Chapter Text
It was a quiet day at the Cobalt Soul archive in Zadash. Beauregard Lionett pulled books for the latest research request from her mentor, Archivist Zeenoth. He sought out research on the Cerberus Assembly, though their archive of materials on the Assembly offered very slim pickings. They didn’t exactly like being observed or recorded, so it was mostly made up of unofficial texts and notes made from Expositors who had interactions with the Assembly at some point in the past.
Then, it all happened so fast.
Beau had an armful of scrolls and was halfway up the ladder to reach a source that should be on one of these top shelves somewhere when she first heard the commotion.
The library had been usually quiet, perfect for the hours of research that their work consisted of, so the sound of sudden ear-shattering screams was more than a bit jarring. Beau, immediately on high alert, jumped into action; she slid down the ladder with ease and dove out of the aisle, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the bookshelf that came toppling over as a loud bang rocked the entire room.
Beau took a moment to get her bearings and scan the area. She was hoping it was just some sort of accident—maybe a new trainee had accidentally run into a bookshelf with a bit too much force and caused a domino effect. Unfortunately, what Beau saw was nothing of the sort.
It looked like an explosion had rocked the library—shelves strewn in every direction, archivists and scholars on the ground, bleeding and unconscious. Small fires had erupted at the wall that was blown open. The flames licked at the nearby carpet and shelves, threatening to destroy the entire collection. As the smoke cleared, Beau got a good look at whoever seemed to be in charge of this attack.
He looked like some sort of fiend with dark red skin, horns jutting from the top of his head, and a wingspan that spread wide, knocking over a few more shelves. She quickly ducked behind a study desk, giving herself some cover and some time to get a better look at the infiltrators.
Behind the fiend stood—if stood was even the appropriate word—some sort of abomination. It was a hulking, black mass covered in mouths. Each toothy maw was wide and the sound of an insane, haunting laughter filled Beau’s head. She instinctively covered her ears fighting off the sound that chilled her to the bone. This creature only had one hand, the other curved into a long blade, which it used to cut down anyone in its way.
Beau watched as the blade sliced across the torso of someone in blue robes. They fell to the ground, lifeless. Beau clenched her fist.
And coming up in the rear was...a woman. A woman with wild black hair that turned white at the ends, a scaled breastplate, and a rusted, rubicund blade that looked almost as large as Beau’s entire body. She dragged the sword behind her as she walked, with an ear piercing scrape. Her eyes were clenched shut. It didn’t look like she had attacked anyone yet, but Beau could tell she was dangerous.
The fiend in front marched forward, slowly, with a purpose. His eyes casually scanned the shelves, and Beau immediately knew he was looking for something. She may have been a low-ranking monk, but she had worked at the Cobalt Soul long enough to know that they had some pretty sensitive information locked away here, sensitive information that could be dangerous in the hands of someone like that. It was the reason only members were allowed to access the archive.
She wasn’t sure how many of the Cobalt Soul were still conscious and able to fight. She couldn’t take these guys alone and they were cutting down anyone who charged at them, but maybe she could buy a little time for reinforcements. That was when she decided to do something really stupid.
“Hey!” Beau called out, getting his attention. “Do you have a library card?”
The fiend sneered at her, slightly amused but said nothing.
“You’re gonna need a library card to access the books back here. The sign up area is actually outside, up the street, make a right and three blocks down it’ll be the building on your left. The sign says Zadash Jail but it’s actually just a cover. We’ve got some pretty sensitive material in here, you know. I can walk you there if you need?”
The look of amusement vanished and the fiend, clearly tired of Beau’s shit (a common occurrence), rolled his eyes and looked straight ahead, focusing once again on the task at hand.
“Orphanmaker?” he said casually. “Take care of it.”
He didn’t spare another glance in Beau’s direction.
Beau glared. Fuck waiting for backup. She charged him, head on.
He dodged a couple punches before she landed one right in his gut. He sputtered a bit, the wind knocked out of him, but instead of fighting back, he continued his slow and confident march forward.
“Fucking coward!” Beau spat. She lunged for him again, but found her path blocked by a familiar rubicund blade, glistening with fresh blood.
