Chapter Text
After rubbing his best file raw and trying to devise any method he can think of to pry at the locking mechanism hugging the inside of his wrist, Therion is finally forced to admit that the ugly grey band—his mark of disgrace—isn’t coming off. At least… not without taking the wrist with it. An unpleasant thought to consider. Yet here he is, considering…
He grits his teeth, clenching and unclenching the fist he would stand to lose. Even strategically breaking the wrist to get the Thieves’ Blunder loose could leave his hand permanently crippled. As bad as wearing this shameful manacle is, it still doesn’t seem worth losing his dominant hand over. His livelihood would permanently suffer for it.
After his “victory” and Heathcote’s proposition, he returned to the Inn for the night and holed up in his room for this multi-hour, failed-jailbreaking session. Though initially agreeing to the terms set forth by the butler, he has since tried everything he can to slip out of this fetter and his obligation. Being Lady Ravus’s hired dog. Sent out to fetch lost trinkets for her… The job is more humiliating than the fool’s band itself. Like hell he’s willing to get her precious stones back.
But if there are no more viable alternatives…
Therion loudly groans and picks the file back up, sawing away at the spot he tried to make a chink in earlier. After several angry strokes it slips along the curve of the bangle and the pointed tip stabs him in the palm.
“FUCK!” He quickly drops the metal tool. It clatters to the ground while he clenches his fist tight, muffling another scream of pain and frustration before slamming it down on the one rickety table furnishing the room. Therion sinks into his chair and sits there for several long moments. Reigning himself in. Fighting back the urge to let loose another flurry of swears while his palm throbs. Gradually, the pain dies back. The skin isn’t broken, but when he unclenches his hand an angry red welt greets him.
“Fuck.” He mutters again, quieter but just as emphatic.
Suddenly there’s a knock at the door.
Great. What now?
Sitting up with a grunt he makes his way over, dagger drawn behind his back. Not that Therion really expects trouble. More likely just the innkeep or one of his new friends checking in, so he thinks. But when the door is thrust open wide he finds neither. Instead, a noblewoman—no, not quite—a woman of the cloth peers at him with surprise written over her face. He threw open the door rather brusquely. Her simple white robes and cowl are of fine make but too plain for true nobility. Why has a clergywoman come calling on him?
“What?” He growls.
The woman—Ophilia—jolts a bit. She had been opening her mouth to speak before he irritably cut across her. “P-pardon me… I just couldn’t help but overhearing… I am in the next room over, you see—”
“Then clamp your pillow over your ears and mind your own business.” He dismisses the noise complaint shortly, starting to close the door.
“Ah! Wait!” She shoves the staff she is carrying between the door and its frame, temporarily preventing him. Therion opens back up but the dirty look he gives makes clear that he is in no mood. “What?” The thief snarls with even more emphasis than last time.
“Sorry! It just sounded like… maybe you were hurt? You’ve been groaning for a while, and then the yell…”
The door starts to close again.
“I’m a cleric! I know a bit about healing. I just wanted to offer you some aid if you—”
The door shuts resolutely in her face.
Ophilia stares sadly the spot where Therion disappeared. Discouraged, but not yet down and out she calls through the wood. “I am well versed in healing and light magicks. If you change your mind, I’ll be right down the ha—EEP!” The door is suddenly thrown back open in front of her. Before she can get another word out, Therion grabs the girl by the broach of her cowl and pulls her inside.
A few minutes later Ophilia drops her hands from the thick band attached to Therion’s wrist and sighs. “I am afraid this is beyond my ability.”
Therion grunts. Figures. At the word of light magic, he brought the woman (who introduced herself as Ophilia) in to see if she could unlock or otherwise remove the band on his wrist. Another dead end…
“But I wouldn’t give up hope…” she continues, trying to break through his gloom “there are many others in this world more skilled in the mystic arts. If you seek them out, I am sure one of them will be able to remove it. Were I in your position, I would search in Atlasdam or… perhaps Noblecourt. Of the scholars there, at least one will know a way to get it off. I am sure of it.”
Therion certainly isn’t. But the proposal is not without its merits. If he is going to go tracking down these dragonstones, he’ll be on the road anyway… might as well try his luck.
