[ P ] A New Lot In Life

In the wake of the first battle, and the conversation with Bratih, her son, Rhychdir had… For lack of a better phrase, abandoned her post. She had deserted the Imperial Army, a death sentence in war times. But, she was old and she was fucking tired. This combination, in conjunction with the simple fact that a woman from such a simple, land was not prepared for the horrors of organized war, even if one side was not quite as organized as the ranks of the Imperial Army. The merle woman crept into the city of Inverness, and had been hiding there since she had deserted — the rumor had been that the next big battle was due in the Fae Forest, and Rhy was attempting to go anywhere but there.

Inverness offered some comforts in life, that she had grown accustomed to. Food, water, and shelter were easy enough to come by, and no one stared at her for too long. There were no Imperials within the small city’s confines, not since the start of the war from her understanding. At least, no one that was doing their jobs, anyway.

Everyone was distracted by the war efforts, which made fading into the background easy for even someone as distinct in appearance as Rhychdir was. Her merle coat stood out amongst the hues of the Highlands, but she was not the only distinct individual that she’d seen in the small city. So, she hoped that those facts would keep her safe for her stay. She planned to stay only a couple more days before she would head south, perhaps toward the Lowlands, and hide out there amongst the members of the Thieves Guild — a deserter would have to take on a new lot in life, after all.

She didn’t know what she would do, but… for now, it was enough to just be alive, despite the melancholy that had laid itself over her like a thick blanket of snow — it had dulled the vibrant reds of her pelt, yellowed the whites, and lessened the golden hues that touched other places. The grey seemingly stood out more, and she felt like she showed her almost eight years a little bit more than she had before the start of the battle she had endured.

“A rabbit, please,” she said to a meat merchant, sliding the last of her coin forward. He scrutinized it for a moment, before handing over the skinned bodice of a rabbit. She took it in her jaws, before slinking off through the crowd, her head low, bi-hued gaze not focusing too much on any one face in the crowd, for the worry that it might attract too much attention to herself.


@Savard

table © ashon

It had been a while since Savard had been up to Inverness. Back home, In Rionna, people had grown accustomed to ‘panic’ as they called it. There were struggles, to be sure, but most could rest assured that the battle was far from home. That was not the case for those in the north. Those in the highlands had seen what war was like firsthand, dealt with both sides in ways that Mainlanders did not. Being in a place such as this really put one’s own complaints into perspective. This was not a place to be for the faint of heart. These days, the Highlands were reserved for those only with a death wish, a profound sense of loyalty of one’s home, or an addiction to pain, both receiving and giving. To go to the Highlands willingly required something quite convincing, especially for a wolf who preferred to spend his days in and about Rionna. After all, there was more than enough keeping him busy there.

As the male strode through Iverness’ dense streets, Savard could not help but notice how different this place was to Rionna. Back in the Mainlands, there was so much more chaos, so much so that to understand even a fraction of the city required years of experience. So many different kinds of wolves had called Rionna their home, their dominion, their playground,. In doing so, they designed the city to their limits, what goes where, who lives with whom, and what wolves see, or were expected to see. To read Rionna was as if to listen to eight stories, all at once, making it nearly impossible for all of the city’s secrets to be known. Iverness, alas, was different, a more predictable environment. Alas, what else might anyone expect for the notoriously independent Highlanders. Was this not the cradle of revolution, after all, a place where wolves were so fervent to resist the monarchy? Funny, how even in spite of decades of history, how familiar their cities remained to them, and only to them.

But what exactly had brought Savard all this way? As has been said, it would take quite a lot. His aged eyes were scanning the crowd, looking for something. Trinkets? Potions? Herbs? Rare and exotic wolves that pretend to love you? It was all so plain. Perhaps Savard was instead looking for someone. There had been much talk as of late, for the shadows are always chatting. They spoke of a wolf, a soldier who had served well under King Adamh. A wolf, like so many of her fellow soldiers, were domineering in stature, scarred, and profoundly capable of handling herself in combat. Of course, that’s not all that they said about this wolf. It was said that inconceivably, the wolf had departed her post in secrecy, and without explanation.. Her absence seemed to have really angered the wolves that depended on her abilities, and had sent feelers out to those in search of work to find her, encouraging them to talk some sense into her. Or better yet, bring her back alive, and have her compatriots do all the talking, over and over and over again, without stopping.

