As the sun begins to set over Manatria to paint the sky with an orange glow that sets the Maanitel Sea ablaze with fire in the ripples, the silence of the peaceful streets is disrupted with the rumbling of an engine.
The motorcycle pulls to a stop outside of the quaint tavern at the corner of the brick-paved street. The city of Denkile is far calmer than anticipated considering with Mala'vin rebuilding and Old Cresthill still nothing but ruins, this is pretty much the only stable city in Manatria.
Cree clicks the engine off and parks the bike before sliding off the side and pulling off his full-face black helmet that he tucks under his arm as he turns to look at the tavern door, then down at the screen of his phone.
As he's reading, he doesn't even lift his head as Achilles swoops down and perches on his shoulder.
"Ready to socialize again?" the hawk asks. Even after ten years since John died, it still feels fucking weird to hear his voice in his head as telepathically communicated through a synthetic bird. "Trick question, I think I should do the talking this time. Don't want a repeat of the last place we checked."
Cree shrugs and flips his phone shut as he starts walking to the door. "I think I handled it pretty well."
"That man's knees probably shouldn't have bent that way, but you do you man, I ain't judgin'."
Cree keeps his stonewalled expression as he enters the small tavern and spares the room only a quick glance before heading straight for the bar where there's a young Half-Adaliaen woman filling a flagon from a keg.
He leans forward on the counter as a patron steps up beside him, taking the flagon from the girl and handing over a couple numis before returning to his seat. Achilles hops down from his shoulder to perch on the counter beside him.
The girl lets out a small, exhausted sigh and leans against the counter across from Cree, and she meets his eyes for a second before they dart to the great black hawk casually sitting next to him looking ready to pull bitches.
"I'd say I'm surprised, but last week a woman came in with her donkey," the girl chuckles and looks at Cree again. "Can I get you somethin'?" she asks with a friendly smile. Cree glances back over his shoulder to check the room once more, and at seeing nothing suspicious, he turns his focus back onto the girl with a slow nod.
"I'll take a scotch," he says and the woman nods before turning around to start searching for a bottle. As she's getting his drink, he continues to his scripted line of questioning. "And... Do you happen to know of anyone by the name 'Evelina Mar'Cedric'? I heard she's a healer," he asks. He figures it's probably best to hold off on explaining more than that until after she tells him what she does or doesn't know. Though, the last tavern he checked was bartended by a hardass prick who not only refused to answer any of Cree's questions, but did so with a number of snide underhanded remarks regarding 'Ophelia's Descendant.' So, naturally, he broke his knees.
But this girl seems friendly, innocent, and possibly a bit naïve just based on her overall demeanor. Cree's gotten pretty good at reading people over the years, and his gut tells him this girl is harmless so he should probably come off as friendlier so as to not scare her away.
The girl turns back around and sets the bottle in front of him and he automatically hands over a couple numis and takes a drink as she tilts her head. "Sorry, I can't say that I have. There's lots of healers around, though, if you need some kind of help," she says with a hopeful smile that fades when Cree sighs and looks down, shaking his head.
"No... They won't have the kind of help I need," he states and side-eyes Achilles, wordlessly telling him to watch his back. Glancing around the room too often makes it look like he's hiding something. Granted, having a bigass bird as his drinking buddy doesn't look much better, but luckily synthetic animals have yet to really reach this side of the world. Unlikely anyone would suspect the bird has full sentience and the personality of a cocksure mayoral junkie that Cree still considers his brother.
Achilles looks around the room while Cree pulls out his phone to open a picture that he shows the woman. "Wishful thinking, but have you by chance... seen this man?" he asks, holding the phone in his metal hand so he can hide how the real one slightly shakes by keeping it below the counter.
The woman's eyes widen a bit and she chuckles awkwardly. "Damn, I wish I could say I've seen Ophelia's Descendant in person. But no, unfortunately I haven't. Sorry, sir," she flashes an apologetic smile before turning away to serve a customer.
Cree's neck stiffens as he looks down and forces a weak huff before mumbling to himself.
