Red Currant 9, Dragonfruit 29, Cayenne 3 and Gummy Bunnies
Author: turnerwolf
Title: Braur's Path
Challenge: Red Currant #9- thin ice, Dragonfruit #29- one last desperate hope, Cayenne #3- unfair odds
Toppings: Gummy Bunnies- prompt from writerverse, use this first line in your story: “[name] shivered, pulling [his/her] jacket tighter around [him/her] and digging [his/her] numb hands under [his/her] arms.”
Word Count: 1386
Summary: Braur dreamt of a better life for himself and his sister, Traur, but things went horribly wrong.
Rating: R - allusions to non-con but not detailed.
Link: http://dragons-rook.livejournal.com/4718.html
Braur shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him and digging numb hands under his arms. The tattered remains of his jacket did little to protect him from the frosty air. Stamping his feet in a vain attempt to get his blood flowing and provide a little bit of warmth. At the ominous sounds of the cracking ice beneath him that he could barely hear over the howling winds, he stopped.
A traitorous part of his mind whispered to him, telling him it would be quick, quick and relatively painless if he would only stomp a little harder. Just a little harder and the ice would shatter and he would fall into an abyss filled with freezing water. Just a few short moments...a quick inhale and his troubles, his agony, would be over.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” he yelled against the insidious internal voice that kept tempting him, calling to him. It would be so easy just to give up. It wasn't like anything ever went his way, why keep struggling? Tears that quickly froze to his eyelids and cheeks added to his misery.
The strong part of his soul that kept him scrapping his entire life was succumbing quickly. When he was younger, his soul was fierce and strong. When he was younger, the small, insignificant victories that he won, like the theft of an orange. An orange that barely eased the constant hunger pains, but as his teeth would sink into the small citrus fruit, its juices sweet and tart flowing down his chin, would put a smile on his face. It would give him a reason for living. Watching his younger sister, desperate and hungry as he was, tuck into the wedges of fruit, always half of whatever he was able to steal, would add to the strength his victory provided. Her enjoyment of the fruit providing more sustenance to his soul than the fruit actually provided his body.
He survived to spite the soldiers and the King that were intent on keeping his kind in such abject poverty and poor conditions that they were no threat, but his driving force for survival was his baby sister. His dreams of a better life for himself paled in comparison to the dreams he had for her. He was determined to get her out of the slums and the options this life provided that awaited her in just a few short years. Already brothel owners were glancing her way when they walked the streets. After the last leer and shouted offer that one brothel owner shouted, he forbade her to leave the small rooms they shared alone. Despite her pleas for more outings, he had cut back on the ones they did share.
He had blood on his hands already, defending her honor. A neighborhood boy, a friend of his for many years had begun sniffing around. He was proud of Traur when she made it quite clear she was not interested in this boy. She held the same dreams for herself that her brother had for her. When the suitor tried to press his luck, when he tried to kidnap her and bring her to his home, claiming her as his wife- a common custom for the denizens of the slum, Braur took justice into his own hands.
The discovery of a dead boy, one whose throat had been cut ear to ear and a soldier's dagger buried deep in his gut, did not cause much of a stir. The boy's family mourned him but the presence of the military issued dagger that Braur had stolen insured that there would be no investigation.
If a soldier murdered one of them, there would be no justice. Had the folk thought for one instant that one of their own had been responsible, there might be a form of justice, but not in the courts. The courts wouldn't sully themselves hearing the problems of their lot. They couldn't afford the fees of the officials that would bring their case to the King’s judges.
Rumor had spread. There were whispers that a soldier was not responsible for the death of his sister's suitor, but they were faint whispers. Faint enough to prevent further interest in his sister and thus him. The hatred for the soldiers was a much stronger force than any whisper that might involve Braur. Far easier to lay the blame on outsiders, to lay the blame on the group who oppressed them. On the group that took advantage of them than turn to one of their own and blame him.
He shivered violently. Not that any of that mattered now. A few short hours... or had it been longer? A day? Two days? The cold and his hunger were playing tricks on him. How long had he been fleeing the soldiers?
That didn't matter now either. The elements would most likely finish him off before he reached the relative safety on the far side of the frozen lake . Odds were, he would freeze to death and in the spring, sink to the bottom of the lake. The soldiers that chased him would remain on the shore, warm around their fires that were faintly visible from where he stood.
