Chapter Three: The Trouble With Defias
'On the morning of our flight to Westfall, the party and I rose early to get on our way. I had been mulling over the information that Alexston gave us over the night, and again I was exhausted heading into the new day. I couldn't stop my thoughts from drifting back to what I learned about Edwin VanCleef, and his apparent vendetta against Stormwind City. I had become concerned about the amount of organization presented by the Defias, but I pushed through it. I had a job to do, and I was going to see it through.'
The sun was just starting to break from the horizon when the gryphons crossed the invisible border into Westfall. The beasts flew close to the ground, deftly avoiding the last few snow-covered trees that lined the edges of the forest. Below, the land turned into a blur of white snow dark rocks and a brief smear of light blue that signified the river separating the regions, as the gryphons shot through. The pastel orange light that spilled out from the young day's sun colored the snow drifts that covered the expanse of farmlands dotting the countryside, reflecting it back to Simonee in a nearly blinding display as he clung to the saddle strapped to the lead gryphon. His brown hair fluttered wildly in the winds, and the feeling was starting to irritate him as loose strands occasionally snapped back and whipped him in the face.
Baros Alexston had seen the group off from the landing platform that rose out of the trade district with only a few words spared towards wishing them good luck on their mission. Despite the group's haggard appearance with the early start, the middle-aged man looked no worse for wear. The gryphon master had regarded them with a curious look but said nothing as he began to assemble the beasts meant for the trip after Simonee presented the paperwork Alexston provided him the night previous. When he returned, the five newly-appointed adventurers set off immediately on their flight. Now, only a scant few minutes later, they were in Westfall.
Ahead, Simonee could already see the tower that stretched over the central settlement in the region, called Sentinel Hill. The tower rested stoically on the small hill that overlooked the town, a squat gray stone building that looked like a turret separated from the rest of the fortress. Planted around the building like a motley garden were houses and workshops, including the town's main structure, the large and open house-like building that held the lumber mill, its most prominent feature being the enormous saw blade that dominated the direct center. Across the snowy plains and spread out in every direction from Sentinel Hill, Simonee could also see brown wooden farmhouses peeking through the orange-tinted snow. The farmhouses were, naturally, attached to farms that were mostly inoperable through the dangerously hostile winter. Only a few brave farmers dared to grow the seasonal crops, and even fewer still would dare transport them to Sentinel Hill for distribution until spring.
The gryphon swooped down even lower and Simonee swore he could feel the ground they skimmed past. Within another few seconds, they were circling around Sentinel Hill. From his new vantage point within the town, Simonee could see one final building. A worn-down barracks was standing—barely—with a gaping hole in the center of the roof. Workers surrounded the hole like a colony of ants with hammers, strapping new planks of off-color lumber across in a vague attempt to patch the roof. The rest of the building sagged sadly on its supports, leaning heavily inward where the hole had been punched through it. Simonee found himself wondering what exactly could have caused damage that extensive. Do the Defias have access to siege weaponry?
After one final spiral around the town, the gryphons abruptly began decelerating with their wings poised more perpendicularly to the ground. A small wooden stand had been erected next to the tower on the titular hill, and atop that were a couple of empty gryphon roosts—at least that was what Simonee thought they were, as it looked more like a couple of wooden pallets that had been filled with a generous heap of hay. The gryphons swiftly swooped down onto the stand and deposited their riders, who looked about as windswept as Simonee felt.
"Ugh," Aubs grunted, running her fingers through the tangled web of her golden hair that had escaped its ponytail. "I just fixed this in Stormwind." She heaved a heavy sigh and flopped her arms down as she wrote the situation off as pointless. A gentle breeze wafted through the area and some of the strands of her hair fluttered down to her face, as if the elements themselves were laughing at her expense. In a final resignation, she blew a forceful breath at the strands, relocating them only momentarily.
Simonee was a little transfixed by the woman who'd volunteered herself for his adventure as she was struggling to fix her hair. He found her more than a little attractive, and her personality only reinforced it. He looked on for a brief moment before Dagerly cleared his throat meaningfully.
