Chapter Text
Alistair sighed as he lay in bed. This tavern in the middle of nowhere was not only too quiet, but far too creepy. His eyes surveyed the ceiling and tried to ignore each little spider or patch of mould he found in the process. Pulling the pillow over his head he groans, rolling onto his side. The others occupy the rooms either side of him and he wondered if, perhaps, they felt as scared and alone as he had been feeling. They seemed to blame Alistair for the events of the day and whilst it was rather unfortunate this new group of prospective hires happened to be in his house when they were all sucked into an unknown forest of horror and unending fog, how could they really claim this was all his fault? Rat nestled deeper into Alistair’s neck which momentarily derails his thoughts as he pauses, listening to the sound of Rat's happy little mechanical chirps.
Plus, if this was his forest then wouldn’t those ghouls have responded to his command when they attacked them earlier in the day? He rolls his eyes at the stupidity of the idea that nearly got them killed and instead listened to the silence a while longer... before the loneliness and quiet began to feel too heavy. If he talked, who’s to say they would even hear him? Not everyone has his superior hearing or vision. Or sense of personal style.
He tapped his finger on the edge of the headboard. If he was going to say something it would have to be cool. Something non-chalant that wouldn’t give away the excitement he felt at having someone to talk to …who wasn’t being forced to do so by either money or violence. Well, not yet anyway. He had to be confident and say something they could relate to. Maybe a question? People love to talk about themselves. Plus, he couldn’t forget the purpose of his finding them. He was conducting an interview after all - even if it was rather extended and in a rather unusual location. Yes, he would interrogate… uh question them. Alistair nodded at the mental correction. He would simply ask a question from his list. Reaching down he picked up his notebook from the floor and leafs through the pages of questionnaires he recorded over time. Here. Perfect. Interesting, relatable to their current predicament, not too interview-y. Alistair cleared his throat.
“So uhhh, how does everyone deal with pressure or stressful situations?”
He waits, the silence deafening. Perhaps they cannot hear him after all. Perhaps-
“Alistair…trying to sleep…” the familiar voice floats through the wall closest to him. Alistair smiles, the voice belonged to a rather odd elf who claimed to be raised by birds and wore a large black hooked bird mask which was both terrifying and intriguing. Though he had yet to understand why the elf would hide his face behind a mask when it was so beautiful. The streaks of gold that shone in the light around his eyes and the shine of his hair that reminded Alistair of a cool misty morning near the docks... Alistair chuckled at himself. He wasn’t usually attracted to a more masculine figure but this elf fit neither gender and wore it well. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of tug towards them as if-
Alistair does a double take at the wall and his eyes widen in disbelief - but why were they in the room of the wizard and not their own this late at night??
“Ronàl? What are you doing in the magician's room?”
“”Francis” is a powerful wizard I was just asking some magical questions. Is it not privy that we learn as much about each other’s abilities as possible?” Alistair chose to ignore the hint of judgement in Ronál’s tone.
“Besides - I hardly know a thing about your abilities or history, Alistair.”
Rolling his eyes in the darkness, Alistair couldn’t tell if the pang in his stomach was from the lack of food he had consumed recently or jealousy that the bird-elf was spending the night next door with someone who couldn’t trust them enough to share his real name. He was used to people wanting to know about his unique set of skills. They had seen him vertically scale a tree for hells sake! They should be falling at his feet! Either him begging for either forgiveness or swooning from his charms. They should have questions or tremble in fear or-
and yet he could hear the sarcasm dripping from Ronál’s tone?
He sat up and glared at the wall, “Oh really? So is “Francis” saying anything interesting over there? Anything you would consider a particularly notable ability? You know PLENTY about me Ronán - you know I’m an excellent climber…. Perhaps you’re spending your evening in the wrong room?” It was a cheap shot but it escaped before he could stop himself. He could swear Rat let out a little mechanical groan in between his sleepy chirps.