Had they ever met before? It was tough to say, for despite the unfamiliarity of her name, Savard had heard some particularly unique things about this wolf. It was said she came from a land far, far away, coming to Rionnach for one reason or another. It was said her fur would be a mixture of colors some would believe to be unnatural, her eyes two separate colors. It was said, that in a test of faith, the only reason she became who she was, was because she got to her mother’s teat faster than her brother did, and what her parents did to her brother… cruel beyond measure. But Savard never liked to mind himself with stories about wolves he did not know, or perhaps had forgotten about years and years ago. All that mattered to him was that she was a target. And yet… did he seek her out really with an intention to apprehend her? Or did he have motivations beyond those of her vengeful soldiers, perhaps ones that might be more in the wolfess’ favor?

The funny thing, though, about wolves like that. As Savard passed by a jeweler, a meat stand, and a fortune teller, the wolf in question stuck out quite well. Those Royalist spies, they were always so vivid in their description. It would seem that they truly wanted this one, in one way or another. Sure enough, Savard recognized a wolf that fit her description perfectly. After all, she stuck out like a missing tooth in the crowd. If her fur hadn’t given her away, the somewhat fresh scar she had on her side was plenty. After all, from what he had heard about her, this former soldier didn’t make it through the violent protest without a scratch, and had a scar that would make her easily recognized. Sometimes it was almost too easy, in such instances, to find wolves that didn’t want to be found. But despite all this, Savard knew that find a wolf was one thing, but subduing them? Capturing them? Killing them? Convincing them that they were there under different reasons? That was the more enthralling part. For now, Savard kept his distance, deciding to follow this wolf to see where she would be headed.

Rhychdir knew she was a wanted woman. Could she blame the Imperial army? No, not really. She had made a vow, made a promise to uphold those duties that she had undertaken — and seeing the war to either her end or it’s end had been one of those vows. She had accepted training, and while she had not necessarily taken official rank — she’d never had aspirations to be more than a soldier — she had garnered respect from those around her.

It seemed her life was little more than broken promises now.

The rabbit taste touching her tongue turned to ash, and for a moment she debated simply dropping it and leaving it for someone else to take. But it had been two, almost three days since she’d eaten. Not for lack of food available, or an inability to gather it herself… but because her emotions would not allow her to. Emotions, emotions that she was not used to feeling. Shame and guilt were the biggest of the emotions that swirled around in Rhychdir. Shame for being weak. The guilt over a thousand broken promises — not just to the military, but to her family.

She was a foreigner, worshiped a foreigner’s God. Her god could not see here here, unless she was in the light of flames so rare in Rionnach. ‘And even then, she cannot see clearly. There are no volcanos here. My God does not exist to these wolves — they would deem her love harsh and her manners fuckin’ cruel,’ she thought glumly to herself.

For a while, Rhychdir did not realize she was being followed. Her senses were dulled, her awareness of her surroundings waning as she slipped farther and farther into her thoughts.

‘Someone’s following me,’ she realized with a slight wave of panic. She was in no condition to fight her way to freedom should the Imperial soldiers decide to grab her. She would be taken to prison. She would be executed.

‘Braith will get what he wants, but I suppose he’ll never get the fuckin’ pleasure of knowing. I’ll never get a proper Bradshagh burial,’ she thought. Uncharacteristic tears threatened to pool in her different hued eyes. She blinked them away, not allowing herself such a weakness.

She quickly turned down an alleyway, picking up the pace to a forced trot, trying to get to the other side to get lost in the crowd on that street before whoever was following her could catch up. Why was she trying though? It wasn’t as if she could merely blend into the crowd — her merle pelt was too recognizable. The tones of fire and ice upon her, the scar of her throat… these were all the signs of who she was. It wasn’t like there were many other Bradshaghs within the reaches of Rionnach — just her two children in name, and the wife who had all but vanished from Rhy’s ability to find.

