[Memory] The Purloined Keepsake pt III [tw: violence]

[Hakon]

Hakon was only too happy to oblige Heinrich's request. Huntersight revealed a much clearer picture of a mage's recent comings and going. He couldn't confirm that they were from the same presence he'd sense the after-effects of in the inn, but certainly, there was magic here.

Rather too much of it, actually. They were just over the border, but already the taint of rogue magic was seemingly everywhere. This was actually Hakon's first time in Daravin, and logically, he knew it would only get worse if he went further into the country, but even here, so close to home, the amount of etheric traces was sickening to him, and a bit confusing. He didn't want to tell Heinrich he couldn't tease them out, though, or he'd never hear the end of it, so he concentrated on each etheric signature.

Some of them did not remind him at all of the presence he'd seen in the inn. It was like searching for meat stew and smelling apple pie: they were both foods, sure, but he could be fairly sure the one had little to do with the other. He did his best to disregard those, focusing in on the maybes and trying to get a lock on Otho. After a bit of deliberating and an embarrassing amount of slowly pacing up and down an alley while muttering under his breath, he pointed out a large building on the corner of a busy street. "There," he said.

"He's a good hound," Heinrich said to Andros, talking of him as though he were merely an animal. Hakon resisted the urge to cuff him.

It was just adrenaline. They were about to face Otho, and likely about to fight, so he was understandably keyed up., and perhaps Heinrich found himself a bit nervous. Hakon had enough experience to know that each man had a different reaction to imminent combat, and that they weren't always what one would expect given the general character of the person. Someone sour like Heinrich might crack stupid jokes, someone normally stoic like himself might find themselves giddy. In this instance, he did feel nervous, but mostly he was excited. He envisioned himself the victor, standing over Otho's prone body. Soon.

Hakon led the trio down the street, but not to the main entrance of the building. Instead, he went down an alleyway, then down the steps. A cellar -- perfect for a knave like Otho. Or, the more practical side of him supplied, for storing vegetables. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

He knocked on the door, the slow, steady rap of someone who is going to come in whether or not the occupant consents.

"Otho," he asked, "are you in?"

[Andros]

When Hakon knocked on that door, Andros was certain beyond a doubt that they had found their man. He had an overwhelming sense of dread that wasn’t simply his own doubts and fears getting the better of him. He could sense the man who had attacked him was present. He was more sure than Hakon.

His feeling of terror made him hang back as the door opened of its own accord. Henrich went in first, then Hakon. Andros stood outside for more than a minute, willing his feet to move but unable to put one in front of the other. It brought him shame to fail like this, but he was rooted in place.

What got him through his fear was a trick he used to use to calm himself down when grief got the better of him in the difficult years after Elena’s death. He hadn’t had to do it in ages, but today it was needed. He named each daughter out loud in succession, picturing each one’s face clearly. Then he went through the grandchildren, one by one, until he reached the baby Jason, who was just two weeks old when he left home. The exercise reminded him who he was: not a coward; not a helpless old fool, but a patriarch; a leader; a man people could depend on.

With love replacing fear in his heart, Andros walked into the doorway. The entryway was dark and empty, but he heard low talking from a room down the hall. Walking quietly, he approached without being seen.

Heinrich was standing stiffly in a corner. Too stiffly. He didn’t blink, didn’t move a muscle. HIs mouth was frozen slightly open, one hand stick in the act of pulling aside his cloak, perhaps to reach for a weapon.

Otho had his back to the door, which was good. Looking him in the eye would have been more than Andros could handle. The quiet laugh he let out still chilled Andros to the bone.

“I’d hoped the Watch would send a properly trained mage, not some boy who looks like he’s had his mark all of fifteen minutes. So weak. You won’t be of much use to me. And that oaf is of no use of all.”

As the rogue mage turned his head to look at Henrich, the guard remained stock still, frozen in place except for a flow of blood that began to trickle from behind his eyes, then flowed freely down to the ground.

Andros looked at Hakon and made eye contact. He had better have something planned because Andros wasn’t sure he could be of any use.

