The Tattooed Woman

I hope folks are enjoying the story so far. Please leave comments, as criticism both positive and constructive is inherently useful. Plus, I like reading comments, so that's cool.

Everyone featured in this story is aged eighteen or over. If a character describes someone as a "child", it is because the character is probably a centuries-old supernatural creature to whom anyone mortal is but a child.

Volume 2 - Chapter 2: By the Moons Pale Light

The Crone sat upon the steps of the shrine and stared off towards the mountains, seemingly lost in her thoughts. It was a clear night, and the pale moonlight made the frost glitter like so much scattered silver.

Even as deep in thought as she was, she still sensed the silent presence behind her and so she stirred, "Rhiannon."

The figure moved forward, her bare feet gliding silently over the cold stones until she stood alongside the wizened old woman. In appearance, she was as young as the Crone was old and as pale as the other was dark, garbed in a light diaphanous gown that allowed the moonlight to pass through it and revealed much of the slender figure beneath, "Sister."

The Crone glanced at the woman and snorted, "A bit cold for such a gown is it not?"

Rhiannon's voice was light and filled with mirth, "You think I'll catch my death?"

"It does seem unlikely I admit."

The Crone stared up at the stars in silence for a while before she spoke again, "Do you watch her?"

"I watch everything."

"How does she fare?"

Rhiannon regarded the dark figure at her side, "She fares well sister, she has friends I think."

The Crone sighed, "Friends? We were not made for such; I wonder how it feels."

"Are we not friends?"

"We are kin, it is different."

The pale figure turned to the ancient form at her side, "You are gloomy this evening, what ails you sister?"

"I'm always gloomy, it is my nature, but..."

"Yes?"

The Crone looked away, "Did I do right by her I wonder, I took so much from her."

Rhiannon took a breath and the pale moonlight glittered on the mountaintops and across the great sea of trees, and even in the Fae there were those that looked up to the night sky in wonderment at how bright she shone, "What is it you think you took from her, sister?"

"That which makes us kin, her immortality."

"If you had not, she would have been taken into exile along with the rest."

"Even so."

"Lugh and I abandoned this world to its own devices long before your struggles sister, and thus the ban did not trouble us, but we watch. The only thing you took from her that she misses is your company."

"You are kind to say so sister, but it still troubles me."

"Guilt?"

The Crone chuckled, "I am not made for guilt, such a thing is as unknown to me as friendship."

"Are you not afraid HE will come for you?"

The old woman gave a harsh bark of laughter, "I inspire nightmares, I do not suffer them, and I do not fear him. I killed him once and though I am not all that I once was I will do far worse to him this time if he dares contest with me. And besides, he would not be so foolish, for if I was truly cruel, I would let him destroy me."

"How so?"

"For at the instant of my demise all that I took from her would be returned in full and she would be

wrathful

, and she is not nearly so merciful as I."

Rhiannon glanced at the massive bloodstain that stained the ground before the shrine, "Merciful?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing, just thinking."

"Will you watch over her for me?"

"Of course, but that is all I may do."

The Crone shook her head, "That has never been all that you do sister, you light the darkest night, and you

inspire.

It is a mighty gift."

Rhiannon had turned to go, but she tilted her head and smiled in gratitude, "Kind words, I will watch her," she looked at the cowled and lonely figure and sighed, "If you wish it, then mayhap tonight at least I will

inspire

her to perhaps embrace her mortality, if only a little, it may bring her some small happiness, if only for a while, just for this one night though, I dare do no more."

"That would be a rare gift, and in truth, it would ease a heavy heart if I thought she had a moment or two of joy, for I gave her precious few," the Crone turned fully to the pale figure and grinned, "for what little it's worth, if I were capable of such, then out of all the creatures and spirits in this realm then mayhap I would, perhaps, call you 'friend'. Goodnight my sister."

"Goodnight, Mórrígan."

...

The first assault had been an unmitigated disaster. The bows of the Fir Bolg could not reach the walls from the far side of the river and the siege engines mounted atop the gatehouse made gory ruin of those who tried to force the bridge. Fire from the magus and an unending rain of Orcish arrows fell upon those rafts that attempted to cross the waters and those few who survived either turned back in panic or were massacred upon the far bank as they staggered ashore.

