It was a risky thing, abandoning her post.
But it was exactly what Emery had done just weeks before, back in Bellkrath.
It was impulsive, it was foolish, but fuck it she was tired. And so in the early morning hours while her company was still sleeping, she packed up her sword, clothes, some hardtack, and her letter, and slipped away on her horse to take control of her life.
Desertion was a death sentence, but she wouldn't be allowed to leave if she asked and she would die if she stayed there another day doing absolutely fuck all, watching from afar as others actually took steps to make a difference. She had been born with this fucking ability, gifted it by Ansgar some would say, and yet it was being wasted. For what? What was the point of it all--of everything she had been through, everything she had seen and lost--if it was never used? Years of service, and she had nothing to show for it in this backwater hellhole. She felt like she was surrounded by pacifists, all too content to keep to themselves in a situation that required decisiveness.
This was her chance. She had heard the rumors whispered when people thought others weren't listening, rumors of something brewing in Allar. She had followed those rumors and gotten more information from the church: Zannrick Austengarde, right hand of the Grand Duke, had gone on a recruitment drive.
Hunters, they called themselves. She had heard of them before; who hadn't? A group that actually did more than just run their mouths. A group devoted to rooting out evil where it began, instead of simply responding when the damage was already done and lives were lost. She had heard the rumors, of course, but they had always been so out of reach, so untouchable, so many duchies away. But now they were in Allar--she could make it there. All she had to do was be brave.
And not get caught.
She had sent her letter. She had gotten her response. Now she just had to get there.
--
Emery didn't exactly have a plan. She was making it up as she went. What was the worst that could happen? Well, rejection, in which case she'd be fairly fucked, but...she would cross that bridge when she got there and definitely not think about that possibility in the meantime.
It had been an exhausting trip. She had pushed herself, and her horse Hilda, hard, sleeping outdoors most nights to save some coin. But eventually she crossed over into Allar. She was running late; unexpected storms had slowed her trip, not to mention it was her first time making such a long journey alone. She only hoped she was not too late.
First impressions are everything, she told herself. Make a good one. That's all you have to do.
No pressure or anything.
It was late when she reached the town listed in the letter. Too late to seek out any recruiters, she imagined, not to mention she was too exhausted for it to be a good idea. She was a smelly wreck, stinking of horse, sweat, and the outdoors, her red hair plastered greasily to her head, her clothes dirty. She stabled Hilda at the first tavern she found and paid for a room and a bath. Food would come next--she wasn't about to inflict her stench on the other patrons and she was ready to feel human again. Everything hurt from long hours riding and sleeping on hard ground, and she was halfway tempted to skip eating altogether and just crash in bed afterwards.
So she hauled her sweaty ass to the small bathhouse in the back, and was rather surprised with the setup. Huh. It was smaller and less elaborate than the communal one at the barracks back home, but she had been expecting tubs with cold water and soap, not a small, perfumed pool in a room brimming with steam. She supposed it made sense, if this place also doubled as a brothel, and she wasn't about to complain about fancier amenities. Maybe that was one of this place's main attractions.
She set her spare clothes aside, quickly stripped, and sank into the water with a groan. The water was warm from the hot stones plopped into it, and her muscles ached all the more, but in a good way. She quickly washed her hair and body, and then just took the time to soak away her pain. Leaning her head back against the wall and breathing in steam, she was dozing lightly when the sound of the door opening, followed by footsteps, had her snapping back to alertness with a start.
Goddammit.
He probably didn't see her through the steam; she could barely make out his features herself. But that was whatever. She didn't care about company if he wasn't weird about it. She might not be in the mood for socializing that night, but she was the last person to pearl clutch over nakedness, and it was just a bath--wait.
That was true for Mordecai.
Right...a random civilian might not take it the same way. Shit. With a grimace, Emery slicked her short hair back and out of her face and cleared her throat, ready to announce her presence so as not to spook the guy, but the universe decided to ruin any hope she had of a relaxing night.
There was sharp creaking, cracking sound from above that had her blood go cold.
Shit.
Her constant hyper-vigilance, while usually a curse, did have its moments, and this was thankfully one of them. The ceiling collapsed, but Emery had already bolted up and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, yanking him into the water--and, thankfully, clear of the brunt of the collapse. Wood and debris rained down on them all the same, hitting her in the back as she covered his body as best as she could, and all in all...
This fucking sucked.