Medicine and Hauntings, Such a Lovely Divide

Celine had rowed her little dingy into the makeshift harbor in the cliffs below her cottage, acutely aware of the sandbar and how at low tide it would trap her in the area with the boat -- she had to be aware of the time, better than most, the sun still high in the sky. Maneuvering into place, she loaded the cargo that had been left in her cave, into the boat, and then sat in the cave, smoking her pipe until the tide came back a little after midnight. Her back ached from the load, and she was trying her best to ignore the chuckling she thought she heard deeper inside the pitch black, the tendrils of dark creeping closer to her as time passed, and her small fire died down.

Normally, a simple smuggling job like this she wouldn't have ever taken on, she was retired after all, but healing droughts and potions didn't magically appear for some like they did for others, so getting some goods into hands that wouldn't price gouge those that needed them the most, was enough to pull her semi-back into the fold. At least this time she was a free contractor, no affiliation meant she didn't have to turn away a solid job just because of who held the chain of her collar.

Retired, she thought, as she swore she felt a rush of air at her back, as if someone was drawing closer -- haunted. Something about thinness and Fades, whatever the hell that meant, she had no care to find out, and as long as these spectors couldn't hurt her, she gave zero fucks about them trying to scare her. She had spent far to long being the thing in the dark others were afraid of, to be very afraid of the dark herself. So when the time came for her to scuff out her small camp fire and climb back into her dingy and row out into open water, with only the light of the moon to guide her, she didn't hesitate.

No, she buried the simple fire in sand and ignored what felt like a phantom set of fingers trying to pull at her hair. Fuck off. was the only sign that she acknowledged that there was something there, in the dark, as her eyes adjusted to the pitch, and she started to row out into the water, humming an old shanty to herself as she went.

Celine felt at ease on the water, knew it was good for showing a person just how small they were in the grand scheme of things, and there off the coast under the cliff of Bastion, she was a tiny little ant in the sense of the whole of the world. And as soon as her contact showed up, and took the cargo, the better. Now half past two in the morning, she laid back in her seat, watching the dots of light on the distant horizon. Houses scattered along the shore, houses like hers, though, probably not overrun with demons and spirits that tried to make themselves know to her. A rogue by trade, Celine cared little for the possessors of mages.

But the quiet hiss of a boat cutting through water, soon enough had her standing in the dingy, her contact had arrived, or, so she hoped. She could fight her way out of a situation, but she really didn't want to give up her new home. It was such a lovely place after all.