Chapter Text
Simon is running.
He didn’t have much by the way of expectations, going into this. The rules of the job were simple: break in, steal anything in sight that looks promising, get out. All things he’s good at, so he didn’t ask much. Anything that was going to reduce his sentence.
He’s wishing now that he got more information. No one felt it was pertinent to mention this guard’s outpost was going to be armed to the teeth with elven spellcasters?
He and Ava will be having words.
His bag is smacking against his hip with enough force that he’ll be bruised tomorrow - if he sees tomorrow. He found what he had thought was a pearl or an opal or something, and it’s absolutely massive so he grabbed it without a second thought. Must be very valuable to have hell raining down after him.
By most spellcasting standards, the elves are being lax, or at least Simon thinks so. They should be able to easily outpace him, but they seem to be trying to corral him instead. Simon’s not without his own protections, so the magic is slipping off of him as he goes.
A burst of force slams into the wall next to him and scatters rubble raining down on him. Simon’s wards flare and he snarls in frustration as he feels one dig into his strength, almost sending him to his knees. So much for that bitch in the Consolidation’s promise not to weave any onto his person. He takes a corner and grabs onto the cut ruby embedded in his belt, trying to figure out if there’s a way he can force that one to prioritize.
He’s not a magician. That’s why they sent him in here in the first place, that and he was expendable.
The hardest part of this run is going to be the courtyard. Simon has to time his signal just right so that they can break the doors open before he’s too close, but not before he’s within distance of that final dead sprint.
“This had better be fucking worth it, Ava…”
There’s a guard in the stairwell. Simon crashes into the armored figure at full speed and bowls them over. Another ward flickers and he growls in frustration as it makes him dizzy.
Down the stairs, out the door. Down the stairs, to the right, out the door. Down the stairs - okay, to the right, out the door.
The sun is beating down when he slams through the servants’ entrance to the building, offering no cover from the heat as Simon digs out a small clay coin. As it was explained to him, all he has to do is snap it and throw it, and the magic woven to the tiny diamond in the center of it will do the rest.
The ruby on his belt goes hot without warning. Simon swears and hikes the belt up so that the stone is away from his stomach. So the one on the belt prevents magic that holds him down? The magic on him is what keeps him in one piece.
Counterintuitive as shit.
Simon cracks the coin with his thumb and hurls it into the sky as hard as he can without breaking stride. The diamond glints in the sunlight before erupting into a burst of blue and green.
The elves are shouting behind him, as well as the guards. The force is mobilizing fast, but one man already moving against a cohort that needs to take orders is never going to lose in a sprint. Simon ducks to the left as he sees a crossbow leveled at him from the parapet, he hears the bolt whistle past his head at far too close a margin. Come on, come on- COME ON, YES!
The doors to the outpost crash inward. The cart is already pulled up as the woman with the blue cloak who cast his wards climbs onto it, waving her hand. She glares at him like he’s making her wait, as if he’s not running as fast as he can.
“JUST GO!” Simon shouts when he’s still about a dozen paces out. The woman clicks her tongue and he hears the driver’s crop, and the carriage jolts into motion.
Getting onto the moving vehicle is harder than it would be if it were stopped, but they don’t have the time to get the horses together with the chaos that’s following him. He hauls himself up next to the Consolidation magician, pulling her down and closing one of the carriage doors as an arrow whizzes towards them.
“Get off me!” She snaps, clambering up and beginning to mutter in the ancient language. Simon scoffs and sits up in the back of the carriage, but doesn’t move past that.
“Sorry, next time I’ll let you get shot,” he jeers as he yanks his cloak off, panting from exertion.
She can’t answer, busy weaving some spell that will probably hide the carriage from sight as they careen through the city. They’re not out of the woods yet, but Simon’s part is done. He drags the bag strap over his head and dumps the whole satchel onto the floor next to him, then leans back and breathes deeply to try to calm his racing heart.
That fucking sucked.
The Consolidation of Irons likes to present itself as some sort of legitimate organization, offering safety and surety in the nightmare of the Evil King’s reign. An alternative option to the elusive Varden, an option open to all.
Simon knows they’re a crock of shit.
He’s restrained as soon as the carriage reaches the drop-off point. With the Consolidation magician watching closely, he’s not going to be able to fight it. She cast the wards that kept him up in the outpost, she knows how to counteract them and neutralize him if she wants to. They march out behind the tavern as a group. The magician gives the code, the troop is let by. Simon is half guided, half dragged, to the Commander’s meeting room in the honeycomb of tunnels beneath the edge of the city.
“Let’s get this over with,” Simon mutters as his bag is dumped unceremoniously on the desk.
“Yes, let’s.” Commander Ava stands and grabs the satchel by its strap. “As always, the usefulness of the items returned is what shortens your sentence. With the outpost being as well guarded as it was, I expect great things from you today.”
She’s lying through her teeth, and Simon glares at her. Ava eyes him for a few moments before lifting the bag and upending it.
The giant rock isn’t the only thing he grabbed, but it’s the most obvious. A few well taken care of daggers scatter around it, along with a small sack of coin and a yellow gemstone he managed to nick off one of the spellcasters. Ava ignores all of this, her eyes going huge as she stares at the stone.
It’s nearly a foot wide, and oddly oblong. The outside of it is smooth and a color that’s not quite white, but close. Now that he’s not running for his life, Simon gets a better look at it and can see veins of red etched across it. It looks almost horrifically like it’s made of flesh, if he hadn’t grabbed it with his own two hands to know it’s solid, he’d think it squishes.
The room goes deathly silent.
“Take him back to his cell.”
“What?!” Simon snaps his attention up to the Commander. The guards start moving immediately, but he struggles this time. “I did exactly what you fucking asked! You said to grab anything that looked like it might be worth something! It’s a huge fucking stone, it has to be of some use!”
She doesn’t answer him. He shoves a guard off harshly with his shoulder.
“I did my part, we had a deal-”
“This was not part of the deal! You have no idea what this is!” Ava explodes, gesturing to the rock. She seems wary of even touching it. “This is- this will end us all! This is an unfathomable amount of danger, you monumental idiot!”
“It’s a gods-damned rock!”
“IT IS N- fucking hell get him out of my sight.” She turns away, dragging a hand down the un-marred half of her face. “How the fuck did this even happen?”
“I DID WHAT YOU ASKED!”
Simon’s pleas fall on deaf ears as he is hauled through the Consolidation’s honeycomb of tunnels to the block of cells they’ve built. He’s shaking with rage, his voice is hoarse from yelling, and yet he doesn’t stop.
He did what they asked. Good hauls are rewarded with shorter sentences, and that was a good fucking haul. He knows for a fact an opal the size of a human head is worth something. He did exactly what they wanted from him.
He did what he was told.
He’s shoved unceremoniously into his cell, hard enough to stumble and fall against the back wall. The guards lock the door, then walk off. Simon snarls and throws himself at the bars uselessly.
“CAN YOU AT LEAST UNTIE ME?!”
His bellowing voice echoes down the corridors. No answer comes.
Simon groans and slides down the bars until he’s sitting on the ground, glaring at nothing. He spits curses at the silence, trying to find a way to sit more comfortably. This part of the game he knows.
None too happy, he settles in to wait.