Post by Ser Baine Cinderwood 🔥🌼 on Dec 14, 2019 0:22:16 GMT
Breathe
He hasn’t cried for a long time.
Not after Avernus, where they signed years away and barely made it out intact. Not when they eventually found Paw, chained and almost shattered. Not as the Kul Gorani bled and died around him to defend their land, not as the horn sounded and the giants retreated. Not as he knelt by Sweet’s broken body and tried to accept that she was gone.
Markas stuck around, after everything. Baine took him back to the order and no one seemed to object. The official reason was sparring, which they did a lot of, while politely not mentioning how pale the other looked or how little sleep they were getting.
They’re some five days back and Baine hasn’t slept past dawn for weeks now. Usually it’s not a problem, he’s used to it by now and has accepted that that’s just his life. These days thugh, he has to admit that it's wearing on him. Markas doesn’t question it - his training with Paw still firmly ingrained in him - and if Baine sits up in bed abruptly with a gasp and reaches for a weapon just as the first rays creep over the horizon, well. He’s too good a friend to ask questions right now. Not that Baine would have answers.
They don’t speak much but there's a comfort in each other’s company and when the feelings claw at them too much they go outside and proceed to beat the shit out of each other.
It’ll do for now.
They have visitors in the evening. Taffeta and Idari creep in as the early dusk of winter closes in around them and stand watching as the monk and the soldier trade blows, the breaths billowing into misty clouds in the cold training yard of the compound. Markas is quick, was always quicker, but Baine has been training with Varis and Red for months. In the end he’s slammed into the frozen ground and doesn’t get back up until Baine feeds him a potion and Taffeta offers some healing magic with a small smile.
She brings news of Sunday, who’s staying with them.
“We need to talk about what happened.. Down There,” she says. “About the Sanguine Rose and The Contracts. Sunday told me why yours and Varis’ time was reduced, what she did. And we need to think about our next steps to sort out the...”
“The guy?” Baine says, and they both hold their hands out in front of them, fingers outstretched and shake their hands a little. “Yeah, I know. He’s still on the list, don’t worry.”
“That list is getting long,” she sighs, “And we’re broken apart. Sunday isn’t well. She was more affected by the hells than she let on. We need to be talking to each other or we won’t be able to pull this off.”
Baine takes a knee and puts himself at eye level with her to make sure she understands how serious he is.
“Taff. Half-orcs don’t live long. I offered two years to the Rose and then that dickhead-” he gestures towards the smithy where Varis has been taking out his feelings on hot metal for the last few days, “- upped the ante for no good reason. Then Sunday went and did the same thing. I’ve made friends with two hypocritical, self-sacrificin’ idiots, and it turns out that I am one as well. But that’s not the point, sorry. What I’m trying to say, Taff, is that I’m not wasting time on the Sanguine Rose. I am going to kill her, and I’m going to kill the Jazz Hands Not-Tabaxi and everyone else who tries to get in my way. I promise.”
Baine can see a resolve in her eyes that mirrors his own, but hers is tempered with a reluctance that he can’t relate to. She nods.
“I’ll join you. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it though.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Baine’s smile is hard and sharp.
“Sunday shouldn’t come. I’m worried she won’t come back with us,” Taffeta says. ”She seems to think that she doesn’t belong up here, on this plane. With us, with her family.”
“I’m trying to start a trend of not making decisions for other people. If she comes, she comes. That’s her choice. Oh, speak of the devil.”
He arches an eyebrow toward where the door to the smithy is opening almost reluctantly to reveal Varis.
“Go on, you two, make conversation.”
As Taffeta and Varis stiffly try to overcome their differences, Baine drags Markas off to the side.
“This should be good. Got any snacks?”
The two make plans and pledge support to each other before Taffeta wrangles her grumpy child out into the night, back to the relative safety of their house in the woods.
Varis stands still in the middle of the yard, eyes a million miles away before taking a breath and turning back towards the smithy and Baine has been waiting, searching for a moment, any good moment and there doesn’t seem to be a better one than now.
“Varis?”
“Soldier.”
