4 - Fallout

     Renfeld was different.

     Vaylin had saved plenty of towns since she had left Atrion’s grip. So many Fey and humans were suffering at the hands of one another. The Sanguine Crypts weren’t the first gang she had dealt with, and they wouldn’t be the last.

     But having nearly four scores of bandits swear fealty to her after she got rid of their leader was definitely a new one.

     It came as no surprise to her that the villagers were thankful for her contributions. She had saved them after all. But then, they would have shown the same gratitude to anyone who stepped in. Vaylin was only doing her due diligence, not only as a good person, but also as Asura. Most other villages also had the good graces to give Vaylin some privacy to rest on her laurels and plan their next move, but not Renfeld.

     The receptionist who had asked her to address the crowd outside the inn had come at an inopportune time, interrupting what was supposed to be a private rendezvous with Dorn and Bjorn. Following that, a blacksmith had somehow showed up, gifting her clothing after hearing about a minor wardrobe malfunction every Sith who had finished puberty had grown used to. This wasn’t at all like what she had experienced in Tarn, Vizgon or Newport. There, privacy was respected!

     Still, the blacksmith’s assertions had intrigued Vaylin. The clothing had contoured itself perfectly to her figure as she had donned the fabric. All it really needed was a skirt, which she had fashioned by wrapping her childhood blanket around her waist.

     Dealing with the throngs of adoring fans outside was a different matter altogether. A stunned silence fell over the crowd as she left the inn, to be enveloped by everyone. Villagers and ex-bandit alike regarded her with awe and reverence, seemingly basking in her very presence. It was all very surreal.

     “Afternoon, everyone.” She said warmly. The eyes of a few of the admirers closest to her sparkled as she addressed them. “Uh, how long have you been here?”

     Out of the crowd, a rural girl with pointed ears poking out of the sides of her hair yelled out, “All night since you checked in!”

     “All night?” Vaylin asked, feeling her cheeks blush. Did they… hear anything?

     “All night.” a former bandit exclaimed.

     “Wow… that’s very impressive!” She managed to say, the blood rushing to her face. “But, uh, I have some business to attend to. So, I’d appreciate it if I could have some privacy.”

     The crowd murmured, seemingly intent on honoring her request, when someone shouted out “where did that outfit come from?”

     Everyone stopped, refocusing on her and her new bodysuit.

     “Oh, it was gifted to me by the local blacksmith,” Vaylin said nervously. “Landon, I think his name was.”

     “Won’t it rip,” Someone called out. “when you transform?”

     “He said it was designed with that in mind, actually.”

     “Can you show us?” Another villager asked.

     “We’re getting off track.” She interjected. Her patience was starting to wear thin. “We all have things to do, so how about we get to that?”

     “What are you going to do?”

     “I don’t know yet.”

     “Can we come?”

     “What? No!”

     “Why not?”

     “Because I said so!”

     “But–”

     “Scram!” Vaylin shouted. She pumped wind magyk into her yell, magnifying the sound to an ethereal scream. The windows to the inn shattered, and the populace immediately began running in various directions with their hands over their ears. Bodies slammed into one another in the momentary chaos. Dust flew into the air, until Vaylin was alone.

     Nearly alone.

     What the? A lone Cait Sith in a raggy vest and baggy pants stood waiting for her. His grimy brown-black hair was badly cut, seemingly styled to resemble the leaves of a palm tree. A fez sat atop his funky hair. His eyes glimmered like emeralds caught in the sun, and a brilliant smile greeted her, with a large gap between his left canine and front teeth. On his throat sat a conspicuously prominent scar. The hooked angle of his nose and the plume of golden feathers underneath his vest informed her the man was an Avis Sith. It was possible he had just become an adult.

     “Didn’t you get the memo,” Vaylin gestured around the area. The Avis glanced around, but kept his focus on her. “Get a move on. Return to your daily lives.”

     Her visitor shook his head and started making funky shapes with his hands one after the other in rapid succession. Is he…?

     “Hold on,” She interjected as the Avis pointed at her and himself. She returned quickly with Bjorn, who had barely managed to put on some pants. “Can you understand him? Don’t you sometimes talk with your hands?” Vaylin asked her ursine attendant.

