Elegy for a Star

“Greetings, fair travelers, my name is Abigail, servant of Her Lady the Champion,” Abby started, clearing her throat, looking among the party of wanderers that she’d found meandering through the plains.

She continued, “I was once a terrible person, a cruel and merciless villain. I have committed atrocities and, for that, I seek redemption. I have been allowed by Lady Amaranthe to seek the forgiveness of those I harmed by performing acts of good for others. Acts that are self-sacrificing. Acts that are out of kindness and love.

“Having stumbled upon you…” Abigail leaned forward, squinting at the scroll she was reading from, “...you noble and respectable citizens, I wish to offer you my service.” Abby dared not look up from what she was reciting, but she could feel their bored, dull looks upon her, “From slaying dragons to carrying your gear, I am here for you, eagerly wishing to serve as a small fraction of my penance for past barbarity. Please, let me know now, or later, if you or someone you know is in need of my help. I will tend to it posthaste.

“Once again, my name is Abigail, a servant of Her Lady the Champion. Thank you kindly for your time, good people.”

Abby looked up from the scroll, rolling it up in her hands. Gods, did she hate this part. The script was mandatory, however. If she were caught not reading it—and the Champion’s faithful were scattered everywhere—then she would be doomed to repeat this sentence for another twenty years. She’d only just begun her current sentence. Six months in. She’d done everything from being a pack mule for adventuring groups to opening jars to posing for paintings.

This time she spoke to a grizzled soldier, a Courtish rogue and a robed Wyrden.

The Wyrden was the one to speak up first, “So, you’ll do anything?” Abigail hated this question. She could only imagine what disgusting things the man had in mind.

Abby shot him a sharp, blue eyed look, growling, “Within reason.”

“Wanna wash my feet?” The soldier chuckled.

While Abby would rather vomit—and she might anyway—it technically wasn’t against the rules she’d been instructed to follow. She sighed, “Is that what you wish me to do?”

“Fuck yeah,” the man laughed.

The Courtish fellow rolled his eyes. The Fey usually didn’t ask for such awful things. She preferred them.

The Wyrden provided a conjured tub and warm water, more amused by Abigail performing the deed than anything else. With the big man’s feet soaking, Abigail crouched down and pushed her hands into the water, beginning her task. There was a constant grimace on her face as she did what she was instructed to do.

“I’m gonna have to thank the Champion for this later,” the soldier laughed, “What else will you do? Would you strip?”

“No.”

“Suck on a toe?”

“No.”

This process continued for some time until the Soldier’s feet were relatively clean. She turned to the Wyrden, “Could I get some clean water to wash my hands?”

“All out, I’m afraid,” the man replied with a chuckle, Abigail well aware that he could conjure as much as he liked. She’d been practicing for some time, but she wasn’t skilled enough in star sorcery to do it herself. She elected to wipe her hands off on her clothes with a scowl.

“So what kind of ‘atrocities’ did you commit?” The soldier asked as he laced up his boots once more.

Abby began to collect her gear, stuffing the scroll into her pack, “It isn’t important.”

“Must be, to have you out here doing this kind of shit,” he replied, “So what was it? I order you to tell me. You have to, right?”

Abigail frowned, “I killed a lot of people. Out by Salvation.” That was usually enough to tip them off.

The Courtish man spoke up, “You’re… Blackheart?”

Abigail nodded her head, “Yes.”

“My brother was out that way,” the Soldier spoke up.

This wasn’t good. Even with her back turned, she could hear the ring of steel. “Please don’t,” Abigail said softly, standing up straight and turning around, “Please, I don’t want to do this, I’m trying to make things right.”

“Like hells if you’ll ever make good, what you did!” The soldier snapped. The Courtish man nocked an arrow and the Wyrden readied his hands for a spell.

“Just let me on my way.”

“You could be of service by falling on a sword,” the Wyrden spat.

Abby shook her head, “That’s not how this works. That’s the easy w-...”

“Fuck you!” The soldier roared before charging.

It was only forty-five seconds later that Abigail dropped to her knees, holding her bleeding side. Of course, her opponents were all bleeding on the ground. The Wyrden was cut in half. The soldier had Abigail’s blade pierced through his back, through an arm and finally through his thigh, skewering him into some morbid effigy. The Courtish fellow was choking on the arrow that Abby sent back toward him and into his lung. It had broken off and now left a hole in his chest. The sucking chest wound sent frothy blood spitting from his chest with each exhale.

“Ugh, fuck,” Abby groaned, spitting blood into the grass. She raised a hand and pointed at the Courtish man, who was wide-eyed and looking at her, “One second, let me-... I’ll be right there… you’ll be okay.”

She brought a hand to her side. Blood was pouring from the wound. “That’s a lot,” Abigail groaned. The soldier couldn’t touch her, but damn if she hated fighting Wyrden without giving them a taste of their own medicine. He was an amateur, at least.

She was starting to feel lightheaded. “Okay, let’s see,” she whispered, using her fingers to make a couple of signs. “All-father… um.. Branch, and Keepers,” she murmured as she gestured the signs. Her fingers seemed to trip over themselves. Nothing happened.

“Fuck,” she groaned. The Courtish fellow tried speaking, but only managed to spit up blood and shoot air through the hole in his chest. “Yeah, one second,” she said, holding up a finger to him, “Just.. let me take care of this… Can’t help you if I’m dead.”

The All-Father. The Branch. The Keepers.

Nothing, again. Her vision was growing hazy. “Oh, shit, that’s not good,” Abby groaned. She tried again, to no effect. She could hear the choking man gasping and gurgling. “I’ll-.. Wait.. just, I’ll be right-... Th-... I’ll…”

Abigail collapsed into the grass, blacking out.

When she awoke, it was nighttime, however many hours later. She groaned and got to her knees, crawling toward the Courtish man. She placed a hand atop his chest to close the pathway of air and before clearing his throat, she looked at him and saw his pale face, long dead.

“Shit,” Abby sighed, “Sorry, mate.”

The All-Father. The Branch. The Keepers. Her palm glowed and her side began to stitch itself. “Oh, fuck you,” Abby grunted, rising to her feet. She looked over the bodies, then her belongings, and then the bodies again.

With a heavier pouch of gold and a fresh new cloak, Abby strode off toward Esterville.