Sylvia Says ...

[Judas D'arc]

Sylvia says, “As a member of the Thieves Guild, *never* make it personal.” It was important to remain objective, and she never failed to, except for the times that she did …

“I’ll *kill* her.” Two quick shots of whisky did little to mitigate her bitterness. “Months of hard work, all ruined because of some half-wit gypsy and a talking bear.” She half-closed her eyes, shaking her head at her companion in feigned disbelief. “Are these words even real?”

“You can’t kill her, Sylvia,” Ziva said as she raised her glass for a more measured sip. “Kalaric hasn’t ordered it, and there’s a lot we can learn from Trinsic.”

It was almost the light of dawn, and the backroom of the Pirate’s Plunder Tavern of Buccaneer’s Den was empty, with the exception of the two members of the Thieves Guild, an unconscious sailor, and a pervasive stench that was equal parts urine and alcohol.

“Don’t think we’ll learn anymore. My man in Trinsic hasn’t reported in days now, he’s probably dead or rotting in a jail cell,” said Sylvia, eagerly pouring another shot. “Kalaric’s been after the damn sextant how many years now? Thatcher getting his worthless hands on the arc was the closest we’ve ever been to one of the pieces, and we were still outsmarted. By. A. Talking. Bear.”

“Pardon me.” The man’s presence was unannounced, and even deprived of their sobriety, both Sylvia and Ziva immediately reached for their weapons. His voice grew anxious at their reaction and he awkwardly shouted. “I’ve got a *message* for Sylvia!!!”

“Out with it then,” Sylvia narrowed her eyes, pointing her kryss at him.

“Here.” He removed a tightly fastened scroll from his pack and handed it to her.

After scanning its contents, Sylvia half-heartedly waved her blade at him. “You can go.”

“What’s it say?” Zivia asked once he was gone.

“It’s an invitation,” Sylvia sheathed her weapon and reached for her glass.

“From who?”

Sylvia calmly downed another shot. “From someone offering to help us get the sextant.”

To Be Continued ...

 

[Judas D'arc]

Sylvia says, “It’s *only* an unknown if you’re not prepared.” Proper planning was an essential, although there were those rare situations that defied all expectations …

It was their meeting place, rather than his strange appearance, that Sylvia found so suspicious. “Why here?” She asked, indicating their surroundings. It was midnight, and they stood upon an empty, wooded plot of land along the edge of the eastern half of the City of Britain,

“I am rather fond of the place,” said the man, as if musing at some distant memory. “My family home, a place of birth and death and rebirth. I do miss it greatly.”

“That’s unlikely.” Sylvia’s wariness was not abated. His features did possess a youthful quality, but attributing him with more than thirty years seemed excessive. “These trees are too old.”

“Time changes,” he said thoughtfully.

“Don’t you mean *times change*.” She motioned to the area again. “Not this much.”

“I am well-acquainted with my own meanings.” His tight mouth stretched into a grin. “We have gathered to discuss the power of sextants, not the age of trees or the impermanence of houses.”

“What do you know?” Sylvia’s hands rested at her sides, but her kryss was always within reach.

“Men are not so different from the beasts, especially when both hold the power of speech. Yet I know of no man who gladly suffers defeat at the hands of an animal. Nor of any woman.”

Her eyes focused into a hateful glare. “The talking bear. What do you know?”

“I know of things that bears do not.” He calmly raised his right index finger to his lips, and then leane lowered his voice to a faint whisper. “Would you like to know them too?”

To Be Continued ...

 

[Judas D'arc]

Sylvia says, “Don’t give it all away, *only* share what’s necessary.” Even the closest of allies were potential enemies, and withholding information could become the difference between prolonged survival and a violent end …

The next day, Sylvia snuck aboard a merchant ship bound for Vesper. Upon arrival, she became one of a dozen passengers sailing to Nujel’m on a pleasure cruise, and once she reaching those sandy shores, she hired a little-known smuggler to transport her to Buccaneer’s Den. Her efforts to conceal her travels reflected her unusually cautious nature, for despite the information he had provided, the thief was still suspicious of her mysterious Britain benefactor.

