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“I don’t like the sound of this.”
Leaning against a mossy birch tree, the lithe Tabaxi assassin stared at his party, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Jiro watched, entranced as Pike’s tail swung back and forth like a pendulum, occasionally kicking up dust and foliage.
It had been only six moons since the defeat of the Coranic dragon, a feat so large Jiro was surprised his party survived. After the beast had been slain, Valayun, Meklavar and Block all agreed to travel together in order to help one another with their respective quests. It seemed to be the best course of action in the long run. Their strengths complimented each other and they were familiar in the sense that they all got along. Jiro’s quest to find his twin brother also seemed to follow their travels, leading him to join their little party. All in all, the four seemed to have a perfect group.
And then there was Pike.
He was nothing like the rest of the party. He had no known quests or goals to achieve, outside of getting enough coin to survive of course. He wasn't noble. He didn’t go out of his way to save others like Jiro or Valayun.or in a situation where he was forced to quest like Meklavar or Block. Realistically, the moment they defeated the Coranic dragon Pike should have taken all the riches he could carry, disappearing into the wind.
But he didn't.
For some unknown reason ,Pike stayed with them, travelling around Aurita and completing quests he had no personal stake in. Even when given the prospect of great riches or the chance to betray them for a little extra coin, Pike had never left them. Jiro never understood why he remained, for Pike's profession as a rogue was stereotypically a more lone wolf class. Yet for some reason, he did. And for that, the paladin became more and more grateful that Pike stuck around.
In the following half-dozen moons, the five of them journeyed throughout Aurita, going on quest after quest. First saving Block's village, then uncovering more clues about the Jewel of Jitan, a mysterious gem that gave users the ability to wield unprecedented magic regardless of their species. Only last moon did a new face, Thunder, a half-tiefling sorcerer with a stormy attitude, join the party in hopes of also finding Jiro’s brother. The tiefling never said why / but Jiro knew that his brother's habit of picking up strays might have been the reason.
Only a day cycle after Thunder joined the party did he and Pike get into their first, of many, fight. Jiro couldn’t even remember what it was about, but he did remember how it ended. Thunder called Pike a mangy cat, which led toPike tackling the tiefling into a nearby river.
Tabaxi - or catfolk, as they were more frequently known,- were a lucrative race of felinoids, not commonly seen around the lands of Aurita. Some had a reputation for being fearsome and regal, resembling the mighty animals that their genes seemed to mimic.However, more often than not, they were known for being thieves, cheaters, and generally untrustworthy individuals. Pike was a perfect example of the former stereotype.
Though the more Jiro got to know his furry friend, the more he realised that Pike might be a victim of circumstance, rather than intentional malicious compliance. Slowly, over many moons of reflection, did he realise that he barely knew Pike; the real Pike, not the one who would joke all day and spend his nights detached from the party.
And all of that culminated into one ill-fated quest.
It was on their way to the distant lands of Ru’aras in search for the still-missing Jewel of Jitan when they all unanimously decided to alter their route to Ru’aras. For the past couple of days, Pike had been paranoid over something tailing them, but it was only once Thunder had sensed a similar thing that Jiro suggested an alternate pathway of their travels. Instead of braving the perilous snowy mountains of Tejeria, they’d go around the mountain range through the forests of Yrestead. While the alteration might have taken them an extra movement or so, everyone in the party was much more comfortable and used forest terrains.
The moment they had entered the forests the change in Jiro’s team was immediate; both Thunder and Pike’s paranoia abated almost instantly, Valayun and Meklavar became less tense with the change of terrain, and Block complained less about the lack of mana in his surroundings.
Going from harsh deadlands and dangerous swamps had been a welcome change, one that Jiro embraced wholeheartedly.
Though it was barely halfway into their expedition before something inevitably went awry. As they were walking just before sunrise, Pike had recognised the stench of blood somewhere near them. Cautiously, Jiro commended his team into a defensive position but was shocked as a young child, barely tall enough to reach his hips, stumbled out from the bushes.
Bruised and dirty with tear-tracks marked down his bloodied face, the small human had collapsed at Jiro’s feet, dropping from what seemed to be exhaustion. From this one pitiful action, almost everyone had sent rushing towards the boy, fretting over his state.
Once Block had sufficiently sterilised the shallow cuts on his legs and a superficial abrasion cutting across his forehead, the young boy - Castor, he called himself - explained that he lived on the outskirts of the forests in a small village called Suremark. A couple days ago a band of mercenaries had apparently attacked the quaint village, slaughtering and pillaging everyone in sight. Castor relayed through muffled sobs that his father was slain in front of him, and mother taken away. He had barely escaped with his life.
Jiro had felt a pang of pity at his comment. The poor boy seemed so traumatised, so /affected/ by the pain brought onto him. Before Castor could even finish his recount, Valayun interjected, demanding that the party take (another) detour and rescue Suremark from the mercenary’s clutches.
After Block had successfully put the boy to sleep (with a little help from a sleeping draught), they started discussing what to do next…
…which eventually led to Pike arguing against helping Castor.
