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Post by brendur on Oct 10, 2009 11:29:07 GMT -5
“Quit yer whingin.” she said, as she forced a rib back into place. As white flaring pain of shattered bone was replaced by the dull chronic ache of bone settling back home, Brendur reflected that this would probably be the gentlest thing said to him by his sister today. He took a pull from her latest batch of brandy, taking solace in the steady and warming burn that started at the center of his chest and spread from there. “Gentle hands…” her grumbled as she began to slather ointment over the growing purple blotch on his side. “What ever happened to healers with gentle hands?” “Sent off of to the killin fields.” She countered as she poked a particularly tender spot. “Sent off to the dirt mounds to be shown that gentle hands blister quick when asked to bury nations. While yer siftin though my grave dirt, say true little Ratter, where today were Filchers what don’t get caught?”
He frowned as she managed to prod a spot more tender than his side, his ego. “Twasn’t a filch so it don’t count. I won the game, they didn’t have the coin to pay.” She pinched his side, eliciting a groan from her older brother hissing at him in her creaky manner. “Should have kenned their twitch when they came through the door, taint naught but should haves and could nevers what’s leavin yer mouth. Lost afore ye dealt, Ma Holst would have yer hide iffin she had her own.” “I don’t need ye to tell me how to do!” Brendur snapped at her, causing her hands to yank back from her work and retreat back a step. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. She turned her back to him her hands shaking as she nervously plucked at the bandages on them, muttering beneath her breath. Rattling as she went, she swept out the room of the small hut, and into the back, where she had set up temporarily for her work.
Groaning, Brendur swore at himself, and stood up. Holding his side he went to the doorway of the peat house, sweeping aside the oiled leather curtain that served as a door, and looking out over Ost Forod as he mentally chastised himself. She was right of course, a part of him admitted it in hushed tones, he’d gotten over confidant, drunk with the ability to read others over their cards. If he had been a little less keen to play, he’d have noticed the three around his fire didn’t have the coin he was plumbing for, that the more they drank the more they gambled, and that six more of their little gang was at the fire not too far away. If only…instead he found himself curled into a ball while nine of the Copper Hat Lads took turns kicking him until his teeth rattled.
First reprieve he got, he ran, he and Syfe stuffing what they couldn’t part with into their satchels as quickly as they could, and then riding hard until they came to the lands of Tinnudir. It cost them months of work, all that they had worked for in Esteldin as well as a week’s worth of coin to rent this little hovel while they got back on their feet. She hadn’t even asked why when he told her they needed to run, simply trusted him, and didn’t waste a moment arguing. Now that they had both caught their breath, he’d used the quiet moments to bark at her. He’d apologize later, perhaps with something expensive that felt fine as she ran her fingers over it. For now though, there was only to rest.
(to be continued)
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Post by Tallaith on Oct 10, 2009 16:28:32 GMT -5
Oooo.. I wait with bated breath. I may pass out if you don't post soon...
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Post by brendur on Oct 21, 2009 15:31:04 GMT -5
Waking up with a dagger poking your nose is neither replenishing for the soul, nor revitalizing for the body, but none can argue that it wakes you up. Brendur had learned this before, but that didn’t help the cold splash of adrenaline that now worked its way up his spine and to the base of his head, demanding on no uncertain terms that his brain would focus on the here and the now. His eyes never left the dagger threatening to ruin his mediocre looks, but he saw confidant smiles, oiled and tightly strapped leather clothes, and those loathsome hats. The bastards had found them.
They didn’t wait for him to comment on his situation, he was given a quick belt across the face, and then dragged from his straw bed while pretty lights danced before his eyes. Two men had a hold of his arms, he decided not to fight them, or help them, let them wear themselves out dragging him around, and conserving strength was never a bad move in his book. His sister seemed to have different ideas; she made every inch a battlefield, and the men dragging her paid for every battle with scratches, bite marks, and clumps of pulled hair. Brendur heard someone hiss into his ear.
“Tell her to quiet down and we won’t start cutting bits off folks.” Brendur lolled his head about to get a look at the speaker, he dressed as the others did, but the little things gave him away as being from a cleaner start than the rest. He oiled his hair back under that raggedy cap, his clothes were properly tucked, not a strap or buckle was out of place. Brendur took this in, and started buying himself and Syfe some time.
“She doesn’t like t’be touched, least of all by gutter trash like yerselves.” The dagger that had been tickling his nose trailed its way down to his throat, so very near to one of the highly pressurized arteries that lay just beneath the skin, and nothing more. “That lies under the heading of ‘Your Problems’, I suggest you do something about it.”
Brendur gave it a moment, every moment counted, giving the impression that he was mulling over what was going on, all the while he was counting heads. The count was nine men, not impossible, but hardly odds in their favor, he opened his mouth as if to do what the leader asked, and before the first word came out, Syfe went limp in her assailants’ arms. Very slowly and in unison, the two siblings heads’ turned to look at the leader, and they grinned as if they didn’t have a thing to fear from any man before them. It was a show, but it had its effect, the confidence in the men’s’ smiles faltered, suddenly they weren’t so sure what kind of snake they had by the tail. Brendur cut the uncomfortable silence with a few choice words.
“Will that do?”
“Twon’t do fer them! Cowards! Filth! Men who’ve naer been men a day in their lives. They’ll stand afore the Ferryman and not even know the WHY oh their crossin the river!” Syfe never had been one to go unspoken. A few of the men stopped smiling, looking to their leader in their sudden concern, the clean-cut man who’s name Brendur recalled, Carlisle. He wasn’t impressed, clearing his throat, he removed the dagger from Brendur’s throat and crouched down in front of the two Siblings.
