Cerulean_Wings
First Post
It's good to be back to writing! It took me less than I expected, too, so double plus good!
This chapter is about switching a couple of wrongs into rights, more than anything, thus it's focused on character development. Don't worry, you won't get something like this for a long time again, which back to action! And by action, I mean bloodshed.
Just you wait
CHAPTER 7
Expired contract
Gilliam walked through the densely populated streets of the Merchant's district, hands inside the pockets of his black tattered leather trousers, his cloak enveloping his athletic figure in order to prevent people from spotting his weapons. The last thing he wanted was to start up some trouble with the Honor Guard. He didn't look the part of someone intent in causing any, even with his short copper-colored hair all ruffled and messy from all the days on the road, with the added factor of no baths in a long while.
“Damn House Kashtar” he mumbled, kicking a rock that was on his way as he did. The stone flew high in the air and almost hit a merchant that was walking by. Gilliam ignored the curses directed at him and continued his walk. To where, not even Gilliam himself knew.
“Damn Vincent” This time, he bumped against a horse that was standing nearby, tethered to a tree. The animal protested the assault with a whiny, but did no more to make the mercenary pay for his carelessness.
The streets of the Merchant's district were very crowded, especially in the afternoon, when everyone rushes to the stalls and shops in order to obtain goods at the last minute. It's usually the time when the best deals are done, in a rather hurried way.
“And damn that imbecile of Master Ender!” Gilliam finished saying his last curse just as a man in orange robes bumped into him, crying something along the lines of “The end is near! All people must be ready for the twilight of the land!” in a desperate tone. No one seemed to be paying attention to the man's predictions of an incoming apocalypse, however.
“Damn you cultists of the Dying Sun, too” he added, shoving the robed person out of the way. The cultist kept proclaiming that “The end is near!”, ignoring the fact that he had been violently displaced from the middle of the street against a solid brick wall.
If there was one thing he didn't like of this city, it was the abundance of maniacs like that one, combined with the fact that, for some reason, the Honor Guard refused to prosecute them, and so they were allowed to run free, spreading their prophesies of catastrophe. So far, the cult of the Dying Sun had predicted that the world would go wrong every year, since thirty years ago, when it first started.
By Gilliam's estimation, they had been wrong for thirty years, so what guarantee was there that they would ever get the date for the apocalypse right?
He shook his head in order to displace the thoughts he had about the cult, and focused his mind on what had happened two hours ago. “Why can't he see he's being used by his own House? Vincent, ever the fool, he couldn't come to terms with it, and decided to pretend everything was alright...” he said to no one in particular. He stopped talking, then, when he realized that others might see him as a madman, talking to himself as he walked by.
His attention was directed to his left, as he heard a dog bark at him from an alleyway. Gilliam decided to stay there and looked to the side, spotting a haggard-looking street dog, which barked at him once again.
“Go away” he commanded with a wave of his hand, annoyed.
The mutt didn't seem the type that was easily convinced, and it barked again at the mercenary.
“What?” Gilliam asked, spreading his arms to the sides, palms open. “You want food? I don't have any food. Go away, already!”.
Since the animal kept barking at him, now more fiercely, for whatever reason, Gilliam felt in the mood for kicking it away. He took a step forward, brought one leg back to gain momentum with it...
but he froze in that position, balancing on one foot, as he noticed that the street dog only had one eye.
“You” he mouthed, stupefied by the sudden realization of the dog's identity. Subconsciously, he dropped the leg back into its original position as he stared at the one-eyed dog.
The animal barked for one last time before turning tail and trotting deep into the alleyway. He wasn't sure why, but Gilliam felt compelled to follow it, as much as he wanted nothing to do with the dog.
They moved through the darkened narrow streets for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the dog stopped at a fork, looking to the sides, as if to check for anyone else spying on them. Satisfied that the place was devoid of other people, the dog barked happily and started to glow with an orange aura, which covered its body completely. The glowing form shape shifted, and within seconds it had obtained the silhouette of a humanoid.
