Red Semryu-- Holiday Gift from Additional Content Archives!

Happy Holidays all from Mac and J. Leigh! As a thank you for sticking with us all year, we brought out this additional content short story from the archives to share with all patrons! We hope you enjoy this StoryVault feature!

*note minor trigger warning, blood, murder, talk of slavery, assault.

Ruddy fucking Red.

Semryu breathed out slowly through his fangs as he busied himself at the water pump, washing his hands for a few moments longer than needed. It was a sad excuse to linger, watching the Innkeeper kick the slave child-- a small Okten boy --for a third time. More than a few passing Annarites took notice of his interest, eyeing the Clansman with leery red eyes. He averted his gaze from the scene, shaking his hands dry in the chill air, his boots stained all the more with clay from the red-tinted mud puddle pooled under the pump.

I hate this province.

Semryu enjoyed the simplicity of Middle Lands law, which stated only the strongest of wills deserved to succeed-- but that same simplicity that allowed him his freedoms, also took them away from others who were less…'willful'. Some communities didn't take part in the slave trade, many did, to varying levels of enforcement-- but the general attitude of the Middle Lands always remained the same.

Nothing is real...the only thing that matters is the self.

And Semryu preferred to keep to himself, lest he get bounty-hunted and dragged back to Tar'citadel or the Clan Lands for his 'crimes'. Hence why he'd migrated so far north as of late-- the further from those two borders, the better. But the bitter chill in the air this close to Kinawa wasn't the most distasteful thing about the area-- they traded heavily in people here, with some poor souls being funneled in from as far north as the Solkies. For his own freedom, he paid the price for turning a blind eye, complacency to evil making him just as Red as the rest. Strong as my will is, I can't will everyone else to grow a conscience.

"Are you certain it is merely a matter of will?" Ichor asked, the inky Guide's voice a gurgle in his mind, the sound not unlike the rushing water of the pump. "Perhaps if you understood the doctrine more, you might enact some of the changes you desire."

Semryu snorted. Leave it to an angel to encourage understanding of Evil. Wasn't that what got us here in the first place?

"I do believe what 'got us here' is the same lesson that has gotten you just about everywhere-- impulsiveness of the heart that leads to desperate, less than pleasing choices."

Spirit, I didn't think an angel could get more Red along with its Charge.

"That, along with everything else, is your perspective of the situation. You decide if you're Red. You decide if I'm Red. I simply respond to your definitions."

Semryu signed long. Talking to me since my childhood and you're still weaving words in circles. Nice chat, Ichor.

"Anytime, my Charge. Though technically I was talking to you from birth."

Another squeal filled the air, drawing the Clansman's gaze back to the sight of a man a good hundred pounds of muscle heavier than his victim raising his boot up for another twack. The Okten child was a hafledge, and lacked full wings, just scrawny, feather-smattered arms and grey hands cupped over his face. Kid's property here. That's their Way. Semryu's own conscience tied itself into a knot without Ichor's prodding, and he flinched almost as hard as the boy when the kick landed. Remember what happened in Fiig'li Province? He told himself. Now you can't even go back there, and more people died than you saved.

"As said, if you knew the doctrine, you might have a better time of liberating people," Ichor prodded.

The child let out a gurgling whimper, his small, trembling body suddenly reminding Semryu of another child, curled up in a ball and covered in blood. Still, Red as he was now, some habits died hard. Semryu sighed, catching the last stream of the pump, freezing it as an ice shard.

The Annarites and the scattering of other villagers who'd been watching him stepped back as a whole, but the Innkeeper kept his eyes on the child, raising his leg yet again. His angry snarl turned to a silent gasp of confusion and pain as the ice shard shot into his throat, stealing away the scream. He fell backward with a thud, body flopping hard against the wood planks of the little porch. Calm as his ice, Semryu strode up onto the porch, inserting himself between the cowering child and the now profusely bleeding Innkeeper.

"You, sir, were ruining my rest-stop ambiance," he declared loud enough in the local dialect for those still eyeing him to hear. Almost as a unit, the village population shrugged and continued about their business-- after all, the stronger will had clearly prevailed.

They don't even blink at assaulting a man for annoying me, but if I claimed it was to spare a child pain, they'd pounce like wolves. Some things I'll never get used to here. He turned to the child, who, still cowering, stared up with wide-eyed fear at the ice mage. And I never think these things through.

"I literally just said that," Ichor replied, sounding suspiciously sarcastic.

