characters converge
Pistachio #24. Retreat
Story : knights
Rating : PG-13 (violence)
Timeframe : Fall 1260
Word Count : 1065
continued here
Lyssa placed one foot lazily in front of the other, her eyes cast on her own boots rather than watching where she was going. Where didn’t really matter, as long as it wasn’t too far, and as long as it was far enough. She had chosen, at random, one of the broad avenues that radiated from the market square, and followed it until the din of the crowd fell from a roaring clatter to a buzz that could be ignored if she just stared at her feet hard enough.
Rune was haggling, a spectacle Lyssa couldn’t bear to watch. It wasn’t as if they needed any bargains. Between the stipend given by the Knighthood and each of their own purses, money was far from an issue. She would point this out to him and he would smile and shake his head. It wasn’t the deal, it was the game with the merchant. Inevitably, Lyssa would walk away with her head in her hand, wondering what foolish notion had brought her to the market with him in the first place.
She gave the loose gravel a kick, sending dust and stones skittering before her. The faint rattle of the rolling pebbles was drowned out by the sudden thunder of heavy steps behind her. Lyssa didn’t bother to raise her head, even as they approached. The force of a small body that slammed into her a moment later, however, was enough to bring her to attention.
The collision seemed to rouse the dark haired woman that had caused it as well. Lyssa’s angry glare at having been struck was met with startled confusion in the sharp green eyes of the other. Her own footing was regained in just a step, while the other staggered forward under the weight of a swollen belly far too large for her frail body. Lyssa threw out an arm to catch her, as it seemed her own momentum would bring her to the ground. As she settled back on shaky legs, another set of footsteps followed.
Lyssa rounded on the newcomer, a man, only a bit taller than the woman he pursued, with a thick, black beard and a worn and dusty cloak. Her brows knit as she wondered what would possess a man to chase a pregnant woman through the streets until she could barely keep her feet. A hand slid to the hilt at her waist, as the woman pushed away from her to take a few halting steps towards the man.
“Kairn,” she called, pitching forward into his arms while Lyssa watched in confusion, fingers idly tracing the pommel of her weapon. “Are they…?”
The man’s hands settled on her shoulders, bringing her to an upright position once more. “In the market,” he said, nearly breathless himself. “We need to keep moving.”
Leaving the sword to swing freely at her hip, Lyssa brought her arms across her chest and loudly cleared her throat. The pair snapped to attention, turning to look at her as if they’d only just realized she was there.
The woman’s face colored. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Who’s after you?”
The man’s hands tightened on his companion as he made to usher her past. “It’s not your concern,” he said hurriedly.
“A lowlife that would chase someone in your condition deserves to be made my concern,” she said.
“Really,” said the man. “We wish you no trouble.”
Lyssa closed her eyes and took a breath to fuel her waning patience. “I do have a sword.”
The woman paled and the man shook his head. “Please,” he said. “For your own safety…”
Any remark she may have made to dismiss his show of concern was to be left unspoken, as a third set of footsteps entered the street. Lyssa’s sword cleared the scabbard as she spun around.
There was nothing physically imposing about the latest arrival. Of average build and height, in clothes nearly as damaged by travel as the other two. His eyes fell to her sword, though he drew no weapon of his own as he approached. Instead, he lifted his empty hand to the air, tracing unseen shapes in the space before him.
Despite the warning voiced by the cowering pair behind her, Lyssa thought it better that she strike before the spell was through than duck for cover. A few quick steps and a lunge brought the man within her reach. She swung with the flat of her blade, aiming to disable rather than maim. He withdrew his hand, dodging her blow, but rendering his carefully drawn strokes completely useless.
Lyssa easily recovered from her miss, bringing the weapon crashing into the man’s knees with a crunch. Her opponent toppled to the ground, where he cringed with one hand out as if it might ward off her blows, while the other began to trace a new form in the dust. She gave his arm a kick, destroying the half-rendered sigil. His hand wrapped around her ankle and a quick flick of his fingers along her boot caused a sharp pain to race up her leg. She struggled to shake him off as her leg burned and throbbed at his touch, but he held fast. Forcing her foot to the ground, she gave her sword a swing, her blow aimed to sever the offending hand.
The mage let go, rolling aside as her blade slammed into the gravel, filling the air with thick dust. Lyssa staggered back, feeling as if a giant fist had been thrust beneath her ribs, as he touched the sigil she had not seen him drawing. The lines flared and faded, and he hurried to replace them as Lyssa clutched her stomach, fighting to find her breath.
Still panting, she wrapped both hands around the hilt of her weapon and forced the blade into the air. Gravity was more than enough help in rendering the man unconscious. He slumped into a heap in the road as Lyssa brought her weapon back to her side.
Lyssa looked from the body to the man and woman fearfully clinging to each other down the street. “Now. Would you mind telling me what it is the necromancers want with the two of you?”
The man’s wide eyes moved slowly between Lyssa and the fallen mage, then back towards the market. “That wasn’t the only one,” he said, his grip on the woman tightening.
