I just felt like writing a little 'intermezzo' set in a background kindly built from the ground up by someone else.
I'm lazy like that.
°°°
“Hey Cirles, come sit over here.”
The elf addressed scanned for the source of the voice and found his friends sitting in a circle around the remnants of a smouldering fire.
The night was winding down, guards yawning discretely and already half-dreaming of a well-earned rest in a soft, warm bunk. The first signs of morning were beginning to seep through and, scattered around, people were starting their daily rituals of whatever helped them wake up.
When Cirles and his friends where concerned, it involved a communal breakfast and some gossip and jokes.
“Sleep well?” Caern asked with a knowing smile while moving over to make some room.
Cirles threw him a half-hearted evil look and sat down with a tired sigh, rubbing his face with both hands. “What a nightmare.”
The others began to laugh.
“It's bad, isn't it?” Caern chuckled. His slightly lined face became a lot friendlier when he smiled.
“How does that guy sleep?” Cirles asked amazed. “I mean, how loud can a man snore?”
Caern nodded, trying to keep a bit of a straight face.
“I almost stuffed his mouth with my pillow but he'd probably swallow the whole thing and continue business as usual.”
“Silas actually tried that,” Caern thumbed at one of the young, laughing elves. “Good thing we found out before it was too late or he'd be brought on for murder charges.”
“For the greater good,” Silas added, to the enjoyment of the others.
“Yeah,” Cirles smiles. “Laugh it up.” And he reached for his own breakfast, unwrapping a big piece of milky white bread.
“Don't worry about it,” Caern patted him on the back. “We do that to every new guy. You can bunk with me for the night.”
“Thanks,” Cirles said and he broke a piece of bread to stuff it in his mouth.
“Now that's some quality bread you have there,” Silas eyed Cirles' breakfast. “That's not local, is it?”
Cirles chewed and shook his head. “Sent from the homeland. Mom runs a bakery; finest bread in the Ellyrian province.”
“Beats what the sergeant gets,” Silas laughed. “He gets letters asking where the loot is and when he's coming back.”
“Probably to take out the trash,” Rezael added.
Cirles chuckled along, taking another piece and chewing it with silent delight. A silence settled in and when Cirles looked around, he found his squad-mates looking at his breakfast. “Want a taste?”
“Don't mind if I do,” Silas already leant forward.
Cirles broke the chunk of bread into pieces, spreading the enclosed sent even further while he offered everyone a two-bite-sized piece.
“Keep it,” Caern refused politely. “It's yours.”
“I'm offering,” Cirles insisted, keeping the piece in view.
“I'm fine with what I have.”
“What? My mom's bread not good enough for you?” Cirles taunted him playfully.
Caern sighed with a smile. “You know, in my time it was all 'yes sir, no sir',” he said while accepting his share.
“I'll take your word for it,” Silas grinned. “'Cause no one on this continent can remember that far back.”
The group burst out laughing and even Caern joined in.
“You are so taking point today,” Rezael laughed.
“I wonder how long we're going to stay put here,” Cirles threw into the group. “I mean, it's an empty Dwarven fortress, sure, but it's empty for a reason.”
“I'm sure the Drachau knows what she's doing,” Rezael waved the concern away.
“Yeah, looks and brains,” Silas said while sighing forlorn. “Some are just born lucky, I guess.”
“Oh boy, here we go again,” Caern chuckled.
“Is it a crime to appreciate some of the finer creations that roam this world?” Silas put forth.
“She's not going to swoon for the likes of you, Silas,” Rezael laughed. “We're just soldier what's-his-face. You don't have blue blood, you're not loaded with gold and the apex of your political connections involve the son of the baker of some of the best bread I've ever eaten.”
Silas shrunk a little.
“Besides,” Rezael continued. “Isn't she married or something?”
“Close enough,” Caern nodded.
“And so are her sisters,” Rezael finished his argument. “And I don't know about you but no woman is worth going in against our king or Khaine.”
“Is Yalasmina a real witch?” Cirles asked. “I mean, if she were, she'd be taken at birth, right? She wouldn't know she'd be related.”
“Except for the grey stroke in their hair,” Caern countered. “Pretty unique family trait.”
“I can see Silas thinking already,” Rezael laughed, causing Silas to blush slightly.
Rezael leant over and put a hand on Silas' shoulder. “Just teasing you, friend,” he said. “You want to dream, be my guest. Just tell us when you're about to do something stupid so we can get to a safe distance.”
Cirles laughed as he reached for his own piece of bread by his side but his hand found something else instead, something harder, smoother and warmer. He frowned and looked down at where the bread was supposed to be.
The hooded elf looked up in his eyes, his hand clutching the last morsel Cirles had left for himself.
Before Cirles could actually respond to the attempted theft, the elf hit him just above the elbow, sending a wave of pain signals to both his hand as his shoulder before jerking loose and making a run for it.
“Ouch! Hey, come back here!” Cirles sprang up and, holding his elbow, he gave chase.
“Leave it!” he heard Silas call out but, as generous as he was willing to be with his fellow soldiers, he would not stand for theft, not in the least as it was his task to maintain order when not putting sharp things in whoever they told him to put it in.
The cloaked thief raced through the settlement at breakneck speed, jumping over a basket of laundry, ducking underneath a rope and running across a table in one entrancingly fluid motion.
