Dryad Eyes, part 4
This one was co-written by my friend queenthespade.
It was originally going to be posted in an entirely different format (chat transcript, as we wrote it live) but I kind of randomly decided to stretch it out post-by-post to see what a more finished product would look like. Hopefully queenthespade likes it, and isn't mad at me for playing with the parts she had written. I didn't make any massive alterations. Mostly, I just added to it. :)
Treyp leaned back on the cold, stone steps, letting her head fall back so that she could look at the sky. She lay twisted at an awkward angle, to avoid agitating the arrows embedded in her body. There was one in her left shoulder, and another in her back on the right side. She had been worried that it might have struck a lung, but she was not coughing and could neither taste nor smell blood on her own breath. The third arrow was protruding from her thigh. In the position she had found, the edges of the steps she had sprawled out upon were only slightly less forgiving that the wounds themselves, but it was the best she could manage short of having the offending items removed.
It seemed as though she had been running for hours when she had finally decided that she had lost her pursuers, though she was certain that far less time had passed. An hour, she felt, would probably be stretching it. Had it been much longer than that, she would have already bled to death. Hoping that she was right about her pursuit having broken off, she had decided to risk stopping for a moment to catch her breath. Now, as her strength ebbed and it became increasingly difficult to focus, Treyp had to wonder if she would be able to regain her feet at all.
As she gazed upwards, for one confused moment, it seemed as though a thousand stars were falling free from their homes in the sky. Then she realized that it was snow, and that Keeper's Gateway was probably in for a long, cold night. Even if she could get moving again, she mused, she would likely freeze to death long before she could make it to safety.
A single, wet tear leaked from the corner of her eye and slid down, past her ear. It had been a good night, but the warmth and merriment of the tavern seemed so long ago, so far away. She tried to console herself with the thought that at least she could see on this night. She would not die in total darkness.
It was a small comfort.
-----------
In Keeper's Gateway, the only businesses more common and robust than the local smithies were the several dozen taverns strewn from one end of the mighty fortress to the other. Some folk had their favorites that they frequented every night without fail, while others preferred to carouse several over the course of an evening. Eyrenya had several that she liked to visit, all of which favored and appreciated bards. As she exited one such on the night in question, the wind greeted her like a soft, cool kiss on her forehead. She smiled to herself as she began to make her way back to the Keep. Cooler winds were on the way, and Grandfather was ever excited over the change of seasons.
As she took a familiar shortcut through the warren of backstreets between the tavern and her destination, a frown creased her brow. Something felt wrong. Something smelt wrong. It was too dark to see it in these dark, shadowed streets, but she could smell the blood. Perhaps it was her connection with the wind, but it seemed as though the scent should be familiar. It was as though it belonged to someone near and dear to her.
"Treyp." She said suddenly. Closing her eyes, she handed her senses over to the wind and began running, following the smell to its source.
-----------
Treyp's dark eyes had only just begun to drift shut when she thought she saw her uncle's face. It was strange and disorienting, as if she had spotted him in passing while quickly turning a corner. For a moment, she felt exultant. She was saved! Then, she realized, that she was merely dreaming, lost in that space between being awake and asleep.
She scoffed, annoyed. That was not fair. The evening she had enjoyed was ruined, she was wounded, she was cold, she was generally uncomfortable, and now even her damned dreams would not leave her alone to die in peace. Fighting her way to the surface in her own head, she opened her eyes and reached out to grasp the shoddy wooden handrail that some amateur oaf had set up next to the steps she had been resting on.
She was not simply annoyed. She was angry. That was good, that anger. It might save her life, and she knew it. It was a family trait, and people in her family did not just give up.
Gritting her teeth because she knew this was going to hurt, she pulled. "Hnnnnh!"
-----------
A large knot had formed in Eyrenya's tiny belly. As she leaped over a trash heap, she tried not to think at all. Hers was the imagination of a born storyteller, and all it wanted to show her was what could have happened, or could still be happening, to her cousin. Her family was important to her, far more so than she generally let on to them. She would do anything for any of them, especially Treyp, who had somehow gone from being her distant cousin, to her constant companion, to her very best friend over the years.
As she darted on fleet feet around a pile of broken, splintered crates, a shadow separated itself from the others, staggering forward with surprising speed to slam her against the wall.
"Hi, sweetie." The voice was full of lust, malice, and not a little booze. It made her skin crawl. "How's about some fun tonight?"
Eyrenya did not bother to speak. Rage, pure and unfettered, roared up and out from that knot in her guts. She kicked out with her leg, buckling his knee, which sent him off balance. Grabbing his elbow, she planted both her feet against the wall and shoved off at an angle, using her wiry strength and leverage to send him to the ground with her sharp, pointy elbow driving straight into his gut, winding him. Rolling to her feet, she gave him a kick to the groin for good measure. By the time he could breathe well enough to yell in pain, she was already down the alley, around the corner, and gone.
