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)Guild Wars: Dance of Lead
Episode 1: Seven
Chapter 1: Chains…
Spoiler
Chapter 2 ...around the heart. Seven’s sparkling white teeth spread open wide when the Iron Legion war machine crested the peak, allowing him a stunning view of the city, Divinity’s Reach. The silver furred charr had to agree with the city’s majestic name. The distant stone towers did seem to reach towards the sky. It actually made him feel remorseful that they would be ravaging such a gorgeous vista.
Seven was unusual as a charr, and it was not just his numerically inspired name. Everything from his silver, wolf-like colouration to his unimpressive horns and stature and practically invisible tusks. He barely broke six and a half feet fully erect. He did not fit the stereotype of the monstrous race, but he reflected a less seen side of his nation. He was the thoughtful engineer, he was one of the countless cogs that made the charr the single most advanced race of all Tyria.
“Oof!”
Seven swerved his head to see the spunky Dinky belaboured with a towering pile of twisted and formed steel.
Seven cocked his brow. “Going somewhere?”
“Oy, think this is funny? I was so nice to bring you your armour and this is the face I get from you? Ungrateful whelp you!”
Seven discretely rolled his eyes and accepted the pile and began strapping it all on over his engineer’s uniform. He put on the sincerest face he could muster and smiled. “Thank you Dinky, I owe you one.”
Dinky resisted the urge to turn bashful. He hated that about Seven, the silver charr always had an ability to make anyone feel twenty feet tall with only a smile and a few words. “I-I’ll add that debt to the--” he was cut off by a warning from Seven as he snapped on the intimidating steel mask, changing the otherwise mellow charr into a vicious warrior.
Suddenly Seven whirled around. “Boo!” he roared in the face of another armour clad charr that had been attempting to sneak up on him.
The female shuddered in surprise and disappointment. “Aw drats, you beat me to it.”
“Sorry Reeva, I suggest you spend some more time with Clawspur.”
“Oh, but I thought I had you!”
Seven chuckled at his senior engineer. She was always the playful one, and this being the first time she put on battle armour was particularly exciting to her. When he noticed the one-eyed Clawspur lurking in the background as always.
Seven caught Reeva’s attention and nodded towards the war-scarred, golden furred charr. “Actually, learning some more from him could be great for you, and he seems to appreciate your company I you catch my drift.”
Reeva squinted dangerously at Seven. “You are worse than a barrel of kits.”
“Call me a hopeless romantic.”
“Hopeless, perhaps.” a gruff female voice countered his statement. “But so help me if you start acting like a human bard, I’ll crush you.”
Seven grinned widely beneath his ferocious helmet. “Euryale, always the one to bring me down a peg, aren’t you?”
However, Seven found his friend was just staring off into the distance at the grand human city. Seven knew what she was doing. She was digging into the thinly buried portion of her that she would need for this battle. The charr were finally going to crush humanity from the continent, all of Tyria would be under their paw at last.
Though Seven entirely agreed that the menace of humanity must be removed, he felt slightly hesitant to rejoice at their demise. Mankind had long offered the charr a strong adversary, and once they disappeared, what else would the warlike charr have left? He had his own ideas, but he was hesitant to share them. But in the meantime, there was nothing that could curb his eagerness to see within the city. For a long time he had grown up not knowing much about the free humans, and he was secretly curious about how they lived behind the walls.
“Hey, Seven…”
“What Euryale?”
“Is that Maverick?” she asked, pointing at a gargantuan charr running down below.
“Huh? I think it is…” Seven’s ice blue eyes nearly popped out his skull. “WAIT UP MAVERICK!!!” He turned around and dashed towards the stares. “Come on, we can’t let that fool run ahead without backup!”
Reeva snorted in giggles as she followed. “Big Mavy sure likes to get ahead of himself.”
“No kidding.” Dinky piped in. “You don’t think he’s already put himself into a blood frenzy?”
“If he did there was no point to it, he will long be burned out before reaching the city at the rate that he’s running.” Seven answered.
The five members of the war band leapt off of the giant war machine and ran on all fours in pursuit of their hot-blooded ally. Despite their grumbling at Maverick’s eccentricities, they all highly valued his might on the battlefield and his honesty back at home.
Clawspur quickly got ahead of them, since he shirked wearing heavy armour. He finally overtook Maverick and spoke with him. The rest of the warband did not hear what was said, but Maverick seemed to immediately slow down to a leisurely trot.
Seven considered asking what everyone else was wondering, but one glance at Clawspur and he changed his mind. Clawspur used few words, but when he did, they would significantly transform any mood.
Their engines of war roared behind the band as they blasted forth gargantuan lead missiles. The first volley struck a blue barrier that had been erected around the pristine white walls of the city as row upon row of Seraph guardians in heavenly garb cast wards of protection around their city. But within moments the barrier failed as the second volley ripped throw the shimmering membrane.
Seven felt the ground shutter as walls and buildings tumbled down in long lines that the massive artillery formed.
In what felt like mere minutes later Seven and his warband entered the outer breach into a section of the city. Clouds of dust conceal their view but eventually it cleared enough for them to view the devastation. Bodies littered the streets but the group of Charr remained un-phased. These were humans, humans were enemies.
They continued on, hungry for the glory of reaching the centre of the city where there was bound to be a fight.
A piercing wail brought them all to a halt. There before them knelt a young woman cradling the crushed body of what was once a tiny girl in a blue dress.
Even Maverick was frozen in place, fully confronted by the first horror of conquest. Despite all their training or discipline, deep within their Charr hearts they felt a glimmer of pity. A parent’s loss of their child was something a perfect world would forbid.
Euryale was the first to prance forward, muttering a spell to end the woman’s misery. But air rushed out of her lungs in a gasp as the woman appearing in front of her and slammed a fist into the female Charr’s chest. Euryale fell down and the woman moved on. Every member of the warband tried to stop and each one found themselves flung aside like straw to the wind. Seven raised his rifle but was not quick enough and found himself staring into the woman’s frightening eyes. He braced himself for the killing blow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven gasped and sat up in bed. It was just a dream. “Not again.” He groaned. He looked in the corner of his simply furnished room to see a wide eyed teen girl stare at him in concern as she sat at attention.
“Dreaming of your warband?” she asked.
“Yeah…” he shook his head to wake himself. “But I think you were there this time, kicking all of our tails.”
She chuckled, her brown eyes sparkling. “Really? Don’t know how to take that.” The girl stepped forward and grasped Seven’s arm to help him out of his bed. Some of her long rusty bangs fell in front of her almond shaped eyes impeding her view but she faithfully clung to his arm.
He groaned stiffly as he moved his crumpled leg to the floor. “Thanks Orla.” he muttered, giving a toothy grin to his assistant.
After brushing her hair back she smiled brightly in return. “It’s what I’m here for. Come on, Srykar made breakfast, and you don’t want to keep that old lion waiting.”
Seven chuckled as he grabbed his crutch and hobbled after the young woman towards the farmhouse’s large kitchen.
Another charr stood before a blazing fire atop which hung a large kettle. He turned his grizzled head to them. “Well top of the morning to you. Groggy like a dog in summer are you? Keep down the thrashing next time, I could barely sleep with the noise of you doing you-know-what in your bed.”
Seven rolled his eyes. “Relax old one, it was just a bad dream, no need to be talking like that in front of the young one.”
Orla snorted, then covered her face in embarrassment. “I already know more than I need to about charr behaviours, it’s not like Srykar’s wistful chatter can ruin me further.”
“I’ll have both of you know…” the elderly charr began.
“Now you’ve done it.” Seven hissed at Orla as she sat next to him.
Srykar began his account. “Back when I was a legionnaire, I was very wanted by the females. All of them needed to have their brood have my genes, and of course I was more than willing to…”
Seven and Orla rolled their eyes and toned out the ramblings of the retired warrior as they chowed down on the savoury gruel. However the elder waxed graphic and both charr and girl turned a shade of green, snatched up their bowls and hastened out the door to finish their meal in peace.
Taking their seats underneath a weeping willow by the brook beside the house, the two resumed their meal to the tune of the bubbling brook and the singing birds.
Orla grumbled, glancing back at the house. “Pervert.”
“What happened to all that bravado earlier?” Seven inquired teasingly.
“I just didn’t want you standing up for me, I can do that myself!”
“Or not…”
She sighed. “…or not…”
Seven grinned at his little friend. “You should give him a bit of a break though. He’s almost seventy but his mind is still back on the battlefield with his war-brothers. Of course he’s going to be a bit crass.”
Orla glared. “Just don’t let him be a bad influence on you. That clear? If I hear the charr I’ve been nursing the last two years turned out into a breeding-fiend I might be forced to resort to dire measures.”
Seven wiped his heavily whiskered muzzle and lowered his bowl. Then he wrapped a big arm around the girl’s tiny shoulders. “That won’t happen for two reasons. One, females are trouble, you are exhibit A, and two, cripples don’t exactly attract many options.”
The girl shook her head. “But you’re cute, silver, and fluffy!” she insisted.