'Damn, he can move,' Cirles thought while kicking over the basket. But help was nearby as up ahead was a guardpost.
“Hey!”, Cirles called out. “Stop him!”
The guards looked at the source of the noise and, finding a fellow giving chase, took their weapons to hand to block him. Cirles turned to his left, cutting through the mess hall in the knowledge there was only one exit left unless he wanted to go toe to toe with armed soldiers.
He raced past the long, heavy tables, already filling up slowly with the early birds, imagining the path the thief would take and where he would find himself on that path.
In this momentary lapse of attention, he bumped into a drowsy elf, knocking his head into the cold bowl of milk in front of him. Immediately, he startled up, splurting out a few drops.
“Sorry,” Cirles called out, looking half over his back but without slowing down.
Bursting through a door, Cirles found his charge running down the lane, already winding down in the conviction he had gotten away with it.
Lowering his head with a hint of an evil grin on his face, Cirles wordlessly charged at him putting his weight forward. The thief raised the scrap of bread, about to devour it in a single bite when Cirles tackled him full on in the side, knocking his target off his feet and on to the ground.
The treasure they both sought leapt in the air and fell on the dusty floor.
Both elves struggled on the ground, trying to get the upper hand but Cirles, being on top and already wearing his armour won out soon enough.
“You think you can steal from me?” he growled. “Let's see how you like the brig, grasshopper.”
“Get off me,” the thief warned and in a single move he twisted Cirles' wrist, pulled on his elbow and rolled the guard off him. A second later, he was already on his feet and sprinting off.
'Now this is personal,' Cirles thought and he heaved himself up again to give chase once more. It didn't take long to notice the thief gaining on him again but he caught a lucky break when seeing him duck into a large doorway.
'Hah, trapped,' Cirles thought to himself and he renewed his effort, rounding the turn and charging in headlong.
The sound of heavy boots reverberated in the large hall, warning the thief who looked over his shoulder and, with a look of utter surprise, broke into a mad sprint.
“Are you crazy?” the thief called out but Cirles didn't pay heed, feeling delighted to see the thief beginning to panic.
Cirles followed his prey around a corner, passing through an armoury holding a variety of blades and one woman with a pad taking stock. He flashed by, not able to talk or apologize from the exertion the long sprint required.
The thief was starting to get desperate, diving ever more frantic into new corridors and rooms but that only served to drive Cirles on harder, feeling the chase was coming to an end sooner rather than later.
As they both charged through yet another room, the thief threw a blood red robe embroidered in gold in the path but Cirles dodged the trapping with half a jump, half a skid on the robe – and a corresponding dirttrack – before racing on.
And then it happened; as the thief suddenly seemed to hesitate on where to go next, the little distance between the two of them was bridged with a diving tackle, sending both of them flying into a room where the air was hot, humid and a bit foggy, and the floor wet and slippery.
Having learned from the previous time, he turned the thief on his face, bending one arm on his back.
“Gotcha!” Cirles triumphed. “I've got a badge that says I can do whatever I want and get away with it, made just for punks like you.”
A high-pitched shriek and splashing noises drew Cirles' attention to his environment. He found himself less than a yard away from a large bath that was filled with hot water and – more importantly – occupied.
°°°
“I'm sorry!” Cirles cried out as he pelted out of the temple building into the passage where his friends where looking for him. They looked surprised to find him coming out there and were even more surprised to hear more shouts coming after him.
“Under here!” Silas calls out, lifting a dark, purple table cover.
Cirles dove under the table and Silas quickly leant against it while the others were quickly involved in a spirited discussion on the best way to prepare chicken.
A furious-looking Maibd walked up to the guards, finding Caern as the senior soldier. “Did you see someone run past here?”
“A few seconds ago,” Caern answered with an exemplary pokerface. “He was heading down the lane that way.” And he pointed her in the other way.
The Maibd looked down the lane finding no one.
“Something the matter?” Caern asked politely.
“Nothing that concerns you,” was the cold answer and she took her leave, still bad-tempered.
The group watched the witch walk off until she had gone from view before making room for Cirles to surface.
“You chased him into the temple?” Silas asked amazed. “I'm officially impressed.”
“I hadn't noticed,” Cirles panted. “I was just chasing him, all right? It was only after I caught him it dawned to me where I was.”
“And where exactly was that?” Caern asked with half a smile on his face.
“The bathing room”, Cirles answered while looking at the ceiling.
“The ba… get out of here,” Silas responded. “ … Really?”
Cirles nodded, catching his breath slowly.
“Did you see-?”
“Yes.”
“Was she-?”
“Yes.”
“...Wow,” Silas muttered while his vision goes blank as he imagines the scene. “She's really-”
“Yeah.”
“But also very-”
“Oh yeah.”
“Anyway,” Rezael patted him on the back with a good-natured laugh. “He didn't get your breakfast. That's got to count for something. I wouldn't want to be him when he explains he couldn't knick a piece of bread from a drowsy guard.”
“That's so important to him?”
“Rite of passage, kid,” Caern explained. “Assassins need to prove their mettle by stealing stuff. You prove it by stopping thieves.”
“One – zero for the guard,” Silas cheered. “Speaking of which, where is that bread?”
Cirles scans the floor for the scrap of bread that started all of this mayhem and he found a little kitten chewing happily on it.
He slumped his shoulders a bit and began to laugh. “At least it went to a good cause.”
