Robyn Stormwalker
Robyn Stormwalker
Up until a few months, Robyn was a well regarded Sergeant with the Skirmishers, part of the Stormwalkers, a highly renowed squad know for its high impact and targeted engagement of fiends in the Wastes around Bastion.
Robyn acted as a scout for the skirmishers, taking the lead in dangerous situations and covering the entire squad with her bow. Her reputation for good luck meant that many other members of the Skirmishers wanted to serve alongside her.
When it came time for Robyn to apply for an Officer's position she found her progression blocked by the bureaucracy. Unable to work out why, she became frustrated until she was taken aside by her mentor, Quinn and told that there was a black mark on her Family name with the Council, who had an advisory function when it came to promoting officers.
Robyn's father Daemon used to work in the Skirmishers, serving for nearly 20 years before retiring when her mother passed from a fever. He joined the Guard instead to be closer to home and take care of Robyn.
When the human uprising took place, Robyn's father became agitated and fixated on revealing something. She understood it was something to do with his estranged brother, and uncle she had never met but little else. Her father strongly opposed the uprisings, saying it caused more problems than it would ever solve, but when the uprising ended, Daemon was among those arrested for participating and exiled along with thousands of others.
Robyn was now essentially orphaned and would soon have been destitute if her father's friends in the Skirmishers hadn't taken her in. They kept her as an unofficial servant around the Sentinel's tower working under Quinn until she was old enough to enlist officially. Robyn fiercely wanted to follow her father's footsteps and pay back the debt she felt to Osian and Alora, the commanders who took her in. There was always a small hope that her patrol might take her to where Daemon ended up although having been beyond the walls, Robyn knew he was likely long dead.
In addition to her father's exile, Robyn found out through Quinn that the real reason she couldn't advance was her uncle, a man she had never met. He was apparently the leader of the rebellion, and killed at it's outset. Quinn's connections seemed to have a lot of reach because they revealed that Robyn had family still, an aunt and a cousin that disappeared the same day her uncle died. It's likely they're dead too, and Robyn has no clue to find them.
Though frustrated at the decision to decline her candidacy on the basis of family she didn't even know anymore, Robyn returned to her duties to continue with the Skirmishers in the hope that they would consider her based on merit in the future. Then she found that their selection - Huw Stoneshield, a Skirmisher with a less than glowing record of competence or success was not only promoted, but given command of the Stormwalkers. Huw's ascent seemed to have more to do with the name he had than any capabilities he may have possessed.
Realising that her heritage was going to hinder her regardless of her skill, and worried that she would inadvertently tar her squad with the same unwanted brush, Robyn made the tough decision to resign. She still keeps a blue streak in her hair, however - after all, she earned that honour with her service, whether she was active anymore or not.
Robyn keeps a small upper level flat to herself in the Smithing district, but it's a far cry from the barracks she grew up in. Seeing an advertisement for Freelancers to go out into the wastelands, Robyn knew she could put her skills to use, and prove once and for all what a mistake the Council had made underestimating her. When she arrived at the Sentinel's tower to tell Quinn what she was doing he'd already prepared her old armour and weapons for her, and smiled as he said "Took you long enough"
Physical Description
Body Features
- Scar down her left cheek from eye to jaw
- Old scars on right arm and left outer thigh (thigh more than arm).
- Sword wound through middle from being run through by the assassin Warforged.
- A necrotic burn mark from the grasping hand on the trapped chest in the Feywild.
- Reasons rogues shouldn’t tank; slashes and strike from three war glaive attacks (Mer'kyra; Feywild).
- Displacer beasts; one big bite on the shoulder, two claw attacks across back and torso.
- Pierce marks in left arm from paying the price of life in the Xephyr Vaults
- Infernal Wound scars across chest and left shoulder
by Lurrlonde
A former Skirmisher, Robyn joined the Freelancers to put her skills to good use despite leaving Bastion's primary defense service. A capable scout, she has experience in the Wastes and the dangers it offers.
View Character Profile
Timeline
Date of Birth
41 Proviso 1495
Year of Birth
1495
29 Years old
Birthplace
Shepherd's Rest
Children
Current Residence
The Smithing District
Gender
Female
Eyes
Blue
Hair
Red with a dyed blue streak.
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Tanned
Height
5'9"
Weight
133lb
Warhammer
18th Propho 1524
The dagger levelled in her direction should probably scare a normal courier, but Robyn wasn’t prepared to act like a true civilian quite like this. Thankfully Shatterstar was more prepared than she was, stepping between them, hammer and shield in hand.
Then Shatterstar winked at her, and Robyn was speechless for a moment.
“...I knew I’d be able to get you alone at this time,” she stammered a little, playing along as best she could.
“What's your intel, Absyn?”
“Classified, sir,” the Armourmaster replied, and Robyn had to focus on her face to stop her incredulity shining through. Classified from the Commander? Poor excuse.
Still, she wasn’t prepared to engage Absyn here, and she hadn’t had the chance to explain anything to Shatterstar, who couldn’t be compromised. Just when Robyn was thinking of how best to get out while maintaining the integrity of the Skirmishers, Shatterstar took a much more straightforward decision.
“Is that so, you treacherous bastard?!” he growled, turning and swinging his hammer right at Absyn.
Did he already know?!
It didn’t matter now; the direction was clear and Robyn knew what she needed to do, and just had to hope a boot dagger was enough. Unfortunately it was clear that it wasn’t; there wasn’t enough space to get a good angle, and Absyn and his shades were faster than Robyn could have anticipated, their blades stinging with precision and venom. Short of trying to wrest an extra sword from their well-trained grip, there were no other weapons in reach, and this floor was the tidiest to her memory, clear of any extra weaponry that wasn’t on a person.
Except one…
It was insane to even think of it. Sacrilege, almost. She was sure there was a special punishment for even thinking about the Protector’s weapon, let alone touching it as not one of her descendents. But better to live and face that consequence than risk losing Shatterstar to anyone.
Robyn skidded into the corner, hoping one of the agents would take the bait, dancing away as soon as the opportunity opened, hissing in pain as Absyn lashed at her when she passed, but not slowing down a moment, not even to look too long at Atherton and wonder how long he had been hiding that strength.
“It’ll be easier to pin this on you when I’ve killed the old man!” she heard Absyn taunt behind her. Robyn grit her teeth, turning her boiling blood to white hot focus, giving Absyn nothing: exactly what he deserved. She stepped up to the Protector’s Hammer on the wall, bracing her feet to wrench it from the wall when a sharp sting of a thrown dagger in her shoulder distracted her for a moment.
She looked over her shoulder at the Shade agent, tugging the weapon out of her muscle with a wry smirk, saluting the agent with it cheekily before tucking it in her belt for later. Robyn turned back to her goal, taking a fortifying breath, closing her hand around the handle of the fabled hammer and pulling.
Hammers were only something she had used in training, something Madoc had insisted on to be ready for anything, to use anything. It was only recently where Robyn would have said she felt she had the strength to have any reasonable confidence wielding one, much preferring the finesse and precision of narrower blades. As she took the weapon in her hands, she felt… something. This was a weapon of a quality beyond anything she had ever touched before.
And Stoneshield keeps it on the wall.
Admiration would have to wait: there were enemies abound. Robyn ran towards the Shade that had followed her, weapon in both hands, swinging fiercely and winding the agent, but not enough to stop him. He lunged with expert precision, and just as Robyn was about to try and get out of the way, the hammer moved in her grip, knocking the dagger off course just enough to turn a deep strike into a scratch.
What…?!
There was no time. Robyn danced around the agent and kept running back towards Shatterstar. She stepped around Atherton, suggesting he get into a different position, but the secretary apparently heard nothing, his eyes fixed on his enemy, his fists a blur.
Robyn nearly stepped towards Absyn, intending to take some of the traitor’s focus, but the hammer tugged towards the bloodied and dazed agent who was just shaking her eyes back into focus.
Protector, if this is your guidance, please be true.
She shifted her grip on the hammer and swung it with both hands, the face of the hammer connecting with a resounding crack against the agent’s head, skull caving in.
Atherton looked unfazed, sprinting away to corner the second agent, leaving Robyn and Shatterstar with Absyn. Shatterstar was bleeding, far too much even as he continued to engage Absyn. Robyn grit her teeth, taking the hammer in one hand and a dagger in the other, ducking around Shatterstar’s shield and stepping behind the Umbral Lord.
The Armourmaster - the traitor - said something else, but Robyn’s fury, still white hot from her head down to her knuckles, drowned out anything else he had to say. She twisted the hammer in her grip and brought it down on the top of the man’s head, bringing her dagger around in an arc to follow through, but there was nothing there, Absyn crumpling at her feet,
Robyn lowered her weapons, tucking the dagger back into her belt and reverently cradling the hammer in both her hands, the adrenaline leaving her in a rush, leaving only stinging pain from multiple hidden cuts, and the weight of what she had just done sinking into her stomach.
Has this hammer ever killed a human before? When was the last time it killed anything?
She looked to Shatterstar, panicked - panic that subsided when the dwarf just sighed, nonplussed. “Give it here,” he instructed.
“But…” The face of the hammer was smeared with more than just blood. “Should I…?”
“Atherton will deal with it.”
“Shit! There was…” Robyn ran out into the hall, but she needn’t have - Atherton was practically folding the agent in half with his hands. “Never mind.”
Shatterstar set the Hammer of the Protector back on its wall hook before adjusting the hold on his own hammer, swiftly clocking the agent around the head, knocking him out cold. “What was it you were going to say?” he asked, leading Robyn back to his office.
“It was about him actually,” Robyn answered, pointing to Absyn on the ground. “Did you know already? When did you know?” That would be just Robyn’s luck to just be repeating already known information.
“Only within the last five minutes,” Shatterstar admitted, ignoring Robyn’s shock, shifting a bookcase to reveal a ladder, and heaving himself up it. “Come with me.”
Robyn didn’t argue, scrambling up the ladder, surprised to see Major Alora sat in an attic room with chairs and bookshelves and tables, more of her worries ebbing away knowing how close she was.
“What in the Hells is happening?” Alora asked, taking in Shatterstar’s dishevelled appearance and fresh wounds, turning her eyes to Robyn in her disguise. “Robyn? What are you doing here?”
Robyn turned off the magical effect, taking a moment to look down at herself, her wounds revealed, the borrowed clothes ruined as blood and venom seeped through torn fabric. She would have to make it up to Liv later, firmly patting the worst wounds to slow the bleeding.
“Oh, your father would bloody kill me,” Shatterstar groaned.
“He is not here,” Robyn assured him as kindly as she could, though with a tinge of frustration. It made no sense sometimes, that Shatterstar seemed comfortable enough to send Robyn out into the Wastes, but anything else was met with ‘your father would kill me.’ “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t,” he countered, and let out a weary sigh. “Right. What do you know about our history? Bastion’s history.”
Robyn hesitated, thinking of what Rel had said mere hours ago. You should ask them for help. They would protect you if they knew. You need to trust people. She took a steadying breath. “Official or unofficial?”
Shatterstar’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s go unofficial, shall we?”
Shelving any worry and switching to just report what she had learned, like any other report, Robyn went through what she had learned: the Crook, her uncle, the uprising, the Shadows and Ascendent. Shatterstar and Alora shared a look, that infuriating look that Robyn was all too used to by now, when much older and wiser races just seemed to know things. Shatterstar sighed wearily again, before gesturing to Alora.
“Then let me introduce you to the current Marshall of the Crook.”
Robyn took a step back and sat down heavily in one of the chairs in the circle. “Shepherd’s fucking arse.”
“Language,” Alora and Shatterstar said reflexively at the same time. “But also, a fair sentiment,” Alora added with a wry chuckle. “You’ve been busy.”
“There’s more,” Robyn added, scrubbing her eyes in some disbelief but also feeling relieved and the safest she had been for a long time. She continued her report, from how they got involved to begin with via the Watchmaster, the hunt for Aether, the disaster at the Brewery, and then all the way through to the latest intelligence: the Umbral Lords and their positions, the Shadow Captain - her aunt - and the danger they had been in since returning, the threats against Rell. “My… cousin,” Robyn clarified.