“It just sounds sketchy!” Pike cried, his ears perking up and hands gesturing out as if to emphasize his point. “I don’t like it.”
Jiro frowned. They needed Pike to complete this quest; his teleportation skills were invaluable, as so his heightened senses. Unlike other races, Tabaxi could sense things from a much greater distance and to a much greater intensity than anyone else.
(Once, Pike managed to sniff out a poisoned trap from many meters away. He saved the whole party from a bounty hunter that day. Did they ever thank him for that?)
To pass the dangerous forests of Yrestead, they would need Pike’s natural abilities and senses if they were to have a safe passage.
“Suck it up, ragdoll,” Thunder thumped Pike’s back, “we need all the money we can get.”
Nodding in agreement, Valayun stepped forwards. “We need to do this. For the good of Aurita and Meklavar’s family.”
Pike flexed his palm, momentarily outstretching the tips of what seemed to be leonine claws. His knuckles cracked under the agitated movements. “Don’t you guys think this is all a little suspicious? I mean, can we even trust that runt? He could be lying, for star’s sake!”
Jiro loured at his statement. It seemed as if Pike’s previous paranoia had returned, but this time even worse than before.
“He’s a kid!” Thunder shouted incredulously, shooting the assassin a frustrated glare, “A poor, innocent kid who’s watched his whole village be butchered. We need to do something.” His amethyst-purple eyes gazed over sympathetically where the boy lay asleep near his travelling pack, dried blood still clinging to his linen boots.
Not wanting the Teifling’s anger to get the better of him and possibly start another accidental Thunder-related storm, Jiro placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Thunder’s right, Pike. I- we can’t stand back and do nothing while innocent people are harmed. I became a Paladin to help stop these disasters. If we don’t help, are we any better than the mercenaries?”
Silence descended on the group. The Paladin watches as Pike’s eyebrows creased, face furrowed into something he couldn’t quite place. Finally, Pike broke the quietude with a resigned sigh, curling his tail inwards. “Guess I’ve been outvoted again, huh?” There was an undertone in his words, something latent and bitter, that made Jiro frown.
Some days- no, most days, Jiro dearly wished that he knew Pike better. Sometimes, there were latent hints or something that spoke of Pike’s previous life, a life he had tried rather desperately to hide from his party. They all knew of Thunder’s former mercenary status, of Meklavar’s sordid past with her family; Block’s brushes with the law and Valayun’s not-so-perfect high elven family.
But Pike?
No, he was nothing more than a secret wrapped in those tattered red scarves that he refused to take off. There had to be a reason, some sort of logic that went behind Pike’s reluctance. The Tabaxi was usually so sweet, so caring with children; it was completely out of character for him to distrust Castor with his injuries and heartbreaking story.
Detaching himself from his lean against the tree, Pike walked past the human paladin, gaze pointedly turned away. His tail lashed a couple times, though he didn’t speak up again.
“All in favour of going to Suremark?” Jiro asked.
His words were met by enthused ‘ayes’ from all but one of his party.
“Pike?” Calling out, Jiro made an aborted motion to reach out to him.
“Sure, whatever. Let’s go, already.” The Tabaxi muttered, not turning back to face the rest of the party. He could almost feel the waves of annoyance roll off of Pike’s fur. Before he could say anything, however, their resident assassin bounded out from the clearing, tail disappearing into the foliage.
Jiro’s heart sank as he watched the rest of his team embark on their newest adventure. All things considered, helping Castor should be easy, or at least easier than their many perilous journeys across the lands of Aurita. There was no logical reason to be wary of the old man.
Then why did Pike’s hesitance feel so ominous?
“We need someone to stay behind for the kid.” Meklavar murmured, staring at the treeline where Pike had disappeared through. “We can’t leave him alone.”
Nodding at her words, Jiro understood her words. They couldn’t bring Castor with them, especially since they’d be travelling into potentially dangerous territory.
“Someone should stay behind,” the paladin suggested, “just in case the mercenaries come after Castor.”
“I will,” Thunder said fervently, stepping forward to see if any would challenge him. When no one did, he gave himself a satisfied smirk.
Block strode over to the Teifling’s side. “Me too.”
“Right, then,” Jiro said, “Pike, Block, Meklavar and I will head over to Suremark. Valayun, Thunder, you guys will stay here. If we’re not back in five day cycles then come after us.”
Everyone nodded dutifully.
“Stay safe, guys.” He directed at Block and Thunder. “Let’s head off before Pike walks too far ahead.”
——
As they began the trek to their newest destination, Jiro hung at the back of their travelling pack, walking in tandem with Pike’s strides.
“Hey.” The Paladin said, craning his neck to stare at the handsome felanoid. From his close proximity, Jiro could make out the short, barely visible layer of fur that travelled down Pike’s spine, disappearing under his awfully tattered scarf.
“Hey,” Pike muttered, not meeting Jiro’s gaze. He must still be annoyed about being outvoted.
