“I’d die for her,” said Cooper without hesitation. “If she’d only ask.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” the humourless voice of the pirate captain washed over her. The Captain was clearly some kind of faun, though different to any Cooper had met in her short life. Beefy bovine legs, which she admittedly stared at far too long for either to be comfortable, a strangely cat-like face much like the elves of old; though with the long ears of a deer protruding from the sides of her head, every inch covered in coarse brown fur. What really grabbed Cooper’s attention was the two large, curling rams horns that sat under a poorly balanced tricorn. They were both thicker than Cooper’s arm and with Cooper being the way she was, it was impressive. None of this seemed to match with the softness of her voice.

Cooper rolled her eyes, or rather eye. It was an odd thing to get used to on such short notice.

“Does it matter?”

The Captain sighed, body slouching forward until her head cowered in her hands. “It matters. Of course, it matters.”

“Because I look like her. The Lioness.”

The words came in a flash of venom. Though she knew that she should be thankful that some stranger’s sex life saved her actual current life, she was not. It was simply the fact that she wore the Lioness’s face, and not her own importance and so she was allowed to sulk a bit. Allegedly. It wasn’t as if there was a handbook on such a thing.

The Captain sighed. “Yes. Yes because you look like…her.”

Well, at least she’s alive. Small mercies! She absolutely hated this.

Cooper swung her legs — well, leg, another thing to deal with — like a child on a doctor’s table. Which was what she was, unfortunately. Of course, not a child, she was basically a parent. Not even basically, she raised those little bastards from birth. This fact was not important, not anymore. Perhaps just a little bit.

“So,” said Cooper, slapping her hands against her thighs. Her wooden leg jerked interestingly. As replacements go, it was rather shit. “can I go?”

“Go where, exactly?” The Captain was exasperated, no warmth left. Possibly thanks to Cooper’s badgering or constant throwing up that she had almost wiped from her own mind. No, it definitely was because she was simply not Teddy ‘the Lioness’ St.James; the bastard who slept with pirates. What a bastard, a tool. Possibly a genius, since it kept Cooper alive. To an extent. If they ever met she wasn’t sure if she’d thank her or punch her.

This isn’t real, a nagging voice from the back of her head screamed. She swallowed. “Home? Kingshill. You know, Syi Dorei?”

“I know where Kingshill is,” sighed the Captain. Cooper noted that the Captain pronounced it as King Shill rather than King’s Hill, but no matter. Both were correct, though one was far less correct than the other.

“Look, if you let me off I can find my own way back. I can walk. Hitch a ride somewhere.” Cooper shrugged although her body warned against it with hot pain flashing through her shoulder blades, “I’m good with horses, probably.”

She wasn’t sure why she was still talking. The Captain stared at her blankly.

“Where do you think you are?”

“Naveer? I was in the Ironwoods, so we can’t be too far off there.”

The Captain ran a hand down her face. Her shoulders slumped. “No. Not even close. You’ve been in and outta conscienceless so much that I had assumed you picked something up rather than… wanting your wife to kill you—?”

“I said I’d let, not that I want.”

“—doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re not in Naveer any more. Not even in Mabristan. Welcome to Shales, home of the very purple mountains.”

Shales. Fucking hell. She’d take having the dreams about Mycah again over this. The dead, gold eyes and the exposed bone were better than this. She closed her eyes and willed the scene to change, fingers grabbed and dug into the wood. The world shifted around her, gently swaying her body from side to side like branches in the breeze. She could feel herself slipping away, away into the unknown.

The Captain snapped her fingers.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, though not annoyed. Cooper felt like she was a misbehaving machine, one that was fascinating to watch fumbling its cogs and sparking at the wires. She fumed silently. The Captain only sighed. “Alright, let’s do this again from the top. What’s your name?”

“Cooper.”

“Just Cooper?”

“No.”

The Captain clicked her tongue. “Okay. Do you remember why you’re here?”

“Absolutely,” said Cooper, knowing full well that she didn’t, in fact, know anything. “I’m here against my will.”

The Captain shuffled her weight, leaning to one side so that she rather annoyingly perched in the darkness of Cooper’s vision. She made no effort to turn her head, keeping a sliver of horn in her peripheral. A week excuse of a protest.

“Fine. You dug me out of a hole, and now I’m in Shales when I should be in Naveer,” she continued, her jaw clenching with effort. “I should be with my squad, but now I’m here, really here. You should have left me.”

It was not through a wish to die, though raised as cannon fodder. She enjoyed her life, she was engaged for crying out loud. Her hands shakily but surely reached her throat where the leather still clung to her skin, the metal ring of promise laying sweatily on her flat chest. Her ribs stuttered.

This little game of Facts And Falsehoods continued. Facts; she had lost a leg(now replaced with wood), and she had also lost an eye(new and ‘improved’ in an arsenic blue that was not her own). Falsehoods; her bones were not bone(they still definitely were), and her eyes were plain sheets of gold(her real one was back to brown).

