Once the great, fourth seal came apart, softly undone in the hands of inevitable, forth came the harbingers of sorrow - the four killing notions born to plague the land of gods and powers far beyond mortal comprehension. By the last breath the fourth winds blew, casting apart the busy skies' broadcasts - running the cold, bodiless fingers cross great meadows of bone-white flowers, where the red sun met the cool, calming dew. The first rider, she came clad in black, yet straddling a steed of pristine purity. Snowy leather brushed past her heels with each nudge to the beast's hide, as Conquest sped down the sun soaked valley of milky eulalia, a sleeve of steel-tipped knives drawn at the ready.
Soon followed the second harbinger, taming a raging war-horse of deep, blood-crimson, the very same color of the rider's mighty mane. A majestic sword was given to him, a tool to aid his rampage and rid Terra of any he perceived as wrong. The blade of War, the cold-blooded promise of hell brought upon the mortal plane, and the flames of destruction that cast their hungry tongues across any and all they could reach. Indifferent to the pain that crept behind him like a shadow, inflicted upon any onlookers unfortunate enough to find themselves bleeding between the steel and the warrior's unwavering fist. War scurried behind Conquest, forever lost in the scent of victory that wafted in waves down her flowery, raven-black hair and brought upon memories of birch forests and cold nights.
And then, behind them hurried a tiny, gray rider bouncing atop a fierce beast as bleak and dark as bubbling hot tar itself. The fallen Law-maker, clad in shimmering darkness. Emerging from a cloud of locusts that jumped and gnawed onto anything that dared move, unable to live on their own, the third horseman held a pair of scales in his shaky hands, for the dim light above his head prohibited him from spilling a single more salvo of lead. Awashed in the blood-hungry insects, the youth spilled curls of gray, the color of the sad, dry sky during the later months of Kazdel's bloom cycle. Worry coursed across his face, as both scales refused to tip in either side's favor, forever locked in a stalemate of unbreaking silence - neither left nor right had the right to scream out in joy of victory. "A quart of wheat for a shekel, and three quarts of barley for half; but do not damage the oil and wine." Read the passage he, Famine, graced the land with. A mercenary's work day's wage for just barely enough digestible matter to fill one's stomach for the night - more than enough wine to forget the blood spilled in hunger's favor. He rode onward, locusts biting in his wake, hooves beating against the ground, as if trying hard to escape the terror that loomed behind.
The one most fickle and free, unbridled, unbound by nothing, not even the torn chains of morality the other three sometimes caught themselves holding onto. Last, came the rider atop a beast molded from pure bone-dust, a beast as pale as the mightiest of Northern winters - as pure as the harbinger's silky, white hair. Wherever the leather hooves struck, Terra's crust came apart and split - dived deep into the core, dug out a gaping ravine out from which the most disgusting and disfigured of hellspawns dared drag their blackened claws onto the gray sun's gazing plane. Wherever she went, hell followed. Wherever her foot squashed the dirt beneath, each living organism turned over and soon succumbed to the all encompassing rot, knowing that its fate had long been sealed. Trees, brush, lush vegetation alike, it all withered and blew apart with the wind at the mere sound of the beast's andesite horseshoes clattering past the ruins of cities which once stood tall and proud. And Death smiled. Death smiled, and graced the world with all her sharp teeth and gnawers - a warning for some, an open coffin for others. Once the pearly whites glittered brighter in the dying sun than the radiance of life still somehow smoldering within the poor victim's soul, the wicked knew their time had come. She galloped on forward, to join her three brethren together, as one - the four harbingers of an apocalypse yet to come, a wave of destruction scheduled later that rainy week.
The sorrow bringers stood amidst a forest far taller than even the most monstrous of Feranmut bone-relics. Large and wide were the sequoias inhabiting this woodland scraping of land, covering the four with their needle umbrellas. Before them stood their trusty weaponry - each piece a testament of their willingness to hurt. A grand twig-bow and zweihander, belts of knives and a pointy sword made of a blackened material foreign to the rest's eyes, a rifle torn from the hands of a dead man, along his knife, and a towering pile of grenades. In the middle of it all - the most important piece of warfare-fuel lay, unbothered, with smoke pouring out from its sides.
A hive.
A large, buzzing hive filled with…
"Bees." Hoederer proudly announced, whilst crossing his heavily armored arms.
"Bees?" The gray haired boy by his side chimed in, cautiously taking a closer look at the messily glued together pile of wax. It kept buzzing, yet not a single ferocious insect dared stick its head from one of the hive's many holes.
