Return to Cove

[Mischief]

It had been a while since Mischief had last been in Cove. She wanted to check up on her friends Axiana and Eve. Axi she had missed the most. Eve was away on duty somewhere but Axiana was around. Pleased to see each other they soon caught up on what each had been up to. Things were good and when Mischief told Axiana she was thinking of returning to Cove, she was delighted. But Mischief sensed a strange atmosphere around the town, something that wasn’t there before.

Whilst Axiana was away making arrangements for Mischief to stay, it soon became apparent why there was a different feel about the place. Mischief was given a folio published by the Church of Cove by a woman she’d never seen before. Quickly reading through the text she at first laughed then frowned. She asked the woman if she actually believed the tripe that was contained in the folio. The woman said she did. Mischief could tell by the look in the woman’s eyes that she was either a zealot or brainwashed. Suspecting the latter, Mischief knew there was no point in debating the issue with her.

A short time later a man armoured like a paladin approached her. Mischief learned later he was called Siegfried, the source of the bad atmosphere around Cove. Mischief tried to have a reasonable discussion with the man but he was having none it and to her dismay she was soon clapped in irons and taken to the jail to be lashed for blasphemy. Anger boiled within Mischief. She’d come across his type many times before. A coward that hides behind a web of fear foisted on a naïve community. It was tactics often used by the slavers of Nu’jelm. The type of man that left her parentless at the age of 8 and left her to survive on her own. The type of man who brutally murdered her only true love 5 years ago as she watched helpless. The type of man that regards women as slaves and gets his kicks from seeing them humiliated. Oh yes Mischief knew the type, the type that forced her to hone her unique skills to survive, the type she’d killed before and would kill again for taking her family, friends and lover.

Three times she challenged him to remove his tin armour and fight her in combat, dagger to dagger. Three times the gutless zealot refused. Interestingly Mischief noted that he hid behind the Militia and not the being he claimed to believe in. They were all the same these people, exploiting folk for coin, preying on their fears. There was no such thing as the Avatar, Mischief knew that, otherwise her life would not have been as cruel as it had been. No Mischief thought, no Avatar to protect him otherwise he would have accepted her challenge. And where was the Avatar when Magincia was destroyed by what the drow claim was their god’s doing?

Her mind made up she decided she would return to Cove. Her friend Axiana needed protection. She’d talk to Eve and find out why the Militia were so easily taken in. As she left the jail, her back stinging from the lashing, she vowed to return and rid Cove of this monster.

[Raiden Morana]

[ooc]Great read! And welcome back! [/ooc]

[Mischief]

Mischief definitely sensed a more sinister air around Cove since her return. Word was out that those who could meld nature to their advantage were to be branded or condemned as witches if they refused. They had not caught up with her yet, nor would they she thought. If the ignorance of the church thought magic users witches, what would they think of her unique skills?

What puzzled Mischief most was how easily the church imposed itself on the town and how easily the Militia acquiesced. She decided that she would investigate. It was in her experience that these things did not happen so easily unless one had a hold on the other. Was the leadership of the Militia being blackmailed? And if so what hold did the church have? She could not blame the rank and file in all this; they were just dumb grunts that followed orders as they were conditioned to do. No. The answer lay much higher up.

The church in Cove so alike to the one in Yew, with its same bigoted obscene views. Its abject hatred of women and other races, its hypocrisy so blatant yet the people so blind to it. Things just did not make sense to Mischief, Cove connected to Yew by the church yet allied to that cesspit called Vesper against Yew. She shook her head in confusion. Her friends needed her help but as yet she had no answers. She would see to it that the likes of Axiana would become slave to no man or institution.

The thought of slavery made her mind drift back to her life in Nu’jelm. Although the sun shone warm on her, she warped her arms around herself and shivered. As her thoughts grew deeper, for the first time in many a year a tear rolled slowly down her cheek and she began to cry.

[Jack Sinist (•̪●)]

(OOC: Let's hope Mischief isn't joined by her friends Rad and Voluptuous!)

[Mischief]

Mischief felt quite pleased with the turn of events over the last few days. With the influence of the Covian church bugging her, Mischief went into what she called “deep cover” in an effort to find out useful and more importantly useable information. Everyone has a past; everyone has done something that someone else will find distasteful. With the right information to the right people a lot of damage can be done against the target. Her target was the church; all she had to do was find the dirt.