He snorted in comic derision. “Charr females look for scars, lineage, strength and war stories. I have none of the above.”
Orla looked sadly at her friend’s twisted leg. It was hard for her to understand the charr’s feelings. She had been raised as a slave, same as her parents, grandparents and onward into the mists of time. But even as slaves, they had accepted this life for the charr were not grievous taskmasters. They offered protection from the orcs, bandits, and trolls. Freedom to her was having the wide blue sky over her head and prairies and woods to lead the herds of cattle. She was content.
And yet here was Seven Steelwolf, a young charr born free but bound by an injury to live as a farmer. He would be blessed with a long life and friends that never leave. Why did he want to trade it for the horrors of the battlefield? Was the bent leg that saved his life also his ball and chain like the one she remembered wearing at the slave market?
Her considerations were interrupted by her friend’s rumbling voice. “Come on, it’s time to move the cows to pasture.”
She silently nodded and followed Seven to the house. From the rack by the door Seven retrieved his belt which had two identical, antique pistols and a rifle which he slung behind his back. Orla grabbed her shepherd’s staff. Keeping pace with her crippled companion she took the cows to pasture under the idyllic blue sky.
Four calm hours passed when Seven halted and raised his snout to the breeze. He sniffed deeply, then nodded. “Hey, Orla! Let’s take a break in the valley by the spring.”
“Yes Seven!” Orla dashed around the outskirts of the herd and with skill earned through years of practice brought them into the small sheltered valley.
Seven grinned at her work and nodded in approval as he lowered himself to ground. Once she was done Orla sat on a boulder, her back to her friend and pulled out a reed flute. She looked back in askance, gesturing towards the instrument.
“Oh er-, go ahead.”
She flash a happy smile and soon the flittering notes filled the air and danced with the cacophony of the bubbling spring and the singing birds.
Seven sighed contentedly and lay down on the grassy slope in the shade of a birch grove. He watched as the light danced on his assistant’s reddish hair and shoulders. His eyes widened in realisation. His hand snuck into his jacket and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil. He opened the book and flipped passed the intricate blue prints of engines, devices, and gadgets to the middle of the book which was filled with sketches of butterflies, trees, and landscapes though his eyes were mostly looking at the scattered picture studies of the girl in front of him. Most were sketches of her face and it’s many expressions though some were simple, candid poses of her daydreaming, working or napping.
“I thought so,” He mumbled. “I don’t have one from this angle.”
Swiftly his pencil flew across the yellow paper as he drew the scene before him trying his best to catch the lighting and ambience with his one colour.
He was nearly done, just trying to get the shoulders right when his subject’s voice made his heart leap in his throat. “What are you drawing Seven?”
His immediate reaction was to slam the book shut and drop it beside him. His flustered expression drew a smile from Orla. “What is it? You can show me.”
That’s just the thing, I-I can’t. “Um… er… well….” He thumbed through the pages hurriedly until he arrived at a blueprint for one of his long forgotten projects. “Here! Here is what I was working on! You just… umm… surprised me!”
The teen cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “Really? What is it.”
“A… a-an intristernarfgarberator-- it digs holes!”
“Huh, couldn’t you just use a shovel.”
“…yeah… it was a stupid idea anyway.”
“Oh don’t stop trying!” Orla insisted, excitement bubbling in her voice. “If it could dig holes faster, then it might be a great idea! You could get a prize at the annual engineering event in Black Citadel. You know the last charr to win an award there received a permanent workshop and a hefty sum of money, and did you know? He was a farmer too!”
Pleased with the shift in the conversation’s focus Seven asked, “So, how did you find out about this?”
“Srykar let’s me read the news over his shoulder.” she shrugged. “Speaking of Srykar, he’s going to need our help back at the house soon.”
Looking to the sky, Seven noticed the angle of the sun. “Yeah, and it looks like the cows have had their fill, they’ll need to get ready for milking.”
“Oh and Seven… tell me when you want to show me what you were really drawing.”
“Urk!” he scratched his snout nervously and pretended he had not heard.
The two guided the cows back to the house, but not even the charr’s keen senses detected five pairs of watchful eyes in the brambles as they passed.
At the gate they re-counted the cows.
“That’s all of them.” Seven said pleased.
“Really? I only counted seventeen.” Orla replied.
They both looked over the cows again then spoke in unison. “Where’s Hilda?”
“I’ll go get her.” Orla offered. “You go in and help Srykar, I’ll go get her… oh there she is!” She pointed to the roguish bovine who was devouring the brambles a hundred metres away.
Seven nodded and went in the farmhouse. But before he closed the door the wind picked up and carried with it scents from the brambles. Seven’s eyes widened in horror. “Orla!” he roared as he spun around.
A scream ripped through the air.
Seven was unusual as a charr, and it was not just his numerically inspired name. Everything from his silver, wolf-like colouration to his unimpressive horns and stature and practically invisible tusks. He barely broke six and a half feet fully erect. He did not fit the stereotype of the monstrous race, but he reflected a less seen side of his nation. He was the thoughtful engineer, he was one of the countless cogs that made the charr the single most advanced race of all Tyria.
“Oof!”
Seven swerved his head to see the spunky Dinky belaboured with a towering pile of twisted and formed steel.
Seven cocked his brow. “Going somewhere?”
“Oy, think this is funny? I was so nice to bring you your armour and this is the face I get from you? Ungrateful whelp you!”
Seven discretely rolled his eyes and accepted the pile and began strapping it all on over his engineer’s uniform. He put on the sincerest face he could muster and smiled. “Thank you Dinky, I owe you one.”
Dinky resisted the urge to turn bashful. He hated that about Seven, the silver charr always had an ability to make anyone feel twenty feet tall with only a smile and a few words. “I-I’ll add that debt to the--” he was cut off by a warning from Seven as he snapped on the intimidating steel mask, changing the otherwise mellow charr into a vicious warrior.
Suddenly Seven whirled around. “Boo!” he roared in the face of another armour clad charr that had been attempting to sneak up on him.
The female shuddered in surprise and disappointment. “Aw drats, you beat me to it.”
“Sorry Reeva, I suggest you spend some more time with Clawspur.”
“Oh, but I thought I had you!”
Seven chuckled at his senior engineer. She was always the playful one, and this being the first time she put on battle armour was particularly exciting to her. When he noticed the one-eyed Clawspur lurking in the background as always.
Seven caught Reeva’s attention and nodded towards the war-scarred, golden furred charr. “Actually, learning some more from him could be great for you, and he seems to appreciate your company I you catch my drift.”
Reeva squinted dangerously at Seven. “You are worse than a barrel of kits.”
“Call me a hopeless romantic.”
“Hopeless, perhaps.” a gruff female voice countered his statement. “But so help me if you start acting like a human bard, I’ll crush you.”
Seven grinned widely beneath his ferocious helmet. “Euryale, always the one to bring me down a peg, aren’t you?”
However, Seven found his friend was just staring off into the distance at the grand human city. Seven knew what she was doing. She was digging into the thinly buried portion of her that she would need for this battle. The charr were finally going to crush humanity from the continent, all of Tyria would be under their paw at last.
Though Seven entirely agreed that the menace of humanity must be removed, he felt slightly hesitant to rejoice at their demise. Mankind had long offered the charr a strong adversary, and once they disappeared, what else would the warlike charr have left? He had his own ideas, but he was hesitant to share them. But in the meantime, there was nothing that could curb his eagerness to see within the city. For a long time he had grown up not knowing much about the free humans, and he was secretly curious about how they lived behind the walls.
“Hey, Seven…”
“What Euryale?”
“Is that Maverick?” she asked, pointing at a gargantuan charr running down below.
“Huh? I think it is…” Seven’s ice blue eyes nearly popped out his skull. “WAIT UP MAVERICK!!!” He turned around and dashed towards the stares. “Come on, we can’t let that fool run ahead without backup!”
Reeva snorted in giggles as she followed. “Big Mavy sure likes to get ahead of himself.”
“No kidding.” Dinky piped in. “You don’t think he’s already put himself into a blood frenzy?”
“If he did there was no point to it, he will long be burned out before reaching the city at the rate that he’s running.” Seven answered.
The five members of the war band leapt off of the giant war machine and ran on all fours in pursuit of their hot-blooded ally. Despite their grumbling at Maverick’s eccentricities, they all highly valued his might on the battlefield and his honesty back at home.
Clawspur quickly got ahead of them, since he shirked wearing heavy armour. He finally overtook Maverick and spoke with him. The rest of the warband did not hear what was said, but Maverick seemed to immediately slow down to a leisurely trot.
Seven considered asking what everyone else was wondering, but one glance at Clawspur and he changed his mind. Clawspur used few words, but when he did, they would significantly transform any mood.
Their engines of war roared behind the band as they blasted forth gargantuan lead missiles. The first volley struck a blue barrier that had been erected around the pristine white walls of the city as row upon row of Seraph guardians in heavenly garb cast wards of protection around their city. But within moments the barrier failed as the second volley ripped throw the shimmering membrane.