"Well, I guess you're mine now," Semryu proclaimed to the boy, again loud enough for others to hear. Crouching down closer, he asked not unkindly, "Can you walk?"

The kid nodded, blinking those large golden eyes at him, but then shuttered. "I...I don't belong to him."

Semryu snorted. Lovely. Can't even liberate a kid correctly. Aloud he asked, "Then why did he think it was alright to beat you? Can't imagine your master holds much weight, then."

"He...thought I was lying." The kid swallowed, the patch of white feathers at his throat fluffing. "Thought I'd run away. I wouldn't. I... couldn't."

Semryu nodded. There were a slew of reasons enslaved people would return to their masters when sent on errands: spells, fear, and of course if there were family or friends enslaved as well, they could be harmed if someone tried to run. Though most other Red Followers might not take it upon themselves to enact punishment on a runaway who was not their own property. Indeed, cutting ties and bolting was considered an act of will, and unless they, too, had a loyalty to the original master, wouldn't necessarily care.

Unless they're a sadist asshole, Semryu thought with a snort. His eyes shot to the Innkeeper, who while alive wasn't having a good day as he crawled back into his inn, leaving a trail of blood and melting icicle. Or more afraid of the master.

He turned back to the hafledge, who to his credit, had sat up. Tough little guy. "Then he's just rude, and I do not abide rudeness." Semryu snorted. "Unless I'm the one being it."

The fear and pain ebbing out of the kid was interrupted by a warbling wave of befuddlement, as if he wasn't certain if Semryu had been joking. The Exemplary Talent breathed out a projected sense of calm, some small comfort for the boy. The Okten's shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still seemed leery; likely the kid recognized the usage of empathic Ability. Plenty of slave-owning Talents used Ability on their 'property'.

Semryu swallowed, not liking the images such thoughts conjured. "Well, as said, I can't abide rudeness, and it'd be rude of me to leave…" he probably should have said 'property' or something of the like to avoid suspicions, but he just couldn't "...someone like you without making sure you get back to whomever matters." He gave the child a poignant look, adding in quietly, to your family, if that's what you need.

Puzzlement projected from the boy and he whispered, "No family, Sir."

"Friends? Back with your Master?" The hafledge shook his head in the negative, and despite his better judgement, Semryu asked, "Then what holds you to your master?"

"Apprentice," he replied, hissing slightly as he stretched. His toes flared, that part of him too bird-like to need shoes and his claws clicked together when they relaxed. "I'm bound, but not owned. The Innkeep didn't believe me."

Semryu rolled his eyes. Ugh, no wonder they all let me whack him, damn innkeeper was being a shit even by Middle Lands standards. Annarite children were usually the ones chosen for apprenticeships and tutelages, and while the whims of the teacher determined the apprentice's care, it was considered really, really uncouth to go about harming one, as they weren't considered property the way a slave was. Then again, some owners get twitchy about their 'property' getting damaged, too.

"Right." Standing, Semryu offered his hand to the boy. "What's your name, then, Apprentice, and who's your instructor? I'll see you back to them."

He stared at Semryu's hand with a great deal of trepidation, before looking back up and meeting Semryu's gray eyes. "Why?"

"Well, if you aren't lying, then I think your instructor should know this dumb ass Innkeeper won't honor their apprentices, and anyone worth their Red shouldn't let such an insult stand." He gave the Okten child a hard glare. "You aren't lying, though, are you?"

"No," he replied firmly, then took Semryu's hand. "I am bound to Scholar Altanna Su'mdjett, as apprentice to the knowledges of linguistics and mathematics. My name is Halgyr."

"Huh, didn't know there was a scholar for linguistics and mathematics round here," Semryu replied as he pulled Halgyr up. "Thought most of those kept to the Warlord courts or the capital."

"We're on the road to one," Halgyr explained, brushing off his shirt. He winced again; kid probably had a bruised rib or two. "Scholar Altanna and I left the court of Warlord Vot and are heading to the capital to seek new employment." His crown feathers ruffled. "She said the atmosphere there was 'unconducive to proper academic pursuits'."

Semryu nodded; that, at least, tracked. Warlord Vot ruled a small, middle-western province that didn't have any shared Way Nation borders, so a translator wouldn't be readily needed unless they were just constantly shuffling the Annarite dialects. And he's also got a reputation for being arrogant about his account books; can't imagine he'd listen well to a mathematics scholar. Still...Semryu sucked lightly on the inside of his cheek; these two were either lost or had taken quite the detour if they were headed for the capital from Vot's Province. Then again, Spirit only knows what kinds of weirdness happens in what province; they just might be avoiding a nastier route if it's just the two of them. I certainly don't know everyone's politics, and this country is simply not safe.

