Amidst the chaos of fending off the demon attack and herding panicked wedding guests, Seelah realized she hadn’t seen her since their “vampire toast.” That was hours ago.
“Haven’t seen her in a while,” said Lann. “Probably ditched when she got a sip of the second-rate vintage.”
“Eh, she can take care of herself,” Woljif shrugged. “We got other concerns.” The way his eyes roved, his other concern appeared to be scouting for leftover snacks and inattentive wedding guests. He shouldn’t have called attention to himself.
What a dummy. She had to pull some serious strings to get him invited in the first place, and here he was proving Elan right.
She turned on him, hands on hips. “Empty your pockets.”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” He stared at her with such a look of betrayal and offense it almost made her laugh—and cry. She knew too well what it was like to be on his end of it. In disgust he waved her off. “I ain’t gotta stand for this. I thought we were friends. Who died and made you prelate?”
“Woljif, the jewelry is cursed. You want to get possessed by a demon?”
At that he deflated, though for an instant an unquiet expression crossed his face and his fingers went absently to the crescent necklace under his collar. Presently the contents of his outer jacket pockets, his inner jacket pockets, his trouser pockets, and both his socks were dumped out into the grass. “Fine. Happy?”
While he was bent over pulling his boot back on, Lann took aim as if to kick him in the backside. “You keep finding new lows I didn’t even knew existed, and I’ve lived underground.”
Seelah shook her head. Not that long ago, she would have been in Woljif’s shoes. “Put all the Darek Sunhammers in a stack and give them to Arsinoe. The rest goes to charity.”
“Yes, constable.” Woljif rolled his eyes hugely, but he did get to work. Leaving him with a warning look, Seelah jogged off to look for Camellia.
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doing this made me feel mega rusty even tho i only didn't draw for a couple days smh. if there are any questions about other act 1 parts i didnt draw for, feel free to ask! ive got plenty of thoughts, they just aren't always cohesive enough to draw for.
The smell of the place—sulfur and solvents, meat and metal—he knew to his bones. This was the alchemist’s lab he spent seventy-seven years in, dreaming of molten souls and pain.
Every fiber in his body tensed. The crevice in his chest wrenched. He reached to steady himself on the wall.
Because he’d stopped abruptly in the corridor, Seelah walked into him and almost knocked him down with the weight of her armor. At least it jarred him into breathing again.
“Sorry.” Her voice came muffled through her visor. “You all right?”
“This is the place.” He tried to hide the shaking of his hands by pretending to check his bow. “The stargazers were right.”
22. nap for something with nereo? i think he deserves some rest
1.7k words, Act 2 gen aka the commander doesn't sleep; this doesn't go unnoticed; woljif has an unexpected idea
“You look a bit tired,” Daeran observes, as Nereo packs the cart.
The Commander mentally runs through the list again. Rations and feed for the horses. Rope and canvas, wax, fuses to assemble grenades with. Everything is inventoried and ready—it’s just one of many skills he’s gained on the road, packing a cart in a way that makes use of every bit of space, while not overloading the horses, or having the carriage tilt over rough terrain. The soldiers will not respect him if he doesn’t work alongside them, he reasons. So he does.
Slowly, the work has gotten easier. And slowly, his shirts are fitting tighter. He’s finally a healthy weight. He’s keeping very busy. He’s working and training all the time.
“How’re you doing on those requests?” he asks the Count.
“I’m getting to them, I assure you,” Daeran says. “Your arcane sundries are among my top priorities. You realize those shadows under your eyes are very alarming, yes?”
“It’s unlike you to be concerned,” Nereo responds, turning to him with a smile.
“I remind you, I’ve been tasked to join you on this ill-fated venture and I intend to make the most of it by not dying or getting maimed. This, I imagine, will be much helped if our newly appointed leader is actually sleeping.”
“I’m sleeping enough.” Nereo brushes off his concerns with a lazy stretch. “The requests, Daeran…”
“Yes, yes. Lazurite from the Darklands. Marrowstone for who knows what.” He rolls his eyes, arms crossed. “Is my esteemed cousin aware that you are putting me to such employ?”
“No,” Nereo laughs. “And as I refuse to be reliant on the Queen, I am forced to be reliant on you.”
“I feel so special!”