She looked up and saw the woman towering over her. Her eyes were open now, a bright violet and turquoise, with her piercing gaze trained on Beau.
She swung her sword around and Beau had to backflip out of the way to escape the blade’s edge. It barely nicked the fabric of her pants.
Beau landed on her feet and took a defensive stance. “Orphanmaker, huh?” she quipped. “Sounds like a fuckin’ band name or something. Not as intimidating as you think.”
She threw a punch and Orphanmaker caught her fist before it made contact. She didn’t say anything, but there was a snarl on her face as she tossed Beau’s fist aside. Beau shook out her hand. Nothing was broken, but Orphanmaker had a strong grip.
She hardly had a second to recover before the blade was coming down on her again. Beau dodged out of the way and rolled across the ground to the next aisle of bookshelves, hoping to get some cover.
The next swing came far too soon. Beau barely dodged out of the way in time and heard a soft shink as she realized the blade had severed the tail end of her braid. A clump of hair fell to the ground. Beau pouted.
Orphanmaker swung the blade around with a surprising swiftness for the size of it and pressed it to Beau’s chest. Beau was trapped against the bookshelf.
Then, the woman seemed to hesitate. She could have plunged the sword into Beau’s chest so easily, but she didn’t. It gave Beau a moment to think. She pressed forward, just a little, into the edge of the blade. The fabric of her shirt tore open and it pierced the skin of her chest. A line of blood dribbled across her skin. Beau winced in pain as it dug deeper, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward just a little more.
The most surprising thing was Orphanmaker’s surprise as Beau did this. Her grip on the sword loosened as she was caught off guard.
Beau then used this little bit of leverage to slam her torso back against the bookshelf behind her. A few books came loose, one of them hitting Orphanmaker in the head. She staggered for a moment, just long enough for Beau to slip free from her grasp.
For good measure, Beau sent a kick backwards as she ran forward. It may have hurt Beau’s foot more than it hurt her attacker.
The bookcase toppled over but as it hit Orphanmaker, it didn’t even faze her. The woman was built like a damn ox.
Beau wiped the sweat from her brow as she put some distance between them. There was no way she would win in a match of brawn. No, she needed to think…
Her eyes caught the pillars in the aisle between bookshelves. One was cracked and broken from the explosion—thankfully they were more for decoration than structure. Another pillar, though, sat just down the aisle and it might give her some leverage if she could get it between herself and Orphanmaker.
“Think you can catch me?” Beau taunted, then ran down the aisle.
She could hear the heavy thud of footsteps behind her, Orphanmaker in pursuit. It was interesting—she looked back and the woman wasn’t even chasing her. She almost seemed like she was dragging her feet. Strange.
Beau was fast, but Orphanmaker’s sword was huge. She swung it again, nicking the skin of Beau’s back. Beau felt the sting of the cut and the blood trickled down her skin, but she shrugged it off.
Finally Beau reached the pillar. She put a hand on it and waited. She only needed a moment. She waited until the hairs at the back of her neck stood up, grabbed the pillar with both hands and swung around until she was behind her assailant.
She caught Orphanmaker off guard, nailing her in the back with both feet and knocking her to the ground. Beau pinned her there with a knee in her spine, then grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the ground. The body started to go limp beneath her and Beau lifted her head to bash it down again, but hesitated when she caught sight of something.
There was something strange on the back of her neck, something glowing beneath the locks of hair. Beau carefully brushed the matted black and white mess out of the way and found a small, glowing symbol. Magic.
Beau wasn’t a magic user herself, and she didn’t quite recognize the spell, but she could tell it was some sort of enchantment. A charm, perhaps?
Then Beau realized that Orphanmaker hadn’t pushed her off yet. She glanced down.
Orphanmaker looked rough. Her nose was broken, and blood trickled from a wound on her forehead, pooling around her. But what stood out most were the tears that fell as she slowly closed her eyes and drifted into unconsciousness.
Beau was quick to her feet. One problem down, but there were still two more, at least. She scanned the room but all she could see were smoke and bodies. Whether they were dead or unconscious, she wasn’t sure.
The sound of footsteps approaching caught Beau’s attention, but it wasn’t the heavy gait of the abomination. No, it was reinforcements. Finally.