It was while she was keeping to the shadows that she stumbled upon a plot that disgusted even her. Mischief was no angel, no upholder of moral ethics. She had done some things in her time that others would easily find distasteful, but her justification had always been self-survival. But what she overheard those few nights ago chilled her blood. It also made her angry and it also came as no surprise that the brain behind the plot was Kiran.

Terrible that wars are, there is a difference between those who sign up to fight and those who do not. Those who sign up take their chances and are paid to die. Civilians who want no part of it are innocent and it is a crime that they die for nothing. This was Mischief’s belief; she also had little respect for the soldiers of any army. Anyone dumb enough to die for another’s megalomania deserved all they got. But in her view it was always the innocents that came off worst. And the biggest sufferers were the children, the most innocent of innocents.

Even then, there was a difference she thought. Caught in the crossfire was one thing but to deliberately sacrifice a child to escalate a dumb war was a road too far for Mischief. Then she thought more about who was planning the plot and sneered inwardly. This was not about escalating the war for some greater good; this was about greed and profit. This was about earning coin off the back of peoples misery. She listened attentively to all the detail and shivered slightly. She had no doubt the man she watched would do it, one who cared nothing for his own daughter, what would he care for someone else’s daughter?

Mischief spent the next few days warning those who needed to know, especially Becca. A word in the right ears and the ball was rolling. The fact that she earned some coin for her information did not bother her in the slightest, after all a girl has to make a living she thought. She watched in the shadows as one by one, Kiran and his “associates” where rounded up. Of the three dumb puppets, Tel’var, O’Connor and Cocidius it was Van she felt a little sympathy for. Although the combined intelligence of the three put together would not equal that of a troll, he at least had a sense of humour.

Satisfied, Mischief drifted away unseen. Now to other matters, she said to herself.

[Mischief]

Mischief was beginning to think it was a mistake returning to Cove. She was frustrated by the gullibility of the townsfolk and how easily they were taken in by some jumped up fraud of a priest. What is it with religion she thought? Are folk so insecure that if something goes wrong they need to find excuses and turn to superstition to find reasons? No wonder con artists like Siegfried got away with it – Repent ye your sins and all will be well! That’ll cost ye 50 gold coin, let your kids go hungry now while I count the fortune I’m making out of you suckers! She groaned inwardly reflecting once again on how gullible the Covians were.

She challenged the “Father”, asked him why he hid his face. He could not answer her with any intelligent reply. All he could spout was some mumbo jumbo scripture, his answer for everything. The man was clearly zealot and zealots can be dangerous, she reminded herself. Something had to be done, this fraud had to be exposed. Then she thought, how come if gods existed, why was it that it was men who wrote their books and told their stories?

She was considering leaving for good when something changed her mind. An old man talked with her in the tavern. All they had in common was they had both been flung out of the church. But as their conversation developed it was clear to Mischief that there was more to the old man than just a healthy disregard of all things religious. The old man made her an offer that both intrigued and amused her. Intrigued because if what he offered was true then there was something in it for her, amused because she felt it was just the rambling of an old man. But shortly after he left something happened that changed her mind dramatically.

Mischief was caught off guard. Shit girl you’re getting complacent, she cursed. Van and Declan surprised her, demanding to know why she had implicated them in Kiran’s plot. Because it’s true she almost said. She knew that she could take either one down easily if they were on their own, but both together made it slightly trickier. They knew it too, which is why neither of them would dare confront her alone. The door out was blocked so she stalled them with talk while she tried to figure out a way of escaping, then all of a sudden a man dropped from the rafters and held a knife at Van’s throat from behind him. Surprised, Declan reached for his crossbow too late; he could not have used it anyway since the man used Van as a shield. Using the confusion to make her getaway, she heard the man say to the pair – “This one is protected, leave alone if you value your lives”.