Was it his imagination or was the wind carrying boisterous shouts of the soldiers alongside the petrified pleadings of a young woman across the ice to his ears? Despite the cold he pulled his hands from the negligible warmth his armpits were providing to clamp them firmly over his ears.
The soldiers had come for his sister. The soldiers and a nobleman from the King's Court. She had caught his eye and the nobleman sought Braur out. The young nobleman had offered a fair amount of gold in return for his sister's charms. It wasn't an offer of marriage, but one of slavery. Braur had immediately declined when the nobleman's intentions were clear. Selling Traur to him would be just the same as selling her to one of the seedy brothels that serviced the area. He declined, pressing the young nobleman for an offer of marriage for his sister, extolling her virtues but he had been met with scornful laughter.
The young nobleman then made it quite clear his sister was worthy only of a position in his employ that would have her on her back and legs spread for him and his friends. With a smirk, the nobleman had reached out, running the back of his fingers down Braur's face, saying that if Braur was willing, he had a position for him, on his knees since Brarur had a sweet expressive mouth that spoke his tongue might be useful elsewhere.
With an outraged cry, Braur had launched himself at the nobleman. In moments, the nobleman was dead and Braur was on the run, his sister following as the soldiers that had accompanied the nobleman grew aware something had gone wrong. His sister had followed, but had been quickly captured.
Braur knelt on the ice, hands frozen but still clenched over his ears. He knew he should have tried to rescue his sister, even if it had meant his death. He was ashamed of his cowardice that bade him to flee and not turn back as she had cried out for him to help her. The wind rose again, carrying a woman's frantic screams and cries above the jovial laughter and pleasured groans of conquest that came from the soldiers.
Anger and hatred flamed in his soul, pushing him up from the ice. He took a few steps towards the fires in the distance before stopping. Should he make their camp, in this condition, even fueled by his rage and the distraction of the soldiers who were taking advantage with his sister, he wouldn't stand a chance. He would find himself sharing his sister's fate before they killed him, before he could even take one of them down.
He turned to the far side of the lake. The dark haunted forest that might shelter him if he made it across the expanse of ice. The rumored free folk who lived in the woods, who might shelter him, take him in and heal him. He would live another day if he made it there. He would live another day, to prepare to avenge his sister.
Title: Braur's Path
Challenge: Red Currant #9- thin ice, Dragonfruit #29- one last desperate hope, Cayenne #3- unfair odds
Toppings: Gummy Bunnies- prompt from writerverse, use this first line in your story: “[name] shivered, pulling [his/her] jacket tighter around [him/her] and digging [his/her] numb hands under [his/her] arms.”
Word Count: 1386
Summary: Braur dreamt of a better life for himself and his sister, Traur, but things went horribly wrong.
Rating: R - allusions to non-con but not detailed.
Link: http://dragons-rook.livejournal.com/4718.html
Braur shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him and digging numb hands under his arms. The tattered remains of his jacket did little to protect him from the frosty air. Stamping his feet in a vain attempt to get his blood flowing and provide a little bit of warmth. At the ominous sounds of the cracking ice beneath him that he could barely hear over the howling winds, he stopped.
A traitorous part of his mind whispered to him, telling him it would be quick, quick and relatively painless if he would only stomp a little harder. Just a little harder and the ice would shatter and he would fall into an abyss filled with freezing water. Just a few short moments...a quick inhale and his troubles, his agony, would be over.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” he yelled against the insidious internal voice that kept tempting him, calling to him. It would be so easy just to give up. It wasn't like anything ever went his way, why keep struggling? Tears that quickly froze to his eyelids and cheeks added to his misery.
The strong part of his soul that kept him scrapping his entire life was succumbing quickly. When he was younger, his soul was fierce and strong. When he was younger, the small, insignificant victories that he won, like the theft of an orange. An orange that barely eased the constant hunger pains, but as his teeth would sink into the small citrus fruit, its juices sweet and tart flowing down his chin, would put a smile on his face. It would give him a reason for living. Watching his younger sister, desperate and hungry as he was, tuck into the wedges of fruit, always half of whatever he was able to steal, would add to the strength his victory provided. Her enjoyment of the fruit providing more sustenance to his soul than the fruit actually provided his body.