There’s a sudden lump in his throat, a fear of rejection he doesn’t want to examine too closely. He chews the inside of his cheek a few times and with the air of someone aiming for casual and landing just short of insolent he forces the words out of his mouth.
“I’ve been meaning to ask. I want in. I want the oaths. How do we do that? Do I decide? Do you decide? What?”
There’s a gravity to the Grandmaster sometimes; moments when his experience weighs on him beyond his years and his eyes seem to look right through Baine and see exactly how little he has to offer.
“Are you sure this is what you want? It is not a decision to be made lightly.” His voice is soft, and there is something in his eyes, halfway between sadness and resignation.
Baine looks from Varis to Markas and then down at the packed, frozen earth at his feet.
“This summer you said that I hadn’t told Markas what the Order was to me because I didn’t know. The truth is, I’ve known for a long time but I’ve been afraid to admit it.”
He risks a glance up again but Varis’ eyes are still fixed on him and it’s too much, he’s too vulnerable like this. He can hear the tremor in his own voice and he clenches a fist tightly against the tide of emotions.
“This is my home. You’ve given me a family and when we lost her- when we lost Sweet, I knew. I want to stay here and I want to fight by your side. I’m sure.”
“It will not be easy. And It is not something you can undo. Do you understand?”
Baine thinks of Avernus and raises an eyebrow slightly.
“Is there any fineprint?”
Varis unreadable mask cracks slightly and Baine breathes a little easier.
“There’s always fineprint.”
“Tell me now then. This is what I want.”
Varis nods.
“Very well. It is about putting your own needs and desires aside. You called us a family. In some ways that is a fitting metaphor, and in others it is not. We are united by a common purpose; we live and die together, sweat and bleed for each other, but ultimately, it is the people out there” he gestures beyond the tiled roof of the compound, encompassing all of Daring “who truly matter. I would spend every life within these walls to keep them safe - yours, mine, Red’s, Grits’. Sweet knew the price of peace, and she paid it gladly. Every soul within these walls knows it too. If that isn’t for you, there is no shame in it. But I would have you know the weight of what you ask.”
It’s exactly what he expected, almost exactly what Sweet had told him when he’d asked her about it. He thought he’d been ready to hear them but when spoken plainly like that in the still evening air, the words terrify him for a moment. He looks at Varis and thinks ‘But you know though, you know I’m looking for her. You said you’d help me.’
From behind the door to the kitchen he can hear the muffled sound of Grits speaking and Red laughing in return. The reminder that as wounded as she is, she’s still with them helps ground him. He decides to have faith that his commander will help him do what needs to be done and he nods mutely at Varis, who seems satisfied.
The older man turns to walk back to the smithy but stops halfway to look over his shoulder.
“We ride at dawn. If there is iron in the Spine, the Order must have it. We must be strong for what is to come. I have made some enquiries, too, about your search. Mayhap we shall find someone who knows where to begin.”
Varis speaks to a geologist in town who offers to appraise anything they find but is reluctant to join them on the road, so the three of them set off.
They head out the western Stonegate at the same time as Pieni and Heret, the surprisingly competent fighter of a merchant. Their interests seem to be somewhat aligned, scouting of orc villages aside, and there’s safety in numbers. Together they make for the north of the Sunset Spine.
They camp on the road and by the end of the next day they cross into the mountains. Varis leads them towards promising sites through areas he’s apparently familiar with as darkness falls around them. Before long they see structures in the distance, outlines of a camp, wisps of smoke in the air.
They make their way closer on foot, approaching cautiously. By the time they reach the edge of the camp it’s clear that there are no signs of life. The smoke they’d assumed were from camp fires seem to be coming from the smouldering buildings themselves. Markas, Heret and Pieni offer to scout ahead, being slightly less conspicuous than Baine and Varis in their full plate armor. They disappear for a little while before coming back and fetching the other two.
It’s a massacre. The settlement is destroyed and its inhabitants litter the ground in piles, hacked and bitten, limbs torn. The small structures and huts have been sacked and burned. Baine slowly makes his way through the carnage, numb and morbidly fascinated. He crouches by a body and looks at the face of the first orc he’s ever seen, searching their features for something he can’t name. Eventually he stops looking at the bodies and start looking around, slowly picking his way through the rubble.