"Bees." Ines summed up. "Probably the dumbest idea we've had this year."
The woman took a similar approach to the wax-ball as her red headed companion, opting to stay back and stare at the supposed "weapon" with disdain. W however, did not share the sentiment, as she knelt by the hive and poked it with her finger. Andy bit his bottom lip and drew a sharp breath of air, as his tail shot straight up.
"... Yeah, I may be with Miss Negative on this one." She murmured, while rubbing her chin and tapping her fingers against the wax shell. Not a single flying warrior came to the kingdom's defense, almost as if all that buzzing inside was the sound of a dying civilization and nothing more. "How exactly is this supposed to kill anyone? Better than say, a grenade or two? You know, I can just stuff a bunch into potatoes and lay 'em all out across the road, like-..."
"That's exactly what we're trying to avoid." Hedley cut her off, voice calm and steady. "We're not getting paid much for the work itself, but the wares this supposed "merchant" carries should net us enough cash to get back in the merc game. That is, unless we let your explosions swallow the entire thing whole."
"Uh-huh." She threw back, seemingly fascinated by the hive's polite buzz. Her eyes never left the white-ishly brown carapace. "Lawdog c'mere, I wanna test something."
"What?"
He hurried on over, skeptical about her intentions, whereas Ines and Hedley watched from afar, letting the kids have their "fun." W said nothing, seemingly waiting for him to kneel by her side. Andy did just that.
"What?" He repeated again, this time a lot quieter.
"Stick your hand in there."
"What?"
"What? What? What?" She parroted, flicking him on the nose between each word. "Don't you have any other words in your vocabulary? I said, stick your hand in there."
"But why?"
Their eyes met, as the girl finally glanced away. Two tails danced behind their backs, one playfully tapping the other from time to time, absolutely unconcerned about the imminent threat that lay locked within the wax creation. "Because I said so. Because these "bees" aren't willing to come out the easy way, so I want you to drag them out."
"You want me to reach into a beehive and "drag" the bees out?"
"Duh? Only way for you to be useful."
Owch. The fresh wounds on his hands, the surgical cuts located where him and his once loyal firearms were separated by a serrated blade of the Law still burned with guilt and regret, and W made sure to rub the salts of sorrow into them as often as she could.
"..." Andy narrowed his eyes and contemplated shoving the girl's head into the hive himself. His tail flicked the idea right out of his head, as it reached for the blackened horns growing from his curls and tapped them a few times, a reminder to not act like a savage devil despite being half of one. "Yeah, I'm not doing that."
W rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Oh, why? What if Hedley gave you the order, huh? You'd be jumping headfirst."
"I'm NOT putting my hand in that thing."
"You are, c'mon."
"I'm not."
"Come on, Lawdog. Don't make a girl beg."
"I'm not putting my hand anywhere near that thing."
"What are you, a pussy?"
"Yeah? I'm not sticking my hand in there!"
"Come on! Just pull one bee out!"
"No! I'm not doing that, fuck you."
"You are."
"I absolutely am not."
"You are!"
"I'M NOT!"
"YOU ARE!"
As soon as their bickering turned to a little scruffle, with W grabbing both his hands and trying to push them down into the beehive, and Andy retaliating by shoving her on her back, Ines frowned and took a step forward, only to be immediately stopped by the giant by her side. Hedley put his massive arm before her waist and shook his head. "Let them play around. They're like sled-hounds, they need to release all that pent up energy." He said, watching the two rolling around the dry grass and throwing insults at one another. Still a bit frowny and pissy, her eyes darted from the redhead to the two, who just so happened to be wrestling for a knife, their tails biting and nudging the other. With a heavy sigh of resignation, she gave in and simply stood still by her companion, somewhat enjoying the show the two morons put on. The daily wailings of their own little opera - the highs and the lows, the solos and the choruses - the "Fuck you's" and "Piss off's", lined along the powerful accompaniment of meaty punches and bodies thrown around the shuffly leaves that rot with the forest litter. The two mercenaries watched the spectacle, as they have long got used to such happenings being performed during their leisurely breaks between hits. Andy and W would often bicker and cat-fight, which, most of the time, resulted in either one sitting the next hour or so out in their tent with a black eye and a few fresh bruises. For W, it was liberating, the chance to beat the shit out of an angel, then get away mostly scot-free. For Andy, it was less-but-still-somewhat nice, having someone to physically vent all his frustrations out on, while also getting some exercise and melee training in. Some real good training too, apparently, seeing how he consistently kept up with the girl's unrelenting assault, even managing to get on top of her back and holding her down for a short while. She bit the ground, hard.
