: Prompting Needed_

Fool's Rank

From Daily Quordle 351 (1/10/23): TAPER, SWILL, MOODY

Quinn brushed his fingertips against his forearms again. The smooth, dry feeling of the scorched skin bothered him in a way he couldn't fully speak about. He sat on the stool at the point where the bar was built into the wall with his pack of maritime gear wedged under his feet. His elbows were pressed into the wood in front of him and his eyes were fixed directly towards the meager shelf of dusty wine bottles. He had said nothing since arriving save for demanding drinks, and the other patrons in the inn had long since left him to his moody reverie. He was thankful for that. He wasn't sure that he would be able to say anything that wasn't directly related to the magical slaughter he had witnessed days ago. A part of him, one that seemed numb and distracted from everything real in front of him whispered odd, nonsensical phrases. Sometimes his mouth would move along with what that part of him said. A casual glance around him told Quinn that little actions like that were making other folks uncomfortable. That, and the fool. The fool made people squirm even when Quinn was acting completely sane. He could feel the jester just behind him on a stool that was pressed too close to his own. The mad man was chuckling rhythmically to himself. At least thought Quinn it was to himself. Who knew? Nothing was making sense after the explosion.

Astriv stirred, his legs leaving a cool spot where he had been sweating on the back of Quinn's leg. "They're here," he crooned. His velveted sleeves rustled together. "They've found you and through your shattered visage, they will spy myself." The bells of his cap jingled and he leaned over Quinn's back to whisper, "How many times will they circle the floor before they finally sniff you out?" The fool cackled and slung away to lean against the wall again. Quinn turned his head and tried to pierce the smokey air of the inn's sitting room with his peripheral vision. Indeed, he caught sight of three leather-bound men who hadn't been here when he came. He thought he noticed the white and green bands of the guard among them. He ducked his head and shoved his pack further against the wall with his boot. "Oh, good, they've discerned you amongst the rabble," Astriv sang in glee as he rapidly clapped his hands.

"Shut it, you idiot," he snarled over his shoulder.

"Spymaster Quinn. My lord." The voice was deep and sounded like it fell from a pile of splintered wood. Quinn glanced to his right and found the captain of the Hapsidian guard standing respectfully close with his gauntleted hand on the bar. The man's clean-shaven face was calm, and worry filled his dark eyes. He was straightening from the former bow he had given Astriv and light played across the thin network of magically-stricken scars that spread across his cheeks in a web. The keeper was shuffling up to them as well, his hands up and out in greeting. Wine stained the man's fingers.

"Welcome, gentleman," the thin proprietor said. His voice in contrast to the captain's was as thin as his body and struggled to be heard over the moderate din of the room. "What can I get you?"

The captain waved away the keeper with a sweep of his hand, his eyes not leaving Quinn's. "We have no need for your swill, Keep. I'm here for this one."

Summarily dismissed, the keeper ambled towards the other end of the bar and left the five men to their business. Behind the captain, the two lieutenants had taken their place just behind the captain's shoulders, facing back as to keep other people out of their space.

Astriv let out a strangled laugh that sounded like he had been holding in the back of his throat. Quin suddenly felt too-warm hands on his back as the jester slunk off his seat to stand protectively between the guardsmen and Quinn. He then spat out little barking sounds while digging his fingertips into the holes of the lacings of Quinn's jerkin. Quinn had to move his head to keep the captain's face in view. Aggravated, he reached over the fool's head and pressed the cap down out of his way. The bells jangled and a small cloud of air that smelled of cheese wafted from under the cap. His nose scrunched. "Get off of me, wretch!"

The captain caught Quinn's arm with one hand then pushed the tickling jester off and back to his stool with the other. "Please, Spymaster. Do not manhandle my lord."

Astriv sucked in spit from his teeth and climbed back on his seat. He, however, refused to remove his hands from Quinn's back. "The man sent to watch the fall of our enemies fell victim to the greatest of all tragedies," he moaned. He slapped Quinn's back and the man whirled to face the fool, fists balled. "He got sad."

"I'm more than sad," Quinn said, spittle flecking the jester's face.

The captain gently pulled Quinn's arm to turn the man so they faced once more. "Spymaster, our lord is just concerned about you." He placed Quinn's hand on the bar and gently pressed down, causing Quinn's fingers to spread out. "We all are. You haven't returned to duty since the purging of the plateau." He smiled as his brow knitted. "We thought you hurt. Or ill."

Whispers filled Quinn's mind as he searched the captain's gaze. Half of the voices seemed to trust the broad man in the leather armor while the other half screamed in terror at the captain's implications. "I'm a little..." He glanced from the captain to the back of the heads of his lieutenants. "I'm a bit rattled," he admitted. Astriv produced a bag from the folds of his tapered tunic and shook it for emphasis. Something like the sound of clattering bones came from within the thin leather.

"We're here to take you home, Spymaster. You and the lord. His brother is very worried about him."

Quinn felt his lip curl before he could stop it. "No doubt worried about the loss of his family pet seer," he griped.

The captain nodded as he helped Quinn off the stool and through the crowd. One of the lieutenants moved to pick up Quinn's bundle beneath the bar but shrank back with a cry as Astriv shrieked and flung himself to the ground "Not yours but his," Quinn heard the fool said. "Your fingers need not touch those items of one who saw the sky break, Gotrim," he said.

"How do you know my name," the lieutenant asked. Quinn didn't hear the answer as he was guided out of the room and into the misty morning. He could still smell the smoke, even after this far from walking and that long drinking. He could still feel the magic. It crawled over and through him. Quinn sagged against the arm of the captain and wept.