Memories and Other Drugs

Blue and silver tapestries hung from the vaulted ceilings, and the warm glow of candles flickered throughout the room. Metal armor clanged and high heels clicked as the crowd of nobles, military and their dates danced about the stonework floors. The gala was in full swing.

"Price! Get your nose out of that scroll, grab a gentleman and dance. We don't come to the capital often, you might as well enjoy it, right?" a deep, bellowing voice cut through the music. It belonged to a tall, well-built man in ceremonial armor.

"Captain, honestly," the young, dark-haired woman sighed, "I need to read these briefings. I've never been that far into the Highlands, I want to be sure of the terrain before we leave tomorrow, and--"

The man snatched the scroll out of her hand, rolled it up and tucked it under his breastplate, "Go. Have fun. That is an order, Price," he smirked, then strolled off with one lady on each arm.

"Fun. Fun? This is stupid," the young Faronne Price grumbled as she rubbed at her temple. Social events, galas and the like, were never really her cup of tea. The clothes were stuffy, the company terrible, and she couldn't dance. Sighing, she tossed the long braid over her shoulder and rose. Out of habit, she smoothed the wrinkles out from the front of her dress, adjusted her collar and rested her hand on her rapier. Her lined eyes scanned the crowd.

Noblemen making lewd gestures at groups of women. Couples dancing, lamenting over their short time together. A group of knights staring at her. The band playing Wait-- a group of knights staring at her.

Faronne scowled at them and crossed her arms, to which they waved her over. Resigning herself to be made fun of, she crossed the room over to them, boots clicking on the floor all the way.

"Capital city knights, I see. What do you want?"

"You. You're in that traveling fringe unit, yeah? The one fighting trolls?" one of the soldiers asked over his mug of ale.

"Yeah--" she cleared her throat, "Yes, I am. Faronne Price," she introduced herself, and rested her hands at her side. One of them was caught in a metal gauntlet, and a gentle kiss placed upon it. She tensed at the touch, and did her best to smile through it, "And you are?"

"Urien Fuoco," the one who caught her hand immediately piped up, and offered a smile. His pale skin contrasted his dark hair, which hung in loose braids over his shoulder. She could almost see herself in his armor, it was so well-kept, "Dance with me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't dance."

"You don't know how."

"Y-Yes!"

His only reply was a mockingly stern look, and his lips curled into a grin.

"You're bitchy and defensive, the rumors are true," Urien remarked quietly.

Stunned by this, Faronne was silent for a few moments before sending a blast of arcane force at him, effectively knocking him out of his chair. The clatter of plate mail on the stone floor was loud, and the collective gasp of Urien's peers was louder. The music stopped. Partygoers looked over.

Faronne's features turned bright red and she immediately reached out a hand to help him up, "Er. Uh. Everything is fine! Just a little too much wine-- I mean-- ale. Too much ale!"

"We're dancing," Urien said softly once he got to his feet, and led the reluctant Faronne to the floor. He placed her left hand on his shoulder, his right hand on her hip, and their other hands linked in the air, "Just follow my lead. Waltzes are pretty hard to screw up."

Having run out of protests, Faronne only sighed and danced in the small circle he led her into. Out of the corner of her eye, Faronne could see Urien's cohorts passing gold coins amongst each other.

"What's THAT all about?"

"Oh, the guys… it was a bet. A stupid one, at that. I was going to ask you to dance, anyway."

"Why me?"

"Because you're pretty, and you were sitting there by yourself."

"Oh, well… thank you, I guess. Sorry for knocking you out of your chair."

Urien smiled at this, and dipped Faronne back, "I deserved it."

They danced together for the remainder of the song, at which point they retreated to the edge of the dance floor. Faronne's captain patted her shoulder, "Ah, Price! I see you met Fuoco, here. Good thing, too, he's coming with us to the Highlands. Little extra muscle for the things that you CAN'T burn to a crisp," the Captain laughed.

"Oh.. really, now. And why didn't you inform me of this earlier, Captain?"

"Slipped my mind. I'm enjoying the evening, unlike you, Price."

Faronne scowled and Urien just smiled, "In any case, it was a good dance, Mistress Price, and I look forward to traveling with you," he said, and gave her a low, sweeping bow as he kissed her hand. She responded with a curtsey.

"Err… yes. Thank you for the warning- I mean, the dance lesson. It was lovely," she paused just a little as she noticed Urien was still holding her hand, "We leave an hour before dawn. Meet us in the courtyard."

"Yes, ma'am."

They both saluted at each other and Faronne quickly turned on her heel to leave, while Urien stayed facing her. He caught her gaze when she looked over her shoulder back at him, and both their faces broke into smiles.

"You like him," the other spellcaster at Faronne's table remarked,

"What? No!" she said a little too quickly, and then just sighed, "Maybe, just a little. We will see how this mission goes."

---

Faronne snapped out of her reverie, and back down at her work. Six purple crystals were all in a row, perfectly aligned despite their somewhat irregular shapes. Her skeletal fingers traced over the larger of the six crystals, and she closed her eyes and began focusing.

The crystal's energy was exhilarating, giving her temporary reprieve from the pain in her chest and leg. Her recovery was slow going, and at the expense of the lives of others, but this accomplished magus, and studying warlock, cared little.

High from the energy of the stored soul fragment, she closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to drift.

---

"What about you, what got you into the military?" Urien asked Faronne, and nudged gently at her side.

"It's what I always wanted to do. My father was a war mage, my grandfather was, and his father… all the way back to the troll wars, when the high elves taught humans how to use magic," Faronne replied with a light smile as she combed her long black hair.

"That's got to be nice, coming from such a lineage and carrying it on. My folks are mages-- Kirin Tor-- but I'm no good with spells," he sheepishly replied, and then poked at the campfire with a long stick.

"Everyone's always good at something. From what I saw today, you're damn good with a sword. That's not a talent that everyone possesses."

"You're pretty good with one, yourself. I've never seen a war mage up close, it's a bit odd seeing someone cast a spell and cut down an enemy at such close range. That being said, I'm surprised we worked so well together out there, it was like…"

"…we'd been working together for years, right? I know. It's not often I find a paladin I don't have to keep talking to to keep our attacks coordinated."

"…and it's not often I find someone who finishes my sentences."

The two fell silent as they looked each other over in the flickering light of the campfire. She had scooted closer to him, and his arm had snaked around her waist.

"What now?" Urien asked.

"Shut up," Faronne muttered, and pressed her lips to his.




Her daydream was interrupted by the sharp pain in her leg, and another ache in her chest when she sucked in a deep breath. Coming down was always the hardest part.

"D-damn it…" she hissed, and struggled to her feet. While doing this, she managed to knock her cane over and lose grip on the edge of the table. Her emaciated frame hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, and she howled in pain.

A soul shard had landed in front of her face, and Faronne weakly reached out to take it in her hand, "Need to find you, Vosmus… damn things… aren't potent enough," she growled, and threw the crystal across the room.