Story : knights
Rating : PG-13 (violence)
Timeframe : Fall 1260
Word Count : 1065
continued here
Lyssa placed one foot lazily in front of the other, her eyes cast on her own boots rather than watching where she was going. Where didn’t really matter, as long as it wasn’t too far, and as long as it was far enough. She had chosen, at random, one of the broad avenues that radiated from the market square, and followed it until the din of the crowd fell from a roaring clatter to a buzz that could be ignored if she just stared at her feet hard enough.
Rune was haggling, a spectacle Lyssa couldn’t bear to watch. It wasn’t as if they needed any bargains. Between the stipend given by the Knighthood and each of their own purses, money was far from an issue. She would point this out to him and he would smile and shake his head. It wasn’t the deal, it was the game with the merchant. Inevitably, Lyssa would walk away with her head in her hand, wondering what foolish notion had brought her to the market with him in the first place.
She gave the loose gravel a kick, sending dust and stones skittering before her. The faint rattle of the rolling pebbles was drowned out by the sudden thunder of heavy steps behind her. Lyssa didn’t bother to raise her head, even as they approached. The force of a small body that slammed into her a moment later, however, was enough to bring her to attention.
The collision seemed to rouse the dark haired woman that had caused it as well. Lyssa’s angry glare at having been struck was met with startled confusion in the sharp green eyes of the other. Her own footing was regained in just a step, while the other staggered forward under the weight of a swollen belly far too large for her frail body. Lyssa threw out an arm to catch her, as it seemed her own momentum would bring her to the ground. As she settled back on shaky legs, another set of footsteps followed.
Lyssa rounded on the newcomer, a man, only a bit taller than the woman he pursued, with a thick, black beard and a worn and dusty cloak. Her brows knit as she wondered what would possess a man to chase a pregnant woman through the streets until she could barely keep her feet. A hand slid to the hilt at her waist, as the woman pushed away from her to take a few halting steps towards the man.
“Kairn,” she called, pitching forward into his arms while Lyssa watched in confusion, fingers idly tracing the pommel of her weapon. “Are they…?”
The man’s hands settled on her shoulders, bringing her to an upright position once more. “In the market,” he said, nearly breathless himself. “We need to keep moving.”
Leaving the sword to swing freely at her hip, Lyssa brought her arms across her chest and loudly cleared her throat. The pair snapped to attention, turning to look at her as if they’d only just realized she was there.
The woman’s face colored. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Who’s after you?”
The man’s hands tightened on his companion as he made to usher her past. “It’s not your concern,” he said hurriedly.
“A lowlife that would chase someone in your condition deserves to be made my concern,” she said.
“Really,” said the man. “We wish you no trouble.”
Lyssa closed her eyes and took a breath to fuel her waning patience. “I do have a sword.”
The woman paled and the man shook his head. “Please,” he said. “For your own safety…”
Any remark she may have made to dismiss his show of concern was to be left unspoken, as a third set of footsteps entered the street. Lyssa’s sword cleared the scabbard as she spun around.
There was nothing physically imposing about the latest arrival. Of average build and height, in clothes nearly as damaged by travel as the other two. His eyes fell to her sword, though he drew no weapon of his own as he approached. Instead, he lifted his empty hand to the air, tracing unseen shapes in the space before him.
Despite the warning voiced by the cowering pair behind her, Lyssa thought it better that she strike before the spell was through than duck for cover. A few quick steps and a lunge brought the man within her reach. She swung with the flat of her blade, aiming to disable rather than maim. He withdrew his hand, dodging her blow, but rendering his carefully drawn strokes completely useless.
Lyssa easily recovered from her miss, bringing the weapon crashing into the man’s knees with a crunch. Her opponent toppled to the ground, where he cringed with one hand out as if it might ward off her blows, while the other began to trace a new form in the dust. She gave his arm a kick, destroying the half-rendered sigil. His hand wrapped around her ankle and a quick flick of his fingers along her boot caused a sharp pain to race up her leg. She struggled to shake him off as her leg burned and throbbed at his touch, but he held fast. Forcing her foot to the ground, she gave her sword a swing, her blow aimed to sever the offending hand.
The mage let go, rolling aside as her blade slammed into the gravel, filling the air with thick dust. Lyssa staggered back, feeling as if a giant fist had been thrust beneath her ribs, as he touched the sigil she had not seen him drawing. The lines flared and faded, and he hurried to replace them as Lyssa clutched her stomach, fighting to find her breath.
Still panting, she wrapped both hands around the hilt of her weapon and forced the blade into the air. Gravity was more than enough help in rendering the man unconscious. He slumped into a heap in the road as Lyssa brought her weapon back to her side.
Lyssa looked from the body to the man and woman fearfully clinging to each other down the street. “Now. Would you mind telling me what it is the necromancers want with the two of you?”
The man’s wide eyes moved slowly between Lyssa and the fallen mage, then back towards the market. “That wasn’t the only one,” he said, his grip on the woman tightening.