Fact; she had died.

She wasn’t sure how to deal with the last one, but Clô(the Captain’s name, as it turned out, not that Cooper had asked) had run her through it enough. How they found her in a shallow grave, how they had to operate and amputate. How they sold her goddamn armour.

The last one annoyed her the most.

“You’re welcome to stay here until we head back,” said Clô, breaking the silence that Cooper was content to stew in like a fine broth. She shot to her feet — foot she remembered far too late and near toppled into Clô’s furry lap. The pirate caught her by the shoulders, eyebrows pulled into a slight frown. “You’re definitely staying here till we go back.”

“No, I’m not,” snapped Cooper, “I’m in this mess because of you, so I think I’m fine actually.”

“Can you walk?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

Cooper huffed, balancing herself by using the pressure in her knee to gauge where she stood. “I’ll figure it out. I’m pretty good at that. I don’t need you, I’ll find my own way back.”

“Take a stick, you’ll balance better.”

Cooper damn near huffed like the petulant child she was. “I don’t want your stick.”

Cooper hobbled downstairs leaning heavily on the wooden walking stick. She thought it should have been far harder to leave the pirate’s grasp, that she’d need to slip away when backs were turned and flee. Captain Clô gave her the walking stick and told her to leave, and frankly Cooper was mildly insulted. Not insulted enough as to return, however.

The putrid smell from her white wiggling inhabitants clung to her, secreting from her sweat and oozing into her once-white tank top. She looked far more like the gaudy cream-red-brown Mabrisian flag than the gleaming silver knight the Temple had drudged up. Her ribcage rattled when she coughed, excess phlegm and mud lay prisoner, beating against bone bars. The epitome of health.

Patrons of the tavern(because of course, she was at a tavern) paid her no mind as she hobbled along on shaking legs of flesh and wood; gripping her walking stick like a lifeline. Her heart thudded, a welcome feeling though it strained as she dragged her withering vessel against its will.

Cooper had thought often about her death, but it had never been quite like this. How the Temple would lay her empty grave besides Mycah’s, for them to torment each other for empty eternities. How her body would be consumed by the earth in a grand display of care that would churn her carcass into earth anew. The undead didn’t exist, of that, she knew. Thought she knew. It was hard for her to know what to believe. Not completely convinced that she was alive, even now.

Dragging herself onto a barstool, he huffed and made a sound that was meant as a greeting but instead exited her mouth as an elegant cross between a grunt and a groan. The bartender, some stout dwarven man, glanced her way before busying himself once more polishing glasses.

Cooper cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, sir?” she called, voice lost in the din. She huffed and waved at him, muscles regretting the sudden movement. “Hello, sir? Can you hear—”

“Yes, I heard you,” snapped the bartender, refusing to look at her; instead focusing on the glass and rag in his hands. “Are you buying?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then clear off.”

And that was why Mycah should never have been in charge. Cooper missed having money. And friends.

“I need—” she started again, cutting off as the stern-looking man turned to an actual, paying, customer. She slammed her gauntlet-less hand down on the table with far more force than was necessary. Glass clinked and shuddered, but the patrons chatted on as if this was a regular occurrence. It may well have been, with the little to no attention she gained for the action. “Hey, listen.”

She did not mean to use her ‘big mean captain’ voice, truly. She hadn’t had to use it in months, though it was second nature. It gained the bartender’s attention, at least. He slid a tankard towards a waiting young woman with hardly a second glance.

“Fine.” he huffed. “Let’s talk. What do you want?”

“Information, if possible.”

“That’ll cost you. What kind?”

Cooper swallowed down the lump that formed in her throat. “Where am I?”

She jumped as the bartender barked a laugh. “That’s what you needed? Plenty of Mabrisians flow through here but they’ve never asked that. You on a bender kid?”

She wished. “Pirates.”

“Ah. There’s your mistake, trusting pirates.” He looked around the bar before turning back to her, lowering his voice. “You’re, ah… a free woman?”

Technically, no. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

He nodded. “Well then, let me welcome you to Night’s Harbour.”

A pint of warm ale was placed before her within seconds. She made a show of drinking it, face screwing up as she forced herself to swallow. Gods, she hoped that was ale. Just what was needed to wash down the news that she had returned to her home town.

A growl broke the air. A thick, wet sound of a beast. Cooper crumpled, hand pressed against the stabbing pain in her stomach. Hunger. She could barely remember the last time she ate. Aiden had given her a cup of water that morning before the squad proceeded onwards, hardly a meal. Most people wouldn’t call it a meal at all, in fact. Those people were wrong and Cooper was content to continue believing that.