“Kahleen, why did you make me follow you to this alleyway?”.
The shaman's face was inscrutable, as always. Her hands were folded in front of her, by her waist. “Why, to talk to you in private, Gilliam”.
The mercenary raked a hand through his messy hair, then sighed. “About, what? The whole fiasco with House Kasthar, the House of 'Nobility'?” he asked, pronouncing the word 'nobility' with great sarcasm.
“Indeed. It seems like you feel like your task as a bodyguard is over” she replied, unmolested by Gilliam's tone. “but Master Ender still needs your services, to look over Vincent”.
“Oh, does he?” the mercenary spun around slowly, arms extended horizontally. “That's too bad, for my contract is over. It's done, since no contract, no money, and no money...”.
“You did this for the money, then?” Kahleen inquired, sounding honestly confused.
Gilliam stopped spinning around senselessly and faced the shaman squarely. “I most certainly didn't do it for money, witch” his features clearly expressed his sentiments: anger.
“What's impeding you from helping Vincent with his next assignment, then?” the shaman prodded, again ignoring the mercenary's increasingly violent tone and use of words.
“Maybe it's because I don't like the idea of being used as a puppet by high ranking folk, or perhaps it has to do with House Kashtar deceiving me about a task that could've very well cost me my life”.
This didn't look like an impediment for Kahleen to keep trying to convince Gilliam. She remained there, standing on the dirty alleyway, bare feet and all, her face a mask of serenity. “Does it bother you that a general commands his soldiers to fight wars for him?”.
“What?” Gilliam practically spat, taken by surprise by the change of subject.
“Answer the question”.
Gilliam didn't know where she was going with this, but decided to play along. “No, it doesn't”.
Kahleen raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”.
“It's what generals and soldiers are supposed to-” he was about to explain, but he held himself back upon realizing what the shaman was trying to do.
“Very clever, lady, very cunning of you” he appraised with a smile, pointing at her with a finger. The smile evaporated quickly, though, as he said the next sentence. “Different scenario! The general doesn't deceive his troops of what they need to do or why; that's the underlying difference between House Kashtar and your example”.
Nodding, the shaman responded “You are right in that: both you and the squire have been tricked about the true purpose of the mission you performed”. She moved some of her brown hair to the side of her face, so that her one eye could see and the scar would be covered. “But the true task, forcing the predators out of the shadows, couldn't have been accomplished without the deceit in it”.
“Aah, so now the end justifies the means?” Gilliam pointed out accusingly. “I was expecting more from you, Kahleen” he added, disgusted.
“You make it sound like it's an intrinsically bad thing,” she retorted without missing a beat “and that you don't act that way”.
“Of course I don't!” he yelled, outraged. “My goals never justify whatever atrocities I commit to fulfill them!”.
Kahleen merely glanced at the mercenary's waist, where his belt held his twin swords in their respective scabbards, along with ten sharpened knives. “What about your weapons, then?”.
“I use them to protect myself and my clients. What about them?”.
“Tell me, Gilliam, what is your goal?” Kahleen inquired, apparently changing subjects once again, without warning.
Gilliam was taken aback by the question and had to spend a couple of seconds mustering a coherent response to it. “A world of peace” he responded at length. “That's my goal in this short life of mine”.
The shaman nodded. “And how will you reach this goal of yours, child?”.
Since he felt compelled, once again, to play along with the shaman's mind game, the mercenary sighed and responded “By maintaining the peace through my own efforts, that's how” he explained dryly.
“Would you be willing to hurt those who disrupt the peace?”.
“Yes” came the automatic response from Gilliam, and it was then that he realized how he had fell for the hermit's trick.
“I stand by my previous assessment of you, shaman” he admitted, smiling once again. “You're cunning”.
Kahleen smiled, or so it seemed to Gilliam, for it lasted less than a second, and the wizened woman walked slowly towards him. When she was up close to him, with barely an inch or two separating their bodies, Kahleen placed a hand on Gilliam's shoulder and looked at him in the eyes in a disconcerting manner. Her words came out as if originated from a rushing river, soothing, and yet powerful.