There’s a lone flag hanging on the side of one of the huts. He doesn’t recognize the emblem, not the name Bloodgrave written underneath. He can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed.
The bodies of a few gnolls are uncovered as well, revealing the source of the attack.
There are strange marks on the ground around some of the bodies where blood seems to have been scooped together to form shallow puddles. Varis informs them of how gnolls are made, how hyenas tend to follow them around in the hopes of drinking blood from their victims and becoming gnolls themselves.
There are fresh tracks leading away from the camp, easy to see even in the dark. Markas and Varis share a look and the opinion that hunting gnolls isn’t what the party came for. They all agree to make camp for tonight and search for other orcs in the morning. Baine still can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed.
Varis takes the time to memorize the direction of the tracks and they search the area further just to be sure. That’s when they see it; a word crudely and clumsily written in blood on a cliff side, the letters large and full of intent.
V A R I S
“What the fuck is that? Is it a warning? An invitation?” Baine’s eyebrows are climbing steadily up his forehead.
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you fight in the orcs in the war?” Pieni asks. “Could it have something to do with that?”
Varis looks at Pieni but doesn’t answer. His eyes flicker over to Baine but quickly moves on to Markas.
“I’m afraid I have to rescind my earlier agreement. I think this needs to be dealt with now.” The Grandmaster looks at the rest of the party. “Forgive me. This is outside of the remit of what I asked you to do. I know hunting gnolls isn’t everyone’s idea of a pleasant evening-” Baine raises an eyebrow at him, “ -but I’m afraid I need to investigate this. I would ask your help.”
Markas, Pieni and Heret all agree to help, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Varis doesn’t ask Baine, and the half-orc feels a certain amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that he doesn’t need to ask. You lead, I follow.
Before they head out, Baine gathers the bodies. It takes close to an hour and it’s gruesome work but he does it without complaining.
He lies them down side by side, arranges them as respectfully as he can. He covers them up with whatever items he can find and hopes that he’s not doing something they wouldn’t want - he knows nothing of orcs and their traditions.
“Is he alright?” Heret asks Varis quietly.
“He will be.” Varis replies.
They leave the destruction behind, head a little further into the mountains and make camp, dividing the night’s watch and settling in. Baine takes the final one as always, not expecting anything but being wide awake half an hour before sunrise. He does a lousy job of it as well. He tries to keep track of their surroundings, tries his best to stay focused but his mind is running a mile a minute. He’s felt the strain of the last couple of months wearing on him, fraying him at the edges and now, in the cold of the hour before dawn he can feel it creeping in - everything he’s been trying to hold at bay.
Frankie hears something in the distance, sits up and whines a little. Baine listens but hears nothing over the pounding of his own heart. They settle back down again.
Sunrise comes slowly; a pale, grey excuse of a dawn. It brings him little comfort.
They set off in the morning. Markas and Varis take point, following the tracks with ease. Pieni is in the air as usual, Heret off to the side as a scout and Baine takes the rear with Frankie.
The tracks seem to indicate that the gnolls have either stopped some ways ahead or are in fact coming back this way to meet them.
Varis draws his sword and shield, Heret follows suit. Baine tilts his head until the bones in his neck pop and reaches for the Cindermaul. It sings to him as always, and lights up at his command.
“What’s the plan?” Heret asks.
“I wish to speak to them first if at all possible,” Varis replies.
Diplomacy was never Baine’s strong suit.
“Alright, but once you’ve made up your mind you tell me if we’re killing them or not.”
Varis smiles at him.
“I’ll tell you when we’re killing them.”
Not long after that they enter into a pass with ridges on both sides, a narrow tunnel made for an ambush. Here, ever the scout, sees a handful of pebbles and stones tumble down the side and realizes before anyone else. “They’re here!”
Varis extends the wings of his cloak and takes to the air, joining Pieni. His voice echoes on the bare cliff as he shouts, “Show yourself! You stand before Varis the Godslayer.”
Baine takes a moment to be simultaneously exasperated and a little awestruck before a voice adds, “And Pieni, the… cartographer.”