There was a beat of silence. “No,” Alora breathed. “We thought… we thought she was dead.”
“There’s another group underground that took her in,” Robyn explained, enough to explain why she had been undetected for so long, but without any specifics.
“But also her?” Alora repeated, incredulous. “She’s not like Thomas at all. He was so calm, and she’s like… like throwing dirt into the wind!”
Robyn winced. Rell’s brand of bravado and chaos did take some getting used to, and, based on the last time that they met - and the first meeting at that - she could understand Alora’s frustration. “I was surprised too,” she admitted.
“Fucking hells,” Shatterstar swore. “Your father would murder me if he was alive. He promised we wouldn’t get you involved; he was adamant you be kept out of this.”
“This isn’t on you,” Robyn repeated. “You did all you could. If I hadn’t left, it might have been easier to ignore it, but… I think it would have caught up with me eventually.”
When Robyn left some time later, revealing as much as she felt necessary, she headed back to Haven, bruised, sore, yet lighter than she had felt in a long time. She was foolish to have ever thought that Shatterstar and Alora needed any kind of protection from her entanglements and what she knew. While the people she cared about most were still scattered in so many places, and she wished she could still be in three places at once, at least now it felt like she didn’t have three entire lives to choose from. The overlap wasn’t perfect - it probably never would be - but it was certainly more than before, and that alone was comforting.
[Session 99] Reflections
26 Proviso 1524
Returning back to Bastion was supposed to be a comfort. Of course, there was no fanfare or debrief or success to be celebrated - as far as the city and her friends knew, she never left in the first place - but even without that, Robyn thought she’d be happier being on the surface.
Nothing was that simple anymore, and returning had only brought more questions, more fear, more risk. It was taking all her willpower to keep a tight hold on that paranoia and think rationally. There was nothing to gain by panicking.
Perhaps that’s why she chose to stay in her own flat that night, away from the bustle of Haven’s residents going about their business, to just think in the silence of her flat - as silent as the Smithing District ever was anyway. There was temptation to run to Quinn, to the comfort of her childhood room, such as it was, but the old man didn’t need more drama on his doorstep than she already brought.
She’d kept Danza’s note, and the one she’d left for Hamish, both tucked into her journal to keep them close. There were answers to both, there had to be, but none would be found by rushing and inviting the wrong attention and the wrong questions.
Yet even with that rationale, Robyn quietly seethed. Hamish and the Stormwalkers were supposed to be safe in Bastion - they all were - that was the whole point. Her worry for her Skirmisher family ebbed a little when she reminded herself of their capabilities - they didn’t need her and were more than capable of their own defense. But Hamish didn’t have the same knack for violence as they did - at least, not last she checked.
Robyn splashed her face with water and scrubbed vigorously, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes and dragging them down her cheeks. She had to rest, but her mind was buzzing, her hands itching.
Give me something to shoot. Anything.
But this wasn’t the Wastes or the Underdark, and her enemies weren’t clear. That was the problem.
“I can make it all go away, you know. All that horror that will befall your people - I could give you the power to stop it all. To see in the dark to fight the corruption that plagues your homeland.”
“Imagine being the hunter on land and in the dark. Imagine being able to see further than any creature can. The truest of scouts, queen of the plains, master assassin.”
She had laughed at Mordekai then, thinking she knew herself best. That wasn’t what she wanted; he had read her all wrong. She was just a soldier, and she had vengeance on her mind. But now, looking at her reflection in the dark, the weariness under her eyes, the tightness of her brow showing her anger, the twist of her mouth showing her fear, perhaps the devil knew her better than she did after all.
If they’ve hurt them I’ll destroy their world too.
That desire should have scared her. She wasn’t supposed to want that, not in Bastion. Hunting a fiend, chasing vengeance for Caine, that was one thing - that could be allowed, as long as it wasn’t a waste of resources. But the thought of turning her blades on anyone else out of anything other than defence… that shouldn’t be something to entertain.
You know you’d enjoy it. Why shouldn’t you? Just ask the price. It’ll be worth it to keep them safe. You could do anything.
...No, that’s not how it should be done. Gratitude proved that.
Robyn angrily splashed the mirror as the image of Gratitude’s void mouth and sharp eyes came to mind, watching the water droplets roll down and distort her features in the reflection for a moment. She grit her teeth and screwed her eyes shut, taking several deep breaths and relaxing her jaw and hands on each exhale.
When she opened her eyes, her reflection was still as human as before. She let out a long breath and turned to drop heavily onto her bed, pulling her pillow over her head as if that would help block out the noise in her mind.
It will be alright. It has to be. You’ll find them.
She repeated that in her head until she drifted to a fitful sleep, her dreams peppered with her fears and desires, and a shining city that spanned the Deep.
[Session 84] Caine
16th Proviso 1524
“What snapped me out of it?”
“I did. I used a spell to dispel it.”
“...then let’s just hope it’s not Liv next time.”
Robyn wasn’t sure she was completely adjusted to the dim light of Palen, but she needed to remember Caine’s face more than just in her mind. She was no artist, not like Liv, but this wasn’t art so much as recalling facts - drawing the truth as she remembered it.
The picture was accurate, she was confident of that - the angle of his face and ears, his hair loose and swept back out of his face, the taper nose and curve of his mouth. So young for his race, yet he had a wisdom and patience that belied his supposed youth and spoke to his strict upbringing. A wonder he rebelled as firmly as he had to pursue what he thought was right.
He’d be alive if he listened to his mother.
Robyn felt her eyes sting and she tipped her head back quickly to make sure she didn’t smudge the pencil with errant tears. She blinked firmly and took a steadying breath before looking back at her work.
It was accurate but… flat. She supposed that was the key difference between art and just drawing - she wasn’t sure she’d properly be able to capture his kindness on paper.
Robyn flopped back on her bed, despondent, closing her journal and her eyes at the same time. That the only person who realistically - safely and quickly - could have saved Caine was himself wasn’t exactly a comfort. She had heard grief came in stages but who could tell where she was at right now, bouncing frequently between denial, anger and depression.
She kept her eyes closed as she set her journal on the bedside table, screwing her nose up as she underestimated how close she was and didn’t set it on there properly, the weight of the book overhanging the edge too much, causing it to topple to the floor. With a huff, she angrily turned on her side, opening her eyes to stare angrily at the wall of the room.
There was no bringing Caine back, but she would learn, and not let it happen again. The tricky part was figuring out how.
[Session 71] Panic
6th Proviso 1524
It wasn’t the first time Robyn had seen stone shaping magic in action. Caine had used it to help with outpost repairs, amongst other things. But it was the first time she’d seen it underground to shut them in a cave.
Rationally it made sense. Nothing could reach them here. It was a sensible way to stay safe, and it explained how Dhaer survived long skirmishes in the Underdark. Yet rationality wasn’t enough to stave off the dread rising in her gut. Her ears were ringing, and her stomach churned, her legs feeling weaker as she settled into the corner to try and calm herself.
The crawling up her shoulder and neck made it worse. Insects as well as darkness? Just what she needed. Still, she wasn’t about to let her nerves show anymore. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Frustrated, and skin alive with revulsion, she smacked at her neck and shoulder to swat the bug away - only to find thin air and her own collarbone. A trick of her mind as she felt the walls closing around her and an icy grip in her chest.
Unfortunately for her pride, Dhaer noticed, and he reached over with a calming hand. Despite this, the shame didn’t swell the way she expected - in fact, the calming sensation caused the fear to fade as well.
She should have bristled at the use of magic without asking, but any irritation was soothed by the same effect. Robyn took a deep breath, feeling it from the back of her head down to her stomach, and finally had clarity to let rationality win out.
“You didn’t need to do that but… thank you.”
Dhaer was nearly impossible to read - she supposed that was one of the purposes of the mask - but his body language at least came across as patient and understanding. “It’s important you can rest. We need you sharp.”
Robyn nodded, and after a minute she felt the calmness fade and a prickle of stung pride make itself known first. Well. Better that than panic at least. She let out a sigh, swallowing back that stubbornness, and shifted to be closer to Rel. “Do you mind if I sleep here…?”
“Of course not.” Rel slung her arm across Robyn’s shoulders in a half hug, and Robyn managed to muster a grateful smile in return. She closed her eyes and tugged her hood over her head, trying to take some comfort in knowing she was safe with others around her, but her sleep was still fractured and fitful. Dark circles lined her eyes in the morning, and she felt irritable and exhausted.
So much for being sharp.
[Session 61] Blighted
38 Conditori 1524
In the glimmering light of Liv’s shield, Robyn saw the creature looking directly at her with its malevolent glowing eye. The other was bleeding profusely, Rel’s dagger still firmly in the socket.
Robyn doesn’t know what it said, but she heard the gutterral words and saw its mouth moving. She knew enough about magic to at least see when a spell, whatever it is, is being levelled at her.
She moved to bolt away, practiced at dodging fireballs and their like, but this was neither of those things. There was no dodging whatever this creature did, the wrenching lurch deep in her gut, the nausea rising up her throat like a crashing tidal wave.
This was unlike anything she had experienced before. It felt like her guts and stomach were being grabbed and twisted as they tried to expel whatever it was that was ailing her. Rations and bile came first, then the unmistakable iron tang of blood. Even when she knew she had nothing left inside, the blood kept coming until she was shaking, her hand against the damp cave wall to hold herself up.
Not here. Not today. Not now.
Robyn forced herself to look up, glaring at the creature with as much animosity as she could muster, defiantly spitting the remnants of blood and bile in its direction. She gripped her bow tighter, digging her feet as best she could to get purchase on the damp stone.
She felt weak and drained, like a breeze would blow her over, but she wasn’t going to give up now. She couldn’t. Not here, not today, not now. One more shot.
It was another splash of water that took Robyn to the floor, the sharp sting of leeches biting into her skin, sapping the last of her strength away. She hit the ground, the sharp smell of blood, bile and poison burning in her nose and then fading away as her consciousness did. She tried to grip her bow tight but there was no strength in her fingers. One more shot. She fought to keep her eyes open, trying to focus on the light of Liv’s shield, but it seemed to be getting dimmer by the moment, drifting further away into darkness.
Not here, not today, not now. Not here, not today…
By the Shepherd, please. Don’t leave me in the dark.
[Session 45] The Dream
27 Conditori 1524
The journal is written in a cipher that is a mix of Bastion's three official languages: Common, Dwarvish and Elven. There are also occasional pages in Thieves Cant. Most entries are short, a few pages, with dates and drawings, rough maps for reference - the most recent entry is the longest one for some time. A Skirmisher would recognise the cipher as one that is regularly used to keep internal communications secure amongst scouts.
I've not slept so restlessly in the Wastes since some of our earliest expeditions. There's something about this place that doesn't feel right. Maybe it's just because I'm used to the constants of Bastion and the Dead City, neither of which are here.
The sky is the same though. That should be a comfort really, but clearly not enough for my subconscious.
I rarely dream so vividly, at least, not dream this way and remember it, let alone feel compelled to write it down. I was standing on the tundra hills, alone, but then I could see my father on another hill across the way, as I remembered him from decades ago now, clean shaven, neatly trimmed hair, younger, in his guard uniform. Then Quinn joined him, and Shatterstar, both exactly as I'd left them in Bastion.
I raised my hand to greet them, not sure why they were here, but they didn't react they just faded away into dust, as if they weren't flesh at all. I panicked, but calmed a little when the Stormwalkers stepped through - Brennan, Madoc, Nessa, Elyn, all ready in their armour for another mission, but oddly stoic, expressionless. As soon as I opened my mouth to call out, they faded too.
I spun around to look for them, but there was no one else around, it was just that hill. Hamish stood there now, frown on his face, and just when I was about to apologise again (it'd have been my fault I was sure of it, even in the dream) he disappeared as well, dust in the air like the wind was blowing him away.