"So, if we're all done primping ourselves up a little, maybe we can get on with our day? Seeing as how you were the one summoned," he said, gesturing at Simonee, "I nominate you for spokesperson."
Simonee chuckled. "Fair enough, I suppose. Shall we, then?"
The mage took a moment to regard the town again. He supposed the only logical place for Stoutmantle to be would be the tower, so with that in mind, he stepped down from the wooden gryphon stand and walked the short distance across the hill. From this close, he could see that either his previous assessment of the building was accurate, or that the structure had seen its fair share of fighting. Large stone blocks had escaped from the mortar that held them in place, jutting out here and there from the otherwise straight-edged tower. The blocks that hung loose didn't seem to be in any sort of pattern that would indicate siege damage, but Simonee couldn't rule it out. After all, he had noticed the workers atop the building just down the hill.
As he rounded the front of the tower's entry ramp, Simonee saw who he could only assume was Gryan Stoutmantle. The man stood rigid at attention at the top of the ramp, just ahead of the entrance into the hollow structure. The armor he wore was dulled with age and lack of proper care, and large dents marred the once-silvery plates at his shoulders and arms. In a stark contrast, the Stormwind tabard around his chest was nearly pristine. The blue cloth gently fluttered about his knees, and Simonee saw that the only real damage present on the garment was some frayed golden stitching toward the bottom. The shield he claimed looked a bit like a strange mix of the conditions of the armor and tabard. The iron around the edges was dull with the exception of long thin lines consistent with sword swings that cut through the grime covering the metal and gleamed in the brightening daylight. The raised section in the middle was dyed blue in the same Stormwind colors, with a stark golden lion's head adorning the very center, and all of it was pristine.
Simonee had heard stories of Stoutmantle from the caravans that frequently passed through Goldshire. They spoke of a man much like he was seeing now; an aging man with strong convictions and an undying loyalty to his homeland. Stoutmantle wore a very serious expression as he glanced at the latest arrivals in his settlement. Long streaks of silver hair framed his face, which was wrinkled and grizzly, showing the strenuous toll of the life of fighting he'd lived.
Taken a little off-balance by the severity of the look Stoutmantle was leveling at him, Simonee called, inanely, "Are you Sir Gryan Stoutmantle?" He winced, but didn't try to backtrack. He knew it would have been pointless; to a military commander, the only thing worse than a fool was a babbling fool.
Stoutmantle's tired eyes showed a flicker of amusement before returning to their stoic standby. "No," he replied dryly, "I'm Arthas Menethil in disguise. I got tired of leading the Scourge in Northrend, so here I am."
Aeriah chuckled at the exchange, but fell silent when the knight on the hill glowered at him.
"Baros Alexston ordered me to report to you," Simonee said, recovering his senses as he tried to present himself more properly. He pulled the small stack of letters from the pack at his hip and thrust them toward Stoutmantle. "These are a letter of recommendation and the correspondence you sent him, as well as some... sensitive information."
The knight took the letters and scanned them briefly, taking a little longer on the letter from VanCleef than the rest. Simonee didn't think Stoutmantle's face could get any sterner after his first impression, but the man proved him wrong after finishing with the letter. He once again glanced over the group at his doorstep and continued scowling.
"Very well," he finally said after another moment. "I would advise that you don't go gallivanting off just yet, however. Please, make yourselves at home in our inn, such as it is," he grunted stiffly, gesturing at the half-destroyed building down the hill. "The Defias have been attacking daily for some time now, and the first thing I need from you is to reinforce my soldiers before we get to the meat of the matter. Once you get settled, come back and see me. Oh, and pardon the disrepair."
Simonee nodded curtly in acceptance of the situation. It made sense tactically to forestall the group's investigation in favor of defending what was essentially going to be home base. Simonee respected the knight's judgment also because of the countless battles he'd seen and fought in; he certainly would know better than the mage would have.