“It’s Ronál not Ronán, Alistair. Maybe keep that in mind if you want to try to ask me to spend time in your room! While I may be wild in nature, I am of a noble house and I do not appreciate you talking to me so. Also “Francis” is merely talking about the next move to get the coffin from that craftsman in the woods tomorrow.”
Alistair dragged a hand down his face and he mentally kicked himself. He was never the best at names and forgot them so often he would end up just making something up. A nickname of sorts that he felt suited the character. Coincidentally, it also meant correspondence by letter was more confidential and he could spread secrets with far less encryption if no-one knew the secret was about them. He took out his journal and licked the nib of his pen. He would have to think of something for the members of this group so they didn’t end up leaving him on the trail calling the name of someone who doesn’t exist.
“Ah! I! Uhhh… I meant Ronál! I was just testing your comprehension to remember your own name. Glad to note down you have full cognitive function in that regard ha. Ha. Ha.” Alistiar grins at his quick recovery whilst scribbling out “Bird-Elf” next to Ronál’s name in his journal. He would have to think of something better.
“So we all think this woodland-creature-coffin-maker is going to be some kind of upstanding citizen in this drab place right?”, he drawls as he writes “Feathered Friend” in the red ink before scratching that also.
“While he may not be an upstanding citizen, he is helpful to these people.” Ronál’s tone sharpened with what Alistair assumed was a rather defensive stance for those who dare to lend a hand in a place as harsh as this. Ah, to be gentle enough to think there were people worth defending.
Alistair, however, could only see a merchant who failed to deliver on a deal. Something his employees back home would have been severely punished for. Breaking contracts was something he could not and would not tolerate.
”Is he….? A craftsman who doesn’t deliver on an order probably isn’t the most helpful of merchants.” He pauses, studying the small pane of glass that was a window and how rather poorly attached it was to the wooden panels of the wall. Such shocking craftsmanship was all that separated him from the darkness of the forest outside and the ghost-like faces of the villagers. The dark tangling branches from their first trip in this creeping landscape stretched through his mind as the crunch of bones and gnashing of teeth echoed around him. This place wasn’t just creepy, it was fucking cursed. He had been in many creepy places but this one made his skin crawl. The forest had no clear pathways and seemed to close around them as they had stumbled their way to a road by pure dumb luck. Alistair hated being lucky. Luck was so out of your control. So beyond his ability to plan and ensure he kept himself safe and well-fed. This place didn’t seem to thrive on plans or the orderly, nor the safe and the sound. Rather the insane, the distant, the chaotic and the mad mixed with the choking darkness muffled only by the white suffocating fog. He didn’t want to stay in this place another minute longer than he had to. He had to find a way to get himself home. However, he could not deny he somewhat lacked enthusiasm when thinking of leaving this room tomorrow. He cleared his throat.
”Also is anyone a little concerned about travelling into the woods? Again?”
“Maybe he’s in trouble Alistair!” Ronál's voice sounded somewhat exasperated at this point, “besides, the woods are constant. Cities and villages are not. There are always trees on the path through woods but you never know what you could encounter when wandering the streets of men.”
Alistair rests his head against the wall as he writes down “Kind Bird” in his journal and tries to ignore the knot in his stomach.
“Well sure, which is well and fine until you can’t find a way out of them. The trees in this place are like narrow corridors in a dark facility. You keep going somewhere and end up nowhere!”, his mouth sets into a firm line, “Do you always feel compelled to help people in trouble?!”
“If they deserve it…”, they had to be closer to the wall now, Alistair could hear the gentle whisper of breath through the cracks in the boards, “and even if they don’t. Calling for help and being turned away is harder than not calling out.”
He sighs and quietly grumbles out some curse words, only half focused on the conversation at hand before writing down Pretty Elf in his journal and smiling to himself.
“You make a valid point. But sometimes there aren’t people there to save you. In those moments, you have to save yourself.”