Rhy turned another corner, hoping to slip into the crowd on the other side, only to find her path blocked by a stack of crates.

“Oh. Fuck.” She mumbled around the rabbit in her jaws. She turned quickly on her heels, facing her follower. “What do you fuckin’ want?” She asked as soon as the figure rounded the corner that had been her damnation.


@Savard

table © ashon

For a while, everything had gone according to plan. He’d followed the rather large target for a few moments. But perhaps all those years of fighting had taught this wolf to have eyes in her back, for soon she felt exposed, vulnerable. Next thing she knew, she knew she was being followed, and took off quickly. She seemed so panicked, afraid for her life. A wolf as strong as she looked, it seemed to be such a betrayal of who she seemed to embody. And yet, why might that be, Savard wondered, as he pushed his way past the crowd to keep up with her. She knew her crime, knew what punishment she had coming. And yet, she seemed reluctant to accept it. It told Savard that she wasn’t ready, that something here on Rionnach kept her going, something unfinished, someone she loved. Speculation, of course, but then again, why speculate when he’d seen it all before?

So the unspoken chase continued, the wolf weaving past several wolves minding their own business. She took a sharp turn towards an alleyway, down which Savard followed. But soon the former soldier realized her mistake, coming to a halt with her way forward blocked. She turned around, annoyed, perhaps unnerved, with all that had just transpired. She asked the wolf she did not know what he wanted, a question that seemed simple. And yet… was it one Savard really had an answer for? He had heard about the contract on this wolf, apparently was the first one to her, and had to decide what to do about it. It mattered, of course, what was in his best interest? The Renown, he did need it. It was the only reason he took these jobs anymore. And yet… what had she done to deserve this? Sometimes, being a victim of circumstance is all it takes.

Savard took a moment to size up the wolf before him, evaluating her should she become a threat. Despite appearances, Savard had not come here exactly ready for a fight, if his more recent wounds were of any testament. Bastien had done a number on him… but then again, such was the price of victory. “I think you know why I’m here,” Savard answered, keeping his true motives somewhat cryptic, as he took a step forward, “Rhychdir Bradshagh, was it? Abandoned your post, and pissed off the powers that be? So much so that they put an open bounty on you?” There was a tinge of pity to Savard’s comments, to know how kindly the Imperials dealt with their own. They could overlook so many things, but running away from a war? Now that was just such a terrible thing, wasn’t it? Especially if a wolf had things to lose, or stopped to question the pointlessness of it all.

And yet, Savard had an air of uncertainty about him, one he tried his best to hide. His stance was relaxed, as if he wasn’t anticipating a fight. And yet, his eyes were fierce, focused on the target at hand. He understood that the only way out, was through him. And yet… maybe she wouldn’t be in a rush, knowing that far worse things, perhaps, were located just beyond the alleyway. “Now that you understand why I’m here,” the male continued, “I have a proposition. If you answer some questions of mine, and you keep your fangs to yourself, I promise I’ll do the same. It gives us more options that way.” Despite the certainly generous terms, he still had yet to make up his mind on what to do with her. Hopefully, though, she wouldn’t sense that.

Rhychdir stood with her shoulders squared, her head low. The rabbit carcass had been dropped between her paws, both forgotten and guarded by the bared fangs that peeked from behind drawn back lips. She was either about to fight for her life, or the rabbit. The man, Rhy decided, was either after her bounty or her meal. Both would result in a fight, because neither was getting ripped away from her.

She had regained some of her strength since the battle had ended, but her wounds were still healing and she was not at her full strength yet, she knew this. However frustrating it was, it simple was.

“I think you know why I’m here,” the man said. “Rhychdir Bradshagh, was it? Abandoned your post, and pissed off the powers that be? So much so that they put an open bounty on you?” Her ears flickered back at his words, but her angry expression did not change - she would not show weakness to anyone, not now. Not with her life swinging on a pendulum.