"...His name is Regan," he says quietly and turns the phone back so he can see the picture he has of Regan. It's an older picture, from when Reela was ten. It's of Regan and Reela, the girl has a big smile on her face and two long braids down the sides of her head, and Regan has a small braid in his own hair and a beaming grin that Cree could stare at for days. Since coming out here, he feels like he has.
He has more recent photos of Regan, but this one will probably always be his favorite.
Cree takes another drink and puts the phone away. The longer he stares at it, the drunker he's going to get and he, unfortunately, shouldn't get hammered when he still has a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
However long it takes.
"...I'm comin' for you, Reg."
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The moment Avinalyn watched a man pull up to a tavern on a motorcycle and started talking to a big bird, they had a feeling he was probably Reela's father. Especially considering the fact that the people in the streets seem to be afraid of him. If this is the man who raised Reela, then that would explain a lot.
It took some time to locate him. Denkile is the capital of Manatria, at least until Mala'vin is rebuilt. It's a large city, at least compared to the continent itself. Manatria may be small, but the magic of the forest and surrounding Maanitel Sea threw them off when they first arrived. It left them somewhat dazed, like walking through a storm cloud, but not the storm.
But Denkile is relatively quiet. At first, Reela's father was too. But it wasn't long before rumors rose to the surface of a man with a metal arm that's been "terrorizing" local shopkeepers and bureaucrats.
They were successful in following these rumors when they finally located the man standing in front of a notice board in the town square. A place where numerous wanted posters and bounties are posted. He seemed interested in something in particular he saw, so much so that he tore one of the posters down and shoved it in his bag before moving on.
They've had to be mindful to not make Mog aware of exactly who it is they're shadowing. She wants to believe this trip to Manatria is to distract from their task of finding Reela's fathers. But luckily it's not hard to convince her of literally anything. They could tell her they're here chasing a unicorn that speaks fluent Russian and she'd sprint head-first into the forest to find it.
"Boss Boss Boss, look! A metal horse!"
Avinalyn just glances over to see Mog staring slack-jawed at the motorcycle parked outside of the tavern. Mog even went to Utopia recently. It's a wonder how she came back in one piece if she thinks anything made of metal is actually an animal.
They sigh and close their eyes. "Mog, that's not a..." when they open their eyes again, they see the orc slowly approaching the vehicle with an outstretched hand.
"Shh... Don't spook it," she loudly whispers.
Avinalyn hurries over to grab her wrist. "Enough. Don't tamper with it. We can't let him know we're following him, so once we go inside, keep your mouth shut and don't ruin this for me," they snap and Mog tilts her head at them as they let her wrist go.
"Wait, we're following that guy? Is it because of his cool hair, or is it the bug head he was wearing when he was riding the metal horse?"
"Helmet," Avinalyn deadpans. "It's called a helmet. And we're following him because..." they pause to think for a moment, ultimately deciding that it doesn't really matter what they tell her so long as it's not the truth. She'll believe them no matter what. "He's apparently been quite a problem for Manatria. And what better way to spend our time than keeping an eye on him to make sure he stays in line? We're doing this to help people, Mog. Trust me," they force a sweet smile and Mog, unsurprisingly, nods her enthusiasm.
"Oooh I get it! We're being upstanding citizens!" she states proudly.
Avinalyn nods stiffly against their building headache. "Yes, Mog. Now if you're done wasting time, let's head inside and grab a table. I know I could personally use a drink or three after today..." they mumble before turning and starting to head to the tavern.
Mog doesn't follow for a second, and without even turning around, Avinalyn calls back, "Mog, if you pet the motorcycle you will find a scorched stump where your hand should be."
"Rightio, Boss! I'm right behind you!" she hurries after them as they enter the tavern.
Manatria always has been good for having the loveliest taverns, especially in the past ten years. With Regan Angevin's particular interest in Manatria for whatever reason, many of the styles found in Sage have made their way here. Taverns here have a slightly modernized design, almost resembling small cafés you'd find on busy street corners.
Mog beams as she rushes to grab the window seat of a wooden booth with dark blue cushions lining the benches. Before joining her, Avinalyn stops to scan their eyes over the room until they spot the silver-haired man sitting at the bar counter with his hawk at his side.