Stoutmantle handed the documents back to Simonee—minus the letter of recommendation from Alexston—and the mage retreated back down the hill toward the unfortunate half-destroyed shape of what he now knew was the town's long inn. As he walked, he took yet another look around the settlement of Sentinel Hill. He now began to notice townspeople peeking out from buildings and shacks erected at the sides of the road that led out of the town. They wore their curiosity on their sleeves, but Simonee also sensed concern from a decent amount of them, their raised eyebrows hovering above half-squinted eyes. Little children were only slightly bolder than their parents, as they began to step out of their shacks before being gently shooed back inside.
Between the state of the settlement and that of its settlers and defenders, Simonee once again found himself wondering at what exactly he and his group had been put up against. For one part, the Defias had been mounting daily attacks on the city, and from Stoutmantle's demeanor, it didn't seem likely that they would stop any time soon, which spoke to a sizable fighting force. Then there was the damage to the inn and the tower, and that could only point to a couple of possibilities; either the Defias had access to siege weaponry—which was Simonee's original thought—or the bandits had somehow infiltrated the settlement undercover and planted charges of some kind. Neither of those outlooks particularly appealed to Simonee, and not for the first time did he wish he was back in Elwynn, dealing with simple kobolds and the occasional pack of wolves. At least those creatures were distinctly lacking in wit and any real sort of organization. These Defias, and Edwin VanCleef in particular, were proving to be almost as crafty and conniving as some of the Stormwind royal court, and that was dangerous enough without adding large-scale weaponry.
Simonee was the first to enter the inn, and its innards appeared to be just as sad as the exterior was. The 'inn' was a single room lined with beds on the wall directly to the right of the door, and the wall opposite that. A small lectern was posted a few paces inside the building that served as a makeshift check-in, and aside from that, the rest of the room was bare. The crater in the roof sagged inwardly, and shards of shattered wood drooped down inside of the hole, barely attached by the thinnest of threads and dangling softly in the slight breeze that continued to play through Sentinel Hill.
Nobody was posted at the check-in lectern, so Simonee shuffled in and placed his packs down next to a bed away from the damaged portion of the ceiling. His group did likewise.
"Feels almost like home away from home," muttered Hoardale as he shifted the dark-stained brown leather straps from his shoulders, and let the pack hit the hard wooden floor.
Aeriah shuddered as he continued to stare at the hole. "It's certainly seen better days. If I had to guess, I'd also say it's seen worse, though."
"Maybe when we're done with this whole Defias thing, we can help these guys put everything back together?" Aubs suggested, moving into the center of the room.
"Yeah, or perhaps we could challenge a Nathrezim to a fistfight, or something equally as pointless," Dagerly countered, arching a brow. "I can't exactly speak for you, but I certainly don't know the first thing about patching a roof, much less rebuilding an entire town."
Aubs huffed. "It's not just about rebuilding, and most definitely not pointless. These people need help, too. Did you see them? They're terrified... I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to hear they don't even leave their house unless accompanied by at least two armed guards!"
"How do you expect me to help? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm generally in the business of helping myself primarily, and more often than not, that means hurting—or killing—other people," Dagerly shot back gruffly. His eyes briefly darkened with a fair amount of regret before the fire erupted anew in them. "If you think that's somehow going to provide these people with some sort of aid, either you're very naive, or you've got the mind of a mass murderer, and I'm not sure which I dislike more." Aubs looked clearly taken aback by Dagerly's rebuttal, but Simonee saw from his posture that he wasn't done with it just yet. "Besides, the Defias Brotherhood is a band of bandits. If you didn't already have a prior knowledge of my existence, what would you consider me to be just on appearance alone? A priest of the Light? Uther himself? No, I'm afraid not. I'm sure these settlers see me as nothing more than a slightly friendlier bandit—one that might eventually decide to not be so friendly."
Simonee stepped forward, placing himself between Aubs and Dagerly just as the former opened her mouth to continue the argument. "Enough," he said calmly and quietly. "We haven't even started with our mission, and you're already arguing with one another? I asked for your help with this, because I trust you, Dagerly. I know that you're a good person, and it doesn't matter what anyone else judges you to be until you've done something to prove them wrong." Simonee was looking in Dagerly's eyes with a measured and even expression, but soon turned it to Aubs. "And Aubrey, I know you more or less volunteered for this, and I know your heart's in the right place, but our priority should be finding and stopping the threat of the Defias. Until we do, that's all we really need to be focusing on. Do the both of you understand?"