"Fine, let's go see Scholar Su'mdjet."

"Ah... she's sort of in a room upstairs…" Halgyr replied, his eyes sliding to the inn's doors, just as an older human woman stuck her head out.

White-haired but not terribly over-burdened by wrinkles, she had the look of many Middle-humans, which was to say her ancestry pulled from multiple human nationalities, plus some Annarite. It gave her a very dark skin tone, delicate features, and eyes that had the extra fold that came from Clan Lands or Lubreean human bloodlines. She squinted those light brown eyes accusatory at Semryu, little to no fear in her tone as she demanded, "You the one shut-up my prick of a husband?"

"Yup." Semryu replied, crossing his arms with a shrug. "That's what he gets for beating a guest's apprentice instead of checking-in a new one."

She made a hissing sound through her teeth, then gave Halgyr a long once-over before shaking her head. She opened the swinging door further, revealing the still gagging and bleeding Innkeeper laying just over the threshold. "I fucking told you he was the same halbfledge that scholar came in with-- but you never ruddy fucking listen, do you?" She kicked him lightly, and he grunted miserably. Another tisk tisk sound escaped her lips, and then she moved aside, holding the door open for them. "Well, come on. If he lives, I can finally divorce him, and if not, well, you still need a check in."

"Much obliged," Semryu replied, then let Halgyr go first. The kid bobbed his head in thanks and hopped over the Innkeeper, only to then double-back and give him a swift kick.

"Hey, don't go rifling through his pockets, if he's still breathing, his shit's mine," the wife scolded as the Okten crouched down beside her groaning husband.

"This is Scholar Altanna's," Halgyr replied, pulling a small book off the Innkeeper's person. He wiggled it at her, too fast for Semryu to read the title, but not before he noted the heavy gold leaf and fine leather of the binding. "He thought I stole it, but I was just getting it back from the bookbinder." He then tossed her the Innkeeper's coin purse, which she caught, one handed. "That's yours."

She snorted, tucking the open door behind her shoulder while opening the purse. Taking one out-- the flash of gold looked like a Tazu Nation bullion --she bit it, nodded, then reclosed the purse before stuffing the thing into her bodice. Semryu, meanwhile, stepped into the inn proper, lips twisted in a minor smirk at the unusual turn of events thus far. Certainly, the one thing about the Middle Lands that's consistent is its inconsistencies.

The place was actually quite nice, for Middle Lands standards, if sparse and lacking in guests. Then again, it's mid-morning, not many people pursuing the bar at this hour, and if there was a breakfast rush, they'd have cleared out. Semryu made note of the two staircases flanking the bar, one going up, and one down, where a small landing ended with a closed door; likely to a cellar. There were only three small tables set for four between the door and the bar top, but everything was very clean and organized, aside from the bleeding Innkeeper, who had pulled himself up and was leaning against the wall beside the door. From the ebbing flow of the blood between his fingers, Semryu could assess he'd likely live; if infection didn't kill him later. Or his wife sooner.

The woman finally took some semblance of pity upon her husband and tossed him a dishrag after pulling it off of her belt. "Come on, then," she said to Semryu, letting the door finally fall closed. "How long you wanting a room for?" She gave him a long, more assessing gaze. "You have Tainted Walker airs to you-- you tasha-kama? I've got more than a few leads for mercenary work if you're interested-- for a finder's fee, of course."

"Of course." Semryu retorted, his tone somewhat begrudging as he followed her back to the bar. Rheanics fallen to the Red was a sore spot, still.

She snorted, walking around behind the bar while he stopped short at the counter. "Any of my referrals stay their nights for free. Fair is fair. But your food and drink still cost ya. Damn Talents and your metabolisms, not to mention Clan...I'd run dry and poor in a day. And no Feeding from guests. It ain't that kind of establishment."

Semryu let himself laugh. There was, indeed, a simplistic bluntness sometimes to Middle Landers that appealed to him. Though so many of them are also brilliant liars. "Not tasha-kama," he replied. "But I'm flattered you thought so-- unfortunately I didn't make it that far up the tower to go picking a path, let alone becoming a ka'melie. As far as work, I'm just passing through. Just need a night or two to rest my head on something that's not a rock."

She grumbled a response that implied her lack of trust that he was being entirely truthful; but then again what did she honestly expect? They spent a little time bargaining back and forth over the price of the room; Semryu gave in sooner than he normally would, plopping the coins upon the bar top simply to ensure there'd be no poison in his meals.