     Bjorn made a series of gestures with his hands, and the Avis Sith eyes lit even further, replying in kind.

     “What did he say?”

     “Says he can’t talk. Bandits sliced his throat real good a few years back,” Bjorn translated, watching the bird man intently. “But his name is Pineapple and he believes his voice will be restored if he follows your shadow, or something. I didn’t quite catch that last part.”

     “Your name is Pineapple?” Vaylin asked the bird man.

     Pineapple nodded enthusiastically, then made another gesture.

     “Pineapple Roc,” Bjorn supplied.

     “Pineapple Roc?”

     Pineapple made an even more enthusiastic gesture of confirmation, if that was even possible.

     Vaylin pondered her choices. While she had some inklings on how healing magyk worked, she wasn’t confident her level of skill would be enough to reverse an injury that took place ages ago. Would a competent healer even be able to heal that? Her applications of magyk lent itself more towards combat, not recovery, in any case. The thought of disappointing Pineapple, while something she’d prefer to avoid, seemed more like an inevitability than a possibility.

     “Look, kid, I don’t know if I can heal you.” she told him, deciding to nip a potential issue in the bud.

     “That’s okay,” Bjorn translated. “My voice will be restored in this life or the next. But I would be honored if you would take me as an apprentice or attendant.”

     “Well, I’d be careful about that,” she clapped him on the shoulder good naturedly. “My last two attendants ended up joining me in my bed. I’m not sure I want a third quite yet.”

     Pineapple’s eyes went wide in alarm. He began to shake his head ferociously even as Bjorn glared at her without mirth. Frankly, she agreed, only meaning it mostly in jest. While he looked handsome enough, Vaylin wasn’t sure Dorn and Bjorn would take kindly to having to share her with another man quite so soon. Well, yet. She might be able to talk them into it eventually.

     “Still, I don’t mind if you tag along,” Vaylin continued. “In fact, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Governor lives, do you?”

     He smiled again, a devious smile that told her they might be thinking on the same wavelength.

*      *      *

     From Renfeld, Vaylin and Pineapple rode Bjorn northwest for half a day. Governor Kordin, as it turned out, had constructed quite a fancy villa at the base of the Meruya Mountains, and spent his time there throughout the year instead of at the capital, Oro, or the territory of Seras where he provides his stewardship. No doubt built as a sanctuary away from work and politics, for rest and relaxation.

     Shame Vaylin was about to put an end to that.

     Rending the door from its hinges, Vaylin skulked in. True to Landon’s word, the bodysuit had adjusted itself accordingly to her enlarged size. Crashing through the roof, Pineapple descended, wings spread aloft while Bjorn made himself an entrance through the bricked wall. All of them, snarling and keening savagely in their true forms at Kordin, now huddled in the corner, shrieking in fear.

     “Governor Lon Kordin,” she roared. The Master’s Claim on her chest began to glow. “I have come for you!”

     The governor abandoned all pretense of reason, babbling incoherently as he protested his innocence to every form of accusation.

     “I’m innocent! Innocent I tell you!” He repeated.

     Vaylin lifted him by his collar to look her in the eyes. Sweat fell like he had turned into a rain cloud. The weight of the Divinity pressed against the human, cowing him into reluctant silence. “I am Vaylin, the Asura,” She growled. His pheromones radiated fear, and she struggled to stay focused. “Your judge, jury, and executioner. And tonight you are suspected of treason against your citizens, the High King, and the Divine who gave us all life. How do you plead?”

     The declaration roused him from his panic. He eyed her confusion. “Treason? For what?”

     She gestured towards Pineapple, who held his neck aloft, displaying the scar on his throat. “For neglecting the care of the Fey in the region of Seras, and for abetting violent gangs in their pogroms.”

     “I have done nothing but help the Fey Folk,” protested Kordin, eyes bugging. He tried and failed to remove himself from Vaylin’s grasp. “What is the meaning of this?”

     His reticence almost made her laugh. She leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Does the name Lonra Kordin mean anything to you?”

     “That’s my niece’s name,” he replied. “What have you done to her?”

     That did make her laugh. “Nothing. Except tearing off the head of the Sanguine Crypts and becoming their new leader.”