“I know you’re worried, but it’ll be okay,” smiling softly, Jiro reached out, giving Pike’s gloved hand a small squeeze, “trust me.”
He watched as Pike quickly looked away, but not before Jiro could spot the faint patches of flush against his tanned cheeks.
“Thank you,” Pike said, his voice low and rough.
Their conversation fell into a natural silence, though neither let go of the other’s hand. If Jiro strained his ears hard enough, he could hear a faint rumbling coming from Pike.
“When we get to Suremark, can I have a moment alone with you?” The words tumbled out of his mouth like a waterfall - Jiro barely realised what he had said before the Tabaxi started blushing his ears flattening down on his head.
Pike nodded fervently. “Yeah- yeah, of course.” Suddenly realising his vigorous agreement, Pike’s odd eyes widened. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Unfurling in his stomach like a water lily in bloom, elation spread across Jiro’s skin. He mentally punched a fist in the air, proud of himself for taking a leap. Thank the stars Pike didn’t reject him! Jiro may or may not have cried at a rejection.
With that, both of them looked in the opposite directions, neither meeting each other’s eyes. Jiro hoped to himself that Pike couldn’t feel the warmth emanating from his blush.
With the distractions of small talk up ahead and Pike’s silence, Jiro finally had time to appreciate his surroundings. There was something so peaceful about walking in forests. The chirp of birds, the dappled sunlight permeating leaves, the wind-song of distant zephyrs - it was everything Jiro found relaxing and invigorating. Of course, his human species and paladin class meant that unlike some of his party members he could walk for days on end without much rest, which was why he trailed at the back of his party as they travelled to Suremark.
A team was only as strong as their weakest link; Jiro was sure that if he was the one to set the pace for their adventure, everyone else wouldn’t be able to keep up. Even as a fellow human, Block simply didn’t have the stamina for long journeys, while Thunder and Meklavar’s species both had somewhat limited endurance in favour of high-intensity, short-lasting strength. Valayun, as a high elf, may have been the only one that could match his pace, which was why she travelled in the middle of their little pack. Her ranged attacks could not be as effective in the front.
Truthfully, Jiro had no clue what Pike was like. He often lagged behind the party, usually by a couple tree-lengths. Of course, he was usually in the epicentre of conversations and the loudest of all their party, but Jiro had a sinking suspicion that while he liked to talk, Pike never enjoyed being the centre of attention. His words were often meaningless, never truly contributing to something worthwhile until truly needed for obstacles or a challenging foe. In times like this where the walking was half the journey, Jiro would sometimes see Pike remove himself from the main group.
All of that just added to the mysterious allure around their beloved ninja assassin.
“What do you think you’ll do after our quest ends?” Jiro cut into their shared silence.
Pike raised a thin eyebrow. “Assuming our quest ends. Every time we finish one another pops up.”
Snorting, Jiro lifted a hand to cover his laughter. “Ha! You’re right, unfortunately.”
“I think…” Pike bit his lip, frowning in thought. The paladin watched in fondness as Pike’s note scrunched up slightly, a cute habit that was rather endearing. “I think I’d like to see my family. It’s been a while.”
“Oh.” He said.
“Yeah…” Trailing off, Pike’s tail started to swish slowly, agitating some fallen leaves on the mossy ground.
Even though their conversation had naturally lulled, the Paladin found himself content with their musings.
“I have a twin, Curtana,” Pike said suddenly, his outburst startling Jiro, “she always teased me that I was younger. Apparently, three dobashes is a large difference.”
His admission surprised Jiro; who knew they had something in common?
“Oh! I also have a twin, Shiro. But… you know that.” Jiro trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, though Pike’s laughter eased the tension. “Do you have any other siblings?” The paladin hoped he wasn’t too direct with Pike in fear that he would shirk away from their tentative conversation. Luckily, he seemed unfazed by the question.
“Youngest of five, unfortunately. I must be the biggest Tabaxi stereotype, huh?” Pike chuckled mirthlessly.
Uh oh. Sensing he had just stepped into dangerous territory, Jiro held up his hands, trying to backtrack.
“No no no, I wasn’t insinuating-“
Pike cut him off with a harsh bark of laughter. “Haha, don’t worry, I’m pulling your tail.”
Oh, thank the stars. Jiro visibly deflated.
“Mace and Kris are the oldest. Lancet’s the middle child. Don’t tell anyone, but I think he’s my favourite, behind Curtana, of course.” Pike carried on, his words accompanied by animated hand gestures.
Woof. An impressed exhale left Jiro’s lips. He couldn’t help but notice that all of Pike’s siblings were named after weapons. Cute.
Jiro’s respect for Pike’s parents instantly skyrocketed. “Your mother must have had the patience of a thousand warriors.”
“Mama was a saint for raising us all.” A melancholy wist tinged Pike’s voice. His eyes seemed to glaze over slightly, no doubt caught in memories of when he was younger. How long had it been since Pike had seen his family? A long time, Jiro would have guessed.