The old man spoke the truth she thought, she would stay after all. And the friends she made like Axi needed her help. She also thought of poor misguided Edith who clung to the priest like a limpet and acted no better than a slave. How Mischief detested any form of slavery. Slavery. Her mind drifted back to that night 5 years ago and flooded her with guilt despite knowing she was helpless to do anything. And the guilt brought forth thoughts of Jamie; Jamie was the only one for her, the only one in the world. The only one who could take away the pain of her loss 5 years ago. Mischief had not seen Jamie since all this trouble had begun. She had to see Jamie and there were others in Vesper she had to see, others who had to be warned. Right now all that mattered was seeing Jamie.

[Mischief]

Mischief scanned over Cove from a hill overlooking the town. Well hidden high in the trees she knew she was safe. From recent contacts she knew that the majority of decent folk only paid scant lip service to the constricting grip that the church held. A church steeped in corruption, bigotry and sexism. She had also done some detailed research into this entity known as the Avatar. What she found came as no surprise.

The Avatar was just an ordinary man, not a god or a preacher, just a man. But he was around at a time of great turmoil and his actions eventually brought stability. He led by example and action not by preaching or forcing folk to do it his way. He never saw himself as a hero or someone who would impose his will on others. By following his actions folk enshrined his deeds and called them the Virtues. Mischief soon realised that this was to be an individual way of life through free choice not to be forced or imposed on anyone else. Then zealots moved in and took over and corrupted the whole ideal to suit their own ends. They replaced freedom with fear.

And it was this fear that Mischief knew she was up against. She had to make them see that the church was wrong. To do this she had to act in a covert way otherwise all would be lost, not least her own life. Whilst she knew that there were those in the military who would turn a deaf ear or a blind eye, she also knew there were others who were zealots. She had to be very careful.

Zealots she thought, such an ugly word but it aptly described these people. The slavers of Nu’jelm who took away her family and friends were zealots. Siegfried and all the other clergy of the church were zealots. She hated zealots. When she analysed the psyche of zealots there was always one common denominator; they were always inadequate both sexually and mentally.

As she scanned over Cove her thoughts turn to other matters. Kiran. Kiran that washed up decrepit one-eyed ugly thug was planning one last hurrah. She was sure of it. Men like him preyed on people’s greed and hopes. From what she’d seen of his activities so far his one aim was to escalate this stupid war. War for most folk was misery, for him it was obscene profit. And such actions draw in stupid men. Men like Cocidious who acts publicly like a loveable rogue but is really a cowardly thug. It was Maddy she felt sorry for. How easily she was taken in. Mischief agonised whether to talk to her again, to try to convince her what Van Cocidious really is. A liar and a cheat and a coward. He sits in the bar of Swaggers proclaiming to everyone how devoted he is to Maddy and his children, yet all the while he is betraying her. Mischief has seen who he’s been with the moment Maddy’s back is turned, crawling out from her bed straight to someone else’s and back again. A louse that treats women like cheap possessions. Should she tell Maddy? Will she listen?

Her thoughts drifted again, this time to Jamie. Oh how these activities have taken her away from her soul mate. How she missed Jamie.

[Mischief]

Mischief sat with her back against a tree, watching the lowering sun. Her time had come again, to use the shadows and move unseen, to use the twilight and the ensuing darkness to her advantage. These last few weeks had been difficult, she reflected. Almost all of Sosaria wanted a bit of her hide. She laughed humourlessly as she realised she had become the most notorious person in all of the land. The Yew Mill massacre, the murder of some bishop, an assault on the Duke of Trinsic and anything else that went bad. On top of that the Church pursued their vendetta against her because she dared speak her mind. When will it all end.

Her first priority was to get Jamie safe.Why did Jamie go back on her promise never to speak with Verilax? Poor Jamie set up and used like a pawn to draw out Mischief and Verilax only too eager to kiss Kiran’s arse. But Mischief got to Jamie first. Jackal gave too much away in his pleading notes to Mischief begging her to meet with Kiran. That’s the trouble with men whose eyes glaze over at the sight of gold; they do not have the smarts. So Mischief met Kiran, but on her terms.

She set the meeting up to her advantage, she wanted Kiran to come alone but she knew he would not do that; he did not have the guts! Mischief deliberately set the meeting on his home turf, she did not fear him, he could threaten all he liked but she knew he could never touch her. She had the smarts and Kiran was as predictable as day following night.