"F-... LET GO! L-... LAWDOG, I SWEAR!" She spouted through gritted teeth, tidbits of orange needles and leaves flew from between her lips as she spat on the ground. "LET G-..."
"Where's the usual snark, uh? Where's the "we'll leave you headless in a ditch any day now", ah?" Andy threw right back, keeping an elbow steadily pressed into the middle of her spine. Surviving Kazdel without a gun seemed near damn impossible, so the boy had to improvise somehow. "Where's the "you're just cannon fodder for us", ah?"
"I'LL RIP YOUR EYES FROM THE SOCKETS, LET GO OF ME, YOU F-..."
"Kids, kids, kids..." A calm (or tired?) voice arose from behind, followed by some inordinately heavy footsteps. Armor plates clanked in the breezy autumn air. "That's enough. I still need at least one of you to hang the hive."
"Oh yeah? 'S gonna be me once I get that dog off my back and-..." With her cheek pressed flat against the ground, W rambled for just a moment before Andy cut her off by pressing down on her horns and filling her mouth with leaves. Their tails ceased their "biting" for a moment, seemingly surprised by his sudden outburst.
"Dog? Creative!" He chuckled. "I like that!"
"Andy, off." Hedley commanded, his arms crossed and chin held high. Looking up at him, Andy could feel the overwhelming commanding aura cascading down the merc's blackened uniform. Moments like these made him remember they had some sort of hierarchy there, even if it was just the four of them.
"Off? But she started?"
"And neither will finish. Off, I said."
"Yeah, you heard 'im Lawdog! Get o-..." W perked up once she finally spat out the very last few foliage pieces, only to have her head pushed back into the pile.
"But-..." Andy tried pleading, hands buried in the girl's snowy white hair. She kept kicking and reaching behind her back, but to no avail. Feisty.
Hoederer gave a weary sigh and crossed his massive arms. More than disappointed or angry with the two, he seemed simply bored of their constant cat-fights.
"Off. We need someone who shoots." He explained and kneeled down to eye level. "Look, Andy, you can't shoot. Hell, I can barely move my arm, can't really fight…" He murmured, before leaning a bit forward and lowering his voice. With a thumb, he pointed behind his back, towards the Caprinae who stood near their weaponry, hands on her hips, feet impatiently tapping against the ground. "... And Ines can barely walk. Won't show it, but that's how it is. It's bad." A moment, they spent staring into the other's eyes. Andy felt like speaking up, but the giant cut his unsaid words off. "But don't tell her I said that, alright? That's between the two of us."
"..." Andy blinked and stuck his head out from behind the merc's shoulder to assess the statement's validity. Seemingly fine, maybe bruised here and there, Ines stood there, counting knives and muttering something beneath her breath. Seemed fine at first glance, but once the pearly whites of her bandages soaked through with tiny splatters of red crossed his gaze, he started noticing how her hand held onto the nearest stump for balance, and how she kept one of her feet up in the air, unwilling to set it down on the ground. Yeah, she got hit bad. "... Alright, between us two, sure." He nodded back.
"Three of us!" W stuck her head out from the leaf-pile. Both guys turned to glance at her for a moment before Andy pushed her back down, feeding her another mouthful of leaves and needles.
Half-lidded eyes rose to gaze at the playful youth's mischievously grinning face, only to give a disapproving shake of the merc's head. Andy's beam died down and soon disappeared. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I get it." He murmured and let go of the fiend's skull. Like a fish out of water, she wriggled from between his thighs and threw herself forward, only to land softly on all fours like a cat.
"... Phew. Got a little careless, I admit." She warbled and reached for her ankle holster. Steel whished in the air, a blackened blade flourished magically at the mercy of her swift fingers, so used to pulling pins and counting coins. "But that's the thing, right? Gotta keep your cards close to your chest~."
"...?" Andy and Hedley exchanged a confused glance at the sight of her little act.
"Let's see you parry this one, you-... ACK!" W pounced forward with killing intent smeared all over her mug. Her grin quickly turned to a confused frown, as her would-be slaughter turned to nothing but an empty threat, thanks to the red-head. He caught her collar mid air and held the feral beast up, lifting her completely off the ground. She didn't even protest.
