Faerunners

A Brief Respite

The thing no one told you about war was  what a long, grinding, tedious process it could be. Everyone told stories of huge climactic battles, armies clashing in torrents of blood and fire, heroes on both sides of the field. That wasn’t how it really happened.

Not this time.

Tallis filed a stack of messages into one of the drawers of his desk. Their war was slow. It was fought more with words than with bullets. It didn’t take place on churned fields of blood and ash. Their war was fought in gambling halls, in saloons, in back alleys, and in whispers. It spread slowly, eating away at the enemy not in tumultuous clashes, but wearing them down the way the tide devours a stone. Long months had passed since San Tempes had died, and Tallis had spent most of the time in offices, in books, and in files. Truth be told he was in his element. The Fae were great speakers, great fighters, hell, even great gamblers but they were not great organizers.

He filed the next stack of letters away as the door creaked open. Callan stepped into the office and shut the door behind him.

He took off his coat and hung it on a peg near the door. “I am still amazed that they grew this place just for you.”  

“Well, I needed somewhere to keep my books,” said Tallis, standing and taking a half full bottle of whiskey from the cabinet on the left side of the room. It was a small space. His desk filled most of it, and a large filing cabinet to his right rook up most of the remaining area. The liquor cabinet was a small luxxury, it forced him to turn sideways in order to get behind his desk but it was worth it. A little something to take the edge off was a welcome treat at the end of a long week. He poured a glass for him and one for Callan.

“A little early for this isn’t it?” said Callan, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

Tallis lifted his own glass and took a sip. “Last I checked it was evening.”

“It’s ten in the morning. How long has it been since you slept, or had anything to eat?”

He downed his drink. “Well, if it’s morning now then I suppose that means I slept yesterday and ate some time the evening before that. I think.”

“Right, that changes my plans then,” Callan set his drink down, untouched, and pulled his coat down off the peg by the door. “We’re going to head out for some food and then we can talk business.”

Tallis stood and grabbed a leather bound book from the corner of his desk. A little light reading would go well with this break.

Callan reached out and snatched the book away. “No work.”

“It’s not work. It’s research. There’s a difference.”

“It sounds the same to me, so I am keeping this.” He tucked the book under his arm. “You can have it back later.”

Tallis shuffled out from behind his desk, and pulled his own jacket down from the peg. “Fine. We’ll get something to eat, but then I have a lot of stuff I need to get done.”

He followed the greater Fae out into the low, easy bustle of Tuath Den. His office was out on a lower branch, away from the noise of the ground floor but not so high up that it took hours to climb up to work. The market city was well connected with plenty of portals leading to places all across the country, and plenty of passing traders and smugglers to help spread their message. In the months since the explosion Tuath Den had become a headquarters for them. Everything they needed was right here and the shops and innkeepers that called the city home seemed grateful for the increase in traffic they had brought with them. Fae of all kinds were rallying to their banner and even a few sympathetic humans had started showing up.