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Dearest Readers, sometimes it is not yet the occasion to downgrade the settings to Easy Mode.
Yet Life asks of us a little bit of patience and more before it does.
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THE HIDDEN SWORD
Book Two: Wandering Water | Chapter 49: Puddles in the Path
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"I tells ya, it's the elf! The one they're lookin' for!"
Irse scratched the back of her neck as three men nervously nudged each other while pointing at her. Hope flickered for a moment as she dared to suppose - could it be that Okami somehow managed to put out word on her? If so, then these folks might tell her where the blacksmith could be found, or at least know someone who knows someone who could point her in the right direction.
What sweet and savory luck, Irse cheered to herself, coming upon this fortuitous break so early in her journey!
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After yesterday's completely forgettable-and-not-worth-remembering-surely-doesn't-count-at-all encounter, Irse had decided to leave the Coast Way, following the Flaming Fist patrolman's directions of a southwesterly path to the woodsman's home. Since morning she had trudged without resting through this mercifully sparsely forested wilderness, interrupted only by a run-in with a small noisome pack of goblins. Something not entirely new to her.
Nor to Thadd, she remembered with warm affection while putting the last rabid runt out of its misery with cold steel through its torso.
Eventually, the combined hunger pangs and the highsun's heat reminded her to take a quick break. While debating with herself whether to tear into one pack of rations now, or one pack and a half instead and thus have an excuse to snack much sooner on the remaining half later, she was interrupted by three men who had slunk out from behind the trees and approached her.
The sight of another living soul had been heartening, another chance to inquire about having seen a Kozakuran pacing around in the woods like he'd accidentally left a pot of stew boiling by itself in an empty kitchen.
Unconsciously she flicked away the stray strands covering her ears in a hasty attempt to appear presentable, yet the casual gesture oddly made them snap into sudden uneasiness. For with one look on her face, the men froze in their tracks, leading to the strange outburst about an elf and notices.
Puzzled but hopeful, Irse advanced. "Someone's been asking about me?"
Another step taken closer sent them edging away, hands on their weapons. In equal measure, Irse shrank back. Must be something on her face.
"Eh? But this one sounds like a girl elf. Thought it's a man elf, they said?"
"Din't ya read? No one said exactly what. Just how they looked."
Furtively she glanced at her stark tunic and unadorned sleeves beneath a loose ill-fitting gambeson, and roughly spun trousers. After all, no great logic argued on behalf of donning anything fancy and exceptionally tailored for nothing more than tramping through the road and the backwoods.
"Man or woman… 'cause they sure ain't sure about it either," another recalled, just as baffled as the elf in question.
"Who cares? If it be really this lass, then she ought to be easy pickings for us," the third one said with a leer. "That's some fine sword on ye, girlie. Might wanna hand it over and all yer coin if ye wanna live."
Of course, what's a trek through the backwoods without standard-fare highway robbery just before midday meal?
But the other elbowed his cocky companion. "Easy pickings my cheeks, ye fop head! Din't ya hear what they said 'bout one o' the ambushes where the crazy knife-ear killed five men with only one arrow!"
Irse tapered her eyes, surveying these odd fellows before her. Dusty and greasy in ragged leather jerkins, rusted swords in their unsteady hands, red-rimmed jaundiced eyes. Not exactly intimidating company, and from the sound of it, not the sharpest tools in the shed either.
"Nah, they're pulling our leg! How'd one kill that many with just a single arrow, huh?"
"Eh, you shoot one arrow through all o' them at the same time?"
"But what if they ain't standing in line?"
"Maybe used one of 'em magical ones goin' zip-zap like a mosquito!"
Irse smacked a palm over her forehead, growling. "No, you ninnies! You use that one arrow to stab five men during the fight."
The three froze and stared. The elf glared back, incredulous.
"Say, how'd you know?"
Irse opened her mouth, about to helpfully explain and demonstrate when -
"She knows 'cause she's the mad elf in the bounties!" one of them yelled, drawing his sword, his fellows doing likewise.
Irse sighed, shoulders drooped.
"Here we go," she muttered dryly to the Kogitsune at her side.
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Did she remember to ask them about Okami and then thank them for yielding their provisions as compensation for the trouble? Irse tapped at the corner of her mouth, casually swaying the newly acquired sack of the brigands' belongings as she resumed her hike. Yes, she did. Extra politely while leaning with a smile over a pile of twitching, bloodied bandit scum. Quite sure their groans sounded like a negative reply to the first question, then an expression of welcome at the last.
