Avariel 1
Avariel hated formal dinners. They were all about parading what you had in front of those who had less, hoping that the fear and awe you inspired would make them serve you, or at least no rebel. And then you had all the people who were your equals or superiors, and you had to entertain them and seem witty and pleasant without being so much of a threat that they marked you or so little that they disregarded you. Social obligations like this were not about pleasure, but status. To maintain or advance that status, careful planning had to be given to each word and action; moderation in all things, as her Nurse would have said.
Avariel hated moderation, and she had never been one for planning.
That might have been why, while her father held court in the main hall of their home, she was down in the cellars, avoiding everyone. She had made a nice little nest down here over the years, one that most of the servants were content to ignore. They understood that she needed a place she was not monitored, and this was one of the few places in her father’s home that he did not have a constant eye on.
The cellars were always cool, never cold, and kept spotlessly clean by a very enthusiastic and meticulous Cook. Avariel often vanished down into them when she needed a few moments to herself. The cellars were huge, had once been a network of rooms under the building complex that was now the Baron’s Keep. Of course, large portions of the network had collapsed in the last few centuries, and the servants didn’t like going any further into them than they had to in order to clean, so some of the little nooks and crannies were Avariel’s own personal kingdom. She knew every little cubby in the rock, every tunnel and door leading outside (almost all of them were blocked by centuries of rubble now, but they were there).
Tonight, with all the bustle and activity in the keep, she had come down early, only stopping by the kitchens to grab a bowl of tasties and a flask of cool cider to take with her into the dark rooms below. She had brought her loot to the far corner of the main room. It wasn’t as far as some of her normal haunts, but it was closer to the kitchens (the door to the cellar was located in a pantry off the main kitchen, just a simple trap door that opened to a narrow and steep set of stair) and to delicious snacks. that made up for the lack of privacy.
Now she was curled up on a pile of old rags and blankets she had gathered down here over the years, a honey roll in one hand and a thin book in the other. She wasn’t really an avid reader, though her father’s library was one of the bigger ones within miles, but she didn enjoy some of the pre-cataclysmic books. They spoke of a world of high towers and amazing technology. Avariel loved reading about people flying through the air in great birds of metal, or speaking over miles with small devices that could be carried in a pocket and brought out for use on a whim.
She was almost halfway through this book, but she had been reading it for some time. It wasn’t too long, but she kept the ones she was actively reading down here in her secret room to keep anyone else from finding them. Her father would never notice a book missing from his library, but he would certainly notice one in her room. So she kept her favorite books and belongings in one of the little cubbies she had found over the years, a thigh-high doorway that led to another small room and then to one of the many tunnels leading off the grounds. It was one of the few that actually allowed passage, but Avariel had never followed it to the end to see what lay outside. she was not a foolish servant to be scared of ghosts and monsters... but there really was no point in taking the chance.
From the sounds from the kitchen, the party was in full swing. Her father, the Baron, was entertaining another Lord from the next settlement over, a man Avariel had never heard of and didn't care a whit about. Rumors among the servants speculated that he had brought marriage tokens to the feast. Avariel was positive that just made her plan to hide away all the better. She had no desire to be married to a man like her father, and it took a hard man to rule these lands. She would not live that life.
She finished her honey roll and cider and realized she was out of snacks. With a sigh, she pushed off the blankets and climbed to her feet, reflexively smoothing down her short skirt. Many people these days wore plain clothes that took little skill to make, having little time or money to do otherwise. Brown and black were common colors, and styles were... well, basic didn't really cover it. Avariel, though, had been fascinated by clothing from a young age, and her father's library was littered with books about pre-cataclysm fashions. Her mother had taught her to sew when she was still very young, and Avariel had been making her own clothes since shortly after. It was the one thing she was really good at. The fabric spoke to her, the needle sang. She never wore anything she had not created, and she never created boring clothing. Her current fascination was tiny skirts that came to mid-thigh, and she had found a way to make them in layers so that they stuck out around her legs rather than hanging normally. Together with her top, a corseted shirt with flowing sleeves, she though she looked quite pretty. And, more importantly, she definitely did not look boring.
Hair she could not color like she saw in many of the old books, but she could and did style it herself, with the help of a servant of two. Right now the red mass of curls was tamed into dozens of braids that had been secured into two tails on either side of her head and hung down her back. Her father mocked her obsession with such shallow things, but she refused to give up her few real pleasures to blend in.
Blending in seemed perfectly awful.
She made her way through the dim cellar to the latter, but paused at the bottom as she heard what sounded like a crash from the dining hall. She cocked her head curiously. Any moment now, Cook would certainly start thrashing whomever had been clumsy enough to drop something on the night of a formal dinner. But there was no outraged yell, no amused titters from the other servants, just a long silence and then a scream.
Avariel stumbled back from the ladder, terrified. That had not been a shocked scream or even a startled one. That was the scream of someone being gravely injured. It could not be mistaken for anything else, even to her. She recognized the sound from the darker memories of her childhood.