Seven felt the ground shutter as walls and buildings tumbled down in long lines that the massive artillery formed.
In what felt like mere minutes later Seven and his warband entered the outer breach into a section of the city. Clouds of dust conceal their view but eventually it cleared enough for them to view the devastation. Bodies littered the streets but the group of Charr remained un-phased. These were humans, humans were enemies.
They continued on, hungry for the glory of reaching the centre of the city where there was bound to be a fight.
A piercing wail brought them all to a halt. There before them knelt a young woman cradling the crushed body of what was once a tiny girl in a blue dress.
Even Maverick was frozen in place, fully confronted by the first horror of conquest. Despite all their training or discipline, deep within their Charr hearts they felt a glimmer of pity. A parent’s loss of their child was something a perfect world would forbid.
Euryale was the first to prance forward, muttering a spell to end the woman’s misery. But air rushed out of her lungs in a gasp as the woman appearing in front of her and slammed a fist into the female Charr’s chest. Euryale fell down and the woman moved on. Every member of the warband tried to stop and each one found themselves flung aside like straw to the wind. Seven raised his rifle but was not quick enough and found himself staring into the woman’s frightening eyes. He braced himself for the killing blow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven gasped and sat up in bed. It was just a dream. “Not again.” He groaned. He looked in the corner of his simply furnished room to see a wide eyed teen girl stare at him in concern as she sat at attention.
“Dreaming of your warband?” she asked.
“Yeah…” he shook his head to wake himself. “But I think you were there this time, kicking all of our tails.”
She chuckled, her brown eyes sparkling. “Really? Don’t know how to take that.” The girl stepped forward and grasped Seven’s arm to help him out of his bed. Some of her long rusty bangs fell in front of her almond shaped eyes impeding her view but she faithfully clung to his arm.
He groaned stiffly as he moved his crumpled leg to the floor. “Thanks Orla.” he muttered, giving a toothy grin to his assistant.
After brushing her hair back she smiled brightly in return. “It’s what I’m here for. Come on, Srykar made breakfast, and you don’t want to keep that old lion waiting.”
Seven chuckled as he grabbed his crutch and hobbled after the young woman towards the farmhouse’s large kitchen.
Another charr stood before a blazing fire atop which hung a large kettle. He turned his grizzled head to them. “Well top of the morning to you. Groggy like a dog in summer are you? Keep down the thrashing next time, I could barely sleep with the noise of you doing you-know-what in your bed.”
Seven rolled his eyes. “Relax old one, it was just a bad dream, no need to be talking like that in front of the young one.”
Orla snorted, then covered her face in embarrassment. “I already know more than I need to about charr behaviours, it’s not like Srykar’s wistful chatter can ruin me further.”
“I’ll have both of you know…” the elderly charr began.
“Now you’ve done it.” Seven hissed at Orla as she sat next to him.
Srykar began his account. “Back when I was a legionnaire, I was very wanted by the females. All of them needed to have their brood have my genes, and of course I was more than willing to…”
Seven and Orla rolled their eyes and toned out the ramblings of the retired warrior as they chowed down on the savoury gruel. However the elder waxed graphic and both charr and girl turned a shade of green, snatched up their bowls and hastened out the door to finish their meal in peace.
Taking their seats underneath a weeping willow by the brook beside the house, the two resumed their meal to the tune of the bubbling brook and the singing birds.
Orla grumbled, glancing back at the house. “Pervert.”
“What happened to all that bravado earlier?” Seven inquired teasingly.
“I just didn’t want you standing up for me, I can do that myself!”
“Or not…”
She sighed. “…or not…”
Seven grinned at his little friend. “You should give him a bit of a break though. He’s almost seventy but his mind is still back on the battlefield with his war-brothers. Of course he’s going to be a bit crass.”
Orla glared. “Just don’t let him be a bad influence on you. That clear? If I hear the charr I’ve been nursing the last two years turned out into a breeding-fiend I might be forced to resort to dire measures.”
Seven wiped his heavily whiskered muzzle and lowered his bowl. Then he wrapped a big arm around the girl’s tiny shoulders. “That won’t happen for two reasons. One, females are trouble, you are exhibit A, and two, cripples don’t exactly attract many options.”
The girl shook her head. “But you’re cute, silver, and fluffy!” she insisted.
He snorted in comic derision. “Charr females look for scars, lineage, strength and war stories. I have none of the above.”
Orla looked sadly at her friend’s twisted leg. It was hard for her to understand the charr’s feelings. She had been raised as a slave, same as her parents, grandparents and onward into the mists of time. But even as slaves, they had accepted this life for the charr were not grievous taskmasters. They offered protection from the orcs, bandits, and trolls. Freedom to her was having the wide blue sky over her head and prairies and woods to lead the herds of cattle. She was content.
And yet here was Seven Steelwolf, a young charr born free but bound by an injury to live as a farmer. He would be blessed with a long life and friends that never leave. Why did he want to trade it for the horrors of the battlefield? Was the bent leg that saved his life also his ball and chain like the one she remembered wearing at the slave market?
Her considerations were interrupted by her friend’s rumbling voice. “Come on, it’s time to move the cows to pasture.”
She silently nodded and followed Seven to the house. From the rack by the door Seven retrieved his belt which had two identical, antique pistols and a rifle which he slung behind his back. Orla grabbed her shepherd’s staff. Keeping pace with her crippled companion she took the cows to pasture under the idyllic blue sky.
Four calm hours passed when Seven halted and raised his snout to the breeze. He sniffed deeply, then nodded. “Hey, Orla! Let’s take a break in the valley by the spring.”
“Yes Seven!” Orla dashed around the outskirts of the herd and with skill earned through years of practice brought them into the small sheltered valley.
Seven grinned at her work and nodded in approval as he lowered himself to ground. Once she was done Orla sat on a boulder, her back to her friend and pulled out a reed flute. She looked back in askance, gesturing towards the instrument.
“Oh er-, go ahead.”
She flash a happy smile and soon the flittering notes filled the air and danced with the cacophony of the bubbling spring and the singing birds.
Seven sighed contentedly and lay down on the grassy slope in the shade of a birch grove. He watched as the light danced on his assistant’s reddish hair and shoulders. His eyes widened in realisation. His hand snuck into his jacket and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil. He opened the book and flipped passed the intricate blue prints of engines, devices, and gadgets to the middle of the book which was filled with sketches of butterflies, trees, and landscapes though his eyes were mostly looking at the scattered picture studies of the girl in front of him. Most were sketches of her face and it’s many expressions though some were simple, candid poses of her daydreaming, working or napping.
“I thought so,” He mumbled. “I don’t have one from this angle.”
Swiftly his pencil flew across the yellow paper as he drew the scene before him trying his best to catch the lighting and ambience with his one colour.
He was nearly done, just trying to get the shoulders right when his subject’s voice made his heart leap in his throat. “What are you drawing Seven?”
His immediate reaction was to slam the book shut and drop it beside him. His flustered expression drew a smile from Orla. “What is it? You can show me.”
That’s just the thing, I-I can’t. “Um… er… well….” He thumbed through the pages hurriedly until he arrived at a blueprint for one of his long forgotten projects. “Here! Here is what I was working on! You just… umm… surprised me!”
The teen cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “Really? What is it.”
“A… a-an intristernarfgarberator-- it digs holes!”
“Huh, couldn’t you just use a shovel.”
“…yeah… it was a stupid idea anyway.”
“Oh don’t stop trying!” Orla insisted, excitement bubbling in her voice. “If it could dig holes faster, then it might be a great idea! You could get a prize at the annual engineering event in Black Citadel. You know the last charr to win an award there received a permanent workshop and a hefty sum of money, and did you know? He was a farmer too!”
Pleased with the shift in the conversation’s focus Seven asked, “So, how did you find out about this?”
“Srykar let’s me read the news over his shoulder.” she shrugged. “Speaking of Srykar, he’s going to need our help back at the house soon.”
Looking to the sky, Seven noticed the angle of the sun. “Yeah, and it looks like the cows have had their fill, they’ll need to get ready for milking.”
“Oh and Seven… tell me when you want to show me what you were really drawing.”
“Urk!” he scratched his snout nervously and pretended he had not heard.
The two guided the cows back to the house, but not even the charr’s keen senses detected five pairs of watchful eyes in the brambles as they passed.
At the gate they re-counted the cows.
“That’s all of them.” Seven said pleased.
“Really? I only counted seventeen.” Orla replied.
They both looked over the cows again then spoke in unison. “Where’s Hilda?”
“I’ll go get her.” Orla offered. “You go in and help Srykar, I’ll go get her… oh there she is!” She pointed to the roguish bovine who was devouring the brambles a hundred metres away.
Seven nodded and went in the farmhouse. But before he closed the door the wind picked up and carried with it scents from the brambles. Seven’s eyes widened in horror. “Orla!” he roared as he spun around.
A scream ripped through the air.
Spoiler
Orla caught up with the rogue cow Hilda. “Come on you grand dame, time to go home.”