The first person to emerge into the archive was Dairon. They ran over when they caught sight of Beau on her feet.
“What is the status?” she asked.
“Two more, at least,” Beau said. “Not sure where they went. I took down this one but...I dunno, there’s something off about her. I think she might be under some sort of spell.””
Dairon called out to two other monks who approached and held Orphanmaker down so she couldn’t escape, even if she stirred. Then Dairon pointed to Beau.
“You, with me.”
Beau followed them diligently through the toppled stacks. She hadn’t worked with Dairon much in the past, but she had always respected them. She took no shit and didn’t sugar coat things, and Beau appreciated it.
They didn’t get far until two looming figures appeared in the smoke. Dairon tensed up next to her. Beau clenched her fists.
The same fiend from before was visible as he stepped forward, a small, old, handwritten book secured under one arm.
“We’re going to need that back,” Dairon said.
It did not even catch his attention. He took one look at Beau and frowned.
“I thought I had you taken care of.”
With a quick glance over her shoulder, he spotted Orphanmaker, on the ground, surrounded by monks.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” He turned to the looming figure behind him. “Come, Hand. We’ve work to do.”
And before Beau or Dairon could even move, the pair vanished.
“Fuck,” Dairon cursed.
“What do we do now?”
They turned to look back at the fallen woman, Orphanmaker .
“Maybe this one will have some answers.”
Beau fidgeted nervously. She was stuck in Dairon’s room, waiting for...she wasn’t totally sure what. She had only been told to wait. Beau hated that, not being told what was going on or why she had to do something. She wasn’t a blind follower. It reminded her of her father. He never gave answers, only demands.
She paced nervously across the room. It had only been a few short hours since the attack. Beau hadn’t been hurt badly, but Dairon sent her here to be treated by a medic, and then told her to wait.
Beau wanted to be out there, helping survivors, fixing things. She hated being stuck, counting the seconds as they ticked by, feeling useless.
Eventually, the adrenaline that was keeping her up wore off. She felt the ache of her bruises and strained muscles. The sting of where the blade carved into her chest was more prominent. Beau collapsed on the bed for just a moment of respite. She didn’t even realize when her eyes closed and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Beau wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she finally woke to the sound of the door. She blinked a few times.
The door swung open and Dairon was there. They whispered to someone outside, then shut the door. Dairon was usually fairly stoic, but there was a somber look on her face today. Beau was still exhausted, but jumped to her feet in anticipation.
“Well?” Beau said. “What’s going on?”
Dairon sighed. “Dozens injured. A handful of...casualties.” They hesitated. “Archivist Zeenoth is among the deceased. I am very sorry, Beau. I know he was your mentor.”
Perhaps Beau should have expected to feel something. Pain, or shock, or anything, really. She had known the man for a few years. But none of that came. She almost felt bad that the slightest feeling of relief captured her. She nodded.
“Are you alright?” Dairon asked. “You do not seem very perturbed.”
Beau shrugged. “I know he was my mentor, but it’s hard to feel bad for the guy who took bribes from my dad and kidnapped me.”
The look that crossed Dairon’s face was indistinguishable.
Beau feared she would come across as cold or uncaring, so she continued on, “Look, I’m not happy the guy died. He was smart. And, like you said, we lost some others as well. My personal history with the dude aside, it’s not good. We have to get to the bottom of this. Where’s the woman?”
And with that, Dairon was back to business.
“She’s being detained. We’ve taken magical precautions to ensure she doesn’t break free and that her accomplices don’t return for her, but we would like you to work with a specialist to try and get through to her. Perhaps you can help him identify the enchantment and we will no longer have to classify her as a threat.”
“Who’s the specialist?”
Dairon turned and opened the door. A man stepped inside, and he was tall. He had to duck his head to get through the door and when he stepped in, Beau noticed he was a firbolg.
“Hello,” he said, a bit goofily.
“Beauregard, please meet Pumat Sol. He is an entrepreneur, independent contractor, and one of the most powerful mages in Zadash unaffiliated with the Cerberus Assembly.”
Beau stared up at the man towering over. “Uh, hi, Mr. Sol.”