Though that's still always a possibility, he thought snidely, taking his room key and a sealed bottle of the strongest alcohol she had back over to one of the small tables. Placing them both on the nicked wood, he then dragged it and a chair over to the corner furthest away from the bar and with the best view of the door as well as both staircases. Ignoring her muttered "Ruddy Clan" comments, he settled in, pocketing the room key and putting his feet up on the table before breaking the wax seal on his drink. Frowning after the first sip, he took a moment to lightly frost the bottle, and the second gulp was much improved in taste thanks to its newfound coldness.

"She definitely thought about poisoning it," Ichor informed. He was like a creeping ink stain, swirling around under the table above the straw threshing that covered the floor.

But thinking is not doing, Semryu replied, taking another swig. He expanded his senses for a moment, testing the proverbial precognitive waters as it were. A sense of disgust and dread filled his gut, rather ruining his enjoyment of his drink. Semryu's short term combat precognition was razor accurate as his sword's edge, but his long-term tended to be far more muddled, but still mostly accurate. Do warn me, if you catch anyone trying to poison me, hum? Or kill me in general?

"You know what Angel Guides do, yes?"

Semryu failed to repress a snort, earning him an arched-eyebrow glare from the Innkeeper's wife, who'd finally gone to help her husband up off the floor. Semryu shrugged at her. Shaking her head, she led her husband past the Clansman to the cellar stairs, his hand holding the balled-up but not too bloody dishrag at his throat. The Innkeeper gave him a vicious glare, to which Semryu merely held up his bottle in salute. They disappeared through the lower door, presumably to their accommodations. Once it slammed shut, Semryu was alone.

Like most days. He sighed, allowing the loneliness to be felt in full for the first time in a while. The alcohol didn't really take the edge off, either; the Innkeeper's wife was right, his Clan metabolism wouldn't be doing him any favors in that regard.

Probably should just take a noontime nap and then be on my way by dusk. Tilting the bottle, he examined the flow of the clear alcohol through the tinted glass. Only inn for bounds and I go and maim the owner. Probably can't trust him not to try to slip me some ral venom and then light me on fire. Especially if the wife is lying. She's got Ability and wards up, that one.

"Then why try to stay at all?" Ichor asked. "We've become adept at sleeping in those ice houses you make, and you Fed on that rabbit before we got here. Your plan was to purchase a new mountain pony and camp supplies in this town, not take-up an inn bed."

Because I'm tired, he said in a sudden spell of naked honesty, bringing the rim back to his lips. The alcohol tasted smokey and peat-like. Thoughts as to what happened to his last pony and supplies haunted him, and he pushed them back under a light covering of mental snow. Halgyr fortuitously appeared on the stairs, taking them two at a time as the little Okten made his way hastily down. And I've still got a soft spot for kids. Just want to make sure this one doesn't die after I bothered to help.

Halgyr was halfway across the barroom when an Annarite woman-- presumably Altanna Su'mdjett --appeared at the top landing. She proceeded down at a much more reasonable pace, allowing Semryu to get a good look at her as she approached.

Her boots-- which he got to see first --were high quality riders with silver detailing, no spurs though. Everything she wore was of quality, but not extravagant-- her leggings and layered skirt were wool, bodice a simple heavy fabric without boning. No cloak; but they were indoors of course, and her belt had only a few pouches. Her colors were gray and red, typical for Middle Lands scholars, though she also supplemented them with copper hair pieces and metal framed glasses. She had coveted red hair; not the orange tone of many Ki'ra-kin from Nor'wah, but truly red, a shade that occurred naturally for some Annarites and with dyes for the rest.

Hers might actually be natural, Semryu considered, eyeing her gorgeous skin-tone, which put to mind the color of fresh blood in sunlight, almost golden-red, with purple undertones in the shadows. He nodded at her when she reached Halgyr to stand beside his little table.

She adjusted her glasses, deep red eyes-- nearly back --clearly calculating his possible motives along with his travel-worn-- and slightly singed, if he were being honest-- garb. "My apprentice tells me he is in your debt, Sir, for making certain my property was returned to me." She met his gaze, steady as her pronunciation of Clan, which Semryu admitted was impressive. "I don't like owing favors, so I'd rather sort this now, if you so please."

