(no subject)
As always, please tell me if you find any mistakes!
Chapter 3
“Wake up.”
Wend’s eyes snapped open, fully expecting rotting flesh to greet him. There was only the ceiling.
Something was thrown over his face. “Put those on. We don’t have much time.”
Wend sat up in bed, taking the still damp clothes off his head. “Y-you.” He said weakly, his gaze fixed on the bandit pacing the room.
“Me. Is this bag all you have?” he asked, holding up the smaller man’s bag.
Wend nodded and rubbed a hand over the sweaty skin of his face, trying to rid himself of the horrors of his nightmare.
“That’s it. Everything else is buried beneath rubble.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Sob story, blah. Hurry up and put on your pants.”
Wend was speechless, and angry. But the stranger still had his short sword, and Wend didn’t really feel up to fighting someone who had managed to get into his room without waking him up.
Slipping on his cold trousers he looked over at the other man. He had moved next to the window, his back pressed against the faded wall paper, and his eyes focused on the road below them. “Any time now would be awesome,” said the man, his mask only muffling the words slightly.
“You haven’t even told me why you’re here.”
“I don’t have to. I’m here now, and we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“Crap you ask a lot of questions. Shut the fuck up and get dressed before I am forced to shut you up.”
Wend gulped, but didn’t much feel like blindly following this man again. “W-what are you going to do? Cut out my tongue?”
Wend found himself pressed face first into his bed, the stranger’s weight bearing down on him. The cool steel of a knife was pressed to his throat. “It’s either you shut up and follow me where ever I happen to lead you, or I can slit your throat open now. I’m fine with either option, really.”
“Hafkaplas,” was the most intelligent thing Wend could come up with.
The man moved off him. “Shirt. Now.”
Wend finished dressing quickly. Finishing by clipping his hat into place he turned back to face the bandit.
“About time. Give me your bag, I’ll carry it.” He flipped Wend’s bag over his shoulder and hurried to the door with light steps. “Okay. This is very important. You cannot utter a sound once we leave this room, savvy?” Wend nodded. “You must stay very close to me at all times, but tread on my heels and I’ll spleen ya. Move quick, stay low, and be smart. Right?”
“R-right. A-am I in danger?”
“Duh. Let’s go.”
The man opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He looked both ways quickly, his head snapping from side to side. He motioned over his shoulder with two fingers to follow him and he stepped quickly for the stair case. Wend followed, his soft leather boots barely making a noise on the hardwood.
At the top of the stairs the man came to a halt and peered down. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw he took a few steps down. Wend went to follow, but found his chest pressed against the bandits back. Struggling for balance, Wend’s hand wrapped around the banister, least he topple them both down to the bottom of the stairwell. The bandit shifted his posture back so he was holding Wend up. He raised his hand again and brought two parted fingers towards his eyes, then pointed them down the stairs. He finished by holding up three fingers, and Wend took this to mean that the other man was seeing three of something. What that something was Wend hadn’t the faintest, but whatever it was, it probably was not something good.
The bandit pressed his back into Wend harder, and the smaller man took that a sign to move back up the stairs. Once they were in Wend’s room again, and had shut the door with a barely audible click behind them, the bandit turned to the scholar.
“Right. They acted faster than I expected. But nothing for it, I suppose. Out we go.”
Wend looked around. “Out where?”
The bandit moved to the window, and cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. After you.”
---
“How in the hell did I end up like this? A day ago I was a normal religious scholar!”
“What did I tell you about keeping quiet?! Have your mental breakdown once we’re safely away from this place!”
“Sorry.”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry!”
“Shut up!” The bandit took a poorly aimed swipe at Wend, but it failed to reach. This may have something to do with the fact that they were currently climbing up to the roof of the inn, with Wend in the rear. The young scholar was careful to put his hands and feet exactly where the bandit’s had been. Climbing up the sides of buildings was not something he was accustomed to.
The bandit disappeared from view as he hooked a leg over the tiles of the roof and hauled himself up. Wend, his body made for nothing more strenuous then bending down to retrieve a lost quill, was having a very difficult time brining his leg up to the height of the roof. “Help,” he whimpered, his hands barely hanging on to the loose brick. The bandit’s head appeared over the top of the building, framed by the cloud covered moon. Reaching down, he grasped a red-clad arm in his gloved hand and pulled. Wend’s upper body was now on the top of the roof, his legs dangling over the thirty story drop below him. The bandit reached down and pulled Wend up by the seat of his pants. The scholar lay there a moment on the cold tiles, sucking air into his lungs.