My heart was hammering, just as it is now even remembering it. My other Freelancers emerged through the dust next - Rel, Liv, Saman and Penny - and the relief was just as fleeting when they vanished too. Elirith emerged next - odd that she was by herself, but I suppose my mind knew she wasn't a Freelancer anymore. She Changed to her natural form but I'm not sure how I knew this - I don't recall seeing Elirith change, only her mother, but I suppose that's where the dream pulled that knowledge from.
She was the only one to smile at me, and when the dust came, it was different. Her eyes went black, and the dust seems to consume her rather than fade away growing in a metallic mass from which emerged the Warforged that we encountered in the brewery.
I reached for my bow as it moved, but my quiver was empty. I wish that was enough to ground me - I've never gone in the Wastes without arrows - but it still felt so real and I felt impossibly alone. I ran instead, knowing I was no match for this thing.
With a headstart I should have been faster, but just I looked over my shoulder, I crashed straight into it. I've never felt fear or helplessness quite like it. Since I had no arrows, I swung my sword at it instead, but it didn't connect like I expected - it split into two where my sword struck it, and vanished into dust.
There was no sign of it as I looked around, alone in the tundra. Then I felt a sharp pain through my back, its sword straight through my middle - I can still feel it, still see it if I think about it too much, but this wasn't enough to wake me - and then it's fist is pressed against the back of my head. It snaps its fingers, and that's when I wake up with a scream.
Penitence and Saman came over as soon as I woke, and to my embarrassment, seeing Saman caused me to flinch and panic for another moment. It's shameful that he can trigger that sort of fear, when he's done nothing to me to intend me harm. It would be like reacting badly to every dwarf that crossed my path just because Madoc had knocked me on my ass more than once. When I think about how calm and accepting the people of Purgatory were, when they have a reason for fearing a Warforged in their home, there is no excuse.
I still don’t know what the dream is meant to mean. It should just be a dream, and mean nothing, but the feeling from this one has been enough that I’m carrying it with me even now, and this veritable essay is an effort to purge it from my head so that I might shake off how much it has unsettled me. It wasn’t my death that scared me - though an old friend told me once that just because you don’t fear death, it doesn’t mean you’re ready for it, and I am far from ready - it was the feeling of being completely alone, my family vanishing before my eyes and I had no way to stop it.
If nothing else, this weird dream has been an odd wake up call, reminding me that my family is bigger than I realised, and I’ve been taking it for granted for too long - and its family in three very different places. I wish I could split myself into three copies, maybe even more, to be there for each of them… but I’m worried that, at some point, I will have to choose, and I’m not ready for that prospect either.
[Session 44] Journal Entry
26 Conditori 1524
The journal is mostly written in a cipher that is a mix of Bastion's three official languages: Common, Dwarvish and Elven. There are also occasional pages in Thieves Cant, like this one, though there are occasional words in other languages. The penmanship compared to similar pages is sloppy but not illegible. [Common, {Thieves Cant}]
Living is more than surviving. Surviving isn’t enough [This line is written in Common, scrawled across the top of the page, roughly underlined and written over several times to emphasise it]
{I’m too tired to write this properly, but my head is spinning too much for me to sleep. Hopefully getting these words out will help, and I can make better sense of this another day.}
{I still can’t believe I’ve found [there are words hastily scribbled out here to obscure it]. I can’t commit that to paper, but I know what I mean. I’m still shocked, and I bloody wish Penny had told me earlier so I could have least been a bit prepared.}
{For the first time in a long time, I find myself thinking about tomorrow, but also what has happened in the past. This place couldn’t have been too different from Bastion all those centuries ago - all kinds of people, working together to survive. The stories of the Shepherd, and others of the First Council, all point towards a Council that cared for its people - of course they’ve been embellished and gilded over time, but the Bastion of today has strayed a long way from that dream that history painted.}
{There has to be a way for Bastion to do more - but my head is spinning trying to think of how. This isn't what I'm good at. Give me something to shoot or a place to find, sure, but this is how to handle people. More than just leadership that [ words are scribbled out again ] just seems so good at]. This is politics, and I’ve no idea how to change that.}
{The system we have just doesn’t work the same as military supply lines… though maybe it should. Why do we have luxuries in Bastion, with some even the privilege of choice of what they eat, while some go without? How many more could the N’umo’ner support if everyone just had what they needed, and not more? There has to be a better way.}
[Session 43-44] Purgatory
25 Conditori 1524
Robyn didn’t think she had ever felt this distracted. Looking across the Deep the the Dead City used to always have a sense of adventure to it. No Skirmishers had crossed there before, and orders were always clear that it was too dangerous.
Now, it was just uncertainty. What if Brennan had just heard wrong? Or it was just someone else? Names weren’t exclusive after all. It could just be another Daemon. But if it was him, and he’d been out there all this time, why hadn’t he tried to come back? Or at least, get some word home?
She felt jittery, like her skin didn’t fit and there were insects in her belly. It was a kind of unknowing that she couldn’t bear, yet there was also dread at what the answer could be. He could have another family by now. She could be treading where she wasn’t wanted, faced with the truth that made ignorance bliss.
Spurred by Peggy’s forthrightness (not impatience, not quite - they were wasting time), Robyn set her mind to the task, putting personal feelings aside. If the prospect of answers (or not) was too much, then the simple fact of being able to cross the Deep and see what was there would have to be enough focus.
Of course, crossing the Deep was never going to be straightforward. There were too many of them to be able to guarantee silence, so it was no wonder when the sand rumbled and a creature burst out of the ground. She didn’t dare think how many more there might have been, or the state they’d have been in had Peggy not been there. By the time they’d made it to the top on the other side, Roybn was battered and exhausted - and then the turmoil in her gut was back.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from Purgatory, but she was impressed with what they had. Their defences, even with limited resources, were cleverly done. They were allowed inside but made to wait while they took Penny to their “Superior”.
Superior. Peggy mentioned that the Daemon she knew was the leader of Purgatory, and Shatterstar had said that her father could have been in his shoes had things been different. Was he a leader out here as he could have been at Bastion, had her mother not have died and he left the Skirmishers for Robyn?
Robyn spun her bow in her hands gently, the motion enough to ease the restlessness she felt in her gut and tame the urge to pace impatiently. It was better to focus on Skirmisher training - keep quiet, be patient, and wait for the right time to strike, or, in this case, speak.
She wasn’t sure how long it was until Penitence came back. When he did, he had an older human with him. The clothes he wore were made up from scavenged pieces, his dark hair and beard were long, with only some grey despite his apparent age and the stresses of having been in the Wastes for however long.
She stood up, slinging her bow back across her shoulders, looking from this man to Penny and back as introductions happened around her. Rel was her personable self of course, and it sounded like Penny had vouched for them, particularly Saman - which was a good thing, given the circumstances of most of the exiles here.
Robyn hung back from introducing herself, wanting Penny to take the lead to match up with whatever he had said. Instead, she just asked if he was okay, having been gone for, well, she wasn’t sure how long, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t want to come back here, and wasn’t forthcoming with the reasons for why. She just hoped this didn’t cause him too much trouble.
“Penitence said I needed to meet you.”
“This is Robyn.”
Robyn wasn’t sure what reaction she was expecting, but the sudden movement from Daemon had her flinch briefly, bringing her arms across herself as she was enveloped in a hug.
It really was him. He seemed as shocked and surprised as she was. Her eyes burned as she tried not to cry, and she let out a startled laugh. “Penny you could have warned him!” and she shifted her arms to hug him back just as tightly. Rel started clapping, causing Robyn to shake her head in fond exasperation. “Rel, stop it.”
They split apart, and Robyn took this moment to get a better look at him. Underneath the thick beard and long hair was her father, there was no doubt now. Whatever guilt she felt for not recognising him sooner was pushed aside in the simple joy yet shock of this. (To give herself some slack, it had been twenty years since she’d seen him, she had been eight-years old and he had short hair and was clean shaven to boot - a beard or lack of one had a knack of completely changing a man).
She swallowed, her throat tight, and words a struggle, and she covered her eyes with a shaky hand. Even now she still had some pride and no desire to openly cry in front of people she respected. “Is it odd that I don’t know what to say? I didn’t plan this far. I didn’t want to hope too much,” she tried to explain, badly. “I didn’t dare dream that it was real. You saved some Skirmishers a while back, and they saw you fight, heard someone call your name… that’s what brought us this way.”
Robyn wished she could commit the reunion to perfect memory, but it was hard to do when her brain was still processing the fact that he was alive, he’d been in the wastes all these years. He said he’d been thinking of her as well, part drawing his sword as they walked, her initial set into the space below the guard. Robyn took that opportunity to try and give him back her mother’s wedding ring - she couldn’t see if he still wore the other half, but the ring and the small carved bird just reinforced the truth. “It really is you,” he said, closing her hands over the trinkets and holding tightly.
In the building which seemed to be Purgatory’s equivalent of a town hall, Robyn watched as her father checked in on those in this community - his community. She could see why he had the title of Superior, and that people around seemed to respect him, and she felt proud of that, knowing that her father was as good as she always hoped, that stories of him hadn’t been inflated for her benefit.
There were stories, however, that she learned may not be all true. Apparently her father hadn’t been asking questions or looking into the death of his brother after all - he just shared kinship with a person the Council were looking to eradicate entirely. Robyn couldn’t help but feel angry as more of the truth came out. Most of Bastion were really in ignorant bliss after all. Skirmishers risked their lives to protect that city, only for the Council to keep the best parts to themselves, and not want to even consider changing their ways.
Robyn stayed with her father as long as her exhaustion could manage. She hated that she couldn’t cope longer, as it felt like they’d only scratched the surface, but there was too much to talk about, and she could do with the time knowing of where to start as well. There was also the matter of Indira, their Chief Hunter and someone who, adorably, her father seemed to care a great deal for. Robyn found it amusing that he felt the need to explain discreetly, as if she would ever hold it against him for finding someone else. After all, as he took care to remind her, living was more than just surviving, something that she realised she’d been forgetting for quite some time.
She hugged him tightly again before heading back to the outbuilding to rest for the night, waving away his apologies for the lodgings - it was better than the open Wastes by far, and a full night's sleep without needing to worry about watches was always a bonus. Even though her limbs and body felt sore and heavy after being batted about by land sharks and the arduous climb here, she went to sleep with a lighter heart than she had in months
Living is more than just surviving. But to do the former, the latter was vital; something that Robyn was now committed to do more than ever.
[Session 41] Ransacked
23 Conditori 1524
She's sore and tired when she gets home after the escapade at the Brewery, very much looking forward to her bed. Thankfully she's not so tired that she doesn't notice her door is ajar when it shouldn't be.
Crouching to pull the dagger from her boot, she silently steps up to the door and pushes it open. No one’s here now, but the evidence of them being here was everywhere.
She notices the clothes first, not where they should be at all, strewn across the room, the dress pulled from its cover and shredded. She hurries to the bathroom and slams the door open to check that she really is alone before taking further stock of the damage.
Pots and pans are everywhere, as are papers and journals from years gone by, some also ripped beyond repair. Her chests are broken open, their contents scattered, and the jewellery box is missing. Her heart sinks; Freya’s pendant is missing also, the letters from her thrown across the floor. Robyn feels her throat tighten and eyes burn but, as much as it hurts, it is the letters that matter most.
Her composure, hastily pulled together, cracks when she sees the case of the lute has been tampered with. Terrified, Robyn gingerly opens the case. If they’d stolen it, surely they’d take the whole case?
She chokes a little when she sees the devastation inside, the precious instrument snapped at the neck, strings pulled apart and wood splintered. She rearranges the neck so its straight, carefully closing the lid, and gathered the case to her chest, her heart racing and eyes stinging with tears.
The first sob she makes startles even herself, but it’s enough to let the dam go. She slides to the floor, cradling the lute case, and let’s herself cry.
