Talas Marsak - Storm Clouds

[Pommel]

((a second arc of writing about this character, in a different style to the previous arc found here. Please be patient, its experimental!

For the avoidance of doubt, this is very much inside Talas' head. The information is thus almost entirely OOC.))

[Pommel]

16 Uktar 1352

So he'd fought the Sembians.

De'Cardi's gold, they got it. Stole it, except its a war. A bunch of his soldiers dead. Golems wrecked. And those freaking pigs. Those freaking pigs. He'll feel it.

Olore, you fiend-licking bastard. Nice to meet ya.

Aching. Sore. Stabbed, crushed, shot and burned, he'd stayed on his feet. Thanks to the damned old man. That one had earned a drink, even despite the rest that happened.

Say what you want about the Blade, and he would, when it came to it, but the halfling did his job. Dangerous little git he is. Glad he's pointed at De'Cardi for now.

Wendy was a surprise. She's coming on. Maybe she'll work out what she cares about soon. Maybe not.

And that pissing ambassador. Blasting her allies along with the Sembians. What the hell? What the hell. He didn't expect it. Bloody disappointed.

And in himself. He'd have let that kid walk off. Kept his word and promise, because he'd given it. Because he wanted De'Cardi's head.

Bloody disappointed.

It was Herran and Vala that had seen what was up. That there was more to the boy. Bleeding hearts, the pair of them. And that's what helped them see.

He's just a swordsman, with a tongue as sharp as his blade and a heart of salt. A storm's fury, lashing any coming near.

No.

That wasn't true anymore. The blade got sharper, maybe the tongue tamed. Some sort of damn gift, the peal of Three Thunders. Lightning in his hand, if he kept his head straight. Anger cold not hot now.

An Avenger.

Dammit. Do better.

Best to remember that.

Best to remember why he's doing all this, now.

He's meant to put down people like De'Cardi. Thats his job. Thats why he heard the Thunder. But its for people like that poor kid.

If it had to happen so he'd do better, he'd kick down his walls, talk. She'd told him to.

And she'd damn well earned his trust.

[Pommel]

18 Uktar 1352

It's cold in the mornings this time of year, cold as they call it here on the Chionthar, at least. He'd not noticed it much. It would barely be mentioned in Mulmaster. The cold there was like steel sliding between the ribs.

Hazard of life, there, if you weren't careful. He'd always been careful, right until he hadn't been.

Dammit. Not now.

He'd thought about his wife as he'd walked down the slope towards the new arena, trying to beat the first rays of dawn there. She'd hated the mornings. Hid under the covers so only red hair was poking out, splayed on the pillow. Always crooned at him to come back to bed then complained about him not bringing her breakfast. That brought a smile to his face, remembering that. Bloody woman.

Dammit, he missed her.

It had been a long while since mornings had meant anything more than the blade. Had to train hard, when he was fresh. Had to remember what he'd lost as the first thing. Had to build up those callouses on his hands to be as rough as hers were, when she'd held this sabre.

It had glinted in his hand as the sun rose. Like it did every morning.

Just as well the air didn't scream when he cut it, it'd be a massacre. He liked the silence.

Not this morning, though.

"I thought I was losing the plot. I thought I'd wanted to betray our past for a pretty face. A daft one."

He'd talked to the thin air. Stupid. Needed. Maybe he was daft.

"I was wrong, I didn't, and she isn't daft. It was something to stand for I chased. I found it too."

Talked like he used to, before messing with mercenaries, and sailing with sailors. Before every pissing word from every deluded prick had felt like hot air, including his own.

"I remember you used to joke about what I could do instead of loving you. I think you never guessed I'd do this. I think you'd like it, once you stopped laughing."

He'd kept cutting the air. The world's a turd, after all. The air's probably no damn different.

"That's not why I'm here."

He'd stopped hacking at ghosts then, bastards that they all were. These words were more difficult. If he was going to prattle on like a lunatic, may as well say what he meant, properly. Right?

Made a bloody meal of it, Marsak.

"This is different. It's not like you and me."

