The Great Pandemonium: Animus

I. Return to the Field (cont.)

Arathron felt sinfully proud at hearing Galerius' report of the incident and settled back down. The Taskmasker's eyebrows raised slightly. As a fellow Inferi he could easily tell when it was Drystan speaking and when it was the revenant that now shared his body. “Your friend really has a soft spot for Enkiri, doesn't he.”

“It's a long story,” replied Drystan quietly. Though it had been almost five years to the day he and Arathron fought the Oratio Nocis where he made his stand at the Bridge in the City, neither of them found any comfort in speaking about it with others. The events of that day would always remain something of a hallowed memory. “But yes, he is very fond of them.”

The older man nodded. “Makes sense why you two choose to stay out of the Empire, then.”

“For the most part. There's also the fact that I'm a Nighttyr.”

“Honestly, with all the self-concerned people strutting about down there scrambling for non-existent mining rights beyond the Wall, I doubt the fact you're Owen's boy would gain much notice these days," said the Taskmaster with a disgruntled chuff and a dismissive flip of his hand. "Unless you strode right up to the Empress Regent and demanded your right to a Blood Court with Weist, at any rate. But Coord said you were impulsive, not outright stupid."

Letting things between them fall silent, Galerius rolled his head to the side to stare at the lecherous throng of lonely men that had gathered around the out-of-tune bard, swooning over her voluptuous breasts with which she teased them each time she leaned forward for no other reason than to give them a quick look down her cleavage. The Taskmaster shook his head and chuckled at the sight like an old man laughing at his foolhardy grandsons. Having fallen prey to such a tactic dozens of times, Drystan knew full well that by the end of the night she would be leaving with her coffers full of silver and her bed warmed by her choice of virtually any man in the city-state not caught by his wife on the way out the door.

The bard started in on another song and Galerius turned his attention back to the table. “Well, I will say this: she does know how to work the male crowd.”

Drystan glanced over towards the bard, then looked forlornly down at his weak beer yet again. “I miss stout. This stuff tastes like they've cut it with gutter water.”

“It's from the horse trough in the back usually.” The Inferi handed the banded message he had taken out of his boottop across to the man and stood up. Drystan accepted the note, knowing exactly what it was, and tucked it inside the similarly marked pocket on the inside of his duster. “I'm going to head out to Cambria City tonight and should be there in four days if I keep feeling this lazy. If we don't hear from you or Arathron by the end of the week we promise to come looking for your body.”

For some reason Drystan found himself feeling a bit insulted by the remark. “I felled a Thrall, you know. One that took over an Enkiri Exile. Right there at the Bridge.”

The Taskmaster grinned at him knowingly. “You exorcised an Oratio's spirit from an Exile—and only because Taskmaster Coord shielded you from enough Pandemonium magic to allow you in close enough to perform the rite and Arathron in close enough to pin him in place. It was she who cut its head off and Farseeth and Erathi who destroyed what was left.”

“Hmm.” He turned his tankard around and stood up to follow the Taskmaster out, his desire to finish his drink having been mercilessly slaughtered by the bard's off-key butchering of one of his favorite childhood songs. Claiming the pale wood staff from where he had propped it up against the table he proceeded to pick his way through the throng of lonely men towards the front door as delicately as he could manage. “Fine, so long as you realize we helped.”