“Talk like that won’t get us anywhere now will it? I think the two of you misunderstand my reason for being here, in all honestly I have no hopes of harming you.” Brendur looked pointedly at the dagger that their “host” was waving about “Hmmm, wonder what could have led us to believe otherwise.”
If looks could kill, Carlisle’s would have probably just wounded, he made as if to respond, however a clinking sound caused everyone to look in the direction of Syfe’s room. One of the lads had gotten a hold of one of her jars, smirking as he tossed it up letting it arc a lazy trail in the air before catching it.
“What? Looks expensive, bet it could fetch a good price back in Esteldin.”
Since he was little, Brendur always had a knack for trouble. Some men boasted natural talents for song, fighting, writing, and other such useful fields without any real experience in them. Brendur likewise was never taught just how, but a little feeling, an itch would occur, when a moment was ripe to explode. Now was such a moment. He wet his lips, and lit the fuse.
“Tis expensive, n’hard to make, probably worth more than ye’ll ever see in yer pathetic existence, but go on and pawn it, s’all yer good fer.“
A sneer painted itself on the thug’s face, walking up he knelt beside Carlisle. He looked Brendur dead in the eye, hawked a bit of phlegm into his mouth, then unstoppered the jar and spat into it. “Piss on it then, tain’t worth my time.”
Brendur did his best to keep his grin on the inside.
“So what do ye lads want then eh? Couldn’t be fer the pleasure of our company that ye lot trotted on out here.”
“Yes.” Said a frustrated Carlisle. “As I was saying, You left Esteldin before we could discuss the terms of your new gambling house.”
“New gambling house?”
“Don’t play ignorant, that was the reason for all those high stakes games no? You weren’t being greedy, you were building capital.”
Brendur eyed Carlisle, he was rather sure he hadn’t told any of the Lads in that game what his plans in Esteldin had been, Syfe had been the only other to know. He weighed Carlisle anew, for all his appearance of not fitting in with this gang, he was well informed.
“N’Iffin I was?”
“Then you’ll do so, and we’ll take fourty percent. Or we’ll see if your sister can pull in the money in different ways”
Brendur nearly snarled in answer to the suggestion. He was about to tell them just where they could shove that offer, when Syfe spoke up, croaking in that worn voice of hers.
“Ratter?”
“Aye Sister?”
“Yesterday?...That really hurt.”
“This…tain’t exactly the time to be discussin it…”
“No tis the perfect time! Tis our time this…and iffin ye love me…” There was a pause as the Copper Hat lads looked about at one another, not sure what to make of this little moment that was being dragged out before them. Brendur spoke up.
“Iffin I loved ye…”
“Iffin ye loved me, ye’d bow yer head and ask fer forgiveness.”
Brendur took her meaning, he squinted his eyes shut and ducked his head. Just in time to, the Lad holding the jar yelped as the heat building inside scalded his hands; it tumbled towards the ground with nothing to hold it up. As it struck the ground, the world filled with light and noise.
Carlisle coughed at waved a hand in front of his face, there was a ringing in his ears, but at least he could see. He had seen Brendur’s reaction and seen it for what it was, it was only by the grace of his own gut reaction that he’d managed to cover his eyes and fling himself away, the others hadn’t been so lucky, squirming on the ground and clutching their eyes in agony. Groaning he lifted himself to his feet, looking about for the two they had come for. She was standing in the doorway of the hut, bold as brass, and without a hint of worry on her features. Vowing he’d make her regret his loss of hearing, he drew his spare dagger from his coat and rushed her.
The world became less simple in a short span of time. Whether the smoke blurred his vision, or if the blast had played with his head, for a few moments he didn’t see a girl standing there. Instead there stood a creature cloaked in black feathers, clawed hands clutching a knobbed staff of oak, and instead of teeth it sported a beak both cruel and twisted. It had no eyes but damned if he did not feel its gaze upon him, dividing him, dissecting him, weighing each and every little piece to find the worth of the sum. When the feeling left, the girl stood before him, and he watch dumbfounded as she pronounced judgment of which every word he heard through deafened ears.
“Ye who tear and ask not why, no reason even to what ye have to offer once stripped oh the lies they fed ye. Know afore the Ferryman comes fer ye, ye shall EARN his mercy! Rot is all that’s in yer heart and rot is all ye deserve!” With that she drew back her hand and struck him soundly across the cheek, a curse buzzing through her teeth and stinging his ears. The last sensation he remembered before blacking out, was the smell of meat gone bad.
Brendur pulled the nag that passed as his gallant steed about to the front of the hut, cautiously urging the already spooked creature to trot up next to his sister. She was in that place that was hers alone, wherever in her head that she went to see things men shouldn’t see, when she was like that it was hard to tell when it was appropriate to disturb her. He didn’t have time to speculate though, at any moment the men in that hut would collect their wits and decide to even the score. Leaning over the side he held out his hand to her.
“C’mon little Raven, time we were on our way.”
Much to his surprise, she turned, smiled brilliantly, and then took his hand, allowing herself to be pulled up onto the back of the horse, who took her added weight with nothing more than a tail flick. As he turned the horse loose to run at full gallop for Bree, Syfe hugged his waist, trembling against his back as the hut became a dot in the distance.
“Ratter?”
“Aye little Raven?”
“ I forgive ye.”
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Post by Tallaith on Oct 21, 2009 18:11:59 GMT -5
Yay! I've been holding my breath waiting for this and it was totally worth it! Very well done!
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Post by amariedan on Oct 21, 2009 19:53:34 GMT -5
aye awesome little short!
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