Running was a concept easier said than done. Sancha racked her brain for some back up plan but nothing remotely realistic cropped up in mind. There was one small idea she couldn't shake but was too embarrassing to say out loud.
An idea she found herself continually stuck on throughout the day as they bought provisions, looked into hitching a ride (Ilya peeled out of the city with two carriages full to capacity with furnishing), and generally scrambled around the city like chickens who had lost their heads. And had anxiety. They were still wearing their bright and cheery vestiges but at least had the good sense to wrap some old travelling cloaks over them. It was a haphazard fix to hide their robes, every time they took a step a flash of pink or lilac appeared from underneath.
She decided she'd voice the idea to Asa but every time she came close to letting it out of her mouth her palms began to sweat and she'd clam right up. Thankfully after a few times Asa caught her floundering about around noon when they had stopped to take a lunch break. A storm was coming in and the winds carried rain. The city's temperature had dropped considerably. So why were her palms so sweaty. It's because she was about to look like a lunatic.
"What is it? You look like you're about to explode." Asa asked, mouth full of some disgustingly buttered garlic bomb that opened up like a flower to reveal more butter and garlic inside. They were taking turns ripping its fluffy pedals off but it had been bold of them to assume they could tackle the monstrosity.
"I- well I was thinking. This is a long shot. It's sort of crazy. But you know, with The Saint gone there's only two other gods. And only one of them isn't..." Sancha gestured nonsensically but Asa nodded along sagely anyways. Their friendship was on that sort of wavelength.
"Its just, I have no idea how we would do it. But what if we...tried to contact The Reaper?" She gasped after the breathless stream of words and readied a long and carefully thought over explanation but Asa just nodded.
"That's a good idea!" They said sensibly.
Throwing out her readied defense of the idea she voiced her concerns. "No it's not!"
"You literally just suggested it!" Asa exclaimed incredulously.
"I mean what would we even say. How would we even do it? We-"
Asa held up a hand to stop the word vomit Sancha couldn't keep under control.
"I think finding the, you know, literal god of death and going 'hi, we think someone killed one of the other gods. Help please?' is actually a completely understandable course of action."
Sancha looked skyward at the darkening clouds and plead for some benevolent force ,not related to her own dead god that may or may not be some horrible creature thing, to free her from her own embarrassment.
"Don't you know Them? Obviously you don't talk about it but I know you...met or something." Asa worded that like a suggestion to open up some dialogue but Sancha refused to take the hint. She very much planned to continue her silence on the subject.
"Sure. And technically I guess it wouldn't be too hard to, I don't know...find one of Their followers. Or maybe summon them," she nervously played with an unraveling thread from her tattered robe's sleeve "but I'm not messing around with anymore spell circle's." She finished gravely. They had both agreed on staying away from any sort of magic. The fear of somehow coming in contact with that thing was very real.
Asa nodded in agreement and sat deep in thought. The two sat in silence, the cooling greasy street snack sitting between them. They were on an arched stone bridge that allowed them to look to the city below, the winds ruffling Sancha's hair and just grazing over Asa's lack thereof. They hadn't had much luck on catching a ride west away from the border fighting. An incredible percentage of the city planned on staying, some even welcomed the occupation with open arms. Mostly through ignorance or some fool-hearty belief that their money made them impervious to the empire's advancements.
Sancha sighed. She actually did have a good idea of how to track down one of The Reaper's followers. But something about carrying the plan through and it's success made her worry. It was awful presumptuous of her to think that a god would make time to help her, regardless of their actual track record on the matter. Then there was the fear that it would some how end up in terrifying failure like that of a few days ago. But the thought of that was so awful she wouldn't even allow herself to entertain it.
"The Reaper, if I remember correctly, actually has quite a few followers. The war has them kind of busy, not that they enjoy the work or anything. I think..." Sancha tried hard to remember the many one-sided discussions the two had shared when she traveled with the god. Unfortunately she hadn't been in the right place for listening or conversation in general and so much of it had gone over her head. They had really tried to keep it going too. "I think they mentioned that their followers investigate strange or sudden deaths. Their followers help direct souls to the afterlife if they get stuck, which happens in especially in more traumatic or unexpected situations." Sancha explained.
"Alright, well this is pretty morbid," Asa started ," but if we were to stay in the city for just a little longer... there would probably be er, unexpected or traumatic deaths. As you put it."
That put a deep frown on both of their faces. It wasn't a horrible suggestion, but the thought of taking advantage of someone's death was a pretty twisted departure from their usual schedule of charity work. The thought of having to see any Warbound at all sent an additional twist through Sancha's gut.