[Hakon]

The door swung open, but there was no one there to greet them. This man made no pretense of what he was, then. Technically, on the Daravinic side of the border, there was no reason for him to.

"Otho?" Called Heinrich.

"Ah, a Scab and a Scab's attack dog, I presume?" Came the slow, oily drawl of a man that Hakon had already hated before meeting. That hatred intensified now.

As Hakon stepped into the basement and his eyes adjusted, it was creepier than he'd expected. He had to stoop; it looked like even Otho had to crouch a bit, and he had almost a head on their quarry. Heinrich, being a more average height, was unaffected. The basement was unfinished, the dirt floor showing some evidence of having been swept. Hakon would not want to be in here while it was raining, but for now it was fine. The stone walls supporting the house above he liked less: slick with moss and condensation, a few had manacles and chains bolted to them. He wondered what use Otho had for those, then decided he didn't want to find out. The man himself was as Andros described: tall, thin, with a well-groomed beard and black hair striped through with shocks of grey. If it weren't for the fussy, oily looking facial hair, the yellowing teeth, and the sneer, he could be considered a handsome man, but as he was, the best he could be considered would be distinguished looking.

"You know why we are here then," said Heinrich. Hakon, for his part, kept his Ethersight trained on Otho, ready to intervene should the mage be so foolhardy as to attempt to mind control either of them.

"I couldn't say for sure. You're attempting to arrest a Daravinic citizen in Daravin, and you have no proof anything transpired. So this seems, if you'll pardon the expression, to be a bit of a witch hunt."

Hakon grinned and nodded. He liked witch hunts quite a bit.

"In Daravin, that word has negative connotations," Otho clarified with icy condescension. "Not that I'd expect a brainwashed hound like you to get it."

"You know who we are," said Hakon, edging toward Otho in a careful, casual way, making sure to leave plenty of room for Heinrich's arrows to work their magic, or anti-magic as it were. "You know why we are here. So will you come back to the Guild, or would you like to die today?"

"Hmm," Otho said, before grinning manically as ether flared within him. "Neither!"

Hakon shouted a warning to Heinrich, but he was too late. He hadn't properly anticipated what Otho was about to do. Heinrich, for his part, was not fast enough on the draw. He'd been expecting an attempt at mind control, or maybe a direct throw from Otho's telekinesis, but instead, a manacle reached out from behind him and fastened around his arm, impeding his movement. Quick as a flash, a chain wrapped itself around his throat and began to strangle him. Heinrich squeaked then choked, trying to breathe and unable to with the chain crushing his windpipe. The man's non-dominant hand tried to get under the chain, or find some purchase, or move the chain onto his armor in the hopes that the varithium lining would nullify the forces acting on the chain, but it was over before it began. Hakon heard the telltale snap of a hynoid bone, and then his vision suffused with red.

He could hear the sound of blood rushing in his ears and little else. He was aware, on some level, of what he was doing. He had his mace out and was charging across the room while Otho pulled on the object with his telekinesis. Hakon held onto it with sheer strength before allowing Otho to pull it out of his hands and fling it back at him in an arc. When it came back around, he was ready for it with its Branded twin, easily parrying Otho's clumsy use of it as a missile. He pitched it at the mage, forcing the greasy man to duck, then used the mace from his armory for his first blow to Otho's head. He hit Otho in the head once, twice, three times before dismissing his mace and putting his hand over Otho's mouth. Then he conjured a throwing star inside of it. His grin widened into a manic rictus as the star split the rival mage's face open.

Part of him knew he could stop now, but he was still furious, and he couldn't turn around and face what happened to Heinrich yet, so he conjured his mace from his Armory and started beating the ever loving shit out of Otho's face, neck, and torso. He didn't move away from one area to another until it was finely macerated pulp.

He wasn't sure how long he did what he did. When he came to, it was because Andros had shouted his name, and he dimly registered it wasn't the first time the man had done so.

The red started to drain from his vision. He looked over at Andros, who looked none the worse for wear, and then back at Heinrich, who was just as dead as he'd been before Hakon's fury had taken him.

