Veyttin gasped for breath and leaned heavily against the twisted trunk of an ancient oak. His side felt like it was on fire, and every time he breathed in pain lanced through his entire body. His vision was bluring and dark flecks danced before his eyes. Veyttin put a hand to his side, and it came away sticky and red. He swallowed hard and took a few more staggering steps before he fell to his knees. Three orcs, their eyes shining red, moved to surround him in the bushes. Veyttin could hear their grunting laughs and coarse words, though he did not have the knowledge of their tongue. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to his feet. If was to meet his end, he would meet it like a true man of Brae... on his feet. But the orcs didn't charge. Two of them held cudgels, and a third wore the helm and carried the axe of a Captain, but they held their ground, waiting. Briefly, Veyttin reached for the axe that was no longer hanging from his belt. Instead, he drew his dagger, and gritted his teeth. "Well, come then if you're coming," Veyttin growled, the taste of blood thick on his tongue, "But I'll take one of you goat kissing dung heaps with me when I go." "Now, is that any way for a man of Brae to speak?" A voice from behind asked. Veyttin turned slowly, his blood running cold in his veins. He knew the man that voice belonged to. Dorbraine of Yew stood in the moonlit clearing, cloaked in dark grays and black. His strangely pale face was mostly hidden in the deep shadows beneath a wide-brimmed hat. But, there was no mistaking that Yew accent and Dorbraine's deep baritone voice. They had been close friends for ages, and Veyttin had been searching for the missing woodsman for months. "Dorbraine?" Veyttin asked, unable to believe his own eyes, "Where have you been? WHat happened?" "So many questions," Dorbraine said, his voice strangely hollow, "So little time. I've come to put an end to you, Veyttin, once and for all. An end to your bothersome meddling. My Master has finally had his fill of it." Dorbraine reached within his cloak and pulled out a curved dagger with a blade darker than the depths of the deepest dungeon. When he raised his head, he pushed the brim of his hat back with the point of his blade, revealing eyes that were the same stark black as his blade. His lips pulled back in a wicked grin to show jagged, broken teeth. Veyttin squared his shoulders, and met that gaze with steely resolve, "My brother will find you, Dorbraine," Veyttin said, "He will hunt you down and bury his axe in your skull. And when that day comes, I want you to remember that I smiled when I met my death. How will you meet yours?" Dorbraine just shook his head slightly, the grin never faltering. He stepped smoothly forward and buried the jet black dagger to the hilt in Veyttin's heart. "My dear old friend," Dorbraine whispered in his victim's ear, "I've already met it." Veyttin spasmed violently once, his back arching and his arms twisting behind him. There was a flash as the dagger drank in the life essence of the man, and then he was gone. Dorbraine turned to the orcs and spat, "Dinner's served, dogs." He turned his back as the orcs fell to their meal.
Luthain sat at his table, staring into his mug of ale. The air was thick with blue pipe smoke and the smell of dried blood. Two men had been knifed earlier in a dispute over a dice game. All in all, a quiet night at the Plunder. Luthain downed the rest of his mug, and something lightly tapped his left boot. He wiped his beard clean with the back of a hand and looked under the table to see the flash of silver on the floor. He bent quickly, and snatched up the coin, keeping it carefully hidden in his palm. Many of the patrons of this tavern were sworn to one or another faction and the wrong emblem on a silver bounty coin could mean instant death. Luthain eyed the room, but none of the other pairs of eyes had turned his way. Carefully, keeping the coin sheltered by his body and his table, Luthain opened his palm, and frowned. On one side of the wide, heavy coin was a simple flame, and on the other was a set of six dice, each showing six pips. It was a roll he was familiar with, called the Hand of Fate, and depending on the game it was either an instant winner or an instant loser. There was a soft tinklling of bells, and Luthain smelled the faint perfume of lavender and lilac. He breathed in deeply, and smiled. The scent tickled something in the far, dark corners of his memory... something that the more he tried to focus on it, the more it slipped from his grasp. Finally, he looked up and into the clear green eyes of a startlingly beautiful woman. She had thick raven hair so shiny it seemed almost purple, delicate features, and darkly olive tanned skin. Her eyes had a mischievious fire that he found hypnotic. The woman smiled coyly at him, and Luthain felt his cheeks heat. It had been years since a woman had made him blush. "Whatever you're asking," Luthain said, suddenly gruff, "I can't afford it." The woman's face collapsed temporarily into a frown, and she tilted her head to one side, "What do you mean, you can't afford it?" She asked