Fate weaver’s convergence

 

Road to Krakow, day 4

For real? That had to be the first thing to arouse me?! Fuck! Stop thinking about it!

 

I looked to the sky, pleading to Solah or to reality in general, that of all things, I hadn't been given a penchant for being choked.

 

Gods and I broke Vaughn's rib. Damnit, I still feel bad about that.

 

While it was a temporary wound and accidental, being the cause for his pain, however short-lived, still left a sour taste in my mouth.

 

“You good? Your face is flushed.”

 

“Ah-”

 

Vaughn startled me, and Beryl followed suit as she leaned past him. She smiled smugly in maintained silence. Her expression made me feel strange like she was trying to say, ‘I know.’ I cleared my throat, throwing my chin upward in feigned pride.

 

“I was just– the feeling lingered. I had a nightmare about it.”

 

I did, though it was partially a lie. I dreamt about it, though to my chagrin, it was no nightmare. Thankfully, we'd killed two more adolescent hang-man trees, renewing my crumbled self-respect. Vaughn and Beryl looked at each other, shrugging as they did.

 

That's three marks, fifty each. It's day four, and we've at least made back our money in supplies. 

 

I looked at the features along the road, falling off to the side to stop for a moment. Our second and third kills came on day three, giving us steady progress. Beryl seemed more proud of herself, being pushed to the vanguard of our team for the sole purpose of burning any suspicious trees out with lightning and mitigating a repeat of my and Vaughn's adventure. As it turned out, that fluid that coated Vaughn and myself was rather flammable when electricity was applied, making our job particularly easy. Either the tree smoked, or its foliage would violently explode. 

 

Simple enough, but Hangman trees aren't our only kill we need to take marks for.

 

I looked over the descriptor for wolf-in-sheep's-clothing. 

 

Common warning signs are small animals situated in open areas. Silent, ill-equipped, injured, yet moving people. The most blatant and dangerous to look out for, though, are instances that take to self-locomotion. While rare, be very cautious, avoid and report to guild services for B class assignment, and if cornered, utilize fire liberally.

 

I rubbed one of my horns as I contemplated the final sentence. 

 

The fuck is that supposed to mean? These things are supposed to look like a stump, right?

 

“For the most part, I think we're going to struggle to fill that one.”

 

Beryl shook her head, coiling next to me. Leaning in over my shoulder, she looked at the descriptor with me.

 

“It's one thing to take on run-of-the-mill fauna. This though?”

 

She raised a brow to Vaughn, who'd come to stand in front of us.

 

“Can you really imagine fighting something that's puppeted? Can't very well disable the decoy since it's already dead.”

 

Vaughn shook his head. 

 

“Not unless we can cut off its reach. That is always easier said than done to assume a monster that's evolved for ambush would slip into such a thing. I know I wouldn't want to fall into it.”

 

His words were deliberate, his thoughts as our defensive line gleaming through. He scratched his neck awkwardly, possibly remembering the trap he and I’d been caught in days earlier. 

 

Understanding the fact that we did slip up is a step ahead of where I was at your age. You're maturing pretty well.

 

Beryl looked down at Wyrmstooth.

 

“Figure you're up to bat again while we go for the kill?”

 

I nodded.

 

“I can play decoy, no problem. The issue still stands that we haven't really had an opportunity to see one yet. This may prove tougher than the hangman-trees to find.”

 

Vaughn tilted his head a moment in doubt.

 

“We’ve found less, and we’d be a herd of asses if we didn't try… Better still not to have one land on me again, though… for better or worse.”

 

Vaughn’s voice trailed off faintly as if he hadn't meant for me to hear his complaint. 

 

 I take back what I said about maturity.

 

“Alright, so this is how we’ll form up when we confirm a target–”

We went over our positions for our first encounter, doing our best to ensure we didn't lead ourselves into any surprises like our second day. I would take up vanguard in Vaughn’s place. With Wyrmstooth at full mana load, I’d be able to make quick work of any decoy. Beryl would take the side flank, providing the killing blow as usual. Her strength as the team's spell sniper would allow us some freedom of movement in this instance, considering we didn't need to worry about immediate rescue as much as the trees. 

 

---

 

 

Road to Krakow, day 6

“You see it too?”