Aubs nodded immediately, but still seemed shaken by Dagerly's outburst. The rogue, for his part, took a few moments longer before responding, "Yeah, sure. Fine."
Simonee sighed but dropped the matter, sensing that he wasn't going to get much better out of Dagerly while he was in this state of mind. "Alright then. Let's get back to Stoutmantle. I don't know how long we have until the Defias decide to begin today's assault."
Casting one last glance at the two, Simonee turned toward the door and exited the inn. The sun had risen measurably above the horizon by the time they reemerged, and Simonee reckoned it must have been close to midday. The snow had become even brighter as it continued to reflect the light it received. The orange tint was gone, and now, for as far as the mage could see, was a great expanse of pure brilliant white. Small paths had been cleared where the dirt and dead grass beneath were exposed, and there were long trails of footprints creating small shady divots that were only just discernible from the rest of the snow.
Gryan Stoutmantle hadn't moved even an inch since the group last saw him. He nodded in their direction as a sort of greeting, but otherwise still didn't budge. He had his hands resting on his sword's pommel, one atop the other—quite possibly, Simonee surmised, the only thing about the man that was even remotely at ease. Upon their approach, the knight began to address them.
"We need to get you armed and armored. Those sticks and robes won't do you a lick of good against anything sharper than a sideways look," he grumbled, sizing up his apparent reinforcements. "We have equipment inside that's all more or less in good condition, and if you expect to survive, I'd suggest taking a look."
Simonee shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, these aren't ordinary robes. They'll stand up to whatever I need them to," he commented.
Stoutmantle scoffed heartily. "I highly doubt that son—and besides, we've got a complement of battle-caster gear in there that might suit your fancy. If nothing else, at least trust me enough to take a look. I haven't lost a man yet, and I'm not interested in starting now."
Simonee considered it for a moment before Aeriah stepped in next to him. "I think it's worth it. How long have you had those robes, anyway? I'm almost sure whatever power was in the spellthread is pretty well faded by now. I know I could certainly use some new vestments; this leather of mine is on its last legs," he whispered. Simonee briefly inspected the druid's armor. He hadn't been lying; the leather cuirass he wore was beginning to crack deeply with wear, and fairly deep scuff marks marred the material.
"Alright, we'll bite," Simonee finally said, looking back to Stoutmantle.
The knight merely nodded his head again before spinning on his heel and leading the way inside the tower's tall entryway. The interior looked smaller than the overall structure, and Simonee reasoned that it made enough sense. The stone blocks that were out of place on the exterior walls looked deep and dense, and they would have to be to withstand any sort of real assault that might befall the structure. Around the circular floor, there were a couple of weapon racks supplied with a couple of varied weapons. Simonee counted a couple of swords, a pike, and a handful of metal staves that seemed to be perfectly straight. A table was placed in the middle of the room that was topped with a scattering of random-looking paperwork. Along the left wall was a ramp that crawled around the circumference, ever higher up the tower. Placed regularly up the ramp were bracketed torches, the flickering firelight shining dully off the wrought iron.
Stoutmantle didn't linger for too long in the room, opting instead to trudge up the ramp toward the second level. It looked much the same as the first, albeit better stocked. On this floor, the racks were much fuller, and shields were scattered around the room, some on the racks, and some propped unceremoniously against the rounded wall. None of the weapons or shields looked particularly ornate, made specifically for quick production to supply field troops, not to impress onlookers. This level also held a couple of clothing racks, upon which rested some armored cloth robes and leather vests. Between every few garments poked out the unmistakable sheen of metallic chain. Upon closer inspection, Simonee could see that some of the links in the mail were in less-than-stellar condition.
"Take what you need, and don't worry about returning it. Think of it as an advance payment for your assistance," Stoutmantle said. He made to return to his vigil before pausing a moment and adding, "Just don't take too long... I have a feeling the Defias are lurking around as we speak."
"We aren't mercenaries, you know," Hoardale calmly called after him as he descended the ramp. Stoutmantle made no indication that he had even heard the warlock. "Charming fellow."