quizically. "You're either a...professional..." He began with a leer, "In which case, I can't afford your type. Or, and this is much less likely, you're an actual Lady...in which case, I REALLY can't afford your type." The woman, for a moment, looked at him with such fury that Luthain thought she might spear him with her eyes. Then, suddenly, she threw her head back and let out a rich and hearty laugh. Luthain felt himself relax a touch, and the hand that had strayed under the table to grip the haft of the battle axe hanging from his belt loosened just a bit. Then, in the blink of an eye, the woman was up, and had Luthain pinned against the wall. One hand curled hard around his throat, lifting him a good two feet off the floor an slamming him against the rough planked walls. Luthain looked around, his eyes wild, but the rest of the people in the dark tavern seemed frozen in time. One ale wench was frozen in the act of pouring a mug of stale ale to a patron, the dark brown liquid itself was hanging motionless in the air between the pitcher and the chipped mug. Luthain tried to swallow, but he couldn't. The woman released her grip, but Luthain stayed obediently hovering two feet above the floor boards. The woman took a step back, and shook her head ruefully at him. She leveled one finger at Luthain's chest as if he were an errant school boy. "I went through a lot of trouble finding you, Luthain of Brae," The woman said, "Don't goad me into killing you before you find out why." Luthain's face had turned dark at the mention of his name, and he suddenly found he could speak. "Who are you, wench?" He spat, his eyes full of anger. The woman laughed that rich, throaty laugh once more, "Look at the coin in you hand, Housekarl, and tell me! You know the hand it shows." "Fate?" Luthain asked, laughing himself, "A fairy tale told to boys and girls to keep them from dipping into their pappa's honey or his mead." The woman's face turned dark again, "And I suppose it was fate that turned that Ogre Lord's club at the last instant, sparing your miserable life three days ago, was it?" Luthain's face went pale suddenly, "How did you know about that, wench?" He grated, "You following me?" "In a manner of speaking," The woman said, tossing her hair imperiously, "And if you call me a wench again in that tone, I will cut out your tongue," Luthain started to make a reply, but his jaws snapped shut at the look she shot him, "Good boy. Now, I have found you to deliver some news. News you won't like." Now the woman paused, and Luthain took a look at her for the first time. She wore leather pants tight enough to be a second skin. Studded leather armor protected her torso and chest. Her logn hair was tied back under a gypsy-style kerchief. Tiny silver bells on bracelets and anklets tinkled as she moved, giving her a musical air. She was, altogether, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She also looked suddenly uncomfortable and unsure of herself. "Your brother, Veyttin..." She began, "He is.... well, he was.... He's been killed." Luthain felt his blood suddenly turn to ice, "Who killed him?" He heard himself ask in a quiet voice. Fate looked at him, her eyes full of pain, "I can't tell you that. I'm not sure I know, to be honest. It wasn't supposed to happen... not yet, anyway. Someone cut his thread too early, and I can't begin to tell you how unsettling THAT is." Luthain growled deep in his chest and strained at the invisible bonds that held him, but to no avail. Fate held up one hand, "I came to deliver the news myself and to tell you I am sorry," She said, "I thought I had him protected, but I was wrong. I can tell you that whoever killed your brother will come for you." "How do you know that?" Luthain asked, his blood cooling a little. "Because the reason the killed your brother is they thought he was the last," Fate said, her tone tight and exasperated, "The one thing I did manage was to keep you hidden. But you can't go throwing yourself into the teeth of the enemy anymore, Housekarl." "Don't call me that," Luthain growled, "I dropped the cloak years ago." "True," Fate said, but she pointed to his side without looking, "But you still carry the axe, don't you?" "Some things you just can't let go of," Luthain answered. "True enough," Fate said, her voice sad, "Still, you have to stay alive. Much is riding on your shoulders now that was never meant to. There is hope, though. There are some who are standing against the coming darkness. Some that can help you." "And I suppose you can't tell me their names either, can you? Some good it is having Fate on your side," Luthain turned his head and spat. Fate simply smiled back at him and said one name.... "Jupiter."
The Abyss hath no fury like a woman scorned. Those that have dealings with Fate beware, she has neither love nor need of mortals and will use them as she pleases. Many times throughout the ages she has weaved her webs of change, deceit and tragedy by manipulating the hearts, mind's and souls of mortal kind. For those who find themselves entering her labyrinth of lies, turn back and trust your luck that you have just made a life-saving choice.