It was different. He wouldn't even think of it otherwise.

He still didn't know what it actually was though. Crap. That's something for later, too.

"I won't ever forget you. I won't ever forget our boy. And I'm going to do what's right."

Never would. Never will. Meant it. Means it. Living it.

"Nothing like you."

Had to repeat it. It's a key point.

Seems the air had to get cut apart a bit more then. Hack hack hack. Then he'd stopped.

Grunted more words at the empty air.

Damned lunatic.

Needed.

"But it's something important."

Even though he could hardly name a single thing to the Guide. Lucky that woman was so clever.

"Hands are soft, not like your leather palms."

Right charmer, these days. Bloody hell.

No. It wouldn't have been real if he hadn't taken the piss out of her a bit.

"Might be strange. You'd like the blunt truth though. Never stops, much worse than you for that."

And he'd smirked. "If you could understand it. It's a challenge sometimes."

He'd thought it best to be truthful as well.

"That's it. I wanted it said. The past's still in me."

He'd pulled out that daft amulet. Pissing paladin, what sort of thing had that been to give him? What did she think he was?

Maybe she was right to, though. Only a little bit.

"I meant every word. I'd say them to you again, but I can't. All I've got is the memory, and what I need to do for the boy. And the life you gave me. I'm not going to waste it."

Because that'd be what a prick would do. An ungrateful, selfish prick who cared about no one.

And he'd moved on. To a dutiful idiot who might actually care.

Hated admitting it. But he was gonna.

[Pommel]

26 Uktar 1352

Late night. He'd had a couple of whiskeys. Enough to warm the belly but not too much. He wouldn't get like that again.

Damn near missed the chance to learn about that Pox bastard, didn't he, for being drunk. Damn near failed. He'd only been drunk because he'd broken his leg falling down those stairs.

And why'd he fallen down those stairs? Because he hadn't got his head straight. Let soft crap get in the way. That's the mistake. Blades are hard and sharp.

Right?

The last drink was in his hand. Going down well, too. The fire was dying down, still warm. Might not be lively, but the Blade and Stars isn't a bad place. Cozy.

A few minutes before bed.

...Aye...

The alimarifa talks like life's nothing without feeling. She believes it. She called Pox an animal, and he felt nothing for others. She was damn right to call him that.

Bastard died too quick. Bastard. That poor woman. Still, it's done. All his victims, their shades will know he was held to account.

He sat back, satisfied. Mostly.

A bit.

What feeling does a blade have? It's just a tool. What's a storm feeling? Angry, maybe. He shook his head. That's not what she meant.

The whiskey was good. He enjoyed it in silence.

Wren got a shock, seeing that amulet he wore. That'd be a secret to keep in Mulmaster. Still, she had to know he meant what he said, and that he took seriously what she said. Complicated as it was. Damn complicated.

His hand moved to his blade. Goes to show, the whole world's bloody complicated. A blade's not. He didn't reckon he could just cut bits off every time until it all fit neatly.

He smirked, watching the glowing embers. Wished he could, though. He reckoned he and Ashan were alike in that.

He sipped the whiskey.

Still. That wasn't the life he or Ashan chose. Of course, a man could change his mind.

His finger moved on the rim of the glass, a frown spreading on his brow. Whatever happens, best neither of them did, however hard it was. There's too many pricks in the world already.

Then the last of the whiskey was gone and he stood, leaving the glass on the bar. Nodded to the barman, started for the stairs.

He'd pressed hard for answers when they'd all come back from visiting that shaman's hut. Aye, his anger was cold now, but that could make him cold. No more deaths. That's all he'd been thinking.

He frowned as he reached the top. There wasn't an easy answer. People would die attacking her, too. Maybe more. Maybe less.

Dammit. Can't just cut things off. Dammit.

Just let them think, for now. Don't rush it.

He slipped into the room, tiptoeing in the darkness. He wasn't a small man, it wasn't easy.

A floorboard creaked under his foot.

Dammit

Something stirred on the bed. He heard a feminine sigh. He was very still. But then silence returned; a false alarm.

