’s world seemed one of music, laughter, and derring-do that
had once been
there
too.
Faan froze, the laughter stilled in her throat. A thought, a single thought came--unbidden--and blew into the shared connection between elfmaid and man, like an icy draft into a sun-warmed room. Music fell silent, light dimmed to darkness, and the great pale airless disc of the moon was the image that supplanted all others in their shared consciousness.
Faan’s fingers lifted from Conner’s shoulder and that desolate alien landscape vanished. Before the man could open his eyes to look at Faan, the stricken expression fled from her face.
Faan took a deep breath and then a deeper draught, draining her glass, as she looked expectantly at the bandaged construct that took Conner’s place. “Mister Garret, before we begin, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Faan whispered, conspiratorially. “My other escort, of whom I spoke but you’ve yet to meet, is also a construct; I made him, myself. I hope you can meet him on the morrow.” She suggested, and then touched the golem that held a soul.
It was strange, to connect telepathically to a soul within a lifeless vessel. Robespierre, Faan’s guardian, was a soulless automaton--much different from Cass. The bandaged gunslinger’s thoughts and feelings seemed muted to Faan--perhaps by alcohol, perhaps by something else. The man felt hollow, his thoughts echoey--like ghosts haunting the halls of an abandoned mansion. Haunted seemed the right turn of phrase for Cass, for the memory he shared might have come from another world--from another life, certainly. The elfmaid had not expected to share in something that seemed so deeply bound to the construct’s core. Though the memory was blanketed with unconcern, Faan thought she detected remorse and pain swaddled in layers many times thicker than the construct’s bandages. What she did not feel was duplicity. Nor did she feel that he was concerned she might deceive him; the gunslinger seemed to completely disregard his own life, and the elfmaid did not think her own pastoral memories or reassurances appropriate to share.
Instead, Faan leaned forward, her eyes still open as she looked at the construct. Is there aught that I might do for him? She wondered. She had already decided that she would not hire Mister Garret, though she welcomed him as a travel companion. Instead, she wondered if she ought to try to unwrap his bandages of denial and wash away the salve of alcohol with which he swaddled his memories. What, then, would I find? Would anything remain of the man? The elfmaid thought it best not to try, knowing so little about Cass. What came across the telepathic connection between them, then, would be only vague concern and a sense that Faan wanted to help him, if she could.
Instead, Faan leaned forward, her eyes still open as she looked at the construct. Is there aught that I might do for him? She wondered. She had already decided that she would not hire Mister Garret, though she welcomed him as a travel companion. Instead, she wondered if she ought to try to unwrap his bandages of denial and wash away the salve of alcohol with which he swaddled his memories. What, then, would I find? Would anything remain of the man? The elfmaid thought it best not to try, knowing so little about Cass. What came across the telepathic connection between them, then, would be only vague concern and a sense that Faan wanted to help him, if she could.
Speaking of which, Faan’s three (four?) drinks were catching up to her--as well as the mental strain of so many rounds of [telepathy F]. She returned to the shared table and took her seat, listening to--and making her own small talk for a little while longer. If Lucianus’s troupe was willing, Faan would make introductions to all of them--though she would not offer any more telepathic connections tonight.
Afterward, the elfmaid asked for a moment of Joanne’s time. She had come to a decision in the interim, and extended an offer of employment to the knight. “Dame Joanne, if it pleases you, I would like to hire you as my escort and guardian at least as far as Celenmar, on the shore of the continental lake.” She offered. “I am told the journey will take about a week’s time.” Faan detailed her further travel to Aslan--the capital of the Grand Duchy--but as the intermediary legs of her journey were--as yet--uncertain, she suggested they leave it an open question as to whether they would continue to travel together past Celenmar.
The elfmaid was delighted when Joanne accepted her offer. That delight was tempered only slightly by having to decline to hire Conner, which she did in a subsequent private conversation. “Conner, I am sorry. I am retaining Joanne as my escort.” She informed the swordsman bard. “If I were a rich merchant carrying the goods to justify it, I would hire you both, and I hope you will choose to journey with us, even if you won’t be able to enjoy me bossing you around.” She winked at him. [color] “I mean, I can still be bossy, if you like--you just won’t be getting paid to listen to my complaints.”[/color] She offered, before they returned to the rest of the group.
The evening had deepened close to midnight and the tavern was quieting and emptied except for their rather-large party. The fire was burning low in the hearth and the tavern wench had gone home--only the innkeeper remained, dozing behind the bar when not summoned for some task.
“Friends, I fear I must call it a night, for I travel on the morrow.” A tired Faan announced, at last. “I hope that I can call you all companions when I set out, for I wish this isn’t our final parting. If you would journey with me, meet me at the sawmill tomorrow; the lumber wagon departs two hours after sunrise. My, and Joanne’s luggage will be on it, and we will be walking beside it.” With that, the elfmaid wished them all a good night and retired to her room.
Faan’s Room With a inn full of friends in this familiar town, Faan felt no need to set a guard, and she was too tired to speak to her mindless automaton--as she sometimes did to organize her own thoughts and recap the day. Instead, she opened her bedroll upon the straw tick and then went facedown on top of it. It was not particularly elvish or ladylike, but the empath was wholly spent by the day’s activities, the stress of telepathy, and perhaps a little over-indulgence in drink.
You will need to be more careful from now on. was the last thought that crossed her mind before she fell into the trance that passed for sleep among her kind.
The Following Morning at the Sawmill Faan’s trunk and her travel bag were loaded atop the stacks of rough-sawn lumber on the large wagon. A pair of oxen were hitched and their driver was just climbing aboard, having finished preparations.
The elfmaid was conversing with Ivan, Hunt’s End’s oldest guardsman while she awaited her companions and the wagon’s departure. She would warmly greet any who came along.
Eventually, the wagon set off and Faan accompanied it, walking beside the slow-turning wheels. It cost a handful of coins to have your luggage hauled by the wagon, and a few more to ride. Payment could be rendered to the sawmill foreman, or to the driver, himself (though one might suspect not all the coins rendered to the driver necessarily made it to his employer).
Faan had paid for her and Joanne’s cargo and seats, but the Elfmaid was resolved to walk most of the way. The wagon set a slow and steady pace down the well-worn trail that led into the woods, and it was easy for any to trot ahead or catch up to the caravan. Riding on the rough wagon was a boring jostling affair best reserved for those who had no choice.
The wagon rolled through the midwinter-sun-dappled clearings around Hunt’s End and then into the cool quiet dimness of the old forest road that wound its way through the stately trunks of the ancient climax forest.