Nereo smiles and tips his head, horns blue and sharp, a strand of hair slipping out of his ponytail.
“Please let me know as soon as we receive them.”
Without further discussion, he leaves Daeran and moves to load the next cart.
.
“This is so silly,” Ember giggles, tying leather armor onto her legs. “I’m not even a fighter! None of us are.”
“It’s true that you’ll be staying at camp, mostly,” Seelah says, helping the girl tie on a pauldron. “But it’s good to have a kit, should the worst come to pass. There! Aw. You remind me so much of myself trying armor on for the first time.”
“Aw,” Woljif parrots, mimicking her tone. Then Seelah sticks out her tongue at him, and he returns the gesture.
“Whatever. Just keep her away from anythin’ sharp,” he says.
The blacksmith’s tent is busy equipping their nascent army. Soldiers line up to receive proper armor and weapons, but Woljif doesn’t need the crown’s money; he has his leathers, tailored over the years, and he has his daggers, which he’s kept sharp, though those haven’t seen much use. It’s smarter to avoid a fight whenever possible. That’s how he’s gotten by.
Ember lifts a crossbow from an array of options. She balances it on her shoulder, peeking down its length.
“Oh no,” Woljif says.
“A fine choice,” Seelah laughs. “Wilcer can probably set you up with lessons, if you like.”
“I like it,” Ember giggles. “I wonder if the Commander will think it’s okay.”
“He’s too busy to mind, I’m sure,” Woljif says.
“He is,” Ember agrees. “Way, way too busy. He doesn’t sleep. I can tell he’s awake all night, worrying.”
Woljif makes a face at that.
“Creepy!” he responds. “Are you spyin’ on him or something?”
“No, I just hear him sometimes. He paces a lot.” Ember smiles. “His hooves sound different from horses. No one else walks like he does. He’s shy about it, I think.”
“He does seem tired, now you mention it,” Seelah says. “But hold on; why are you awake so late?”
“Oh, nighttime is a great time to be awake,” Ember replies. “Wilcer sings at night, because he thinks no one is listening. The Commander walks around, checking that everything is safe. Even Woljif—”
“Does nothin’ at all!” Woljif interrupts.
“Really?” Ember blinks at him. “I thought you liked going on walks when everyone was asleep.”
“Walks, huh?” Seelah hums. “Long, moonlit walks… through the camp stores I wonder?”
“Psh,” Woljif says, hopping off his seat. “So suspicious, Seelah. But you can’t prove nothin’! Anyway, have fun, ladies, and don’t poke anyone’s eye out.”
He hurries out of the tent and pauses.
Nereo has seemed tired lately, though it hadn’t occurred to him to wonder why, even after all those nights they’ve spent chatting around the quiet of a campfire, in the small hours of the morning. It just seemed to come with the territory.
He remembers their time in the Defender’s Heart. Long nights keeping watch, high on the rooftops.
With a thoughtful frown, he hurries away from the tent.
.
Night descends upon the camp, which brings about another logistic challenge; that of feeding an army. The food cannot be subpar, on Count Arendae’s insistence. Morale is important, after all, and no one will want to fight while sustained on gruel.
So they’re having quail, and crusty bread, and dumpling stew, scented of rosemary, bay, parsley. Dried spices make up a fair amount of the camp’s rations. Not too much, but life must retain some pleasures, after all.
Lann settles by the big fire in the center of the crusaders’ camp. The Commander’s tent, adorned in emblems and colors, casts a cheerful backdrop, though the man himself is nowhere to be seen. He is currently the topic of discussion, however, judging by Camellia and Seelah’s bickering.
“No reason to meddle,” Camellia insists. “If he wants to work himself to the bone, that’s all well and good. Someone ought to, and I assure you, it won’t be me.”
“We’re his friends, we should say something,” Seelah responds. “I used to be the same, you know. Work, work, work. First one to drills, last one to hang my helmet up. Like giving more of myself meant I was doing more good. Until I was left totally depleted! A leader needs to tend to their wellbeing.”
“Ohh, we talking about Nereo’s insomnia?” Lann asks.
“It’s a scintillating conversation,” Daeran sighs, bored.