The beast looked at the girl with an expression that seemed to question Orla’s intelligence. Seeing how the girl did not “get it”, Hilda tugged backwards showing that she was tied to the hedge.
“Who did that to you--,” before the words finished leaving her mouth Orla knew she had been pulled into a trap. From the hedge three men clothed in dark leather emerged and surrounded her.
“Hello young one,” one of them said in a smooth, sultry voice.
Bandits? Here? She turned to look at the speaker. He was young, and very handsome, but something behind his eyes made Orla cringe on the inside. However the young woman maintained her composure. “Excuse me, but you and your fellows don’t belong here. If any patrol sees you, you would be in trouble. You should leave now.” She gave her sincerest smile to emphasise that she wanted no trouble.
The handsome leader chuckled. “Oh cutie, don’t worry about us we know where all the patrols are. We also know your masters are a cripple and an old one. So I think we’ll take you to a party, and rid this sorry land of two more scum-cats.”
All of a sudden Orla remembered a moment from last week. She was perched on Srykar’s knee reading the news with him. She remembered one of the articles mentioning a string of murders where ranchers were attacked. She had stopped reading as soon as the article got to describing what had been done to the poor Charr.
There was one thing she could do to save her friends from a similar fate; scream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fury, it was the trigger that immediately sharpened Seven’s senses, strength, and willpower. The only thing that kept him from running right out bare-handed to rip the source of the man-stench limb from limb was his bum leg. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing as it forced him to properly equip himself with his pistols and keep a steady hand as he aimed and fired.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Srykar would often complain how Orla was the source of so much disorder, which in a small sense was true since she had not been through all the rigorous military training, but never had the girl seen one action of hers cause outright chaos. Within seconds of her scream she felt something warm splatter on the back of her neck followed immediately by a loud ‘crack!’ from the house. On instinct she knew she did not want to look behind her, knowing that it was not something she would like to remember. She was grabbed and found herself tumbling into the hedge with the ruffians.
The handsome bandit looked furious at how one of his henchmen had been killed right before his eyes, as if to mock him that he could have been hit just as easily. A spray of bullets whistled through the higher branches of the hedge.
Orla could hear Srykar and Seven shouting and roaring in rage. Before she could call out to them a giant arm snatched her around the waist, squeezing the air out of her. A man, larger than any she had seen before slung her over his shoulder as the group of bandits ran out of the hedge and towards a stand of wooded hills.
The leader shouted to the large man. “Some stealth would be nice!”
Orla’s carrier stopped, offering her a chance to get an upside down view of her captors. Besides the leader and huge man carrying her there was also a slender, blond young man, or a woman with short hair, she could not tell, who had not seen in the earlier group. The blond had a great-sword slung over his back. He looked at the big man questioningly. And that’s when she felt it, the air buzzed with an excitement.
Magic! Even in her dire predicament, Orla could not suppress the urge to not miss anything of her first experience with the arcane. The man carrying her pumped his first out and the world took on a purplish haze. Glancing at her hand Orla discovered that she, and the bandits were transparent as glass. She did not have much time to stare in wonder because she heard the faint groan of a bow as the bandit leader knocked an arrow. Srykar burst through the hedge and the shaft appeared out of the invisibility ward.
“Dodge!” she screamed.
Srykar halted a moment, stared at the oak shaft protruding from his chest and shrugged. “Good shot!” he called. Then he raised his own longbow. “But learn something from a master!”
His arrow went high and long, passing over the bandits’ heads then exploded in an arcane flash, destroying the ward. The men and Orla immediately reappeared.
“Got you rats!” Srykar roared aiming his next shaft.
“No you don’t!” The blond “man” muttered, drawing but a sliver of his great-sword from it’s sheath he vanished leaving a blue shimmering trail until he appeared in front of Srykar, blade low and ready to make an upwards slice. The blond grinned in pride but his blade halted mid-swing, striking Seven’s musket barrel. The silver furred charr’s ice-blue eyes were aflame in wrath as pushed down with his musket as if it were a quarterstaff.
The blond grit his teeth angrily then flicked his blade down and spun around like a top bringing the great-sword in a powerful slam downwards.
Seven knew his already bent musket did not stand a chance against that kind of a blow, but he raised the ruined gun for his defence as he jumped backwards. The barrel was sliced clean through and the cherry wood body shattered, but Seven knew he was clear so he reached for his pistols. But then he felt the front of his body rip apart. Through his pain he felt confusion as he watched blood spray out before him. He found his answers when he saw the enemy’s lowered blade as a blue aural sword shrank back into the original dimensions.
I hate guardians! Seven thought before be fell to the ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orla’s heart stopped, her eyes riveted on Seven as he fell, blood still spraying into the air. Seven! No! Not Seven! She was helpless, upside-down on the back of a massive man. I can’t do--
Suddenly her grieved face went blank as if she had fallen asleep. But her body moved on it’s own accord, twisting upwards and snatching the huge man’s muscular jaw. With a sudden twist and snap he was dead and she was free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bandit leader grinned at the blond’s handiwork, glad he had him in his group. “Hey, I’ll take the girl Hurs--” he turned just in time to see his large partner fall over dead. He was so distracted he did not notice the girl’s hand grab his neck. Without getting a chance to take another breath in this world he was torn down to the ground by his throat followed by a bone shattering punch that imploded his chest cavity.
The last thing he saw was the blank, feral eyes of his killer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Srykar drew his dual headed axe as he faced off with the blond guardian. Both swung their weapons but they never made contact. The charr’s adversary seemed to have vanished. He looked up in time to see the petit swordsman fly through the air until he smashed into a venerable pine. Looking down Srykar saw Orla take off in a blur after her victim. As she approached the pine she made a flying roundhouse kick which ended in her recklessly smashing her shin into the guardian’s gut. Despite the inefficient and off kilter strike the result was devastating. A crack ran up the pine and the base was obliterated, effectively gutting and prostrating the old tree and smashing the human into an unrecognisable pulp.
But in her blood rage Orla was hardly done as her power waned she straddled her enemy’s waist and repeatedly punched what looked like what was once his jaw. With every strike she shrieked in mindless rage as tears streamed down her face. Glowing, yellow, branchlike vines had grown up her neck to the base of her jaw began to exude smoke along with the stench of burning flesh. But if the marks were causing her any pain, she was oblivious to it. Finally, covered in the blood of her enemy and her own, her fists slowed. Yet still she continued striking, breaking yet another of her knuckles.
Large silver furred arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back, she tried to resist but she was already so weary. Finally her hearing returned.
“It’s alright, Orla! I’m ok! Stop! You can stop! He’s dead.”
Orla let out a sob as she twisted around to see Seven’s worried snout.
He smiled at her. “Well, it seems you can hear again, I thought you had gone deaf.”
She backed away and looked at her friend’s chest. There was a line of blood-soaked fur peeking out through his shirt, but the cut seemed much shallower than she had feared. She opened her mouth to speak but gasped and grabbed at her neck, doubling over in pain and letting out a high pitched whine. Srykar came up behind her and pulled down her collar revealing angry red burn marks that still held a faint magical yellow glow.
“We need to get her to some water.” Srykar ordered.
Between a crippled and wounded young adult and an aged warrior the charr somehow managed to carry the girl all the way down to the spring-fed watering hole.
As soon as she was lowered into the clear water Orla relaxed and the burning sensation ceased from her neck and side. Srykar immediately set about removing her bloody garments leaving her in her undershirt and slip.
The old charr rose to leave. “I’ll go get her some clean clothes. Seven, stay here in case she needs anything.”
“Yes sir.” Seven replied.
Orla sat up, leaving just her chin above the water. She touched the branched scars on her neck and saw that they went down her side and over her chest. Tears welled up in your eyes.
Seven immediately panicked. “Wh-what’s wrong Orla?!” he asked as he took a step into the water, grimacing at the wet feeling on his paws.
“I’m just happy… that you’re ok.” she replied still fingering the scars radiating from her shoulder.
“No. What’s it really about? Do the scars still hurt? And your hands are turning purple, you should keep those in the water to cool.”
She shook her head, though she lower her quickly discolouring hands into the soothing pond.
Seven was thoroughly confused. “Then what’s the matter?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I think I can muster the brain cells.”
“The scars, they’re permanent aren’t they?” Orla asked, struggling to keep her words steady.
“Umm, well they’ll fade a bit… but… yeah probably.” Seven sat in the water beside her, the water rising to his chest. In all honesty he didn’t understand her problem. Scars were a sign of honour, weren’t they? Instead he just placed an open paw on her unscarred right shoulder.
The girl scooted closer to her companion, tucking herself against the side of his chest. Then she spoke. “I once saw a woman, who had been horribly burned. She was for sale at the market. The charr were bidding on her strength and capability, but I could hear the jeers of the male slaves. They mocked her, called her ugly, only good enough for a charr’s footrest.
“I looked at her and she looked back at me. Behind all those scars she had blue eyes, almost as handsome as yours Seven, and she smiled regretfully at me. At that moment I promised myself, no matter who my master was I would be good and perfect so I would be able to keep the unscarred face that made that miserable woman smile.”
