In which we learn that communication is key to pretty much everything.
Chapter 3
Lyndon woke up the next morning with a start.
He dreamt about their camp back in the forest clearing and it made him realize that the others might be looking for him even now. He had to leave Seram, before they could catch up to him here! He already wasted his one-day head start. He tried to get out of bed, but his eyes caught the blanket package on his chest, and after a split second, the night's events came back to him.
He grumbled curses under his breath. This whole situation was so alien to him that he had to constantly remind himself that no, he did not dream all the stupid shit, they really did happen in some bizarre way. Now he would have to get used to carrying a miniature-sized angel around, and not forget about him.
He looked at his new charge again. Angels were supposed to be immortal, right? God knows how old Tyrael actually was. Lyndon had the distinct feeling that this white-haired angel too was pretty ancient, or at least older than him by a long shot. Yet as he observed the little bundle, sleeping peacefully, small fingers curling around the blanket's edge…
He felt like he was looking at a newborn.
Did the angels even have a grow cycle? Like… were there children among them? Or did they actually fell out of that Crystal Arch thing fully grown and battle-ready? Lyndon, cursing his imagination, couldn't help but picture a one-day old Imperius: small and stubby as a toddler, but just as much of a colossal asshole as he was today, flailing around a stick angrily, dressed in armor that was much too big for him. The result was pretty hilarious. Lyndon knew he would never again be able to look upon the Big Bad Archangel of Valor without this image popping up in his mind.
Okay, so… Let's assume that angels did have a grow cycle. How and why did this possibly old or even ancient angel revert to his "child stage", so to speak? Where angels like those mythical birds, the phoenixes? Does their immortality come at the price of having to "restart" their lives periodically somehow?
- I walked through the entire Silver City, helped saving an Archangel, and climbed the Silver Spire itself – Lyndon mumbled to himself. – Yet I still don't know a damn thing about these guys.
He realized he needed to get this angel back to the High Heavens as fast as possible, not only to keep him away from Johanna, but to also to get him into the care of those who actually knew what they were doing. But to do that he would have to go out to the streets with the angel, and somehow get themselves to Tyrael in Westmarch without too much fuss.
Yeah right. Like that's gonna happen.
Lyndon didn't need his sixth sense to know that this wish is more than likely futile. Still, it didn't hurt to sometimes just go with it and hope for the best. This was the least his adventures with the Nephalem had taught him.
- Alright… we need some clothes for you – he mumbled, looking at the sleeping angel.
He was about to make a move to walk out of the room and quickly find a tailor to buy some children's clothing, but stopped himself a moment too soon. He thought he could make the trip before his small charge woke up, but if he didn't, then there would be hell to pay, if the angel's reaction last night was anything to go by. A panicking being of light and sound, with glowing skin, light tendrils growing out of his back and with no visible face, screeching like a banshee and running up and down would definitely throw a wrench into the "staying low-key" plan. But he also couldn't wait for the angel to wake up and bring him along.
Which meant he had to wait for him to wake up and then talk some sense into him to wait for the scoundrel without flipping out.
Lyndon sighed heavily. By now, he really should have gotten used to not having a concrete fool-proof plan and just winging everything on the fly.
Flinging himself into the only chair of the room, Lyndon massaged his templates. Despite his constant loud protesting during tedious quests and travelling, he was a pretty patient man indeed when the situation called for it. After all, patience was the trademark of a good thief, and he was an excellent one. So to busy himself, he opened three secret pockets in the inside of his coat and took out their contents to observe in the daylight.
Lyndon believed in luck strongly, despite being a pretty down-to-earth guy generally. He had three personal good luck charms that he kept on himself at all times, each of them claimed through hair-raising adventures of varying length.
One was called Ribald Etchings: a curled up smaller scroll depicting quite a few risqué drawings of lewd acts. Originally, Lyndon stole it from a noble just to mess with the guy, and then possibly post it on the local news board with name, address and everything. That night, however, he got dragged into a mess with some back-alley gang of deadly lunatics and he could only slip away by some miracle before they gutted him. He believed this piece of paper had allowed him the escape, so he held onto it ever since then.