The booth Mog chose to sit at is at least out of his line of sight. He would have to turn his head and look around, but he seems to be more focused on his drink than his surroundings, which is good for Avinalyn.
They slip into the seat next to Mog, and like a button, the moment they sit down is when she starts bouncing with excitement.
"I'm so glad we have this moment to get to know each other better as friends and form a deeper connection outside of work!" she leans on her elbow and faces them with a big toothy smile. "I think this is a great opportunity to take your mind off Reela!"
Avinalyn snaps their hand out to cover her mouth and their eyes dart back to the man at the bar – who they are about ninety percent certain is Reela's father. He doesn't turn around, but the bird looked at them for a second, but merely cocked its head and looked away again. Beyond that, nothing happens.
They lower their hand from her mouth and lower their voice. "Don't say her name so loud. I won't warn you twice," they growl and straighten their posture.
Mog cocks a confused brow. "Why? You talk about her all the time—"
"I do not," they huff. "But remember, her father is famous. Plenty of people know who she is. You never know who might be listening," they explain as vaguely as possible for her simple brain, which seems to satisfy for a moment before she dumbly laughs.
Avinalyn's frown deepens. "What?"
Now Mog lowers her voice. "You're talking about her again," she teases.
Avinalyn shakes their head and looks away from her to find the barmaid wiping down a table and once she notices them, they wave her over. "Mog if you don't shut up with that, you'll regret it." They smile sweetly when the girl reaches their booth.
"What can I get for you?" she asks with a delightfully innocent voice. Her eyes dart to Mog for a second, but despite her being an orc, the girl's attention returns to Avinalyn, seemingly unbothered. Or perhaps she's too distracted to give Mog much thought. This girl will do perfectly.
They playfully bite their lip, sparing her lips a subtle glance before answering. "I'll have a merlot. Only one glass. Mog?"
Mog clears her throat and holds up a pointed finger. "I will have an apple juice, ma'am. Actually, make it two. I want to party tonight," she states.
The girl giggles at Mog, but her eyes return to Avinalyn with a pink tint to her cheeks as she bows her head. "Right away," she says before scurrying off to the bar.
She will definitely do.
It doesn't take long for the barmaid to return with their drinks, and as she sets the wine glass in front of Avinalyn, they reach out to gently touch her wrist. She slightly jumps as though she was trying not to acknowledge them too much, probably out of fear of staring, but this gets her to meet their eyes again.
Before making her any more nervous, they speak first. "Before you go, I'm curious," they nod towards Reela's father at the bar. "What do you know about that man over there?"
She glances back at him before looking down at Avinalyn again. "Not much. He's been pretty quiet since he got here and hasn't caused any trouble. Says he's looking for someone, but I probably shouldn't go around telling other people his business..." she says.
"Of course. I understand your desire for discretion," they hum with a small grin. They know exactly who he's looking for. The same person both they and Reela are looking for.
Mog only briefly pauses her double-fisted conquest of her apple juice boxes to quizzically eye the girl, but before she can ask any questions of her own, Avinalyn speaks again.
"One last thing, a small favor if you could," they move their hand off of her wrist to reach into their pocket and pull out a thin dark red vial. "Would you mind slipping this into his drink when he's not looking?"
The girl tenses and slowly leans back. She eyes the vial for a second and glances back at the bar before looking at Avinalyn again and stiffly shaking her head. "I... I don't know about that... That could be poison, and I don't want to... um..."
Avinalyn simply bats their eyes and tilts their head up at her, returning their free hand to her wrist, lightly running their fingers up her forearm to her elbow.
"I'll make it worth your while."
They feel chills spread across her skin and her shoulders shake a little, and with a nervous shudder, she nods and absently takes the vial. "Okay..." she says breathlessly with a small smile, and Avinalyn removes their hand from her again to lean back in their seat and pick up the wine glass, taking a sip and nodding to the bar.
"Good girl. Now go on, come find me when you're done," they say and she just silently nods again before turning around and returning to the bar. She pockets the vial and starts wiping down the counter, keeping an eye on the man to wait for him to turn his head, but still, only his bird pays the room any mind.