At least have some pissing feeling now and keep quiet, you prick. She needs rest.

Pulling off his boots in utter silence was a mission. It took his mind off of it all.

He smiled in the gloom.

Sneaking into my own damn room.

He never seemed to predict the next challenge he'd meet. Life was funny like that, you never knew what was coming.

It's how you handled it that you chose.

[Pommel]

11 Nightal 1352

The water was still hot, but the sweat and dirt he'd scrubbed from his body had turned it dark. And the blood, don't forget the blood. A lot of it his, a lot of it not.

Did he feel heavy, she'd asked. Meaning did he think about all those who he'd killed. No, he'd said. Not how she meant. Them under De'Cardi's banner had made their choice, and when it came to it, better they suffer what they'd meant to do to others. Simple as that.

Thought she'd take that worse. But she knows a storm's not just thunder, but lightning. Thats what he is for Hoar, he reckoned. A blade, to be used on them who deserve it. That's the part of him for the Doombringer.

Rest of him that's still his own is free to give. And he'd said he'd give it.

Bit hasty. Still hadn't heard about the boy.

He settled back into the water. Still warm, still hot. Closed his eyes. Gods, it felt good, his muscles ached so much. Everything ached.

Learned something today. Stand in front of dwarves and you die. Stand beside them, and you win. Tough bastards, the lot of them.

They're good with letters though. Deeds are better. Best get on that.

...Hasty. She'd understand. Right? Right...

The water lapped at his chin. It was hot, aye, but bitter and foul. He didn't care right now.

Reckoned part of him belonged down there, stinking of the effluent of that sewer in Calaunt.

Muck washes off, aye? Its not that easy, but you've got to make a start.

Ashan had. He'd come out of a bad place, but look at him now. Got a lot in common, him and Ashan. Both would struggle to win an orcish beauty contest, for one. He smirked.

Aye, Ashan had come out of a bad place. Nearly slipped back there, too. But no man left behind.

That's it, isn't it. No man left behind. Doesn't just mean on the battlefield. He knew what Ashan was. Had to remind him. So did Derik.

And the genasi saw it himself, didn't he, when he stood against De'Cardi's golem. And put it down. Bloody relentless.

He slid deeper, tasting the water. Bitter. It was getting cold.

Found purpose, that's right. Will do what was promised. Hold the line, strike like lightning. Cold anger. Not be a bastard.

Reckon it was luck that the coin had been tossed and landed how it did, smiling face up.

Or was it them who'd given a helping hand? Ashan, Luke, Adelaide, Fingal. Sunniva.

He gripped the sides of the bath and sat up, his pale skin shining in the dim light. Some of the scumwater splashed over the side.

Dammit.

He knew what he was. Doubt, that wasn't who he was. And he'd worked out what he was himself, even if he'd had help. That doesn't mean help's a bad thing, or doesn't need repaid.

Hiding from what's hard, that wasn't who he was, either. So treating people right, even if it's hard, that's part of it.

And being honest.

Don't hang about, Marsak.

[Pommel]

26 Nightal 1352

She was breathing. There was that. She was breathing. He checked again though, just be sure.

Piss on it. Dammit. Piss on it!

When she's stood, she's so tall. When her eyes are open there's no doubting the strength. Doesn't need carried. You can't carry the sea.

Like this she looks like a pile of fallen twigs.

Piss on it. Dammit.

Him and Ashan had spoken about how Ashan was the shield, and him the sword. An avenger, Motrax called him.

He'd been vengeance. He'd taken the assassin's hand, then her foot. Then her head, a bit later.

Reckon the bitch knew she was dying. Good. Good.

He didn't smile.

Feels like nothing, now. Feels meaningless.

Not again. Dammit, not again.

The twigs in the bed stirred. Squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back. She wasn't awake, but she was breathing. Breathing.

"Come back." It came out like a growl, like he blamed her for all of this. "Fight. Dammit. Fight."

It was him who was to blame though. Too busy looking into her eyes to notice the door opening behind. Too busy tasting her lips to see the crossbow.

