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“Pin, no! Why now?”
Briskly walking the moonlit streets on the edge of Dol-Makjar, a young man hastily searches every shadowed nook and cranny for a glimpse of a button-eyed fox. The wizard, not quite dead, yet certainly not alive, squints his sharpened eyesight through the fog of nighttime in hopes his familiar hasn’t wandered too far off. While it isn’t uncommon for the creature to act of his own accord, Pincushion hasn’t strayed too far from Occtis’s side the whole night.
Black fingernails trace his barely concealed stitches, a reminder of the day’s events. It hadn’t been a few hours since Occtis had pulled Pin from his chest, along with the very artifact that was his undoing.
Why did his family choose to be so cruel? If they had succeeded…
Inhaling sharply, the young necromancer refocused his vision, listening for the telltale pattering of Pin’s paws.
His nails had been filed down; he distantly remembers the nailcare session he had been roped into. It was Thaisha’s idea, wanting a way to keep them close after almost losing them completely. It had been nice. Comforting, even. A distraction from the pacing and loud discussions of the others, even when the moon lowered in the sky and the windows became shuttered.
A shop’s door opens with a ring, not even a minute’s walk away from him, followed by the familiar skittering of paws on pavement.
Almost tripping in his haste, Occtis hones his sights on the isolated shop, not stopping to check the carved wooden sign detailing the store’s name. He meanders around a barrel hosting a half-eaten bread crust, likely an employee’s leftovers. Pulling open the honey oak door, a sudden chill whips through his body as though something has perceived his existence. Casting a glance from the brass doorknob to the door panels, a bent iron nail glows dimly in the unlit shop’s entrance.
“We’re closed!” A faint voice calls out.
Not wishing to darken this shop’s doorstep for much longer, lest Thaisha or another person notice his absence, the necromancer hisses for his beloved companion.
“Pin! Come here,” He whistles, stepping forward when no silver-tipped fox greets him.
The moment his boot leaves the yellow-and-blue striped entry rug, an alarm blares, filling the entire shop with an incessant beeping noise. A crash from the back room, followed by a noise of panic, distracts the wizard long enough to miss an explosion of color until it’s too late. Brilliant smoky fireworks explode in Occtis’s immediate radius, blinding his gleaming green eyes with every color in the rainbow. Dropping to the floor to cover his ears, he’s unprepared for a short scream near his right ear, followed by a flick of a tail as Pin jumps onto his shaking legs.
Emerging from a room behind the store’s register, a dark-skinned gnome smacks a set of buttons before turning to glare at Occtis’s hunched-over form on her fuzzy rug. The woman, rebuttoning her overalls with one hand while hoisting a circular barreled machine with the other, marches directly across the room to confront the covering duo.
"Stay back!" She exclaims, hefting a large clockwork device over her shoulder.
Despite not knowing what that creation would do, having sampled the shop's security system already, Occtis does not want to play another round of teetering between life and death.
"No, no, I don't mean to harm you. I'm sorry."
Scaring people is second nature to Occtis; his behavior is regularly deemed odd by his siblings and classmates. Losing his life has only strengthened that fear.
"Another undead,” The gnome states, furrowing her eyebrows. "But you don't seem like the others."
He swallows, a strange sensation with no accumulating saliva. Remaining still, he waits to see what she'll do.
Pin, on the other hand, has no qualms about exploring the new person. Darting between the wooden shelves, the fox maneuvers between her legs, flicking his tail against her laced-up boots.
Occtis raises his hand, ready to dismiss Pin at the drop of a hat. Instead of a hat, a loud clanking draws his attention to the woman's now-discarded weapon, ignored on the hardwood floors in favor of his wiggling fox.
Adjusting his vision to the multiple lit candles, Occtis shuffles away from the safety of the exit to stand nearby. Not far away enough to discourage conversation but close enough that he could make a quick exit, especially now that his missing familiar has been located.
It’s.. a toy store?
Trinkets of gleaming gold and birch wood pile in rounded buckets, filling up shelves mixed with fuzzy stuffed animals and still bottles of neon liquids. Each shelf is decorated with signs, the print too small to read, but boasting swirls of at least two different languages. His eye catches on a stand by the door containing a short glass jar with a jaunty little note saying, ‘Help yourself!’.
