Chapter Text
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The silence of the night was not one you would expect of a small town surrounded by woodlands wherein life was simply at rest. This was an oppressed silence. Silence born of fear. Few creatures dared disturb that silence even in their sleep. There were only three types of beings that dared make a sound. The monsters whom had nothing to fear, the visitors who knew not to fear, and The Ravens. Little is known about the Raven’s stance on fear.
~ An excerpt from The Big Bad Book of Barovia by A.Myst
***
Ca-Caw!
Candlelight flickers from the windows amongst the lower level of the tavern as a shadow moves through the interior. A raised voice can be heard through the breezy gaps in the dark wooden panelling of the exterior walls.
“THAT IS IT! I’M KILLING THE BIRDS!!” Alistair barks as he flings the door open wide, his knuckles white as he grips his spear and storms into the darkness. His hair is haphazard as though he had run his fingers through it at least half a dozen times. He had a pair of reading glasses sliding towards the end of his nose and his usually amber eyes seemed more red with exhaustion.
A musty curtain on the second floor shifts as Ronál drags opens their rickety window and sticks their head out into the cool night air. Peering at the commotion below, Ronál takes a slow deep breath of the fresh pine scent carried on the breeze. The wind gently whispers through their hair in a quiet greeting. Turning their gaze upwards, Ronál searches the sky for the silhouettes of ravens.
“Gentle birds, fly from this place or you shall join your elders in death.” Ronál whispers before returning their gaze once more to the arrogant man below. He wields his weapon almost comically out of reach of the mocking birds above. However, he was causing a ruckus and Ronál had a feeling the town wasn’t overly happy about their arrival thus far. They groan and drag a hand slowly down their face before half-shouting/half-whispering out the window
“Alistair! You touch them. I injure you!”
***
Alistair glares at the shadows blocking out the moon as he shivers, the hair on his arm raising and goosbumps beginning to form. What was with this place. The last time he felt like this was when he first met that terrifying witch who conned him out of his money. Although, she did say he was bound to go travelling this year. Now here he was. He had hoped she meant balmy beaches but… oh well. He didn’t need the tan anyway.
He lept with catlike grace as he stabbed again into the darkness. The ravens darted around him as though he were a giant trying to skewer a fly with a toothpick. He didn’t like these birds. He didn’t like any birds. Birds were often a key weapon for spies. They were excellent for carrying messages subtly over long distances. They could carry viruses or slip keys to prisoners if they were well trained. Birds were infuriatingly clever. Plus there was that bird that … relieved himself on Alistair just as he had stepped out of his carriage for a date with a very fine lady. Alistair did not. Like. Birds.
“PEOPLE. ARE TRYING. TO SLEEP.” Alistair chastises the birds breathlessly between swings.
“If you keep screaming, Lyric is going to kill both of us!” Alistair jumps as Ronál’s voice hurtles through the darkness. Immediately followed by the elf themselves.
Alistair tucks the spear behind his back before he turns to address them with a broad grin.
“Oh … uhhh…. Bird…. My apologies I did not mean to wake you” He pats down the white shirts of his sleeves, trying to pass it off as an absentminded manoeuvre and not the soothing of his fragile nerves. He needed to pull his shit together.
“Sleep seems to evade you as well it seems Mr. Myst. Ravens cannot be settled with screaming and stabbing, that only encourages them.” Alistair closes his eyes for a moment and tries not to think about how soothing the tonality of their voice was.
He dramatically raises one eyebrow as he tilts his head to study the sky which is filled once more with nothing but clouds.
“………… are you sure?” He drawls suspiciously. Ronál nods.
“Positive. I know you may not need sleep but the people of this town do. We also can’t have group members wandering off in this forest.” They cross their arms and look slightly down into Alistair’s eyes. Alistair hated that this ethereal elf was taller than him. He never looked up to anyone. He wasn’t about to start now. He instead turns to look toward the ghost town. Not a single sign of life in a single house. Not even the far away chatter of a busy well-kept brothel. This place was dead not just in trade or architecture… or fashion. This place had buried it’s spirit too.
“What people, Bird? There aren’t a lot of people here. In fact I believe there is only…” Alistair counts on his fingers, “four …. That we have seen thus far.”
Ronál sighs. “Come back inside Alistair”
Slowly, Ronál extends a shaky hand out to him. An act of vulnerability. An attempt at connection between the two after all the bickering this evening. Alistair considers it for a moment, conflicted as to the version of himself he needed… or wanted… to portray here. He was exhausted. He was frustrated. He was just a little concerned about what this world held for him and whether he would find the answers he sought. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to fight something. To eat something. He needed to forget himself. He needed another high. Right now, the last thing he needed was for this new group to think him a foolish, or worse, friendly individual. He needed to have his shit together or else this party of wannabe bounty hunters wouldn’t take him seriously. Alistair, suddenly realising his face is stuck in a frown, switches into a broad grin. Reaching for Ronál’s extended hand he tucks it into his elbow and gives it an affectionate pat.
“Alright now Bird, don’t fret. Let us head inside,” He grins wickedly, “To your room or mine?”
Ronál rolls their eyes. “Alistair please. You want me to trust you? Then stay inside with the rest of us. I care not what room.”
He shrugs and tries to swat away the rejection with his hand like it is a mosquito flitting about his face. They begin to walk back to the tavern. Time to change the subject.