She did not hear his cry behind her, her ears filled as they were with her own pounding heart and labored breath. Up ahead, she could see a familiar figure leaning heavily against the side of a building, trailing blood as she tried to make her way along.
"Nisuco!" Sprinting the last twenty feet or so, she was beside Treyp and trying to help steady her. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
"Didn't... think to ask their names." Treyp would have smiled had she a smile to share, but she could only grimace. For a moment, she fought against Eyrenya's help. She wanted to stand, to walk, on her own. The fire that had been lit under her on those cold, hard steps did not go out so easily; but go out it did. She gave in and sagged against her cousin. On top of the arrows protruding from her haggard form, there was a long, nasty, bleeding gash along her lower ribs.
With anyone else, Treyp would have fought so hard to keep up the front of false bravado. Instead, alone with her best friend in what was likely the darkest moment of her life, she said simply this in a broken voice. "Gods, it hurts."
Eyrenya tried to be mindful of those wounds as she helped support her friend's weight. "Come on. Let’s get you to the Keep. Arimus can take care of those... and you can tell me what happened."
"...had a good night..."
The smaller woman gave Treyp a dubious look, and then shook her head. "If this was a good night, I'd hate to see a rotten one!"
"Dancing... singing... I..." Her head drooped forward and her weight sagged more heavily against Eyrenya for a moment. The she jerked it back upright, and tried to take on more of her own weight again. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
After a moment, Eyrenya tried to shift Treyp a bit, and spoke again. She wanted, needed, to keep the taller woman awake. She could help her walk, but she did not think that she would be able to carry her cousin's dead weight for long, if at all, if she passed out. Even less appealing was the idea of leaving her to run for help. Whoever had done this was still out there, and might come back to finish the job. Worse, she decided, the stinky old man from the alley might find her.
"So dancing and singing... did you get any action before this happened?"
"No!" Treyp's response was clear, sharp, and a bit defensive. Then she giggled. It was a painful, pitiful sound, and nearly doubled her over in agony. "I said no."
"Ahhh, I see." Eyrenya smiled a bit. "I had to say 'no' to a guy too, tonight. He smelled really bad."
"...heh... says the girl that rides around on an elk."
"Hah!"
Previous>> || Next>>
Also read Sense of Duty, a supplemental chapter by Chris Hunt.
It was originally going to be posted in an entirely different format (chat transcript, as we wrote it live) but I kind of randomly decided to stretch it out post-by-post to see what a more finished product would look like. Hopefully queenthespade likes it, and isn't mad at me for playing with the parts she had written. I didn't make any massive alterations. Mostly, I just added to it. :)
Treyp leaned back on the cold, stone steps, letting her head fall back so that she could look at the sky. She lay twisted at an awkward angle, to avoid agitating the arrows embedded in her body. There was one in her left shoulder, and another in her back on the right side. She had been worried that it might have struck a lung, but she was not coughing and could neither taste nor smell blood on her own breath. The third arrow was protruding from her thigh. In the position she had found, the edges of the steps she had sprawled out upon were only slightly less forgiving that the wounds themselves, but it was the best she could manage short of having the offending items removed.
It seemed as though she had been running for hours when she had finally decided that she had lost her pursuers, though she was certain that far less time had passed. An hour, she felt, would probably be stretching it. Had it been much longer than that, she would have already bled to death. Hoping that she was right about her pursuit having broken off, she had decided to risk stopping for a moment to catch her breath. Now, as her strength ebbed and it became increasingly difficult to focus, Treyp had to wonder if she would be able to regain her feet at all.
As she gazed upwards, for one confused moment, it seemed as though a thousand stars were falling free from their homes in the sky. Then she realized that it was snow, and that Keeper's Gateway was probably in for a long, cold night. Even if she could get moving again, she mused, she would likely freeze to death long before she could make it to safety.
A single, wet tear leaked from the corner of her eye and slid down, past her ear. It had been a good night, but the warmth and merriment of the tavern seemed so long ago, so far away. She tried to console herself with the thought that at least she could see on this night. She would not die in total darkness.
It was a small comfort.
-----------
In Keeper's Gateway, the only businesses more common and robust than the local smithies were the several dozen taverns strewn from one end of the mighty fortress to the other. Some folk had their favorites that they frequented every night without fail, while others preferred to carouse several over the course of an evening. Eyrenya had several that she liked to visit, all of which favored and appreciated bards. As she exited one such on the night in question, the wind greeted her like a soft, cool kiss on her forehead. She smiled to herself as she began to make her way back to the Keep. Cooler winds were on the way, and Grandfather was ever excited over the change of seasons.
