Mistakes - Narrative Write Up // Baine Mystigon Gretcha

The early morning sun is already baking the hard-packed earth of the training yard, turning the high walls of the Order’s compound into a red stone oven. Beneath his now acid-marred floral breastplate, Baine’s padded gambeson is drenched in sweat, strands of hair plastered to his slick forehead as he sucks lungfuls of air past his cracked lips. By contrast, the broad-shouldered woman across from him seems almost bored. Judging his moment, the towering half-orc lunges forward, putting all his considerable strength behind the blunted training sword, arcing it overhead to come crashing down on Red’s raised shield.

But Baine’s victorious grin turns into a frown as his blade simply slides off the dwarven woman’s angled shield, slamming into the ground with a dull thwack. He has no time to wonder what happened however, as the same shield smashes into the side of his head and a moment later, a sharp blow to the knee takes his legs from under him, leaving him gasping on the ground. He blinks dust, sweat and sunlight from his eyes, looking up to see the head of “Red” Gretcha Coldiron’s hammer floating above his nose. She sucks her teeth lazily, spitting a wad of phlegm just a little too close to Baine’s head.

“S’Funny. Big fella like you, you’d think’d be able to at least land a hit on an old woman like me. Up you get, my little flower.”
Red waits till Baine is halfway to his feet again before stepping in close, hammer raised. It’s hard to tell if she’s pleased or disappointed that he doesn’t flinch.
“Overcommit like that again and I’ll give you more than a tap to the jaw, Rosebud. They’ll be picking your teeth up over on Silver Street. Crystal?”

Baine nods, mouth set somewhere between sullenness and grim determination. The frustration is coming off of him in waves but he knows better than to start kibitzing by now. Taking up a position opposite the dwarven woman he stretches his neck until the joints pop. He probes his mouth with his tongue and spits a small glob of blood onto the ground before dropping into a balanced stance. Gretcha smirks and rolls her wrist then abruptly her manner changes, body stiffening and face going blank as she gestures Baine to stand down. A moment later he understands, as hoofbeats can be heard approaching the yard at a dead gallop.

Entering the yard, the newcomer makes quite a spectacle. Wrapped in many scarves despite the heat, a unique leathery armor beneath and a small round shield is strapped to his back. The mount itself is what really draws the eye. The creature looks as though someone had taken the skin off a horse and filled it with lightning. Miniature storm fronts roil and crash in its flanks and it’s eyes glow like the vengeance of some ancient god.

The rider slides from his horse, lifting a heavy saddlebag from it’s back before muttering something inaudible and standing a moment to watch the creature fade into nothingness, leaving only a faint smell of ozone to mark its passing. He turns to face the yard. Red eyes him with distaste.

“Nice horse.”
There’s a small, derisive snort from behind her as Baine rolls his eyes and takes the opportunity to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Red spits on the ground – again, ever so slightly too close to the newcomer’s feet.

“Whaddya want?”

He ploughs on earnestly.
“I have come to speak with Baine. It is a matter of some urgency.”

Gretcha’s face remains utterly impassive.
“Don’t know a Baine. Who’s asking?”

The man looks mildly bemused by this, obviously not the type to be impressed by raw front.

“Please, my friend, he’s standing right behind you. I only wish to speak with him.”

Baine raises his hands in a “don’t look at me” gesture, nodding towards his superior and smirking as the dwarven woman cuts the visitor off with a sharp gesture.

“Not your friend, boy. And there ain’t no one here unless I say so. Now. Tell me what you want or fuck off.”

"Well, I expected nothing less," the newcomer says with a slight air of exasperation. He pulls on one of the scarves covering his head, revealing short, purplish hair and a heavily scarred face missing one eye. He puts the bag gently on the ground next to him and drops to his knees.

"I am here to, hopefully, try to give my apologies to Baine, for I have wronged him and attacked him when I was at fault. Please give me a chance to apologise."
His face reflects the mixed emotions of someone who doesn't bow lightly yet is sincere.

"We are in deep shit, the four of us and we need to sort out what we’ve done," Mystigon says urgently.

Behind Red, Baine puts his hands on his hips and sighs heavily, eyes looking up at the sky.

“Sir,” he says reluctantly, “This is Mystigon. He was in the party with me when I went to Vorsthold the other week. I’m sure Varis had told you what I reported back.”
He looks back down to Mystigon kneeling in the dust of the training yard. The smirk is gone from his face, replaced with irritation.
Red gives an exaggerated sigh, screwing her eyes shut and rubbing a thick finger along the crease between her brows.