In the next moment, chaos erupted above. People began to shriek and cry out. Feet began to pound in what the priness could only assume was running, and, over it all, she heard gruff orders shouted above the din. Somewhere above her there was a force of people who were much more organized than the panicking servants, and it sounded like they were mowing through the scores of people gathered for the feast ruthlessly.
She backed away, tying not to let her heavy boots clomp like they normally did when she walked, and tried to think of a place she could hide. The cellars were not exactly secure or hidden...
In the pantry above her there was a clatter and the beginnings of a scream and suddenly a petite form was flying down the stairs, quite literally. Avariel jumped back, hands flying to cover her mouth so she didn't scream as well, and the body hit the ground in front of her with a thump and a crack that just did not sound good at all. It didn't move. Only after a panicked moment was she able to focus enough to figure out that the small body was that of one of the house servants. she racked her mind for the girl's name as she bent down over her.
She was little more than a child, maybe fourteen summers at the most. Her hair was pulled back into a neat tail of ringlets under her cap, which was hopelessly askew after her tumble, and framed a sweet, heart-shaped face. "Bridgette," Avariel whispered, finally recalling her name. She shook the girl's shoulder gently, trying to rouse her. It worked.
Bridgette's eyes opened wide and she drew in breath for a wail. Avariel clamped her hand down on the gir's open mouth, whispering desparately. "No, no, you can't scream. They'll hear us. It's ok. It's me, Avariel. Calm down. I'm sorry if I hurt you. Just calm down." She continued to murmur hurried reassurances, glancing up the narrow stairs every few seconds, until Bridgette nodded and pushed her hand away, wincing.
"I'm fine, miss," the girl said through clenched teeth. "Sorry about that. I think my arm is broken though. I'd very much appreciate you not grabbing it again." Even in pain and fighting tears, the girl was the picture of good manners. Avariel fought the laughter that bubbled up in her. No time for that now.
"What's happening?" she asked, helping the girl to her feet.
Bridgette's whisper was unsteady. "An army, Miss. I don't recognize the colors of the house, but it looks like they mean to Annul us. They're killing everyone. I was trying to get away and hide in the pantry, but I forgot the cellar door was propped open for you, and I fell."
Avariel shivered. Annulment? Surely that wasn't it... She shook her head roughly. No time for this. There had to be a way to et out of here. They would be coming for Bridgette if anyone saw her fall. The princess motioned for the girl to follow and led her back to her little cubby hole. the thigh-high doorway was almost closed, and fairly well hidden behind a box of root vegetables. Avariel knelt down and peered through the opening. It was narrow, but she was confident she could get through with a little wiggling.
Bridgette started to ask something, but her mouth snapped closed as they heard a shout from back near the stairs. "Anyone see where the little blonde bitch ran?"
The princess and sevant traded one wide-eyed look before Avariel dove through the little door, sacrificing a few pieces of skin for speed, and scrambled out of the way for Bridgette to do the same. Once in, they pulled the door shut behind them quietly and turned to face the new room. It was pitch black witht the door shut. Bridgette scooted closer along the wall, trembling slightly. Avariel supposed it must be terrifying to be in the dark if you believed there were ghosts roaming the tunnels. Personally, she would risk ghosts before she'd go back into the cellar. Ghosts had a chance of not being real. Besides, it didn't have to be dark. She touched the medallion she wore around her neck and traced the symbol of the goddess etched on it, her voice soundless as she whispered, "In the dark be my guide, fill me with your sight." The first words of the Night's Call made the room flare into sight around her. There was no color or light, but the outline of things was clearly visible.she touched Bridgette's hand to the disc and repeated the words, and the servant's startled breath let her know the magic was working for her too.
The medallion reminded her of the temple she had recieved it from. Immediately, as if she was remembering a plan she had already thought of, she knew exactly what she had to do. Temples were the only place that granted Sanctuary, regardless of who pursued... and Giadriana's Temple was close. She nodded determinedly and looked around, tryign to figure out how to make this work. The ceiling in here was lower, forcing Avariel to duck slightly, and the walls were lined with huge crates. Some were empty, but many seemed to be full of something pungent. Even after being shut for who knows how long, the room carried the scent of some strong spice or herb.
"Miss," Bridgette whispered, "we have to get away. They had Shifters with them. They'll follow us."
"Oh Lady," Avariel whispered, stomach clenching. Shifters were not uncommon in mercenary bands, from what she had observed in her father's hall. They were strong, deadly, and made damn fine scouts. A Shifter could track a scent for days.
Scent...
Oh. Goddess, yes.
"Bridgette, help me," the princess ordered, making her way over to the crates. She reached inside and grabbed a sack and a smaller box, pulling them open to peer inside. The strong smells hit her at once. "Cinnamon and Basil," she reported, pleased. "What did you find?"
Bridgette sneezed harshly and closed the lid of her box quickly. "Cayenne," she said between sneezes. "And there was sage in the other sack. What in the-"
"No time," Avariel hissed. "We have to hurry. Here." She shoved her sacks into the girl's hands and took the cayenne. "Spread the herbs on the floor. Make sure to crunch them up. We want the smell to be as strong as possible. Hurry!" She left Bridgette to do so and hurried to the door that opened into the long tunnel she had never explored before. She regretted the decision bitterly now. Ghosts were nothing compared to Shifters. The door resisted her tugs, but she finally managed to pry it open enough for her frame to get through, if barely. To her relief, there was a slight whiff of fresh air int he tunnel. Good. It was probably a decent choice for an escape route.