Obviously they mistook her for someone else. What did that dwarf Reevor always say about elves?
Leaf-ears, ye all be lookin' alike!
Pausing to rest and sit on a fallen log, Irse rummaged through the pack and examined its contents. As promised, an apple close to withering and a few pieces of crumbly hardtack. Further digging yielded a single parchment which she unfolded and read.
Be it known that a bounty of two hundred gold pieces is set upon the head of a certain elf fitting the following description…
The absence of any seals whether of the Flaming Fist or some public authority outed it as one of those bounties passed around in the underground circles. Alongside the words on the space in the margin, there sprawled the accurate likeness of said elf, whether drawn by the current bearer of the notice, or an official rendition – hard to tell.
A crudely circled potato head, angry browed dot eyes, big round mouth lined with fangs, messy swirls for hair, and of course… extra-pointy triangle ears.
By Tethrin, they've got two hundred gold to burn for someone's head, but not the coin to pay for an actual sketch artist? Should've hired the same fellow who painted the murals in the Flourishing Flagon. Then these nut heads would be running everywhere looking for an elf with a twirly villainous mustache 'til the realms be no more and such.
Most likely male but possibly female, eyewitnesses have been uncertain.
Irse scoffed. What manner of irresponsible doodleface wrote this notice? Not a name or an alias, not even sure if they're looking for a man or woman? Whoever this target was, they must truly be skilled to elude identification and never leave behind a breathing witness.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Muscular for an elf.
Irse wolf-whistled appreciatively, stretching and flexing an arm in cheeky imitation. Wouldn't mind bumping into a specimen like that.
And then of course, ask how they got into peak physical state, what kind of forbiddingly knuckle-bleeding training regimen they went through, and how much and what sort of grub they chowed down for fuel.
What else? She resumed skimming over the parchment.
Missing an ear.
The whistle choked in her throat as both hands grasped the notice, crinkling the edges. No wonder, one of the triangle ears was crossed out with a slash, as if an afterthought.
Pulse racing and the world suddenly deathly still around her, Irse carefully lowered the parchment on her lap.
That explained the men recoiling upon seeing her face. But she wasn't missing all of her ear. Sliced, yes. But then it wouldn't be a stretch at all to assume it made no difference to those who sent out the bounty. And how did they know about it, anyway? Of course, the ambush by the Chionthar. Yet, it had been dark and some hours before godswake, although there were torches and lamps. Maybe the wizard even remembered her face, told on her to a rat in the Fist. But what for?
As far as everything went, the bandits' bosses got what they wanted – Eddard dead as a bent doornail and the Grand Dukes riled for whatever reason they wanted. But as for the elf? Irse wracked through her brain. She couldn't be anyone important to them, a mere pebble shaken out of the shoe, flicked away, forgotten. No other reason remained in the realms for them to bother anymore with a nobody like her.
Shaking, Irse slapped a covering hand over the left temple and ranted at the parchment, "Oh yeah? One-Eared-Elf, eh? What if I hide it like this, hmm? How will you know for sure if I look like this fellow you're after, huh?"
And then she spied the fine print crawling along the bottom.
Be wary that this elf may seek to conceal their disfigurement by wearing a hood or painting their face with woad.
Growling, Irse abruptly rose to her feet and crumpled the paper, readying to toss it into the bushes.
But then she paused. Okami wouldn't have approved of littering in the forest, often taking care to properly dispose of any refuse both on the road and at home. Likewise, Wisewoman Daserah warned against using just any leaves out here to wipe themselves, unless one liked to collect nasty rashes in secret places.
Cautiously, she looked around, straightened and refolded the parchment, and surreptitiously stuffed it in her pocket.
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"It's him! Or… her," a woman shouted with some hesitation from across a wide clearing, pointing a dagger at the elf.
Irse clicked her tongue. Not again, not another interruption now when it seemed the woodsman's cabin might be further than expected. Hopefully and in time for the next meal, this one can be reasoned with.
From behind the thicket, the woman's companions emerged - a man accompanied by a pair of large humanoids. Hobgoblins.
Irse inhaled sharply as she bristled at the sight of these creatures, hulking like the largest and most brutish of humans. Not the first time she had seen them, often joining the children in gawking at the handful caught by the Shields of Iriaebor from the woods bordering the Dusk Road. Even then, those hobs appeared no less intimidating despite being shackled, still snarling in defiance while the guards paraded them through the North Gate and the Market Square.