“Just Pumat is fine,” he said. The way he spoke was a bit slow, like he chose each word carefully, even the simplest of phrases. “Let’s get to work. Where’s this woman you spoke of?”
Dairon led them out of her office and down the hall. The Cobalt Soul was huge and maze-like so that if you didn’t know where you were going, it was easy to get lost. And it seemed their captive was being held somewhere it would be difficult to navigate out of. They didn’t necessarily have holding cells, or a place to question people. Most of those ops were done under the radar, out of the main facilities, so they had to work with what they had here in Zadash.
They were deep into the dorm rooms for new members in training, though everyone had been removed from this wing as a precaution. There were guards posted at the end of the hallway and again just outside the door.
Dairon knocked once, then entered.
There were two Cobalt Soul members standing guard at the foot of the bed. The woman was still unconscious, and while she was secured down with thick leather straps around her wrists and ankles. Her armor and weapons were removed, and she was left only in simple, black garb. She had been healed, but her nose was still a bit crooked and dried blood was caked on her forehead. Beau thought she felt something faintly arcane as she passed through the doorway before it shut behind them.
“Beau, you said she may have been under an enchantment of sorts?” Dairon asked.
“Yeah. There was some kind of rune or sigil behind her neck. It was glowing.”
“Pumat, would you mind?”
Dairon nodded to the woman in bed. She laid on her side, hair wild across the pillows. Her brow was furrowed, like she was having a fitful sleep. Pumat hesitated, a strange look on his face. He blinked, baffled.
“What is it?”
“I think I recognize the lady is all,” he explained. “Stopped in the shop a couple times with some friends.”
Dairon froze. “Any of them fiendish? Red, horns, wings.”
“Oh, no, no. A couple of tieflings but they seemed harmless. Mostly.”
“Pumat, would you be able to track down these people who knew her?”
He shrugged. “I can try reaching out, but they travel all over the place. Haven’t seen them in months, but they are some of my best customers when they’re in town.”
“Did she ever give you a name when you met her before?” Dairon asked.
Pumat thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. She was always a rather quiet one.” He shook his head and gave a small smile. “Anyway, maybe she’ll like a friendly face. Let’s get to it. A little help?”
Beau walked up to the bed with him and crouched next to it. She helped turn the woman’s body to the side, just enough so he could reach her neck. She brushed away the hair that was in the way, there it was: a small, glowing symbol. It almost looked like it was pulsing.
“Interesting…” Pumat cast a quick spell, muttering under his breath. “Oh yeah, this looks like some sort of high level enchantment. Not sure what exactly it is.”
“Can you fix it?” Beau asked.
“I can give it a go. We’ll see if it takes.”
Pumat took a deep breath for a moment, tracing invisible symbols in the air. His eyes closed and he began to mutter arcane words that Beau couldn’t understand. And then, a wave of white slowly erupted from his hands and pushed toward the back of her neck. Beau watched as the arcane energy swept over the smooth, pale skin, and as if Pumat had taken a rag to a dirty floor, the glowing symbol was wiped away, vanishing without a trace.
“I think it worked,” he muttered.
“ Looks like it worked,” Beau mused.
“We can’t be certain yet. Don't let your guard down.” Dairon clenched their fists. She turned to Pumat. “Can you wake her?”
“Well, I’m not much of a healer but I’ll give it a shot,” Pumat happily replied.
He rolled Orphanmaker onto her back once again and pulled his hands away for a moment of contemplation. Beau thought he was preparing to cast another spell, until he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“What are you doing?” Dairon gasped.
“You asked me to wake her up.” He looked down at the bed, but the woman did not stir.
“I was expecting a bit more finesse.”
Beau suppressed a laugh behind her hand, but Dairon still heard and shot her a glare. “Beauregard, if you think it’s so funny, perhaps you should be the one to wake her.”
“Fine.”
Beau sat down on the mattress, but when suddenly faced with her assailant, she hesitated. What if she has been wrong? What if she wakes up and the first thing she sees is the person who knocked her out? What if she attacks?
Beau shook her head. Pumat detected the same type of magic that Beau suspected. She had to have been under some sort of spell. Thinking back on the look in her eyes as she swung her glaive… she looked terrified.