Semryu shrugged; minorly intrigued as he was, he didn't want to cause more trouble for himself. Debt in the Middle Lands could be tricky; most of the time if someone helped you, it was to get something in return-- whether you asked for help or not. "Your property's recovery was a secondary side effect. I put a hole in the Innkeeper's windpipe because he was annoying me more than anything. If you gained from his misfortune, I have no claim on you."

"Perhaps that's what you say in the moment, but I'd rather not have an immortal Clansman grow contrary. Suddenly fifty years from now our paths cross again and I'm abruptly called to pay a debt at the cost of my career or some such." She pulled her glasses down the end of her nose, narrowing her shark-like eyes at him. "You understand."

"Actually, I do. Fair enough." Sliding himself upright, he took his feet down from the table to sit properly. He switched to Tar'cil, just to see what would happen. "Pull up a chair, and we'll discuss."

Unphased by the typically 'Way Walker' language, she nodded to Halgyr, who scrambled to grab chairs for his mistress and himself. Once everyone was settled, Altanna with her hands crossed and planted on the table with straight-backed formality, and Halgyr scratching the back of his respective neck, she began, again, in Tar'cil, "So, what would you have of me?"

Semryu pondered a moment. He'd had similar conversations before of course, everything in the Middle Lands could be very...transactional in a way, but this scholar had him at a distinct disadvantage, simply because he hadn't really been looking to gain anything, and now had no idea what he could, or should, ask for in return. And it's not as if I can just tell them to pay a kindness forward-- they'd probably tell the whole province that one and I'll end up with the whole Ruddy Way of the Red after me. Or at least some bounty hunters looking for a Clansman ice mage.

Fuck it. A little honesty can't hurt, can it?

"I'm afraid I'm not sure," he finally said, this time swapping his language out for the local dialect. "I don't need the services of a linguistic mathematician, so I wasn't stabbing Innkeepers on the off-chance of gaining one's attention, as it were." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "And I have no idea as to the value of the property returned to you, so I can't really measure a reward in coin against it. So, I guess what I'm saying is...what are you offering, Scholar Su'mdjett?"

"You have a clear ear for language, but even someone of your skill must have a need," she replied in the local dialect, then switched to a more remote variant. "What's your destination? I've volumes cataloging every conceivable variant in the Middle Lands. Certainly one of them is knowledge unknown to you and of some use."

Semryu chuckled, then replied, "I'd not reveal my end location, dear." Admittedly, it was heavily accented, but she understood him. When he replied in an even more specific dialect that he'd encountered in a single village outside of Obra Province, her lips pursed in annoyance, clearly not following fully. Swapping back to Clan, he repeated, "As said, I have no need of linguistics, scholar. If you are so insistent upon paying me a debt, we can always settle this with simple coin and be done."

"Matters of honor should never be settled with mere coin," Altanna  replied, her somewhat stiff smile telling Semryu that she probably didn't have much to spare, despite her polished appearance.

Or perhaps because of it, he considered. He sighed, admittedly, it was a pleasure to converse in his mother language, and she spoke it surprisingly well, even for a linguistics scholar. Once more in Clan, he asked, "If not coin, and if not language, then what do you offer me, Scholar Su'mdjett? I doubt very much I would benefit from a mathematics lesson."

"That is entirely dependent upon the math," she replied smoothly, her tone hinting at her confidence as cleanly as her emotional output. "One of the harshest things even trained Talents must bear is the inevitable inconsistency in their capacities. A skipped meal, an hour's less of sleep, and suddenly the Ability to cast simply isn't as strong as the day before. I've developed a method, mathematically, that can allow for a better tracking of this output beyond the simple, 'how you feel on a daily basis' guesswork." She shrugged, still confident. "It is not perfect, but those who've used it, and committed to adjusting any inefficiencies revealed saw a great improvement in their overall capacity to cast. Not to mention it would allow for better pacing and planning, to help avoid the degenerative side effects of over-magical use in later years." She smirked, amending, "Not that a Clansmen such as you would need worry for old age."

Again, Semryu repressed a snigger; despite the obvious chasm of culture and morality between them, he found her persistence and salesmanship endearing. People had been trying to pawn off methods to better-use Abilities to Talents literally since people discovered channeling too much magic led to health problems later in life; Tar'citadel trained, he'd been taught pacing methods from day one.

Not that they matter, really.

"I have no need for such things." He flicked his fingers, a little show of Ability and strength in the Middle Lands never a bad thing. Ice, clear, clean and delicate formed betwixt his fingers, then lengthened in needle sharp elegance-- a weapon both deadly and forever available. "I'm a nontraditional Talent. I need no reserves of energy to freeze the water in the air. I simply do, and gain all the benefits therein."