And once in what seemed a lifetime ago, there had been a chance encounter with a mother and her babe at a shed. Hopefully, the wee hobling wouldn't grow into anything scary like these two before her now.
"Talls enough for the elf they wants dead," one hobgoblin rumbled.
"Why don't we bring this one in alive," the woman said. "Could be worth more gold on top of the bounty."
"But- but what if she slaughters us like the others," the man interrupted, dropping a pack in the ground and nocking his arrow with trembling hands.
The others? It sure sounded like more than just five skewered on a single arrow.
"Drag 'er in, show ugly face to boss," boasted the other hobgoblin. "Cut 'er up, belly to ear. Get gold."
"Yeah. More than silvers we get burnin' wagons," the first hob cheered back at his comrade.
Ah, bandits again. Irse crooked a corner of her mouth. All she needed to know.
One foot slowly slid to a stance, the left thumb flicking at the guard, and the eyes did a quick sweep of the band before her. Nikugen, the naked sight, told her there were four enemies – a pair of hobgoblins, a woman, and a man. Tengen, the heavenly eye, showed her that three of them bore weapons for close combat, the woman and her dagger, and the hobgoblins moving past her and to the front with their swords, the man staying behind them with his bow and arrow. Egen, the thinking sight, told her who needed to be taken down first.
In one burst of motion, she cast her pack to the side and launched herself, darting across the field straight for them. The woman shouted, goading the others to attack and the hobgoblins charged. But past halfway through, Irse swerved, gliding over the grass in a wide arc, out of their path and leaving her intended target in the clear. She dashed straight for the archer, ready to shift should he fire at her.
Instead of an arrow, he shot a terrified scream even as the bow and missile tangled in his frightened fingers. The man clumsily threw them to the ground and stumbled back, scrabbling on his haunches.
"Mercy!" he wailed while crawling away.
Startled, Irse skidded to a stop, instinctively unwilling to cut down someone surrendering and unarmed. The woman bandit yelled a slur at her cowardly compatriot as she herself moved in. This one, the elf met without hesitation as she rapid-drew the tachi, catching the other from side to shoulder, the adamantine slicing clean through leather like paper, the woman letting out a strangled croak as she crumpled down in the grass. Yet to the loss of an ally, the pair of hobgoblins only laughed as they slowly advanced, one even spat on the grass as they passed by the twitching form of their fallen.
"Shoulda' brought our sword brothers instead o' these weak worms."
"No, we lucky this time. 'Cuz now only us gets to kill it."
Irse, ground her jaw, swallowing dry. What did that mama hobgoblin say about them being worst foes with elves?
They broke apart and flanked her, brandishing their blades, hatred and excitement blowing in hot breaths through their steel helms. Eyes narrowed, Irse gripped the Kogitsune in seigan. Together the hobgoblins charged but she slipped back, the tachi quickly up in ukenagashi, glancing the blow from the first hob, the second foe immediately coming in with his sword but likewise blocked.
Nikugen showed two bigger monsters against an elven girl. Tengen told her they were taking turns at striking, slow but strong. But engen already made her see through their positioning. For right after that chance encounter with the hobgoblin mother, Irse had developed a certainly not suspicious curiosity about these creatures. And who best to satisfy an inquiring mind about monsters other than Old Cook Tucky, formerly of the Shields with decades of experience with his squad in bringing to heel both city lowlifes and woodland monsters.
A round of parrying passed, the hob to her right crouched behind his targe and shoved at the elf, the impact enough to offset her balance. Rather than correcting the disrupted stance or allowing herself to stumble leftwards, Irse quickly dropped to the ground and reeled to the side.
For she remembered the veteran's warning about hobgoblins. Wild as they seemed, they knew to work together, to box in a weaker foe, to use their strength to wear down and when opportunity afforded them an opening, to surprise with a coordinated attack designed to stun their enemy, off-balanced and reeling straight for a waiting blade from one of them.
Grunting in surprise, the second hobgoblin whirled to his right but a blink too late as Irse sprang from the ground at his side and stabbed him through the neck. But with his weight, the dead hob merely slumped over the tachi still lodged in his throat as his friend roared in anger. Irse grimaced in disgust and yanked, slicing and sending the head flying, off his neck and out of her sight. Immediately, the other was already upon her, having thrown his shield in reckless rage, swinging his sword with both hands.