The other one was a Skeleton Key that looked something straight out of the Burning Hells at first glance: it had an almost unearthly-looking, complex-cut and multi-toothed bit that could somehow fold into the correct shape to open pretty much any lock. Its bow of course resembled a skull. Lyndon stole this from the Thieves Guild at Kingsport, when he finally slipped away from them for good and began his journey across most of the world. Getting to its casket was a real pain in the ass, but after he had actually held the key in his hands, the way outside was ridiculously easy as no locked door could stop him.
The last and most recent was Slipka's Letter Opener. He had actually got his hands on this one in Caldeum during their time there. Grand Vizier Slipka was a well-known legend and role model among thieves who used knives. Stories claim he was able to gut three men, pick two locks, and open the mail with this letter opener, all in the time it took most men to draw their clumsy daggers. Lyndon too held this guy high in regard, and when they actually travelled to Caldeum, Slipka's former home, he couldn't help it: nearly every night and day when Johanna didn't pick him for a mission he would slip away into the city, past the guards and ransack every last abandoned noble's home he could find. He did manage to discover it eventually, in the safe of a building that suspiciously looked like it was a part of the main palace. Looking back, Lyndon realized he basically robbed the Lord of Lies, Belial himself, and felt incredible pride in it.
None of these trinkets actually held any power, as far as Lyndon knew. They were ordinary objects that would fetch maybe 20 gold each on the market. But he believed stubbornly in their luck-bringing power.
Lyndon squeezed them in his hands. May they give him luck on this new adventure as well.
He somehow knew he was going to need it.
oooOOOooo
He woke up to light, surrounded by warmth and softness. It was nice in here, a part of him did not want to leave.
He opened his eyes, and saw the friendly stranger sitting not too far from him on another strange pedestal-thing.
He sat up groggily, blinking like an owl. Sleeping was nice, waking up… not so much. He yawned.
The stranger was holding three strange objects in his hands, but he looked up from them and said something he didn't understand.
A pause.
The stranger repeated the string of sounds.
He blinked at him, then chirped back, expressing his confusion, sleepiness and slight frustration with the sounds. He demanded the stranger speak in a matter he understood! But the stranger just stared at him wide-eyed.
Another pause.
He allowed his annoyance to take the form of a loud sound and let it out for the stranger to hear. Surely he would understand this!
The stranger did jump up from his pedestal and rushed there, repeating a short string of weird sounds over and over again, kind of like "hash hash" or "hush hush" maybe. It sounded like the stranger wanted to silence him. He begrudgingly complied, expressing his grumpiness with low humming.
The stranger pulled away a bit and began pushing and poking his own temple with his fingers, while saying something that sounded tired. He then took a deep breath, poked his own chest and said very very slowly:
- Leendonn.
He blinked. Was the guy… trying to tell his name? What kind of name was "Leendonn"? It sounded wrong!
- Leendonn – the stranger repeated again, pointing at himself.
Oh, so it was his name. Okaaaaayyyy…?
He nodded slowly, signaling that he understood (even though he still thought it was such an ugly name). The guy pointed at him now, and he realized it was his turn to introduce himself.
He straightened up in his sitting position, pushing his chest out, eyes closing. He would allow nothing else but the purest, most perfect tone to come out. It was the polite thing to do, after all, to proudly and clearly sing out his name that was…
…
What was his name?
His eyes flew open, mouth slightly agape, ready to let the sound out. Only… there was no sound to let out. But he was sure he knew what to say just a moment ago! Where did it go?!
Oh no.
Oh no!
What was his name?!
Instead of the pure melody that would signal his identity, only a terrible keen sound of fear and desperation burst from him, as his small hands flew to his face in shame, feeling the flow of tears on his cheeks.
He had no name!
He was nobody!
He allowed the ugly sound of fear to grow in volume, as if trying to expel this vile emotion from his body with it.
oooOOOooo
Now, to be absolutely honest, Lyndon did not really expect a great many things to happen in these last days. From storming the Realm of Hatred, to carry around a giant angel turned light dumpling in his pouch, to have said light dumpling turn into a mini-angel in the end.
But the last thing he saw coming was communication problems.
After stepping into the Silver City and being able to perfectly understand the first actual living angel in the flesh (that jackass Imperius) talking, then after that understanding every other angel's speech, battle cry and general cursing at the demons, Lyndon kind of believed it would be the same with this mini-angel.