A few minutes pass and he still doesn't look away. So Avinalyn sighs and stands up, moving to sit across the table from Mog and they grab her apple juice from her hand, setting it back down in front of her. Mog looks at them quizzically, and they nod their head towards the bar again.
"Mog... I know I was a bit harsh about you wanting to pet the..." they sigh their defeat. "...'metal horse,' but why don't you go ask him if you can pet his hawk? I'm sure he won't mind," they smile and Mog's eyes light up.
"I've trained for this," Mog beams as she hurries out of the booth and over to the bar, where she slams her hands down on the counter beside Reela's father which makes him slightly jump and look over at her.
"Excuse me sir, can I pet your dog!?"
The man pauses to squint his eyes up at her, and Avinalyn swears they see the bird do the same thing.
"My... what?" he asks.
While he's distracted by trying to understand Mog, Avinalyn watches the barmaid uncork the vial and spill the contents into his bottle. She quickly tucks the empty vial back in her pocket and resumes nervously wiping down the counter until Avinalyn swears she's going to scrub a hole straight through the wood.
Eventually the man just tells Mog to fuck off and she returns to the booth pouting, but Avinalyn pays her no mind as they watch Reela's father reach for his scotch. He pauses there for a moment and slightly lowers his head, glancing at his bird and then eyeing the drink.
Then after a moment, he takes a long drink.
Avinalyn smiles to themself and looks at Mog where she's sitting across from them, sadly sipping her apple juice. "Excellent work, Mog."
She frowns. "But he didn't let me pet his dog..."
They chuckle and take a drink of their wine. "Which worked out perfectly. You did exactly what I had hoped you would. If nothing else, at least you make a good distraction," they shrug.
Mog looks at them and tilts her head. "Distraction?"
Avinalyn says nothing more and looks back at the bar to see the man take another long drink which empties the bottle and he sets it down on the counter, nods to the barmaid, and turns to start walking towards the door, still not looking around the room or paying mind to anyone around him. A strange shift from how careful he seemed over the phone with Reela. He wasn't stumbling or struggling to walk at all, so he can't be too drunk, but he still left. Perhaps he got whatever it was he wanted from this place.
Mog watches him leave and returns her attention to Avinalyn. "Aren't we gonna follow him again?" she asks and sips her apple juice again.
Avinalyn nods and slowly stands up from the booth. "In a bit. Stay here and don't cause any trouble," they state and down the rest of their wine, getting her to look up at them in question.
"What are you gonna do?"
They smile and turn around to face the bar, just as the girl takes off her apron and hangs it up on the closet door before she anxiously looks over at them with deep redness to her cheeks.
Avinalyn straightens their posture and smiles at her. "I believe I have a promise to keep," they hum and simply walk over to the girl and offer their hand, which she happily takes so they can follow her to one of the rooms upstairs.
They were sure to give the girl a generous tip before they left the tavern with Mog, and once outside, they expected the motorcycle to be gone. But to their surprise, it's still parked outside the tavern. Reela's father must still be in the area. Maybe he had somewhere else nearby he needed to be. He shouldn't be too hard to find again.
Considering the time of night, not many people are out on the streets. So that narrows down the search a bit if they happen to see him.
As they walk, Mog watches Avinalyn with squinted eyes which they try to ignore as best they can so they can focus on finding a trail. But after a few minutes, they can't stop themself from asking.
"What?" they slightly snap their annoyance.
Mog crosses her arms with a small pout. "You told me that man was causing problems... But the nice apple juice lady said he wasn't doing that..." she looks down. "Did... you lie to me?"
Avinalyn merely shrugs without even sparing her a glance. "Perhaps I bent the truth a little. What does it matter? You still got the job done so I could poison him," they state without looking back at her, even as she looks at them again.
"I don't really like being lied to..." she says. "It makes me sad."
And Avinalyn huffs and shakes their head, resisting the urge to roll their eyes. Of all things for an orc to not like, it's being lied to? How did they get stuck with the single most useless orc to ever live?