“Please never make me do that again.”
In answer the man grinned. At least wend assumed it was a grin. The mask hid the man’s mouth, but his eye squinted slightly and crinkled in the corner. “No promises.” He stood up. “On your feet. We only have a few minutes before they realize you’re not in your room.”
“Who realizes? Why should they care about me?”
“This is not the time for questions, kid. Come on.” The man nudged Wend in the side with a black boot, and Wend got to his feet unsteadily.
He looked around. They were surrounded by rooftops on all sides, the tiles and gutters stretching as far as the eye could see. “Um, how?”
“You thought that climb was bad?” The man grinned again. This time Wend could practically hear it in his voice. “Just wait ‘till you see what I have lined up for you tonight.”
---
A few hours and a chase scene or two later (which were very exciting and long and which have very little to do with the plot, and which the author, who would very much like to get to the actual damn story line sometime soon, decided to omit. But they were very exciting. If you’d like a more detailed description of how the characters were feeling at the time, cover yourself in tuna and catnip and walk down the block to that house with all the cats.) the pair came to rest on top of a cliff on the out skirts of the city.
Wend was crouched on his haunches, while the bandit stood a few feet behind him, his foot up on a nearby rock, his fore-arms resting on his thigh. They looked out over the city, watching the fire rage in the old mill (the explosion and subsequent fire had little to do with the pair, and a lot to do with a drunk fire dancer, but the bandit will still most likely take credit for the deed.) Wend's chest rose and fell sharply as he gulped in air, his lungs still burning with the effort of running.
"We need to keep moving." The bandit said suddenly, putting his foot down on the hard earth.
Wend choked on his own spit. "Ca-can't move," he wheezed, "d-dead."
"You will be if we don't get a move on." His eyes were scanning the city, keeping an eye out for any one on their tail.
Wend whimpered. "Please no."
There was a crash in the woods behind them. The bandit crouched behind the rock. "Get up," he said quietly, "and move towards me."
"I-I can't."
"Fine. Then I'll leave you here." And keeping low to the ground, the bandit stood up, and ran into the woods.
Wend lay in silence. The rocks of the dusty cliff top cut into his back. A particularly large and pointy one was digging into the back of his head. He strained his ears to try to hear the bandit. He couldn't believe that the man would simply up and leave him. Not after the temple, not after the inn, not after the thrilling and adventurous escape (again, tuna, catnip, and the crazy cat ladies house). He knew he should get up, but his body just wouldn't obey his mind.
The rain was lighter now, the drizzle pooling near Wend's eyes. Blinking it away, he realized that it wasn't just rain water. He was crying. He was completely alone now. His family didn't care about him, (change the head priest knowing Wends name. no one knows who he is.) the temple didn't know him. They only had a place for him till the end of the week. And now the one person who seemed to be out for his best interest had just walked out on him. The tears fell harder.
"Please tell me that you are not actually crying." The dark, blurry shape of the bandit suddenly appeared in Wend's line of vision. "Holy crap you are. Dude, lame."
Wend hiccupped. "Y-you're -hick- back."
"You've noticed. Come on." The bandit pushed Wend up to a sitting position, and dragged him towards the rock. When Wend's back was propped up against the rock, the bandit crouched in front of him. "I found a stream. Have a drink. It'll help cool you down."
"Um. Thanks." Wend took the canteen gingerly and brought it to his lips. The water was cool, and soothed his hoarse throat. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Am I?” asked the bandit, taking the canteen away from Wend when he w=had finished draining it. “I’m sorry. I’ll go back to being a dick to you, shall I?”
“No! No, I mean, thanks for the water and all it just -“
“I get it.” The bandit let out a low chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. Calm down.”
“Oh. I see.”
The bandit sighed and flopped down beside the other man. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Y-you want to know my name?!”
“Well, I could just name you myself, if you’d prefer. You look like a Slappy to me.” He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe a Scrappy Doo. NO! Gertrude. Thaaaat’s the ticket.”
“Wend!”
“What?”
“No, Wend. That’s my name: Wend.”
The bandit reached up and hooked a forefinger behind the fabric of his mask and pulled it off. He had a handsome face, though a number of scars decorated the skin by his eye patch, with one larger one reaching down to his chin. His face lit up in a blinding smile. He extended a hand in welcome.
“Nice to meet you, Wend. My name’s Pete.”