“Y’know, I had a hell of a time adjusting, when I came to the surface to join the crusade,” Lann says. “I hadn’t been under the sun in so long, it’s like my head didn’t know what to make of it. And somehow, Nereo was always awake when I was. But, see, I just needed time to adjust. He’s… got other issues, I think.” He shrugs, then he eats, ravenously.
“He had issues sleepin’ in the Defender’s Heart, too, now you mention it,” Woljif adds, tail twitching. “But, uh, I figured it was, y’know, the whole besieged by demons thing?”
“Has anyone seen him get a full night’s rest?” Seelah asks, to resounding silence.
“What’s this?” Nereo asks after a moment. “All my friends gathered up, conspiring? How touching.”
Nereo joins them by the campfire, to varying levels of chagrin among the others. The firelight casts deep shadows on his face, which bears a sharply fanged smile.
“Worry not,” he assures them, “I am actually a vampire, I don’t need sleep.”
“I knew it,” Daeran chuckles. “This explains much! Now everything is settled.”
“But if it helps everyone feel better,” Nereo says with a slight slurring to his voice, “consider this my formal announcement that I am going to sleep now, and I’ll appreciate no further inquiries until morning. I’m beat.”
“That’s… good to hear!” Seelah says, with a forced laugh. “We were just a bit worried, that’s all. You work so hard. Trust me, it’s appreciated. Go and have sweet dreams, friend.”
Nereo retires to his tent. The conversation shifts to other topics, but a certain thief tunes these out.
.
Nereo is curled up in his bedroll when he hears the tent shift. Not the front flap opening, but something big shuffling in through the sides. He bolts upright, and reaches for his sword-
“So jumpy, chief,” Woljif scoffs. “It’s just me.”
“What the hell, Woljif?” Nereo asks.
“Somethin’ told me you’d still be up,” he whispers, crawling over, looking not too unlike a sleep paralysis demon. “What’s goin’ on? Is it…” he pauses, a twitch of his tail marking the air.
“Ya still havin’ nightmares?”
Nereo sighs, a little desperately. “I’m not even getting to the nightmares, Woljif,” he says. “I’m losing it.”
“Nah, you’re just messed up in the head.”
Nereo lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh. Well, thanks.”
“No shame bein’ messed up in the head. I have been, once or twice.” Woljif snorts. “But nevermind that. Wanna try what we did in the Defender’s Heart?”
Nereo hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. It wasn’t weird, though?”
“Don’t get me wrong, it was extremely weird, but hey, it worked!” Woljif sits beside him, cross-legged. “And don’t worry ‘bout creepin’ me out, ‘cause that ship’s long sailed. Really, chief. Go on.”
Nereo rolls onto his side and faces him. He sighs.
Closing his eye, he focuses. There’s nothing freshly dead nearby, but since this trouble with the Crusades began, his powers have grown stronger. He searches the camp. He searches the woods around the camp.
He comes across an owl, dead in its burrow. Poisoned, he thinks, as he slips into the little corpse. Probably a tainted rat was its final meal, given the nearby farmland. He hears Woljif’s voice from very far away.
“Whatcha got?”
“Some… bird.”
Nereo’s body seems to relax. Woljif cannot see him, but he’s stretching his wings. He’s in a cozy burrow, just the right size for him. He’s wrapped in feathers. He’s drifting, here, in this body, in the safety of that dead little creature. Being the owl is a good deal safer than being Nereo, but he doesn’t say that. He just settles.
“Good,” Woljif hums, watching him, his movements, his breathing. “Okay, I think you should come back? Don’t fall asleep in the dead thing, chief, it makes me uh, nervous.”
The owl lets out a creaky little hoot. Then it’s gone from his perception. Just like that, Nereo is here again, and he’s still feeling that cold peace of death over his mind, his limbs gone still, his breathing deep.
“Hm,” he murmurs, halfway asleep already.
“All good?” Woljif prompts. “I’ll, uh, make my way out.”
Nereo nods as he leaves. Then, with profound relief, he’s out like a light.
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this is more or less what my fight to defend the tavern was like. i didnt realize which enemies actually progressed the stages of the fight so it went on for a lot longer than it probably should have. so it started to irk me that irabeth and that group of crusaders were just standing there so uh. yeah i let a few get decimated. xoryth can be a little petty as a treat