Baine can’t see from where but suddenly numerous voices answer the call, dozens of them all shouting ‘Varis! Varis! Varis’ in a frenzy.
“What the actual fuck,” Baine mutters to himself. The next moment a shadowy figure flies up from the ridge towards Varis, comprised of roiling flames, smoke and shadow, and Varis’ face. It has a flail with three skulls dangling from it, and it attacks.
To Baine’s right, Heret rides up one of the ridges and engages a group of gnolls. Above, Varis strikes back at the shadow, knocking it some 10 feet closer to the ground. He follows it as it descends, his voice echoing through the pass once more.
“What are you?!”
He gets no reply.
To Baine’s left, Markas runs up the left-hand ridge and takes on even more gnolls, landing punches but dodging out of their reach effortlessly as they retaliate. Half the group run past him and down into the pass towards Baine. He grits his teeth and looks between the approaching gnolls, some furry and some skeletal, and the shadowy figure above. That’s the real fight, that’s what he should be doing. Two eagles appear beside him and the spirit of a bear in front of him - Pieni’s doing, no doubt.
Baine raises the Cindermaul, prepares to strike at the oncoming gnolls and shouts at Varis. “Come down here so I can fight him too!”
He shatters a skeletal gnoll and beats another back before a terrible scream rends the air. The shadowy figure looks down at Baine and then splits into two, a shadowy tether connecting them where their feet should be.
The second shadow has Baine’s face. It too has a flail with three skulls and it’s coming towards him.
There’s fighting happening around him, Baine’s sure, but he loses track as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. The memory of a dream flashes before his eyes, a dream he had in these very mountains; of a skeletal gnoll placing a flail at his feet and of looking down at his own body and being made entirely of shadow. A dream of Daring Heights in flames.
At the time it had seemed real, and important, but time had passed and he had forgotten. Now that dream is flying towards him, screaming.
Without conscious thought he raises the Cindermaul in one hand and grasps the amulet around his neck with the other. A jet of flame shoots out of the burning hammer and engulfs both the gnolls and the shadow, and suddenly he’s seeing another memory. But this one isn’t his.
He’s standing in a room full of orcs, all dressed for war. There’s a map of the Dawnlands displayed with Daring Heights marked on it. There are Xvarts proposing an attack on the city, for glory and treasure. He raises his hand and shouts his approval.
He comes back to himself. There’s something tugging at his mind, a line of thought to follow, but now is not the time. “What the fuck are you?” he shouts, and swings his maul.
His blow hits. He has another vision.
He’s running through the war camp, searching frantically, looking for Him. He needs to finish it, he’s so close, but there are bears now, tearing through the camp.
He blinks. His mind isn’t making sense. He attacks again.
Humans on horseback are riding through the burning camp and He’s here, He’s found him instead. Numerous arrows have pierced him and he’s hunted Him for so long but now he has to flee. The frustration burns him.
He blinks.
He’s bleeding. Dying. Surrounded by gnolls. They are hungry. He stands up, arms outstretched and smiles as he speaks.
“You shall be the instrument of my vengeance. I will save my son yet.”
He opens his eyes and sees the shadow in the air strike Varis who plummets to the ground, landing with a heavy thud at Baine’s feet. The shadow follows, flail raised.
In his heart he doesn’t want to believe it but for once his mind wins the battle and Baine understands. He doesn’t want to, but he does. He doesn’t want it to be true, but it must be.
“STOP!” He screams it in orc, speaking his mother’s tongue out loud for the first time in his life.
The shadow with Baine’s face stutters to a halt, tries to form words but is seemingly unable. The other shadow attacks Varis on the ground, but seems confused enough by Baine’s voice that it misses.
Baine’s shadow looks at him and finally forces the words out.
“What… name?”
“I am Baine Cinderwood, blood of Sharn of the Cinderblade tribe.”
As he speaks, his heart breaks. The shadows twist and stretch before merging into one, Baine and Varis’ faces briefly overlaid. Then they sink away slowly into the ground, leaving behind the remains of an orc woman, long dead. Above hovers the faint blue spirit of his mother.
“My boy. You’re.. You’re alive. And with him. How have I failed so badly?”