Demeritus watched the slaughter with dismay before risking comment, "My Lord, I or any of my kin could reduce that gatehouse in an afternoon, would that not be preferable to... this?"

The mounted shape spared him a glance, "No,

this

will draw them to us, they will see this ruined attack, and the ones that follow, and take heart, thinking that there may be a victory to be had here. If I must land a weighty stroke, I prefer it to be an effective one. Once the garrison is full with all the heroes and warlocks they can muster, then you and your kin will destroy it utterly. Thus, with their strength thoroughly reduced, and hopes diminished our campaign would proceed apace."

The thing chuckled as it watched another bolt from a scorpion rip through the ranks upon the bridge, the barbed projectile tore through shields, armour and flesh with equal disdain, and it mused, "Clever of them to transport the siege weapon from the galleys in the harbour to atop the walls before we sank them do you not think?"

Demeritus shivered, "Yes, my Lord, I should have had them burned sooner, I offer apology."

"It matters not in the long run I suppose."

The thing turned to regard his servant, "What of the other manoeuvres?"

"Scale and Vortigern cross Loch Gile to the south while Atropa moves to fortify the isles that span the bay to the north, it will take time, but if they do not meet significant resistance they will eventually come in behind the city and it will be encircled. Even if the Dark Elves attempt resupply by ship, it would be a perilous and costly affair for them."

"Do not fully encircle the city until after it has been significantly reinforced. I wish to ensnare as many flies as possible in my web. In doing so we will likely entrap half their forces here, cut them off from any retreat and obliterate them."

"I understand, Dread Lord."

"Anything else?"

"My Lord?"

The creature sighed, "How went things with fair Shalidar, I have not seen her in some time, so I presume she has been dispatched on some worthy errand?"

"I... I requested that she further investigate the shrine at Morrigan's Stone my Lord. She has returned, but not yet made report to me. I shall interrogate her findings at once."

The thing languidly turned back to the assault, "See that you do," it looked up, "the moon shines brightly this night does it not?"

"My Lord?"

The thing shook its head, "Never mind, it matters not who sees us after all for there is no one left for her to tell, begone about your business and leave me to my thoughts."

...

Nyx looked across at the door, it appeared a sturdy fixture and she scratched an ear as she pondered. After the stramash in the common room of the Raven's Nest, she had sent an urchin to a few of the fleshpots she knew and soon enough Elsadore and Varoona had made an appearance, though when she looked at Elsadore and saw the happy and amiable grin plastered all over her face she knew for a certainty that the big woman had been well into her cups.

She sniffed at the woman's breath and winced, "What the fuck have you been drinking Elsie?"

"Dunno, I think it was green."

"Gods teeth! How much did you have?"

"Erm... All of it, I think."

"Fuck."

The big veteran slumped onto a stool looking about happily, "It's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine. Hey Cassie! Ooh, and the weird painted lass! Hello weird painted lass, done anything mad today? Well, madder than your usual. You are really, really creepy by the way, but I gotta admit, I love you for saving wee Varoona, here, have a drink with me!"

Narissa groaned, "I'll make some tincture. It'll make her puke but should clear her head... a bit."

Varoona looked about at the common room, "Interesting place, it's pretty big. Erm... Is there a reason you have a man nailed to the bar, not criticising mind, but it does seem a... bold choice as a decorative fixture?"

"That was Nyx."

"Why am I not surprised."

Adair had smiled at the appearance of the two sellswords and had paused a moment as she wondered at the reaction for it seemed a curious thing to her, to smile at such. She shook her head to dismiss the thought and instead sat still and quiet upon a barstool as she pondered, "Music."

Narissa glanced at her, "What?"

"Hmm, oh, I thought that perhaps this place would be improved by music, I... like music, or I think I do. Pay me no mind," her face took on a curious expression, "I'm unsure why my mind even turned in such a direction."

Cassie moved alongside, "Are you well? You seem strange this evening."

"Hmm? Oh, well enough. Perhaps it is The Fae, for my thoughts are unfocused," she smiled at the little slave and touched her hair fondly, "still, that's not anything new to me these days. Ah, Cassie?"

"Yes?"

"Where did you get that broom?"