"That's not my problem. Just means that you need thicker skin," they snap and continue looking up and down the streets for Reela's father. No sign of him yet, but again, he can't have gotten far. But with Mog nagging at their back, it's admittedly a little difficult to focus, which only adds to their frustration.
Mog frowns. "My skin is plenty thick, please and thank you."
Avinalyn does roll their eyes with a sigh. "No. It's not. You've had an easy life while others have had to fight just to stay alive. And some have had it worse than you could possibly imagine. Those people are the strongest, which you are not."
"But what about you, Boss?" Mog asks and hurries to their side to try getting them to look at her, but they still ignore her. "What was your life like? How's your skin's thickness level? Your skin looks soft to me, like a baby," she smiles and reaches out to touch them, but they slap her hand away and continue forward.
"Don't touch me," they growl. "And my life is none of your business. Leave it alone."
Mog looks sadly down at them. "So... It was bad? It's starting to seem like your life wasn't so happy, which is sad... Wanna talk about it?"
"What part of 'leave it alone' do you not understand?" Avinalyn tries taking a deep breath, hoping that will keep them level headed. It helps a little, but a little isn't much. She's starting to cross the one line they've set in place but she's too stupid to realize it.
Mog slowly nods and purses her lips, and for a moment, there's silence. They think they've evaded her line of questioning, but she doesn't look away from them for the entire moment of silence, which is almost worse. It means she's trying to think.
Maybe it's not the silence that's frustrating. It's the thought of Mog potentially knowing something that they don't. It's annoying as it is frightening.
"I've heard people say they want to be alone when they're sad... And you sure are alone a lot," Mog starts. "Does your life make you sad, and that's why you want to be alone all the time?" she pushes and Avinalyn feels the last thread start pulling taut. Their anger rises.
"Back. Off," they growl their warning. For her sake, she better listen.
They know what often happens to people who don't.
But of course, Mog fails to understand even a simple warning. "I mean... You sure do take this whole 'Reela's dad' thing personally... Did you not have a good dad or something? Or mom? My mom and dad are so nice. You should meet them—"
"Enough," Avinalyn stops walking and tries to force another deep breath. Their shoulders tense and they feel their hands beginning to heat up at their sides. The thread pulls tighter and tighter until they feel it prepare to snap. "I didn't come out here to talk to you about my personal life, nor did I even want you to come with me at all. All I'm here for is finding Reela's father so if you don't back off this instant, then I will be returning alone."
And Mog stops and stares at them blankly. "Her... father?" she tilts her head. "That's... why we're here...? I thought... you wanted to come here because we're friends. Why did you lie to me again...?"
Like a switch, the anger boils over from the frustration that's been burning since the moment they met this idiot wearing the teeth and skin of a killer. They wanted a mercenary, and this is what they got.
Nothing but a headache.
"I lied to you... because it was easy," they snap and turn around to meet her eyes – as if there's even a single thought behind them. "Because I knew that simply smiling and nodding would trick you into believing that I might actually give a damn about what you want. But in case something so simple could ever enter that empty head of yours, allow me to make it clear one final time."
They storm over to stand in front of her, and they watch her slightly shrink back at the sharpness to the word 'final.' "I don't care about you, how you feel, or what you think – if anything at all. We are not 'friends' and at this point, even calling us acquaintances makes me want to kill you where you stand."
Mog flinches back from their words. "But Boss—"
They shut her up with a slap across the face, making her shrink back even more. "Stop calling me that! I don't want or need your help, I never did. I simply wanted you out of the way, and yet here you are continuing to be nothing but a burden on me. I had hoped you would die when I sent you to Utopia, but you somehow stumbled your way through the minefield and wound up right back where you started; as a thorn in my side that I just can't seem to get rid of."
Mog takes a small step back and holds her hand against her cheek. "But I thought—"
"No, you didn't think. You never think. You are simply too stupid to form any clear thoughts, otherwise I wouldn't have to waste my breath telling you this myself. I thought it was already clear the countless other times I said it, but maybe now you'll finally accept that I simply couldn't care less about you."