"I'm sure he was much sunnier before the Defias began to attack his settlement," Simonee replied, taking further stock of the room, spotting a couple of wardrobes that were placed directly on the edge of the floor that overlooked the ramp.
Before another moment passed, Hoardale crushed one of the clear purple prisms Simonee had seen him polishing in Stormwind. He had explained a long time ago that they were called soul shards, filled generally with the life energy of a creature—often given unwillingly—that acted as the catalyst and fuel for a warlock's more powerful spells. A rush of magic accompanied the arrival of the chattering imp that now bounced erratically at his feet. Simonee had to admit he greatly disliked the diminutive demon the most out of the warlock's sordid menagerie. In most situations it was more distracting than helpful, but Hoardale continually tried to appeal that it wasn't actually that bad. Simonee still had yet to find a time where it proved its worth over the annoyance. He didn't mind warlocks, and distrusted fel magic less than others, but he had to admit, he definitely hated imps.
The imp said something to his warlock master, but to Simonee, it sounded more like incomprehensible babble. Hoardale replied in Common. "No, Zaqtip, we are not going to start a fire, and I would advise you against trying to antagonize the girl."
Aubs turned and looked at the imp. "What's all this about?" she asked as she wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disapproval.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," Hoardale said, putting his hands in the air in a placating gesture. "He uh... he seems to have confused you for a succubus, is all. Personally I don't see any resemblance, but imps aren't exactly the most perceptive species."
"So what you're saying is that you don't think I'm as attractive as your pet succubus?" Aubs replied with a teasing tone.
Hoardale didn't seem to catch the lilt in her voice and stammered, "W-w-well, I didn't say that..."
Across the room, Dagerly was surveying a suitable-looking set of leather armor that looked less worn down than some others on the rack. "Can we maybe focus?" he asked, his irritation from his earlier exchange with the young woman still clearly audible. His hazel eyes darted back and forth between Hoardale and Aubs before continuing his inspection.
"Right. Yes, important business, and all that," Hoardale coughed. He quickly joined Dagerly next to the clothing racks and immediately picked a robe from it without much thought. His imp merely stood back and looked on, clearly bored as he impatiently continued hobbling and hopping in place. Simonee still watched it warily.
When Dagerly and Hoardale were both satisfied enough with their selections, Simonee took his turn to appraise the garments on display, and Aubs joined him. Simonee looked down at his familiar bright orange robes and finally began to notice the wear it was beginning to display. Some of the stitching was frayed, and the hem and cuffs were starting to fall apart as well. There were no visible holes in the fabric, but the arms sported several black streaks of charred fabric indicative of his trade, and that was the surest sign that indeed the enchantments hidden in the spellthreads was beginning to lose their luster. Simonee sighed and picked off one of the armored robes. It was a mostly simple affair; it was colored in the scheme of Stormwind, with a deep blue fabric and golden threads providing the trim. Small interior pockets hid thickened bolts of leather at the shoulders, chest, hips and thighs which would provide a small amount of protection from bladed implements, but seemed like they would feel incredibly uncomfortable. There was the tiniest hum of magic in the garment, and Simonee eyed it a little skeptically.
"Seems like I'm becoming quite the distraction around here... for just about everyone," Aubs whispered. Simonee read her face for a moment. Her normally jovial expression was replaced with a more somber one, tinged with regret. "I know I wasn't exactly... invited... but I appreciate the fact that I'm still here. I never really got to go anywhere before this."
"Honestly? It's alright. You haven't exactly had time to make friends with everyone, so there's bound to be some growing pains. Personally, I'm glad that you're here," Simonee replied with a wry smile. "Besides, the merchant look really didn't suit you."
Aubs chuckled quietly. "Flatterer."
"I try."
After each member of the group suited themselves up in what suitable items of armor they found, they had stood watch with Stoutmantle, whose eyes scanned warily across the bottom of the hill in search of the day's Defias invaders. Time passed slowly while they patiently waited, and the sun crept upwards toward it's zenith before a flash of motion behind a pair of buildings alerted Simonee. Stoutmantle had also seen it and began to raise the alarm. Their cover blown, the Defias rushed out into the open field under the tower, brandishing swords and knives that gleamed in the sunlight. A veritable sea of red bandannas, wrapped around the faces of the invaders, starkly contrasted against the brilliant white snow on the ground.
