Post by Marto Copperkettle on Apr 4, 2023 14:32:36 GMT
Continuing after the events of ‘Human Touch’
🌲 Co-written with the spectacular stephena 🌲
Not much has changed in the Temple, which is both a comfort and not really surprising. The High Diviner has still not returned, but Melissa seems to have everything in hand from the few parishioners that gather in its echoing halls. With plenty of help from a certain aasimar cleric.
The white marble floors practically gleam. The halfling steps as quietly as he can across the main hall between the pews, eyes drawn to the pool of still, reflective water, and the figure he sees sitting beside it.
Sorrel always gazes into the pool as she… prays? Communes? Pleads? She’s not sure what to call her attempts to touch the mind of the Moonmaiden. And as the altar is in a whole different part of the temple she suspects she’s getting things wrong again. But she’s always drawn here at dusk, the more so since… well, recently.
A line of worry briefly manifests between Marto’s brows as he sets down his pack carefully. It isn’t nervousness, nor is it uncertainty. But there’s a flutter of something in his gut at the shape Sorrel makes beside the pool. It makes him think about last night’s conversation in the woods. None of the others saw or heard the Jackal, which still raised the hairs on the back of his neck. But not so much as seeing Sorrel now. She seemed different than when he last saw her. On his shoulder, Gwen hops up and down, her little robin talons clicking on the metal of his pauldron. Then she takes off, singing a short sweet tune that bounces around the chapel like the clapper of a bell.
Sorrel looks up and smiles.
“Brother Marto,” she bows her head. “It’s good to see you. I don’t get to see you enough these days.”
She stands, shakes the stiffness from her joints and sits back down, head cocked to one side. “What brings you here? Just passing? Or do we have demons to kill?” she gives a nostalgic smile.
He gives her an ironic one in turn. “Not today, thankfully.” He sits down beside her, beginning the process of taking off his gauntlets. “Just came back with Velania and them, from saving a has-been fiend. An’Ahkrim. He’s decided to try living closer to civilization.”
Sorrel raises an eyebrow.
“All by himself, he decided this?” Her eyes sparkled.
“Not all by himself, no. Getting gutted by a couple of demonic pigs and nearly dying factored into it.” He pauses as the left gauntlet comes off. “But it’s mostly because of Velania, I think.”
“Finally,” Sorrel shakes her head. “Faith moves mountains but Velania moves about as fast as a mountain. I love her but… bless her, she can take her time.”
Marto chuckles, his smile kind and warm. “Yes she does. But then we all can, in our own ways, for our own things.”
He finishes taking off the right gauntlet, setting it on top of the left on the pew beside him. When Marto turns back to face Sorrel, his expression has changed. It’s still sincere, but the focus has changed to be directed at her.
“You were right earlier. We haven’t seen enough of each other in recent times.” Gently, he rests a hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Sorrel?”
Sorrel pauses as if searching through a dictionary in an alien tongue. “I am not entirely sure…” she says in the end. “How about you? You look well.” But Sorrel is cursed with honesty. “Mostly.”
“Heh, thanks,” he says. “I am doing well, mostly. I wanted to check in with you though…” Marto trails off, and Sorrel sees something dance within his eyes before settling. “Because a mutual friend asked me to. But also because I want to.”
He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. In it Sorrel feels more than Marto’s offered support. There’s an openness to listen if that’s all she wants or needs.
Sorrel eyes Marto shrewdly. The knight has always been kind, strong and unsubtle. Whilst his sincerity shines through, he stumbled over the words mutual friend. In the interrogation sessions at the House, they taught that you could often divine your answer before you asked the first question. Torture, whilst entertaining, was rarely as effective as listening.
Sorrel decides to try Callimar’s deductive reasoning techniques. It’s been a while. A mutual friend. They have a handful. Velania, Zola, Kavel, Silvia… it couldn’t be. Velania’s name was already out there. Silvia… well, obviously. Zola and Kavel were of the Five, the hell walkers and she has seen them recently. So who? Oh. Right. The absent one.
“What does Jackal want now?”
“He wants for you to take care, Sorrel,” Marto says. The words are simple but weighted.
“That’s so thoughtful of him,” Sorrel deadpans. “And so typical of him to take the time to send someone else to show he cares.”
The robin, which had returned to Marto’s shoulder, tilts her head to the side. She gives a little hop, looking between the two.
Marto shook his head. “He didn’t send me, Sorrel. I offered to come here in his stead because he isn’t allowed to be here.” There’s a small, short sigh, equal parts confused and frustrated. “Selûne won’t let him. At least, not in a I’m-here-and-present-in-a-physical-way. But he does care, Sorrel. A lot.”
Sorrel watches Marto affectionately as he wrestles with robin, emotion and celestial politics.
“I’m sure he does in that sweeping archangel loves-creation kind of way that we don’t quite understand because of ineffable. And I do appreciate you taking the time to tell me. It’s comforting to know that the dad who never makes your birthday party can’t turn up this time because mum told him not to. Puts a spring in the step for sure.”
