Message #124915

[House le Drake]

Melot went through his gear again to be certain he hadn't missed anything.  He'd been in port a few days now and had whittled down his meager possessions to a respectable adventurer's kit.  The first to go had been his clothes: good linen was comfortable but hardly suitable for the wilds outside of town.  Next had gone his deer bone amulet, a gift from his half-sister Rue that hadn't fetched as much as he'd hoped.  The last to go had also been the hardest to part with: a silver ring engraved with the head of an antelope, his family's heraldic animal.  The past few days had been difficult but ultimately good for him, and he was ready to strike out into the wilderness.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and climbed down from the loft, his whole body stiff.  He'd managed to find shelter with an elderly fisherman and his two sons; though the whole house stunk of fish and he'd hardly been able to sleep the first night, Melot had come to respect the fishermen as he toiled alongside them.  Used to giving orders, it'd been decidedly different finding himself on the receiving end of them (and from a commoner, no less... though he supposed he was common now too). 

The others were already sitting down to breakfast when he joined them.  The oldest son didn't look up from his plate, but the youngest smiled and waved for him to be seated.  Melot dropped his pack beside his chair and sat; the elder son pushed a plate of smoked fish and hard cheese his way.  "Thank you."  His words were met with a solemn nod.  If there was one thing that he would remember of that family in the years to come, it would be their reticent nature: not a one of them spoke unless they had reason to speak.  Melot almost preferred it to the meaningless conversation he was so accustomed to: members of the noble class tended to love the sound of their own voice.

He followed their example of silence until he'd finished his share of breakfast.  Melot grabbed his pack again and followed them out the door; he stopped the head of the household with a gentle touch.  The old fisherman turned and peered intently at him with eyes narrowed from a life under the sun and on the sea.  Melot pressed the gold coin he'd earned by selling his ring into his gnarled hand.  "For your generosity."  The old man blinked owlishly at him and handed it back, mumbling, "Keep your coin.  It was the neighborly thing to do."  Before Melot could protest he'd gone.  The youngest son stopped beside Melot, his eyes on his Father's back as he limped down to the docks, "Father is a proud man; I'll take that for him and slip it into his coin purse later."  Melot shrugged and handed the gold piece over, "Thank you for your family's hospitality.  I won't soon forget it."

They made their farewells, and when the fishermen were gone Melot started the opposite direction up the street.  He found a comfortable pace down the road out of town and set his eyes forward, eager to leave the port city far behind him.

Oh Gods, no!  Jocelin fought to suppress her fear and failed.  The monsters advanced over the bodies of her fallen comrades: the men her brother had commanded, and whose command had fallen to her with his departure.  Now all but a handful lay dead, and those who remained fell under the advancing horde.  They'd been assailed on the way to Rettleville, where her father had said she might hire more troops.  The small contingent of archers had taken the change of command poorly, complaining loudly.  Melot had been much loved, and it embarrassed them to now find themselves under the command of his younger sister.  Jocelin had remained strong in spite of that fact, and ordered the march to Rettleville with hardly any time spent to earn their respect.  She'd expected it to come over time... though now it seemed she might never get that chance.

Her hands shook so badly that she was having trouble holding onto her sword.  Why can't I move?  What had she done wrong, that her first attempt at command had taken this bad of a turn?  Jocelin stared in horror as an Orc clad in rippling black chainmail kicked one of her injured men onto his back; it put its boot on his face and crushed his skull under its weight, the sickening crunch audible over the screams of the dying and the warcries of the monster's comrades.  A second Orc put its rusty blade through the heart of an archer who had dropped his weapon and held up his hands in surrender.  Yet a third on her left caught and cut out the throat of a man who had turned to flee back into the forest.

And then their eyes turned to her.

Jocelin dropped her sword and shield and staggered back, her hands raising in surrender.  "I didn't want this," She pleaded, hating herself for having led her men into this slaughter.  Her fear nearly paralyzed her again as she realized the end had come.  "Please."  I don't want to die.  Jocelin was too inexperienced to be concerned with dying a coward's death.  Her thoughts had ceased beyond the mantra that repeated itself in her head.  Please don't kill me not today not now please don't please please...