As she took a familiar shortcut through the warren of backstreets between the tavern and her destination, a frown creased her brow. Something felt wrong. Something smelt wrong. It was too dark to see it in these dark, shadowed streets, but she could smell the blood. Perhaps it was her connection with the wind, but it seemed as though the scent should be familiar. It was as though it belonged to someone near and dear to her.
"Treyp." She said suddenly. Closing her eyes, she handed her senses over to the wind and began running, following the smell to its source.
-----------
Treyp's dark eyes had only just begun to drift shut when she thought she saw her uncle's face. It was strange and disorienting, as if she had spotted him in passing while quickly turning a corner. For a moment, she felt exultant. She was saved! Then, she realized, that she was merely dreaming, lost in that space between being awake and asleep.
She scoffed, annoyed. That was not fair. The evening she had enjoyed was ruined, she was wounded, she was cold, she was generally uncomfortable, and now even her damned dreams would not leave her alone to die in peace. Fighting her way to the surface in her own head, she opened her eyes and reached out to grasp the shoddy wooden handrail that some amateur oaf had set up next to the steps she had been resting on.
She was not simply annoyed. She was angry. That was good, that anger. It might save her life, and she knew it. It was a family trait, and people in her family did not just give up.
Gritting her teeth because she knew this was going to hurt, she pulled. "Hnnnnh!"
-----------
A large knot had formed in Eyrenya's tiny belly. As she leaped over a trash heap, she tried not to think at all. Hers was the imagination of a born storyteller, and all it wanted to show her was what could have happened, or could still be happening, to her cousin. Her family was important to her, far more so than she generally let on to them. She would do anything for any of them, especially Treyp, who had somehow gone from being her distant cousin, to her constant companion, to her very best friend over the years.
As she darted on fleet feet around a pile of broken, splintered crates, a shadow separated itself from the others, staggering forward with surprising speed to slam her against the wall.
"Hi, sweetie." The voice was full of lust, malice, and not a little booze. It made her skin crawl. "How's about some fun tonight?"
Eyrenya did not bother to speak. Rage, pure and unfettered, roared up and out from that knot in her guts. She kicked out with her leg, buckling his knee, which sent him off balance. Grabbing his elbow, she planted both her feet against the wall and shoved off at an angle, using her wiry strength and leverage to send him to the ground with her sharp, pointy elbow driving straight into his gut, winding him. Rolling to her feet, she gave him a kick to the groin for good measure. By the time he could breathe well enough to yell in pain, she was already down the alley, around the corner, and gone.
She did not hear his cry behind her, her ears filled as they were with her own pounding heart and labored breath. Up ahead, she could see a familiar figure leaning heavily against the side of a building, trailing blood as she tried to make her way along.
"Nisuco!" Sprinting the last twenty feet or so, she was beside Treyp and trying to help steady her. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
"Didn't... think to ask their names." Treyp would have smiled had she a smile to share, but she could only grimace. For a moment, she fought against Eyrenya's help. She wanted to stand, to walk, on her own. The fire that had been lit under her on those cold, hard steps did not go out so easily; but go out it did. She gave in and sagged against her cousin. On top of the arrows protruding from her haggard form, there was a long, nasty, bleeding gash along her lower ribs.
With anyone else, Treyp would have fought so hard to keep up the front of false bravado. Instead, alone with her best friend in what was likely the darkest moment of her life, she said simply this in a broken voice. "Gods, it hurts."
Eyrenya tried to be mindful of those wounds as she helped support her friend's weight. "Come on. Let’s get you to the Keep. Arimus can take care of those... and you can tell me what happened."
"...had a good night..."
The smaller woman gave Treyp a dubious look, and then shook her head. "If this was a good night, I'd hate to see a rotten one!"
"Dancing... singing... I..." Her head drooped forward and her weight sagged more heavily against Eyrenya for a moment. The she jerked it back upright, and tried to take on more of her own weight again. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
After a moment, Eyrenya tried to shift Treyp a bit, and spoke again. She wanted, needed, to keep the taller woman awake. She could help her walk, but she did not think that she would be able to carry her cousin's dead weight for long, if at all, if she passed out. Even less appealing was the idea of leaving her to run for help. Whoever had done this was still out there, and might come back to finish the job. Worse, she decided, the stinky old man from the alley might find her.
"So dancing and singing... did you get any action before this happened?"
"No!" Treyp's response was clear, sharp, and a bit defensive. Then she giggled. It was a painful, pitiful sound, and nearly doubled her over in agony. "I said no."
"Ahhh, I see." Eyrenya smiled a bit. "I had to say 'no' to a guy too, tonight. He smelled really bad."
"...heh... says the girl that rides around on an elk."
"Hah!"
Previous>> || Next>>
Also read Sense of Duty, a supplemental chapter by Chris Hunt.