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LLOTF - Chapter 27: An unfortunate turn of events
🕑 Added 2024-12-13 00:16:12 +0000 UTCFelicity insisted on flying around and causing mischief in the higher-up noble townhouses closer to the Blackspire. “There are so many valuables I could get my hands on! And painting frames I can tilt just a little bit so they aren’t positive if it is askew or not!”
An idea popped into Tristan’s head as he finished scrubbing the bit of soot off of his body in the tub. “Can you do me a favor? Some scouting?”
She perched on the edge of the tub and looked at him inquisitively, “Depends on what it is.”
“Go and spy on Gisele. Get a gauge on her emotions and what’s going on in the Damadan household. I’m pretty sure she isn’t the person responsible for the assassins…but I’d like to have some reassurance.”
Felicity reached into her extradimensional storage space and pulled out a starberry, chomping down on it and nodding, “Can do. Want me to leave anything?”
Tristan pointed to the desk, where his new dagger was already sitting in the sheath. “The mana lantern, the cloak, the primer on artifice, the one for ice elementalism, my armor, my sword.”
“Go-ong to inveshtigate all of th items?” she asked with her mouth full as she flapped over and began pulling items out of the storage.
Tristan nodded as he got up and dried off. “Yes. I want to know exactly what everything I have does.”
She finished pulling the items out then gave him a small salute, “Going to cause some mild discomfort and scout.” She flew off out of the window, shimmering as she went invisible to all but Elves and fairy dragons once more.
Tristan got on some decent clothes, strapped the small dagger to his waist, and headed downstairs as the dinner bell rang. The table was full of all manner of foodstuffs, and the various guards were all seated and chatting jovially. They all stood up once Tristan entered the room, and bowed slightly.
Benjamin, the oldest of the bunch that Tristan had already met, spoke. “Thank you for your gracious invitation, Lord Tristan. These four are on the night shift. Theron and Theros – twin brothers who will be guarding the back entrance. And these two are Valerie and Sealeh who will be guarding the front.”
The various individuals thanked Tristan and sat back down. He glanced at Gertrude who was standing in the door frame leading to the kitchen. “The table looks set. Come, take a seat and join us.”
“Oh, young master, I couldn’t possi-”
“Nonsense,” Tristan replied as he waved her comment away. “I want everyone to eat and enjoy. Please, I insist. I’ll get the wine and-” he glanced at the night shift guards, “Some water to dilute it. Can’t have people guarding the house and home drunk, can we?”
The guards shared a slight chuckle and Theron, a young adult man with a crop of medium-length black hair, nodded. “Absolutely. Watered-down wine should be good enough.”
Tristan pulled out a chair for Gertrude before doing the same for the other two servants – though he did so for Marlowe begrudgingly. Then, as the rest began eating, he ducked into the kitchen, down to the cellar, and acquired several varieties of wine and a few jugs of water from the cool casks. Heading back upstairs, he was quite pleased to hear the sound of jovial conversation and general enjoyment.
He began pouring the wine and water for each person, and only when everyone was served did he sit down and start to serve himself from the platters of food.
As he was heaping some potatoes onto his plate, the conversation went silent. Tristan looked up and saw that everyone’s eyes were bulging. Veins, pronounced against their skin as their pallor began to turn dark purple. Immediately, Tristan got to his feet and went around behind Gertrude; hefting her out of the chair and trying to force out whatever she was choking on.
But then it hit him. They can’t all be choking at once. He looked down at the food. Did they…oh gods, no. Poison? Did someone try to poison me? He turned Gertrude’s face to his and he could see the panic in her eyes. “No no no!” he backed away as the guards whose names he had just learned, the asshole servant Marlowe, the young Theresa, and the beloved chef he grew up with – all were dying in front of him.
There has to be something I can do! He sprinted up the stairs and looked around for the alchemists kit. Where did I put it! I could swear I put it in the- he stopped as he realized, I put it in Felicity’s storage.
Tristan ran to the window and screamed out, “Felicity!” Several times, he yelled her name, “Felicity!”
But he heard nothing.
Rushing downstairs, he saw that everyone was slouched against the table, had fallen out of their chairs, or were wheezing and on their last legs. He ran over to Gertrude and held her close to his chest, “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It shouldn’t be you.”
There was a noise that stood out to Tristan. The slight schlink of steel drawn from leather. He looked up towards the kitchen and saw a black-cloaked individual. They had a dagger drawn that was very similar to the one that Tristan had taken and turned in to the king’s court. He could not make out their features; the mask covering their mouth and the hood covering all but their eyes. Those cold, deep, blue eyes that seemed to pierce Tristan’s soul.
“Not hungry?” the masculine figure asked. “How about some steel!”
Tristan turned and sprinted up the stairs, hearing the assassin chase after him. But, Tristan knew a few things about the townhouse that this assassin didn’t. He knew that there was a small closet at the top of each landing, and that Marlowe never put away the cleaning supplies correctly. As he turned the corner on the landing to keep going up, he pulled open the closet and the incorrectly-stored objects – buckets, mops, sponges, soap – all came tumbling out and down the stairs.
The assassin slipped slightly, but grabbed the railing to keep their footing as they kept up their pursuit. It bought time, though. Tristan had a few more precious seconds. Getting up to his room, he got his hand on his sword and drew the blade, turning to face the open doorway with a bladed stance to present the smallest object possible. No armor. I have to be flawless. Just pretend you’re dueling Gisele. Deep breaths. He tried to calm his racing heart and focus on the door opposite of his open doorway, trusting to his grandfather’s advice.
“When you’re fighting something, don’t focus on it. Instead, focus on something in the distance behind your foe. You react better with your peripheral vision than you do by staring at the danger.”