Reason is lost. They’re only things. Things don’t serve a purpose. Why get attached like this? But it doesn’t matter; they were things that were important to her. Robyn feels violated, her space, after taking so long to get used to it, invaded. In all her life, the only time she’s felt this unsafe was that time as a child, coming to the realisation that her father wasn’t coming home.
When she’s all cried out, Robyn pulls herself together, sets the lute aside, and gets to work recovering what she can. Practicality takes the space of grief as she formulates her next steps. She pauses at the door, wondering if she would ever want to come back, but leaves a letter and two months rent on the side. Now’s not the time to limit options.
[Session 38] Brayer's Way
21 Conditori 1524
She mostly listened, processing what Yakob was saying and feeling the weight of it enough was testament to it being true. She had an uncle, that much she knew, as was the part that he and her father didn’t get along.
Her uncle was an idealist - not a supremacist, but a leader and a dissident - and those ideals got himself killed. The Marshall, so Yakob said; the leader of the Crook, who was trying to bring them into the open as a proper organisation. Someone got to him first - you could still see the street and the house where it happened on Brayer’s Way; now Betrayer’s Way to the locals. The spark that lead to the uprising.
Her father was trying to find her aunt and cousin amongst the chaos. After losing his brother, he couldn’t bear to lose anymore family. Yakob said that he tried to talk Daemon out of it. That the more questions he asked, the more trouble there would be. But, Samantha, (at least, that’s what Yakob thought her cousin was called) needed to be with family.
They were on patrol together when an official of some sort - unmarked, ununiformed - came up and said Daemon needed to go with them. That was the day he didn’t come home, becoming one of the thousands exiled. Then the Warforged were deployed, and any other questions stopped.
Yakob looked reluctant to have shared any of that, but felt he owed Robyn that much. After he left, Robyn had another Bad Day (a specialty of the barmen at Tasha's, made with peach juice and a good helping of strong rum and other liquor), nursing it a little as she processed what she had learned.
She knew from Quinn that her father didn’t leave her of his own choice, and he’d told her about her uncle, aunt and cousin before, but this felt different. Maybe she just didn’t process it before, selfishly focused on what it was costing her at the time, her pride hurt at not achieving her goals. Or maybe Quinn had been more careful with his words, knowing that Robyn potentially had her father’s stubbornness. Maybe both.
She used to have moments where she would just feel angry that her father had gone. Even though she had to believe he wouldn’t have left if he had a choice, there were times where it was hard to have that sort of faith. Some days it was easier to just believe him to have been killed or have died. At least that way it felt like it was outside of his control, rather than a result of a choice he made.
Now, she felt guilty for feeling that way. He didn’t have a choice after all, and the anger and resentment she had felt at times was undeserved. Wanting to protect family, she could understand that in her own way. Learning this and more after leaving the Skirmishers, appreciating more what her father had given up in the first place, to learn that he had been proud of her, that he even knew when she’d be climbing onto the roof to see him come home… She felt her throat tighten, tears threaten again, and she knocked back the rest of her drink.
Robyn paid the tab and left Tasha’s quietly, taking a detour on the way home to find this street Yakob mentioned. She had to ask a few passers by for directions, ignoring their alarmed looks as she followed the streets to the north-eastern suburbs.
Most of the street looked like a street suitable for officials, artisans and other moderately successful residents. Whoever her uncle was in public, it was enough to have a decent home in the ‘Rest. Today, one house stood out as an oddity, partially destroyed and gaping open. A hole nearly eight feet in height and twice as wide mars the facade. Within is mostly dark and shaded, but closer inspection reveals the interior is empty but has not been vandalised as one might expect for a vacant property. Instead passers by give the property a wide berth, and voices are lowered when it is passed but very few stare into it.
This was where the uprising began, where the Marshall of The Crook died. Originally the city looked to destroy the house in the months following the uprising but when they arrived to do so, they found a silent mass of humans blocking their path. Rather than risk a conflict, the city backed down and the house remained, a vivid scar on an otherwise normal suburban street.
Robyn made sure no one was watching her when she snuck into the broken house. The size of the hole and the damage it did made her feel like a Warforged had been involved from the start. Even twenty years after the incident, it was clear violence had happened here. Marks from bladed weapons and heavy blunt objects were carved into the walls, evidence of a struggle.
On the back wall, a warped wooden panel revealed a hidden compartment, just about small enough to hide a person if they really were cramped - a child, certainly. It was hard to say what it was meant for - maybe there were papers or other evidence here. Whatever it was had long been gone.
Upstairs there were a pair of bedrooms, one for a child based on the decoration. Both were also stripped bare, a thick layer of dust over everything showing it hadn’t be disturbed in a long time.
Realising she would find little more of use here after twenty years of abandonment, Robyn snuck out the way she came and headed home. It was still difficult to process what she had been told. On one hand, she had the reassurance of a stranger that her father had loved and been proud of her. On the other, he’d been taken by the city she’d been protecting her whole adult life.
Robyn closed the door to her flat behind her, dug the jewellery box out of the chest, kicked off her boots and flopped on her bed. The jewellery box had what few things remained of her father and mother that were able to be easily moved from her childhood home (as well as gifts to Robyn from friends and lovers past). Jewellery, not expensive but still beautiful and valued all the same, and small carved figures that she remembered her father bringing home from his weeks away on Skirmisher patrols.
She picked out one of the ring boxes that held her mother’s wedding ring, a fine twist of rose gold that she knew matched a pattern on the inside of the one her father kept on his finger even years after her death. Robyn would never wear it herself, but (and perhaps this was the Bad Day making her sentimental) she felt like she wanted to carry something with her for her parents.
Robyn unclasped the braided leather necklace from around her neck, shifting the stone talisman that Madoc gifted her years ago to find some room to loop a knot in the braid, tying a carved wooden bird next to the talisman, and then looping her mother’s wedding band in between, making sure they were secure. She closed the box and locked it away, settling down cradling the chosen pieces as she felt tears burn. Normally on evenings like these she’d play her mother’s lute but it was too late for that now, so she settled humming a tune instead.
She had no idea what she was going to do next. Until she figured it out, she just hoped whoever her aunt and cousin were, wherever they were, that they were still together, safe and happy. There had to be a Sharpcrest somewhere who deserved some sort of happiness after all.
[Session 23] Funeral (AU)
17 Conditori 1524
[NB This is an unused snippet of what may have been said between Skirmishers had Robyn made it to Caine's funeral, written before confirmation that she didn't make it due to the subsequent adventure underground]
The funeral pyre was empty.
This wasn’t unheard of for Skirmishers - the job was perilous after all, and sometimes retrieving bodies just wasn’t possible. They did what they could, when it was safe. If it wasn’t safe, the dead weren’t worth the risk. Going out into the Wastes was dangerous; everyone knew this was a possible outcome.
That didn’t mean it was any easier to look at.
Caine’s dress blues were laid out on the rushes. That alone was almost enough to set Robyn crying again; he was always so well presented, proud of his appearance without being arrogant, and, for all his practicalities, he had a weakness for finery to treat himself. Burning this would outrage him, but that’s exactly what the Commander did, taking a torch to the rushes.
Robyn tilted her head back, her throat tight and eyes burning. This wasn’t fair. Caine deserved better. At the same time, perhaps this was a mercy. After all, it wasn’t often that a body would be returned with the mark of a sword instead of the mark of a fiend.
“He’d have hated all this.”
Robyn quickly swallowed the lump in her throat and willed away some of the tears to look up at Elyn. She was looking better - still a lot of healing left to do, and the scars would always be there, but she looked stronger than when they found her at least. She managed a wobbly smile, tears shining in her eyes. “What do you think he’d say? If he was here?”
Robyn took a moment, looking back at the pyre, and smiled softly. “‘You could have at least ironed them first.’”
Elyn snorted and quickly turned it into a cough as someone turned to glare at them. “You’re probably right,” she said, raising an arm to wave over Brennan, Nessa and Madoc, the latter leaning heavily on Nessa for support, not entirely willingly.
“We should have taken the wheelchair.”
“No fucking way!” Madoc snapped, earning him a few sharp shushes from some of the healers attending the service. He lowered his voice. “I’m standing for Caine. It’s the least we can do.”
Brennan looked somber, a strange expression for his usually cheeky face. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and gently flipped it in his hand. “Shall we?”
Robyn carefully braided a small section of her hair, the short side that was saved and regrown for this purpose. It had been a while since she had done this personally, so there was a decent sized braid for her to cut off, leaving a shorn tuft of hair that she could cover up with the rest of her hair. Madoc took a braid from his beard while the others took some of their hair to join the pyre.
They watched the pyre together for a while, until the service finished. Madoc and Elyn were eventually ushered away back to the infirmary by Nessa, leaving Brennan and Robyn to watch the pyre continue down to ashes.
“It isn’t your fault you know,” Brennan said eventually.
“I never said it was.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve had that look on your face since you found out.”
Robyn screwed her nose up stubbornly, but didn’t resist as Brennan looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. In fact, she leaned into it, relaxing as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rubbed gentle circles on her arm.
“I should never have left,” she said eventually, her voice cracking despite her pride.
“No.” Brennan was firm on that, giving her a squeeze to emphasise it. “We need you out there.”
“But I wasn’t there -”
“Let me finish - we need you out there. Not bound by orders or rules - something’s changing, we can all feel it, but none of us can do anything about it except wait. You can.”
Robyn huffed, frustrated. "Do what, Brennan? I'm literally making this up as I go."
He smirked. "Exactly. While the rest of us just follow orders. You'll figure it out, I know you will. Just know that you have more freedom than you think." He turned her to pull her close and give her a proper hug, holding her close and resting his face against her head. "Stay alive out there."
Robyn squeezed back just as tightly, her face in the crook of his neck. It had been too long, and she missed this more than she initially realised. "You too." She'd lost more family than she'd like already, and couldn't bear the thought of losing more.
Behind them, pyre gently burned out, ashes idly floating in the air, a sombre silence falling across the courtyard.
[Session 23] Grieving
15 Conditori 1524
The journey back after they split up was a blur, like someone else was taking the steps for her. She vaguely recalled talking to Brennan, making sure Madoc was okay, comforting Elyn (poor Elyn, who always thought she'd get a scar one day from something dangerous, but not like this) but it was all automatic. Of course she cared - they were her family, and she was holding it together to help them - but she didn't feel present.
Caine's absence was a void she couldn't face yet. Thankfully, not much more was said about it, with everyone focused on getting home in one piece. If anyone asked, she simply shook her head - now was not the time to discuss that. Even Saman was cut short, despite his tactful approach and compassion. She couldn’t unbox these feelings now when it could be dangerous to have that distraction.
She slipped away at the earliest opportunity, heading back to her small flat in the Smithing District. She managed to get out of most of her armour before the tears finally came, first quiet, and then building into racking sobs. She felt sick to her stomach, wracked with grief and guilt. She had known Caine for decades, from her early teens running around the Tower, through her training. They were Stormwalkers right from the day they earned their Name. That she wasn't there was her choice, her doing.
Could she have saved him? Maybe not. But she could have tried, and that's what mattered.
Exhausted, but far away from sleeping, Robyn stared at the ceiling, replaying words from Nessa, Brennan and Shatterstar.
"He fought just like Brennan did. There was a woman there with a bow as big as yours, and she shouted at him. What was it she said, Brennan?"
"Demon? Daymon? Something like that."
“I knew a man by that name once. He saved my life. Had things been different, he could very well have been sitting in this chair instead of me.”
Could it be him after all this time? It was a possibility, but how? Why? She had been on hundreds of missions and never heard a thing, and if it was him, where had he been for so many years?
Quinn's words were echoing with her as well at the same time. “Don’t go looking for trouble unless you know what questions you want answered. You know the price for talking to exiles.”
Frustrated, Robyn threw her armguard at the wall and turned over on her bed. Too many questions, some of which she wasn't sure she wanted answers too. She would have to find out, one way or another, to be able to either fully move on or find a new path. For now, she would keep this to herself, and try and influence a trip North. If nothing else, she had a fiend to kill, and Caine to avenge.