“I am not native to this land - I have no reason to be involved in the political qualms of it.” She spat, trying to defend her actions. “Besides, I’m an old woman, they have no use for me.” Now that wasn’t true. She had proven her strength time and time again within the Imperial Army. While she was no secret weapon, she knew they knew she garnered some importance because of her strength alone. Her reputation came with the weight of being noticed, however.

“Now that you understand why I’m here,” the bounty hunter said. Rhy’s snarl depended, wrinkling her features even more.“I have a proposition. If you answer some questions of mine, and you keep your fangs to yourself, I promise I’ll do the same. It gives us more options that way.” Her ears flickered forward for a moment.

“What questions then?” She half barked at the man. If they were going to end up squabbling, she wanted to get it over with so she could either die or go lick fresh wounds. But she wouldn’t be the one to make the first move, no, not this time.


@Savard

table © ashon

It was clear to Savard that he was on the offensive, the other wolf backed into a corner in more than one way. She bared her fangs, ready for a fight if she needed one, willing to defend herself and her meal if need be. Of course, perhaps Savard was after neither, or maybe he was waiting for the right opportunity to strike. But then again, that went both ways, for the male was never one to underestimate a wolf, especially one who surely was in a rush of emotions. Fear for her life, on the run, and now—or so he surmised, based on how she reacted to his presence—rage. It must be so gutting, that the wolves she worked for, bled for, killed for, however undesirable it may have been, to plot her end by hiring it out to anyone with bloodlust. She must have felt as if she were vermin to them. Maybe she had a good reason to hate them after all.

As she told her tale, Savard listened intently. She was a foreigner, to no surprise, and did not desire the allure of the realm’s politics. That made two of them, in a way. And yet, here she was, formerly a member of the army, a runaway. But, so she claimed of herself, she was nothing but an aged out wolf of no value. That could not be true, could it? After all, her life had monetary value to those tracking her down. And besides, if they really had no use for her… why bother going after her? Was it to send a message, the sign of a regime desperate to enforce rules that surely only some abided by? Who knew?

Still showing no aggression, nor any sign of backing down, the male wasted no time, as he continued his interrogation of the former soldier. “First,” he began, his tone a placid calm compared to the near shrieks of the panicked wolf opposite him, “if you had nothing to do with the politics of Rionnach and this war, why fight? I’m guessing you didn’t give yourself those fresh scars. Were you conscripted?” How Savard had dodged it, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it paid to have the right friends in the right places, or maybe he was seen as a liability. Gods know the army was already full on former Guilders among their rank and file! And yet, the answer to this question was important, as how she answered it, it would very much get at the core of who this wolf was, at least in his estimation. “There’s no need to be modest.”

It was hard to trust situations now. Rhy spent every moment looking over her shoulder, wondering when she would turn back around and find fangs that would rend the flesh of her throat agape. Would she look down and see the crimson? Would she simply fall, in such a manner unbefitting of a Bradshagh? Or, perhaps, would she smile as it all came to a bloody end? Who truthfully knew how the woman would fall in the end. Perhaps the Imperials suspected that, and that was why they hired the job out, a bounty on her head for anyone stupid enough to come at her in such a way.

‘You’re not as fuckin’ young as ya used to be though,’ she reminded herself. A fight now would surely be her end. She didn’t know how much fire she had left, how many trees left in her forest to burn. The wall of flames tempered itself as it aged, flaring up from time to time as it reached a particularly green tree, but… It did not burn as hotly as it had once had.

There had been a time when the woman could have rightfully claimed herself to be a one-woman army.

But that time… had passed, as she approached her eighth year of life.

Despite the Fae touch that had graced her with appearing slightly younger than she was, she was beginning to feel the ache in her bones, her recovery after the battle had taken longer than she was used to.

‘When did I get like this?’ she thought to herself, resisting the urge to physically shake the thoughts away.