“I wish that I had more siblings.” Keeping the conversation going, Jiro thought back to his twin brother. Less scarred and effortlessly charismatic, Shiro had a special place in his heart that was filled with both a familial fondness and tepid envy stemming from years of inferiority. “Shiro is my only brother and, well, we’ve never been that close.”
Humming, Pike nodded, though not in agreement. “I’m not surprised.” He said, staring at Jiro with an amused expression. “For the little time I knew Shiro, he seemed to be… uptight. You’re alright, I guess.”
Smirking, Jiro softly wrapped his hand around Pike’s shoulders. “Just alright?” He asked, dipping his face close to Pike’s. Almost immediately a blush reappeared across the Tabaxi’s cheeks, highlighting his faint star-like constellations of freckles.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean that!” Squeaking in mortification, Pike raised two hands across his mouth. “I just thought- like… uh—“ he winced, grimacing at his flustered words. Jiro couldn’t help but chuckle at his embarrassment.
Pike opened his mouth to say something but was cut off as he tripped over his own feet. Acting faster than he had ever done before, Jiro tightened his grip on Pike’s shoulders and snaked his other hand around his waist. Pike may have been heavy, though Jiro easily caught his stumble.
For a heavy moment, neither said a word. Jiro didn’t realise how /close/ they had gotten; his chest was pressed up close to Pike’s, and arms almost fully embracing the Tabaxi’s lithe body. They were waist-to-waist, so intimate that the close proximity sent a ball of warmth into his stomach.
Pike’s eyes - one cerulean blue and the other mousey brown - seemed to stare directly into his soul. Jiro’s breath caught in his throat.
“Looks like you’ve fallen for me.” Jiro murmured.
Before he could process what he had just said, Pike flicked his ear, tilting his face to one side. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. The motions were so cute, so Pike, that it almost made Jiro laugh. As much as the Tabaxi denied having any familiarity with house cats, Jiro admittedly saw a resemblance in Pike’s tics to them. From the way he would cuff his ear while grooming, to his definitely-not-purrs that would emit from his tent at night, Pike acted more animalistic than he let on (though Jiro would never say that out loud.)
Up ahead, smatterings of laughter rang out from the front of their travelling pack. Jiro turned his head just as Meklavar bodychecked Valayun. Jiro chuckled as Valayun struggled under a body almost a foot shorter than her, and felt Pike doing the same. Before Valayun and Meklavar could see them in their compromising position, Pike rushed to stand up, hastily detaching him from the Paladin.
Jiro mourned the loss of body warmth but focused on the fear that he had gone too far with Pike. What if Pike was scared off by his words? What if he overstepped a boundary that they could never recover from? Oh stars, what had he done?! Luckily, a quick check on Pike revealed that the boy didn’t look disgusted, rather his whole body language seemed to be that of embarrassment.
“I’m, uh, gonna check on Valayun. Make sure she’s okay.” Jiro flashed an awkward thumbs up. “Be right back.”
He didn’t stick around to see Pike’s expression. Running over to Valayun, he wrestled Meklavar’s body off of her and was promptly tackled by the dwarf. He then spent the next few minutes trying to wrangle a semi-out-of-control Meklavar from tackling Valayun, while the elf stood back and did nothing to help. Eventually, when they had been calmed down, both refused to say exactly why they were play-fighting in the first place.
When that was all settled, Jiro gazed around the clearing, slowly realising that Pike was no longer by his side. It wasn’t uncommon for the rogue to break apart from the main travelling group, preferring to walk amongst the trees and not in the open clearing, though he usually announced this before splitting off. Checking over his shoulder, he saw Pike a few tree-lengths behind, standing still. His ears were pricked in attention, nose twitching slightly as his odd eyes searched for something the paladin couldn’t see. Jiro watched in fascination as he used senses in a way any other species couldn’t begin to comprehend; the way Pike could seek out even the most minute details had saved their party’s asses more than a couple times.
Suddenly, the Tabaxi’s muscles grew taut and his eyes widened in an emotion Jiro saw in too many people across his adventures: fear.
“It’s a trap!” Pike’s shrill yell pierced the silence of the forest.
As if on cue, dozens of arrows whistled through the air, lodging themselves into the surrounding trees. Jiro barely had time to draw his sword before a masked figure dressed head to toe in black leather armour leapt at him from the treeline.
“Someone tipped the mercenaries off! I knew we shouldn't have trusted Castor!" Pike shouted. He might have said more, but before long Pike, along with the rest of the party, were engaged in combat.
The masked figure drew his own sword and charged. Jiro grunted, parrying the strike with a grace that came from years of Paladin training. All of his motions were instinctual — years of paladin trading kicking in, grinding his muscles and limbs in a dance that while had never happened before, felt ever-so familiar.
A quick sidestep avoiding his foe’s strike; with a quick jab using the golden hilt of his sword the assailant goes down like a sack of potatoes. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Valayun shooting arrow after arrow, the pause between her lifting her hand from the bowstring to grabbing another arrow from her enchanted quiver barely a millisecond.