[Backstory] Civilian
25-41 Acadi 1524
The first odd thing was that she had space completely and wholly to herself.
In Sentinels Tower, more or less everything was shared. Sure, you had your own belongings and there was opportunity for privacy, but in general, most spaces were for the Skirmishers as a whole rather than individuals.
Her little flat didn't have much. Quinn had helped procure some essentials - bed sheets, cooking equipment, that sort of thing - and there were a couple of trunks of belongings from before she officially enlisted, but otherwise, it was fairly sparse. She kept it at inspection levels of tidy, something that her landlady had commented on appreciatively when she had come around to check how she was settling in.
The other part was not having a routine set for her. She was still up at dawn but then trying to find things to do with her day was oddly difficult.
She kept to a routine of morning drills, moving her bed to be against the wall to give her more space in the room, and drawing a few odd looks from those who were up early enough to see her on a morning run.
There were still some constants, however. Between Tasha's and the Vinegarden, she regularly saw friends, and the Stormwalkers kept her as up to date as protocol allowed. Nevertheless, she was lacking a purpose like she had before, which was almost as disorienting as the lack of routine.
"You know the Guard could make good use of you."
Living in the Smithing District meant she could see Hamish a lot more frequently than before. He was as committed to his work as Robyn had been to the Skirmishers and often it was hard to align time off. Now, quick coffees near the forges were easy.
Robyn snorted and shook her head. She had told Hamish what Quinn had told her as soon as she found out those few weeks ago. "Somehow, I think I'll have the same problem."
"You're probably right. Something independent, then. Plenty of the big families like having private security."
She frowned into her coffee. "Not sure I've got the right skillset for that."
"You could learn. It's certainly closer a skillset than anything else going at the moment."
"It's worth a shot I guess."
Robyn went quiet, still staring at her coffee as it gently steamed from its cup. Hamish reached across to lay a hand on her wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Want me to keep an ear out?" he offered.
Robyn let out a long breath, looking up and giving Hamish a small, rueful smile. "If you could. I'd appreciate it."
"You got it."
It was a couple of weeks later, with Robyn considering giving up and joining the Guard just to have something to do, when Hamish came knocking on her door.
"Oh, good, you're home, I was worried I'd missed you," he said. He waved a piece of paper at her, closing the door behind him. "Found something that might interest you."
Robyn took the paper from his hands and skimmed over it. "Freelancers?" She wrinkled her nose. "Oh. Shatterstar won't like this one bit."
Hamish huffed and Robyn looked at him, confused. "What?"
"You're not gonna like what I'm gonna say."
Robyn narrowed her eyes. "What."
"Shatterstar isn't your concern anymore. You're not a Skirmisher anymore, Rob. And that's their loss. Ah! Don't look at me like that, I'm just telling you the truth. Besides, do well at this and it'll certainly grab the Council's attention."
Robyn forced herself to stop glaring, looking back down at the Freelancer notice. Hamish was right. As usual.
"Doesn't look like they give you any gear though…"
"Lucky you've got old friends that can help you there then, isn't it?"
Which is how Robyn found herself outside of Quinn's office, notice in her pocket, listening as he gave a recruit a dressing down for not looking after his gear properly. Robyn knocked, entering when the old man shouted to enter.
He grunted when she stepped in. "You got lucky, lad. I've got more important things to sort out. Get out of here and don't let me see you back unless your armour's been damaged by the Betrayers army, you hear?"
The recruit was out as quick as formalities would let him, the door rattling in its frame as it was hastily shut behind him. Robyn grinned.
"It's more fun when you're not the one being yelled at."
"Aye, well, I've plenty more of that for you," he huffed. "Bloody turning your armour in like you wouldn't need it again." He hefted a chest onto his desk, and then went around the corner to the back room where he kept more important gear. "And this as well you daft girl!" he snapped, coming back around with her bow.
"I thought it was Skirmisher issue," Robyn protested.
"Then it's bloody well mine to issue. If I want it back I'll tell you. And I don't want to see it back here, you hear?" He smirked, handing over her bow. "Took you long enough to sort yourself out."
"What's your take on this whole Freelancer thing then," she asked.
"Death sentence for anyone who doesn't know what they're doing," he said with a shrug, opening the chest and loading a bag with her armour. "Good job you learned that much at least!" He punctuated the last statement by pushing the bag into her arms pausing a moment. "Don't you get yourself killed with a pack of amateurs, y'hear?"
Robyn smiled softly. For all he could be a cantankerous old man, Quinn did have his moments. "Promise," she said. "Love you, Quinn. Thank you. For everything."
"You get out of here with that, you don't need to say it and neither do I, daft girl. Now get, before anyone else sees you're here and there's more noise than I like."
[Backstory] Resignation
10 Acadi 1524
Robyn waited on the parapets overlooking the main gate, glaring out at the Wastes. It wasn't that guard duty was beneath her - far from it, every Skirmisher knew the importance of the basics and did their fair share. But she and the Stormwalkers had been on routine details for nearly a month, and separated across the Tower - both points that people were starting to notice.
It didn't help that they had hardly seen their captain since this all started, with orders being sent to them by runners.
Madoc stomped in later that evening, straw and muck sticking to most of his body. "I ain't shovelled this much shit since I was a recruit."
"How was it up on the Gate, Roby?" Elyn asked. She had been seconded to help with the hospital inventory, while Caine was taking on healer duties.
"Same old," she said with a shrug. "At least the weather's been holding."
"Aye, would be some good hunting if we were allowed out," Madoc grumbled.
"Is it some sort of new Captain thing to get given all the shite assignments?" Brennan asked from his bunk.
"Not that I've ever seen before."
There was a knock on the door and a runner appeared, a young elven recruit. "For Sergeant Robyn Stormwalker, sirs."
Robyn took the sealed paper and returned the recruit's salute with a polite nod, letting them hurry off to their next delivery. She cracked open the seal, had a quick read, then let out a long breath.
"Is it time?" Brennan asked the question quietly as he stepped towards her. She nodded.
"Shatterstar can see me now."
Madoc let out a low whistle. "You sure you want to do this?"
"I feel like I've not got much choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Right. I could stay on gate duty for the rest of of my service. I could stop us from going out into the Wastes again. My name could stop your futures too."
"Don't be silly Roby," Elyn said soothingly. "This isn't your fault."
"No but the Council and similar have long memories and lifetimes. Whatever happened is going to stick."
Brennan pulled her into a hug first, and Elyn joined in where her smaller frame allowed. Madoc, not exactly the group hug type, just laid a hand on Robyn's back.
"If you change your mind, I'll stay on Gate duty forever with you," Brennan said. Robyn snorted.
"Liar."
"Worth a shot."
Madoc cleared his throat. "Best not to keep the Colonel waiting."
Robyn extracted herself from the group hug to clap Madoc on the shoulders. "Thank you old friend."
"Less of the old, kid."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." He smiled ruefully and returned her gesture, clapping her arms as high as he could reach. "Remember you'll always be welcome here. They can't keep you away forever."
She kept those words in mind as she headed up to Shatterstar's office. The clerk ushered her through, and she saluted smartly, standing at attention.
"At ease," Shatterstar said, looking up from the report he was reading. "I understand that you've been waiting to see me."
"Yessir."
"You have concerns over your future in the Skirmishers."
"Yessir."
He gestured for her to sit, and she took the chair opposite. She wasn't sure how long she talked, and she surely was taking liberties with what she was saying to the Colonel. But Shatterstar was always more than just a commander, even if she had to treat him as such all the time. This was the man who brought her a new family all those years ago after all.
Shatterstar listened intently to her concerns, his fingers steepled against his chin. "I'm afraid I don't have answers for you, Stormwalker."
"I didn't expect you to, sir. There would be no evidence of this, naturally. And any suggestion or investigation would bring Command into disrepute."
Robyn let out a long, slow breath. "It seems Captain Stoneshield will not be comfortable with me being on his squad. I am content to try but I’m likely to provoke him when questioning his decisions, and being on Gate duty is not going to be the way we forge any trust as a team. Moving me to another squadron is an option, but it will be perceived as us having a grievance, and that the solution to disputes is to move squads."
She took another steadying breath. "Then there is the matter of what there is for me. It's clear that I am not trusted, whether that's deserved or not. My dreams were all in the Skirmishers. I hoped to make Major one day." Robyn paused, turning her head to get her emotion under control. "Now I don't see how to go forward. I don't think I can stay a Sergeant forever."
Shatterstar hummed in agreement. "No I can't see that being sufficient for you either."
"Therefore, it is with regret that I tender my resignation from the Skirmishers."
Shatterstar frowned and let out his own sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I."
"Very well. I regretfully accept your resignation, with effect from a month. That should give you time to find accommodation and sort your effects."
"Thank you sir."
"There's a landlady in the Smithing District who may be able to help you in that regard. Mara Glimmerstone."
"Much appreciated, sir."
"And you may wish to stop calling me sir."
"As you say. Sir."
Shatterstar snorted. "Dismissed."
“Yessir.” Robyn paused at the door after she stood up. “And, sir?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Stormwalker.”
Her smile was soft by sad. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t serve you longer, but you’ll always be family. Whether you like it or not.”
She spared him any awkwardness of having to reply (Shatterstar was not known for sentiment after all) by saluting smartly and taking her leave, her throat tight and eyes stinging. By the Shepherd, Robyn, you better know what you’re doing.
[Backstory] Captaincy
11 Custodi 1524
She felt that she deserved some recognition for her professionalism, up until this point. She was visibly disappointed when she had been told she hadn't made the rank; disappointed but perfectly polite. She didn't question it, because it wasn't her place. She would get told what she needed to do better from Alora, and she would get better. As simple as that.
That was until she learned who had got the promotion.
The poor training dummy had no idea what hit it that caused most of the straw stuffing to be knocked out of its head. The training blade was left embedded in its neck with such force that it vibrated with a low twang.
Brennan looked up from tending to his sword and laughed. “Did the strawman offend you, little bird?”
Robyn didn't answer or even look at him as she stamped past, the door to the barracks slamming behind her.
Brennan blinked twice, and went to move his sword aside and follow, but a voice from the corridor stopped him.
“Let her be, lad. She’ll simmer down in her own time”
Nessa looked solemn as she came into the yard, her brow furrowed in concern, Madoc not far behind her. "We've got a new captain."
Madoc simply spat on the floor. "Blighted politics."
Brennan winced. "That doesn't sound good."
"It ain't. It's Stoneshield."
"Madoc," Nessa admonished.
"Well it ain't good!"
"Like it or not, he's our Captain." Brennan wasn't quite sure where Caine drifted in from, Elyn at his shoulder. Despite the two of them clearly coming in from spellcasting drills (held a safe distance away from clustered buildings) Caine still managed to look well presented and composed next to Elyn's bedraggled hair and normally bright grin. Today she simply looked tired and disheartened.
"He wouldn't have been my first choice," she said a little sulkily.
"We don't get to choose," Nessa and Caine said in unison. "We all know who our choice would have been," Caine added sadly.
"That's not how the military works, lad, and you know it," Nessa chided gently. Caine wrinkled his nose at lad but otherwise didn't answer - he knew that to be true after all.
Madoc spat again. "Politics."
Brennan sighed and set his sword aside. "So what do we do now?"
"What can we do?" Elyn shrugged and moved to join Brennan on the bench, swinging her feet idly. "Orders are orders."
All of them looked as the barracks door opened, Robyn emerging, her jaw tight holding her emotion in. She nodded stiffly to her comrades and stepped over to the dummy, trying to pull the sword free, and failing.
"Are you okay Roby?" Elyn asked gently.
Her hand went still on the sword hilt and she paused, considering her answer carefully. "No," she said eventually, remaining still.
Brennan got to his feet, reaching an arm over Robyn's shoulder and closing his hand over hers, helping her remove the sword. She leaned into his half embrace as he rubbed her shoulder soothingly.