Chapter 3
“Wake up.”
Wend’s eyes snapped open, fully expecting rotting flesh to greet him. There was only the ceiling.
Something was thrown over his face. “Put those on. We don’t have much time.”
Wend sat up in bed, taking the still damp clothes off his head. “Y-you.” He said weakly, his gaze fixed on the bandit pacing the room.
“Me. Is this bag all you have?” he asked, holding up the smaller man’s bag.
Wend nodded and rubbed a hand over the sweaty skin of his face, trying to rid himself of the horrors of his nightmare.
“That’s it. Everything else is buried beneath rubble.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Sob story, blah. Hurry up and put on your pants.”
Wend was speechless, and angry. But the stranger still had his short sword, and Wend didn’t really feel up to fighting someone who had managed to get into his room without waking him up.
Slipping on his cold trousers he looked over at the other man. He had moved next to the window, his back pressed against the faded wall paper, and his eyes focused on the road below them. “Any time now would be awesome,” said the man, his mask only muffling the words slightly.
“You haven’t even told me why you’re here.”
“I don’t have to. I’m here now, and we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“Crap you ask a lot of questions. Shut the fuck up and get dressed before I am forced to shut you up.”
Wend gulped, but didn’t much feel like blindly following this man again. “W-what are you going to do? Cut out my tongue?”
Wend found himself pressed face first into his bed, the stranger’s weight bearing down on him. The cool steel of a knife was pressed to his throat. “It’s either you shut up and follow me where ever I happen to lead you, or I can slit your throat open now. I’m fine with either option, really.”
“Hafkaplas,” was the most intelligent thing Wend could come up with.
The man moved off him. “Shirt. Now.”
Wend finished dressing quickly. Finishing by clipping his hat into place he turned back to face the bandit.
“About time. Give me your bag, I’ll carry it.” He flipped Wend’s bag over his shoulder and hurried to the door with light steps. “Okay. This is very important. You cannot utter a sound once we leave this room, savvy?” Wend nodded. “You must stay very close to me at all times, but tread on my heels and I’ll spleen ya. Move quick, stay low, and be smart. Right?”
“R-right. A-am I in danger?”
“Duh. Let’s go.”
The man opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. He looked both ways quickly, his head snapping from side to side. He motioned over his shoulder with two fingers to follow him and he stepped quickly for the stair case. Wend followed, his soft leather boots barely making a noise on the hardwood.
At the top of the stairs the man came to a halt and peered down. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he saw he took a few steps down. Wend went to follow, but found his chest pressed against the bandits back. Struggling for balance, Wend’s hand wrapped around the banister, least he topple them both down to the bottom of the stairwell. The bandit shifted his posture back so he was holding Wend up. He raised his hand again and brought two parted fingers towards his eyes, then pointed them down the stairs. He finished by holding up three fingers, and Wend took this to mean that the other man was seeing three of something. What that something was Wend hadn’t the faintest, but whatever it was, it probably was not something good.
The bandit pressed his back into Wend harder, and the smaller man took that a sign to move back up the stairs. Once they were in Wend’s room again, and had shut the door with a barely audible click behind them, the bandit turned to the scholar.
“Right. They acted faster than I expected. But nothing for it, I suppose. Out we go.”
Wend looked around. “Out where?”
The bandit moved to the window, and cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. After you.”
---
“How in the hell did I end up like this? A day ago I was a normal religious scholar!”
“What did I tell you about keeping quiet?! Have your mental breakdown once we’re safely away from this place!”
“Sorry.”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry!”
“Shut up!” The bandit took a poorly aimed swipe at Wend, but it failed to reach. This may have something to do with the fact that they were currently climbing up to the roof of the inn, with Wend in the rear. The young scholar was careful to put his hands and feet exactly where the bandit’s had been. Climbing up the sides of buildings was not something he was accustomed to.
The bandit disappeared from view as he hooked a leg over the tiles of the roof and hauled himself up. Wend, his body made for nothing more strenuous then bending down to retrieve a lost quill, was having a very difficult time brining his leg up to the height of the roof. “Help,” he whimpered, his hands barely hanging on to the loose brick. The bandit’s head appeared over the top of the building, framed by the cloud covered moon. Reaching down, he grasped a red-clad arm in his gloved hand and pulled. Wend’s upper body was now on the top of the roof, his legs dangling over the thirty story drop below him. The bandit reached down and pulled Wend up by the seat of his pants. The scholar lay there a moment on the cold tiles, sucking air into his lungs.