 

Beryl asked, passing me a crude spyglass we’d acquired for spotting. It was day six, still five days from Krakow. Several marks were taken now, all hangman trees, the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing, and a viper vine more elusive than we’d care to admit. I looked over a field, its elevation dropping as it led to the bank of a river. Its waters were dark, white foam billowing at specific points where the current rushed over rocks underneath its surface. The sound was clear from here, rushing water, serene to one who loves nature. It was the white noise that came from no disturbance of man or beast. It was simply a result of natural occurrence and law. What occupied our thoughts, however, was not this river. It was uphill, closer to the road, closer to us. 

 

I nodded. 

 

There’s no way someone managed this far on their own. Not with that rubble torn clean through; it’s as if a skulker tripped through it. The same signs as before surround it. It’s a good thing the plants don't seem to have a thought of such things. 

 

Vaughn nudged my side.

 

“There’s no way it could be that obvious, right?”

 

He seemed insulted, doubting such a sight yet agreeing with mine and Beryl’s observation. What we all gazed upon was a goat situated on a stump. Grass grew along the knots of wood and through cracks within its surface. It was fifty yards or so away, making no noise nor turning its head to acknowledge our presence. What was the more disturbing sign, however, was the very close proximity it kept to the ruins of what once had been a rickety little shack. In front was a body, slumped and bloated, the smell of rot reaching our noses on the breeze. It was half eaten, some poor hermit that thought secluding himself so far from a town was somehow advisable.

 

my first time seeing death here, in my own living memory. It's… heavier than I expected.

 

As I observed, a series of conflicting emotions flowed through my mind. For some reason, I felt anger, knowing nothing could be done for the man. I could not tell whether I wanted to resent him for his death, or myself for us not being able to prevent his fate.

 

Learning what I have, could it have just been someone from back west? Things are supposed to be much safer. 

 

I curled my nose, passing the spyglass to Vaughn, who seemed to have a similar reaction on the surface. 

 

“We’ll have to collect some kind of effect from the poor sod before moving on. Regardless of the monster or not.”

 

I took the opportunity to kneel and drop my pack, taking any loose pouches off of my sword belt and unsheathing Wyrmstooth. It was a rare opportunity to be able to drop equipment in such a place and not have to worry about backtracking. I used this time to pull a gold coin from my purse. 

 

“You say that like you're volunteering to.”

 

Beryl joked, clearly nervous about the idea herself. 

 

“Snrrk.”

 

I covered my mouth as I snickered.

 

“Hell no, we’re flipping for that one.”

 

I tossed the coin into the air, catching it in my palm. Looking at Vaughn, he looked at the coin in my palm before shrugging.

 

“Heads or tails?”

 

“Heads.”

 

“Tails it is.”

 

We each picked our side of the coin. Flipping it, the sound of ringing metal filled our ears while we watched it fall. I caught the coin, flipping it to the back of my opposite wrist. 

 

“My loss.”

 

I sighed, dropping my shoulders. I held the coin to myself, motioning for Beryl to take the coin. Looking up at her face, it seemed dark with horror. 

 

“But it’s gross.”

 

She looked at my face, then back at the coin. I nodded, taking her disgust into account.

 

“Aye, but better this than either of us telling the other to do it. We’ll each take experience with it too, whoever escapes will be on the betting pool for next time.”

 

I nudged Vaughn’s leg. 

 

“Whoever wins this one, you’ll have to flip coins with the next time. Whoever wins that? They are automatically up for recovery after that. Does that sound fair?”

 

I asked, looking between them. Vaughn nodded readily while Beryl did so with a heavy sigh.

 

“I’m the oldest… to be fair in that regard; I should automatically offer to do it. I’ll take the bet.”

 

Beryl took the coin begrudgingly, ready to flip it. With little warning, she tossed it upward. 

 

“That-being-said-tails.”

 

Beryl hurried to make her choice, giving me little time for me to react and pick my face of the coin. 

 

“That was dirty.”

 

I said, scowling. Though, I could hardly blame her. I was hardened to this kind of thing, or at least I’d assumed I was. In Vaughn’s case, it was difficult to read him, but he seemed no worse for wear. I stood, stretching my back with Wyrmstooth in hand. 

