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A heavy door opens with a loud, creaking noise somewhere in the dark.
They strain their ears to determine if there are any accompanying sounds. Voices, footsteps, anything. But given her current state, she can only consider herself fortunate that she could even hear that.
Or perhaps that the door is in serious need of oiling.
Either way, the pain they’re feeling is so immense that concentration is next to impossible. She coughs up blood as she hangs from her arms, manacles tied to the ceiling of the holding cell that has been her world for… who knows how long.
What actually does accompany the door opening is a sudden gust of wind that shatters the otherwise stagnant air. It’s enough to make them shiver all over, and it would’ve been worse if she hadn’t been wearing clothes still. They suppose that they should be grateful for at least some level of modesty to be preserved. Gods know what else those Crownsguard would do to her if they could get away with it. Because who would believe them?
Amidst the shivering and now the chattering of teeth, amidst the numbness of her arms that might end up snapping from her body at any moment, she can now hear footsteps at last approaching.
“Is this the one?”
A thick Zemnian accent comes from right outside their cell. They recognize it right away as the bastard that detained her. And all because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, a scapegoat of a crime that an actual guilty party had committed.
The system fucked up yet again, and as such the world fucked up again. She feels so angry right now, so furious at the hand she’d been dealt. And all she wanted to do was to scrape by and make a living, having been alone for so long.
They don’t trust anyone. Never have, never will. Especially not the system.
“No. She is not. I am afraid that you apprehended the wrong individual. Would you please release her?”
Another voice. They can’t quite open their eyes due to both of them being swollen and black. She’ll be lucky if she can even see once more.
“Are you certain? She resisted arrest. Would a truly innocent party resist arrest? Wouldn’t they just… come quietly and answer questions?”
“Oh, fuck you!” They couldn’t help but protest. Gods, their voice sounds like shit. But somehow she finds the strength to shout anyway. “I was intending on coming quietly. But then YOU tried to force me to come along. What, are you so desperate to fill your quota assigned to you by your corrupt government overlords that you‘re fine with getting every innocent ‘miscreant’ off the streets? All of this to appeal to our mighty King?”
With her sight still impaired, her ears are her only means of discerning what is happening outside. They can hear his growling, and then the cell door opening.
Oh shit, he’s pissed. And she remembers what happens when a Crownsguard gets pissed, especially when their aggression is directed to their prisoners.
They feel the brutal punch to the midsection, and certainly their ribs are likely pulverized by now. She can’t get any further words out.
“Silence! You dare to sully our authority? We keep the Empire safe. The least you could do is be fucking grateful! Hell, you’re fortunate that your skin ain’t like the cricks, or else you’d be dead.”
Don’t put me in the same camp as them, they want to say, but all of the air is gone from their lungs. Instead, they cough up blood once more. And it’s a lot more than before. Certainly she’s suffering from internal damage to the point of bleeding. Her end is surely nigh.
“Enough.”
The other voice in the room. “That’s enough, soldier. She is an innocent party, and if you continue to engage in this barbaric and heinous brutality… I will not hesitate to report you to Watchmaster Gleshin… or perhaps I should go straight to the top and inform Lord Truscan?”
The air in the cell immediately grows colder, and it’s not due to the wind. She can feel the Crownsguard recoil and back away. “Please, Curator, no. Anything but that.”
“Then do as I say. Let. Her. Go. And do not forget who I am, and who I work for. It may spare you from even more severe consequences.”
It’s with that declaration from that incredibly intimidating voice that she can feel a footstool beneath her. She takes the hint and stands on it as the manacles around her wrists slacken and ultimately open.
As soon as the manacles are open, their arms just hang limply and they just pivot forward, the strength in their body completely gone. Thankfully, she’s caught by a warm pair of arms. This must be the voice that does not belong to the Crownsguard.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
It’s the last thing they hear before their consciousness fades to nothing.
It’s been a good twenty years since that fateful encounter. And now she’s in a much healthier mindset. It helps that they have achieved a great deal in their new station.
And it was thanks to that half-elf, Yudala Fon, that saved her that day. The then-future High Curator of the Rexxentrum Archive of the Cobalt Soul.
It was thanks to them, and their right-hand woman Sia Kresh, that she found herself under the watchful gaze of the Knowing Mistress, and from there, she rose through the ranks to achieve the title of Expositor.