“Please never make me do that again.”
In answer the man grinned. At least wend assumed it was a grin. The mask hid the man’s mouth, but his eye squinted slightly and crinkled in the corner. “No promises.” He stood up. “On your feet. We only have a few minutes before they realize you’re not in your room.”
“Who realizes? Why should they care about me?”
“This is not the time for questions, kid. Come on.” The man nudged Wend in the side with a black boot, and Wend got to his feet unsteadily.
He looked around. They were surrounded by rooftops on all sides, the tiles and gutters stretching as far as the eye could see. “Um, how?”
“You thought that climb was bad?” The man grinned again. This time Wend could practically hear it in his voice. “Just wait ‘till you see what I have lined up for you tonight.”
---
A few hours and a chase scene or two later (which were very exciting and long and which have very little to do with the plot, and which the author, who would very much like to get to the actual damn story line sometime soon, decided to omit. But they were very exciting. If you’d like a more detailed description of how the characters were feeling at the time, cover yourself in tuna and catnip and walk down the block to that house with all the cats.) the pair came to rest on top of a cliff on the out skirts of the city.
Wend was crouched on his haunches, while the bandit stood a few feet behind him, his foot up on a nearby rock, his fore-arms resting on his thigh. They looked out over the city, watching the fire rage in the old mill (the explosion and subsequent fire had little to do with the pair, and a lot to do with a drunk fire dancer, but the bandit will still most likely take credit for the deed.) Wend's chest rose and fell sharply as he gulped in air, his lungs still burning with the effort of running.
"We need to keep moving." The bandit said suddenly, putting his foot down on the hard earth.
Wend choked on his own spit. "Ca-can't move," he wheezed, "d-dead."
"You will be if we don't get a move on." His eyes were scanning the city, keeping an eye out for any one on their tail.
Wend whimpered. "Please no."
There was a crash in the woods behind them. The bandit crouched behind the rock. "Get up," he said quietly, "and move towards me."
"I-I can't."
"Fine. Then I'll leave you here." And keeping low to the ground, the bandit stood up, and ran into the woods.
Wend lay in silence. The rocks of the dusty cliff top cut into his back. A particularly large and pointy one was digging into the back of his head. He strained his ears to try to hear the bandit. He couldn't believe that the man would simply up and leave him. Not after the temple, not after the inn, not after the thrilling and adventurous escape (again, tuna, catnip, and the crazy cat ladies house). He knew he should get up, but his body just wouldn't obey his mind.
The rain was lighter now, the drizzle pooling near Wend's eyes. Blinking it away, he realized that it wasn't just rain water. He was crying. He was completely alone now. His family didn't care about him, (change the head priest knowing Wends name. no one knows who he is.) the temple didn't know him. They only had a place for him till the end of the week. And now the one person who seemed to be out for his best interest had just walked out on him. The tears fell harder.
"Please tell me that you are not actually crying." The dark, blurry shape of the bandit suddenly appeared in Wend's line of vision. "Holy crap you are. Dude, lame."
Wend hiccupped. "Y-you're -hick- back."
"You've noticed. Come on." The bandit pushed Wend up to a sitting position, and dragged him towards the rock. When Wend's back was propped up against the rock, the bandit crouched in front of him. "I found a stream. Have a drink. It'll help cool you down."
"Um. Thanks." Wend took the canteen gingerly and brought it to his lips. The water was cool, and soothed his hoarse throat. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Am I?” asked the bandit, taking the canteen away from Wend when he w=had finished draining it. “I’m sorry. I’ll go back to being a dick to you, shall I?”
“No! No, I mean, thanks for the water and all it just -“
“I get it.” The bandit let out a low chuckle. “I’m just messing with you. Calm down.”
“Oh. I see.”
The bandit sighed and flopped down beside the other man. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Y-you want to know my name?!”
“Well, I could just name you myself, if you’d prefer. You look like a Slappy to me.” He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe a Scrappy Doo. NO! Gertrude. Thaaaat’s the ticket.”
“Wend!”
“What?”
“No, Wend. That’s my name: Wend.”
The bandit reached up and hooked a forefinger behind the fabric of his mask and pulled it off. He had a handsome face, though a number of scars decorated the skin by his eye patch, with one larger one reaching down to his chin. His face lit up in a blinding smile. He extended a hand in welcome.
“Nice to meet you, Wend. My name’s Pete.”