“First,” the stranger said, drawing her from her mind. “If you had nothing to do with the politics of Rionnach and this war, why fight? I’m guessing you didn’t give yourself those fresh scars. Were you conscripted?” He asked her. For a moment, a long moment, Rhychdir remained silent. “There’s no need to be modest.” He added.

“I… Got caught up in it all,” she said, an ear flicking back against her skull. “I thought it was the right thing to do, and now… I see I should have focused on family, rather than the battle of someone who was not even on the battlefield himself.” Rhy grew quiet for a moment, shaking her head slightly, as her ears became muddled with the sounds of a battle past. She sighed.

“It is more than I bargained for,” she admitted. “This is not how wars were fought in my homeland. I… Am no stranger to fighting. But I am not making the same mistakes again. I will not fight for someone who has not earned my respect. Not anymore.” She glanced down at her paws. That is twice in her life that she has drawn blood for someone who did not deserve her talents. A former friend, who she saw now as someone who only used her for what she was worth, rather than having any true respect for who she was.

She was a fucking fool.


@Savard

table © ashon

Savard went quiet as the older warrior spoke her words. His eyes were unwavering as he took in her answer, allowing her to give some sort of explanation for how she had ended up where she was. And as far as Savard could tell, she spoke the truth. It was a skill that the male had acquired long ago, spotting truth in bullshit. A lie, a good one at least, is an art if one does it right. One has to grovel, appear worthless, weak, disadvantaged. If a wolf talks on things in order to make it never seem like their fault, or otherwise say things that sound too good to be true, then they are doing nothing that means well for the other wolf. But a wolf who speaks on parts of themselves they are vulnerable at, ashamed about, and clearly have no incentive to benefit by telling another wolf, then they are truthful, honest, and perhaps once one gets to know them, reliable. Such wolves, alas, were harder and harder to come by. Rychdir seemed to speak as if Savard care as to what side she supported, what she believed, a thought that polluted every facet of the realm. She spoke like a wolf who had nothing lose… or rather nothing left to lose. And above all, she seemed to relent to the futility of the moment, and leave nothing hidden behind those aged lips of hers. Such honesty was rare, especially for such a cornered wolf, but it seemed that she had resigned herself to fate, truly. And by the looks of her, she didn’t seem to be the type to let her more pathetic traits be her saving grace. No… this was something that was surely strange for her to be doing… but it was her honest and truthful self laid before him. That, or she was one frighteningly convincing wolf. It seems that he caught her in a time of crisis, and for the first time in her whole existence, she was letting another soul know just how she felt about the life she lived. Of course… her words were peculiar enough. She felt it was the right thing to do, she said, by joining the service. But when she saw what the war really was about, she left it behind. She was intelligent enough to not lie or otherwise waste Savard’s time… but how had she been led to slaughter so easily? It surprised even Savard to hear she had not been conscripted, but had joined in merely because… what, the patriotism of those around her moved her so? Her, a foreigner, who perhaps stood to gain nothing by fighting in an affair that did not concern her? To throw her life away for someone else for nothing? Savard could have called to question her stupidity then and there… but deep down he could see in her gaze she was tearing herself apart with that very question. “I see,” Savard said, without judgment, as he nodded his head slowly, “you realized your… mistake, if I can call it that, after it was too late.” And her former friends, wolves she once felt she could trust, were prepared to pay to see her dead. It was a foul message to send, but it was a necessary one. Otherwise… what deterrence was there for those that wanted something different than the path they chose? “So what made you change your mind,” Savard continued, “was there something you saw… or something they made you do… that I should know about?”

everything he touched fell apart

code // art

With her heart laid out, Rhychdir felt more vulnerable than she ever had, save for the time she had bared her soul to her son. She kept her gaze averted, feeling more shame in herself than she ever had before. She had been such a fool, carried away in it all. Was it the glory of being a soldier? Or the need to feel as if she were doing something good and meaningful?

For a moment, Rhy reflected back on her time in Cyrileth — her birthplace — and all the events that had transpired there. She had, then too, been swept up for a cause that was not her own — conned into being a set of fangs and muscle for a man who had been little more than trash. Been forced to care for the children that he produced with women who were scarcely any better. Those children had grown up to be little shits, and her own by proxy had become not much better in many regards because of the things they’d been exposed to at such a young age.