Beau tentatively reached out a hand and brushed the hair out of Orphanmaker’s face. Then, she tapped her on the shoulder a few times. There was a low groan, but her eyes remained shut.
Beau didn’t want to jostle her while she was injured, so she looked around for an idea and spotted a glass of water on the bedside table. She dipped her fingers into the water and dribbled a few drops on her forehead. Another groan.
Until finally, her eyes slowly fluttered open.
Beau had noticed her eyes before—one a stunning turquoise, the other a vibrant lavender—but before they were filled with rage and pain. Now, they just looked soft, confused. Their eyes locked for a moment, Beau held her breath, unsure of what to say.
Orphanmaker broke the silence first.
“Am I dead?”
Her voice wasn’t anything that Beau expected. She has expected something deep and gruff to match her intimidating stature. Instead her voice was light and soft; there was a bit of a husk to it as well, after waking up from unconsciousness.
“No,” Beau answered. “Not dead.”
Orphanmaker let out a sigh, but it almost seemed like there was the slightest air of disappointment to it. Beau made a mental note.
“Where am I?” As Orphanmaker asked, she pushed herself to an upright sitting position with a groan.
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. Now Dairon interjected.
“What was the last thing you remember? Where were you?”
Orphanmaker frowned. She looked around the room, suddenly noticing all the people that were watching her very intently. She shrunk back into herself a bit. “I—I’m not sure.”
“There was a man with you,” Dairon said. “Do you remember?” Orphanmaker shook her head. “Fiendish. Tall. Red. Wings on his back and long horns on his head. Ringing any bells?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What about this man?” Dairon pointed to Pumat Sol. “Do you recognize him?”
“No, I’m sorry.” She looked down and seemingly noticed for the first time, the straps around her wrists. “What—what’s going on?” Her voice trembled; she was afraid. Beau wasn’t known to be the most charismatic person in the world, but she wanted to help.
“Hey,” she said, with the softest voice she could muster, “I’m sorry about this. We just want to make sure you’re telling the truth, and we don’t want anyone to get hurt. You included. Okay?” She turned to Pumat. “Don’t you have, like, a truthy spell or something?”
Pumat shrugged. “That’s not exactly my expertise.”
Instead, Dairon tapped on one of the other guards in the room. “Do you have that prepared today?”
They nodded, and hands drifted to a patch on their vest that seemed to glow. Beau recognized it as Ioun’s symbol. Of course, a cleric. She turned to Yasha. “We just want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”
She looked into Beau’s eyes for a moment then, slowly, nodded.
The cleric waved a hand and muttered something. Beau felt something come over herself and pursed her lips. Orphanmaker blinked.
“What is your name?” Dairon asked.
The woman opened her mouth, and then hesitated, as if she could feel the effects of the spell before she spoke.
“Yasha,” she finally said.
Dairon stared at her for a moment. “Not Orphanmaker?”
“What was that?” Yasha asked, a blank look on her face.
“The man you were with, he called you Orphanmaker. Does this sound familiar?”
Yasha shook her head. “No.”
Dairon looked to the cleric.
“She’s telling the truth.”
“Did I… did I do something?” Yasha asked. Beau instinctively reached for her bandaged chest, and Yasha’s eyes followed the movement. She said, in the smallest voice Beau had ever heard. “Did I hurt you?”
Before Beau could bring herself to answer, Dairon interjected again. “Please answer our questions, and then you may be free to ask any of your own.”
Yasha’s shoulders slumped. She looked down at her lap. “Alright.”
Dairon’s interrogation was sharp, and she pelted Yasha with a barrage of questions almost faster than they could be answered. It was intimidating.
“What is the name of the man you traveled here with?”
Yasha thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“What information did he seek at the Cobalt Soul?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where were you planning to head next?”
Yasha hesitated. She closed her eyes, really thinking on the answer before she sighed. “I don’t know.”
Dairon seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated.
“She’s telling the truth,” the cleric advised when they noticed Dairon’s frustration. “I don’t think she has any memories of last night.”
Pumat hummed in thought. “That’s something I might be able to help with,” he said, then turned to Yasha and added, “with your permission, of course.”
Yasha hesitated. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Now, I don’t like messing with people’s memories so I don’t usually use this spell, but it can help restore lost memories as well. If you’re alright with that, Miss Yasha.”