 

“So Ber-ber, whose up?”

 

I asked, waiting in silence for a moment. 

 

“Beryl?”

 

I asked, looking at the Lamia. At some point, she’d slumped backward and lay back into the road. She looked all the part of roadkill, only the cartoonish foam from the mouth absent. 

 

“But it's so gross.”

 

The snake groaned, rolling her coils over and standing. 

 

“Hmph.”

 

She brushed her robe clean of dirt, puffing her cheeks like she was still twelve and we’d just met. I rolled my eyes with a smile. 

 

“It’s fiiine.”

 

I nudged her shoulder, motioning between me and Vaughn.

 

“Next time, it’ll just be us.”

 

Beryl nodded, untying her robe abruptly. 

 

“Wait, what-”

 

She looked at me, confused for a moment before realizing it. 

 

“Ah… not right now?”

 

I slapped my forehead, looking away from her. I was strangely unaccustomed to seeing her with anything but the robe, a crop top, and a tightly bound skirt following her bodily transition like a sleeve. She prodded my side while Vaugng did the same, dropping his excess gear and debating his taking off his own gambison.

 

“Are you really gonna react like that? I'm shedding layers cause it's hot–”

 

Beryl held out a hand, waving at the goat.

 

“Lest we not forget, we don't really have to wrestle the decoy. Miss ‘I wear a bodysuit and pants because it's ‘functional.’”

 

But it is, it's comfy too–

 

Beryl leaned in as she slithered past. 

 

“By the way, I’m still bigger.”

 

Her voice seemed to have a spiteful tone, forcing me to slump my arms. For as much Beryl spoke about the responsibility of age, she did little to reflect it.

 

Damnit, I should've just offered to pilfer the son of a bitch’s body myself. 

 

I grumbled mentally, looking to Vaughn for his typical reassuring shrug of ‘Oh well.’ Only to receive a veritable brick of a reaction slapped against my head. 

 

“Gods, they’re fighting about their chest size again.”

 

“Are not!”

I protested defensively, more so than I probably should’ve. 

 

That's a soft spot, man, it's not like I want these things anyway. Here I am, playing damage control in Kiyomi’s place… maybe I could eat a bit more… Am I really that small?

 

I looked down, the same pang of insecurity welling for a moment before fading. I groaned. 

 

“Whatever, just get in place.”

 

I said, dropping my own gambison.

 

To be fair, it is also pretty warm right now. I think I’ve soaked my own top through with sweat. Gross.

---

Thirty minutes passed as we took our places, surrounding the goat-crowned stump in a perfect triangle. We were each in view of each other, Beryl and Vaughn stationed on each far end of the clearing that led down to the river. I started on the road, taking the lead on the engagement to draw its attention.

 

“I’m up for bait this time, though I struggle to really see this one causing much of a problem.”

 

I spoke to myself, walking down to the goat. I held Wymstooth to the side, ready to sweep it in front of me at the soonest sign of danger. I let loose mana, a large enough trickle flowing into the blade that, given the chance, I could turn it into a flood. The blade would serve as a reckoning threat, forcing the monster to focus entirely on me and discount the other two. I eyed the goat, waiting for any signs of movement deviating from the creature's behavior. 

 

Is she in place?

 

Beryl motioned that she was ready, a small yet recognizable bolt of electricity held within her hands. Arc-bow, her signature spell, thanks to the habits instilled by my mother. It was brow-raising to watch in the open, as she opted over the four short years she learned the magic to use her tail as a sort of ‘rail.’ The coils suspended themselves and shuddered as she held the spring-like position with its opening centered on the stump. It acted like a sort of amplifier, and with Vaughn's magic tearing the stump from the ground, it should have no ability to ground itself. I was glad that Callum and Findlay suggested making a focus for her, considering it would eliminate the necessity of this habit. 

 

Vaughn?

 

I looked at the boy, his body held low to the ground as he waited to move. Vaughn’s earth magic worked better with rock present, the lessons of the hangman tree fresh in memory. He’d opted for a running start, using his momentum to give additional power to the strike that would tear the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing from the soil. As this was our first encounter, we wanted to refrain from making similar mistakes. His sword was at the ready, glowing a faint yellow that denoted his Piercing Thrust was readied.