"That's not entirely true," Ichor pointed out, but Semryu mentally shushed him.

"And yet, the climate is dry in the higher elevations," Scholar Su'mdjett replied in her perfect Clan; if she'd been disappointed in his refusal, she moved past it quickly. "Surely even you must fear running out of water-- I know most warlords are, at least."

"Madam, if you can conjure water from the air when I cannot, I do believe that knowledge would be far more valuable a commodity to trade than whatever book you got back." He snorted. "And besides, my Ability is not limited to water-- I can freeze anything as much as I like."

"Then let me offer this." She smiled thinly, then pulled from her belt pouch a small vial. She placed it on the table between them, before bringing her hands back to the clasped position. "Have you ever considered mercury?"

"Mercury?" Picking up the vial, Semryu peered at the liquid within, watching the silvery metal ebb back and forth as he rotated it. "I don't really have use for a barometer or thermometer, as I can feel the water in the air regardless of weather or temperature-- and otherwise, it's toxic. Not really certain of your point, Scholar."

"What is the freezing point of mercury, ice mage?"

"Negative thirty-eight," he replied, placing the vial once more upon the table with a shrug. "Give or take." She smiled conspiratorially, and he drummed his fingers across the table, not liking the expression's indications. "Forgive me, I didn't graduate, so there's a few gaps in my education despite my intellectual prowess. What's your point?"

"I didn't know you were an ice mage when we began. You're rare, so perhaps no one has explained to you the implications of Tsa'engle's theoretical work: that of fitting corporeal ice demonics with frozen, mercury armor and weaponry." She adjusted her glasses again, eyes sparkling with red highlights despite their blackness. "It failed of course, as no corporeal demonic can reach the negative thirty-eight-point-eight-three Celsius continuously enough to maintain a physical mercury, they all only delve to the freezing point of water. But an ice mage, who can bring about cold in the very atoms around him-- you could."

She leaned forward, eyes now wide with possibility. "Imagine it-- doubly deadly swords that could slice and then melt into wounds, causing untold damage, days, weeks, later. Telekinetically tossed projectiles landing deep into an enemy only to melt, bringing agony and destruction. You are correct, mercury is toxic-- even Clan take a long time to get it out of their system. I imagine a High Mage, or a Red Mage you'd not wish to run afoul of could feel the effects for quite a time. Perhaps long enough for you to escape whatever it is you're running from." She leaned back, her smirk saying it all.

That...that is so evil.

Semryu found himself outrightly torn between sheer awe at the ingenuity and utter disgust at the raw torture that long-term mercury poisoning would do to...well, anyone.  Buying himself some time, he picked up the vial again, watching the mercury with new eyes. No Red Follower in their right mind would turn this down. Ruddy Red in the Pit, it's also an admittedly good idea for dealing with things worse than me out there. Damn. I'm going to have to take this or risk too much suspicion. Tapping the vial lightly against the table, he met her eyes. "So, are you offering just an idea, or something more?"

"The idea is certainly the most valuable thing," she said, visibly relaxing as she clearly knew she'd finally caught his interest. "But I also have another few mercury vials of that size which you are welcome to."

Semryu held up the glassware in question with a snort. No reason to make it too easy. "'A few of these' will hardly fashion a usable sword, Scholar. Nor a dagger, I imagine."

She held her hands up, gold painted nails flashing in mockery of his shrug. "And I am hardly an alchemist or chemist in possession of large stores of liquid metal. I have my little…. experiments, but I'm no ice mage to be carrying a mercury arsenal about. If you want more, you'll likely find some in town, more if you gather here and there. But as said, it's the idea where lies the value."

"And it's certainly a Red-worthy idea," Semryu murmured. "Though admittedly an expensive one to bring to fruition."

"Which is why I offered the idea without commitment, and my tiny amount of stock," she replied, tone somewhat smug.

"Fine. I'll take your vials." He nodded, pocketing the one, then gave her a sharp look. "But also some more conversation. This has been admittingly enlightening. Not to mention boredom-relieving. I'd not mind some more when I break my fast at dusk."

"Ah, but our debt is squared with the mercury," she said, pointing a finger at him. "Further engagements would require further negotiation."