And there he was, the ugly, aging, pathetic looking Kiran strolling with the bravado of one who thinks he’s better than he actually is. Mischief was not impressed. Nor was she impressed with his sorry tale of his daughter’s death with his crocodile tears as if he regretted what he had done. No matter what the true events of that night were, Mischief knew that a helpless innocent, his own flesh and blood, was sacrificed to save his own miserable skin. Mischief had met cowards like him before, the kind that will sell their families, kill their own children because they have not got the guts to face the consequences of there own actions. Now Mischief knew what a bitter and twisted inadequate Kiran was, one that revelled in slaughtering innocents to satisfy his own warped pleasure. She knew also that more innocents will die and go on dieing to salve his conscience in murdering his own daughter. That is how sick the man was and he had to be stopped.

She knew now he was behind the Mill massacre, he openly said as much. But knowing and proving were two separate things. She had to concentrate on getting as much information as possible and relay what she knew to her contacts in Yew. She knew they would not rest until the perpetrators were brought to justice. In this matter she knew she could trust Yew, more so than Cove or Vesper. Especially Vesper. Her contact in Cove showed hope, she thought, he seemed a decent man who would put justice before hatred of an enemy’s people. She would see what he would do to the two of his men she named as part of Kiran’s gang. That would be his test. She also found with no surprise that one of the named was also a devotee of Siegfied. Ha, she exclaimed, a murderer and a church devotee; where’s your piety now Siegfied and why do you not hound him in the way you hound me?

As for Vesper, she did not hold out any hope. Escaflowne had been bought off. She had warned him about Kiran before but he always found some excuse not to act. As for Heath, an illusion of a man Mischief thought, another who danced to Kiran’s tune privately while publicly saying much against Kiran but effectively doing nothing. Vesper is Kiran’s sanctuary because the authorities do nothing. In their eyes despite being innocent, they were Yew’s people and Mischief would not be surprised if Vesper actually condoned what happened.

As the twilight finally succumbed to darkness, Mischief reflected on how to deal with Siegfried. Siegfried and Kiran, they could be twins she thought. Both as bitter and twisted as each other. Siegfried could easily boast about the killing of innocents without remorse just as Kiran had. They were no different, just one less a hypocrite than the other. Siegfried was a coward and a bully so Mischief decided do deal with him the way such should be. She would challenge him to a duel and expose his corruption.

[Mischief]

Mischief awoke from her deep slumber in a luxurious bed somewhere in Yew. After the previous nights events it was surprising how well she slept. Still she was safe now, her friend would make sure of that.

As the sun shown brightly through the windows, Mischief reflected on how close she became to capture. A frown spread over her face as she realised she’d let her guard down to far. She was interviewing a potential apprentice when a Covian Militiaman interrupted her. Clearly fired up on the hatred and bigotry spouted by the demon Siegfried, he tried to arrest her. She bluffed her way until an opportunity to run presented itself. Once in the open throughfare of Trinsic’s main street she sped away and out into the woods. The grunt of a guard gave chase. Mischief in light leathers was quick on her feet and was soon deep in the woods. But the guard still pursued her. This was one thing that always amazed Mischief; how were militiamen dressed from head to foot in metal able to keep running? Not only that but at a fast pace too? Perhaps Siegfried supplied some sort of narcotic substance that gave these metal clad morons some extra unholy strength.

Mischief decided to make things more in her favour and ran towards the guard, slashed him across the midriff with her sharp kryss as she ran past him. The blow was not enough to seriously injure him but she hoped enough of her blade would penetrate through the metal for the poison that her blade was dipped to have an effect. She looked back and grinned, her pursuer was doubled over in agony. Take that you mindless moron she thought and headed back to the city to renew her talk with the woman she abruptly left behind.

When Mischief got back to the tavern, the woman was gone. Now her hackles were up thinking the whole thing was a set up. Her mood was not lightened when a shout of “there she is” was heard behind her. Four or five zealots were on her tail, so Mischief ran like the wind back into the woods. She ran towards a solen ant hole she new was nearby and quickly disappeared down it. Let those metal clad goons follow me down here she thought. She emerged from another exit much relieved and angry.