Alistair stared at the page for a few moments longer. He was so close. He imagined the stormy gaze they had when they looked at him and shook his head. It was still too plain a name for someone that reminded him of a fallen angel.
After a few moments Alistair looks up from his page, realising it had been quiet for a while now. Was the bird-man ignoring him? Perhaps he had fallen asleep. He was about to give up and put his journal away when he finally heard them speak again.
“I know that Alistair. Now the night is getting on. Go. To. Sleep.”
Alistair grins and tucks his hands behind his head under the pillow.
“Okay but how many of us ACTUALLY are going to sleep tonight? Like, aren’t you all a little scared to dream again?”, he blinks against the flashbacks that have haunted him over the past 24hrs. The old woman whose strings pierced his flesh and tugged on his limbs, manoeuvring him like a bloody and broken marionette. He swallowed, “I mean, I know I’m not. Not at all. I’m fine over here. I’m A-OKAY AHAHA.”
The Golden Archer’s voice is softer now, “Sleep. You’ve got friends all around you Alistair. Just,” he sighs, “just knock on my door … or hell anyone’s … if you truly can’t sleep.”
Though he couldn’t tell if the Pretty Elf was being sincere or just trying to shut him up, the words comforted him regardless. He finally loosed the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Even Rat seemed to relax.
“Pshhh I’ll be fine I’ll be fine I’m just checking on you guys… I can’t have my favourite band of weirdos getting freaked out. Besides, I have rat.” He smiles and gently pets the small creatures head. Rat looks up at him and blinks a few times, little whirrs indicating he was adjusting the focal point of his eyes. He stands up and wanders in a small circle before curling up again, tucking his tail around his little mechanical body.
“It would certainly be easier to sleep if you weren’t all bickering!” Lyric’s sharp voice cuts through the far wall. She was the only woman of the group and, if Alistair was being honest, probably the strongest and most logical of them all. She managed to hold her own against everything the world had thrown at them today and kept her calm which earned Alistair's respect. Not to mention she had a more muscular build than Alistair had seen on some of his largest brawlers and thugs. He couldn’t deny he was more than a little envious.
He rolled onto his side and placed his hand against the wood, letting his fingers trace the grain in the planks and whispers like a child trying not to be caught, “Goodnight, bird”
“Goodnight. Alistair Myst” The Gold One’s voice sounded muffled and sleepy. Alistair sighed and finally closed his eyes, his hand still resting against the wall. His mind began to paint a dream where, perhaps, the Pretty Elf was doing the same. Perhaps they were reaching for him but were held back by a history of pain that stopped them from ever daring to say more. Perhaps they too felt the same nervous excitement when they heard his voice. Perhaps they had family they missed.
CAW!
Alistair’s eyes flew open.
CAW! CAW!
The raven sat at his window, pecking at that thin pane of glass.
CAW!
Alistair mentally kicked his feet in frustration and groaned.
“Ronaaaaaaalllllll I can’t sleep with all these damn RAVENS!!”
“Alistair. It’s sleep time. Ignore the birds.”, their voice was barely audible, weighed down by sleep and dreams.
Alistair lay on his back and stared at the ceiling again. Perhaps if he ignored the bird it would go away. He hoped.
.
.
.
CAW!
“THAT’S IT, I’M WORKING ON MY SPEAR!” Alistair launches up from his bed as Rat scrambles to find purchase. He throws open his bag, reaching for his tools and his spear in the corner.
He sits at his desk and prepares to work his face furrowed as he tries to weave a trace of magic into the metallic tip. He is just about to finish the arcane rune when it hits him. He lunges for his notebook and turns back to the page full of brainstormed names. He licks the nib of his pen again and as he writes, the smile spreads across his face. He knew those calligraphy lessons would come in handy one day. He sits back and admires the pretty curve of the red letters and nods, quietly whispering the name to himself.
“Pretty Bird.”