“So,” she grinds out between gritted teeth “this is the fuckwit you started a fistfight with in the middle of a Vorstborn war camp? Is that about the speed of things, Rosebud?”

When she looks at Baine, her face is wearing a disturbingly cheerful smile. Baine gets the distinct impression he’s about to be eaten alive. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling like a desert. The irritation on his face is quickly replaced with poorly veiled terror. Almost without conscious thought he stands up straight, arms behind his back and nods an affirmative. Red turns back to where Mystigon still kneels, giving him an expectant look.

“Well then? Let’s hear this apology.”

"I take full responsibility for my ridiculous actions in Vorsthold. I admit that Baine was right to tell me off - if not by punching me in the face - and I give my most sincere apology."
Mystigon is still kneeling, making no move to rise.
Baine looks like he’s dying to speak but holds his tongue, eyes trained on Red. She nods sagely at Mystigon, walking slowly forward until she stands over the purple-haired man. This close he can smell the oil and leather of her harness. She leans in until they are face to face.

“And what about me, pretty boy? Where’s my apology?”

Mystigon looks up, a humorous glint in his eye.
"Well, I did interrupt your day and haven't even introduced myself."
He stands up, gives a small bow and in Dwarven says, "Forgive me for my rudeness, my lady."

Red gives him a cannibal smile, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Oh, I’m not talking about my little muck-about with Rosebud here. Or that flashy wee entrance you made there. I’m talking about the soldiers of mine serving in Vorsthold whose lives you put at risk. I’m talking about the people of Daring who’re gonna die if the Vorstborn decide we’re not such good pals. I’m talking about the mind eating, soul burning, flesh rending tidal wave of horror those people hold back every day, and the very personal offence I take when you try and fuck with them.”

Baine finally looks at Mystigon. Raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, ever so slightly.
Mystigon gulps slightly but shows no fear.

"I might have overreacted and been too rude, and I apologise to you and the dwarves of Vorsthold, but I do have to say if Baine here didn't report it; Our main objective given by the Mayor was to observe and notice anything suspicious or out of the ordinary and that's what I have done. Seeing that there was nothing to raise alarms, I am keeping their secret and have done my job. So I can't apologise for that."

Baine twitches. Almost takes a step forward but thinks better of it.

“Sir”, he offers, “if I may?”

Red holds Mystigon’s eye for a long moment, then turns her head slightly to the side, nodding permission for Baine to speak.

The half-orc locks eyes with Mystigon, frustration clear on his face. He takes a moment, gathering his thoughts to avoid the usual barrage of words from flooding out, but to no avail.

“What you did in the tunnels was just the last straw - before we even made it through the front doors you were throwing your magic around. You were shoveling dirt around instead of knocking on doors, carving shit into the stone work, trying to raise the ceiling in the Mayor’s office. Every job I’ve ever taken with you always leads to you never thinking about the good of the party, doing nothing but throwing your magic around and showing the fuck off! How were we supposed to do our jobs and keep an eye out for something we didn’t even know what it was if you were making people suspicious?”

He’s worked himself up now, voice booming across the yard. He looks like he would have advanced on Mystigon had Red’s gaze not had him firmly pinned in place.

“So you wanna come traipsing in here on a bloody horse made of lightning and apologize? I sure as shit hope you’re making another few stops after this because I may have been the one to punch you, and the one who took a fucking Witchbolt to the face, but you put all of us in danger; Heret, Ghesh and Igrainne too. You owe all of them a bloody knee in the dirt as much as you do me.”

He looks like he could go own, but clamps his jaws shut, teeth grinding and his fists clenched. Red takes in the scene with calm bordering on indolence, her only concession to Baine’s impassioned rebuke a sardonically raised eyebrow.

“You done, Rosebud?”

Baine nods, chest still heaving with the effort of suppressing violence. Red nods, turning back to Mystigon.

“Good. Now, you’ve said your bit, Rosie here has heard you. I’m gonna go and take a piss. Don’t be here when I get back.”

With that she turns on her heel and strolls off towards the barracks, whistling tunelessly.
As soon as she’s out of earshot Baine heaves a mighty sigh, like someone cut his strings.

“Gods have mercy but that woman is a ball buster.”
He looks at Mystigon reluctantly and rolls his eyes. “Get up, man, stop being so dramatic,” he adds while probing the side of his quickly bruising face.
Mystigon stands up.