He survived to spite the soldiers and the King that were intent on keeping his kind in such abject poverty and poor conditions that they were no threat, but his driving force for survival was his baby sister. His dreams of a better life for himself paled in comparison to the dreams he had for her. He was determined to get her out of the slums and the options this life provided that awaited her in just a few short years. Already brothel owners were glancing her way when they walked the streets. After the last leer and shouted offer that one brothel owner shouted, he forbade her to leave the small rooms they shared alone. Despite her pleas for more outings, he had cut back on the ones they did share.
He had blood on his hands already, defending her honor. A neighborhood boy, a friend of his for many years had begun sniffing around. He was proud of Traur when she made it quite clear she was not interested in this boy. She held the same dreams for herself that her brother had for her. When the suitor tried to press his luck, when he tried to kidnap her and bring her to his home, claiming her as his wife- a common custom for the denizens of the slum, Braur took justice into his own hands.
The discovery of a dead boy, one whose throat had been cut ear to ear and a soldier's dagger buried deep in his gut, did not cause much of a stir. The boy's family mourned him but the presence of the military issued dagger that Braur had stolen insured that there would be no investigation.
If a soldier murdered one of them, there would be no justice. Had the folk thought for one instant that one of their own had been responsible, there might be a form of justice, but not in the courts. The courts wouldn't sully themselves hearing the problems of their lot. They couldn't afford the fees of the officials that would bring their case to the King’s judges.
Rumor had spread. There were whispers that a soldier was not responsible for the death of his sister's suitor, but they were faint whispers. Faint enough to prevent further interest in his sister and thus him. The hatred for the soldiers was a much stronger force than any whisper that might involve Braur. Far easier to lay the blame on outsiders, to lay the blame on the group who oppressed them. On the group that took advantage of them than turn to one of their own and blame him.
He shivered violently. Not that any of that mattered now. A few short hours... or had it been longer? A day? Two days? The cold and his hunger were playing tricks on him. How long had he been fleeing the soldiers?
That didn't matter now either. The elements would most likely finish him off before he reached the relative safety on the far side of the frozen lake . Odds were, he would freeze to death and in the spring, sink to the bottom of the lake. The soldiers that chased him would remain on the shore, warm around their fires that were faintly visible from where he stood.
Was it his imagination or was the wind carrying boisterous shouts of the soldiers alongside the petrified pleadings of a young woman across the ice to his ears? Despite the cold he pulled his hands from the negligible warmth his armpits were providing to clamp them firmly over his ears.
The soldiers had come for his sister. The soldiers and a nobleman from the King's Court. She had caught his eye and the nobleman sought Braur out. The young nobleman had offered a fair amount of gold in return for his sister's charms. It wasn't an offer of marriage, but one of slavery. Braur had immediately declined when the nobleman's intentions were clear. Selling Traur to him would be just the same as selling her to one of the seedy brothels that serviced the area. He declined, pressing the young nobleman for an offer of marriage for his sister, extolling her virtues but he had been met with scornful laughter.
The young nobleman then made it quite clear his sister was worthy only of a position in his employ that would have her on her back and legs spread for him and his friends. With a smirk, the nobleman had reached out, running the back of his fingers down Braur's face, saying that if Braur was willing, he had a position for him, on his knees since Brarur had a sweet expressive mouth that spoke his tongue might be useful elsewhere.
With an outraged cry, Braur had launched himself at the nobleman. In moments, the nobleman was dead and Braur was on the run, his sister following as the soldiers that had accompanied the nobleman grew aware something had gone wrong. His sister had followed, but had been quickly captured.
Braur knelt on the ice, hands frozen but still clenched over his ears. He knew he should have tried to rescue his sister, even if it had meant his death. He was ashamed of his cowardice that bade him to flee and not turn back as she had cried out for him to help her. The wind rose again, carrying a woman's frantic screams and cries above the jovial laughter and pleasured groans of conquest that came from the soldiers.
Anger and hatred flamed in his soul, pushing him up from the ice. He took a few steps towards the fires in the distance before stopping. Should he make their camp, in this condition, even fueled by his rage and the distraction of the soldiers who were taking advantage with his sister, he wouldn't stand a chance. He would find himself sharing his sister's fate before they killed him, before he could even take one of them down.
He turned to the far side of the lake. The dark haunted forest that might shelter him if he made it across the expanse of ice. The rumored free folk who lived in the woods, who might shelter him, take him in and heal him. He would live another day if he made it there. He would live another day, to prepare to avenge his sister.