“Mum? What- what do you mean?”
“You read what I wrote.”
“You were protecting me from someone…”
“Yes, from the person who would be your doom, I.. Let me free you!”
Baine shakes his head in confusion.
“From fucking what?!”
Shadows swirl around Sharn’s arms as her voice grows louder and louder.
“He’s already cost you so much, I can see the ties to the lower planes on you, tell me that wasn’t his doing!”
“He’s protecting me!”
“From what? Were you not already safe at home?”
On the ground, Varis breaks free of the hold the shadow had on him and stands up.
Baine looks from him and back to his mother. This wasn’t how he would have chosen to tell Varis about his past.
“No, I wasn’t. I killed someone. To protect the village. I was trying to protect them all and I didn’t mean to but I killed someone and I had to leave.” His voice breaks and he can’t hold back the tears anymore. “I was a piece of shit, mum. I was a piece of shit before he found me. He’s not a bad man. He protects people.”
Sharn shakes her head.
“You followed him to hell. He may not be your enemy but he will be the doom of you. I- I’m sorry, but..”
Baine can hardly breathe for the dread clawing at his insides.
“What did you do?” he whispers.
She looks over at Varis, points at him with one ghostly finger.
“I knew you would come here. I stayed where none could, I wandered these lands for years searching for the human man to discover them. There was none, so I waited, knowing I had to be right. Then I heard of a new town. I knew you had to be there. So when the xvarts came and told us to attack I encouraged it. The others respected me by then. I encouraged them.”
Baine is frozen. He can’t seem to do anything but listen and let his tears fall as his mother speaks and his worst fear is realised.
“Then I saw you again when you raided our camp afterwards. I found a way to maintain the vigil and keep you safe, my boy, safe from this man who has bound you to hell.”
“You led the attacks?” It’s a plea, a desperate prayer for her to say no, but there’s no denial in her eyes.
“I suggested it. I wished for it. I was at the forefront. I have done many things to finish what I started so that I could come home. But I could not do it while he lived, because you needed every year I could give you. Half-orcs do not live long. I regret much.”
“Why didn’t you just come home?” he asks, plaintively.
“I could see the doom around you, child. Tell me that bond to the hells isn’t something grave.”
“It was my choice!” he shouts.
She sighs. “I’m sorry.”
From somewhere far away, he feels Pieni pat him on the leg. Sharn turns to Varis again.
“You understand, don’t you Varis?”
He nods. “I do. I understand more than you know, Sharn. You’ve tried to protect the thing you love and in doing so you have come close to destroying it. Thousands of lives have ended, a city has burned because you meddled in prophecy.” Baine can’t take it, he can’t bear the thought of it, but Varis continues undeterred.
“The doom of this boy was never my object and in your absence he has grown into a man worthy of trust. Trust him to walk his own path. Trust me to watch over him now. The time has come to rest, Sharn.”
The spirit flickers and Baine looks desperately between her and Varis, pleading to them both, a desperate “No, no, no…” coming out of him.
“I’m not wrong,” she says, “I have dabbled in prophecy my whole existence. You will be the doom of my child yet.” She turns back to Baine again. “But that is your choice. Your life to live, as long as it may be, while I have wasted mine doing stupid things when I could have simply been…”
Her form flickers again and through his tears, Baine asks a final question.
“Will you get to see him?”
His mother’s face softens.
“So he’s passed then.”
He nods. She smiles sadly.
“I hope so.”
And she disappears.
The fighting continues around him for a few moments, but for the first time in his life he doesn’t care. He sinks to his knees, and he weeps. He cries and he cries and he thinks he might not ever stop. He cries over Avernus, over the years they signed away and over what it did to Sunday. He cries over Paw and the trapped souls the traded to get her back. He cries over Sweet and Dalton and Cob. He cries over his mother and father and the life they should have had together but never got.
He feels Markas arms go around him, returning the hug Baine gave him after Zot Goran.
He cries until he can’t anymore, and then a little bit more.
He takes off his heavy Fey cloak and gathers up his mother’s remains in it, wraps her up until he can carry her in his arms.
“Is there a place, in Daring somewhere. Where I can take her? I want to be able to visit her.”