"... But you said you can barely lift your arm? What is this bullshit?" W spat while shooting angry glares at Andy, who stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry her way.
"The other arm." Hedley answered.
"Oh." W stopped wriggling around at once. Some realization glimmered in her eyes, as a frown overtook that primal joy splattered over her lips. "... Ah, fuck, right."
"Ha! Dumbass. Look at you, y-... AGH!" Andy started, but immediately stopped, as their leader's other hand locked around his own collar as well. It felt suffocating, as if someone had forcefully shoved an old rag into his mouth and poured slightly warm water all over his face. His cheeks went purple, as the merc took his sweet time in dragging them both back towards the beehive.
Shuffling aside the leaves and needles and foliage and forest litter alike, Andy scraped his back across the closed plain, before Hedley sat both him and W down in front of his great wax-find.
"Since you asked…" He began, spoken like one of those history-men who'd dwell around the halls of Laterano's biggest museums and cathedrals that Andy used to visit during their Law-guided school trips. The mere memory felt like a punch to the gut, even worse than the lingering pain left by the tough collar-dragging. "... This isn't just a beehive. It's biological warfare, the current fad. Originium infused insects."
"Bio-warfare?" W tilted her head like a curiously befuddled puppy. "... Like, what, we can't just stick to poking dirty, ori-juice filled needles into people's eyes? We gotta use war-bees now?"
"Mhm."
"Why?"
"'Cause we can't blow the merch up, were you even listening?" Andy cut in and flicked her on the nose. The girl's eyes immediately narrowed in shock at his sudden display of bravado (or stupidity), as visions of carving the boy's horns off right there, right then, clouded her mind. Both tails bristled and slithered towards one another, as if ready to start biting and wrestling to death once more, liters of heavy, creamy tension being poured all over the two. Thick enough to cut with a knife, the air dissipated into the usual autumn gale with a few flicks and waves of Hedley's gloved hand.
"... As Andy said. Can't blow up their transport, but we need to make them stop someway. That's where our bees come in." He explained, before the two could start biting one another again. "We hang them high on one of these trees, shoot the branch once the merchant's cart passess underneath. A few stings, say, a bite or two... Wouldn't even want to think about it. As much as I don't care about these people, I pity the pain they're about to go through. The crystals piercing their skin, clogging their circulatory systems in seconds... But these bees won't attack right now, stop looking at me like that." He gave the hive a gentle pat and put it in his lap, as the two morons stared with eyes wide open. "They're docile right now, that's why the hive's smoking. Filled them with whatever they use to keep them calm, I'm not so sure what it was. The Rotbloke provided us wit-..."
"The who?" W narrowed her eyes in a display of growing amusement that overtook her fear of the insects lurking within. A genuinely surprised grin crawled onto her face as a snortle slithered out.
"..." Hoederer closed his eyes and sighed. Lips curled up into the tiniest of smiles, then parted to answer. "The Rotbloke."
"The… The what?" More and more sniffly chuckles followed, as she crossed her legs and arms. "Rot… Rot BLOKE?" She turned to Andy for confirmation, only to see his terrfied expression slowly washing off, soon replaced with a smirk. Just a second later, he was giggling along with a shit-eating grin smacked over his face. "... Fucking "Rotbloke" of all things…?" He whispered to himself between muffled snickers.
"The Rotbloke, yes. Our contemporary handler." Hedley confirmed once more, his unbroken stoicism beginning to crack around the edges. All in all, even the most hardened and viciously molded-by-war of mercenaries had to admit - it was a pretty dumbass name.
"R-Rotbloke…" The girl's lips quivered, unable to contain the grin's further expansion. "Why "Rotbloke?"
"That's just what he calls himself." Hedley offered an earnest shrug, seemingly forgetting the wax-ball's existence just for now. "Victorians tend to operate on a different reality plane than us, lowly Kazdel scum."
"Victorian? Figures." She scoffed between giggles.
"Right? Rotblawk, ay?" Andy nudged her on the ribs with the tip of his elbow.
"Rotblawk? Fancy me a lil' finball wiff' som' chips, mate, ay? I mean, innit. Innit?" She nudged right back.
"Oh, don't ya say? How bout' we head out next chewsday to gather us some? Maybe a… a bo'ol 'o wa'er to go wiff all'at?"
"Would ya like som' gravey wiff' at', angel-mate?"