Tapping the sweets jar with a single fingertip, his head tilts at the sugary stick candy piled innocently by the door, almost as though it was inviting a child to take one before leaving.
It’s cozy, this toy store. Likely a home for good little boys and girls, filled with laughter and love. Very unlike the gloomy and gothic manor of his childhood. Perhaps at one point, he might’ve sought a place like this out. Back when his limbs were too long for his body, and he wished every night for someone to listen, someone to care– a friend.
Letting his hand swing back like a pendulum, the necromancer can’t help but wonder if Pin intended to come here. It's hard to say what delight a toy store can offer the fox, enough for him to run away in the middle of the night.
"My, what a remarkable creature."
Snapping to attention at the woman's voice, Occtis's mouth drops the slightest bit.
Pin nuzzles up to the toymaker's left hand, undeterred by the steel of her prosthetic catching patches of white fur between its fingers. Adjusting a spring in its leather attachment, the stiff metal coils into a firm grip. The individual fingers, looking akin to melted down flatware, scratch gently as the toymaker tentatively examines the fox’s hodgepodge mixture. Scratching behind his singular orange ear, Pin's noises of enjoyment stir a cooing noise from the gnome.
"You're made of all the right parts, aren't you?”
Occtis’s shoulders lowered, having not realized they had grown taller and tighter in his anxiousness. Cautiously stepping on the tips of his toes, he scuttles close enough to scold the sneaky fox.
“Pin, I told you to stay in my pocket. How did you even open the door?”
“He opened the door by himself?” The woman responds with raised eyebrows. “What a feat for such a small guy.”
“Well, he doesn’t always listen. It has something to do with the different parts of him, only half listens while the other- right, yes. I’m sorry for breaking in like this.”
Slowly dusting white fur from her corduroy overalls, the gnome shrugs.
“It’s quite alright. A good reminder to recalibrate my security system, if anything.”
Interrupting their conversation by slinking around his shoulders, Pin sets a fuzzy lamb toy atop his coat collar and chomps down. Occtis huffs out a panicked tune, fretting over the now damaged stuffed animal.
As she peeks up at him curiously, he instinctually hunches at her complete focus, drawing himself into a smaller stature. The toymaker opts to not comment on that, instead gesturing with her chin to the register.
“Would the little creature like a toy?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t reward his behavior. I-I need to, uh… rebuild him. Try to infuse new magic to counteract his rebellious side.”
Quietly humming, the gnome’s eyes close, allowing her dark eye bags to become more prominent.
“It’s on the house.”
“O-Oh, I couldn’t do that. I have money, I’ll pay,” He tries to insist.
Patting both his coat and trouser pockets, Occtis comes to the startling realization that he left behind most of his things in a rush to leave: his spellbook, potions, and, most importantly, his coin bag.
“Nonsense. A happy customer is better than a paying one.”
The edges of her lips quirk up for a moment before exposing her back to them. A small gesture, but Occtis takes it to mean her trust has been granted. Climbing up a stepstool, she fumbles with the straps of a gift bag, holding it up for the fox to drop it inside. Biting the lamb's black legs, Pin reluctantly drops it into the bag. Burying his face in his purple scarf, Occtis sighs at the tiny whine from Pin.
“You’ll get it back later, alright?”
Nestled on the counter’s corner are figurines of two wooden soldiers, neither crafted as neatly as the products lining the shop’s shelves. They're holding awkward poses with disproportionate torsos, each bearing the quality of a child’s hand. Embroidered on their maroon cloaks are flying falcons, a haunting reminder of the man Occtis failed to save. Shakily sighing, he readjusts his gloves, thankful that his nervous sweating is no longer an issue.
“Are these yours?”
Nodding, the woman recounts a tale of crafting them a long time ago. A little piece of comfort to indulge her childlike nature, during a time of uncertainty and bloodshed. Every chip of wood was simultaneously shedding her naivety, no longer the starry-eyed child wishing for glory, to protect her family. War has no place for the innocent; a hard exterior is necessary, even if it means forgetting everything she once believed, leaving her previous life in the past.
“They let a child fight?”