Yasha closed her eyes. “Just do it.”
Pumat put his hands to Yasha’s temples and a soft glow emitted from his fingertips. Yasha’s brow furrowed as she succumbed to the spell. She was quiet for a moment, but Beau felt her tense as soon as the memories started to flood back. After a moment, her breath hitched. And then, “No, no, no, no…”
Tears streamed down her face.
“NO!”
Finally, Pumat finished his spell.
Yasha was sobbing, terrified, shaking in her bed.
“Did that help you recall anything from the event?” Dairon asked plainly, as if nothing was wrong.
“Really, Dairon?” Beau chided her superior. “Look at her, she’s fucking traumatized.”
“I am so sorry,” Yasha spoke up, her voice quiet and trembling, “for all the pain I caused.” She glanced up to the bandages across Beau’s chest. “I’m sorry. But I—I still don’t remember…I remember being there. Hurting people. Hurting you. But everything else is still fuzzy.”
“She’s telling the truth,” the cleric said.
Dairon gave a pointed look to Pumat, clearly frustrated.
“It doesn’t seem like her memory is blocked by arcane means, so I can’t do much to help if she doesn’t want to remember,” Pumat explained.
“Fine,” Dairon sighed. “We will continue this later.” They spun around swiftly on their heel and began to march out the door, but Beau grabbed her by the arm.
“Can we at least get her out of those restraints?”
“Beauregard—“
“She’s scared. She’s never gonna trust us like this. There are guards at the door and if she does anything, I’ll take full responsibility.”
Dairon studied her with a heavy gaze for a moment. “Very well,” they muttered. “But we’re keeping the ward on the room.”
“Fine.”
Dairon nodded to Yasha in bed and the two who guarded the room began to remove Yasha’s restraints. Beau walked up and knelt beside her, undoing the ties on her right arm.
“I’m sorry about this,” Beau muttered, her gaze fixated on the strap as she worked to loosen it. “But I trust you. We’ll figure out what happened to you and stop him from hurting anyone else.”
Yasha’s eyes were closed. She didn’t acknowledge Beau in any way, so Beau continued to free Yasha from her restraints in silence. When she stood up and began to walk away, Yasha’s hand circled around her wrist to stop her for a moment.
“Thank you, Beauregard,” she muttered.
Beau gave her a soft smile. “You can just call me Beau.” She squeezed Yasha’s hand before letting go and making her way out of the room.
Dairon waited for her outside.
“I’d like you to be in charge of this,” they said.
Beau balked at the notion. “I’m not interrogating her, Dairon. I know what she did but she doesn’t remember and she doesn’t deserve that. It wasn’t her.”
“I know. That’s why I’d like you in charge of this,” Dairon explained. “You recognized that she was under a spell almost immediately. That must have taken a keen eye. She seems to trust you, and I trust your intuition on this. We have identified the tome that was stolen. It will take some time to figure out what information inside was pertinent to our intruders, but until then we have her. I’m not asking for an interrogation and she’s not a prisoner. Just see if you can help her remember anything else. Anything useful.”
Beau was still hesitant. She looked down and rubbed the back of her neck. “You sure? That’s kind of a big responsibility. Zeenoth never would have trusted me with anything like—“
Dairon cut her off with a sharp nod. “I trust you, Beauregard.”
Trust was a weird thing for Beau. Nobody ever trusted her before. Not that she ever gave anyone reason to. She was a petty, disruptive, ex-criminal. Her father never trusted her judgment or believed in her ideas for the business. He always treated her as a child even though she was a full grown adult. Even Zeenoth liked to hold his power over her and only gave her the most menial of tasks. That’s probably why she started acting out at the Cobalt Soul, if she was being honest. And probably why Zeenoth never grew to like her.
Still, Dairon trusting Beau with this huge responsibility was something that blindsided her a little bit. Part of her wanted to slam dunk the idea into the trash can, put in minimal effort and barely scrape by like she was used to. But Dairon was different from Zeenoth and her father. She didn’t want to disappoint another person, someone who actually wanted to take a chance on her.
And this time, it wasn’t just about her. She would do it.