Meklavar stood faithfully beside the high elf, defending her in a well-practised routine of frenzied axe-swinging; Pike was nowhere to be seen.
Concern built up in his stomach.
Block’s defensive and Thunder’s offensive spells would’ve been real useful in the fight; Jiro wished he never let the two stay behind.
It’s not until he viciously slashed down his third assailant that the paladin spotted Pike. Their resident ninja assassin was doing what he did best: baiting his enemies out into the open and letting the other members of their party do the dirty work.
Come to think of it, Jiro had never seen Pike fight properly. The Tabaxi would always evade, never directly attacking his foes with any sort of weapon. Stereotypically, Pike would usually resort to trickery to defeat his enemies (though Jiro knew he had a blue-metal kris forever hidden in his forearm guard, yet it was never taken out.)
In a move so unlike himself, Jiro was too distracted by his thoughts that a loud shout shocked him to the point of hesitation.
“Jiro! Watch out!”
Suddenly, a black cloud of whips smoke materialised in front of him. Gloved hand outstretched, Jiro watched as Pike began to reach for him, but was pulled back as a thick, long rope swung around the Tabaxi’s neck.
No!
As Jiro tried to lunge for his friend, something hard and fast descended on the back of his skull. As black clouded his vision, all he could see was Pike’s cerulean eyes opened wide in terror.
His body landed on the ground, mind long unconscious before then.
——
Waking up was never Jiro’s favourite part of the day. Waking up from a concussion, however?
Horrible. Terrible. Not a good way to start off the day.
It reminded him of the times Shiro would beat him black and blue in their paladin training, and he’d wake up the next morning with muscles aching and head woozy. Not once in his entire life did he ever beat golden child Shiro in training, not even when his brother had a handicap or disadvantage.
(Some days, he wondered if his team liked Shiro more than him. Who wouldn’t, though? Shiro was the stronger, faster, better twin, while Jiro was merely an afterthought with more scars and half the arms.)
Making a motion to draw his sword, Jiro flinched as something restrained his wrists. He tried tugging at the restraints, his eyes flying open as the memories of today? yesterday? rushed back to him.
Ambush.
Fight.
Pike!
Jiro gasped as his body lurched forward, taut ropes pulling against the skin around his wrists and ankles. He awoke to darkness obscuring his vision, though rapid blinking didn’t yield any detection of a blindfold or any other obscurant. Darkvision would have come in handy but unfortunately, his human heritage didn’t have those types of advantages. Slumped over, his knees ached where he had evidently been kneeling for quite some time; a twang of pain shot up from the crook of his neck, painting a picture of an uncomfortable sleeping position.
Shuffling, Jiro felt coarse granules crumbling underneath his kneecaps. Ugh, he hated sand. It reminded him of the training areas he’d go to when he was younger. The ground was made up of entirely red-stained sand, which from blood, sweat and tears was ever-soggy and got everywhere.
“Pike?” He called out, noting the lack of echoes from his voice. It wasn’t particularly cold, nor could Jiro feel the wind or any other indication that they were outside. The lack of a reply made him frown, face creasing in thought. “Valayun? Meklavar?”
Silence, then,
“Jiro?!”
Someone groaned hoarsely, and Jiro found his muscles release their sudden tension as he recognised their voice. “Valayun, is that you?” He couldn’t see a thing, but a call of affirmation confirmed that she was here with him.
“Thank the ancients you’re alright,” Valayun called out, “Block and I have been trying to wake you with no avail for the last varga.”
Jiro gasped. “Block? He’s here?!”
Someone groaned to the side of him. “I wish I wasn’t.” Block muttered rather tiredly, then parked up, asking, “You okay, Jiro?
But Jiro didn’t answer. His mind was reeling -- why was Block here of all places? Him and Thunder were supposed to be safe - sheltered at the opposite end of the woods!
The realisation hit Jiro harder than a bugbear. The attack hadn’t been random. It had been coordinated and premeditated.
He struggled to filter though the concernshockfear that razed through him. His body started to shake, a singular thought of panic gripping at every neuron and muscle.
“Jiro, please breathe,” Valayun said, her voice barely containing her true emotions. Chains rattled from where she was as if she had made the motions to comfort him, but was held back by restraints, “panic will do us no good.”
Wordlessly, Jiro nodded, then felt foolish as they probably couldn’t see his actions in the dark.
“I know, trust me,” Block cut in, “I already tried the panic thing. Still panicking actually, but I’m focusing on getting us out of here.”
Slowly but surely Jiro’s breaths evened out, the tension pent up in his shoulders bleeding away. It took a few stuttery gasps and more time than he would have admitted to, but Jiro eventually got his overwhelming emotions under control.
“I’m- I’m sorry.” He muttered, glad that the darkness of the room hid his dishevelled state. “I don’t know what came over me.” And that was true; Jiro had no idea why he had reacted so badly. Usually, he was calm and collected in whatever situation (sans his every interaction with Pike). But now?
How quickly he had devolved into a panicked state scared him.