The strike was quickly blocked, and the hob lashed out with a kick at her side. It hurt and put her off balance, but she countered and wildly swiped with the tachi, the hasty angle catching only his sword, causing him to drop it. Yet the hobgoblin charged still, a meaty fist grazing her at the temple. Dizzied for a wink, Irse stumbled sideways, suddenly pushed to the ground, the hob bearing down on her with his full weight. One hand clamped around her neck while the other held down her sword hand. With inhuman strength, the hobgoblin twisted her wrist.
Irse cried in pain as her fingers suddenly surrendered their grip on the tachi, and then in anger when the hobgoblin swiftly picked it up and threw it away, the dark blade spinning in the air until it landed a good distance from them. Panicked by its loss, she scratched and pummeled at the arm bearing down on her but the monster held fast and blocked her feeble attempts, laughing and gloating in clear triumph at having bested his kind's most hated foe.
"Dumb human! Help me or I gut you," the hobgoblin shouted to the archer.
Despite the spots now dancing in her vision, Irse could spy the other bandit, bow and arrow retrieved and once more in his trembling hands, keeping his distance but surely close enough for a clean shot.
Why did she even let him live? Clawed fingers tightened around the throat and her breath began to falter in gasping coughs.
A twang of the string. A yelp of pain. An arrow now sticking out of the hobgoblin's arm instead of her side.
"S-Sorry!"
"Stupid! Shoot her, not me!" the hob bellowed, leaning closer to push down at the elf.
His mistake, her chance. Irse strained forward and with her free hand, grasped the shaft, snapping the arrow mid-length, and stabbed the hobgoblin in the eye, fletching-end first. Stunned and in sudden agony the monster let go and tried to rise. She seized the chance and space to kick at him, sending the hob rolling over his back. Irse quickly straddled him, regaining hold of the arrow to keep it steady in the socket even as the monster flailed at the air and the elf.
The force of his blows would've been enough to knock her off him, but the more the hob struck, the more she dug in. Can't stop now, won't stop now. Desperation fueled her, the wild fear at losing again, the helplessness. Not again, never again. Still, the hobgoblin struggled, not letting up.
Nearly out of breath from fury and effort, she snarled through gritted teeth, "Why- won't- you- just-"
Die.
Irse grabbed the arrow with both hands and drove it through the hobgoblin's skull. A twitch, and the hob's hands fell to his side, heavy and still. Heaving and trembling, she hunched over and tightened her grip on the arrow.
Cannot rest, not yet. Irse hastily pushed herself off the corpse, the sudden rush of blood making the world swirl for a moment. Staggering, she retrieved the tachi, and stomped towards the surviving bandit. He backed away, quaking. Eyes wide at the blood of his fellows glistening upon the dark blade, he let go of the bow and fell to his knees, curling his arms protectively around his head. She reached over and tapped his shoulder with the flat of the tachi and he understood, drawing a dagger from his side and tossing it as well, then spread his hands in a disarming gesture.
"P-please don't kill me," he begged. "I didn't mean to join them and be hurtin' anyone. My farm's been dry an' I gots no money to buy tools, not that it matters if they keep breakin' down."
He claimed to have been lured from his home by the woman and a couple of other men with promises of finding treasure in some ancient barrow dotting these wilds. With bow and arrows given to him by his newfound friends, the man thought his luck was finally turning up, until their group split up somewhere along the way, and they were joined by the hobgoblins, heading for the road instead. Only then did he realize he had been duped into something nasty when they started to accost traveling folk.
Irse briefly gazed up at the sky, exhaling heavily. Roping in unwitting recruits to share in the same deep and sticky cauldron of evil stew? Another thing that wasn't new to her.
"I wanted to leave but I was scared, they said deserters get strung up the tree by their guts. I never seen 'em do it but it must be true if you heard the hobs talk of it all the time. So I went along with everything. I'm sorry! The gods forgive me," he sobbed wretchedly.
Though pitying him, she merely wagged her head. On any day she would have even offered a cheery word, tell him everything would be all right from this spot forward, assure him it wasn't entirely his fault for being a desperate wide-eyed sucker. Perhaps she would, if today had been one where no one's after her head thanks to a daftly worded bounty notice, and a hobgoblin didn't try to choke this morning's breakfast out of her.
"Just-," she muttered wearily and sighed. "Answer my questions, first."
Meekly he nodded, terror on his face replaced with blank unknowing when she asked him about having sighted the blacksmith. Disappointed, Irse crossly fished the parchment from her pocket, unfolding with one hand, and thrust it in front of him.
"Tell me more about this, then."
"Yes, she-," he stammered, wiping his cheeks and pointing to the dead woman. "She said those things were handed out to them, maybe from one o' their bosses."