“You have now seen, Gilliam, how your own views match with what you denounce as immoral to others. Your own morality allows for actions that go against your goals, as long as they further them in the end. Yet you accuse others of doing the same”.
For the life of him, Gilliam couldn't avert his gaze from the hermit's one gray eye, nor could he shut his ears from the words that emerged from her mouth, like an unstoppable torrent intent in drowning him.
“Why? Why can't you see that everyone must make hard decisions at one point in life? You're not the only one that had moral dilemmas, nor will you be the last one. If you kill warmongers in the name of peace, why can't House Kashtar deceive its members in the name of honor, nobility, and many other virtues?”.
“It seems to me, Gilliam, that you have declared yourself judge of this land, its people, its inhabitants, after having to deal with a crushingly difficult moment of your existence”.
The mercenary swallowed hard, but he still couldn't as much as blink his eyes in response to Kahleen's words. He felt like his inner most thoughts had been torn inside-out and were now being examined by a divine entity.
“But the decision of remaining a judge, or stepping down and living like a mortal being, with your life, its complications, intricacies, and difficult choices, is yours”.
She didn't snap her fingers, but all of a sudden Gilliam felt like he could move (and think) once again. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was about to collapse from the shaman's speech. Unsteadily, he backed away from the woman and crashed his back against a nearby wall, using it as a support.
“I will go now, back to Valor's Banner. I shall retrieve my equipment and go after Vincent, who is probably being briefed on his next assignment, as we speak”.
With that, the hermit turned her back and began to walk towards one of the alleyways, the one that lead back to the keep the fastest.
“Equipment?” was all that Gilliam was able to mumble. Since when did hermits have material possessions?
Kahleen didn't look over to give her last words to the perplexed man.
“The choice is yours, Gilliam”.
He was left in silence, listening to the shaman's barely audible footsteps as she left the area.
This chapter is about switching a couple of wrongs into rights, more than anything, thus it's focused on character development. Don't worry, you won't get something like this for a long time again, which back to action! And by action, I mean bloodshed.
Just you wait
![Devious :] :]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png)
CHAPTER 7
Expired contract
Gilliam walked through the densely populated streets of the Merchant's district, hands inside the pockets of his black tattered leather trousers, his cloak enveloping his athletic figure in order to prevent people from spotting his weapons. The last thing he wanted was to start up some trouble with the Honor Guard. He didn't look the part of someone intent in causing any, even with his short copper-colored hair all ruffled and messy from all the days on the road, with the added factor of no baths in a long while.
“Damn House Kashtar” he mumbled, kicking a rock that was on his way as he did. The stone flew high in the air and almost hit a merchant that was walking by. Gilliam ignored the curses directed at him and continued his walk. To where, not even Gilliam himself knew.
“Damn Vincent” This time, he bumped against a horse that was standing nearby, tethered to a tree. The animal protested the assault with a whiny, but did no more to make the mercenary pay for his carelessness.
The streets of the Merchant's district were very crowded, especially in the afternoon, when everyone rushes to the stalls and shops in order to obtain goods at the last minute. It's usually the time when the best deals are done, in a rather hurried way.
“And damn that imbecile of Master Ender!” Gilliam finished saying his last curse just as a man in orange robes bumped into him, crying something along the lines of “The end is near! All people must be ready for the twilight of the land!” in a desperate tone. No one seemed to be paying attention to the man's predictions of an incoming apocalypse, however.
“Damn you cultists of the Dying Sun, too” he added, shoving the robed person out of the way. The cultist kept proclaiming that “The end is near!”, ignoring the fact that he had been violently displaced from the middle of the street against a solid brick wall.