"There'll be other positions," Caine counselled. "Other opportunities."
"No, there won't." Robyn sighed heavily, looking deflated. "I'll never get approved by the Council. They've made that clear. My family don't make the cut."
Elyn frowned, looking confused, her swinging legs coming to a stop. "That makes no sense. You've been part of the Skirmishers forever. Your dad was a skirmisher, Quinn tells you things about him all the time! We're your family. You couldn't be more a skirmisher."
Madoc and Nessa exchanged a look and Elyn bristled. "C'mon don't do that long-lived-person-look-thing," she protested.
Everyone stopped and looked at her quizzically, causing her to huff again. "Y'know! The thing that elves and dwarves do when they just know stuff because they were around decades ago before the rest of us were born."
"Aye they do do that a lot," Brennan agreed.
"Oh, hush," Nessa said with an eyeroll. "Sometimes what we know is not ours to share."
"It's fine, Nessa." Robyn said with a sigh. "No secrets amongst family."
They filed inside their barracks, Caine lighting the braziers on the walls with gentle waves of his hands, each of them finding a seat in their common room as they sat in a circle together as they had hundreds of times before. Robyn shared what she knew, that her father didn't simply go missing after the uprisings: he'd been exiled.
"But he was in the Guard, right?" Elyn questioned. "Why would they exile him?"
Robyn shrugged. "They won't say."
"Regardless, the sins of your father should not be yours to bear," Caine said sagely. Brennan huffed.
"Likely as not that there aren't any sins anyway. Just another human in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wouldn't be the first."
"And wouldn't be the first dwarf putting a family member in a favourable position either," Madoc added. "Highly decorated squad for your first command? Looks good for the Stoneshields."
"Careful," Nessa warned. Robyn nodded in agreement.
"Whatever it is, I'm not to look into it further. Orders from the top."
"This feels wrong," Elyn complained.
"Put it aside, Elyn," Nessa counselled, ever the voice of reason. "Won't be the first decision from the brass you disagree with. Won't be the last either."
The bell rang outside signalling the change of watch and hour, and Madoc got to his feet. "Come on, you lot. Let's get some scran before it gets too late. We can figure the rest of this out in the morning."
Robyn let herself be pulled to her feet from her chair, smiling softly as Caine started giving Elyn feedback on her earlier performance as they trained. No matter what happened, these people would always be her family.
[Backstory] Scars
36th Faberi 1522
Some locals in Shepherd’s Rest would call Seven Stars a brothel, but the proprietor would always - calmly, but with a tinge of exasperation - correct them to call it a guesthouse. Of course there were personal entertainers that would rent the rooms, but it wasn't up to Seven Stars to dictate what people did when they stayed.
It was a popular spot for Skirmishers on leave wanting a break away from the Tower if they didn’t have lodgings in Shepherd’s Rest, mainly for its proximity to Tashas and its private rooms. Those who weren’t heading straight for The Subtle Smile, anyway.
Romance between fellow Skirmishers wasn't forbidden - too many past Commanders had tried and failed at that sort of embargo - but there was the expectation that you be discreet and don't let it affect your duties. The latter was easy enough most days, but discretion was difficult in the barracks - so many would meet at the Stars instead. Not only was it reasonably priced, they also did an especially nice breakfast that they would bring to the room.
Robyn got up to answer the door, throwing on a shirt to be somewhat presentable, taking the breakfast with thanks from the service staff and shutting the door behind her.
“I could get used to seeing you in my shirt bringing me breakfast.”
Robyn snorted. “You’re lucky you have any shirts left with the way you were betting last night,” she said as she put the tray on the bedside table. “Also, who said I was bringing you breakfast?”
Brennan pouted comically, and swiped his arms to pull Robyn back into the bed when she was in reach. “You’d never let me starve.”
“You’re hardly in danger of that.”
“Oi! What’s with the cruelty this morning? You wound me.”
Robyn snorted, turning in the loop of his arms to face him and leaning in for a gentle kiss. “Better?”
“Mm. Much.”
They ate breakfast in companionable silence, Brennan propped up against the headboard and Robyn sat cross legged at the foot, flicking through one of the books from the shelves in the room. Brennan reached a foot out to nudge at Robyn’s thigh, pushing aside the cover enough to get a better look at the web of scarring there.
“That looks nasty. How did you get it?”
Robyn quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you notice it last night?”
“There may have been… other things that had my attention,” Brennan admitted. “Don’t mean you get to change the subject.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I got that before you joined and we got Named.”
“How?”
“Fell through a floorboard of an old tower,” she said casually, reaching for another pastry.
“What?” Brennan sat up straighter, attention piqued. “You don’t just say it like that, there must be more to the story.”
“Not everyone is a drama queen like you,” Robyn teased, catching his foot as he swiped at her playfully. “I was ahead of the squad and doing the usual, checking for any traps or wires and whatnot.”
“And you missed one?” Brennan looked incredulous.
“No, actually, but the floorboards were in bad shape and I took a wrong step. Fell down two floors into the cellar and landed on glass or something sharp and broken. Got knocked out cold, but Caine came down and fished me out, and that was that.”
Brennan whistled lowly. “You really are lucky.”
Robyn snorted, hopping out of the bed and tidying up the breakfast tray. “If I’d been luckier I’d have not fallen down at all.”
“Yeah, but then you’d never have any cool scars to talk about.”
She rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. “It’s generally not considered polite to wander around with no shirt on, so it’s not like anyone else would see them anyway.”
Brennan looked like he was going to make a crass quip for a moment, but in a rare show of genuine tenderness, he patted the bed beside him. “I’d like to know,” he said. “Tell me about them?”
“I’m pretty sure you were there for most of the rest.”
“I might not have been. C’mon. You share yours and I’ll share mine.”
Robyn hesitated, her hand going still on the tray. This was intimacy beyond what she and Brennan were here for - an intimacy she had not shared with anyone for years now. Her eyes flickered to where her rings were on the nightstand not too far away. For all that she wasn’t doing anything untoward (she was a widow, after all), it felt wrong to wear her wedding band when with other people, just as it still felt wrong to go through the day without it. If nothing else, it was a disservice to the people she spent time with to bring a ghost bed. Yet here she was, dwelling on that very same ghost.
Brennan, more astute than he normally let on, shuffled over so he was on the side of the bed closest to her, swinging his legs off and sitting up so he could reach her waist and pull her back into him. She didn’t resist, settling against his chest with a weary sigh.
“Too soon to be that close, huh?” he murmured into her hair.
“...I guess so.”
“That’s okay. I can wait.”
Robyn turned in his arms and looked at him, concerned. “Brennan -,”
“I know, I know,” he cut in, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean, wait for you to move on. We know where you’re heading, Captain - ,”
“Ain’t there yet, Bren.”
“- and this’ll have to stop when you get close, and I know that. Doesn’t mean I won’t love you any less and you can’t have people you’re close to, Roby.” He reached up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you being all stern and serious. You’re still allowed to have fun.”
Robyn sighed, dropping her face to his shoulder to hide her frown. Plenty of Captains in the Skirmishers were notorious for working hard and playing hard. Why was it she felt she was being held to a different standard?
Brennan could only stay quiet for so long. “Sometimes you think so hard I swear someone would be able to notice it in the lowest ring of the Smithing District,” he whispered conspiratorially by her ear.
Robyn simply snorted. “Makes up for all those times you don’t think at all.”
“Hey!”
[Backstory] Songbird
44 Pasto 1521
The Crossed Keys was the old mess bar near Sentinel's Tower. Reserved for Skirmishers, their families, it was often busy and always a good place for company if you weren't able to take the time to head into the 'Rest or Gardens.
Robyn knew it well. It was perhaps one of her earliest memories, sat on her father's knee while her mother sang songs on the small raised dais in the corner. Then, as she grew up within the Tower, she often came here as a teen and then a recruit, enjoying the company and the music that often played - even playing and singing herself when encouraged.
It was at the Crossed Keys that Robyn met Faith Martell.
After a few pints and much cajoling, Caine persuaded Robyn to take the stage. Taking a moment to tune the bar’s own lute handed to her by the owner (a well-worn thing that had seen many a player) amidst some good-natured jeering from her squad, she struck a tuneful chord to test it and launched into a bright folk-song. With no one else looking to step into the spotlight, she finished a set of four songs of varying paces, the last a bawdy ballad with much audience participation.
Handing the lute back to the barman, she gladly took the free beer offered to her, and turned to go back to the table, but was stopped by a pair of striking hazel eyes.
“Whoa! Steady there, songbird, you’ll lose your beer.”
Robyn blinked. The woman in front of her was beautiful, with a bright smile, sparkling eyes, skin as dark as chocolate and looking as smooth, with long dark hair tied in a practical braid. It took a moment for her brain to catch up. “Songbird?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah! Your friend told me your name, and you’ve a beautiful singing voice, so I think it suits you.”
Robyn looked over to where the woman was gesturing where Elyn was audacious enough to give her a cheeky grin and double thumbs up.
“Then you have me at a disadvantage…”
“Faith,” she answered.
“Faith,” Robyn repeated. She could feel herself flushing even under her tanned skin, and Faith must have noticed.
“Come on,” she said. “Join me for a few drinks. I promise I won’t bite. Where did you learn to play like that?”
Despite the initial awkwardness Robyn felt, it didn’t take long for her to enjoy Faith’s company and personality. Faith had joined the skirmishers after some years with the Guard. She’d wanted to join as soon as she was of age, but her father forbade it, but after he passed, Faith found herself free to be as adventurous as she liked.
Robyn found Faith dazzling, and also surprised at how comfortable she felt around her. They spent much of that leave in each other’s company, and then started writing each other letters between deployments, sometimes even on deployments.
It became almost a game when each of them would leave a letter for the other at each Outpost. Sometimes it was literally a game, with some letters having codes and puzzles. They didn't always know each other's deployments, so the letters were rarely received in order, but that was part of the fun.
What was a fast friendship evolved quickly. They understood each other - they knew the wastes, knew the danger. Robyn soon understood what Hamish meant about their dreams being so different, because this? This was something else.
She was teased for it, of course. Those in her squad and her friends saw the difference immediately, and never let her forget it, but she didn’t care.
“I haven’t seen you this happy for this long, since, well. Ever,” Hamish commented during one of her visits.
“You must have done,” Robyn protested, thinking of their time together, amongst others.
“Not like this. This is different.” He smiled warmly. “It suits you. Have you told her you love her yet?”
“Shut up!”
Eventually, those words were said, and said a lot more, written and expressed in as many ways they could find, from letters to gifts to just simply being together. It was exhilarating and terrifying, just like being out in the Wastes, wanting to chase the next adventure.
Then the terrifying became reality. There was a reason some Skirmishers avoided love entirely. Robyn had only imagined losing Faith once - in fact, they’d spoken about it only once, and that was enough. It wasn’t that Robyn was unrealistic about the dangers and probability - she’d known enough people die out there after all - but that she was too scared to contemplate it again, as if even considering it was powerful enough to make it come true.
If only willing the danger away was enough to stop it. Robyn felt something was wrong when Quinn called her into his office and the captain of Faith's squad was there. It felt like all the warmth had left her; her stomach was like lead, as he told her what had happened. She’d fought like a wild beast, as fiery and passionate in battle as she was as a person. In the end, it wasn’t enough, and she fell behind. If there was a body, there was no time to recover it, as was becoming more and more common with each expedition.
After the captain left (Robyn found enough awareness and energy to salute as he did) Quinn reached into his drawer and wordlessly handed Robyn a letter. He guided her to his chair, coaxing her to sit down, but saying nothing, leaving her in respectful silence while going about his duties around her.
Robyn turned the letter over in her hands a few times, wondering if she really wanted to open it. Clearly, Faith had prepared for this. Even if the Skirmishers fell apart tomorrow, Quinn would always be Robyn’s family.
“Did she… say anything? When she gave you this?”