One of the leading bandits pointed his long blade toward Stoutmantle and Simonee's group. "You've enlisted new blood, you old fool?" he asked, his eyes incredibly expressive from behind the makeshift face mask. "No matter. Sentinel Hill will belong to the Defias! Attack!"
At his command, the Defias soldiers shouted and rushed in. Behind Simonee, he heard a clamor as armored defenders filed out of the tower, brushing past the group to clash against the masked invasion force. The sounds of battle became a deafening cacophony of noise as blades struck against shields and other blades. Simonee merely watched while the guardsmen expertly defended themselves from the bandits' wild thrashing, replying with calculated strikes. A pall of lethargy draped itself heavily on his shoulders, and the memories that he tried so hard to forget came spilling back to the front of his mind. The horrors of warfare, it seemed, had never truly left him.
Stoutmantle had joined his men, dispatching multiple assailants with agility and speed, despite his aging body. He locked eyes with the mage standing on the landing of the tower for a deceptively long moment, and called, "What are you waiting for? Attack them!"
Without further hesitation, Simonee reluctantly entered the fray with his allies at his side. The leather padding in his robes chafed at his body as they collided against it with the natural motion of the cloth, but despite it he began casting devastating spells into the crowd. Roiling cores of flame blasted into black leather armor, leaving behind holes of the melted material and charred flesh in their wake. Dagerly seemed to be nothing but a specter fleeting in and out of Simonee's sight as he deftly maneuvered around the battlefield, slicing through a fair number of Defias unfortunate enough to be in his way. Aeriah used his staff with a strange and beautiful flair as he brought it down on the thugs, disabling them from the fight. Hoardale hurled coalesced shadows, brought from the very ground beneath the tangled forces and used against the Defias that cast them, and his imp Zaqtip wildly flung mostly ineffective fiery pebbles in seemingly random directions. A vicious wintry storm erupted from the cloudless sky, sending a prodigious hail crushing down upon the heads of Aubs's enemies, and Simonee watched as a devious and wicked smile splashed over her lips as she succumbed to a certain cold battle lust. The Defias were routed in short order, and the few that survived and found their wits broke away from the fighting and ran scattershot into the fields surrounding Sentinel Hill.
Simonee panted, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He hadn't exerted himself particularly much, and the sweat was a cold one. He had seen combat before, and he had ended lives, but this was the first time that his foes were humanoid—his fellow humans, no less—and the thought sickened him. He had been fighting people that may have been much like him, with dreams and aspirations, and perhaps even families. One of the few thoughts that ran through his mind was a question: 'what did VanCleef offer that was so lucrative that they would assault their fellow man to obtain it? Was it worth it?'
There was no cheering from the soldiers of Sentinel Hill, or even from Stoutmantle, and Simonee sensed that similar questions had echoed within their own minds. Solemnly, the guards began to drag the dead bandits from the snow lining the hill, now soaked thoroughly red. There was a graveyard a few feet away from the settlement's inn that Simonee hadn't noticed until now, and there was where the bodies were deposited, and where a single old man began to quietly shovel snow out of new pits that would lay claim to them. The pewter gray headstones of the small graveyard stood silent watch over the man's work, but Simonee couldn't find it within himself to do the same. He turned to Stoutmantle, who returned to his previous post. His armor bore a few new red stains which he tended to with a similarly-red linen cloth—one Simonee recognized as being a bandanna from a fallen Defias.
Without looking up from his morbid work, the old knight addressed him, "While this fighting isn't entirely without honor, I can never shake the feeling that the Light will damn us for it anyway. All this pointless petty squabbling, and for what?" Stoutmantle shook his head grimly as if responding to his own question. "Regardless, you fought well. Your assistance will not go unnoticed, but there's still work that needs doing. My advice is that you go rest for a while. We may have a lead for your investigation."
