Old legends spoke of a time when the gods fought the rulers of the world of the fae, the Eldest, for possession of Othrombar. That the gods had not truly won, merely separated the ‘first world’ ontop of parts of it and had quickly fallen to squabbling amongst themselves once again, only uniting to imprison Rovagug under the earth. Some only united to advance the cause of good or the vast empires that were now ruined by wars.

                These were the songs that the oracle sung as Arcturus joined with the two ‘sacred whores’ he had paid for. He didn’t speak anything but a smattering of celestial as she sang, the nubile young man and woman having helped his mind calm down. Focus more. He hated magic if he was fighting against it. But on his side? Arcturus wanted to buy that warforged a drink. He was sure that without him or those bestial fighters, he’d have died in that forsaken place.

                He was buttoning his trousers up as he walked out of Calistria’s temple, his mind never having felt this great. His pockets were empty though. Hands shook as he tried to bring a glass of wine to bear but he could only think about the things that had stolen his friend’s voices. How they had all fallen trap to the daemons and the hag, whatever she was plotting.

                “Hello friend!” Came a far too bubbly voice that sat next to him. Jera leaned over the table and sniffed at the wine. “Strong stuff, eh?”

                “I’ve drank stronger.” He groaned and with a great effort, drained it in one go. “’course, that was what feels like a lifetime ago. Why the fuck did I live, Jera? Why didn’t Janice make it out? She was a good woman. Why did they take Woods?” He whimpered, remembering the thing that they had never encountered their second run through, the thing as big as the trox, face like a horrifying fish. That he swore had reached in and pulled the soul right out of Janice, and then blocked the entrance out of the building.

                That the things from upstairs had attacked them as the two of them panicked, the hallucinations from the ghost thing he had carved through had slowly driven him mad until he posted himself in a corner of a room and waited for the end, but the daemons had only crippled him and waited for him to bleed out after what had felt like an eternity.

                “Because the world is cold and cruel.” Jera said simply, ordering two more glasses of wine. “They did not deserve their fate, but you lived. The recovery team can’t find their bodies, Arcturus. Without them, we cannot raise them. Assuming the daemons didn’t consume their soul stuff already.”

                “I know.” Arcturus croaked. “I was afraid of it.” He took the wine and didn’t bother to look at what Jera had ordered, only knowing that his hands had started to steady. His teacher had once told him that his body and mind had to be steel to wield a blade perfectly. He was afraid he wasn’t tough enough now.

                “How do you feel about ruins that are slowly sinking into Dashmana’s Lake?”

                “How about you fuck yourself?” Arcturus slowly stood up. “I don’t think I could handle another job right now.”

                “Understandable.” Jera rose with him. “You’ve been one of my closest friends, Arcturus. My father used to say that you were the best swordsman he had ever trained.”

                “Your father was a liar.” He took a mug of dwarven ale that was left on a table next to them and drained it. “A great swordsman, but a liar.” Arcturus’ head was spinning as he started to push out of the bar, the ground swaying underneath him.

                “We have only the greatest admiration for you, Arcturus. You could’ve been something great.”

                That stung, but he didn’t care. Arcturus had already picked up another patron’s drink and had downed it as quickly as the others as he staggered out of the bar and nearly fell over into the mud outside. He felt hands around his arm as someone threw it over his neck.

                “I never even got to tell those fucking new recruits thank you for saving my ass, Jera. Or that Woods was the sexiest man I had ever worked with.” He felt his stomach lurch from the giant influx of alcohol, but managed to not add throwing up to the various indignities he had suffered.

                Arcturus slept then. He dreamt of his father, a grizzled old man who could have easily been his grandfather, swept up in some current of something he wasn’t old enough to understand when he disappeared and left him to Allimar’s sword academy. He dreamt of Woods tenderly kissing the scars on his arms, of Janice’s strong arms, their faces superimposed on the whores he had bought.

                The face of Jera’s father told him that his mind had to be as sharp as the blade he wielded. His body had to be as limber as the steel at his side. Then the old man rotted before his eyes and left the blade in his care, as well as his school

                How long he dreamed, he didn’t know. But he had a headache so fierce he was sure a dragon was going to come scrabbling out of his skull and devour him whole.