As she made her way towards Yew she thought hard – somebody she thought she trusted had gone back on their word.

[Mischief]

Mischief awoke to the sound of waves hitting the cliffs. Alone in a backroom of her friends home, one she used rarely so that her friend would not be compromised. It was late morning, unusual for her as she always rose early. She lay listening to the waves and the myriad of sounds that the sea brought. She closed her eyes again; she was tired – tired both physically and mentally.

As she lay in that unreal zone between sleep and wakefulness she reflected on the past weeks. She was tired, she told her friend that last night, an admission she would never normally make. You’re letting your guard down girl she chided herself. She thought more on why she was tired, she’d never been this tired before, not even when the pressure exerted by the Nu’jelm slavers was at it’s highest.

The breakers crashed against the cliff walls loudly, yet it had a calming effect. Mischief was tired, tired of running, tired of the injustice she saw around her, tired of the hatred which festered in even the mildest of folk, tired of being used, tired of the lies spread about her.

Her chest rose and fell slowly, her breathing shallow as she balanced on the point of falling once again into a deep slumber. Hatred. She understood the hatred of her by the likes of Kiran, Cocidius, Jackal and Valentine. They wanted revenge. Revenge because she tried, sometimes successfully, to foil their criminal plans. She understood the hatred of her by the likes of Seigfried and those like him. These people feared challenge against their word because they knew that their religion was built on lies. Show me the book of rules written in the hand of your god Seigfried, then I’ll believe she said to herself.

But why the hatred of her by the likes of Floria? Ones she had done no wrong to, helped even. Warned her of possible dangers to ones she knew. Why was she so bitter? Words from Floria echoed in her head, words soaked in venom – “ I hate her!” And her informant, Annwyn “She’s in league with the Hun’ett drow”. The words bounced around her head and she tried to fathom why the lies of her enemies were believed. And now even more were after her. Why? Was it as simplistic as her friendship to the D’Gars?

Her breathing quickened slightly. Why was she helping these people as she reflected on an earlier incident when she watched from high in a tree as an elf girl was dragged from the stronghold. Badly beaten and unconscious then chained to a nearby tree and left to die. Beaten and abused all because she was an elf, why? When they left, she released her and administered healing salves, urging her to leave as quickly as she was able before they returned to burn her. Would the one Mischief was helping, would she have done the same? Or would she have acted in the same manner as the others and when challenged issue the emptiest and feeblest of excuses – “I was only following orders”.

Hatred, hatred, hatred! Hatred by Yew against elves and those who did not accept their word as law. Hatred by Cove and Vesper against Yew. Hatred by drow against everything including themselves. Hatred fuelled and flamed by a sick and corrupt church. Yet it was her that was hunted and classed as a criminal. Hatred. Yet all she ever wanted was peace and the love that was stolen from her so earlier in life by the greedy thuggish slavers of Nu’jelm.

She was falling, falling deeper into a sleep. Nu’jelm. Perhaps it was time to go back, take her chances there once more. At least there, there was only one enemy to cope with. Yes, may be they have forgotten me now, may be it will be safer now. Suddenly Mischief awoke and sat upright with a start. “I’m not finished yet” she said aloud.

[Mischief]

Mischief stretched out naked on a secluded beach in Nu’jelm, enjoying the hot sun on her body. She hated the cold weather that this time of year brought to such places as Cove, Vesper and Yew and needed to bask in the therapeutic rays of a glorious sun. So she returned to her place of birth to reinvigorate herself and to reflect on the recent past. Returning to Nu’jelm was always tinged with sadness, no family to visit, no old friends to see. All lost either to death or worse; condemned to a life of slavery never to be seen again. It was this that made her what she is.

Cove still had a price on her head courtesy of a corrupt church. She laughed at the ludicrously small reward placed on her and reflected that this was the prime reason why efforts to capture her were so feeble. She knew the reward was deliberately set at a pitiful low sum and she knew why the one in charge did so. It was not enough to trigger the greed in men and for that she was grateful. And yet there were times she could have been taken but a door was always deliberately left open for her to escape. The mercenaries’ logic in giving her a choice made sense. Their “justice” would be far more lenient than that of the church. Nevertheless Mischief knew she could not contemplate even one night in a cell; that would be too much for her to take. Only one mercenary seemed intent on bringing her to “justice”, the scoundrel and puppet of Kiran, Kas Valantine. Well let the fool try, she knew she could take him down anytime she wished and when that time came she would relish the prospect for the sake of the innocent children he sacrificed.