Seven felt so stupid. All too often he would forget that his assistant wasn’t a charr, but a human. “I’m sorry.” he muttered.
Orla sighed and gave him a hug, careful to use her hand joints. “That’s alright. I’m just being silly.”
Seven started to say something when he heard Srykar’s heavy footsteps.
“Hey,” the old charr barked. “Will you couple of fish get out of there!”
Seven reversed normal roles and chivalrously, though clumsily, helped Orla out of the water and into the giant towel Srykar draped around her.
“Once you’re dry I have some clean clothes for you, little kit.”
Orla smiled at his term of endearment. “No, the towel is enough for now. I just want to go home.”
And so, with two charr by her side, they (slowly) went home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven let Orla use his bed. He was certain his leg could put up with one night in the chair in front of the hearth.
Srykar was sitting in the chair across from him staring at the crackling embers. “Seven,” he barked lowly. “We need to talk about Orla.”
“What do you mean?” Seven asked, confused.
“We can’t keep her here.”
“Why not?”
“Did you get a look at her neck?”
“Um, well yes, it’s looks like some sort of weird acid burn.”
Srykar leaned forward in his chair. “Seven, she’s been hexed, badly. And it’s been there for a long time.”
“Hexed? Like by a shaman?” Seven sat at attention, despite his complaining leg.
“Yes. It’s not an uncommon practice for some more cautious slavers to place hexes on their merchandise to keep them under control. Usually they disengage the hex after they are sold, and that’s what they did. But sometimes, if the one who cast the spell is more powerful that the one who breaks it, the hex will not completely disappear, instead some of the safe guards are removed leading to strange side affects, like that murderous rampage we saw earlier.”
“So you’re saying she’s in danger?!” Seven almost rose from his seat in panic.
“Yes, I think so.” Srykar nodded sagely.
“Then we can take her to a mage, surely there’s one powerful enough.”
Srykar shook his head. “Back in the day I saw many unbroken, long ingrained hexes, they are very hard to break and they cause much physical damage. She will need adequate medical care as well.”
“Then we can take her to the Black Citadel! There are many good medics there.”
“Seven, she is human, though there are many medics there who could work on her, they can only offer general medicine. There is no one in Ascalon that would know how to cure this serious of a problem in a human.”
Seven could not believe what he was hearing as his hackles rose. “What are you saying Srykar?”
“I’m saying we need to send her away.”
The younger charr’s jaw dropped. “W-we can’t do that!”
“Listen, I have--,”
“No we can’t! Have you forgotten these last two years?!”
“Of course I haven’t!” Srykar snapped in a barely contained roar. “I also know that both of us have grown far more attached to her that we ever should have. Don’t you see Seven? If she stays she might lives for years, decades even, but not without immense suffering. By if we let her go, she will have a chance to be free, live her life in good health, find a loving mate or mates if she takes after me, and die among her own kind sixty or more years from now. Something like that doesn’t happen for a human in Ascalon.”
Seven glared at the floor, his stomach twisting around and around inside him.
Srykar sighed wearily. “The best way we can show our, erm… love,” he grimaced awkwardly, unfamiliar with the term. “…is giving her this chance.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orla bit on the quilt that covered her to keep from sobbing. She had not heard much of the conversation, but she heard enough. Her heart was a dancing whirlwind of emotions. She dearly wanted to stay, she was happy, and most importantly, she made Seven and Srykar happy. But at the same time she knew it could not be. Like dozens of serpents she could feel the scars under her skin burn away at her flesh, slowly consuming her.
Still, there was a tingle of excitement mixed in. She would be going to the human land, Kryta, where she could be among others of her kind. The idea both made her overjoyed and very scared. Would humans like her? She had grown up among charr, the only people she ever cared for were charr, would that be a problem? It all felt so bizarre.
She closed her eyes tight, hoping that maybe she would wake up and all that had happened would be just a dream. And that she and Seven would be guiding the cows through pleasant pastures.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later, Orla was startled awake by a massive clawed hand on her shoulder. Her eyes peered into the gloom up at Srykar’s massive face.
“Shh, kit, get up. We need to talk.”
She rose and stretched. “What time is it?”
“Early. Hurry.”
She followed the veteran out to the homestead’s porch. “We aren’t leaving already?”
He turned back at her. “No, my kit, not right now. First, I believe we share a common… acquaintance.”
Orla yawned and replied in monotone. “Yes, his name is Seven and he’s indoors, warm, and away from the bugs.”
The old one shook his dark mane. He meaningfully touched her burned shoulder rubbing a clawed finger at the base of her neck for effect. “I think we both know certain someone.”
The girl shuddered like a tree in a hurricane. A single word escaped her quivering lips. “Caelmurg…”
Srykar looked deeply concerned by her reaction. “He was the one who hexed you, correct?”
All colour had drained from Orla’s face. The base of her neck began to throb at the memory, of a long, coarse tongue and sharp teeth that once dug into her collarbone. But her mind could barely imagine the pain, it was absorbed with the sight of the charr’s smiling, curious and cold eyes that looked back at her as she had writhed in pain from the bite and the burning mark.
Srykar could not bare to watch the girl’s face as she relived the memory. “Orla, you don’t need to tell me what that dog did, but you might have to when you go to the humans so they can determine the hex he used. I just wanted to tell you what to expect.”
She nodded and shook off the memory.
Once he certain he had her attention Srykar continued, “There is a group of humans allowed safe passage through these lands this time of year, provided they cause no trouble. I‘m friends with their leader, a Krytan merchant and scholar named Limmock. If he doesn’t know how to cure you, he knows someone who does.”
“So I’m really leaving.” The girl’s eyes filled with unshed tears. She looked away at a distant constellation.
“I take it that you have accepted this?” Srykar pried as he wrapped her in a gentle embrace.
She nodded and squeezed him back with her bandaged hands, her arms just barely reaching halfway around him. “There doesn’t seem to be any options. But I promise, somehow I’ll come see you.”
Srykar tactfully refrained from laughing at the absurd vow. Peace was not something that would come to Tyria anytime soon.
He was surprised when Orla seemed to reply to his thoughts. “This world doesn’t make any sense.” she muttered, holding back her tears. “So someday, I’m going to find a place where goodbye is not word.”
“Shh, kit, you should go back to bed now.”
“Yeah…” She gave one more tight squeeze to his huge body, then walked back to the doorway where she stopped. “Thank you, for everything.”
For a long while Srykar remained on the porch. My sire would be bent over in laughter if he saw me now, doting on a human girl, then he would beat me senseless. Love does crazy things, and here I thought I had avoided it.
The beast looked at the girl with an expression that seemed to question Orla’s intelligence. Seeing how the girl did not “get it”, Hilda tugged backwards showing that she was tied to the hedge.
“Who did that to you--,” before the words finished leaving her mouth Orla knew she had been pulled into a trap. From the hedge three men clothed in dark leather emerged and surrounded her.
“Hello young one,” one of them said in a smooth, sultry voice.
Bandits? Here? She turned to look at the speaker. He was young, and very handsome, but something behind his eyes made Orla cringe on the inside. However the young woman maintained her composure. “Excuse me, but you and your fellows don’t belong here. If any patrol sees you, you would be in trouble. You should leave now.” She gave her sincerest smile to emphasise that she wanted no trouble.
The handsome leader chuckled. “Oh cutie, don’t worry about us we know where all the patrols are. We also know your masters are a cripple and an old one. So I think we’ll take you to a party, and rid this sorry land of two more scum-cats.”
All of a sudden Orla remembered a moment from last week. She was perched on Srykar’s knee reading the news with him. She remembered one of the articles mentioning a string of murders where ranchers were attacked. She had stopped reading as soon as the article got to describing what had been done to the poor Charr.
There was one thing she could do to save her friends from a similar fate; scream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fury, it was the trigger that immediately sharpened Seven’s senses, strength, and willpower. The only thing that kept him from running right out bare-handed to rip the source of the man-stench limb from limb was his bum leg. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing as it forced him to properly equip himself with his pistols and keep a steady hand as he aimed and fired.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Srykar would often complain how Orla was the source of so much disorder, which in a small sense was true since she had not been through all the rigorous military training, but never had the girl seen one action of hers cause outright chaos. Within seconds of her scream she felt something warm splatter on the back of her neck followed immediately by a loud ‘crack!’ from the house. On instinct she knew she did not want to look behind her, knowing that it was not something she would like to remember. She was grabbed and found herself tumbling into the hedge with the ruffians.
The handsome bandit looked furious at how one of his henchmen had been killed right before his eyes, as if to mock him that he could have been hit just as easily. A spray of bullets whistled through the higher branches of the hedge.
Orla could hear Srykar and Seven shouting and roaring in rage. Before she could call out to them a giant arm snatched her around the waist, squeezing the air out of her. A man, larger than any she had seen before slung her over his shoulder as the group of bandits ran out of the hedge and towards a stand of wooded hills.
The leader shouted to the large man. “Some stealth would be nice!”