"Um." He blinked a few times, trying to make his brain work and his mouth form words, "Andros. Are you unharmed?" He asked, not aware of how unintentionally menacing he looked covered in the viscera of a man he'd just murdered while posing that question. "He -- he killed Heinrich," Hakon offered by way of explanation. He stated it flatly, as though it was a fact that he bore no particular feeling toward, when in point of fact the loss of his colleague in the Scarlet Watch made him feel like he could howl for days and tear what remained of Otho apart vertebrae by vertebrae.

[Andros]

It all happened so fast. Heinrich started to bleed from his eyes, then chains wrapped around him and snapped his neck like a twig. Horribly, except for the head lolling at an unnatural angle, he stayed standing stock still. Whatever awful magic Otho used against him was still holding him in place.

Then, out of nowhere, the two living men were fighting. Hakon’s mace was pulled out of his hands and thrown at him, then somehow he got it back. He smashed Otho to the ground with it, blood starting to pour from the rogue mage’s mouth. Then suddenly his face split open as if from the inside, a horror show nothing could have prepared Andros for.

As it happened,Henrich fell to the floor, the mage’s grip on him undone. Andros ran to him and found no pulse. Dead. Two men dead and Hakon gone berserk, smashing the mage’s lifeless body with his mace again and again. There was nothing recognizable left about his face, just a mass of blood and bone and hair, much of which was ending up on Hakon’s clothing.

Andros wanted to stop Hakon, to put a hand on him and bring him out of his mania, but at the moment he was too scared. Hakon’s blind rage frightened him. He’d never seen a man so possessed by anger. There was no telling what he’d do.

When Hakon stepped in the mess that had once been Otho’s head and started laughing, it was too much to bear. Frightened or not, he called Hakon’s name once, then again and a third time, louder than before. Hakon let his mace fall to his side. He looked at Andros, first with confusion and then with recognition, as if the spirit that had possessed him was draining out. Finally, he spoke to Andros politely, as if he hadn't just lost his mind.

“I’m fine, Hakon. He didn’t touch me,” Andros responded in the calmest tone he could manage.

He walked over to Andros and risked putting two hands on him, one on each arm. He looked up into his face.

“That man deserved death for what he did to Heinrich, but to mutilate a corpse demeans you. You’re better than that, lad. Leave the body alone. We should bring Heinrich back for a decent burial, but first let me find my things.”

[Hakon]

At Andros' pronouncement that he ought to have more respect for his quarry than what he'd done to Otho, or what was left of Otho, Hakon had the good grace to be ashamed. He'd lost control of himself. It mattered not that Otho had killed Heinrich. He had lost his temper, and could have endangered himself, or worse, Andros. He was here to protect Andros and people like him from evils like Otho, not to indulge in his own whims.

He dismissed the mace and throwing star from existence, and retrieved his tangible mace from where it had fallen to the ground. He looked down at his clothes. Messy was an understatement. They were spattered with blood, bits of bone, skin, and chunks of hair from when he'd been doing his level best to turn Otho into goo. He bit back his shame. Otho's condescension and Heinrich's mocking comment came back to him: he was no better than an attack dog, truly.

He was unsure that there was any salvaging his clothes. Maybe with a lot of boiling? The laundresses in the Guild could work wonders. In the meantime, though, wandering around town covered in spatter would attract unwanted attention and cause undue concern. Hakon set about looking for a change of clothes in the possession of the deceased. They would not entirely fit, but many people among the poor of Daravin and Radenor wore hand-me-downs that had been modified to fit, and someone his size typically looked a bit odd in the expected hand-me-downs unless he were wealthy enough to commission his own clothes.

So he searched for a wardrobe or chest of drawers, and found a change of clothes in the sort of loose-fitting robes favored by Otho. It would be a bit narrow in the shoulder and short in the leg, but it could be worse. Better that than the alternative.

Then he took the man's grooming supplies and basin, stripped, and methodically cleaned himself of all the blood. He found a tooth in his hair, and was tempted to keep it for a moment before deciding against it, tossing it over instead to be with the rest of the man. Once he'd washed himself clean, he got dressed in his new outfit. True to his prediction, it did not fit so well, but it would do.