Alas, she had no money, though she was not above grovelling, but not towards the Bartender, fearing that he may finally lose patience. Pushing herself off the bar, she trudged her way through the patrons for a worthy victim. The patrons noticed her now, in the gore-filled remains of her under armour. Beady eyes followed her, curious as she shuffled along, cane clicking by her side. Chattering mouths half-hidden behind tankards and glasses. The shiny(not) new(debatable) thing(absolutely) waved a hand in a dismissing gesture. Not that it worked, the crowd continued whether they spoke about her or not. Whatever keeps them happy, she supposed.

The back of the room was an odd off-white colour like old milk. Smelled the same too. It curdled Cooper’s stomach further, wrinkling her nose. An old man in the corner gave her a near toothless grin, before digging his final canine into a bottle and popping a cap. Whether or not she had known any of these people was hazy and highly unlikely. The harbour was far enough away from the main village to stay away from such types. She rattled off another cough. She wouldn’t miss the taste of dirt.

Coloured hair was not lost on her. A bright array so dissimilar to Mabristan, with teens and adults in all vastly different hues. Not everyone had this, of course, but the sight was new enough to draw attention. Fingers ran through her own, or rather lack thereof, overcome with a pang of longing. Oh, to be a teen with wild hair that stunk of milk.

And of course, one of them had to look at her. One of the blue ones. Blue being the only accurate description. From the tip of her short hair to the bottoms of her toes, was blue. Cooper could only wonder where she found the time. The incredibly blue woman waved at her, hands flapping wildly. She didn’t smell like milk. It was almost attractive.

“Captain?” called the woman, and Cooper felt her body slowly shut down. The woman was surely mistaken. “Captain Cooper?”

She was not mistaken.

Bristling, she waved back. Unfortunately, the other woman took this as encouragement. She rushed from her seat, so quickly that Cooper barely noticed her move before she stood bobbing in front of her.

“Uh, hi,” nodded Cooper, “you know me?”

“We go to Stykes together,” though it sounded like a question with the lilt at the end of the sentence, Cooper was sure it wasn’t, “I’m Scout? We have history with Sir Thornchaser?”

Cooper hadn’t shown up to history in years. The stacks of paper made it near impossible to focus on her training but made very good kindling as she found out early on. Her blank expression must have given her away because the Blue Woman’s face fell. There were many things about that day that Cooper didn’t expect to happen, but the possibly—near—tears look was far worse than death.

“I work at The Switchboard?” Tiny Blue tried again. Though Cooper didn’t know her, per say, she definitely knew The Switchboard. Some club at the rough end of Kingshill with the strongest alcohol, one where she was dragged to weekly.

“Cracking place. Got my chest cut off there.”

“It’s a nightclub?”

“Yeah?” This was evidently not normal. She tried again. “Kidding.” (She wasn’t)

Tiny Blue nodded slowly, hopefully regretting the interaction.

While eager for money, Cooper wasn’t desperate enough to slog through a conversation with an overeager stranger, especially not one who evidently idolized her. Oof. That feeling was new, and deeply unwelcome. She was not a heralded Chosen One, and nor was she particularly interesting. Raised a Templar and died a Templar. The sooner the familiar stranger understood that, the better.

Still, the undead Templar found herself following the smaller woman to a room at the back of the room. She couldn’t be sure why she did so; if it were simply a wish for an ounce of familiarity in the Mabrisian, or something deeper. She just knew that the veins on Blue’s wrists bulged under the skin.

Her stomach rolled.

Money. She needed money. Damp tongue darted across dry lips. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn’t invited here. Not by a long shot. Cooper couldn’t actually remember the end of the conversation. She wasn’t sure that they were even in the tavern any more.

Feet thundered against the cobblestone. Heart pounded in a dangerous rhythm. She swatted a thin branch from her face and kept going. Faster and faster. Cobblestone gave way to grass, twigs cracking beneath them, mouth-watering.

The woods. She was in the woods again. The biting breeze nipped at her exposed forearms as she chased her prey.

She was in the back room of the tavern. Her body lay slumped and starved in an overstuffed seat. The Blue One stood before her, nursing a drink. Disorientated, she sat forward, a firm gaze on the glass of dark coloured alcohol. She could almost smell it, taste it in the air. It damn near made her sick.

Another growl filled the air. It was harder and harder to tell whether it came from her or her stomach. The Blue One looked at her now. Looked at her for the first time in a while. It might have been hours.

Cooper raised herself slowly, leaving her crutch by the side of the seat. Blue cocked her head to the side, dark curiosity overcoming her. A small smile tugged at her lips, one that Cooper couldn’t return. She wanted to be in the woods again. The air here was too stifling. Too overstimulating.

Blue smiled as if Cooper had said something funny. Cooper hadn’t spoken. At least she didn’t think she did. Blue wrapped her arms around the Templar’s thick throat, head lolling back. Throat exposed, veins singing. It was too much, and too little.

With bared teeth, Cooper knew, that she would be whole again.