“You’d be surprised how useful it is to have a trustworthy messenger small enough to avoid detection,” She huffs humorlessly. “Not like they could keep my sisters and me away. Heavens knows the safety we gave up to earn our places.”
Unsure how to respond, he simply nods. He bends his body in half to view the trinkets closer, noting minimal imperfections in their carved heads, each one etched with detailed, scowling grimaces. It’s realistic, he thinks, the anger of a warrior.
Even with the minute splinters and chipped paint, the craftsmanship is remarkable. Though each flaw fades away when taking in the sharply carved weapons each soldier holds. Even as someone who has never stepped foot in a kitchen, the necromancer can tell the swords are sharp enough to cut any food. The silver handles haven’t yet faded, carved in sprawling patterns of leaves and vines. They hold their colors well, quite unlike the rest of the toys.
“You seem taken with weapons.”
Upon her questioning gaze, Occtis was quick to specify, pointing to the shelf.
“The t-toys, they’re both soldiers of the Torn Banner, right? But you weren’t one?”
As she opens her mouth to reply, his rambling cuts her off.
“Not that you have to- I was just curious, sorry. Today has been a hard day.”
His wide-eyed stare penetrates her soul; she isn’t sure whether to be flattered or concerned at his lack of blinking.
“That’s alright,” She sighs, rubbing at the raised scars streaked across her neck. “I indulge any and all curiosities. Regarding the Falconer’s Rebellion, we all had our roles to play. Suppose mine was smaller than others, but it kept me alive.”
Frowning down at her prosthetic, she mutters to herself. “Most of me anyway.”
“The right parts. You’re made of them, too.”
His mouth moved faster than his brain could keep up with, wanting to comfort her in the same way she had cared for his fox. Something must have resonated with her, as the gnome's eyes softened, losing some of the hard edge that had greeted him.
“I’d thank you properly for the compliment, but I think my lips would slip right through your cheek,” She jokes playfully.
If he were alive, Occtis was sure his olive skin would be aflame. The gnome chuckles at his expression, the low candlelight making her eyes sparkle in mirth.
Shifting in place, Occtis wonders how rude it would be if he grabbed Pin and ran back to the inn.
Surely this is the end of the interaction. He left in search of Pin and found him. All that’s left to do is leave this stranger and return to a different set of slightly more familiar strangers. Hopefully they all had fallen asleep after planning the next steps in following his vision.
By all accounts, he should do that.
Glancing at the toymaker who’s ignoring his internal monologuing in favor of petting his familiar, a wave of relief crashes over him. Slumping his shoulders, he suddenly remembers to breathe.
“Would you like them?”
Snapping his head to a degree that he wouldn’t have achieved in life, Occtis stares wide-eyed at the young toymaker.
And she was young, wasn’t she? Behind the scars and slow gait lie delicate braids and soft brown cheeks, hosting no marks beyond smile lines. Even without her account of the Falconer’s Rebellion, it’s obvious she’s no more than five years older than him. Yet the closest experience to combat he’s come was the Tachnois' attack at the Palazzo Davinos, which cost him his life. His living life? His undead life wasn’t so bad, besides waking up to a crowd taking turns to rip a stone from his insides– a solid 3 out of 10 experience.
“Sir?” She asks hesitantly.
Lowering his head to meet her eyes, Occtis jumps slightly. “Hah, yes?”
“They are only prototypes, not many children take an interest in unpolished toys, but... you’re the first person to admire my work. One of my first creations, the ones that remind me of home.”
Patiently lifting the toy soldiers, this time gesturing with her living limb, she repeats her question.
“Please, would you accept them?”
“Oh- I, y-yes.”
Fumbling with the wooden figurines, Occtis delicately plucks them from her grasp. The brief contact with the gnome was odd, in the way all interactions with living creatures are, but the smile he received in return made it worth it. Clutching the toys to his chest, he presses them to his expensive coat, ignoring the prodding of a toy knife against his stitches.
“Thank you,” He says genuinely, taking a second to remember his manners. “What was your name? I’m Occtis. Oh! And this is Pincushion– Pin, for short.”
Not telling his last name, for obvious reasons, was the correct choice as it earned him another lift of her dark pink lips.
“Elanadel. Lovely to meet you both.”