When The Time Comes


Slipping past the patrons in the common room Eruviel slid out the open door before it could close. There he is. She saw the top of the man’s red hair disappear down the street heading towards the West Gate. Skipping the steps, Eruviel leapt off the porch and ran across the cobbled square after him. “Anric!

When she’d caught up to him, Anricwulf was murmuring angrily to himself as he prepared his mount’s saddlebags.

“What has gotten into you?” she demanded coming to a quick halt by the man and reaching a hand out to him.

Anricwulf knocked her hand away. “If you’ve come to lecture me I won’t hear it. I should be lecturing you — standing by as that creature makes a mockery of the natural order.”

Eruviel batted his hand back. “And what, you were just going to kill her because the damned spirit confused you with someone else?”

Anricwulf blinked a few times. “Her? Wait . . . You think I speak of the spirit inside of Anya?”

“Of course I think that . . . Anric . . . were you meaning to be rid of Anya, not Faethril?” she asked, her voice quickly lowering. That was all there was, right? Just Anya and Faethirl consumed her thoughts and worries. Who else

Anricwulf reared back some. “Kill Anya? She’s half the reason I intend to put that thrice-damned grave-keeper back in the ground where he should have stayed from the beginning!”

Letting out a heavy sigh Eruviel took a small step back as all the pieces she’d ignored fell into her tunneled vision. “Morty. You were meaning to kill Morty,” she muttered. Of course. “Anric, he’s the only one who succeeded in bringing Anya back,” she attempted to reason. This is the second time now you’ve stood up for that cursed man.

“So? It’s no better than Faethril. Their time has come and they need to move on, and by word or by blade I intend to see they do, as with all those who linger in this world past their time.”

Eruviel narrows her eyes at him. He would do it now, she knew, if Morty chanced to walk by . . . or even came into Anric’s sights. “I hold no love for the gravedigger,” she said sternly, “but he is not as bad as I once thought, and he cares for her.” She then stepped forward, her eyes narrowed in a glare. “He is useful, if nothing else, so you will keep your ambition to slay him till after this is all over and Fae is finally gone,” she growled.

Anricwulf narrowed his eyes back at her. “And I suppose if my sword does not stay I will meet a quick end by yours, mmm?”

“Only if your aim moves to Anya,” she said quietly, standing her ground as she rose to her full height. For some reason Morty never left Bree, so she doubted he would come on the trip, but a horrible vision of Anya jumping in between the gravedigger and the blow meant to end him played over and over in her mind. Her tightly wound nerves finally began to unravel and she knew it would take the worst of the worst for her to actually take Anric’s life . . . but if he lost his cool like he had back in The Pony and acted on it . . . the whole prospect made her feel sick. “We need Morty, Anric. He seems to be the only one able to suppress Fae. So, I am asking you to stay your blade.”

Anricwulf stared at her, taking a moment to ponder her words. “I will agree to stay my blade until after Fae is gone,” he responded finally, “but once that spirit is put to rest, you will not stand in my way as I do the same to the gravedigger.”

Eruviel gave him a curt nod. “That is all I ask. I do not know yet if I will see fit to defend him or not in the future,” she said quietly, “but as of right now know that I will not attempt to stop you when the time comes.”

Anricwulf gave a swift nod of his own, exchanging a look with her. Saying nothing more as he finished prepping his mount to leave,  the man swung into the saddle and took off out the gate.

Eruviel watched him depart, her jaw squared. Pivoting, she strode back up the street, hand gripping the hilt of her sword.


(All dialogue taken from in-game RP and edited for tense and exposition.)



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