As the sun began to heat up her back to an almost uncomfortable level she turned over. Brushing the dry sand from her body she thought of the turn of events in Vesper. A place she had enemies but a place she also had friends. She thought over her last conversation with her contact and started to make plans. He did make a generous offer for her help but she refused. Anything she could do to help bring down that callous reprobate Cocidius she would do for free and enjoy the satisfaction of doing so. Which brought her thoughts to Morana. Sitting up and staring far out to sea she resolved to find out why he had sided with such an uncouth pig. And there were other issues she had to address, she would contact him soon and sort it all once and for all.

Laying back down, closing her eyes to the sun her thoughts turned to Yew. Her contact had not been in touch for some time and she wondered whether her grand talk of ambition was just that – talk. Nevertheless she continued to observe and listen despite the increasing boredom. The Yewish were such a simple folk with their stupid superstitions and it was easy to see why the church was strong in this area. A life that revolved round fights, drink and robbing passers by of coin on the pretence that it was taxes for the king’s road. Mischief laughed at the irony of it all. A people loyal to the king, now had an elf as king! Their pathological hatred of elves is beyond explanation, all because a corrupt church tells them too, now they have to serve something hated. She thought more of the Yewish psyche and decided there could be a simple explanation after all. Their hatred of elves, their hatred of anyone different from them, their hatred of individuals who possessed knowledge of how nature worked and thus become branded as witches. It was fear that caused such hatred. Fear of something different, fear of the unknown, a fear put on them by the church because the church existed on fear. The church needed to feed that fear in order to grow rich from the coin it demanded and the Yewish are too stupid to see that they are being conned, fleeced and used.

Mischief got up and moved towards the sea deciding it was time to cool off a little, swam out a few metres and then floated on her back still wondering about the waywatcher who wanted her help. There was the failed attempt to get a targeted besieger onside, blind irrational faith is an opponent you can never defeat unless you have a suitable lever, a dark secret for example. Mischief had none – yet. There was Tenne, Mischief had made her peace with her but she still did not trust her enough, it would be an uneasy peace and Tenne would be quite capable of betraying Mischief at anytime. Mischief thought on, Tenne had a dark secret, she had heard rumours, maybe it was time to dig a little deeper. You never knew, one person’s junk is another person’s gold. Then there was Annwyn. Yes Mischief thought, that one had dark secrets, more than just rumours to this one. Several overheard conversations more than confirmed that and Mischief knew exactly who would give her the facts and fill in the gaps.

She turned and swam slowly back to the shore, cooled and refreshed and once more desiring the heat of the sun on her body. As she walked along the beach droplets of water sparkled like diamonds on her deeply tanned body before evaporating in the hot sunshine. She was soon dry and once again lay on her back to soak in the heat. She touched the scar on her chin and winced remembering how it got there. Stretched out fully she shook the bad memory from her mind and her thoughts turned to Jamie….

[Mischief]

At last, thought Mischief, the cold winter had eased and the snow was gone. Mischief hated the snow most of all as it made life difficult for her – the snow left tracks, not good in her line of work. Thankfully things had been fairly quiet throughout the winter. She kept an occasional eye on Yew to keep her sponsors happy, but such work mostly bored her. Drink, brawl and sleep just about summed up the entire outlook of the Yewish folk. Still she found it extremely amusing that they were now vassals to an elf king. Serves the bigots right! She noticed it did not stop them collecting “taxes” from passers by. Mischief always knew this was just an excuse to extort coin and for the poor traveller who could not or would not pay up a beating was their reward. The Yewish answer to everything – violence. Strange that an economy based on copper demands gold from the passing populace.