Simonee nodded numbly and turned without speaking. After a few paces, he heard Stoutmantle call after him, "Try to clear your conscience... if we hadn't killed them, they would have most definitely killed us."
The thought did little to raise the mage's spirits.
Above, the sky again turned shades of magnificent colors as the sun began its descent to the far horizon. Simonee didn't notice it much, with his gaze glued to the snow beneath his boots. The mage found that he could now sympathize better with Dagerly's violent mood swings, and wished that he
could himself indulge in seeing the bottoms of a few tall mugs of some strong dwarven ale.
Soon enough, his view changed from snow to dark panels of damaged wood. He lifted his gaze again to the hole in the ceiling. The workers had fled at the first sign of the incoming Defias, and long shafts of the replacement wood still jutted into the air between the two disconnected sides of the blasted roof. A thought occurred to Simonee as he stared at the beam. 'I'm still no closer to finding out how that happened.' He resolved to ask Stoutmantle about it the next time he saw him.
A cool draft rushed through the bare single-room inn. Simonee pulled his robes in tighter and lamented the bolts of leather within as they pressed against his already-raw body. He glanced at his party to gauge how they had taken the battle. For the most part they seemed less shaken than he had been, with the exception of Aubs, whose battle lust had disappeared entirely after the fighting had stopped. Now that wicked smile was replaced by a somber frown, and she seemed to stare into the space in between two planks of wood in the wall. Dagerly almost casually strolled to the bed he'd claimed and settled into it, still armored in the new leathers he'd picked from the garrison. He laid there with his hands behind his head and his emotionless gaze plastered to the ceiling above him.
Simonee rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. He sighed and moved to his own bed, removing the irritating robe in favor of simply wearing his old linen shirt. The blue robe fell to the floor in a heap like a stone-laden waterfall, and dull thuds reverberated through the entire battered structure. At the sound, Aubs seemed to break from her stupor and looked at him as he sat on the rough cloth-covered hay mattress. He met her gaze and in it, he thought he saw the faintest glimmer of pleading. He offered a meek smile of reassurance that he himself hadn't felt, but said nothing. Without warning, Aubs quickly stepped across the room and sat next to him, planting her forehead on his shoulder and sobbing quietly.
Unsure of how to react, Simonee instinctively wrapped his free arm around her shoulder and lightly squeezed.
"I don't know what came over me," she whispered, her voice breaking with misery. Simonee was still off-guard and couldn't think of the words to say, and so a silence washed over the room as she sobbed.
Dagerly's voice was the next thing to cut through the quiet, low and gentle. "You got caught up in it. It happens to everyone the first time," he said. Simonee turned his head to look at the rogue, and noticed that he'd sat up, his head dipped low. It almost seemed that he was muttering more to the floor than to anyone in particular. "Don't worry about it too much; you lived to regret it. That's all that matters—all that will ever really matter."
Simonee heard Aubs gasp lightly in his shoulder as she raised her head to glance at him. The tears she had cried were soaking into the linen of his tunic, but all told, he didn't mind. She finally returned his half-embrace and gave Dagerly a weak smile.
"I guess so," she replied. "Thanks, Dagerly... and I'm sorry about earlier."
Dagerly met her gaze and gestured a hand to wave it off. "It's alright. My career path isn't exactly glamorous, I know. Misunderstanding is just a part of the job."
Resting her head again on Simonee's shoulder, Aubs smiled slightly wider. Simonee had to admit that even he felt a little better now, especially with the reconciliation between his two allies. He inwardly resolved to not let his misgivings get in the way of his mission. The Defias were very obviously dangerous, and he was going to do all he could to make sure they wouldn't be a threat to anyone anymore—even if that meant ending the lives of scores of his fellow men.
He fervently hoped that it wouldn't come to such drastic measures.
Before too much longer, he heard the babbling of Hoardale's imp breaking into his thoughts.
"Zaqtip, I already told you, she's not a succubus. I don't think she even likes you," the warlock said dryly.
Aubs laughed lightly into Simonee's shoulder, and he did likewise. If the Light would damn them for this mission, at least he would be in good company.