They step towards her again. "If given the opportunity, I would gladly throw you to the wolves of Varagores and turn my back as they torture you into being what you're supposed to be: a killer. A weapon to be used in their war. You need to either accept what you are, or die like every other idiot who just didn't know their place," they state and hold their head higher, watching her continue to try making herself as small as possible. It's pathetic.
Avinalyn shakes their head and steps back from her. "You want to help, Mog?" they turn away from her. "Then spare me the headaches and get out of my life."
They don't even bother waiting for her to say anything as they resume walking, leaving her to mope in the street and hopefully register everything they just said. Maybe it was harsh, but nothing else so far has gotten through her thick skull. At this point, harsh is necessary.
Avinalyn hears a scrape of stone from behind them but with their anger, they can't react quick enough.
"Boss!" Mog exclaims and Avinalyn just manages to glance back when Mog shoves them aside, taking the blade of a knife in her stomach from seemingly nothing.
They stagger back to watch Mog collapse to the street with blood spilling across the stone pavement and only manage a gasp before the man they've been shadowing all day materializes out of thin air before their eyes and takes a slice at their face.
They manage to duck out of the way and prepare to throw a fireball from their hand, but before they can even charge the spell, they feel piercing talons digging bloody engravings in their wrist and they hear the screeches of the hawk without even seeing it, as the man in front of them with a knife holds their attention.
They can't even think about what to do next before they're shoved back against the stone wall of a shop behind them with the blade of a knife pressed hard against their throat. The hawk releases their wrist and now they watch it fly over to Mog and perch next to her head as if making sure she's not going to get back up. But Avinalyn can tell she's out cold. The blade cut deep from the glimpse they saw.
Cree snickers and looks over Avinalyn's face. "I knew your voice sounded familiar," he growls. "You're the bastard who interrogated my daughter."
Avinalyn composes themself enough to glare down at him. "And you're the bastard who didn't care."
"Is that so?" Cree cocks his head and presses the knife harder to their skin and even though they aren't able to feel the cold sting of the blade, they do feel the blood starting to trickle down the front of their throat and they're suddenly glad they chose a red shirt this morning. "Do I care?"
Avinalyn shrugs calmly, despite how fast they can feel their heart still beating. They're not used to getting caught off-guard. Perhaps they underestimated him. "You certainly took a while to strike. What exactly were you waiting for?"
Cree chuckles, the sound more spiteful than amused, not to say there isn't amusement in his tone. He glances back at Achilles, and the bird cocks its head at him just like it did back at the bar. Cree looks up at Avinalyn again with a grin.
"For the poison to kick in," he states and swiftly releases them with a step back.
They chuckle as well and tilt their head. "You... didn't poison me."
"Oh I know," Cree returns his knife to the leather sheath on his belt. "But you poisoned me."
Avinalyn opens their mouth to speak, when they see Cree stagger where he stands and flashes them a finger gun and a wink right before he falls unconscious to the ground beside Mog.
Avinalyn stands in wordless confusion and watches Achilles peck at Cree's studded earrings, as if the bird is checking to see if he's dead or not.
But all of that is a later problem.
First, they wipe the blood from their neck as they kneel beside Mog and press their fingers to the inside of her wrist. She still has a pulse. If they were to guess, it wasn't the stab that knocked her out, but when she collapsed she hit her head on the stone pavement. The blood is still a problem, but that can be fixed.
They can't take both Mog and Cree with them. And after everything they just said to her, they honestly don't think they even want to take her with. So they pour a healing elixir in her mouth before dragging her to one of the side alleys, somewhere she's not likely to be discovered by the citizens of Denkile in the morning. One paranoid passerby would easily kill her simply for being an orc. She'll live, but she's safer away from them.
So they take back the rift shard they had given her when they first hired her.
While they were busy hiding Mog, Achilles followed them, and apparently the bird grew impatient so he started swooping down to grab their shirt sleeve to try pulling them back out of the alley.
Eventually, they got the message and returned to where Cree is lying unconscious. They still don't know what all that was about, but they have to remember this is the man who raised Reela.
Making sense doesn't seem to run in the family.
With a confused sigh and one final glance back at the alley, they take Cree with them as they return to their castle.