“Don’t worry, Jiro, you’re not alone. We’ve got you.” Even if he was practically blind, the Paladin could almost see the comforting energy radiating off of their neighbourhood cleric.
“Is…” smacking his lips, Jiro was afraid to ask the question, “Is anyone else here other than you two?”
Neither Block nor Valayun answered for a long pause.
“From what I can see, it’s only us three. Thunder, Meklavar, and Pike seem to be somewhere else.” Valayun said warily.
Thank the stars. Jiro knew he couldn’t get his hopes up but maybe, just maybe, those three had escaped. If good luck and graces were on their side, he could expect a rescue soon. Hopefully.
Then, without warning, hazy lights suddenly illuminated the room. Jiro painfully squinted as his charcoal eyes adjusted to the sudden change. He started to see more clearly as the bright lights affected him less and less with each passing second.
A sepia glow highlighted what Jiro had previously guessed - a large room that looked more like a cleared-out cattle house, sandy floors, and only a single door at the opposite end of the room. He took the time to survey his surroundings and breath in the unforgiving stench of musky air. The disgusting stench sharpened his concussed mind.
Eyes focusing on every small detail, Jiro almost immediately spotted two daunting figures by the door, both dressed in tarnished leather armour and semi-scrappy linen underneath. There was some sort of carving etched into their cuirass, but the Paladin’s vision was still too blurry to make out any of the finer details. The figures stood silent, unmoving, staring straight ahead no matter how much he struggled within his bonds. Faintly, he noticed a small switch behind one of the guards, connected to a wire that snaked up the wall and directly to the pathetic lone lamp that illuminated the room.
“Who are you!” Valayun called out, her tone firm and demanding as expected from a high elven royalty, “I demand you tell us!”
Oh for star’s sake. If they weren’t in such a tense situation, Jiro would’ve reprimanded her for talking so hostile to their captors.
“Why- why did you attack us?” Beside him, Block called out with a distinct tremor in his voice. Jiro had to keep himself from frowning at the cleric’s blatant fear. “Why are we here?!”
Cringing at how Block’s voice squeaked at the end of his sentence, Jiro clenched his fists as the guards simply stared ahead, ignoring them. He could hear Block pulling on his chains, but nothing elicited even the barest of responses.
Sharing a panicked stare, Jiro looked into Block’s bracken eyes, and prayed to the stars that the fear he felt wasn’t showing on his face.
The man ignored all of their questions. But when Jiro turned to focus back, it wasn’t him that caught his attention.
It was the young boy at the man’s side.
Frigid shock blazed through Jiro like glacial water as he saw a familiar face. Hidden briefly by the imposing figure, a small body clutched at the fraying edges of the man’s clothes, glancing down at his now-covered feet. With fewer abrasions and a distinct lack of blood or tousled hair, he looked drastically different from the wounded boy that Jiro had taken care of just vargas (or was it movements, now?) before. Jiro tasted metal.
“Castor?!”
The boy’s eyes briefly widened, right before he scurried behind the older man.
Pike had been right. Castor betrayed them.
“You!” Valayun practically snarled, while Block made a noise of confusion. “Why… How…” Disbelief punctuated every one of Valayun’s truncated sentences. She had tended perhaps the most fiercely to the boy, argued more passionately to save his village than anyone else in their party. Her race and social status meant that she commanded a certain respect from most breeds if Auritans. To be betrayed by someone she cared for, a child, Valayun seemed more taken aback than Jiro had ever seen.
The man leaned down and whispered something in Castor’s ear. Turning around, the boy ran to the door and disappeared from Jiro’s sight in an instant. Jiro watched silently as Castor’s newly-cleaned clothes dissolved into the darkness of the corridor; he could almost see the bloodstains that once inked the boy’s skin and fabric.
Acid bubbled up in his throat.
Pike had been right. He knew not to trust Castor! Not once had PIke’s instincts ever been wrong - never had they been misled by a premonition the Tabaxi felt. Shame washed over every inch of Jiro’s body. How could he be so naive? And why did he not listen to Pike? His friend was owed a large apology.
But - a question rang in his mind - how did Pike know that Castor was deceiving them? The tactic the boy had used was one that most outlaw groups often used for a childish face and hurt youth often attracted blind sympathy, yet Pike saw right through his act.
Something told Jiro that Pike, someone who had shown in the past an immense love for children, had experience with the same situation that got them into this mess.
A cough knocked him out of his guilt.
“Hello again, Paladin,” the man - who was he? His face seemed so familiar - said in a nauseating voice, “I hope that you’re comfortable.”
Jiro felt a derisive laugh spew from him before he could quash it. “It could be better,” his sarcasm earned him an amused stare, “what have you done with our friends? Where’s Thunder?!” He demanded.
Yet the fates overlooked him once again, and the man simply sneered.
“Aye, the half-breed?” He bared his teeth, “lucky for you, he got away with the short one,” Jiro’s relief was instantly dashed as he followed up with, “but don’t worry, we have dire wolves on the hunt for their stench.”