Apparently, the proud race of seraphim only developed the ability of understandable speech in adulthood. Because this little guy was chirping left and right, loudly and softly, vehemently and rapidly, but it honestly sounded like a nest full of hungry bird hatchlings than actual words.
He also apparently did not understand Lyndon's simple question of "how did you sleep?".
Lyndon quickly tugged away his good luck charms and rushed there to silence the little angel when he let out a pretty annoyed-sounding screech. Thankfully, he understood "hush hush" at the very least, as he fell silent and only a grumpy "hmmmmmmmmm" kept coming from him.
- What did I do to deserve this? – Lyndon mumbled to himself in defeat, massaging his temples.
This "language barrier" apparently annoyed the both of them. They had to find a work around this somehow!
Deciding to start simple and rudimentary, Lyndon pointed at himself and slowly, clearly pronounced his name. The angel blinked, watching him intently. Lyndon repeated again. Finally, he received a nod in return. Relieved, the scoundrel pointed at the angel. That's when the weirdest thing happened.
The little angel straightened up and closed his eyes, just like nobles did when they were about to sprout their impossibly long name and titles. Lyndon braced himself for the incoming chirp-storm. But it never did. Instead, the angel's eyes widened and he stared before himself emptily, his posture suddenly hunched, as if someone had stolen his voice. After a brief but heavy pause, the little hands flew to his face and he burst out in a mixture of tears and a heart-wrenching keening, that was impossibly sad and desperate.
Lyndon didn't even know angels could cry.
Instincts kicking in, he immediately scooped the little one and began rocking it left and right, shushing him all the while.
To be honest, he wasn't good with children, at least that was what he believed. Granted, he had never had to deal with them for long, except for that one time… The thought of actually having children (or a spouse, for that matter) sent shivers down his spine, he simply couldn't picture himself settling down and live a life of normality. Edlin had deserved that simple luxury. He did not.
- Hey, it is alright! It's okay! No need to cry! – he cooed, desperately trying to stop the screeching that reached ear-hurting levels at this point.
Did the angel forget his name, and only realized it now? It looked very much like he had tried to say it with the outmost conviction, only to recognize he didn't remember.
- I—I'm sure you will recall your name in time! – Lyndon tried to comfort his charge, slowly calming him down. – It's no problem. We will give you a nickname, until then, alright? How about it? You like nicknames?
The angel's whining slowly died down, and he blinked up to the scoundrel from between his arms, tear still filling his eyes to the brim. He let out a pitiful mewl. Lyndon gently poked the small chest and blurted out the first word he could think of:
- Quiet.
The angel blinked again.
- How about it? You like it? It's a nice nickname, right? – Lyndon smiled down on him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. – Quiet.
The angel sniffled.
- Kvaiet? – he chirped uncertainly, trying to mimic the word.
- Yes. Quiet – Lyndon nodded, pointing at the small one again.
He himself didn't know why he gave this name. The little angel so far had been anything but quiet. Guess his inability to actually talk any human language is what prompted the scoundrel to come up with it.
The little angel lifted a small hand and placed it on Lyndon's chest.
- Leendonn – he chirped.
- Yes – the man nodded.
A pause.
Then the angel moved his hand onto his own chest.
- Kvaiet.
- Yes.
Quiet sniffled some more then nodded, rubbing his eyes with small fists.
- Yyes – he echoed as best as he could.
oooOOOooo
Thankfully, Quiet lived up to his newly given name, when Lyndon visited the nearest tailor with him stuffed in a backpack that he stole from one of the rooms next door. It was a shaggy little thing, really, the owner was probably relieved to get rid of it, Lyndon reasoned. Before leaving the inn, he tried to explain his plan to Quiet as simply as he could, trying his damnest to sound grave and serious.
- You stay in the bag all the time, alright? – he gestured at the backpack. – You stay silent. Hush-hush. Alright? – he placed his finger before his mouth.
Quiet needed a few more repeat of the speech, but eventually he nodded convincingly. So they set out, with Lyndon walking as fast as he possibly could without drawing attention to himself. The angel's borderline weightlessness had been masked by Lyndon's money in the bag. The trip to the tailor was smooth enough, thank the stars for that. The scoundrel gave a convincing story about his nephew who traveled a lot with his parents, and he really wanted to give the little lad some well-made clothing perfect for travel as a gift. Equipped with a cape and hood as well, of course! The tailor, bless his simple heart, did not even bat an eye at the request and he offered some variations. Lyndon chose one collection, and this one time, paid for the whole thing instead of stealing it or trying to get a discount.