It was only then that he turned his attention to Heinrich. He had been young, younger even than Hakon, but in death he looked younger still. Hakon had not realized just how small he'd been -- the armor and attitude had added half a head to his height in Hakon's estimation -- On the plus side, Hakon had no doubt that he could lift the smaller man into some kind of cart for their return trip. So all they needed was a cart, and a driver. Hopefully, Andros knew how to do that, because Hakon had never been properly trained in such.

"Andros," he addressed the other man, "have you found your possessions? Your locket, in particular? If you have, could I trouble you to retrieve our possessions and animals from the inn and to rent a cart from someone in Radneor? Um --" he searched a pouch on Heinrich's corpse for what he was looking for. "Give them this chit. It means they'll be reimbursed by the guild for its use, so you don't have to buy it outright with coin. I'd do it, but I feel that someone should stay here with, um, with Heinrich." He said, his face falling. He had failed, and he would not forget about the sting of that humiliation for some time.

"Also, you'll be better at that stuff anyway," he said, waving to the door to indicate negotiating, talking to people, doing things that weren't efficient and enthusiastic slaughter of lawbreakers.

[Andros]

While Hakon looked for clothing, Andros tracked down his things in something of a daze. He had blood on his shoes, but he was focused with a single mind on getting that locket back. And the rest of his things, of course. He pawed through a bedroom, looking through drawers and under a mattress. This asshole wore a lot of black cloaks, he couldn’t help but notice. Just one after another.

Then to the kitchen, looking under a sink, throwing pots out of cupboards as he searched with increasing frenzy. Finally he started pounding at the walls in desperation until his hand went clean through one. A false door revealed a store room packed to the gills with what must be stolen goods from dozens of travelers. His own things were on a shelf right at eye level, out in front. It was the silver ring that caught his eye first, inscribed with writing he couldn’t read. It was on top of a bolt of fine wool cloth and a wooden box that he knew to contain excellent steel screws and nuts purchased in Daravin.

The locket was there, thank every spirit and nymph and sea sprite Andros ever counted on. He gave it a kiss, opened it and there she was, singing a wedding hymn, radiantly beautiful and blissfully happy.

That’s when Andros had a good, long cry.

By the time he heard Hakon’s heavy feet coming back downstairs, he had gotten it under control. He liberated several gold rings and a sizeable bag of coins in addition to his own goods to compensate for his troubles, then found Hakon in the hall.

Hakon seemed to have a plan, which was more than Andros could say, and he agreed to do his part. Stowing the locket safely around his neck, never to be removed again, he took the chit and went out into the street to track down a cart. He touched his prized possession over and over again as he walked through town, collected their horses and led them to a public stable, rented the cart - it wasn’t his money, why would he waste time negotiating a price? - and led the beasts and cart back to Otho’s house.

His mind kept flitting between two impossibly contradictory images. Elena’s beautiful face and Hakon’s insane rampage. He’d never seen such brutality in all his life, and yet Hakon was a polite, dedicated young man who risked his life to help a stranger with no promise of a reward. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was good in him, but what he saw today was frightening. He greeted the youth unsure of his feelings. He was grateful and wary, all at once.

“In Teos we burn the dead,” he said quietly, “but I understand you bury them here. Is that true for members of the Red Guard? Is there a ritual we should perform before we take him home?”

[Hakon]

While Andros was gone, Hakon tidied up. He'd always liked doing it, since before coming to the tower, but even as a boy, Something about making a chaotic area neat appealed to him. This was even more true after something grisly happened. He liked how things looked afterward. He found some burlap sacks in Otho's cellar and rolled up what was left of the mage in a collection of his seemingly innumerable black cloaks before dumping him in the secret chamber with the rest of the mage's ill-gotten gains. Those were already arranged reasonably neatly, and were nearby no shortage of boxes and bags since they had been mostly lifted off of travelers, so he packed up everything that looked valuable: coins, jewelry, books, wine, and weapons.