Eventually, they were stationed in the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul in Zadash. While it is a far more welcoming place to call home than the cold streets of Rexxentrum, they still often feel better and more in control when out in the field.
And it was during one such assignment that she found herself traveling to the humble hamlet of Trostenwald, in the middle of the month of Sydenstar.
According to the archivist accompanying them, Zeenoth, there were reports of an acolyte that had gone rogue and ran away from the archive being spotted there. Zeenoth was intent on finding this acolyte and bringing her back. And if force was necessary, so be it. That’s why they were asked to accompany him.
The carriage ride to Trostenwald was mostly peaceful and quiet, the occasional bandit raid notwithstanding. But such ruffians were no match for their refined combat skills, the result of twenty years of blood, sweat, and tears all shed in the pursuit of fulfilling their calling.
During this ride, Zeenoth filled her in on this acolyte, and how for the two years spent in Zadash she became very problematic for the archivist and her other educators. He seemed rather embarrassed and disappointed, citing her potential that could flourish if she actually took her lessons seriously.
They can’t help but feel sympathetic for Zeenoth, but they don’t show it. If anything, she’s done a fine job of suppressing her emotional state, forming a magnificent poker face. And normally they would only work alone, preferring to stick to the shadows to accomplish their work. But this was simply a task to retrieve a lost lamb and return her to the flock.
By the time they had arrived in Trostenwald, they were appraised of the situation. Supposedly, a fiend-like creature had been causing havoc, and a traveling carnival had been harboring it, thus endangering those in attendance on the night of the 16th. And while the carnies were detained, another group of ne’er-do-wells were believed to be involved in the incident. The other reason for Zeenoth coming to Trostenwald was at the request of Lawmaster Norda, the head of law enforcement for the town. His task was to provide knowledge and confirmation as to the fiend’s nature.
Eventually, Zeenoth’s secondary task was completed, and the fiend was revealed to be a nergaliid. And supposedly, only the head of the carnival, Gustav Fletchling, claimed full responsibility for the devil toad’s murderous actions. The rest of the carnival, and the outside party that found themselves involved by happenstance, were subsequently released.
It was then that she spotted the acolyte among the latter party’s number.
Strangely enough, she was still wearing her Cobalt Soul vestments. They wonder why, if she truly had intended to run as far away as possible. Perhaps she simply did not have a change of clothes and was hoping to do so and ditch the vestments first chance she got.
Unfortunately for her, the vestments made her stand out like a sore thumb.
Not long after resolving the matter, Zeenoth joined them in trailing the acolyte and her rag-tag band of misfit companions to the Nestled Nook Inn. After a brief encounter, she was drawn out of the tavern and flanked by them and the archivist.
She even had the brazen nerve to try to be flirtatious towards them.
They couldn't help but shake their head when the acolyte wasn’t looking. How could an unruly woman like her ever be brought into the Cobalt Soul to begin with?
Then again, she had found herself in the same situation. Perhaps there’s more to this acolyte than she seems to display…
Their insight is proven correct as the three enter an empty warehouse. Zeenoth then wastes no time in having a talk with this woman, this “Beauregard Lionett”.
The name “Lionett” rings a bell. Perhaps this acolyte is related to the wine family hailing from Kamordah? She’s quite a long ways away from home if that is the case.
“Now, Beauregard,” Zeenoth says to the young woman. “You have been what the Archive would call a problematic student. I’ve had to pull in quite a bit of a favor—”
Beauregard just laughs. A slightly unhinged, astonished laughter. She sounds completely taken aback.
“Sorry,” Beauregard tries to say as her laughter dies down. “Keep going. I'm listening.”
Zeenoth just sighs heavily. They can’t help but agree with what that sighing represents. This is going to be a long night. But if this acolyte can just be convinced to come back…
The archivist takes a breath to steady his composure before continuing. “Since I have been assigned to your tutelage, overseeing your progress and training, you've shown great promise, in many ways.” She can hear the sincerity in his voice. He truly does care about this woman. “You're a seeker of truth, and you have a keen sense for manipulations and falsehoods. Correct?”
“Thanks?”
They recall that in the very few times that she actually gave a damn about her lesson, Beauregard was stated to have incredible intuition and puzzle-solving skills. Surely, a woman who could rise through the ranks much like they did and become a valued member of the Soul. So why would she just… throw that away?
They lower their gaze, still pondering what could be Beauregard’s reason for deserting the Mistress’ mandate, as Zeenoth continues his attempt to appeal to her.
