Book Three: Redemption, Chapter Six-
As the door creaked, all commotion within the tavern fell silent. The entire lot of occupants swiftly faced the entrance, hand on bow and hilt alike, weary of the intruder. The young girl threw up her arms in panic.
"Hey now, what's all this? I just came in for a pint," she explained, but her words mattered to them not as they were studying her. Her sickly green hair was wrapped in a greasy bandana while her body sported black, studded leather. Cautiously, they all lowered their weapons.
"It's okay, she's probably good," one of the men noted, taking a sip from his brew.
"Yeah, not quite what we're looking for," reluctantly stated the last to return to his previous activities. The huddle of three men sat at the bar, one old, one young, one lost in between. They resumed their secret conversation while the woman, suspiciously eyeing them, made her way to the opposite end of the bar.
"What's their problem?" she asked the barkeep when he delivered her ale. She knew something was the matter in that place as the tender never took his eyes off the group for the whole time he was serving her and no one questioned her right to even be serviced with alcohol. "Are they drunk or just jerks?"
"A little of both, actually," the barkeep admitted, "but they are handling the situation no different the most the people here." The woman raised a questioning brow. "Ypolisch was the last to feel the sting of her venom, and now, word is, that the fabled Black Thorn is heading to our town."
"Get out!" the young lady accidentally blurted out louder than intended or desired by anyone else. "Really? Here? That is awesome!" The tapster heeded little to what she had to say as he stilled tried to pick up on the group's conversation. She intruded once more, "So... what's the deal with that guy?" She pointed to the far end of the bar, tucked away and hidden in shadow. A grim figure sat in the corner, a mess of raven hair hung before his deathly face and eyes of jet. The black suit he wore could be considered regal if it were not tattered and worn from extensive travel. This ghastly figure sat, completely motionless, with a full mug grasp before himself with both hands as his unwavering eyes peered meaninglessly through its contents.
"Him?" asked the barkeeper. "I'm not too sure. He's a wayfarer, just like you. He just showed up today and... hasn't... left. Excuse me," he hastily pardoned himself as he slide down a peanut bowl for refilling, which was only half a dozen shy from being full, conveniently located in front of the triad.
"That wild tramp," the man managed to slur out. "D'ya know wha Ah thinks 'bout her? D'ya?" he currently questioned a support beam. "Ah think she's gonna collapse society! She's just takin' out ev'ryone who's in chahge so thah'll be no mo' leadas."
"Drunken fool," he elder of the three muttered, but still to the point where anyone could clearly hear him. "She's not attempting ruination, she's attempting usurpation. I've followed the maps and done several days of study into the matter. I think I have a pretty good theory on the matter. For over four years, there has been a sweeping wave of destruction. At first, it started with little villages. A large number of them were just wiped off the map, one without even a trace that a building ever stood on its grounds. From there, the aforementioned town in particular, the wave turned to demolishing old abandoned warehouses and storage depots, but these all turned out to be hideouts for the infamous Rockets."
"The Rockets?" the younger one cut in. "Everyone hated those guys! Wouldn't this make her a saint? I mean, no one really misses those guys, right?"
"Hundreds, if not thousands," the gentleman stressed, "perished in each on of her attacks. Tell me, does a saint ever spill blood of such magnitude?" The runt quieted down for the time being. "And it gets worse. After those, a Silph Co. building experienced a devastating 'accident' in which one of its research floors was entirely decimated. Many people believed it was an accident at first, too, until it happened for a fourth time within direct proximity from the first 'freak occurrence.' And do not think for a second that things stopped there, oh my, no. Last I heard, there were twenty some of those happenings, and I lost count when they still went on for another year.
"But two oddities followed the last of the Silph Co. branches' annihilations. First, the central headquarters was utterly destroyed by 'three lights in the sky.' Some were dareful enough to call them the pagan gods of yore. By my inference, it was pagan customs that never left the land with their gods that caused the people to think they saw them. Aye, Skip?" The junior growled. "The second strange occurrence was much the same. Three beams of light were seen in the sky over some mountains, accompanied with loud explosions and smoke that blackened the sky for days. Later, investigators turned up that all of Rocket was stationed at a monolithic base that once stood there." He quaffed his spirits before starting again. "The thing that doesn't make any sense about theses last two are, that despite having the characteristics of the Thorn all over them, they both not only transpire outside the path once followed but three incidents are attributed to her cause that are weeks' journey apart yet all happened within days of one another."
"That seems like a lot of 'if's," doubted Skip. "Doesn't sound to... um, sound to me." The liquor seemed to be getting to everyone's head.
"Because, lad," the old man replied, "immediately after the downfall of the Rockets, a new path and trend started for the black-hearted one. Once she paid a city a visit, their stadium, the one that houses the resident champion, would be found filled with blood if left standing at all. Upon examining the path, which, by the way, we lie right on, I've found that it leads right into the League's Global headquarters. Systematically, she is eliminating every major power in the world, starting from the sinister, to the corporate, to the dominant. In the end, she might as well be handed a crown, 'cuz no ones gonna be able to stop her then. I just pray she goes down before then."