Orla’s carrier stopped, offering her a chance to get an upside down view of her captors. Besides the leader and huge man carrying her there was also a slender, blond young man, or a woman with short hair, she could not tell, who had not seen in the earlier group. The blond had a great-sword slung over his back. He looked at the big man questioningly. And that’s when she felt it, the air buzzed with an excitement.
Magic! Even in her dire predicament, Orla could not suppress the urge to not miss anything of her first experience with the arcane. The man carrying her pumped his first out and the world took on a purplish haze. Glancing at her hand Orla discovered that she, and the bandits were transparent as glass. She did not have much time to stare in wonder because she heard the faint groan of a bow as the bandit leader knocked an arrow. Srykar burst through the hedge and the shaft appeared out of the invisibility ward.
“Dodge!” she screamed.
Srykar halted a moment, stared at the oak shaft protruding from his chest and shrugged. “Good shot!” he called. Then he raised his own longbow. “But learn something from a master!”
His arrow went high and long, passing over the bandits’ heads then exploded in an arcane flash, destroying the ward. The men and Orla immediately reappeared.
“Got you rats!” Srykar roared aiming his next shaft.
“No you don’t!” The blond “man” muttered, drawing but a sliver of his great-sword from it’s sheath he vanished leaving a blue shimmering trail until he appeared in front of Srykar, blade low and ready to make an upwards slice. The blond grinned in pride but his blade halted mid-swing, striking Seven’s musket barrel. The silver furred charr’s ice-blue eyes were aflame in wrath as pushed down with his musket as if it were a quarterstaff.
The blond grit his teeth angrily then flicked his blade down and spun around like a top bringing the great-sword in a powerful slam downwards.
Seven knew his already bent musket did not stand a chance against that kind of a blow, but he raised the ruined gun for his defence as he jumped backwards. The barrel was sliced clean through and the cherry wood body shattered, but Seven knew he was clear so he reached for his pistols. But then he felt the front of his body rip apart. Through his pain he felt confusion as he watched blood spray out before him. He found his answers when he saw the enemy’s lowered blade as a blue aural sword shrank back into the original dimensions.
I hate guardians! Seven thought before be fell to the ground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orla’s heart stopped, her eyes riveted on Seven as he fell, blood still spraying into the air. Seven! No! Not Seven! She was helpless, upside-down on the back of a massive man. I can’t do--
Suddenly her grieved face went blank as if she had fallen asleep. But her body moved on it’s own accord, twisting upwards and snatching the huge man’s muscular jaw. With a sudden twist and snap he was dead and she was free.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bandit leader grinned at the blond’s handiwork, glad he had him in his group. “Hey, I’ll take the girl Hurs--” he turned just in time to see his large partner fall over dead. He was so distracted he did not notice the girl’s hand grab his neck. Without getting a chance to take another breath in this world he was torn down to the ground by his throat followed by a bone shattering punch that imploded his chest cavity.
The last thing he saw was the blank, feral eyes of his killer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Srykar drew his dual headed axe as he faced off with the blond guardian. Both swung their weapons but they never made contact. The charr’s adversary seemed to have vanished. He looked up in time to see the petit swordsman fly through the air until he smashed into a venerable pine. Looking down Srykar saw Orla take off in a blur after her victim. As she approached the pine she made a flying roundhouse kick which ended in her recklessly smashing her shin into the guardian’s gut. Despite the inefficient and off kilter strike the result was devastating. A crack ran up the pine and the base was obliterated, effectively gutting and prostrating the old tree and smashing the human into an unrecognisable pulp.
But in her blood rage Orla was hardly done as her power waned she straddled her enemy’s waist and repeatedly punched what looked like what was once his jaw. With every strike she shrieked in mindless rage as tears streamed down her face. Glowing, yellow, branchlike vines had grown up her neck to the base of her jaw began to exude smoke along with the stench of burning flesh. But if the marks were causing her any pain, she was oblivious to it. Finally, covered in the blood of her enemy and her own, her fists slowed. Yet still she continued striking, breaking yet another of her knuckles.
Large silver furred arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back, she tried to resist but she was already so weary. Finally her hearing returned.
“It’s alright, Orla! I’m ok! Stop! You can stop! He’s dead.”
Orla let out a sob as she twisted around to see Seven’s worried snout.
He smiled at her. “Well, it seems you can hear again, I thought you had gone deaf.”
She backed away and looked at her friend’s chest. There was a line of blood-soaked fur peeking out through his shirt, but the cut seemed much shallower than she had feared. She opened her mouth to speak but gasped and grabbed at her neck, doubling over in pain and letting out a high pitched whine. Srykar came up behind her and pulled down her collar revealing angry red burn marks that still held a faint magical yellow glow.
“We need to get her to some water.” Srykar ordered.
Between a crippled and wounded young adult and an aged warrior the charr somehow managed to carry the girl all the way down to the spring-fed watering hole.
As soon as she was lowered into the clear water Orla relaxed and the burning sensation ceased from her neck and side. Srykar immediately set about removing her bloody garments leaving her in her undershirt and slip.
The old charr rose to leave. “I’ll go get her some clean clothes. Seven, stay here in case she needs anything.”
“Yes sir.” Seven replied.
Orla sat up, leaving just her chin above the water. She touched the branched scars on her neck and saw that they went down her side and over her chest. Tears welled up in your eyes.
Seven immediately panicked. “Wh-what’s wrong Orla?!” he asked as he took a step into the water, grimacing at the wet feeling on his paws.
“I’m just happy… that you’re ok.” she replied still fingering the scars radiating from her shoulder.
“No. What’s it really about? Do the scars still hurt? And your hands are turning purple, you should keep those in the water to cool.”
She shook her head, though she lower her quickly discolouring hands into the soothing pond.
Seven was thoroughly confused. “Then what’s the matter?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I think I can muster the brain cells.”
“The scars, they’re permanent aren’t they?” Orla asked, struggling to keep her words steady.
“Umm, well they’ll fade a bit… but… yeah probably.” Seven sat in the water beside her, the water rising to his chest. In all honesty he didn’t understand her problem. Scars were a sign of honour, weren’t they? Instead he just placed an open paw on her unscarred right shoulder.
The girl scooted closer to her companion, tucking herself against the side of his chest. Then she spoke. “I once saw a woman, who had been horribly burned. She was for sale at the market. The charr were bidding on her strength and capability, but I could hear the jeers of the male slaves. They mocked her, called her ugly, only good enough for a charr’s footrest.
“I looked at her and she looked back at me. Behind all those scars she had blue eyes, almost as handsome as yours Seven, and she smiled regretfully at me. At that moment I promised myself, no matter who my master was I would be good and perfect so I would be able to keep the unscarred face that made that miserable woman smile.”
Seven felt so stupid. All too often he would forget that his assistant wasn’t a charr, but a human. “I’m sorry.” he muttered.
Orla sighed and gave him a hug, careful to use her hand joints. “That’s alright. I’m just being silly.”
Seven started to say something when he heard Srykar’s heavy footsteps.
“Hey,” the old charr barked. “Will you couple of fish get out of there!”
Seven reversed normal roles and chivalrously, though clumsily, helped Orla out of the water and into the giant towel Srykar draped around her.
“Once you’re dry I have some clean clothes for you, little kit.”
Orla smiled at his term of endearment. “No, the towel is enough for now. I just want to go home.”
And so, with two charr by her side, they (slowly) went home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven let Orla use his bed. He was certain his leg could put up with one night in the chair in front of the hearth.
Srykar was sitting in the chair across from him staring at the crackling embers. “Seven,” he barked lowly. “We need to talk about Orla.”
“What do you mean?” Seven asked, confused.
“We can’t keep her here.”
“Why not?”
“Did you get a look at her neck?”
“Um, well yes, it’s looks like some sort of weird acid burn.”
Srykar leaned forward in his chair. “Seven, she’s been hexed, badly. And it’s been there for a long time.”
“Hexed? Like by a shaman?” Seven sat at attention, despite his complaining leg.
“Yes. It’s not an uncommon practice for some more cautious slavers to place hexes on their merchandise to keep them under control. Usually they disengage the hex after they are sold, and that’s what they did. But sometimes, if the one who cast the spell is more powerful that the one who breaks it, the hex will not completely disappear, instead some of the safe guards are removed leading to strange side affects, like that murderous rampage we saw earlier.”
“So you’re saying she’s in danger?!” Seven almost rose from his seat in panic.
“Yes, I think so.” Srykar nodded sagely.
“Then we can take her to a mage, surely there’s one powerful enough.”
Srykar shook his head. “Back in the day I saw many unbroken, long ingrained hexes, they are very hard to break and they cause much physical damage. She will need adequate medical care as well.”
“Then we can take her to the Black Citadel! There are many good medics there.”
“Seven, she is human, though there are many medics there who could work on her, they can only offer general medicine. There is no one in Ascalon that would know how to cure this serious of a problem in a human.”
Seven could not believe what he was hearing as his hackles rose. “What are you saying Srykar?”