“Why are you so invested in these ravens, my dear? And do not just say because all people are animals or because animals eat the grass and when we die we become the grass or some other poetic nonsense. You care for these creatures far more than most I’ve seen… except for those forest bound druid shapeshifting tree huggers I’ve met on occasion. That is something to be glad of for they had a stench that would be offensive even to trees and trust me you smell much nicer than tha-“ Alistair stops himself from rambling. He had a habit of rambling to people who would listen. Or to people who were forced to listen. The prisoners he kept at home weren’t just for their punishment. It was nice to have company over sometimes. Alistair looks directly at you, The Reader. For have you not wished before that someone would simply stay to hear everything you wanted to say outloud? He smiles at you, before turning back to Ronál.
Ronál tilts their head like a bird trying to study it’s prey. “To answer your question, I grew up around birds. My only company in my youth. But I was never good enough to join them. I suppose that was why the old witch called me The Avenger. I guard them instead. Is that a satisfying answer Alistair? And before you ask, no I cannot shapeshift.”
Alistair snaps his fingers in mock disappointment.
“Ah, such a shame. That would have been quite the skill! We could have used a shapeshifter in a place like this. Although, I appreciate your candour, thank you.” He nods slowly. Alistair knew what it was like to never feel good enough to belong. He softens his tone, “I’m sorry you never earned your wings. I, too, grew up ostracised from society so I can somewhat relate.” He winces as memories flood his brain. He beat them back behind the wall he kept inside his head. He couldn’t allow them to take over. Not now. Dissecting his own from the memories of others became more challenging these days and he did not have the time. He grits his teeth as he keeps the flood at bay. “I, however, am not protective of those who raised me.”
Oblivious to his internal storm, Ronál seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own.
“Had I been born with wings then I could, but alas I am an elf. We don’t have wings.”
Alistair freezes as they step inside the tavern again, tugging Ronál back. At the base of the stairs, her red hair resembling a flaming pyre of rage, stands Lyric. The pillow in between her hands looking rather worse for wear, as though it had holes poked into it by lion’s claws. She glared at them with a fury farmed from the hells themselves.
Alistair clears his throat and gestures outside, non-challant.
“Ah Lyric, I admire your enthusiasm but I doubt a pillow will do much against ravens. Besides,” he smiles cockily,”I have already scared them off.”
Ronál looks at Alistair and rolls his eyes before pulling their arm free.
“Alistair, no you didn’t.”
“It is not the birds which are keeping me from sleep,” Lyric growls, “I have quarrel no with them. Both of you on the other hand, if I hear you continuing this late night “chat” again,” her grip on the pillow tightens, “I will have no choice but to put you both to sleep myself.”
She blinks as she rethinks her phrasing. “That came out wrong, I do not plan on killing the both of you.”
Alistair watches as Ronál cautiously asses her. He looked forward to seeing the hunter chastise the angry barbarian as he had been chastised earlier himself. How would she take it? Would they fight? If they did, would he help or simply sit back and watch? Perhaps he could call for help and then watch until said help arrived. That could work.
Ronál shrugs. “It sounded like you wanted to kill us to be fair, Lyric”.
Alistair’s jaw drops. Why did she get leeway to act like an animal yet he was scolded for trying to knock off a couple of cursed birds to do something about their sleepless predicament?
Lyric pinches the bridge of her nose between her red painted nails and draws a slow breath. “It is late and I am tired. Whilst I do not mind sleeping through the day, I would prefer to sleep this evening. We have coffins to find and coin to earn tomorrow.”
Alistair politely disregards her complaints. How did she get away with threatening his life when he waved a pointy stick at the sky and was dragged back inside like a pup that had escaped from it’s pen? Surely if he laid it before Ronál, they would react differently. He spoke slowly.
“Lyric, do you threaten people’s lives …often?,” He darts a look at Ronál before continuing, “I’ll have to add this to my report you know. I would also point out that you too are contributing to the racket that could be keeping this…” Alistair passes another glance to Ronál as an assessment of the venue, “this …fine establishment, awake?
Lyric takes another slow and calming breath as her right hand curls into a fist.
“Also, I apologise Lyric,” Ronál pipes in, “f-for the noise”. They smile softly toward the redhaired elf. She dips her chin in a graceful bow, accepting the apology with far more grandeur than Alistair would have bothered to attempt. It isn’t like Ronál was a god one had to kneel before and beg for humility. She must be from one of the distant tribes who still over-emphasised the need for regal etiquette.
Ronál dips their head in return. What was this world coming to?
Alistair shakes his head and turns to head back to his table, currently strewn with different tinkers tools, powders for magical fusion of materials, a few of his latest weapons and of course, Rat. Little Rat was asleep on the table as Alistair had been tinkering away for the last few hours. He definitely was not as good as his sister when it came to mechanical crafting but he did the best he could with what skill he had. It was rather convenient, however, that his makeshift workbench gave him an excellent vantage point over the tavern. He got to work on his javelin again, whilst keeping a casual eye on the two elves.
Ronál wanders back and snicks the entrance doorway shut before turning to Lyric. They shifted a moment as though mustering courage. Did they figure it out? Alistair felt a surge of pride and excitement. He was in the perfect seat to watch a fight.
“Hells, can I get you a drink or something to take down the murderous look in the eye?”
Alistair’s tools slip slightly, leaving a scar on the wood grain. He purses his lips and looks up to glare at the two of them.
Lyric tilts her head at Ronál, considering the invitation, before smiling warmly. “One Quiet drink would not go astray.”
Alistair returned to focus a little too intensely on his work. This long night, was about to get much, much, longer.