The Orc who had crushed the man's skull under its boot approached her casually, assured of its victory.  It had the audacity to lick its blade clean of human blood as it advanced, its eyes fixed on her own.  Jocelin felt her water cut loose.  She almost screamed when something latched onto her ankle; a man with black-feathered arrows peppering his body had reached out and grabbed her.  Jocelin stared into his eyes as the light left them; she vaguely recognized him as one of the men who had taken the change in command the easiest.  She even thought he'd smiled at her once, though perhaps she'd been mistaken.  His mouth was ringed with blood, and his rasping voice was almost inaudible.  "Run," He gasped, his hand pushing on her ankle as if to urge her to move, "Run!"

She didn't need any more urging: Jocelin turned and bolted for the forest.  Behind her the Orc bellowed and gave chase; she could hear his armor crashing against his body as he charged after her.  An arrow hissed out of the darkness from behind and missed by a narrow margin on her right; another followed, and another, until she was under a hail of enemy fire.  Miraculously they all missed, and she passed under the protective canopy of the trees.  The Orc came crashing through the dense underbrush behind her.  The sound, terrifyingly close, urged her to greater speed.  Freedom seemed at hand before she stumbled onto one of the many streams that coursed through these woods to the Draco River.  Thinking to cross it, her foot slipped on a moss-covered stone, and she went crashing down into the water.  Pain shot up her arm as she landed hard in the shallow water.  She desperately scrambled to her feet as the Orc chased her in, its sword held high.  Instinct overcame reason: Jocelin raised her arm to block, forgetting she had abandoned her shield on the battleground.  The bracelet she wore saved her from losing her arm entirely; the jagged blade screamed against the rounded metal and slid down her forearm, cutting through boiled leather armor and flesh with ease.  Her adrenaline was running too high to notice the pain.  Fight.  Fight or die.  Fight!  Her martial instructor's words echoed in her ears.  Jocelin put her shoulder into the Orc's chest and pushed with all her might.  Over even terrain she would have quickly found her end after a stunt like that; the Gods, however, must have had different plans for Jocelin le Drake.  Calf-deep in icy water, Jocelin had somehow found good footing; the Orc, on the other hand, had not.  Her shove sent it toppling over with a splash.  She didn't stick around and wait for it to recover, and ran for her life into the forest.

The other monsters did not give chase.

Oliver barked excitedly at her from further up the road, urging her to follow.  Rue yawned and rubbed her sore neck: she'd been sleeping on hard ground for a week now, and still wasn't any more used to it than she'd been on the first night.  At least her dog seemed to be enjoying himself: the hunting hound had really found himself on the trail and spent a great deal of time sniffing for rabbits along the hedges or barking at other travelers on the road.  There were a surprising number of the latter, always accompanied by rumors of monsters.  She'd come to take them seriously the more she heard, though she still hadn't seen anything.  A blessing, she would come to find in the days to come.

A cart rattled up the road behind her; it'd been steadily gaining for the past hour, growing from a speck in the distance to a team of four.  The driver slowed the horses to fall in beside her, looking down at her from his high seat.  Rue raised her hand in greeting.  The man did not return the gesture, "Where are you heading, girl?"

"Forward." Oliver had seen the cart and bounded back to rejoin her.  The driver eyeballed the dog with an appraising eye, "That's a fine animal for a lowly traveler."  Rue bristled at that, "And what makes you think I'm lowly?"

"Because a fat lord would've hired a carriage for you otherwise."  They were quiet for a long time, Rue seething internally while the man looked on, unconcerned.  "Did you steal him?"  Oliver cocked his head to one side and barked quizzically; Rue put her hand on his head and flashed the man a toothy grin, "Yes.  I'm a bandit and I'll steal every damn thing in your cart if you don't hurry along now."  She pointed further up the road, indicating to him that he should be on his way.  But still he persisted in speaking to her, "You want to climb up?  Would you like a ride?"

"You don't know where I'm going."

"You don't look like you know either."

Rue stopped at that.  The driver reined in his team, the cart coming to a halt.  One of the horses tossed its head in protest; the others stood there placidly, waiting.  She was acutely aware of the weight of the pack across her back, of the soreness in her legs and the ache of her sleep-deprived body.  Sitting for a spell would be such a treat...

"'Course, I'd have to charge you."

Oliver barked.  She rolled her eyes and kept on walking.