“I’m saying we need to send her away.”
The younger charr’s jaw dropped. “W-we can’t do that!”
“Listen, I have--,”
“No we can’t! Have you forgotten these last two years?!”
“Of course I haven’t!” Srykar snapped in a barely contained roar. “I also know that both of us have grown far more attached to her that we ever should have. Don’t you see Seven? If she stays she might lives for years, decades even, but not without immense suffering. By if we let her go, she will have a chance to be free, live her life in good health, find a loving mate or mates if she takes after me, and die among her own kind sixty or more years from now. Something like that doesn’t happen for a human in Ascalon.”
Seven glared at the floor, his stomach twisting around and around inside him.
Srykar sighed wearily. “The best way we can show our, erm… love,” he grimaced awkwardly, unfamiliar with the term. “…is giving her this chance.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orla bit on the quilt that covered her to keep from sobbing. She had not heard much of the conversation, but she heard enough. Her heart was a dancing whirlwind of emotions. She dearly wanted to stay, she was happy, and most importantly, she made Seven and Srykar happy. But at the same time she knew it could not be. Like dozens of serpents she could feel the scars under her skin burn away at her flesh, slowly consuming her.
Still, there was a tingle of excitement mixed in. She would be going to the human land, Kryta, where she could be among others of her kind. The idea both made her overjoyed and very scared. Would humans like her? She had grown up among charr, the only people she ever cared for were charr, would that be a problem? It all felt so bizarre.
She closed her eyes tight, hoping that maybe she would wake up and all that had happened would be just a dream. And that she and Seven would be guiding the cows through pleasant pastures.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later, Orla was startled awake by a massive clawed hand on her shoulder. Her eyes peered into the gloom up at Srykar’s massive face.
“Shh, kit, get up. We need to talk.”
She rose and stretched. “What time is it?”
“Early. Hurry.”
She followed the veteran out to the homestead’s porch. “We aren’t leaving already?”
He turned back at her. “No, my kit, not right now. First, I believe we share a common… acquaintance.”
Orla yawned and replied in monotone. “Yes, his name is Seven and he’s indoors, warm, and away from the bugs.”
The old one shook his dark mane. He meaningfully touched her burned shoulder rubbing a clawed finger at the base of her neck for effect. “I think we both know certain someone.”
The girl shuddered like a tree in a hurricane. A single word escaped her quivering lips. “Caelmurg…”
Srykar looked deeply concerned by her reaction. “He was the one who hexed you, correct?”
All colour had drained from Orla’s face. The base of her neck began to throb at the memory, of a long, coarse tongue and sharp teeth that once dug into her collarbone. But her mind could barely imagine the pain, it was absorbed with the sight of the charr’s smiling, curious and cold eyes that looked back at her as she had writhed in pain from the bite and the burning mark.
Srykar could not bare to watch the girl’s face as she relived the memory. “Orla, you don’t need to tell me what that dog did, but you might have to when you go to the humans so they can determine the hex he used. I just wanted to tell you what to expect.”
She nodded and shook off the memory.
Once he certain he had her attention Srykar continued, “There is a group of humans allowed safe passage through these lands this time of year, provided they cause no trouble. I‘m friends with their leader, a Krytan merchant and scholar named Limmock. If he doesn’t know how to cure you, he knows someone who does.”
“So I’m really leaving.” The girl’s eyes filled with unshed tears. She looked away at a distant constellation.
“I take it that you have accepted this?” Srykar pried as he wrapped her in a gentle embrace.
She nodded and squeezed him back with her bandaged hands, her arms just barely reaching halfway around him. “There doesn’t seem to be any options. But I promise, somehow I’ll come see you.”
Srykar tactfully refrained from laughing at the absurd vow. Peace was not something that would come to Tyria anytime soon.
He was surprised when Orla seemed to reply to his thoughts. “This world doesn’t make any sense.” she muttered, holding back her tears. “So someday, I’m going to find a place where goodbye is not word.”
“Shh, kit, you should go back to bed now.”
“Yeah…” She gave one more tight squeeze to his huge body, then walked back to the doorway where she stopped. “Thank you, for everything.”
For a long while Srykar remained on the porch. My sire would be bent over in laughter if he saw me now, doting on a human girl, then he would beat me senseless. Love does crazy things, and here I thought I had avoided it.
So, opinions? Suggestions? I am going to try to keep as canon as humanly possible (I'm a lore fanatic). Yes, Seven is a would-be player character had he not had a certain unfortunate accident. And for those wondering, this takes place four years before the events of Guild Wars 2.
Episode 2: Orla
Chapter 3: Steps...
Spoiler
The next morning Srykar buzzed around the farmhouse like a mother hen whose chicks were run amuck. He fussed endlessly with Orla’s pack, making certain she had everything she needed.
“You remembered to grab a knife from the shed?”
Orla nodded, ignoring the fact that it was the fourth time he had asked. “Yes, and I have a proper whetstone because ‘Those Norn and humans are incompetent at sharpening tools properly.’ ‘Use a shallow angle but not too shallow.’ I know Srykar, I sharpened your knives every week.”
He looked perplexed a moment. “Huh, that’s right, I did teach you that. Oh but how about your hands are they better?”
She resisted the immense temptation to roll her eyes. She had learned to sharpen knives under a previous owner, a blacksmith of the citadel.
Orla slung on the pack and backed away to avoid further inspection. “Yes Srykar, they are fine, Seven’s elixir worked wonders. But don’t we need to get going, your human friend is punctual right?”
Srykar laughed through his huge canines. “Limmock? The day he’s on time is the day the sun shines in The Mists. But you’re right, no reason for us to tarnish the charr reputation of timeliness.”
Spinning on her heel Orla stretched, enjoying the feel of her warm trousers and lined leather jacket against her skin. She had dressed in anticipation for the mountain clime where spring had not yet woken. Ahead of her Seven stood in the doorway, his bulk only leaving barely enough room for her to pass.
She avoided eye-contact, not wanting him to see the excitement behind her eyes. It was true she did not want to leave any more than he wanted to see her go. She loved this place as a home, but at the same time she felt happy to go on this journey. Guilt welled up in her chest as she approached the door. She held her breath as she passed Seven into the cool morning.
A thick leathery paw grasped her hand, stopping her.
“Orla,” he choked out. “Don’t forget us, please.”
Even though she had not seen his face, the emotion in his voice hit her like a storm. She turned and flung her arms around his body, squeezing as tightly as she could and buried her face in his pale leather tunic. She could not say anything lest she start crying so she hoped the hug would convey her thoughts. I would never forget you! The charr who never treated me like a servant, but as his dearest friend. No matter where the road takes me, nothing could make me forget these two most beautiful years of my life.
The hug lasted a little too long so Seven patted her shoulder and nudged her away. “You need to get going.”
Orla sighed in relief at the sight of his shy grin. She stood up straight and stuck out her chin imperiously. “Now Seven, remember to take care of your teeth, don’t get in the habit of drinking hard, and,” despite her efforts her eyes started to water. “know that your are the most important person in the world to me, so stop muttering about how useless you are when you think I can’t hear. You are more than just that bent leg!” She stomped her foot angrily. “Drats! I didn’t want to cry, look what you made me do!” she scolded.
Seven touched both her cheeks with the back of a finger, wiping up the tears. “Sorry, I’ve delayed you long enough.”
“Right you have!” Srykar bellowed shoving his way past the young Charr. He turned and gave his orders. “Seven, feed the cattle, I’ll take them out to pasture when I get back, don’t overexert yourself though, take things slow.”
“Yes sir.”
Seven watched as the human girl and the elder charr walked towards the distant mountains and disappeared behind a low rise. Now that they were gone, he raised his muzzle to the mountains and roared out of anger, sadness and shame.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The temperatures changed far faster than Orla had suspected. Less than an hour before she had been tempted to shed the warm lined leather jacket and just continue on in her adequately covering skivvies. Now that she was above the lowest clouds she could see her breath. She shivered as they turned a corner on the narrow mountain path and she saw before her snow lining the path and cold air blew down, chilling her face. The fear of falling backwards off the path and down the steep incline suddenly gripped her.
Srykar must have sensed her fear, or heard her teeth rattle because he wrapped his burly arm around her and held her close, enveloping her in his cloak that smelt heavily of straw and charcoal. Together they slowed their pace, in no hurry to arrive at their destination, even stopping several times to admire a view or take a breather.
Orla was more than a little concerned about her aging friend. The climb was not easy and she never remembered seeing Srykar exert himself this much. For a moment she pressed closer to him and closed her eyes. His heart was beating hard but at a regular pace. She sighed in relief.
“Something wrong?” he asked
“Oh! No, nothing.”
“Good, cause here we are!” Srykar declared as he backed away from her.
Orla looked up to see crescent of five coloured wagons pulled by a dolyak each. Colour drained from her face and she felt her heart skip a beat and then race. There were at least a dozen people milling about, human people. It was then she realised she was scared, scared of what they would think of her. These people had lived amongst themselves and for themselves all their lives. And here she was, practically raised by charr, uncertain even how one greets another human from Kryta. She wondered if free humans said ‘hello’ to each other as well, or were there rules? She knew charr etiquette, but would she offend these people? Would they like her?