The young woman paused in her efforts to sweep up the debris from the fight and glancing at the thing in her hand she blushed, "It's silly, but remember when you ran into the shrine after yon big dog-beast thing that was going for the children? Well, I came in after you thinking to help and I saw this propped against the door so I took it up," she shrugged, "it was daft, but at the time I thought if the monster came at me, I could mayhap hit it with the broom. I know, utterly foolish, for the thing would have swallowed me in a single bite, broom and all. I don't know why, but somehow, I forgot to put it back. I hope the old woman is not vexed at me."

Adair frowned, "What old wo..."

Elsadore grinned and interrupted by happily patting Cassie on the back, "That was bravely done, lass," she chuckled, "dumb as fuck, but definitely brave."

It was sometime later that the four of them, Nyx, Adair, Varoona and a much-subdued Elsadore, who was currently leaning against a wall to vomit, were huddled in a darkened alley opposite the door Nyx was currently contemplating. The Dark Elf had 'chatted' with the man she had nailed to the bar and after only a small amount of encouragement and perhaps some light abuse, he had exchanged information for having his hand back and thus they now stood poised in the alley, opposite what they had been told was the back way into the lair of 'Syros the Pyker'.

Varoona regarded Elsadore who was wiping her mouth with her sleeve, and she turned to Nyx, "Is she going to be alright? I mean, she looks like she's about to keel over."

Nyx just grinned, "Don't fret lass, she's fought in worse conditions than that, at least she's wearing clothes this time. Hey Elsie, you remember that brawl in the bawdy house down by the docks in Fellhaven? What started that? I don't think I ever did learn. All I remember is you running about stark naked with a knife in one hand and your knickers in the other, chasing some poor young lad with a mad look in your eye."

Elsadore muttered something unintelligible and swore.

Nyx chuckled and turned to Adair, "That looks like a sturdy door, but you're pretty strong, I bet you could force it."

Adair frowned, "What?"

"Aye, just go over there and hit it as hard as you can."

The tattooed woman looked at the door and back to the Dark Elf, "I don't think that's a good ide..."

"Nah, you'll do fine, you need to believe in yourself lass. Just go over there and belt the thing. I'm sure it'll give."

"That's not what I mea..."

Varoona piped up, "What we going to do when we find the guy?"

Nyx smiled unpleasantly, "I'll 'reason' with him."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

The veteran sniffed dismissively, "He threatened my youngest so I'm going to cut his fucking throat obviously."

Elsadore chuckled, "Sounds reasonable to me. Listen, the Captain better not find out about this. She'll be vexed as fuck."

"I won't tell her if you won't," Nyx turned to Adair, "what are you waiting for?"

"Ah, but..."

"Just go fucking hit it will you!"

Adair stared at the Dark Elf for a fulminating moment, "Fine!"

The tall woman got up and strode angrily across the street.

Varoona turned to Nyx, "You think this'll wor..."

Adair kicked the door.

Long Tam, the Half-Orc was an ex-gladiator, and a more unsavoury fellow would be hard to find even in the worst back-streets of Emain. He was a raper, a pimp and a vicious bully who specialised in violent crime, debt collecting, and leg-breaking. He and his latest accomplice, Machlan the Body-Snatcher, were playing dice by the back door they had been set to ward and regaling each other with sordid tales and unlikely boasts when their evening took something of a turn for the calamitous.

With a sudden rending crack, the barred door they were guarding simply exploded, taking most of the doorframe and a sizeable part of the ceiling with it. Bits and pieces of wood flew about the chamber like so many leaves blown by a storm. One of the two stout iron bolts that had secured the thing almost took his head off when it flew past him to embed in the wall opposite while the torn and twisted remains of the other bolt punched through Machlan's ring mail like an awl and buried itself in his left leg, just above the knee. The body-snatcher stared at the metal ingot impaling his thigh for a moment with a dumbfounded look of confusion and then screamed.

Varoona sighed, "Never mind..."

As the three Dark Elves scuttled across the street there was a cry, the sound of impact and they had to dodge nimbly aside as an unconscious Half-Orc flew out the ruined door still clutching a broken cudgel in his fist. He clattered to the street and lay groaning, his visage was bloody, and to Varoona it appeared for all the world to look like he had been kicked in the face by a very large, and

very

angry horse.

There were sounds of some struggle within that were both violent, and brief, and when the Dark Elves could see through the dust and debris, they found the far door of the chamber that presumably led further into the guts of the building had been torn from its hinges. and now lay discarded upon the floor nearby. Beyond was a corridor where they found Adair standing over two bodies. One appeared merely unconscious, the other, however...