Another crumb pointing to these brigands working for someone. Daley's warnings echoed in her mind. "Did they tell you exactly who they're working for? And what about the elf in the notices? Anything to do with them?"
The man shook his head, face sweating and pale but not breaking eye contact, still frightened but most likely honest. "Dunno, really. They think this elf be just plain mad or lookin' for someone who did 'em wrong. They're always on edge, what with a bunch of 'em killed already, if not picked off with arrows, then torn up like a rabid animal."
"A bunch of them? You mean only bandits and no innocents?"
"I think so? They say one's always left alive in the ambushes but breathin' only long enough to warn anyone finding them. 'Tis all I know and heard."
Nothing more could be squeezed out of this one. She stuffed the notice in her pocket, stepped back and gestured with the tachi at his discarded pack.
"Food? Healing kit?"
The man bobbed his head and scampered eagerly for the bag. From within he took out a thin roll of dressings and some packs of rations, showing them first before dropping them once more into the sack. He rummaged further and pulled out a cloth pouch, weighing it in his hand.
"Here, you can have this," he said, holding it out to her. "We took it from folk along the road, mostly merchants. Poor souls, the hobs were right brutal before killing 'em off. Some gold, lots of silvers, maybe even a ring in here."
Irse narrowed her eyes as she stared down at the offered prize.
Blood money.
Roughly and without a word, she seized only the pack from the ground. Startled, the man lowered the pouch, a baffled expression on his face at the refusal. Heaving the sack over the shoulder, Irse turned on her heels, about to return to her own belongings on the other side of the clearing when she halted and faced the man once more. With the tachi, she motioned for him to stand and pick up his bow and arrows.
"Oh gods, you're gonna make me fight you so you'll say you didn't kill an unarmed fella'," he sobbed while retrieving them.
"Hold out your bow and keep still," Irse said coldly, raising the sword. "Think of this as your way out."
Trembling, the man did so, eyes shut tight. Wood and string snapped, and the broken pieces of his bow fell from his hands. Weeping quietly in evident relief, he crumpled down to his knees. Irse flicked the blood from the Kogitsune, sheathing it as she walked away.
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Alone in the dell, the cabin stood plain and bare, yet a welcome dot of civilization in this wilderness.
The Cloakwood, Irse recalled with foreboding, her gaze taking in the abruptly dense mass of trees behind the lodge. They rose from the underbrush like a massive living wall, ancient and impenetrable. The better to keep all the monsters and nasties in that haunted place from spilling over to the rest of the realms, folks at Candlekeep used to say.
But weary legs and lingering soreness from the fight didn't keep her from making an excited dash for the porch. Finally, someone who could truly help her find him.
A few times she called for the owner to come out while knocking at the door, but none answered back. About to circle the cabin for further inspection, Irse paused, noting something odd – deep and unsightly gashes flanking the doorway. As if a pair of sharp and heavy things had tried to claw through the walls because the entryway was too small. Could've been a really hungry giant dire badger.
Irse knocked again, this time with less courtesy and with more urgency. At the force of her thumps, the panel seemed to shake as if barely hanging by the hinges. Still no answer.
"I'm coming in, Mister Woodsman. Don't axe me, or anything."
A push with the shoulder and a few more kicks, and the door finally yielded, turning out to have been held only by a rusty loosened latch. Inside lay no more than the most basic of necessities. An unlit stove, a messed-up bedroll, a pack carelessly tossed in a corner, a knife and some tools on the floor.
And a huge gaping hole in the roof.
With careful steps avoiding pieces of a broken stool and suspicious dark patches all over the floor, Irse looked around and up, snorting at the less than pleasant mix of smells within - musty, damp, hints of something overly acrid. Cracked wooden shingles covered only a quarter of the ceiling from the front of the cabin, the rest draped with a tarp from sewn hides, now ripped apart, flaps dangling. The owner must have been in the middle of repairs before he disappeared.
Irse glanced down at her feet. Thanks to the light still remaining in the sky, one could see great scuffs and smaller scratch marks running the length of the floor. She went to where they started, bending at one knee to place a hand over the marks, her nails matching the number of grooves. Irse followed them, stopping right beneath the gap. Along with a puddle of what was obviously blood.
Baffled but disturbed, slowly she straightened, stopping to gaze up at the hole. A flapping sound startled her, like the gusting of wings from above. Irse grasped the tachi and craned her neck. Just the wind blowing through the ragged tarp, suddenly stilled once more. And yet, the silence felt wrong. Very wrong.