Ophilia is still eyeing his wrist and the ugly, painful looking chafe marks that the band has been making. She knows what it is. At least… she knows that it is a punishment. And not something one typically finds cuffed on upstanding people. Still, it is the doctrine of the church to guide all to Aelfric’s light. None of his children are blameless of wrongdoing. It would be wrong to turn a blind eye to this man’s suffering regardless of what he may have done. “Please… at least allow me to soothe your pain… I have something in my room that may help.”
Therion grunts again, not really agreeing or disagreeing. He’s too caught up pondering his next move, barely noticing when Ophilia leaves and comes back with a small roll of bandages. He only takes notice again when the woman gently tugs his arm out and places her hand over it once more. Quickly, the earlier discomforts Therion felt melt away. When the once-irritated flesh resumes its normal color, she takes the wrappings and swathes his forearm, carefully covering underneath the fetter so as to diminish its abrasiveness. Ophilia doesn’t take her eyes off her work, but Therion studies her while she busies herself with the task. With a habit of quickly sizing people up for their valuables, he certainly didn’t miss the unique lantern hanging on a chain at her side. Though not particularly ornate, he has never seen another like it. And certainly nothing like the eerie blue light that dances so mesmerizingly within. “That’s… Aelfric’s flame. Isn’t it? You’re from his church in Flamesgrace” he surmises.
“That’s right.” Ophilia smiles warmly, just glad to hear something out of him other than orders and grumbling. “The cathedral has been my home all my life.”
Interesting. “So, what brings you to Bolderfall? Not the dazzling scenery or charming locals I would have to imagine.” Therion keeps his voice light so as not to seem overly curious.
That gets a soft giggle out of her. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just passing through.” She considers briefly whether or not to say more. The thief doesn’t miss her hesitation.
Finally, she seems to decide better of something. “I am on a sacred pilgrimage—the Kindling--a rite undertaken only once every twenty years. I must bear the First Flame from my home to Saintsbridge and Goldshore, renewing the flames in these churches across the land. It is my great honor, and burden.”
Therion’s eye not covered by his crop of wispy hair widens slightly. “That does sound like quite the task. ….You sure you’re up to it?” She doesn’t strike him much like the adventuring type. “Dangerous for a woman to travel the vasts of Orsterra all alone.”
“Ah… you are correct. But fear not! I do not go alone. Aelfric’s followers, his children, are spread throughout the land. One of the faithful from Flamesgrace helped to escort me here, though has since turned back. At the moment I am in search of a new companion to travel with to my next destination in the riverlands. And besides, Aelfric’s flame guides my path. With these to watch over me, I am never truly alone.”
“Great.” Therion replies sarcastically. “Sounds like you’re well off then.” He pulls his bandaged arm away from her and inspects the finished handiwork. The thief doesn’t really buy into all that sacred light mumbo jumbo. No guiding flame has ever lit his path. “Guess you’d better hurry and go rest up for your big journey.” He could snatch the lantern off of her now but thinks better of it. With something like that, she’d definitely wise up to it missing pretty quick. Besides… even if it might be valuable to the right buyer, too conspicuous. Too likely to get authorities really riled. Best just leave the tantalizing blue light be for the time being. “Don’t let me keep you. Off you go.” He ushers Ophilia towards the door.
“Aah! But I don’t have to leave so soon,” Ophilia flusters as he takes her arm and leads her out, “I mean what about you? I haven’t even gotten your—”
The door to his room slams shut behind her the moment she is out in the hall.
“—name….” Ophilia trails off as the lock clicks. She stares at the darkened frame for several moments longer before sighing and making her way back to her own quarters. At least she was able to help take the stranger’s pain away. That was her goal, was it not? But as she settles in for the night and slips into bed she can’t help but feel disappointment at the abruptness of their parting. At the very least, all is quiet next door now. Therion sits on the window sill of his room, rubbing his new bandages pensively as he stares at the silhouette of Ravus manor perched atop the cliffs.
“Damn nobles…” once again entrapping the common folk in their personal schemes. But as much outrage at this indignity that he wants to turn on Cordelia Ravus, the true fault lies with none but him. He was so eager for his next mark… so overweening with regard to his ability to carry out the heist that he got careless. It’s a lesson he should have learned by now. It is a lesson that should have been drilled into him a long time ago…
“The ensnared has only himself to blame…right?” he mutters at his pale reflection in the moonlit glass. No more moping. This isn’t going to beat him. One way or another this accursed manacle is coming off.
Tomorrow, he sets out.