A Spiky Pauldron to Lean On (1/2)

“I don't know what to do,” Threadbare sighed.

“Well that's what the mission briefing is for,” Garon said, his voice booming from his metal throat.

“No. Not about that. About Celia. Something's wrong with her, and she won't tell me what it is.”

Garon gazed at him through the glowing green lights that were his eyes. Then he rose and shut the window.

Some caution was understandable. They were at the guildhall in Cylvania City, the central headquarters for the Reclaimers Association of Generica. (RAG, for short.) It was a large keep, with several smaller buildings around it... Garon, acting as Guildmaster for the only non-dwarven Guild in the Republic, had amassed quite a lot of wealth and used it to purchase a good chunk of the surrounding city.

The end result was somewhere between a university campus and a mercenary training facility. New recruits, support staff, and customers of the guild wandered the streets around the headquarters at all hours. It was also a popular gathering spot for a significant portion of Cylvania's golems and doll haunters, even those who weren't in the guild.

The downside to this was that there were always plenty of sharp-eared sorts coming and going, and that most secrets had a shelf-life somewhere between day-old milk and freshly-baked bread. For Garon's part, he figured that shutting the window would buy them an hour or two.

Threadbare shook his head. “I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed it, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I hadn't noticed it,” Garon said, folding his looming form back into his seat. He'd switched bodies, recently, upgrading from a wooden minotaur to a horn-helmed armor golem. His new body was a black metal suit of mixed chain and plate, seven feet tall, with green, glowing eyes and a moveable jaw that ground as he spoke. Threadbare supposed it would be very fearsome if you didn't know him well.

But Threadbare had met him when he was much younger and still alive, one of the half-orc brothers who had befriended him and Celia and taken them on their first dungeon run. And later on, he had become one of the first doll haunters, after Threadbare had figured out a way to bind his soul to a golem body, and give him another shot at repairing an old family tragedy.

He'd done all that, and decided to stick around afterwards. And Threadbare was grateful for that.

“Celia is doing a lot, all the time,” Threadbare waved his paws. “She's trying very hard to manage Council business, and keep politics from hurting Cylvania. I think she doesn't focus on herself as much as she needs to.”

“She has been doing a lot for us. Especially with you gone... ah, that came out wrong,” Garon folded his gauntlet fingers together. “You had to go. I understand why. But the repercussions are still working out. Maybe she's just a little angry at the people who are trying to capitalize on your departure? Easterlynn-Proudsmythe and Longcroak are being assholes about it lately. That's a good reason for stress. Gods know they piss me off enough during regular times.”

“She's been like this for at least a year,” Threadbare said, looking down.

“What? Oh. Oh shit. That's not good,” Garon said. “What changed?”

Threadbare shook his head. “I don't know exactly when it started or what caused it. I only started noticing it a year ago. She's... fading. That's the only way I can describe it. The things that used to make her happy don't seem to do much anymore. She's getting more quiet and more sad, and I don't know why.”

Garon pondered the matter. “Here's the more important question, and I'm a jackass for not asking it sooner. How can I help?”

“I don't know,” Threadbare scrunched his paws up. “I would ask you for help if I knew how you could help. But I don't know what the problem is. Celia won't tell me. And when I try to ask, she gets angrier.”