Quinn paused from making notes as he was shelf-stacking. “Only that I was to give it to you if something like this happened. Told her that thinking like that weren’t healthy, and she said she knew; that you’d talked about it, but she just felt better having it, even if it never got used.”
Robyn nodded mutely and silence resumed around them. With a deep breath, Robyn snapped the seal, and took another breath before unfolding the paper.
My dearest Songbird,
I hope you never have cause to read this. I know you - you won’t have written anything like this because you know more than anyone that things change. But I also know that you will want to read this, because you know how important it is to say goodbye.
The letter made use of all the space available, talking about the time they spent together, the fun they had had, that she hoped Robyn would keep living, keep having fun, and keep singing. Robyn read the letter twice, and then folded it up silently, tucking it inside her pocket. Her cheeks were wet with tears and she took a deep breath. Keep singing. As if she could ever find a note to sing anymore.
She wasn’t sure how long she was sat there, motionless, but it was long enough for Quinn to have made tea. “I’ve made your bed up,” he said, pressing a mug into her hands. “You can stay here tonight. Figured you’d want some space from the barracks. No need to thank me,” he added when Robyn tried to open her mouth but struggled to find the words. “Can’t do much in times like these other than be there for people.”
Robyn mustered a wobbly smile. “Ain’t your first round of this, huh.”
“Won’t be my last either. Nor yours. That don’t mean you can’t cry when it happens, girl. Or that you stop feeling altogether. Plenty of life still left in you and those around you, so you enjoy it while you have it.”
It was sound wisdom, and Robyn tried to keep it in mind in the following days and weeks. Faith’s other wishes stuck in her head too - keep having fun, keep singing - but both were hard to accomplish by herself. She mustered enough strength to sing at the service, watching Faith’s dress blues on the pyre in lieu of a body, as was custom, but afterwards, singing lost its appeal. Any requests in the Cross Keys were met with an apologetic smile and a small shake of the head.
Fun was also a bit trickier to make, but not impossible. The brilliant joy that was once relentless and infectious became a rare sighting, and she became more serious in general, though not immune - with the Stormwalkers around her, she couldn’t escape fun entirely after all. On expeditions, she was more vigilant than ever, hopeful that her luck would hold when with her family so she could do what she could to keep them safe.
Every now and again, Faith would come up as a reminder - not just in the stars they’d picked together which Robyn could see most nights, but also in the form of old letters, still waiting at outposts that had not been visited since Faith’s passing. The first one delivered was like a punch to gut; Robyn hadn’t expected them to still be delivered, but after all, why would the Outposts know to stop them? It wasn’t as if an undelivered letter simply vanished because the writer did.
Eventually, Robyn tied up Faith's letters and locked them away, only re-reading them on the anniversary of their meeting, if she was on leave for that date. It took a long time for Robyn to brave singing in front of anyone other than the Stormwalkers again - what was an almost monthly occurrence became a rare event.
Robyn learned that grief came in waves. It didn’t mean they hurt any less, but recovering from each one became a bit easier. Sometimes singing would help, others it would feel like prying open a wound herself. She wondered some days if her father had to go through the similar after her mother passed. The thought of having a small child at the same time as all this, and leaving the family you had in the Skirmishers as well? She had to count her blessings where she had them, and be grateful she had the chances to do what Faith wished. Keep living. Keep having fun. Keep singing.
So far, one out of three wasn't bad.
[Backstory] Lullabies
26 Proviso 1520
Her mother used to sing, she remembers that much. Something about music revives even the simplest of memories, from sitting on her father’s knee in the Skirmisher common room while people danced to her mother’s songs, to being held in her arms while she sang a lullaby. Robyn remembers her father trying the same when she was sick one time; it didn’t have the same finesse, the love and intention was there, and that was what mattered.
“What’s that tune you’re humming?”
Robyn looked up from where she was re-fletching a few recycled arrows, right into Elyn’s beaming face. She couldn’t help but smile back.
“Just a song my mother used to sing,” she answered, carefully whittling the arrow shaft to remove any lumps that would disrupt its flight.
"What's it about?"
"I can't remember all words, or if she made it up, but some of the lines are that, no matter how far he may roam, a hero would always come home." Robyn lifted the arrow to her eyeline, checking the level before setting it down to join the pile she had finished. "I guess it was to make me feel better when my father was away."
"Oh yeah, he was a Skirmisher too right?"
"A long time ago, yeah. He left when my mother died."
Elyn looked crestfallen. "It must be hard having another family to care for. I can't ever imagine leaving the Skirmishers."
"Me either.”
[Backstory] Shooting Range
44 Propho 1510
"Pull!"
The stone disc was launched high and far away from the parapet. A short moment later, an arrow whistled by, falling far short of the target.
"Shepherd's arse," the recruit swore. "How the hell are you supposed to hit it when it's moving!"
"Reckon your enemies will stand still at your leisure?" the sergeant snapped. "If you can't hit a moving target then being able to hit a static bullseye is pointless! Now, I want five laps of the tower, get moving!"
Once the recruits and their sergeant had gone, Robyn and Hamish snuck out of their hiding spot. Hamish was the teenage son of a Skirmisher officer, and lived in the family quarters in the Tower. He didn’t have ambitions like Robyn to be a Skirmisher, but he did like the machinery and making things work.
“This is really cool,” Hamish said, looking over the contraption used to sling the plates in the air. “Look! You can adjust the angle and speed… they could make it easier to move around though, it could do with a pivoting platform…”
Robyn grinned. “When you’re done being a nerd, mind actually firing it?”
Hamish looked torn. On one hand… fun contraption. On the other… “Is this really a good idea? If we get caught…”
“We’ll only get caught if we hang around here too long that they finish five laps and come back, so hurry up!” Robyn pulled her bow from her back, an old recycled shortbow that she had “rescued” from the store room. “C’mon! You heard the sergeant. Enemies won’t stay still!”
Hamish rolled his eyes but did as he was asked, adjusting the angle of the launcher. "Ready?"
"Always," Robyn said, drawing her bow.
Hamish loosed the launcher, and the disc spun into the air. Within fifty feet, it was shot out of the sky, Robyn grinning triumphantly.
"Higher, Hamish!"
Grinning, Hamish adjusted the launcher. "Ready?"
"Don't warn me every time! An enemy -"
"Won't stay still for you, okay, okay!"
Unbeknownst to the pair of them, despite their initial stealthiness, their antics were being observed from nearby. For a teenager with a repurposed bow, Robyn showed great skill, but outside the limits of her range, she had less luck.
"I think eighty's your limit, Rob."
"One more, one more hundred, just to try, we've still got time."
Hamish shrugged, adjusting the settings as Robyn lined up her shot, using the parapet to steady herself. The disc flew high and far, and Robyn loosed an arrow to follow. It clipped the disc, just knocking it off course, not shattering it, but it was a hit regardless.
"Yes, Robyn!" Hamish whooped triumphantly, rushing over to clap her back. Robyn just grinned, taking the praise. Not far away, the sergeant could be heard shouting and the sound of running feet approached.
"Shit! Let's get out of here," Robyn said with a laugh, grabbing Hamish's hand as they ran.
Later that evening, Robyn was doing her chores in the store rooms when Quinn called her in. It wasn't his normal shout, and Robyn was confident she hadn't done anything to ire him, but she was still cautious rounding the corner.
"Yessir?"
Quinn gestured to the package on his desk. "Present for you."
Robyn looked confused, stepping up to the table and looking at the parcel. It was a bow, that was clear, but it was longer than she was tall.
Quinn huffed impatiently. "Well, don't hang about. I ain't got all night."
She grinned, unwrapping the paper and looking at the finely made longbow underneath. The arrow rest had two complementing colours of wood, with the Skirmisher coat of arms inlaid just above where her hand would sit. Robyn lifted it up carefully, mouth agape, and Quinn snorted in amusement.
"You'll need to draw about twice your bodyweight to fire that thing. Told 'em you weren't big enough for that yet."
"But I could, right?" Robyn's eyes were bright, inspired and motivated. "Like Kath Razorthorn?"
"Aye, maybe. If you do as you're told and get strong enough. As it is, that thing will fire you rather than you firing it." He nodded his head back towards a store cupboard in his office. "Lock it up with your mam's lute for now. I'll get you a heavier shortbow you can keep practicing with in the meantime. And you'll be getting up to run drills at first light, you hear?"
Dawn training didn't sound like fun, but firing a longbow would need more strength, so Robyn just nodded vehemently. Quinn shook his head.
"Go on, get out of here, crazy girl. Try not to cause any trouble."
[Backstory] Thieves' Cant
22nd Pasto 1507
She didn’t headbutt Aidan because he had stolen her diary. She didn’t even rise to it when he started reading excerpts in a mocking, high pitched voice - even though she felt her eyes burn with embarrassment and anger as he did so.
No, Robyn Sharpcrest wouldn’t let such things bring her down to his level. But when Hamish (stupid Hamish!) had tried to intervene and get her book back, Aidan had shoved him to the ground, and she saw red.
Though Aidan was only a year or so older, he had quite a bit of height and size advantage over Robyn, even with her recent growth spurt that made her limbs gangly and stringy. Still, she had the element of surprise, and a strong head to boot, using both to her benefit when she launched at him, cracking her head against his.
He reeled back, shielding his nose as blood started to bloom, tears welling in his eyes. Robyn’s nose was bleeding too, but she bore the pain with more strength than the older boy, anger fueling her adrenalin as she continued her assault, small fists pounding against his chest.
“Hey. Hey! What in the name of - Robyn, stop!”
Someone grabbed her by the shoulders and she wriggled as best she could, but whoever had hold of her was certainly much stronger. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could barely process the conversation happening around her - Aidan complaining loudly, Hamish protesting in her defence, and a rumbling tone of the adult that still had a hold of her by her upper arms.
“Enough.” Hamish and Aidan immediately fell silent, and Robyn also stopped resisting, going limp in his grip. Mr Kinsley’s tone was firm and commanding, more than she had ever heard from the gentle man before. “Aidan, return the young lady’s book. Robyn, I am going to set you down now. I suggest you both apologise and forget this happened. No, Hamish,” he added when Hamish went to open his mouth.
Robyn felt her feet touch the ground and broad hands let go of her arms but Mr Kinsley kept them resting gently on her shoulders - a reassurance and a warning to not scuffle anymore. Aidan, still sniffling and nose bright red, picked up the diary from the ground and held it out sullenly.
“...s’rry.”
Robyn wiped her bleeding nose on her sleeve and scowled, snatching back her book. “Don’t do it again,” she snapped.
Mr Kinsley sighed exasperatedly. “And?”
She huffed. Hamish was right. It wasn’t fair. Aidan started all of it. But if there was one thing she had learned already is that plenty of things weren’t fair, and sometimes you had to choose your battles. “I’m sorry.”
Judging from Mr Kinsley’s second sigh, it wasn’t very convincing, but it would have to be enough. “Right. Aidan, get yourself home. You too, Hamish. I’ll take Robyn back to the Tower.”
“But-,”
“Now, Hamish.”
Hamish looked rebellious for a moment, and stepped forward to give Robyn a hug. She returned it gingerly, the adrenaline fading and leaving her feeling sore, her arms starting to ache. “Later,” he said as farewell before heading further down the street as he was told.
The road to Sentinel Tower never felt longer as Robyn kept pace with Mr Kinsley in relative silence. At some point she realised it would be very obvious she got into trouble from the look of her, so she started wiping her face as best she could and looking at her blood and dirt covered sleeves to see what she could hide.
Mr Kinsley chuckled good naturedly. “There’s no hiding this today. I imagine that shirt will be stuck that colour for a few washes too. Don’t worry, I heard what Hamish had to say and I will explain the situation to Quinn.”
Robyn bristled. “Why did you make me apologise then?”
“Bastion is far too small to hold the resentments it already does. The ones that are not worth holding on to should be soothed wherever possible.” He smiled softly, patting Robyn’s shoulder gently. “I hope you will remember this rather than have to learn the hard way as I did.”