"Pretty certain finding yourself a new apprentice to run your errands would have been a great inconvenience-- or at least a minor one if he'd have needed further medical intervention," Semryu retorted, then chuckled at her sour look. "Come now, I might be an outlander but surely Annarites get bored the same as anyone. I've been on the road for weeks, I've spoken maybe three words to three people until I got here. This is the longest and by far most interesting conversation I've had in months. And easily the first one in Clan in a few years." He sighed lightly. "I'm just after some dinner conversation, no grand overtures of debt, or bargaining-- hell, not even romantic idealizations...just something else other than talking to my feet for a duration. Surely as a linguistics scholar, you'd agree with the mutual benefit of practicing your craft with a native speaker."

Twisting her copper chain necklace in her fingers, Altanna measured him for a few moments, assessing Spirit-knows-what. "Should our schedules align, I'll concede to sit with you. But we may depart before you awaken, Clansman-- this is dependent upon other commitments and the repair of our transport wagon here in town. I'm not of a mind to lengthen our stay solely at your pleasure."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Suddenly feeling the tiredness that comes from the steady rising of the sun and his Clan blood, Semryu stood. "You can give me the vials at dinner. If you're to depart before I wake, you boy here can leave them in a pouch outside my door." He grinned his particular grin which showcased his fangs, a thing he knew to be both charming and mildly terrifying. "And I'll consider our debt unpaid if I don't get them, Scholar Altanna Su'mdjett."

"Of course."

~*~

Knocking woke Semryu hours later, when the shadows had grown long across the dingy floor, nearly encasing the sad threadbare rug just past the threshold. The single window opposite the door glowed golden through the coarse curtains, their grey color not dark enough to fully block the light. The Clansman groaned, rising up on his elbows just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose. Too early. The bed squeaked audibly as he shifted his weight to roll onto his back, the shift and bounce of the likely rusted springs beneath felt through the mattress. He covered his eyes with his hand, mourning the deep, if not entirely comfortable, sleep he'd finally managed. "Who is it, Ichor?" he muttered aloud, only to immediately regret the conjuring of more sound.

"The young Okten," the Guide replied, voice emanating from near the door.

"Just leave the vials!" Semryu called, then rolled back over, yanking the musty quilt back up and over his head. If they're apt to leave, I'm apt to nap. Shame.

"He's not leaving," Ichor informed. Semryu sensed the angel's movement, a sliding shot across the floor like a skater on ice, pooling to a stop below him under the bed. "Stationed himself on the floor outside the door."

Ugh ruddy hell, she probably told him to make sure I got them. Semryu debated for a few minutes on the probability of making the boy wait, the cruelty of such, and the likelihood of him actually falling back to sleep. Ugh. With a yawn followed by a begrudging groan, he sat up, disentangling himself from the bedsheets. Ichor took that moment to flow upwards like ink in water, hovering in a dark cloud before him. What? Semryu asked while smoothing out his hair; Ichor didn't get in his face unless it was something prudent.

"He is quite covered in blood."

That disarming fact woke Semryu thoroughly from his post-slumber haze. He stood and managed to get his pants and shirt on in record time. Leaving his cloak and belt, he grabbed his sword, then just barely remembered to unlock the door before wrenching it open. Halgyr fell backwards into the room, nearly becoming entangled in Semryu's feet.

The hafledge didn't even try to get up, laying instead flat on his back. He blinked his large gold eyes a few times at Semryu, then held up two balled fists, each containing about five vials of mercury. He was, also, as Ichor said, entirely covered in blood.

"Bloody fucking hell," Semryu cursed in Clan, leaning over the Okten to get a quick glance down the hallway. No one was there, but sounds of patrons supping and drinking floated up from downstairs. Satisfied, he caught the corner of the thin rug with his foot, and used it to drag Halgyr further inside the room, then close the door behind him. "Is any of that blood yours?" he asked in the local dialect, turning the lock with one hand while his other tightened around the sword sheath. The smell of it made his nose twitch; it was very fresh, this blood.

"No," the Okten said calmly. He sat up, lowering his hands so he rested his burden of vials on his knees. "She had more mercury than she'd said."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why don't I take those?" Crouching down, Semryu relieved Halgyr of the mercury, tossing the vials onto the bed before turning back and giving him a cursory examination. He seems physically alright, raised heart beat but only a scratch or two otherwise. Got to be experiencing shock though...his aura is all...wobbly. The Clansman bit back the sigh. I'd know a thing or two about that. "Halgyr, where's Scholar Su'mdjett?"

"Oh, ah, she's very dead. I think. In her room," he replied, again, calmly, but in a very detached manner. He glanced down. "I mean I do think she's dead. It was a lot of blood." Raising his head again, he met Semryu's eyes. "I didn't think blood would look so dark against her skin."