Her life was a series of failures.

The only thing she didn’t consider as such was her relationship with Vettealya. Her relationship with their children was… Complicated at best, and destroyed by Rhy’s own actions at its worst, which was probably more the case than she truly wanted to realize. Although, her relationship with Braith was somewhat on the mend.

“I see.” Came the unjudgemental words after the man had processed her words. “You realized your… mistake, if I can call it that, after it was too late.”

“I am more a fool in life than I realized before,” Rhychidr said, with a sour chuckle at herself.

“So what made you change your mind, was there something you saw or something they made you do… that I should know about?” He asked, the executioner asking for any last words.

“I saw the plight of the Jacobites. I saw that they were only trying to gain their freedom from something that did not align with their views. I… realized that I was once again in my life on the wrong side of something.” She said, shaking her head slightly. “I joined them for the last fight. Mostly freed some prisoners before joining in the final bit of fighting. I don’t know if it really rights my wrongs though… I just wanted to do the right thing.”

That was all that Rhy ever wanted to do.

The right thing.

But she always seemed to fall so short of it, always on the wrong side.

“It became too much like the pack I used to be part of in my homeland. I did not feel as if I were fighting for the justice I was promised and I… Didn’t want to be part of it anymore.” She stated dryly, her differently-hued eyes coming to settle on the man’s features.

@Savard

table © ashon

She seemed on the verge of breaking down into a thousand shards of glass, the way her voice shook. But Savard knew she was made of stronger materials than that. In her words, he could see the years of torment in her life flash before her eyes, the truthful regret she spoke in each and every word. To give her dignity up so easily… she really desired to unburden herself. And to that end, it was all he needed to know that she was telling the truth. The Imperials, they were brutes. He had heard it for himself when he had spoken to Nora Seafarer, seen it himself in White Timber and Nicharion. He held his reservations of the Jacobite motives, the true agenda that not everyone was privy to… but there was no denying that what the Imperials were fighting for, made no sense. And she had seen that for herself. As his interrogation came to a close, Savard’s thoughts drifted back to the war at hand, and with so much talk of defection, Adamh’s council of war growing restless and uneasy with the protracted engagement he wondered if they, too, regretted the fight they had before them. It might be only a matter of time before it was all over. Whether it be her apparent sincerity, or whether it be the irony of having lived a similar life up to this point, Savard had made his mind up about what to do. She would die, someday. But that day would be long to come, and would not be in one of Adamh’s dingy dungeons. He wasn’t taking the Renown to send a good wolf to her death, never again. Slowly, Savard’s posture and demeanor relaxed, his guard, even if slightly, lowered. “Then we have no quarrel,” he said, “but you’re gonna want to get out of Inverness. Imperial presence is heavy, and I’m not the only wolf you’ll have to worry about. Avoid the market.” With a slight nod of his head, Savard turned around towards the entrance to the alleyway he had first cornered the Bradshagh in, seeing daylight, and a long hike back to Rionna, with no Renown to show for his efforts, having come all this way. At least… until he saw the first one. “Well, well, look what we got ‘ere, eh,” the brute said, his piercing blue eyes and auburn pelt locking on to Savard quickly, before back towards the larger fugitive behind him. Quickly, he was joined by his companions, a black-pelted behemoth, slightly underweight for his size, but judging by his scarred frame and missing ear, was no stranger to a tussle. And the third wolf, his cream and white pelt dirty and unkempt, brought up the rear. “Adamh’s Renown ain’t good enough for ya all a sudden? You foreign mercenaries always get cold paws…but don’t worry… we’d be happy ta take ya pay.” The black cut-throat corralled Savard, forcing him back into the alley he had been trying to leave. “Sorry,” he said, “can’t have ya risk interceptin’ us. They want ‘er alive… but they didn’t say nothin’ about you. It’s just business.”

everything he touched fell apart

code // art