Robyn rubbed her nose. “His head was already pretty hard.”
“Hmm. You had the right idea, aiming for his nose, but you want to use this part of your head,” he answered, tapping the top of her forehead, “rather than your nose as well. It’s the toughest part of your head to the softest part of your enemy.”
The guards at the gate saluted Mr Kinsley as they crossed into the Tower grounds. Robyn felt her heart rate spike again and her hands go clammy, knowing there was likely to be (another) severe scolding when Quinn saw the state she was in. Quinn’s sharp tongue was legendary amongst recruits, and Robyn wasn’t spared it just because she was his ward.
Quinn was loading up a cart when they arrived. “Shepherd’s arse,” he swore, setting down a box roughly and taking two quick strides to Robyn, taking her by the chin and turning her face left and right to check the damage. “What in the blazes happened?”
Robyn shuffled her feet, embarrassed, and Mr Kinsley gently patted her shoulders. “How about you go and get yourself cleaned up, Roby, and I’ll speak to Quinn for you, how does that sound?”
She didn’t need telling twice as she dashed for the stores and headed straight through the stores to her little room in the back. Washing her face was a bit of an effort, and she found her eyes watering as she rubbed her swollen nose too abruptly.
Some time later, there was a knock on the door, three quick raps that indicated Quinn was coming in, so be presentable. She jumped to attention, washcloth still in her hand, as Quinn stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.
“At ease,” he said gruffly, and Robyn tried to relax. It didn’t really work. “Kinsley told me what he heard. Now I want to hear your side.”
Robyn felt her eyes burn and she took a shaky breath. “Aidan stole my diary,” she blurted out. “He wouldn’t give it back, and he was reading it out loud, and it was really embarrassing, but I didn’t hit him for that, Hamish tried to get it back and he pushed him over so I headbutted him and hit him back.”
Quinn seemed to take a moment to process the rush of words and try and parse the sense from it. “Alright. Alright.” He rubbed the back of his head, his wispy hair sticking up in several directions. “I can’t say I’m happy about this, but I’m satisfied you didn’t start it, so that’ll do. Now, where’s this diary?”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why,” Quinn snapped, though he seemed to regret it after seeing Robyn flinch as she handed the book over. He flicked through it briefly, not really reading the details, but taking note of the languages used. “I don’t mind what you’re writing, girl, but if you’re wanting to keep secrets, you can do better than Common. Or even Dwarvish,” he added, pointing to a page where she had switched. He paused as he turned another page. “Your Elvish script could be neater.”
Robyn scowled, but didn’t argue. “Yessir.”
Quinned turned to a blank page and gestured to Robyn to sit down at the small writing desk that was crammed into the corner for her studies. He laid the book out and started writing, and Robyn watched every scratchy penstroke.
“That’s gibberish,” she claimed.
“Is it? Or is it that you just can’t read it?”
Robyn squinted at the script on the page. “That letter is dwarvish, and that is elvish. Why do you have them together?”
“That’s how you hide what you mean. It won’t keep it completely secret from everyone - there are others that know this cipher - but at least little shits like Aidan won’t be able to know what it is.”
Robyn did a double take at Quinn’s description of the other boy, mouth open in shock, but before she could say anything, Quinn smacked her lightly upside the head. “But just because he’s a shit doesn’t excuse you brawling in the street like an animal, you hear! Now, you learn this key and I will test you on it every day, and once you’ve learned it, we burn this book, and you keep the key in your head. Got it?”
Rubbing the back of her head reflexively (it never really hurt when Quinn rapped her, it was always just enough as a warning), Robyn couldn’t help but grin at the prospect of being able to hide secrets in plain sight. “Yessir!”
[Backstory] Foundling
7 Pasto 1504
When the riots began, Robyn found her world shrunk to the terraced house that was their home. She didn't understand, and it was frustrating, especially when she was so used to having free rein to visit friends as she liked, providing she was home on time.
Nevertheless, she stuck to her curfew, her father's worried face and insistence that she promise to stay in the house burned in her mind.
Still… he didn’t say where in the house.
Over the last year, the trapdoor ladder to the attic was easier to access, having got a growth spurt earlier in the spring and also finding the right way to spring up the wall to reach the catch. If her father knew she was sneaking up here, he never let on.
The attic didn't have much, a few trunks and boxes, but the main attraction was the sash window that overlooked the street and gave access to the rooftop. From there, her father would teach her how to read maps, understand the direction of the wind, any small changes to the sky - but since the riots started, Robyn used this as a vantage point to see when her dad was coming home.
It became a routine. She'd see him at the top of the street, and she'd race down the ladder, throw up the shutter (which took a few attempts) and hurtle down the stairs just as he was opening the doors, and he'd catch her in his arms every time.
"You're going to be too big for this soon, Little Bird," he complained one time, her skinny arms holding tight.
"'m not little," she protested into the crook of his neck.
"Alright, Wings. Whatever you say."
The riots went on for weeks, and while Robyn feared the noise coming from further into the 'Rest, she never thought for a moment he wouldn't come home. Heroes always came home.
One day, the noise from the riots reached a crescendo and then went abruptly quiet in comparison. That day, Robyn waited longer than she ever had. Even as the sun set, and what Robyn could see of the street became almost impossible, she still waited.
Eventually, she heard the door open. Thinking she had missed him somehow, she hurtled down the stairs as normal, but the person in the door was not who she expected.
Robyn skidded to a halt in the hallway, looking at the well-armoured dwarf in the living room suspiciously. “Who’re you?” she asked boldly, even as her heart rate picked up in her chest.
The dwarf tried to make himself look less intimidating - tricky, when you’re in full armour and naturally as gruff as Shatterstar was. “I’m Osian. A friend of your father’s.”
Robyn hesitated. He looked like a Skirmisher, and her father used to be one, and she knew other friends in the Skirmishers too. But there was still an important question. “Where’s my dad?”
The dwarf hesitated too. “Look, lass, it’s… He’s not able to be here right now.”
He wasn’t answering the question, and Robyn felt the panic rising. “Where is he?!”
“Shh, don’t shout.” It was apparent he was not used to children in any capacity. “I can’t explain right now but you need to come with me so you can be safe.”
Robyn took a step back. "Go with you where?"
"To Sentinel's Tower. You know your Da used to work there when you were very little."
"But what about my dad?" She was trying to be brave - trying very desperately not to cry - but her voice wobbled and cracked. "Where is he?"
"He's…" The dwarf hesitated and that didn’t help in the slightest. "He's gone away. He didn't want to, but he's had to go and can't come back."
"You're lying! My dad always comes back."
"Wait, Robyn!"
She ran up the stairs in a flash, slamming the door behind her and sitting against it to hold it shut, her knees drawn up to her chest as she muffled her tears in her sleeves. It was some time before there was a gentle knock at the door.
“Robyn? Open the door lass, there’s a good girl.”
“Get out,” Robyn snapped, kicking the wall angrily. “I want my dad.”
“I know lass. I know. I promise, if he could come home, he would.”
Promise. Robyn hated that word now. At the same time, she wondered what her dad would say if he saw her like this. Reluctantly, she opened the door.
“I don’t want to go.” She still sounded sulky, so she puffed up her chest, trying to be brave. “I’m going to stay until he gets home.”
“Lass.” Shatterstar let out an exasperated sigh. “He can’t come home. It’s complicated. I can’t really explain it.”
“Is he dead?” Her voice wavered, and her eyes were threatening tears but she jutted her chin out defiantly. She wasn’t going to let a stranger see her cry. “You can say it. I know what it is. I’m not stupid.”
“Aye, you’re not at that. I think it’d be easier if that were true but it’s not. He’s been taken away and can’t come back to the city.”
“So… he’s on patrol again?” Robyn looked confused. “He said he wouldn’t go outside again ‘til I was older.”
Outside, there was suddenly some angry shouting down the street, and the sound of someone screaming. It was like the riots, but only much closer. The two of them looked to the window briefly, Robyn more transfixed than Shatterstar. “Come on, lass,” he said, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge. “Grab your coat and shoes. Let’s get you out of here before it gets more dangerous.”
Robyn, still confused but now more scared than ever, finally did as she was told. Between them they packed what clothes they could fit in a bag, found her coat, her shoes, and Robyn insisted on bringing a box and her mother’s lute also.
“These are special,” she asserted as much as an eight year old could. “They can’t be left here.”
“Alright,” Shatterstar caved, just grateful she seemed to be complying. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The walk to Sentinel’s Tower was even stranger without her dad alongside her. Shatterstar kept a pace that she still had to jog a little to catch up, even though she wasn’t much shorter than him. At the Tower, there was an odd sense of solemn quiet, especially compared to Shepherd’s Rest. The Skirmishers at the gate saluted as they passed, with Shatterstar making a beeline for the Storehouse.
“You found her then.”
Robyn jumped as an older human emerged from behind some dimly lit shelves. Shatterstar seemed unfazed.
“She’s an eight year old human in her own home, you make it sound like she’d have been anywhere else.”
The old man peered at her in the dim light of the torches outside the Storehouse. “She’s getting to be the spit of her father, that’s for sure. Save for the hair of course, that’s Alanna’s alright.”
Robyn bristled at the scrutiny and that she was being talked about not to. “I’m right here,” she snapped.
The old man chuckled. “That you are, girl. Right.” He seemed to be more confident at handling children than Shatterstar by far, if only because (as Robyn would later learn) he treated everyone the same. “I ain’t gonna tiptoe around it. Your dad is an old friend of both of us and this is the least we can do since he’s got himself in some trouble. You’ll be staying with me from now, you hear?”
His firm confidence was enough to settle any possible protest. Robyn nodded meekly, which seemed enough to satisfy the old man. “Good,” he continued. “I’m Quartermaster Quinn, but you can just call me Quinn. Now this ain’t a holiday, and there’s plenty to do here that I need your help with. We’ll sort all that out in the morning.” He pointed down the row of shelves to a door in the far corner. “Straight through there and on your right, you’ll find a bed and a sleeping roll there for now. Go on, off you go. It’s getting late.”
She still had questions, but it was clear from his face that Quinn wouldn’t answer anything more, so she did as she was told. Shatterstar and Quinn continued talking after she reached the door - she tried to listen, but she couldn’t hear them well enough to know what they were saying. Dragging her bag of clothes behind her, Robyn headed to the little room Quinn told her about, and climbed into the sleeping roll. It was warm at least, even if it was less comfortable than her normal bed, but she still struggled to sleep.
It was about half an hour before Quinn stuck his head into the room. Robyn closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, since that’s what she was told to do, but it didn’t work. “Girl, you’re gonna have to get better at pretending if you’re gonna fool me.”
Robyn sat up, tucking her knees into her chest and leaning on them with her arms, watching Quinn light one of the lanterns to brighten the room some more. “Osian said that my dad can’t come back. What did he mean?”
“Osian is it?” Quinn chuckled, gesturing Robyn to shift up the bed so he could sit on the end of it.
“Is that… not his name?”
“No no, it is, he just doesn’t use it very often. I doubt he’s heard anything other than “Shatterstar” or “Commander” for a good few years.” Quinn hefted a sigh. “He’s right though. Your dad won’t be able to come back.”
It took some time, a lot of questions and repeats, and then (on Robyn’s part) quite a few tears, but Quinn explained the concept of “exile” as best he could to a young girl. Thankfully, Daemon hadn’t shirked when it came to the girl’s education, and she seemed bright enough, but even the smartest of kids wouldn’t know exile when it wasn’t something that came up very often.
“Now, off to bed with you, properly this time,” Quinn said after he’d finished and Robyn had run out of questions. “We’ve got lots to do tomorrow to help the squads deploy tomorrow.”
Robyn’s eyes lit up. “Does this mean I get to be a Skirmisher?”
Quinn laughed. “It don’t work like that, girl! But who knows? Work hard, and when you’re older you just might be.”
The prospect of adventure was at least some sort of positive and Robyn clung on to that thought as she settled down, Quinn dousing the torch and shutting the door behind him.
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