"You're right, I do show off too much. I endanger us every single time, but I am definitely trying to better myself. The steed is just a convenient way of travel. Here let me!"
He approaches Baine slowly, his left hand glowing with a soft green light similar to the one he used to heal the dwarves in Vorsthold, but Baine waves him off.

“Cheers man, but I’m alright.” He nods his head in the direct Red went. “She’ll just give me another if she comes back and finds this one gone. Plus, I might be heading down to the tavern tonight, a bruise makes for a good ice breaker when you're trying to make new friends.” He waggles his eyebrows, ever so slightly.

Mystigon pulls his hand away and smiles in understanding. Then grimaces as if remembered something annoying.

"You can tell me off more later, but do you remember our trip to Za'suul?"

“Sure do.” He looks pointedly at Mystigon. “It was that time a really fucking cool Minotaur in a trenchcoat wanted us to help him solve a murder but you kept information to yourself and we never saw him again.”
With one eyebrow raised he starts pulling at the messy bun at the top of his head.
“But maybe those days are behind you. What about it?”

Mystigon grimaces at the reminder but carries on.

"Someone from Za'suul attacked a newly built church with imps and a large bone devil that particularly looked for me, you, Markas & Bogg. We backstabbed the mob boss and now we need to deal with it. I am going back to Port Ffirst and will investigate as much as I can; after all, Devils are my speciality."

Baine’s eyes widen and he freezes with his hands in his hair as he’s trying to right it.

“The- the fucking seagull? He sent a bone devil at- at a church? How do you know about it? And how do we know it was looking for us?”

"Igrainne came to my house early this morning,” Mystigon replies. “She shared this information, nothing else."

Baine closes his eyes briefly, swearing softly under his breath. He opens them again, finishes tying his hair up tightly and starts braiding it, clearly trying to think through the panic.

“Shit. Shit. Fuck. Okay. So, it said our names? Did it say anything else? What does it want?”

"Yes, only us four, nothing about young Urso.”

“Thank fuck.” Baine cuts in.

Mystigon continues, “But I don't know anything other than that it was looking for us."

Baine finishes off the long braid he was working on and puts his hands on his hips.
“Fuck. Okay. Uh, thanks, I guess. For, you know, telling me,” he says, very reluctantly.

“I can get in touch with Bogg," he continues, "you probably won’t be able to find him right now. But can you track down Markas? I haven’t seen him for ages, I don’t know where he’s hiding.”

"That's easy, give me a moment."
Mystigon looks around. He sees a sparrow perched on the wall, whistling. He whistles back and it flutters around him then flies off in the direction of Port Ffirst.

"They will find him and tell him to meet me tonight at the Sea Shank."

Baine scrubs a hand over his face and lets out another emphatic “fuck”.
“Okay.” He holds out a large hand to Mystigon. “Consider us even then.”

Mystigon grasps it with his right one, soft green wrapped ferns in the shape of a hand.
As he does, Baine pulls him in closer and doesn’t let go. The few inches he has on Mystigon seem more suddenly, as he leans in and quietly says,
“But know that I consider a man’s action a hell of a lot more important than his words, so from now on I don’t want to have to deal with any more bullshit. Crystal?”

Mystigon’s eyes widen, showing a hint of fear, but he was always good at hiding it.
"Clear."

Baine looks him dead in the eye for a moment before releasing his grip.

“Good. Go on then, get out of here before Red comes back or she’ll be using you as practice.”
He picks up his wooden training sword again, swinging it a few times to loosen his sore muscles.

Mystigon picks up the bag and Baine can hear soft clinking of glass. He hands Baine the bag.
"This is for you. I remember you liked it as much as I did, last time."

Baine rolls his eyes a little but takes the bag. “Sounds like booze. Not turning that down am I? Now, jog on.”
He nods his head towards the other end of the yard where Gretcha has appeared.
“She’ll have you for a snack.”

Mystigon smiles and turns around, waving his hand in farewell.

"Maybe she could teach me a few things. I will be in touch once I find out more."

He walks out, visible sparks of electricity swirling around him as he disappears around the entrance.

Baine kicks a stray rock in the dust of the training yard.
“Fuck.”


He jumps when suddenly a large hammer with a long handle lands in the dirt next to him. The head is wrapped in padded cloth but the heavy thump it makes when it lands indicates some serious heft to it.
He turns around and sees Red picking up her shield and war hammer, her face bored and unreadable as ever.

“Brood on your own time, petal. We’re going to try something new.”