That left Heinrich. The expired guard was already starting to stiffen, and Hakon knew that if he didn't work quickly, the man would be stuck in his armor, or worse, would swell and burst inside of it. Varithium armor was expensive, and he was already going to be in a lot of trouble for coming back with his Watchman dead. He hauled Heinrich into a sitting position with one of Otho's black cloaks between them, and then slowly began to undo the straps and fasteners that kept the armor attached to the body of his former -- what? His friend? Heinrich wasn't anyone's friend, Hakon was fairly sure, or at least no mage's, but Hakon had been fond of him and considered him a friend nonetheless.

Once the man was stripped of his armor, Hakon marveled at how small Heinrich had been. It had never occurred to him, but the guard barely came to his shoulder. Deprived of his armor and with the pallor of death on his features, and it was clear how young and frail he had been under everything. Hakon closed Heinrich's eyes and shrouded him in two black cloaks. It wasn't like Otho had use of them any more.

When Andros came back, Hakon greeted him solemnly, and then hauled Heinrich's body into the rented wagon. He was grateful Andros had gotten one that was covered, and with a bench in the front big enough for the two of them. He did not want to ride in the back with Heinrich's corpse. Then he loaded in the rest of the goods that Otho had stolen. They were property of Jorikford now, unless and until there was something identifiable on them that would assist in reuniting them with their rightful owners, and since most of them seemed to just be wares, that might be difficult to do.

"We bury them," he said, nodded his assent at Andros' question. "Technically, Heinrich's soul has already departed to take its place among the Living Gods, but we observe funeral rites nonetheless. As a member of the Scarlet Watch, he will be given a headstone. He was unmarried, but his family and any woman he was courting will have a place to mourn him." The thought of that made his heart ache, and his face crumpled in distress. Preventable, but for his idiocy. "And, well, there is naught we can do for him that I have not already done. He's as clean as I can make him and he will not rot in his armor. It is as good as I can do until we return home."

"Um," he said, "thank you, for helping with this, Andros. I don't know what I would have done without your aid."

[Andros]

Hakon's sorrow was plainly evident in the way he talked about Heinrich. Andros only saw the men bicker and snipe at one another, but clearly Hakon had been fond of his guardian. Perhaps they had a personal bond as friends that wasn't obvious to Andros. Maybe they had been lovers, even. It happened in the army of Evrotai, so why not in the Scarlet Something-or-other? Or maybe there was just a strong sense of brotherhood in the organization. Maybe he would mourn like this for any fallen comrade.

In any case, seeing Hakon's pain written on his face made some sense of his outburst. Yes, outburst rather than brutal rampage was the right way to see it. Then he could reconcile the sensitive youth in front of him with the monster who smashed the Otho’s head into a puddle when he was already dead. Andros could rationalize it as a reaction to grief.

After all, when Diomedes from the Lower Village cornered poor Irene when she was only 16 and Andros heard her cry for help, he beat the young man to death with his fists on the spot, not stopping to think for an instant. Was he any better than Hakon? There was no trial, and he didn’t stop until Irene’s sobbing brought him back to reality. Every man does what he must to defend those he loves.

Andros did his best to comfort Hakon, who seemed to need it. With the rage drained out of him, he looked more his age - not much past 20. So young and yet capable of so much rage and sorrow. It touched Andros’ heart.

“He died for me, Hakon. Of course I want to help treat his body decently. And you risked your life for me, too.”

He knew Hakon would respond with something crazy about how rogue mages must be destroyed for the sake of society, so he cut him it off.

“Here, let’s get going and then let me show you something.”

He beckoned Hakon to join him on the front of the cart and got the horses pulling them away from the house where so much tragedy has occurred. Then he pulled the locket out from under his shirt, gave it a kiss, and opened it for Hakon so he could hear and see it’s magic.

“That’s my wife on our wedding day. When Otho stole this from me it was like she died a second time. You rescued her for me. I owe you and Heinrich an enormous debt of gratitude.”

He laughed quietly, without much humor behind it. “In a different world, I’d probably offer to marry you to one of my daughters as a thank you. But they’re married and far away, and you’re forbidden.”