Spooked and not even bothering to stay and check through the woodsman's belongings, Irse hastily marched through the door, and sprinted across the clearing and away from the cabin, never once looking back.
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The massive walls did little to conceal the impressive fortress that is the Friendly Arm Inn. It towered above the surrounding forest, as it were a brooding mountain dotted by the firelights coming to life with the approaching night. For the first time, she could see the great structure up close, having merely passed by the path from the Coast Way leading to the inn when she and Okami traveled to the Gate.
She glanced up, awed gaze sweeping across the imposing edifice, crenelated turrets, the stones dark and weathered with age. How it looked so much like her old home.
Yet as nice as it were to indulge in a fond memory, she still had a bit of an obstacle to cross. Irse groaned at the sight of it, a bridge nearly spanning the length of a city block. She eyed the wide moat underneath. Filled with brackish water and clumped with moss and swamp weeds, perhaps long ago it had been filled instead with tar and boiling oil. Whoever owned this place must have had a lot of enemies to stave off in the past.
Steeling herself for the final walk, Irse commenced hobbling across the bridge, wincing each time a foot went down.
Just a few more steps. From the abandoned cabin, in the trek to return to the Coast Way and upon the highway itself, the rest of the path had been littered with ambushes whether by goblins and gibberlings, or a handful more of outlaws out for the coin in her pocket or the gold on somebody else's head they thought was hers.
Luckily, one of them had a quarter of a healing potion on his person. Must have robbed someone who could afford these pricey concoctions. A quick glimpse of the grease and blood on the vial's cracked mouth, and Irse had pinched her nose before emptying what remained of its precious contents down her throat. By Tethrin's mercy, it was enough to keep her on both legs for one more day.
Irse grinned ruefully. Not turning out to be a picnic, so far.
A pair of guards stood at attention on either side of the gate. Good. At least she can ask about Okami before anything else. One of them stepped forward, about to say something, perhaps a warning or a query about her business, when his eyes broadened at the sight of her less than solid state.
"Hold there, lass. You look like you need a cot in the temple more than a room in the inn."
Too weary to argue, Irse allowed herself to be escorted to the shrine, a squat and unassuming granite building separate from the main structure. The man pushed the large oaken doors, and the elf blinked and squinted in the harsh light from inside. In blunt contrast to its exterior, the walls glistered with nuggets of gold and gems of all colors embedded in asymmetrical patterns which ran from floor to ceiling. Yet the atmosphere within surprisingly felt warm, modest, and solemn.
The guard helped her onto a wooden pew, then pointed to the Kogitsune with a command to surrender the tachi.
"Please, sir," she pleaded, clasping the sheathed sword tighter than she ever had. "I got some coin. Can't I just pay to keep it with me? I swear, I won't start anything."
The thought of losing the Kogitsune again filled her with panic. After all, these past days the tachi kept her company and breathing still. Even then, sentries, stone walls, and even shielding magic didn't always guarantee complete safety. Just ask the Sashenstars.
"Rules are rules if you wish to stay." The man regarded her with a sympathetic eye but shook his head firmly. "You needn't worry, I'm not taking it away for good, and you'll have it back when you leave. Besides, all weapons are secured in a warded storehouse. Not a single one's been lost to thievery or by mistake, so rest easy."
Sighing, Irse untied the fastenings from her belt and yielded it, her eyes following the Kogitsune now in another's hands. Like an unwilling pup, muzzled while being led away.
The guard opened the door and paused to address someone outside.
"Mistress Gellana, you have a patient here."
A kindly voice replied, aged yet sprightly. "One of our patrons?"
"No, Mistress. A newcomer. Elven folk."
Irse braced herself.
"Never seen her around these parts before. I don't think anyone of us knows her."
Hearing his words, she let her shoulders fall. Exhaling freely, Irse gently rested her hands on her lap as she finally allowed herself to lean back and close her eyes.
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And a scribbling here:
"Blood money" Impractical indeed of Irse to spurn the offer, not even thinking that the coin could be put to good use by helping her or being donated to a temple or given away as alms. But remembering her experience with bandits, of knowing people who lost their loved ones to the attacks, and having been accustomed to earning her keep through honest work and under a principled mentor – freely accepting what is outrightly declared ill-gotten gains felt out of character for her, beyond the question of alignment.
And hey, that's why one needs companions in adventure – to either give you opposing but sage advice or discreetly appropriate that sweet sweet loot when the goodie-goodies aren't looking. ;P
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