Jiro’s stomach bottomed out. Even with Thunder’s immense proficiency in sorcery and Meklavar’s cunning, they would never be able to evade dire wolves. Apex predators in their own right, those wolves were nothing to be trifled with. He knew; he and Shiro had dealt with a pack of one before Jiro had left the Paladin creed.
Then, with a sudden realisation, Jiro’s gunmetal eyes widened.
“What about Pike? What have you done with him?!”
Nothing short of dread crawled up his spine as the man flicked a wrist at one of the ever-stoic guards.
“It woke up a few vargas before you. Poor thing, spitting and hissing like a feral cat. We had to try and teach it some manners.”
Manners.
That did not sound good.
“You— you monster.” Valayun spat, drops of unladylike spittle landing at the man’s feet. His malicious sneer never once wavered.
Both Valayun and Block started to struggle, the former tugging at her bindings while Jiro heard the latter try to mutter incantations underneath his breath. Judging by the lack of chains turning into snakes or violent fire erupting to smite their captors, someone must’ve placed a magic-repelling spell on the room.
“Show us Pike!” Jiro shouted, anger and vitriol for his friends staining each and every word with a hate that normal Paladins would avert their eyes at.
The man grinned, unfazed by Jiro’s burning glare. “With pleasure.” He said, and nodded to the same guard.
Breaking their stillness, the guard opened the door, exposing more figures shaped in shadows and black cloth. At first, Jiro only felt confused as another mercenary dressed in the same leather armour walked in, dragging a rattling, old chain behind him. How could this relate to Pike? What did this have anything to do with their capture? And then—
Then, Jiro saw him.
He couldn’t stop a gasp escaping from his mouth at the sight. Dragging on the end of the long, rusted chain was Pike, writhing and jerking in a panicked flurry of lanky limbs.
As they moved closer into the dim light another figure became visible, donned in the same inky-black leather as the man Pike was chained to. They too had a chain wrapped in their hands connected to the heavy iron collar around Pike’s neck, and gripped it tightly so that he could not move without their permission.
It was vile what they were doing to Pike.
Jiro, in all of his years of being a Paladin, had never seen anything as disgustingly cruel to a sentient person. Ever.
Protecting the world and training as a lawful warrior exposed him to things that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. But to see an innocent person be tied up and leashed to the point of dehumanising humiliation? Disgust crawled up Jiro’s throat along with bile and barely concealed curses.
In fact, the paladin almost threw up his dinner once he spotted a circle of irritated skin right below Pike’s collarbone. Carved and branded into caramel skin, an insignia, a marking, was burned into flesh. Bleeding sluggishly, the sight of an inverted ‘v’ surrounded by a familiar Auritan dialect character sent shivers down Gyro’s spine.
It couldn’t be!
Yet branded on Pike’s chest as clear as day lay the sigil of the Gamara.
Memories - flashes of angerhurt pain - jolted through Jiro’s mind. Repressed scenes, reasons why he left the Paladin creed in the first place, flashed across his eyes.
The Gamara was a ruthless mercenary group that Jiro had encountered too many times in his life. They were violent, ruthless, and had enough power over the eastern sides of Aurita to be in control of several major cities. Luckily, he and the party hadn’t come across the Gamara in their adventures, but their luck had to run out sometime, didn’t it?
What did they want? What could a ragtag group of travellers possibly have that a famed league of mercenaries need?
Their paths had crossed in the western sides of Aurita, far away from the ruthless gang. Besides, all of them, sans Jiro, hailed from the west. There was no reason why the Gamara would have any quarrel with them.
A pained hiss interrupted Jiro from his panicked thoughts. Before his eyes, it looked like Pike had tried to lunge at the mercenaries holding his chain, but was cruelly yanked back.
Usually, Pike went out of his way to hide the more… animalistic parts of him, yet as he stood in the dusty cellar, leashed and chained without any clothes sans a tattered pair of boxers, Jiro could see everything of him. Even the things he tried to conceal.
Without his usual long-sleeved clothing, lines of soft caramel fur were exposed for everyone to see, arching from Pike’s boxers up his spine, and more prominent hair on his torso and legs. Just like his cheeks, red markings adorned his back and legs.
For the first time, Jiro could see Pike’s hand flexed, claws completely unsheathed. His pearly-white fangs were bared to the world; pupils slit and skin flushed in pain. Like a broken pendulum his tail slashed back and forward through the air in a struggling toil. Even Pike’s feet paws, which Jiro had never seen without the covering of loose, worn-down boots, was anthropomorphic in their shape and size, curved with small paw-pads on the underside.
In a long, horrifying moment, Jiro could only describe him as feral.
The muzzle around Pike’s mouth must have prevented him from talking, for only angered yowls and spitting hisses came out of his mouth. Gyro flinched as Pike tried to lunge at the leading guard but was immediately pulled back by the iron chain around his neck.
No…
There was no way that the beast who stood shackled in front of him was Pike.
Pike, a self-proclaimed ninja assassin, who cried while watching sunsets and named each of his special throwing knives after a different sibling, would never act that animalistic.