There was of course the brief civil war in Vesper now thankfully over. Mischief was most displeased that Raiden Morana sided with that reprobate Van Cocidius. Deep in her heart she knew that he was involved in the Yew Mill massacre along with Kiran and the others, but getting her hands on the solid evidence was proving most difficult. She longed for the day she would see him hang. Now here was Morana sucking up to him. “It’s only business” he told her and with those words a little bit of the regard she had for him died. A man who puts coin before principle lacks moral fibre. On the other hand Bearman showed he was a man of greater morals. Despite Mischief’s offer to arrange support from a tribe of orcs she knew could be persuaded to help for little cost, Bearman refused. “I’d rather lose than work with such brutes” he scowled. Mischief smiled inwardly when she heard that. Bearman might have lost the battles but he won the war and gained control of Vesper. Bearman had more integrity than Morana.

Then Mischief reflected on the recent sinister happenings and was appalled when she heard what happened to the Swaggers barmaid Railen. Her injuries were terrible from what she’d heard and she quickly worked out that there was some unholy alliance formed. The hands of some unknown party did the crude injuries Railen suffered, but the subtle injuries were definitely the work of drow. She overheard an old acquaintance, Dirk Faust, describe the event leading up to Railen’s kidnapping; an orc, a drow, some woman and a few shadowy figures. She was not surprised to hear that O’Conner was there but quickly made himself scarce when the trouble began. She scowled, him and his mate Tel’var, two of the biggest cowards in all Sosaria. Hard men in a gang, but wimps when alone.

It was Faust’s description of the woman that caught Mischief’s attention. This sounded like the same woman that tried to lure her into some sick sect a few nights previously. When Mischief spoke to this woman she thought she would be another supporter in her campaign against the church but it turned out she had other ideas. The woman, who gave her name as Casandra, led her to a dark sinister building and ranted on about death leading to eternal life. Mischief could smell death around the building and was immediately on her guard. This was another zealot just like the morons who led the church, they may hold opposite views but the evilness was exactly the same. She then led Mischief to some disgusting ritual site, all the while trying to persuade her join. Mischief drew her kryss ready to fight to get away, but the woman changed her mind and wandered away into the woods. Mischief sighed with relief reflecting on a lucky escape.

Poor Railen was not so lucky so when Faust left, Mischief made herself known to the militia woman and told her what she knew. She gave her the woman’s name and showed her the places Mischief was led too. She hoped this would help but she really had no confidence in the militia when it came to hunting folk down. She vowed to bring them all in so that they would pay for their crimes. She would do this for Morana for despite the fact that she had lost a little respect for him, he was still a friend. But most of all she would do it for Railen. This was a big ask and she would need help, Mischief then thought of two people she could get to aid her – Jaimie and Eve…

[Mischief]

She awoke with a start and felt a sudden overwhelming sense of panic. She was on a bed in the Cove hospital but Mischief’s mind was elsewhere. Arms’ flailing wildly trying to fight off an attacker that was not there, screams and wails of pure fear, cries of “don’t touch me!” “No more! I can’t take anymore!” resounding through the small room. The hospital itself was quiet, peaceful only mildly disturbed by the caring healers, but Mischief was not there. She was in another place, another time, a time and place she had trained herself to forget…

…The clank of chains that started the erosion of her defences. She surveyed the room. Trapped. One possible way out, the injured one blocked that path so she went for it. Barged past him and onto the steps leading out, but suddenly as if held in a death grip by unseen hands, she could not move. Overpowered, three of them, it was always this way, brave men in a mob cowards alone. Then the inevitable beating started and Mischief lost consciousness briefly. She came around just as a filthy sweat soaked piece of rag was being stuffed into her mouth, tied up and dumped on a dirty, cold stone floor. Then came the crack of a whip, once twice, three times or more, she did not know. As the panic and fear overcame her, as she waited for the rough hands to strip her, she was gone. Gone, another time, another place…

…Chains rattle, wrists manacled to the wall, feet similarly so, her four limbs stretched out so that Mischief formed an “X” shape. Naked except for the filthy rag that covered her eyes all she could do was hear…. and feel. Fetid, stifling, the heat in the cell was suffocating. Sweat poured down her and she knew she stank but the overall stink of the cell overcame that. She could weep no more, there were no tears left and her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow. Her face puffy and swollen, her body battered and bruised. No bones were broken, they were carefully about that, always careful. Interspersed with the beatings and the thrashings was the…that was the worst. Her breasts ached from the harsh fingers that continually dug into them leaving purple circular imprints. And her…Mischief jerked, the sound of the cell door opening, the sound of scuffling footfalls. How many were there this time? Two, three, four, Mischief was beyond caring, she just wanted to die…