She dipped her fingers into the pepper box cradled to her chest and liberally dusted it over the door, the frame, and the floor around it, then ran back to the smaller door to do the same. Bridgette was quickly crushing and spreading herbs. When Avariel had all but emptied the box, she examined the crates carefully. By the time Bridgette was done, the princess had partially emptied one of the largest crates of its contents and was motioning her to climb in. The younger girl hesitated, but a raised voice from the cellar made her jump in quickly. Avariel followed, pulling sacks over them until they were covered completely. Then, aquirming carefully, she made a small hole to peer through, and waited, trying to breathe silently.
They were just in time. Seconds after the girls were settled in their nest of herbs, The sounds in the cellar became much clearer. Voices were right outside the small door, probably standing by the princess's cubby. Avariel strained to listen.
"-just one anymore," a gruff male muttered in a voice that was halfway to a growl. "There's two scents here, both of 'em bitches, and young. Scared too." there was a brief pause. "I like 'em scared," the voice leered.
"Keep your mind on the trail and out of your pants," another man said shortly. "Where'd they go?"
"Scent ends here."
"Must be a door. Help me look." A loud scraping was probably the box in front of the door being moved. A thin, faint bit of light trickled in through the crack between the door and the wall. "Here. A door. Did they go through here?"
Avariel held her breath, Bridgette's hand clamped tightly in her own, and listened closely. There was a shuffle and the stripe of light from the doorway grew slightly, then the sound she had been waiting for: a deep breath.
Immediately, the Shifter began to cough and choke, and he backed away from the door so quickly that he tripped and fell over her blankets. "What the hell?" the other man shouted, confused. "Sergei? What happened?"
Sergei, still choking and rolling around, didn't answer. Avariel relaxed and braved a little sigh of relief. It worked. Shifter's noses were incredibly sensitive. None of them would be able to track anything in this room, even if they got past the Cayenne pepper at the doors. All the scent would hopefully work like a heavy fog and obscure their trail. That left humans to do the work... hopefully. Most mercs didn't have much else in their ranks, but you never knew...
The two girls stayed still while the Shifter stopped thrashing and groaning. "The scent trail ends there," he finally growled, voice hoarse. "The room is full of scent, and there's strong spices that burn the nose. I can't smell anything now. We will be no good to you from this point."
The other man cursed and sighed. "Well, we will manage. Go give report and send backup. I'll take a quick look around."
One set of footsteps faded, and the door to the room grated as the man forced it open wider. Avariel could make out his shape against the pale light of the cellar, but not well enough to see any detail other than his easy crouch as he peered in the room. He rubbed one finger along the wall and sniffed it, jerking his head away quickly as he reflexively sneezed after breathing in the pepper.
After a moment to shake his head, the tall form crouched further and crawled through the small door. It was not graceful. He was a tall man with a thick frame, and the space had barely been wide enough for Avariel's slender frame. He was persistant though, and within minutes he had squeezed himself though and was on one knee on the floor. He touched a hand to his ear and spoke in a low murmur. "Tanalith here. Send smaller framed backup to the cellars. Tight squeeze in here. No Shifters."
There was no noticeable response, but Avariel understood what had happened. Some mages were able to craft magic to carry a person's words to them, and often laid the spells on earrings, necklaces, or other small and easily hidden objects. The fact that this group had such things meant either that they had a mage, which Avariel prayed desparately wasn't true, or that they had managed to trade one for such devices. Any man a mage would make such a deal with would have to be powerful. Mages did not share their power lightly.
Once his message had been delivered, the man stood and began examining the room. He, too, must have had some way of seeing through the darkness since he did not seem to require a light. He noticed the cracked door pretty quickly and moved to examine it closely, peering down the tunnel behind it. Believe it, believe it, believe it, Avariel chanted silently, wishing she could exert her influence more directly. If he realized they were still in here, her sparse plan would come down around her, and she wouldn't stand a chance.
A scrape at the smaller door announced the arrival of two more mercenaries, both of much slighter frame than Tanalith. They stood as soon as they were clear of the entrance, poses and mannerisms identically perfect. "Reporting," one said, voice feminine and professional. "Orders?"
Tanalith looked back at the doorway. "Looks like two females, both young, ran through this tunnel. Find them. If one matches the description you were provided in briefing, bring her back unharmed. The other, kill. Do it fast. Once through the tunnel, if you haven't found them, report back findings and scout. Permission to enlist others in the search is ganted. This is now our primary objective."
The two nodded and trotted down the tunnel. Tanalith looked around one last time - Avariel didn't dare breathe in the silence - before making his way down the tunnel behind them. After a few seconds, when his footsteps had faded away, both girls let out matching sighs of relief. Avariel couldn't force herself to move for another few seconds. Her body seemed sure that there was still some danger.