"Yeah," Semryu agreed, and the gut-punch of disgust and concern he'd felt earlier suddenly sat in his stomach again. Suddenly, he didn't like the look of the splatter upon Halgyr's tunic, or the pattern of droplets across his face. "I'm going to go check on that, alright? You, stay here. Guard my mercury."

"Alright," he calmly agreed. "Room four. It's unlocked."

With great trepidation, Semryu rose and went in search of Altanna Su'mdjett in room four. The smell of death hit him long before he opened the correct door in the dusty hall. Red Fucking Rhean, this is a crime scene.

Closing the door behind him, Semryu surveyed the slaughter with more critical eyes. She was on the lone bed, throat slit, a gap in the blood splatter on her chest. A knife-- no, a fancy letter opener with a copper hilt, had been discarded onto the floor. Her belongings were nearly arranged about the room, unpacked but not rifled through. The only exception was a single, smaller bag by the door, packed and ready to go. Ichor, her ghost still here? Semryu asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"No. Not Crossed either, though. She's out of body and wandering. Might be back."

To be expected. Alright. Let me know if anyone else comes snooping, Semryu told his Guide, then hastily exited and made his way back to his own room and Halgyr.

The hafledge was very calm. Sitting still on the floor, he'd crossed his legs, watching Semryu with a dreamy expression. "I should have asked you for my bag," he said as Semryu locked the door behind him. A warble of emotion finally escaped, his voice cracking slightly as he added, "I don't want to go back in there."

"You don't have to," Semryu promised. He sat down beside the boy, and took a moment to scan him properly. Scared, definitely. Confused. Regret, too-- glad to see that. Some of the shock is wearing off. "Halgyr," he finally broached after a few minutes. "Why did you kill your Mistress?" When he got nothing in response but a few slow blinks, Semryu elaborated, "I'm an Exemplary Talent, Halgyr. You know what that is?"

"Yes," he replied, voice soft. "Someone with all Abilities. She thought so-- 'you're really rare', she said."

"Right. All five Abilities. That includes mediumship. I talk to ghosts. I'm also just very smart," he explained, leading. "I can tell, from the blood, that you sat on her chest and slit her throat. Why?"

"You can tell that from my shirt?" he asked instead, looking down in wonderment. "You really are skilled."

"Halgyr, I need to know why," he repeated, putting a bit of forceful emotion behind the words; not quite a telepathic command, but a very strong suggestion.

It worked-- though not as well as it should have, and Halgyr met his eyes with a kind of wonderment. "She...she didn't know I'm Talented," he explained. "I need a Teacher who is. She'd not release me, if she knew I had Abilities. And I thought...you'd want me to prove myself. My commitment."

Oh, oh fuck.

"You didn't…" he finally said after taking a moment to gather himself. Running fingers through his hair, Semryu swallowed hard, trying to stave off the vomit. Every time I think I understand this place, there's some new horror. He glared hard at Halgyr. "You didn't need to do that for me. You understand? She and I could have bargained for you."

"But, you're Red." Confusion lit up his little face far more than any remorse. "I mean, you're here, aren't you? This is the way it's done."

"Yeah, I am here." Staring off into some unknown distance, Semryu suddenly felt very, very tired. The fuck do I do now? Evil as this is, I can't leave this little psychopath to his own devices, can I? I mean, he's just a kid….a misguided kid, doing what he thought was right. I don't know how she treated him...if they argued, if he felt too trapped to escape....Spirit there's no way he's older than ten...

"You see yourself in him," Ichor commented.

Too much, Semryu admitted. Glancing sideways at the hafledge, Semryu watched as his thin frame started to breathe a little more quickly, and body begin to shake. The emotions flowing from him were sharper now, less controlled; mostly it was fear: of being alone, that he'd made the wrong choice, that he'd done something that couldn't be taken back. Semryu should have recognized a Talent sooner, the ease in which Halgyr had recovered from the innkeeper's kicks, the recognition of Semryu's own Ability being used, the lack of strong emotions being felt before. Probably an empathic and energy manipulator at least.

Semryu let out a long, defeated sigh. Fuck, do I miss Dwyn right now.

"Alright, Hal, get up. We got work to do before we go."

~end

*author's note: The frozen mercury weapons idea is actually from a tumblr post by tsaomengde; a quick google search will bring it up. This is my little homage to this idea, and the scholar that Altanna Su'mdjett mentions as having first proposed the theory is a tweaked version of that screen name. Because credit is due where credit is due. :)