“When the Archive took you in at the behest of your family, you agreed to undergo our discipline. Our lifestyle.”
She hears Beauregard stomp her foot into the dirt and hay of the warehouse they’re all in. When she responds, there is a lot of anger in her voice. Certainly it’s more of her rebellious attitude shining through. And again, she wonders why Beauregard could ever have been welcomed into—
“No, I didn't agree to shit. You took me in because I'm assuming my father paid you a pretty nice sum of coin to make sure that you took me in.”
This comment is what gets their attention lightning-fast. Their gaze immediately focuses on Beauregard. What did she say? Did she say that she was brought in due to her father paying for her inclusion?
“I'm assuming that the coin is no longer coming to the archive, so, why do you care?”
Something about this is suddenly sounding wrong in their mind. They just don’t understand why yet.
Zeenoth continues his efforts. "Believe it or not, not everyone does what they do in this world for coin. We see possibility in you. We wish to prevent you from blowing out your own flame. Your tendencies clash with our teachings, your dislike for authority.”
Beauregard just scoffs. Her rebellious nature is clear as day now.
And in this moment, they swear they can see themself in this human.
The person they were just twenty years ago.
“Yeah, I thought you guys hated me. Thought I was doing you a favor by leaving.”
They can’t help but want to speak up. There is definitely something familiar about this girl. Her hate for authority, her yearning to be a free spirit.
They’ve been this woman before. Now they are certain.
“Your dislike for authority is not a bad thing. It can keep you alive. Authority should always be questioned. Those with more power than you should be held to a higher standard.”
Beauregard turns around to face her. “Thank you, authoritative figure who I am unaware of your name?”
They can’t help but crack a subtle smile. She likes this person. A shame that the Soul can’t see the potential this woman has. And the earlier comments about her tutelage being paid for by her father… they still can’t shake this feeling that perhaps Zeenoth is not as forthright as they thought.
But they simply don’t have any proof to suggest such a thing at the moment. Time for that later. Right now, she should worry about how to resolve this little issue.
Zeenoth gets the conversation ball rolling again. “But the way of the Knowing Mistress has an order of learning. Your patience is essential to adhering to this path. I know it may not be stimulating at times, but we must prepare your mind if we are ever to prepare your soul.”
Beauregard continues to be flippant and defiant. “Yeah, I'd say that sorting books and punching brick walls repeatedly can definitely not be stimulating at all times.”
This is a losing battle. Zeenoth is only failing to appeal to her. He’s wasting his time.
No, the only real way to deal with someone like this Beauregard is someone with similar life experience.
“Look, I just want to—”
“Enough.” They step away from the shadow and gives the archivist a gesture that cuts off any further deliberation. “I've heard enough, Zeenoth. You are removed of your responsibility to oversee Beauregard. This is not a student you can help. Return to Zadash.”
Zeenoth's eyes go wide. He was certainly not anticipating such a turn of events. And… is that a look of disdain and disgust in his eyes? Or are they jumping to conclusions?
No, time for that later.
“Expositor, I do not think that I have been given a fair shot. Please—”
She cuts him off again, and this time they give the archivist a fiercely intimidating glare. “I know this girl, because I see much of myself in her. You cannot reach her. Go.”
The feeling of utter rejection, both by his student and now by them, absolutely wounds Zeenoth. He looks at Beauregard one more time.
“I apologize that I failed you.”
With that, the archivist turns around and heads back towards the warehouse doors, which shift open, and close, leaving her and the acolyte alone as she locks them.
“The fuck was that? I feel like he made me look like an asshole, feel like an asshole. Fuck, maybe I'm an asshole.”
They let out a smirk briefly before dropping it and forming their poker face. Time to get to business. They turn around and walk forward towards Beauregard. "Maybe you're an asshole. You probably are an asshole.”
They close the distance until they are five feet apart. They don’t waste any time in changing their tone entirely to a more confident one. As they say, “it takes one to know one”. And if Beauregard considers her an asshole, so be it.
“That's all right, because so am I. Because sometimes you need someone to be an asshole to get shit done.”
The woman shakes her head. “Being nice never did. What are we talking, stranger?”
They nod their head in response. She can absolutely see Beauregard as a reflection of her past. Perhaps she can finally take the kindness and guidance that Yudala Fon gave her and pay it forward to this little lost lion so she can roar.
“I am Expositor Dairon, of the Cobalt Soul.”