                “Fuck.” He muttered, wondering at the Lodge symbol on the wall. The warrior half walked, half stumbled to the chamber pot where he voided himself from every orifice he thought possible, and then continued his same slow walk to Jera’s office, who looked up from his paperwork.

                “Don’t get those guys killed. Even the little fucking jotnar. They’re decent enough to have saved my hide. Even though I didn’t deserve it.”

                “Maybe you’ve got another chance, friend. Your goddess is quite fickle, isn’t she? Maybe she preserved you in your darkest times.”

                “Mm.” He grabbed the blade that was leaning at the edge of the desk. “…Thank you.”

                “My father would have done the same.”

                “Wonder if my father would have drank like a fish too.” He laughed, but Jera only half-smiled. “I think I’m looking for a change of pace, Jera. We signed on for excitement in strange places, but all I’ve done is do the watch’s job for ‘em and kill men and women who I don’t think deserved it.”

                “I’ll look into it.” Jera’s grin had returned as he began to go back to his paperwork.

                “Is the practice room still open?” He said, only getting a nod from Jera in return. Arcturus left the room, body still feeling sluggish as he opened a locked door with the palm sized coin. In the middle sat an empty suit of armor. It raised the empty helm as he closed the door behind him.

                He slowly drew his blade as the suit grabbed a bastard sword next to it and stood up, and while his body felt sluggish, he could only grin.

*                                                                                             *                                                                                             *

                Nissa spun the gold pouch on one finger. It was more than she had hoped to gain from the last venture, especially into her past. She supposed she had done well for herself with the group. Everyone has an agenda, came the voice, unbidden in her head. So what was hers?

                She pondered on it as she trailed the swordsman they had rescued. Her and her ‘group.’ Fellowship? Fair weather friends, she decided, as she trailed the man to the bar, then to temple of Calistria. She wrote her findings into a scrap of paper, pressed it into a street urchin’s hand, and gave him directions to Jera. Nissa didn’t have much better to do, but didn’t feel like speaking with the sorcerer again.

                Her flat wasn’t much. On the seedier part of town, where she had been employed until the lodge had come to her with a better offer, a better life than a thief. She snorted as she thought of the wide-eyed girl who had accepted, even accepted an experiment to turn her into something better. They called it an ‘Elan’ whatever that meant.

                What it entailed was ripping her out of her body and putting her into one that was naturally psionic. She had lost much and gained a body that didn’t tire unless she wanted it to, a natural magical body, and entrance to a society she wanted no part in.

                The booby traps that guarded her flat didn’t activate as she walked through them. Her reflection stared back at her, a tattoo across her face that had never been there when she was human. She gave herself the best smile she could before unlocking the mirror, throwing the pouch of coins into a vault, closing it, and frowning at the face staring back at her.

                Dye was enough to cover the red hair that they had ‘gifted’ her with. She paid for a sandy blonde she had in the time before. She sighed, rubbing at her skin, wishing that the tattoos would go away. That the Elan council would stop sending her messages. But wishing never filled up coffers. And all of the gold in the world wouldn’t make her human again.

                “Miss Nissa?” Came a voice from outside, beyond the range of her traps. “We’d like to thank you, on behalf of the orphanage.”

                She stuck her head out, to look a group of dirty children with an old automata, stooped by age, and rust, hands offering a few silver coins.

                “Professor Cog…” She gulped as she saw her old caretaker, eyes whirring.

                “We looked at what we could spare, and it’s this. I know it’s not much to a woman who’s in the Lodge now, but this is our gratitude.” His face whirred as he tried to smile, but she assumed he couldn’t even pay for the maintenance to get that fixed. He had been her caretaker nearly a decade ago, and his eyes had the same amount of kindness. She smiled, held up a hand and disappeared back into her room. Behind her mirror safe, she took half of the gold Jera had paid her.

                Patterns could be broken. She had seen to that. It was one she was good at. Maybe she could break her own pattern of greed and that of the constantly down on its luck orphanage. Gold could never bring back who she was. That wasn’t something she could ever break.

                “This is… This is too much. You helped us. By most people you…”

                “It’s a gift. For keeping me from…  Well, whatever you kept me from.”

                Patterns can shift over time. People are just a collection of patterns that can be broken or changed given the right nudge, weren’t they? Nissa hoped she could do something like that.