Marto sighs, taking his hand back from Sorrel’s shoulder. Once more, his gaze is pulled back to that crystal clear pool. What could he say to help her understand? Is it his place to say any more at all?
He thinks back to their conversation. The Jackal wasn’t just torn, he seemed distraught at the thought of Sorrel, a human who should have no more importance than any other, growing to hate him all because he is not allowed to be by her side.
“I’m not one to defend him, usually. I even told him, ‘You should tell her yourself.’ He is an archangel of Selûne after all, right? Able to fight the offspring of an aboleth and astral dreadnought single handedly. Surely he could help you, support you, even… And that’s the trick of it.” Marto looks back to her. “When Kavel or Velania or Zola or Silvia or even me weren’t able to be there with you… Any of those times, did you feel abandoned by us?”
Sorrel shakes her head. “Of course not. But that’s different. We are soldiers not commanders. We fight side by side, we don’t tell each other what to do. All those who set themselves above me have such great expectations of me from my parents to Callimar to the Jackal. Countless others along the way. And you know the one thing they all have in common? Just at the point that I need them they disappear. It’s a routine. I don’t expect any more from them.” She falters. “Well. Callimar. He was the best of them. But in the end when I called for him he didn’t come.”
She stares into the pool in silence for a while then turns to Marto. “I don’t understand the games they’re playing or the strategies they’re making. I don’t question why they call on me when they do. I don’t expect anything from them and I am never disappointed. I know who I can rely on and I am grateful that you are one of them. It’s going to get a little weird quite soon and I will need friends.”
“Weird? What do you mean?” Marto asks, concerned.
“I don’t really know,” Sorrel’s gaze drifts. “In a nutshell the parents who sold me to a mercenary organisation did so to protect three mysterious elf children who claim to be my sisters and appear to possibly be manifestations of Selûne. They have been under the protection of the most powerful private military company in Faerun until last week when they were handed over to me with the warning that all this time they have been hunted by something evil they call the beetle. Would you call that weird? It’s not typical for me.”
“That’s…”
“All of them are coming after her…” This must be what the Jackal had been talking about. The fact that the evil coming for Sorrel was called ‘the beetle’ was concerning. Could it be a coincidence? There is no indication of a tie between his fairy friend and Sorrel’s enemy but the coincidence was too obvious to ignore completely. It actually raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
“That’s extremely fucking weird,” he says, running a hand through his hair, trying to rub away that prickling feeling. He was shaking his head when the rest of his mind caught up with the other part of what Sorrel said. “Wait. You have three sisters you had no idea about until… what? Last week?”
Sorrel nods. “So, family is always complicated, right? My mother was killed doing this thing and sold my skills back to the House in payment of something. That’s just so her. After the job is finished I got a letter, a week later the three sisters arrived and one of them seems to be a divine prophet so it was a big month for the Darkfires. How’s you? Did I see you nod at something I said, by the way? Do you know some of this?”
“Hmm? Oh. Ah, no,” Marto says, coming out of the thoughts he had fallen into listening to Sorrel. “I didn’t ask the others and they didn’t mention it. You must be reeling from the sudden influx of family though. You adjusting okay?”
Sorrel nods slowly. “I’m either adjusting or losing my mind. Hard to be sure either way. I’ll get back to you on that. But there will be trouble ahead Marto and… well maybe you wouldn’t mind drawing swords together… I know it didn’t go so well last time but…” Sorrel looks awkward and shy. “But I was proud to serve with you.”
A warm hand comes to rest on hers, one that has slightly different grooves than perhaps a warrior’s usually would have. “We went to hell and back together. That’s not a bond easily forgotten.” Marto’s voice thickened with emotion as he spoke.
Sorrel rests her hand on Marto’s and meets his gaze. “No, that’s never forgotten. I hope I never face anything like that again but if I were to, I’d want you at my back.”
She shakes her head, dispelling memories and emotions. “And I’m fairly certain that it would be Jackal who sends us and he ‘just couldn’t make it today…’ bless him. But who knows? You’re no fool and he impressed you so maybe I’m wrong. Thank you for coming today either way. Don’t leave it so long next time.”
“I won’t,” Marto says. “In fact, I’ll be swinging back into the city a couple of times a month. If ever you want a break from babysitting your sisters and I’m in town, I’ll be happy to help. I know the kind of terror younger siblings can be.” He grins.
“If you come through and you don’t come by, I’ll hear about it and hunt you down Marto,” Sorrel grinned. Impulsively, she hugged him, briefly, awkwardly, then stepped back hastily as she stood. “Take care of yourself and keep the babysitting skills up to scratch.”
“Heaven forbid I have you hunting me down,” he laughs. Standing up, he hugs Sorrel this time of his own accord. Despite the smouldering armour Marto still wears, it is warm and all encompassing.
“You can count on me, Sorrel.”