     Kordin blanched.

     “She, and many of her compatriots in the Crypts confirmed the rumors about you,” Vaylin went on. “Funny thing about rumors, Governor. If you look hard enough, sometimes the truth sticks out.”

     Upon hearing this, the man looked dismayed. A shadow fell over his face, and Kordin sneered at her in derision. “Look at you,” he spat. “You’re a freak. An animal convincing herself she’s a human.”

     “I am no human, human.” she growled. Kordin refused to be cowed, threw insult after insult at her now.

     “So are you going to kill him?” Bjorn asked. His ears flicked, as if he was trying to listen for something.

     “I’d like to. I really would,” admitted Vaylin. She squeezed, and a distinct snap came from inside Kordin’s head. His eyes rolled back, going limp as she dropped him to the floor. “But killing you will only fan the flames of hatred.”

     “What did you do?!” Pineapple exclaimed through Bjorn.

     She kicked the motionless body. “Not much, I crushed his jaw. The shock just knocked him out.”

     “So what’s the plan now?” Bjorn asked. He eyed Kordin as if he was dead. In a way, Vaylin supposed he was; he just hadn’t realized it yet.

     “I was thinking we’d bring him to Oro, have a nice chat with the High King.” Vaylin replied casually.

     “What? No!”

     The protest came from outside the villa. Stepping outside, Vaylin was caught off guard by a mix of villagers and exbandits, all of them looking very angry. Among them, villagers from not just Renfeld, but also Tarn and Vizgon.

     “Uh, Vaylin?” Bjorn said.

     Pineapple and Bjorn stepped towards the crowd, forming a wall between her and them.

     “Yeah, I noticed, we’re not alone.” She said bluntly.

     “No, not that,” Her paramour replied. “Well, maybe it can wait.”

     “Thanks, dear.”

     Turning towards the gaggle of people, Vaylin returned to her mundane form. “Well, fancy seeing y’all around these parts.” She gestured towards the governor. “I didn’t ruin a party just before it got started again, did I?”

     A girl stepped forward, and Vaylin almost recognized her. One of the villagers who had holed up in the bar at Renfeld when Vaylin had liberated the town.

     “Hand over the governor.” The woman insisted.

     “What are you planning to do with him?” Vaylin replied neutrally, moving in between the crowd and Kordin.

     “He’s been terrorizing us,” the woman answered indignantly. “We think he should know what it feels like. To be run out of his home and killed in front of his loved ones.”

     Several members of the crowd behind the speaker raised their voices in solidarity. What had prompted this change, Vaylin wondered. Earlier, they had all been eating out of the palm of her hand, now they seemed foaming at the mouth like a bunch of croligators to rid themselves of the source of their problems.

     “Why?” She asked, not expecting an answer. In fact, she didn’t even realize she had said it aloud until after the fact.

     “Vaylin,” Bjorn murmured softly by her side. “They’re just following your example.”

     A shiver iced down her spine. By the Divines, she wanted to contest the claim. She wanted to ignore the problem. But she couldn’t deny that Bjorn was right.

     They were just doing exactly what they saw her doing.

     Was… Was Atrion right?

     “I don’t suppose I could ask you nicely to let me turn in the Governor to the High King?” She asked sheepishly.

     The group exchanged uneasy glances with one another. “We’d prefer to bring him to justice ourselves.” Their spokeswoman answered shortly after. As she spoke, the lot of them brandished what weapons they had. “How do we know you won’t just let him go free once we leave? Or that the High King won’t do the same?”

     “All I have is my word as Asura,” Vaylin answered. She adopted a defensive stance, one meant to to turn an opponent’s aggression against them. Belatedly she regretted leaving her Monkey’s Paw polearm back in Renfeld. “As much as I love fighting. Don’t.”

     “Why are you trying to stop us?” one of them pleaded. “We’re just trying to be like you.”

     “I know…”

     Something akin to a revelation struck Vaylin. So impressive and inspiring, she knew it couldn’t have come from herself. It had to be from the Divinity. “You said you want to be like me,” she added. “What if I helped with that?”

     The crowd shifted in surprise. “You’ll let us have him?”

     “No, something even better.”