"Where's his head?" muttered Elsadore.

Adair pointed towards a bloody smear upon the wall to her left where small fragments of bone still adhered to the gore, "He surprised me, and my response was somewhat more vigorous than I might have intended."

Nyx grinned dismissively as she slipped forward, "Well, t'is not an error he will be repeating anytime soon. How sad, never mind."

They moved down the passage swiftly, for they had no further use for stealth. Up ahead there was a shout and movement as a cluster of armed ruffians came into view. Nyx and Elsadore slipped forward, swords in hand while Varoona watched the rear. Thugs charged at them with angry bellows of rage. The first hefted a hatchet in a vicious overhand swing, only to look dismayed as Elsadore parried it easily and Nyx, working alongside her long-time sister-in-arms, thrust her sword neatly into the man's chest. He crumpled dead to the floor with barely a sound and the two sellswords advanced, working together seamlessly to brutally cut down whoever dared face them with lethal efficiency. After the first few had been ruthlessly filleted the last turned to flee, only for the slowest and nearest thug to crumple as two thrown knives took him in the back.

Elsadore sniffed, "Mine hit him first."

Nyx plucked the blades from the corpse and wiped them clean on the man's hair before passing one back to her friend, "Mine hit closer to his heart."

"Meh, he's just as fucking dead."

After more exploration, they found various rooms and the like of a mundane nature, a sitting room here, a storage room there, and a few rooms containing filthy bunks that stank of sweat and stale alcohol. Esladore poked at one with disgust, "Scruffy bastards are they not? They'd not get away with such slovenly habits in a decent company."

"They're street scum, what do you expect? They don't even fight that well."

"They rule by fear, spent too much time picking on the weak I'd say, not used to meeting those who might bite back."

Varoona called out from the passageway, "Here, look at this."

She nodded towards a door, it was down a short passage and looked barred and securely locked, "You know what that looks like don't you?"

Elsadore spat, "That's a fucking gaol if ever I saw one."

"And you've been locked up in enough to know I'd say," muttered Nyx.

"Hey!"

The younger Dark Elf looked at the solid bars and sturdy lock, "If Azure were here, she could probably pick this. Do you think any of those we killed might have a key?"

Adair looked at the thing, "Let me."

Taking hold of the bars she drew a breath and heaved, tearing the door from the frame, hinges and all, before leaning it against a wall, "There, that should suffice."

Elsadore shook her head with a grin, "That's a neat trick. Think you could teach it to me for the next time I get locked up for being drunk and disorderly?"

Beyond the doorway was a set of stone steps that led down to the floor of a stark chamber. The stench of faeces, urine and fear was like a tangible thing as it assaulted their nostrils, "What the fuck?"

Wretched figures in rags lay slumped against the bare stone floor, chained to iron rings set into the walls. There were tables that bore various unpleasant implements such as tongs, manacles, bloodstained rods and whips, and most of the figures looked to bear the marks of these devices.

An iron brazier had been set beside a heavy table of scored and marked wood and it held glowing coals. The Dark Elves could see that branding irons bearing various sigils and markings had been placed within the coals to heat and from the stench of burned flesh it was clear enough what their purpose was. A large, rough-looking fellow wearing a thick leather apron smeared with grease and other less savoury fluids, as well as a broad belt that bore a heavy, well-used, truncheon was staring up at the Dark Elves in amazement, "Here now! What's this! Syros aint said..."

A hurled knife punched neatly through his eye, and he crumpled as Nyx snarled, "Shut up."

The chained figures were for the most part young women, though there were also a couple of lads. They looked half-starved and beaten, and many bore signs of other abuses. Varoona looked about in horror, "What the fuck is this?"

Nyx spat, "Seems like this fellow 'Syros the Pyker', might be better called 'Syros the Slaver', for this is an unlicensed slave operation if ever I saw one," she gestured to the chained figures, "I'd say these are orphans, urchins and the like, kidnapped from the streets to be broken and branded before sale to some unscrupulous type.

Lifting one of the heating brands Elsadore snarled, "I recognise this sigil, t'is the mark of a low bawdy house down by the docks. An unsavoury place where they sell an adulterated brew of poor quality," she looked about in disgust and anger, "when done here I think I may just go burn that place to the ground."