He spun his mana core, feeling the cooling, soothing embrace of the empowering, magic-fueling substance race through his body and assist in his calming breaths. He focused the energy down his mana channels in his arms and to the blade he held. It shimmered with a silvery glow before extending as it had previously during his test. And it will naturally be drawn towards vital areas. I just have to trust my training.
The assassin rounded the corner and paused for a moment before letting out a chuckle, “A big sword like that in a small environment like this? You really are a stupid mongrel.”
“Why are you hunting me?!” Tristan shouted. He felt sorrow well up in him. “My mom, everyone here? Why?!”
He saw the figure’s grip on their weapon tighten as they growled, “Ready to die?”
Tristan pushed down the sorrow and focused on the swirling mana in his chest; the soothing cool bringing a sense of calm and clarity to his mind. “Not today.”
The assassin lunged forward, trying to duck under Tristan’s blade. But Tristan was fast – especially when unarmored – and he pulled his body back before stabbing forth, catching the assassin in the gap between the neck and collarbone. The blade sank down several feet before protruding from his lower back.
The assassin went limp and Tristan drew his thin sword back. Just like the prior assassin, this one vanished to dust, leaving behind their weapon and cloak. Tristan closed his eyes and focused on his hearing, trying to pick up any out of the ordinary sound.
Pat-tap pat-tap, he heard the sound of feet coming up the stairs, and readied himself once more. Another two cloaked figures came through the door, paused, took in the scene, and then rushed forward.
Tristan slashed at the left one first, and the figure parried his strike before closing the distance. Tristan let the mana fade from the blade as it shrunk to the point he could use it to parry up close. But the one on his right came in towards his blind spot. Tristan unsheathed the dagger at his waist and got it in the way of the approaching blade, deflecting it.
Pulling back slightly, he kicked out at the one on the left he had parried with his sword – buying himself a bit of space as he turned into and bull rushed the one on his right, shoulder checking them into one of the support columns of the bed frame. The wood splintered and cracked as the assassin had the wind knocked out of them, and Tristan felt a piercing, red-hot pain just under his ribs.
He was able to get his knife up next to the assassin’s throat and slid the blade across their vital area. Blood spewed out in a geyser that Tristan had to turn away from so he wasn’t blinded. The blade slipped out from his midsection as the assassin collapsed – but Tristan had to turn and face a brutal assault from the other assassin.
They moved in and stabbed at Tristan, who could only weakly deflect the blade before giving a half-hearted counter-stab. The assassin pulled back and stabbed forth yet again, but Tristan was able to move his knife-arm in the path of the blade; intentionally taking a hit. That gave him the opening to score a strike of his own with his blade, and the longer reach of the weapon ensured that he got a good hit in. Right into the man’s ribs as he stabbed up and into the center of his torso.
The assassin staggered backward, bleeding heavily, and then collapsed. They turned to dust, leaving only the dagger and cloak behind. Tristan sat on the bed, glancing down at the other assassin whose throat he had slit. I…I’m alive. He reached down with a shaky hand and felt the slowly-growing spot where he had been stabbed underneath the ribs. Shit! He stumbled over to the apothecary kit and tried to flip open the primer on healing remedies; planning on making a curative elixir that could heal his wounds.
But as he fumbled through the pages he felt darkness closing in all around him, and he heard a faint flapping noise. “Felicity…get help…”
---
Tristan woke up. He was on the floor of the townhouse and felt a wicked pain in his stomach area. His throat was parched, and he heard clinking noises on the desk above him. “Wa-” he tried to say “water” but couldn’t get the words out.
Felicity’s head popped over the edge of the desk, and the look of relief on her face was quite evident. She spoke rapidly, and the concern coming from her voice was something that Tristan had not heard before, “Oh thank The Matriarch you’re alive! I bandaged you up, and I’m trying to work on the potion that you can turn into an elixir. I think it is about ready if you have mana to spend.”
Tristan gestured with his left, uninjured arm in a sipping motion, and Felicity hopped over to the tub and scooped up some of the water in a phial before bringing it over. “Sorry, I don’t know where you have clean water.” He took the phial and quaffed it, ignoring the grit and dirt that went along with it. Felicity jumped back up to the desk and then back down once more, holding another phial in her paw-claw. “The primer just said “infuse mana into the mixture.””
Tristan put his uninjured hand on the phial and spun his mana core. The soothing, cooling relief did nothing to stop the throbbing pain in his stomach and arm. But, he felt the mana all throughout his body, and pushed it into the potion in his grip. The mixture of crushed and powdered herbs with some type of light oil glowed with a brilliant, light-blue sheen before fading and becoming a ruddy hue. He ripped the cork off with his teeth and swallowed the herbaceous liquid.
He felt warmth hit his stomach, and that warmth spread through his body and filled him up to the brim – almost seeming to fight against the coolness of his mana flowing throughout him. He felt the pain leave his arm, and as the minutes ticked by and he focused on calm breathing, he felt the pain in his abdomen decrease to nothing. “I think it worked,” he said weakly as he pulled his shirt up and felt along his abdomens. “No wound.”
Felicity sighed with relief. “Good. When I came back, you were bleeding pretty badly.”
Tristan pushed himself to a sitting position, wincing at some tightness and soreness in the midsection. “What recipe did you use?”
“The one labeled “Healing Elixir – Greater.” It took a lot of your herb supplies.”
Tristan nodded, “Worth keeping me alive.” He coughed slightly as he moved over to the assassin’s robes. He saw the same symbol on them, and inspecting the daggers saw that those were similar as well. Same people. And they-
He felt sorrow well up in him once more for the people downstairs who all died to poison meant for him. People who would possibly be alive if he had not tried to make nice with them. He slammed his fist on the ground and felt tears on his cheeks. “Damnit…”