…Someone was in the room, someone touched her and she screamed. “No! No more! I can’t take anymore!” A calming voice, a soft voice, not the harsh guttural voice of her tormentors, not the brutal touch she thought she had forgotten. A drink, a cool refreshing taste, not the foul, dirty and salty taste she had suppressed. And she was lying down on a soft bed, not chained upright and totally exposed. “Safe now” the soft caring voice repeated and Mischief slipped into sleep. A dream or a nightmare, something else penetrated her mind. Did something else happen whilst she lay on the hospital bed? Did she leave as if in a sleepwalk only to return and relive the horrors she had locked away in a part of her brain never to be re-opened? But the door was forced open by what had occurred the previous night. Would she ever be able to lock it again? Her friend Hoagie once told her it would be better to accept arrest and wipe the slate clean. She told him she could never spend one second in a cell. He did not understand, would he understand now?

[Mischief]

It had been a while since the church incarcerated Mischief. Released on licence pending her trial she more or less kept her head down. She could not spend time in a cell ever again. Flash backs still haunted her along with the dreams that she arranged for a local tribe of orcs to exact some kind of revenge. Did she really do that? She wanted, she needed, to lock the whole thing away in a corner of her mind, the same as she did before but she knew that it would not take much to release the dark side of her again. Time in a cell, any cell would unlease her demons once more.

Was it time to move on once more? Cove was no longer the same to her anymore; despite the church she always found solace in her friends. Now she felt she was hurting those same friends. That anyone associating themselves with Mischief, she felt something bad happened to them. Raiden, the Commander, once trusted her greatly, now she felt that trust was gone despite the fact she had never betrayed him or knowingly pass on false information.

Now a lot of new faces had migrated to Cove most of whom shunned her. She the heretic, the wytch, the rebel. Some had passed on, like Kal, killed in a moment of madness. She missed him, things where no longer the same. And not all the new arrivals to Cove where unfamiliar, Kiran had had shown up! Older more ugly but just as bitter and twisted as ever. Now he had wormed his way in to become manager of the Goblin despite her warnings to Morana and Hoagie. But that illusion of charm that he could switch on and off like a water tap fooled them all. She despaired at how easily he was able to use Railen to get her way. She despaired at being unable to prevent the inevitable. Railen fooled by his past kindness when she was a stray waif helpless alone and afraid. Exactly the kind of victim Kiran preyed on, exactly the kind of victim he used and abused for his own sick ways. How long before Kiran re-established his seedy underground band of thugs? How long before he will use the Goblin as a front in the same way he used Swaggers before.

To Mischief’s mind, it was already starting, Bad things started to happen around Cove, things that coincided with Kiran’s arrival and the arrival of that hussy Elaine. Why were people so blind she thought? Why could they not see that she, like Kiran, was a fraud? She knew things about her, like she knew things about Kiran but if she told would any one listen? She shook her head sadly, no, people see what they want to see. Elaine bares her breasts and the fool’s eyes stare and do not see the dagger strike.

Mischief could not stand back and watch so she made her concerns known, but no one listened. No one except those whom she warned about, oh yes they listened. And now those close to her were getting hurt. The attack on Lacrima was Elaine’s work; Mischief knew that beyond any doubt in her mind. Now Mischief considered how to avenge her friend. An eye for an eye, yes, that’s fair she thought.

Mischief stared out of the window of a small room in Eve’s house that she sometimes used. No. She would not leave yet. Eve would return in time for Mischief’s trial. Eve would listen. And Jamie would be there for her too if things went badly wrong. She shook her head sadly once more and mused. Slavery had many forms. Slavery was not just the loss of freedom, the physical and mental abuse she, her family and friends, suffered on Nu’jelm. Slavery had many forms. Raiden, Hoagie, Pickles and Railen were all slaves in there different ways, they just did not realise it. Blind allegiance, blind faith, loyalty to duty, following orders to justify an action, all were just other forms of slavery. And Mischief hated slavery above all else.