But as he continued to writhe in the chains and lash out with wicked sharp claws, Jiro was forced to watch his friend become something so unfamiliar.
Pulled to the centre of the room - right in front of Jiro and the team - Pike screamed in pain as one of the masked men pulling on the leashes muttered an indecipherable incantation. White-hot lines of heated metal travel straight to the collar around Pike’s neck, choking him with scalding fires. Dropping to his knees, Pike clutched the collar with his bare hands, careless of if they got charred by it - the sounds of sizzling skin almost drowned out his screams. Odours of burnt flesh wafted through the air; behind him, Jiro could hear Block retching on the ground
Jiro could only watch as his friend, fellow party member, someone he loved , suffered in agony, and he could do nothing to help him.
“Stop it!” Jiro shouted, his voice piercing. “You’re hurting him!”
As if on cue, the sigils on the collar died down, glowing fainter and fainter until they no longer appeared against metal.
Bound and forced to watch, Jiro wanted to cry, to scream at their captors or hurl insults that would’ve most definitely gotten him kicked out of his Paladin training - but he couldn’t.
One wrong move, one wrong word, and Pike could die.
And so Jiro resigned himself to a bystander, watching in agony as Pike violently sobbed, his clawed fingers (paws?) still gripping the now disabled magic collar. Stuck in a dilemma of does he talk and risk further torture against Pike, Jiro was saved from his decision as the supposed ringleader of the gang stepped forward, flicking his hand slightly at him.
“Control your beast.”
Suddenly, the magical binds around Jiro’s hands and legs loosened, and the paladin rushed forwards. His thoughts ran a mile a minute, panicked scenarios playing out in his head. He had to calm down Pike, or the Gamara men would do worse.
“Pike...”
Taking a cautious step towards his friend, Jiro held out his palms in an upturned motion - submissive, but firm. Pike’s head snapped towards him, his eyes wide and pupils slit.
“J— Jiro?” Pike whimpered from behind the muzzle.
The hoarseness of his voice shattered Jiro’s heart. All semblance of strength in Pike had been quite literally burned away until nothing remained but a broken voice and charred skin. Shoulders slumping over, Jiro watched as the fight drained away from the Tabaxi’s body, leaving only tense muscles and lethargy.
Without a second thought to his own safety, the Paladin rushed forwards, catching the swaying felinoid in his arms. He tried to ignore the blood that immediately drenched his clothes, or the acrid stench of burned flesh.
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jiro muttered, repeating himself over and over again. Despite the tomcat’s lanky and taller build, Jiro’s hug completely encompassed his body as if he was being shielded from the world. He lifted one of his hands, carding through Pike’s curls. Occasionally his fingers would get caught on a knot of hair and dried blood.
“What do you want from us?” Jiro looked up, staring at the supposed leader of the mercenaries over Pike’s dirtied shoulder. His voice was laced with more venom than he had ever heard before, yet that fact didn’t scare him. Jiro would have liked nothing more than to ram the edge of his sacred sword into every last mercenary’s chest and watch them bleed.
At that moment, Jiro finally realised what set him apart from his twin brother.
The man sneered in response, exposing rotting, yellowed teeth.
“We’ve been contracted to capture the men who brought down the mighty Coranic dragon.” He said, black eyes flashing unpleasantly. “You’ve managed to rack up a sizable bounty on your head, fella.”
Jiro could almost see the hungry greed in the man’s eyes.
“Why would someone put a bounty on us because of that?” Valayun called from behind the Paladin, her voice tinged with incredulous outrage. “We saved everyone! That dragon was evil!”
The man dragged his eyes over to Valayun. A shiver travelled down Jiro’s spine as he watched the man’s eyes shine with something sharp, something hungry. “Not my place to question the orders, sweetie. We were told to bring you lot in, relatively,” he looked down on Pike’s trembling body, an amused expression tilting up his lips, “unharmed.”
At the man’s blatant disgust, blatant abhorrence to his friend, Jiro’s hand twitched, reaching down slightly to wear his trusty sword would’ve- should’ve been. The lack of weight on his back felt disconcerting.
“Then why chain up Pike? Haven’t you broken your contract?” Jiro shouted, his lawful nature horrified at what the man had done. His words were met by a stare so full of revulsion, laden with repugnance, that the paladin was glad Pike couldn’t see.
“We don’t deal with beastkin vermin.”
Jiro flinched.
Beastkin.
The word felt dirty, derogatory.
Pike’s muzzled face pressed down harder into Jiro’s chest. Black leonine claws gripped at his tunic, pulling the white linen material closer. From their close proximity, the Paladin could see how the muzzle’s black leather cut harshly into Pike’s caramel skin, how beads of blood and pus leaked from the aggravated areas.
Jiro’s incoming shouts at the man were halted as the man opened his mouth again, his scarred smile twisting into something more devious than he had ever known.
“And if you don’t do what we say, your friend here will bear the brunt of your mistakes.” The man growled. “Think of him as… leverage."
And in that moment, Jiro knew things could only get worse.