With that done, Lyndon turned around to return to the inn briefly, hopefully dress Quiet up and then they would be on their way. Easy-peasy. Everything's just fine.
Lyndon calmly walked up to the inn's building, about to place his boot onto the first step of the stairs leading to the entrance, when someone grabbed his arm from behind and pulled him to the side with surprising force.
By the time the scoundrel realized what was happening, they were next to the building, in one of the few alleys of the village. He quickly managed to tear his arm out of the grip and spun around to deck the attacker in the face, but his raised fist froze in midair.
- Myriam? – he asked in disbelief.
The fat vecin lady eyed him critically, but her trademark carefree smile was nowhere to be seen now.
- Do not go in there – she said in a low, deadly serious voice. – Leave Seram immediately, and go to Westmarch as fast as you can. Tyrael can help… maybe.
- Wait—what? Why? – the scoundrel stammered.
Sure, he knew all about Myriam's foresight and its incredible accuracy, but it had never been aimed at him before, but always at Johanna. Receiving the words now felt incredibly weird.
- We are here, in the inn. Johanna is asking around about you – Myriam hissed hurriedly. – She wants to find you… and him – she pointed her staff at the backpack.
Right on cue, Quiet timidly peeked out from the baggage and locked eyes with the woman who didn't seem surprised at all.
- Wait, how did you—?! – Lyndon tried to find some sort of foothold in this sudden madness.
- Listen, I cannot see the future of our family and that scares me beyond anything I've ever seen – Myriam went on, a pleading tone in her voice. – But I see yours… fragments, at least. You will need help, and from a lot of unconventional places too, to see this journey through. I do not know much, but he – here she pointed at the angel again –, must be kept out of her hands. Or any of us. Stay with him, Lyndon! Keep him safe, no matter what happens!
- Myriam, you are scaring me – the scoundrel paled at the urgent, almost terrified expression of the woman. – What is going on?! Do you know what happened to Johanna?
The vecin whipped her head to the direction of the inn's entrance, then turned back to Lyndon.
- No time! – she breathed. – I will buy you some time, but you must leave now. Here, take this! – out of seemingly the folds of her skirt she pulled a huge book: Cain's codex. – Read the part about our World's Creation, and everything connected to it. This knowledge might be useful later on.
Lyndon almost dropped the incredibly heavy book as it was practically thrown into his arms. All he could do was send one last pleading look in the vecin's direction.
- And one more thing – Myriam took a deep breath, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and for once, that playful shimmer returned to them briefly. – I can see this will be one hell of a journey, maybe even crazier then what we've lived through together. Opportunities will open up for you, Lyndon. And… vecin focus their sight and see the future by not losing track of it, and forcing it to show and unravel itself, when we most need it. Remember that… you will probably need to do the same.
- What—Myriam, I do not see the future—
The woman leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. Lyndon was too taken aback to do anything. On his back, Quiet chirped uncertainly and reached out, stroking gently the red cap with one tiny hand. Myriam finally pulled away and smiled sadly and apologetically at him.
- May your path always be straight, clear and full of glory. May your new family take you to greater heights than ever before – she said what sounded like a traditional vecin farewell, then she spun around and rushed out of the alley.
Lyndon stood there frozen, then he tried to shake himself free from the shock. He tried to call her name out, but just then he heard her voice coming from the general vicinity of the entrance, cheerfully bubbling about some "sights" the group just had to see here! It would help their focus and well-being, she insisted.
Part of his brain still completely shut down, Lyndon's sense of foreboding took over. He turned in the opposite direction and ran, leaving his crossbow in the inn's room, and his former friends and family behind.
Did you guys recognize the three good luck charms? Those are the three possible Legendary Scoundrel Tokens you can find for Lyndon in-game (I have none of them, had to look them up on Wiki T-T ). It would be nice to have those in my inventory! I bring Lyndon to EVERYWHERE with me! He kicks some serious ass, afterall.
Hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter as well. ;)