If there was one thing he didn't like of this city, it was the abundance of maniacs like that one, combined with the fact that, for some reason, the Honor Guard refused to prosecute them, and so they were allowed to run free, spreading their prophesies of catastrophe. So far, the cult of the Dying Sun had predicted that the world would go wrong every year, since thirty years ago, when it first started.
By Gilliam's estimation, they had been wrong for thirty years, so what guarantee was there that they would ever get the date for the apocalypse right?
He shook his head in order to displace the thoughts he had about the cult, and focused his mind on what had happened two hours ago. “Why can't he see he's being used by his own House? Vincent, ever the fool, he couldn't come to terms with it, and decided to pretend everything was alright...” he said to no one in particular. He stopped talking, then, when he realized that others might see him as a madman, talking to himself as he walked by.
His attention was directed to his left, as he heard a dog bark at him from an alleyway. Gilliam decided to stay there and looked to the side, spotting a haggard-looking street dog, which barked at him once again.
“Go away” he commanded with a wave of his hand, annoyed.
The mutt didn't seem the type that was easily convinced, and it barked again at the mercenary.
“What?” Gilliam asked, spreading his arms to the sides, palms open. “You want food? I don't have any food. Go away, already!”.
Since the animal kept barking at him, now more fiercely, for whatever reason, Gilliam felt in the mood for kicking it away. He took a step forward, brought one leg back to gain momentum with it...
but he froze in that position, balancing on one foot, as he noticed that the street dog only had one eye.
“You” he mouthed, stupefied by the sudden realization of the dog's identity. Subconsciously, he dropped the leg back into its original position as he stared at the one-eyed dog.
The animal barked for one last time before turning tail and trotting deep into the alleyway. He wasn't sure why, but Gilliam felt compelled to follow it, as much as he wanted nothing to do with the dog.
They moved through the darkened narrow streets for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, the dog stopped at a fork, looking to the sides, as if to check for anyone else spying on them. Satisfied that the place was devoid of other people, the dog barked happily and started to glow with an orange aura, which covered its body completely. The glowing form shape shifted, and within seconds it had obtained the silhouette of a humanoid.
“Kahleen, why did you make me follow you to this alleyway?”.
The shaman's face was inscrutable, as always. Her hands were folded in front of her, by her waist. “Why, to talk to you in private, Gilliam”.
The mercenary raked a hand through his messy hair, then sighed. “About, what? The whole fiasco with House Kasthar, the House of 'Nobility'?” he asked, pronouncing the word 'nobility' with great sarcasm.
“Indeed. It seems like you feel like your task as a bodyguard is over” she replied, unmolested by Gilliam's tone. “but Master Ender still needs your services, to look over Vincent”.
“Oh, does he?” the mercenary spun around slowly, arms extended horizontally. “That's too bad, for my contract is over. It's done, since no contract, no money, and no money...”.
“You did this for the money, then?” Kahleen inquired, sounding honestly confused.
Gilliam stopped spinning around senselessly and faced the shaman squarely. “I most certainly didn't do it for money, witch” his features clearly expressed his sentiments: anger.
“What's impeding you from helping Vincent with his next assignment, then?” the shaman prodded, again ignoring the mercenary's increasingly violent tone and use of words.
“Maybe it's because I don't like the idea of being used as a puppet by high ranking folk, or perhaps it has to do with House Kashtar deceiving me about a task that could've very well cost me my life”.
This didn't look like an impediment for Kahleen to keep trying to convince Gilliam. She remained there, standing on the dirty alleyway, bare feet and all, her face a mask of serenity. “Does it bother you that a general commands his soldiers to fight wars for him?”.
“What?” Gilliam practically spat, taken by surprise by the change of subject.
“Answer the question”.
Gilliam didn't know where she was going with this, but decided to play along. “No, it doesn't”.
Kahleen raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”.
“It's what generals and soldiers are supposed to-” he was about to explain, but he held himself back upon realizing what the shaman was trying to do.
“Very clever, lady, very cunning of you” he appraised with a smile, pointing at her with a finger. The smile evaporated quickly, though, as he said the next sentence. “Different scenario! The general doesn't deceive his troops of what they need to do or why; that's the underlying difference between House Kashtar and your example”.