"Waidaminute," jutted in the drunkard. "How could one pahson, one ... iiiitty bitty wittle pahson, espesally a gurl, do all dat?"
"In my opinion," contributed the youth, "I don't think 'she' is a girl at all. Oh no, it's a man. No mollycoddle, milksop of a girl could ever pull of those feats. This guy is ruthless, a stone-cold killer. And, the way I see it, he's doing us all a favor. No one liked Rocket, Silph Co. was full of money grubby fat cats, and it's about time someone put the League in their place. Those elitists could pull off just what he is doing if he were king." Boisterous laughter came pouring out from the other end of the bar. The figure donned in darkness let out chilling cackle that pierced their souls. "What's so funny, goober?" the impatient youth demanded from the man in black, fierceness in his asking.
"I simply could not help myself," the dour one spoke, having abruptly cut off his mockery. "To hear you speaking of matters you could never hope to grasp, but that is the pride in ignorance, is it not? Not knowing how terrible you have it?" Skip was about ready to fly from his stool to land his fist in the drifter's face, but the older gent held him back for a bit.
"Tell me, sir," the oldster wondered, "what it is that you mean?"
"You're wrong," he simply stated. "All of you are wrong. You do not have a clue to anything." The deep, maniacal laughter uncontrollably began again.
"Wrong 'bout what, ya freakin' bum?" the younger vehemently spit.
"To start," the vagabond said, cutting off his laughter just as fast as before, turning on his stool to face them, his tattered jacket splitting apart to reveal the fine vestments, silver armor and ornaments that strewn about his body, and gilded claymore that hung from his belt, "I'm no bum." Silently, their mouths dangled in the air dropped. Their attention acquired, he proceeded. "Second, the Black Thorn is woman." He pivoted back to attend his booze. "And quite one at that. I should know." Immediately, they flew from their seats to those by the dark knight to catch a better listen. All, that is, except for the bloat, who merely fell facedown on the floor, which shortly became a mat of his own vomit. Shortly, they bombarded him with a fury of questions.
"Is it true what they say? Is she seven feet tall? Does she have powers? Is she something more than human? Is she commanded by the power of death? Is she a walking corpse? Does she eat those she kills? Is she seeing anyone one. Does she have eyes of scarlet ruby?" The dreadful soldier responded with equal haste.
"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. ... That's none of your business. And, oddly enough, yes to that last one. ... Man, I never thought about that before."
"So what's with her name? Where did that come from?"
"I heard that she has a tattoo," answered the other, the younger. "I don't know if it came before or after her dubbing, though. It starts as a flower but winds down her arm as this wicked bad stem covered in briars." Everyone else remained taciturn. he realized no one cared what he thought he heard. "So ... you do know her, right?"
"I knew her," Shade corrected, "before she changed. I can tell you this: she is ever deserving of the name they've given her." He seemed to drift way from them. "A white rose, so innocent and pure, a thing of beauty, wrapped in a sea of twisted thorns, tipped with deadly venom, killing all those who get to close, leaving others to only be able to watch from afar." The others looked at each other, puzzled.
"... What?" they questioned. "What in the world are you talking about?" The night warrior took another large gulp from his tankard.
"And she doesn't take lives," he babbled on in inebriety, "she takes your heart. From the moment I first saw her... To angelic to be hell-bound, to devilish to be heaven-sent, yet I am the one who is cursed for I will be without her..." Afterwards, he belched loudly. In befuddled confusion, they were warned.
"Don't listen to a word this guy says," said the barkeeper. "He's been here all day. I'd kick him out, but he seems like an important guy." He then parted them to attend the opposing end of the bar. The two men shook their heads as the dark individual began to banter in an intoxicated slur once again.
"I gave up a kingdom for her, a kingdom. Most people can only do that with metaphor, but I actually did it! And for nothing," he shouted harshly, immediately recomposing himself to a reserved nature. "But, worse of all, is that I'd do it again and again..." The bartender walked over and handed Shade a drink.
"I had no idea you felt that way," he flatly said.
"What is this?" he inquired. "I didn't order anything."
"I know," he replied. "It was purchased for you by the young lady over there. It came with that sissy message, but for this tip," he said, displaying a hand full of coins, "I probably would have kissed you. His gaze darted from the far away stool to the door, upon discovering it empty, to find it swinging on its hinges. Grabbing the tapster's wrist, he pulled the hand closer to himself. He smiled upon examining the coins, finding them to be from his former mints in Kaghane.
Walking through a blackened ally, the woman shed her leather jacket and bandana, to which also came false green hair, and opened a dumpster, retrieving from it her usually garb and monstrous battle-ax.
"Thanks for watching my stuff, sweetie," Rei told the punked-out biker, bound and gag, tossing his belongings atop him. "I really needed that drink. Don't worry, someone should find you in a day or so... or not. Oh, and next time, don't grab my butt." Smiling, she closed the lid.