"An' som' baked beans, if ya got any. Ya know, luv' me baked beans, 'ate 'em dirty devils, innit mate?"
"Right? 'Ate 'em Gaulish scum, 'ate 'em Sarkaz dogs, 'ate Columbia, 'ate Kazimierz, luv me Freddie 'a third, luv me colonies, luv me steam, long live tha' king. Oh, and that "Londinium cog-grease." Luv me pint more than me wife. And me cheeky meatbeast 'n ale pie."
"... Yeah, that." Andy blinked, having NOT understood most of the words that left the girl's mouth. "... Luv gravey?"
"Luv gravey." W nodded along. 'Cause we neva look when we pour, roight? 'Cause we're the absolute…"
"... The absolute govna's!" Andy finished the sentence along with her, right before the two morons fell into a giggling fit, tails dancing around the other. Punching the ground, with snickers, chuckles and snorts pouring from their lungs and faces, they fell next to one another on the soft, leaf-covered forest floor. Their laughter soon filled this tiny, serene clearing amidst the towering wood-giants that lost needles in preparation for the upcoming harsh winters hailing down from the Great North.
Hedley simply sat with the smoke-emitting wax hive in his lap and watched the two idiots butchering the Victorian language to their hearts' content. For a strange, inexplicable reason, he felt no need to hurry them up or slap either across the horns. Not when their genuine, hatred-towards-Victorians-filled giggles rang out through the air like the sweetest of orchestras playing a little symphony just for him, a symphony that poured the most tender of warmths through the ceramic-kevlar carapace and straight into his heart. It brought certain memories, eradicated some others. Memories of late nights spent amidst birch, the monochromatic cacophonies of black and white glistening in a little campfire's soft glow. Sitting on a fallen bark or beheaded stump, with a sour, coal-haired Caprinae by his side, they'd spend their late nights simply discussing the world around and the lives they were assigned. Far away from the industrial giants of poverty-struck childhoods filled with more crime than play, he found himself strangely free, yet bound to a deeper purpose he then didn't quite yet understand. Or refused to, at least. Who would, after all? Who'd accept the title of war?
There, during those quiet moments spent in the snow, with a younger, yet equally grumpy Ines by his side, they'd remember a moment that had happened earlier that day. It could've been anything. Some dumb story they overheard on the radio, a weird squeak some Goliath scum made when she sank one of her knives into his neck, or a drunken fool being forcefully escorted out one of the many establishments they played their poker-cons at. These tiny moments, they'd bring them up right there, when staring up at the (false) sky, counting the (distorted) stars and basking in the twin (just one) moons' silent gaze, they'd get reminded of the sillier, simpler things in life. A tale of some lost tourist. The squeal of a pierced windpipe. Drunken ramblings of an addict curling up in the mud. All of it, when mentioned by the campfire late at night, managed to pierce the land's unwavering spell and break the grasp the war-torn land had on them. In those moments, they were nothing but just two people, out, enjoying their little camping trip. The one, never ending camping trip. Snickering and giggling, clutching onto the warm moment, onto the warmth of the other, heads tucked against shoulders, legs and thighs pressed closely together, they weren't mercenaries anymore. Not two sellswords with a disease rampaging through their withering bodies, but two companions finding enjoyment in the cold snowflakes falling gently onto their faces. The other's warm hands in theirs. The feeling of her fingers curling up around the palm of his hand, offering any last bits of comfort they could. The waterfall of black hair gently hugging his shoulder, enveloping in a tiny embrace of its own.
That's what he saw, when staring at the two morons bent over one another. A tiny piece of himself and her.
"..."
Nothing. Not a single word could form anywhere. Not in his mind, not in the gentle harp-strings that produced his usually raspy, yet calm voice. Given the chance, he'd sit there and watch them both for an eternity yet to come. But, alas…
"... Are you people done yet?! How long-... I mean, how long can it take to explain how an ori-hive works?! Yeah, I know they're both morons, but come on! Sun's setting and we haven't even hung the thing yet!"
There she went. The tone of voice he knew all too well.
Hedley sighed and lifted the hive off his lap. His armor plates rattled and reverberated in the air, as he reached for the two, who were now lying on the ground and breathing heavily from all the giggling and Victorian-accent-butchering, with Andy's head somehow finding its way onto the girl's tummy and spilling those curls of his all over her black shirt. Hoederer lifted them both up by the scruffs and patted down, to shake off the excess leaves and needles.
"C'mon, you two." He murmured. "Off to make us some cash."