“We’ll find a place,” Varis says.
“Is that her preference?” Pieni asks.
“I don’t know, do I?” Baine says. “I know fuck-all about orcs.”
He carries her back to Daring Heights, wrapped in his cloak and cradled like a child.
Near a small cluster of trees, on the edge of the Feythorn Forest, he lays her down gently and look through her things. She has a potion, a spell scroll. Two rings that seem like they might do something. He puts them in his bag. He tucks her worn journal inside his gambeson and gently pries the wedding ring off her finger. He slips that onto the long golden chain around his neck. It clinks gently against a golden snake fang and another, identical, gold ring.
He digs a deep grave in the frozen ground, digs until he can’t feel his arms anymore, until he can’t see for the breath misting around him. He lays her to rest wrapped in his cloak and the welcoming embrace on the soil. He finds a large rock, almost three foot high with a sharp edge to one side, and marks her grave with it. When he’s done he kneels down and puts a hand on the stone.
“Rest. Tell dad hi for me. I’ll see you soon.”
In the barracks that night, he packs his things. He carefully goes through it all, sorting it into neat piles of things he needs to bring and things that would weigh him down unnecessarily.
Frankie looks at him from where’s he’s sprawled on the bed, whining softly. Baine pats him reassuringly on the head. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re coming with me.”
Whatever he’s not bringing goes into the chest at the foot of the bed. The rest goes into his old pack. His weapons go into the armoury.
When there’s nothing left to pack, he sinks into the chair next to his bed. He pulls out the journal and looks into his dad’s eyes as the image of him sitting on the bed appears before him.
“I found her. Finally.”
He opens the journal and begins to read. He tells Joshua the story of a woman who crossed the sea at great risk of her own life, who found empty lands and settled down to wait. He tells her of how she lived with an unfamiliar tribe, how she refused to give up, how she wouldn’t rest until she knew her boy was safe. He tells her of the choices she made, good and bad, and how she eventually got to see her child again before finally resting.
“She’s done now. It’s over.” He looks at his dad and wonders if he’ll ever stop crying. “Go be with her. I’ll see you soon.”
His dad smiles fondly at him, mouths the words ‘I’m proud of you’ and the image fades.
Baine wipes his cheeks and stands up. He picks up his pack and looks around the room one last time. “Come on, Frankie. Time to go.”
He finds Varis in his office, still awake and poring over something at his desk, face a mask of shadow in the orange lamp light.
He steps into the spartan chamber and stops awkwardly in the middle of the room, seemingly at a loss for words. From behind his desk, Varis looks up at him, taking in the red, tired eyes and the travel clothes. He puts down his quill.
“You’re leaving.”
Baine nods, relieved he doesn’t have to say it himself.
“It’s not for good. I’m coming back, I just… I need some time. I think. I’m sorry.” He gestures vaguely to himself and the distinct lack of his usual armour. “I’ve left the plate with Ben. He said he’d take care of it for me.”
He then holds out his hand to reveal a small amulet on a chain - a small storm of fire trapped inside a gem.
“This is yours. Reckon you should have it back.”
The older man is silent for a moment, then nods, taking the proffered chain and slipping it into a draw in his desk.
“There will be a place for you here on your return, should you wish it. I hope you find what you are looking for.”
Baine gives him a weak smile. “I hope so too.”
He turns and makes for the door, stopping with one hand on the handle and looking back at Varis, eyes earnest and imploring.
“I meant it, you know. I want this, I want the vows. Just… not yet.” He looks like there’s more in him that wants to come out - there’s always more words inside Baine - but in the end he settles on a simple,
“Goodbye.”
“Soldier.”
The word sits in the air for a moment, as the two men look at each other.
“Don’t take too long. There is work to be done.”
The words carry an almost physical weight that lands on his shoulders, at once both oppressive and steeling.
He gives a single nod, “Sir,” and walks out into the night.
Massive thanks to andycd for making this happen, to Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar for the collaboration at the end of this beast, to Markas Virnala and Jamie J for lending me their astonishingly detailed notes and to Pieni for the most needed pat on the leg in the history of Kantas.
💜