It wasn’t quite true. Andros wouldn’t subject the girls to that kind of anger, and he always gave his them a vote (just not the final vote) in any case, but the sentiment was authentic. He felt a deep gratitude towards Hakon.

[Hakon]

For a second, Hakon felt a bit sick. Risking all that, losing Heinrich, for -- a locket? Was one man's life worth no more than a trinket? Then he listened to it, saw the woman inside, and saw Andros' face, and understood. This hadn't been about greed at all. While he'd noticed that Andros had picked up some other trade goods to sell, it wasn't those that had motivated any of this. It had been the locket.

"She lives on," he avered, "through this, and through your memory of her. I'm glad you have the necklace back, Andros. You're a good man, you deserve such things." For a moment, the thought of Otho opening it and sneeringly discarding it for its lack of worth, or worse, somehow, leering at it and wanting to keep it close, made him clench his fist, but they went over a bump in the road and it jostled him back to reality: Otho was dead, and so was Heinrich.

"I would be grateful to join a family such as yours, Sir," he said, meaning it. "I -- please tell no one this lest they worry, but i have always wished for a family of my own. I grew up without one, and it has been my deepest desire, even though the Guild forbids it. This is true of all Guild mages, Andros -- I am not some kind of special exception. As magic users, we are never to marry and never to raise children of our own." He scowled. "Another thing my Mark denies me."

"I may sire children, but not father them. There are others in the tower who do not believe that to be such an impediment, believe it or not, butt I have not acceded to such requests on the few occasions that there is a woman brave enough to proposition me for the same."

[Andros]

Hakon had a rather grim life. No wife, no family, no freedom. Just living in that cold tower and going out on murder missions. It was almost impressive that Hakon was as well-adjusted as he seemed, considering.

And he denied himself women all together, it seemed. A big handsome man like him must have been fighting them off with a stick. Andros had his first tryst when he was just fourteen, and here Hakon was in his 20s and living as a celibate.

It reminded Andros of something he saw in Teos when he crossed the breadth of the country on the way to Daravin. In some remote, arid locations there were men who devoted themselves to an ascetic life. They would climb to the top of a column and simply stay there on a little platform, living for years exposed to the elements without ever coming down. Superstitious locals would bring them food and water with awe, and the ascetics spent their time meditating and doing cheap, low-level magic to impress their audience.

Andros found their lifestyle outrageous, almost offensive. He could rationalize their failure to contribute anything to society - after all, every country has its idle rich. But he couldn’t understand denying oneself all the good things in life. And they made a virtue out of it, as if the peasants who fed them - the ones who worked and loved and raised families and had a life - were doing something wrong.

There was some of the ascetic spirit in Hakon. He was so devoted to his job, but he didn’t seem to have chosen this life and he understood the tragedy of his restrictions. Andros felt a deep pity for him. He struggled to express that in a way that conveyed compassion, not condescension.

“Lad,” he began, “what they’ve done to you is a crime. Every man should be able to plant and tend his garden and watch the flowers grow. It’s what life is for, in my experience. I hope you can find some satisfaction in another way.”

He opened his mouth to tell a story, thinking of a time his family cheered him up after a painful injury. But it seemed cruel to say it now. Hakon could have no such comfort. Not even at a time like this, when he’d just had a friend murdered before his eyes. Instead he made a suggestion.

“Have you ever considered escape? Daravin is close, and you’re unguarded. I can go back and make excuses for you, tell the Scarlet Security you were killed by the rogue. You can buy a little farm with what we took from the rogue and start a new life.”

If that wasn’t appealing, he offered an alternative.

“If not, perhaps you could give yourself a day off? We can dawdle a bit on the way back. You could find yourself a nice girl at a roadside inn. A man needs joy in his life, even if it’s just for a night.”

Nice girls don’t lurk at roadside inns, as everyone knows, but a man like him might not even have to pay for it. Or not too much anyway. Maybe he could find a sweetheart to cheer him up whenever he can sneak away. That might make his life less dark.