The small path was rarely travelled and trailed lethargically out of city. The trees had begun to shed summer greens as autumn colors had started descending into the valley. The landscape north east of Thurn would take on all manners of browns, reds and yellows in the following months; a natural collage before the winter season. A flock of small song birds flew through the forest, taking note of a wagon stopped beside a pair of riders. Taking momentary roost in a tree, they observed the humans’ short transaction before chirping amongst one another and darting off into the distance.
“I worked hard for that gold,” Lloyd commented melancholically as Asim waved farewell to the merchant’s wagon. He tossed Lloyd a set of drab clothes, “I’m quite sure you did not,” he walked off the road, hiding himself behind a tree as he began to change as well. “Well, I stole it fair and square,” Lloyd stuck his head through the neck of his new tunic, the gray wool already itching every square inch of exposed skin on his body. “Thievery is the sign of a child; honesty, that of a man,” Asim scolded, tossing his soaked and bloodstained clothes over a branch as he slipped into dry ones. “Oh come on. Shouldn’t those with much give to those without?” He stepped out from the tree, wearing an equally unremarkable tan poncho over thick, patchwork breeches. “Yes, they should give; you should not take.” Lloyd pulled his new pants up tight, sticking his feet back into his old boots. Grabbing his armor under an arm, he walked back to the horses, patting his on the neck as he slung the bundle of clothes and leather plating across the animal’s back. He secured the rest of the gear, being sure to cover his sword with a blanket before turning back to Asim, who had already mounted his horse. “Frankly, I think they’re the ones that did the swindling here,” he lifted his arms up, the fringes of his shadow dotting with beams of light, “it’s like a flour sack after rats have been through it.” Asim muttered something through a poorly hidden grin as he sat down in the saddle, and slowly began heading down the road. “Wait a minute! Was that a smile?” Lloyd scrambled onto his own steed, hastily riding as he chased after his now chuckling companion, “Does he actually have a sense of humor?”
The swamp was stagnant, the only motion coming from several bloodied figures drifting lifelessly through the mire. A pair hung limp from a tree, each riddled with bolts. One was on shore, face up and killed similarly. A small line of blood ran from his chest onto the ground, following the slope and feeding into the bog. A fourth was crumpled face down by a tree, impaled on a blade which jutted from his back. The rest laid about the sewer entrance, one shot and the other two a mess of broken bones and beaten flesh. Seven dead in all; she couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy. Her boots swished through the water as she approached his body, an idle corpse brushing past her slender legs as the crimson water flowed around her. She loved red. Her pallid complexion seemed too rosy at the sight of it as she removed her gloves, folding them carefully and tucking them away. The black fingernails beneath skimmed through Raven’s hair, her fingers weaving tenderly over his scalp. “There there,” she cooed, kneeling down beside him. She smiled warmly as she turned his head to face hers, his twisted expression frozen by death’s grip. She closed her eyes and moved her fingers searchingly over his facial features; sensually, tentatively, gasping in excitement as they found his remaining eye. Thumb and forefinger made small circles around his milky orb, tracing lightly over the cold flesh. She pulled her head backward, arching her chest up and moving her body beside his in rhythm with the movement of her hands. Eyes still closed tight, she sunk both fingers into the socket and let out a rapturous sigh.
Black nails wrapped around the cold membrane gently before she pulled back – ripping the eye from his body. A thin line of red from the tearing of tendrils sprayed across her cheek. Pausing from the task at hand, she parted her mouth and extended a tongue; licking the blood off her dark lipstick. She ran a hand past her own ear, tucking back the momentarily unkempt waist length hair and wiping her face clean. “Oh Raven,” she leaned in close again, whispering to his body, “You never could contain yourself.” She stretched out her arm, cradling the eye in her palm and placing the other on his chest. “Perhaps you can be useful for a change.” She slowly lowered her eyelids, focusing on his remains for the spell. Whispering at first, she began to chant words in a dialect beyond comprehension. Standing slowly as her voice grew louder; the phrases repeated, the air beginning to whirl. The water beneath them spread apart, as her legs straightened; hand still planted firmly to the body which lifted from the ground, rising as if supported from below. The eye began to glow bright colors, the tendrils of light peeling from her hand and wrapping around them both. Her palm on the corpse flexed open slightly before closing into a fist – Raven’s flesh evaporating instantly to dust which was whipped up into the vortex around her. She raised the eye above her, hair flailing wildly in the wind as she shouted the words at the top of her lungs, calling to the heavens. The spiral of vibrant color and ash hushed for a second before erupting into a funnel; spearing into the clouds before fading away as her chanting ended. The water crashed back down around her knees as her eyes opened and she lowered her arm; both irises stained an unnatural orange before returning to their usual dark hazel. They widened before resizing and focusing back to her palm and the object now resting inside it.
What had once been a human eye was no more; in its place was now a small glowing ball the size and shape of the one she had been holding. An effervescent marble of constantly shifting color moved erratically across the surface of the orb, as she looked at it excitedly. Pocketing the sphere she slipped on her gloves and stepped over the heap of armor, “Thank you, Raven.” She strode out of the marsh, walking up to the patrol of men standing around her horse. Their postures stiffened as she approached, one removing a small towel as she paused by the soldiers. He dropped to his knees and began to wipe her boots, flicking bits of mud and filth from the otherwise unblemished crimson leather. “Tell your men I’ve finished. They can retrieve what’s left of their dead.” The nearest one saluted, passing on the command as his troops headed into the swamp. She glanced down, waiting until her shoes were once again pristine, “That will suffice,” she pulled her foot from the kneeling enlisted. “Mistress Irith,” he queried, shrinking away from her, “what word shall I bring to Lord Vorhest?” She slipped her foot into a stirrup, swinging over onto the saddle and bringing her horse around. “Tell him that Raven was most cooperative,” she patted her side, making sure that the orb was still secure, “and that I have all the information I need.” Irith tested the reins, making sure they were tied fast along with the rest of her equipment. “Let him know that I will send word when it’s in my possession.” With a kick she spurred the horse southward out of the swamp; You won’t elude me this time, old man.