Felt it hit. Felt her press against him when it hit. Will never forget that.

Piss.

On.

It.

He scowled up at that stupid statue. Pissing Suneites. Or Selunites. Or whatever.

Don't. They gave her this chance.

He spoke softer. "Your life is for two of us."

She can't hear. Can she? Maybe she can.

"I'd go on without you. I don't need you, to keep at what I'm doing. Bastards will die by my hand, whether you live or die. I swore oaths and I'll keep them."

His gloved thumb stroked the back of her hand.

"There'd be nothing else but thunder and steel. Maybe I'd be stronger, that way. Don't reckon it would be living, though. I'd be a worse man."

He closed his eyes.

Tired. Dammit I'm tired.

"I want to be better. I want to live. I want you."

Maybe she can't hear. He didn't care.

Better to be wrong about doing something than be wrong about not doing it, aye?

[Pommel]

17 Hammer 1353

Sensation, she said. Feel a lot, and you won't think. He hadn't been sure about it, but she gave examples. Couldn't fault her logic.

But dammit, it was cold. Not Moonsea cold. But damn, cold.

He sat by the pool, unlacing his boots. Bare feet on the hard ground as he stood.

The water was pretty dark, pretty still. The bottom of the pool hidden, who knows how deep. He'd thrown a stone to make sure he wasn't going to get a face full of mud.

No idea what was down there. No idea what he would find.

Stop it with the goddamned philosophy, Marsak.

....No ice, at least. There's that...

He didn't have the sword, his wife's sword. It felt strange. He couldn't bring it with him, though. He was wondering if the blade was all he was. If it was right there, it might tell him the answer, might tell him the blade was all he was.

If a bugbear comes, I guess it's going to get messy. Don't hang about, Marsak.

Even fully clothed he had goosebumps. His shoulders were knotted.

Thinking too much. That's why you're doing this. You've got to feel.

He'd thought it would be easy. The sharp edge of his blade being the first and last lesson he would teach, and his only students sinners.

Let them fear, I thought. Let them know the price.

Yet maybe it's like she said. It won't teach what I want it to.

It didn't feel wrong, to wield the blade, and sharpen it day by day until people knew it was coming.

Might feel wrong to just stop there. Maybe these oaths worked because he was meant to be more than a blade.

Or maybe not.

Pissing hell, just get on with it.

He closed his eyes, taking a few steps back. Then began to run, leaping into the air and diving in.

Hitting him like a wall of ice.

Surrounding him like a cloak of frost.

Seeping into his bones as he disappeared under.

He gritted his teeth, kicking down. His waterlogged clothes dragging him along.

Grabbing something in the dark. Some stone or something. Let go.

Let go.

Cold.

Cold.

Cold.

Alive. I'm alive.

He kicked hard, fierce.

Bursting out of the water, flailing for the shore, teeth chattering, gasping.

But alive. Aye, like those he fought against were, until he was done with them.

But like those he fought for, too.

Shouldn't forget them, Marsak.

[Pommel]

7 Alturiak 1353

The dust gets everywhere. Not surprising, the damn ruin was falling to bits. Wulfrik was right, some of this needed more than a broom. Needed a mason. Maybe if the dwarves ever answered his pissing letters, he’d try and talk one into paying a visit here to the Hunter’s lair.

Eh. We’ll be buried under a mountain of earth by then.

Being buried might be an improvement, than the hellspawned tightrope walk he was doing these days, between paladins and hunters and Bladestone and business and freaking snails. Feels like being a circus attraction, and about as useful, right now.

Dammit. That’s the thing about this cleaning. Too much time to think while you’re sweeping up. Had to do his part though.

That Wulfrik. There was a surprise. Didn’t think he’d be a brother at arms at first. But he is, he bloody is. Odd feeling, trusting people again; trusting someone like that. Course himself he’d fallen in with the Darius Brothers, owed them and liked them, trusted them too. But that was personal. This was different, this was a brother in faith.

Brother in faith, ha. Starting to sound like a paladin, Marsak. Pissing ridiculous.