When Sylvia returned to the backroom of the Pirate’s Plunder, Ziva and the unconscious sailor were where she had left them four days prior. Due to his lack of movement during since her departure, she wondered whether he was more than unconscious.

“How’d it go?” Ziva asked, filling a shot glass for Sylvia as she approached. “A waste of time or did you learn anything that’s useful?”

“I learned about things that the bears don’t know.” She quickly consumed the whiskey and she assumed her usual seat at the table. “Kalaric too.”

“What things are that?” Ziva raised a drunken, curious eyebrow.

“There’s more to the sextant than we knew.” She lowered her voice. “That talking bear might have the arc, gear, mirror, and eyepiece, but he doesn’t have everything.”

“There’s more pieces?”

“Not exactly.” Sylvia then smiled a knowing smile and poured herself another shot.

To Be Continued ...

 

[Judas D'arc]

Sylvia says, “Sometimes you just can’t avoid a little *bloodshed*.” While most could be convinced or threatened, others would only learn with their dying breath …

They were six of them in total. A band of thieves that tread the paths less-traveled, slowly making their way between the shadows of Spiritwood. In the near-distance lay their destination, the golden sandstone walls of the City of Honor. Sylvia and Ziva were in the lead, while the others trailed closely behind them.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Ziva did not bother to blunt her disagreement. “Kalaric says the talking bear’s dead. He says he *saw* it with his own eyes.”

Sylvia exhaled an impatient breath. “They’ve got one of our our own.”

“But we’ve already won. We’ve got the scholar and we’ll soon have the sextant.” Ziva moved closer to her friend, lowering her voice so their fellow Thieves could not hear her. “If it’s as powerful as Kalaric says, we can use it to him after. This seems too risky.”

But Sylvia remained unconvinced. “Kalaric’s been telling us we’ll have the sextant soon for how many years now? Trinsic’s worse than the rangers, they were actually willing to kill that damn bear. They won’t give up until we give them a reason.” She grimaced slightly. “Besides, promises still matter, even among thieves.”

To Be Continued ...

 

[Judas D'arc]

Sylvia says, “You’ve only *lost* if you’re dead or caught.” It was always possible to turn bad circumstances into good ones, as long as one had their life and their freedom …

Kalaric was likely a dead man, his ambitions broken apart like the sextant he spent far too many years and lives obsessing over. Sylvia doubted even the notoriously fortunate guildmaster of the Thieves Guild was capable of surviving an assault so outnumbered. If he *had* somehow assembled the damn thing, she would have learned by now. She considered her choice a necessity rather than a betrayal; the defenders of Trinsic were eager to rescue their friends and confront Kalaric, and the keys she possessed enabled them to do this. A fair exchange for her survival.

Ziva and Parnell *were* dead, struck down before her eyes, their unwavering loyalty to their fellows repaid by a flurry of Trinsic blades and spells. Many thieves had lost their lives in recent months, enough that any thought of rebuilding the guild seemed like a futile thought, but Sylvia would miss Ziva most of all. Countless hours of alcohol and schemes and conversation shared, forever resigned only to her memories.

Three of their attackers also lost their lives, two of the platemail-clad fools fell to their traps, and Eodain was killed by Kalaric in a duel. It was a shame about Eodain, Sylvia was fond of him when he was part of the guild, less so after he became a ranger.

With the thieves were slain or scattered, none were left to object to Sylvia’s plan to raid a few hidden guild caches. The coin that she took was not insignificant, and it would be well spent on securing her a new name, far and away from her present one.

Her inn room was small and bare and covered in dim candlelight. Underneath the ratty, single bed were the remnants of Sylvia’s past that still mattered: her favorite kryss, a pair of earrings that belonged to her mother, and a sack filled with thieves gold. A few hours more, and she would be aboard that ship to Vesper.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Sylvia felt a pronounced stiffness spread across the back of her neck. Everyone she knew of was dead or wanted to hurt her, so she grabbed her blade and moved to meet her unexpected caller.

Her blue eyes flickered with surprise and dread at her visitor and the familiar object held tightly between two gloved hands. Sylvia sighed heavily and lowered her weapon in defeat. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming …”

The End