Nodding, the shaman responded “You are right in that: both you and the squire have been tricked about the true purpose of the mission you performed”. She moved some of her brown hair to the side of her face, so that her one eye could see and the scar would be covered. “But the true task, forcing the predators out of the shadows, couldn't have been accomplished without the deceit in it”.
“Aah, so now the end justifies the means?” Gilliam pointed out accusingly. “I was expecting more from you, Kahleen” he added, disgusted.
“You make it sound like it's an intrinsically bad thing,” she retorted without missing a beat “and that you don't act that way”.
“Of course I don't!” he yelled, outraged. “My goals never justify whatever atrocities I commit to fulfill them!”.
Kahleen merely glanced at the mercenary's waist, where his belt held his twin swords in their respective scabbards, along with ten sharpened knives. “What about your weapons, then?”.
“I use them to protect myself and my clients. What about them?”.
“Tell me, Gilliam, what is your goal?” Kahleen inquired, apparently changing subjects once again, without warning.
Gilliam was taken aback by the question and had to spend a couple of seconds mustering a coherent response to it. “A world of peace” he responded at length. “That's my goal in this short life of mine”.
The shaman nodded. “And how will you reach this goal of yours, child?”.
Since he felt compelled, once again, to play along with the shaman's mind game, the mercenary sighed and responded “By maintaining the peace through my own efforts, that's how” he explained dryly.
“Would you be willing to hurt those who disrupt the peace?”.
“Yes” came the automatic response from Gilliam, and it was then that he realized how he had fell for the hermit's trick.
“I stand by my previous assessment of you, shaman” he admitted, smiling once again. “You're cunning”.
Kahleen smiled, or so it seemed to Gilliam, for it lasted less than a second, and the wizened woman walked slowly towards him. When she was up close to him, with barely an inch or two separating their bodies, Kahleen placed a hand on Gilliam's shoulder and looked at him in the eyes in a disconcerting manner. Her words came out as if originated from a rushing river, soothing, and yet powerful.
“You have now seen, Gilliam, how your own views match with what you denounce as immoral to others. Your own morality allows for actions that go against your goals, as long as they further them in the end. Yet you accuse others of doing the same”.
For the life of him, Gilliam couldn't avert his gaze from the hermit's one gray eye, nor could he shut his ears from the words that emerged from her mouth, like an unstoppable torrent intent in drowning him.
“Why? Why can't you see that everyone must make hard decisions at one point in life? You're not the only one that had moral dilemmas, nor will you be the last one. If you kill warmongers in the name of peace, why can't House Kashtar deceive its members in the name of honor, nobility, and many other virtues?”.
“It seems to me, Gilliam, that you have declared yourself judge of this land, its people, its inhabitants, after having to deal with a crushingly difficult moment of your existence”.
The mercenary swallowed hard, but he still couldn't as much as blink his eyes in response to Kahleen's words. He felt like his inner most thoughts had been torn inside-out and were now being examined by a divine entity.
“But the decision of remaining a judge, or stepping down and living like a mortal being, with your life, its complications, intricacies, and difficult choices, is yours”.
She didn't snap her fingers, but all of a sudden Gilliam felt like he could move (and think) once again. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he was about to collapse from the shaman's speech. Unsteadily, he backed away from the woman and crashed his back against a nearby wall, using it as a support.
“I will go now, back to Valor's Banner. I shall retrieve my equipment and go after Vincent, who is probably being briefed on his next assignment, as we speak”.
With that, the hermit turned her back and began to walk towards one of the alleyways, the one that lead back to the keep the fastest.
“Equipment?” was all that Gilliam was able to mumble. Since when did hermits have material possessions?
Kahleen didn't look over to give her last words to the perplexed man.
“The choice is yours, Gilliam”.
He was left in silence, listening to the shaman's barely audible footsteps as she left the area.
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