"It could bring one of The Reaper's followers to the city. Do you think you'd be able to recognize one?"
Sancha thought of their own uniform. It matched The Saint's style pretty closely. She then thought of The Reaper and their general aesthetic. "They'd probably be wearing a lot of black and gold, I guess. If they weren't in disguise."
"Well let's hope their disguises are even worse than ours." Asa muttered.
They began to walk again after feeding bits and pieces of the leftover bread to a scavenging rodent nearby. With dusk upon them they watched as the city began to close for the day. Dark clouds rolled on in the distant and low flying whisps of clouds grazed the tips of the tallest building's spires. Shopkeepers brought in their wares on display and rolled up the colorful flags and banners of their stalls as the strangely dressed people of Olfyield procrastinated their return home. Even with the storm's approach the excitement and anxiety of the city's future had people in the streets even as the gas lanterns were lit discussing their future plans.
"I don't want to stay too long. We'll stay around for a few extra days at most, but we'll still have to leave before the army gets here." Sancha decided.
"I feel a bit awful, waiting for some sort of tragedy to happen. It doesn't exactly match our...thing you know." Asa said while lifting the travel cloak to show a glimpse of their robes underneath. Sancha caught sight of the embroidery along Asa's collar and saw the pearlescent floss that stitched a small arrangement of flowers and candles, something she had sewn herself years ago when they both first entered The Saint's service and felt a pang of sadness.
"The best we can do is work towards finding what happened to The Saint and how we can fix it, and I don't know any other better leads." She said with a frown.
"And so we wait." Asa said with finality.
---
It turns out, they didn't have to wait terribly long. That night the storm blew through rattling the shutters of Ilya's abandoned clinic and keeping Sancha and Asa awake into the early morning hours. It was over by morning, leaving behind a dense blanket of grey cloud cover. A chill uncharacteristic of the season gripped the city, and with it it's citizens moved about with a newfound sense of awareness.
The storm was not the only thing that had flooded the city streets overnight.
Plastered to alleyway walls, crowding shop windows, and obscuring other papers posted on the bulletin board was a document that immediately brought attention to itself for the fact that it's neat and mechanical typed print was the color of (and let's be honest, probably actual) dried blood. On each page of thick creme paper was a silver stamped image of The Warmaiden's crest: three swords held aloft dripping with blood and surrounded by a circlet of steel chains and a shield of bone.
It read:
Citizens of Olfyield
The Warmaiden is here to embrace your fine city, joining it in holy union with Her great and powerful empire.
We will fight for your protection and share pieces of our prosperity with you. In return you will give able bodied men, women, and children of learning age as tribute to Her empire to strengthen the army which will keep you safe. Additionally we will expect further tithes paid which will contribute to the structure and integrity of your new empire.
The Warbound, dutiful soldiers who fight in Her name and serve Her in battle through conquest will arrive in two weeks time. Olyfields position and makeup are perfect for that of a fortress, and starting at the army's arrival we will thus begin the city's conversion.
As new citizens of the empire you are not allowed to leave during this period of transition before receiving new orders.
For now, Commander Rowan Isthmus is to be considered the holy sovereign of the city, and her word is to be taken as that of the Warmaiden's itself.
If any one person denies a form of tribute to Her empire, they will be expected to pay tribute in the expected fashion of blood and bone. Once a day we will expect any insurgents to pay tribute in this way at sunset in the market square.
"Shit." muttered Sancha. Asa mimicked her with an even worse expletive.
Sancha pushed away from the bulletin board back through the crowd to take her exit all the while cringing away from the confused and furious citizens who were just now starting to realize their position in this war. Sancha had trouble squeezing past the wired skirts pressed flush together as people closed in to try and read the letter for themselves. She caught snippets of conversation as she passed.
"Tithes? How much will that be?"
"The merchant's will stop coming, this will be horrible for business."
"Children? What could they possibly want with the children?"
"I bet you they eat them." "That's horrid. You shouldn't joke like that."
Asa trotted after Sancha until they both were a good deal away from the bulletin board. "Are you alright?" Asa asked.
"I'm fine, it's just been a while." Sancha said despite not feeling very alright at all.
"Things could be worse. That was worded fairly cordial, all things considered." She then added after catching her breath.
"The executions they mentioned..." Asa started.
"Should be enough." Sancha finished.
"I don't know about you, but I don't want to watch any executions." Asa said softly and Sancha mutely nodded in agreement.
"Let's hope this is all worth it." Sancha said as she felt her stomach churn. In her head she resolved that there wasn't any other way, and this was the best course of action to somehow making things right. But what did making things right even mean? She couldn't help but feel it was all a desperate attempt to make herself feel better about the reality of it all.
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