Thats it though. Can’t deny it now. Might be thrashing around trying to find how and why and what to do. But he wasn’t questioning it anymore. No. No question. This was him.

Need a cart for these rocks. Chuck them down the big hole outside. Maybe one will crack a drow skull down in the Underdark or wherever that hole goes. Haha. Pissing drow and their pissing hirelings. Coming for shamans and seers. Coming for Wulfrik. Coming for Sunniva.

Can’t have that. There’s a blade ready to stop that. Just waiting for Derik’s word.

Time for a breather.

...So why are you picking fights everywhere you go, Marsak? You got obligations, things you’ve promised. Things you’ll protect.

Hunters of Vengeance, they call it. Meant to be patient, cold, I reckon. Instead you’re spitting fire wherever you go. Sending fighting words to Soubar, bold as you like. Right patient. Right subtle, Marsak. Can see the canny trader right there, aye? Dream on.

Don’t care about politics. Don’t care about the big ideas. Not going to judge Wren for her friends or who she loves, just for what she does. And right now, she’s done no wrong that he knew of. Same goes for a few people who others would judge.

That’s the thing though. Lots of words being thrown about these days, yet the real pricks walk about like they own the world. That swagger, that way they fear nothing, think no one’s marking their crimes. All these bandits and murderers and corrupt merchants and drow and cultists and all that crap. It's wrong. Wrong.

Avenge wrongs. That’s what Hoar does. Aye. Could be as simple as that. But is it? Don’t reckon it is for an oathsworn like him.

People know Hoar’s there, waiting. Know he’ll set things right. Make it fair.

Gives them who are weak hope.

Should give them who are cruel fear.

Reckon that is what you’re for, Marsak.

Reckon thinking like that is a page in Wulfrik’s ledger too.

[Pommel]

20 Mirtuls 1353

Had that dream again.

The fog's clearing so lets get these blinds open. Procampur's near as bad as Mulmaster for that. That's the sea for you. Bet you can almost see those coloured roofs now, people all divided up like stock in a warehouse. The Thultyrl doesn't leave much room for doubt how his people's lives are gonna be. Gives easy answers about what people are, that. Can be useful.

Nah, it's not. People are pissing complicated, Marsak. You gotta remember that, now more than ever. It's what the Boy needs. Your son.

Sunniva says anger isn't what's best for him. She's right. It's gonna be hard though, going home, setting things right, making him safe. It's gonna be hard if that means leaving Evan with his head.

Sunniva says it might.

Look at her lying there. Like a freakin' angel. Like a freakin' dream.

Which is probably why she only makes sense half the time, heh.

...Glad she's here.

She's safe here.

...You know she's worried about Adelaide.

The window's facing west, out to sea, the way we came in. Wonder how far you can see in a clear day. Not as far as the Dragon Coast and Westgate. Not as far as Baldur's Gate, or the Friendly Arm. Where the assassins came for her.

What's happening there, dammit? Those sendings from Adelaide. She's facing that bitch, Mother Night; her and Wren both. And they might not come back.

And you're here, Marsak.

Dammit.

Fog's still clearing. Reckon it's gonna be a sunny day in the end. Not a stormcloud to be seen.

No, they're gathering back in the west. Swore oaths, to see that Mother Night ended, and that Ralia. Vengeance for Sunniva, and all them innocents harmed along the way.

Swore to see Sunniva safe too.

And swore to do the right thing by the boy. And he's in Mulmaster. There's stormclouds there too.

Dammit.

Used to ask Adelaide what to do at times like this.

Dammit.

...you were told none of this was gonna be easy, Marsak. Here's the thing though. You've got yourself tied up. Trick is knowing which ropes to cut. And cutting things, that you can do. If your hands aren't tied.

Piss on it.

It's too much for one guy.

…......so ask for help, that's what Sunniva would say. And dammit, you know she's right more often than not.

Ask for help, so we can then damn well give our own help to those who need us, so you can keep your oaths, Marsak, all of them.

Because here's the thing, you might be a simple tool, but that's what's needed now; Thunder.

---

So he closed his eyes, and remembered the dream.