Thou Art My True Companion

User avatar
Khaela Mensha Khaine
Posts: 85
Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2016 9:41 pm

Thou Art My True Companion

Postby Khaela Mensha Khaine » Fri Dec 09, 2016 8:43 pm

Down it falls again; the rain is ceaseless of late. Here, beneath the shelter of a linen canopy that lies stretched across the branches of a tree, I sit and contemplate what lays ahead. Some twenty feet in front of me the campfire flickers, clinging onto the last vestiges of its' fragile life, spitting in the face of the tremendous downpour that has continued almost unabated for what is in all likelihood days now. I have nothing to warm me but the subtle echo of its heat and the black cloak that has been my savior since I arrived in these frigid, snow-strewn, human lands.

Gloomily I have nothing to do but shiver and mull over my next undertaking. I have been all around the Northern coast, wandering Vlasta, its' forests, its' mountains and, on more than two occasions, under them. I have hunted about Songhall and the Laviguer road, as well as the Earthspurs. Now I have to aim South, to Filur, its' outlying plains and the Earthfasts. If only this rain would stop.

But it won't, and the fire is about to die. I wait and watch it happen. It's a sad thing to me, like the snuffing out of any comfort I could possibly hope to attain here. With a weary sigh I untangle myself from the cloak I had tightly wrapped around me and take the bow from my shoulder, gripping it tight. I look upwards at the rain, then to the Royal Road ahead that will eventually lead me to Filur. A few more moments, a few more seconds of nothing more than being dry and somewhat warm, and then I make my move.

It doesn't take long before my hood, my cloak, my tunic and the rest of my attire is completely saturated with water. It makes my steps feel heavy, sluggish. It makes the cold wind bite into my bones, and it makes my toes try to scrunch up in my boots as they freeze against the icy slush underfoot.
I stop in my tracks, frowning. I don't know what this place is called - if there even is a name that identifies it as anything more than the Royal Road - but the trail before me is now buried beneath the snow and two large hills flank each side of it. I've been here many times. This is the way to Filur, but for some reason my attention is drawn to my left.

There, between one of the hillsides and the trees, lies a small path that I realize I've never wandered. Perhaps what drew me there was the thought of being sheltered - at least against the wind, if not the rain. That, and my vow to leave no stone unchecked in these human lands in my hunt for the orcs that so wronged me and my family.

As always in new, unfamiliar territory, I am cautious. My bow is in one hand and the other is ready to reach for my quiver. My steps are light, careful. I keep glancing to the ground, watching what stretches out before me. I don't travel far before I reach a more heavily wooded area, barely touched by the snow, but still the earth is utterly sodden from the rain. I hug the trees; it's still daylight and even beyond the snow my dark attire doesn't lend itself to stealth at this hour. The path before me splits left and right, each to clearings, likely man-made. I take my time, I stand here and wait a while. I have traveled these lands aplenty and know that these forests are dense with desperate men and beasts alike.

The danger, however, comes swiftly from the one place I did not expect. I hear the twang of a taut bowstring being released and my body acts on instinct, jolting to one side. I'm tumbling, the world spinning about, just a quick blur of green and brown, before I even hear the thunk of the arrowhead puncturing dense wood. Emerging from the roll I rise to my feet in one smooth, swift motion and dash to the other side of the trees. They're so closely knit here that my assailant won't even see how far I run, and my steps are silent, so instead I linger near - waiting to ambush.

My bow is already slung onto my shoulder at this point. I grab the sheath that hangs at my hip and hold it tight while the other hand quietly slides out my short sword. I press the flat of the blade to my chest, leaning my head back against the tree, and listen. The patter of footsteps eventually alert me to an approaching presence. I still my breathing and it halts just around the corner. I'm silent, of that I'm sure, but there are no more footsteps and I'm forced to accept that it knows I am still there.

I clench my teeth tightly and let out the breath I'd been holding. A sharp hiss, and that's all the goblin hears as I burst out from behind the cover of the trees. Perhaps it knew I was there, but now that I look into its widening yellow eyes I know it wasn't expecting me to rush it down with such fury.

Something deep within me growls; a hunger for its demise. I feel the fury welling up in me, but I carry it out with cold precision. It happens within a few seconds: I bridge the gap between myself and the goblin. As what is about to happen dawns upon the creature it opens its mouth to scream. I hear the cry, but it sounds like it comes from elsewhere, distant.
Slowly, as if in water, it turns. I easily reach out in time to grab it, my slender fingers curling over its shoulder and holding it fast. Only a second or so later, there's a sharp pressure that jolts my other arm and, standing just behind the much shorter hunter, I see the tip of the blade explode out of its chest with an expulsion of blood.

Both of my arms tense against its spasmodic wriggling. I hit something vital, I know - it doesn't take long for it to grow still, and quietly and gently I ease the limp body to the ground as I simultaneously withdraw my sword from its back. I steady my breath and look it over, soon aware that my face is taut, locked into a scowl. The expression eases as the call of war drifts away from my mind. Calmly I grab its head, pull it from the ground and then slip the edge of my blade across its throat. Dark blood pools underneath, but the rain will wash most if not all of that evidence away.

Patting it down quickly, I search for any suggestion of where it came from. Nothing, and nothing useful on it. Shaking my head, I heave its body off into the dense brush nearby and trust the weather will rid any immediate signs of its death from the sight of whatever companions it had. At least until I'm long gone.

In doing so, though, something falls from its pocket, something I missed. A bauble of sorts, a perfect glass sphere. Nothing in it. I see no reason for a goblin to hold such a trinket. It is no gem I have ever seen, nor does it seem to have any practical use. Turning it around in my hand for a time, I almost forget that danger may loom just beyond the path from whence I tread.

The sky was beginning to darken, and the rain was still hammering down. It would grow colder still and I had committed to exploring these woods. Shaking my head to dismiss any curiosity about the goblin, I set off - again, cautiously . . .

. . but again, I don't get far before I stop. The muscles in my jaw set to working as I grind my teeth, huddled up against a tree, trying to use what leaves it had left to defend myself against the rain. What if the goblin did have allies? There were humans on the roads, workers. They'd be near defenseless against the spiteful little creatures, prey to their vicious ambushes.

This new trail was unknown. It could lead me anywhere and to ultimately nothing. Behind me, someone's sister, someone's husband, someone's child could perish.

Once again, feeling like a betrayer, I stall my hunt and turn back.

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 7 guests