A couple of the women looked her way, they were wearing such pretty dresses, as if they were animated flowers tasselled with fur. A grey haired man, surely Limmock, waved and cantered towards her.
Without thinking she dashed behind Srykar and clung to his coat.
“Srykar you old warcat! It’s been to long!” Limmock’s cried out cheerfully as he gave the retired warrior a firm handshake.
“Indeed it has, deranged cotton ball, still as slight as ever I see.”
“At least I haven’t been putting on the pounds in my old age.” the man replied giving a playful backhanded smack to the charr’s broad abdomen. He shook his hand in pain. “Or not, is that wide girth of yours actually muscle?”
Srykar laughed. “Hardly, I just make sure to package my reserves right with religious training. But I have cows to feed so that conversation needs to wait for another day I fear, in the meantime--,” he turned around bringing Orla into view. “She is the reason I came.”
Limmock acted as if this was the first time he had noticed her. “Well, is this the scrawny little bug you purchased a couple years back? My has she become a rather comely young lady if I do say so. What’s your name dear?”
After giving an uncertain glance Srykar’s way Orla answered the strange man. “My name is Orla. I assume you’re Limmock, or should I call you ‘deranged cotton ball?’”
“Oh hohoho! I like her old chum, she’s got spice! You teach her that?”
“I assure you, she didn’t need to learn anything from me.” Srykar told the truth. Slaves with a threatening glint and saucy tongue fetched higher prices and greater respect from charr masters. It showed that despite their humble position they still carried a fire, which meant they could be useful if that fire was accompanied with loyalty. Orla had learned at a young age that attitude was the key to survival.
“So why did you trek all the way up here to see me and bring along this lovely specimen, who I’m afraid is far too young for me, thank you for the thought.”
Before Orla could make a scathing remark Srykar tugged down her collar and replied, “Ever seen one of these before.”
Limmock’s mirthful face immediately turned grave at the sight of the scars on the side of her neck. “I see, she’s supposed to come back to Kryta with me I assume?”
Srykar nodded. “It was a dormant for around three years but just activated yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you examine her body when you bought her?” Limmock demanded.
“I did, thoroughly, there were no marks.” Srykar replied with a meaningful glare.
“But how do you know how long it’s… wait-- you mean the wretch did this again?!”
Srykar silence confirmed Limmock’s accusation. Then he bent down to look Orla eye to eye. “Listen kit, Limmock here is a good man who I’ve know most of his life. He will take care of you and find you a home. Do what he says, although I warn you he jokes too much.”
Orla looked between the two elders wondering how long they knew about Caelmurg. With a gentle pat she felt Srykar corral her towards Limmock and the wagons. She turned her head as he began to back away. He nodded a salute her way and left, disappearing around the mountain bend.
As Orla neared the wagons, she noted how there was no one here she knew. It was not the first time in her life this had happened, but somehow during the time she lived with Seven and Srykar she felt a sense of permanence.
She brushed her moistening eyes. There’s no sense in crying about it now.
The caravan started towards the mountains, the axel wheels groaned and the dolyaks bellowed amongst themselves, bemoaning their woes.
Orla found herself rocking back and forth on a bench inside the wagons. Two brightly dressed, beautiful women sat across from her. Silver and copper earrings and nose rings ordained their faces. They smiled at her though did not speak, not as if any speech would be possible without shouting over the rattling wheels and mooing cattle. So she gave her best smile back.
She wondered at their skin too, so much darker than even her brownest tan after a long summer in the fields, but they had no blemishes, as if their faces were made of the smoothest satin worn by the generals. Orla felt rather bland in comparison, not that she ever felt a need to compete in beauty but it was still humbling for her to be around them.
She huddled into the thick quilts allowing herself to be lulled into a fitful sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something caused Orla to wake with a start. The first thing she noticed was that the wagon was still, then how her two fellow passengers were absent.
Is it already time to set camp?
She peeked out of her wagon. The sun was just beginning to disappear at the bottom of a valley to the west. She jumped at the sound of various grunts and groans.
After she got out on the ground she walked to the other side of the wagon and spotted the source of the commotion. A pitiful rotten spruce had fallen down in the path before them. She could clearly see the remains of its stump up the side of the mountain. It was not a big tree, but it was large enough to impede the oxcarts so the men and women of the caravan were hauling away the crumbling, rotten chunks to clear the way.
She popped her knuckles rotated her arms, stretching away the cramps so she could help. Hastening to assist she was just about to reach the lock when an uneasy feeling clenched her gut. She looked up at the slopes on both sides.
Something caught her eye. Was that a grey elbow sticking out from a rock? She squinted but decided it was her imagination. She was going to return to the task at hand but she spotted one of the three caravan guards staring up at the same slope she had been. His hand found its way to an uneasy rest on the pommel of his sword.
Orla glanced around. No one else seemed to be nervous, but something was obviously bothering that guard. As nonchalant as possible she approached him.
Once she was close enough she asked in a quiet voice, “You see something sir?”
He looked at her with one brown eye, keeping the other on the slope.
She nodded, informing him she was aware that something was there.
“Maybe,” he muttered bringing his other hand to scratch his dark 5 o‘clock shadow. He gave her a quick once over, assessing her usefulness. “Listen, I’m going to get a closer look, follow twenty paces behind me, if something is there I’ll wave twice. Then I want you to hurry, but don’t run, and tell another guard and Sir Limmock, be sure to say I waved twice.”
Orla nodded.
The guard set his scruffy jaw and moved towards the slope while Orla made certain to stay twenty steps behind. She became more nervous as she approached the foot of the wooded slope. Again out of the corner of her eye she was certain she saw a greyish form, but when she turned her head it was gone.
Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears once she entered the shade of the trees. An odd putrid scent reached her nose, a mix of pine, rock moss, and musky sweat. The stench was so overpowering she almost missed the signal from the guard.
She nodded back and cantered back to the group clearing the rotten tree. Finding the closest guard, a towering Elonian, she grabbed his arm.
He looked down at her in irritation. “What? I’m busy.”
“The other guard sent me, there’s something up the slope… He waved twice.”
Like magic the guard changed his attitude. “Go tell Limmock that there’s a Jotun patrol nearby.”
Orla hastened on the way to Limmock. She had heard about the giants that dwelled in the Shiverpeaks, they were a nasty bunch apparently. Finally she spotted Limmock’s head of fluffy white hair.
She called out to him getting everyone’s attention, surprising all but Limmock that she did after all have a voice.
“What’s the matter dear?” he asked.
She hurried up to him and whispered. “Jotun are up the slope!”
Limmock raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “How do you figure th-?”
A nasally rattling roar put his doubts at rest. The entire party froze what they were doing.
“Orla, round up the women and get them into the middle wagon and keep them there. Then listen to Mora, she’s guardian of sorts, she’ll know what to do.”
She nodded and dashed towards the almost cleared fallen tree, trying to block out the sound of massive footfalls and roars. She found the four women of the party already making their way to the wagon so she simply joined them.
As they climbed into the wheeled refuge, one of the women, a skinniest, shortest, and darkest one began muttering to herself and waved her hand before her.
Feeling that magic was in the air Orla peeked outside to see a bubble-like membrane grow up from the ground and encompass them, wagon and all. She looked back at the woman.
I suppose this is Mora. Orla mused. I thought she was a little girl but now that I look closer, she could be my grandmother.
A thunderous crash and the sounds of metal clanging brought the girl back to the current situation. “Um, Mora, how long can you keep this shield up?”
The woman replied with a surprisingly youthful voice that once again confused Orla’s perception of her age, “This is one of two techniques I ever learned, and I’ve practiced them all my life, I can keep this up for hours as long as I stay still.”
Orla sighed and tried to forget the sounds of conflict outside. However the din of violence rose to such a crescendo she had to cover her ears. After several minutes the noise ceased. She lowered her hands and looked at the other women in askance, but they seemed as oblivious as she was as to their situation.
A pained cry broke the silence followed by the sound of shifting gravel. Orla looked out to see the scruffy guard she had assisted earlier. Half of his pale face was red with blood. He lay immobile was just a couple metres outside the shield.
For a moment she wondered if he was dead until he made a deep gasping breath followed by coughs which sprayed specks of red onto the grey gravel. She whirled back at the women.
“Can any of you heal?!” She shouted almost at a scream.
The two women either side of Mora raised their hands.
Orla nodded then hopped out of the wagon ignoring their warnings and demands to stay inside until it was safe. She only hesitated briefly at the bubble like barrier but mustered her courage. She pressed herself through the thin membrane which felt like dry water, which did not make any sense. Once through she knelt over the injured guard, wrapping her arms under his pits and began dragging him back to the bubble.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he demanded through weak lips.
“Saving y-- drats!” She felt her rear bump against the shield. She kicked herself for not confirming whether she could get back through.”
“Leave me!” the guard ordered.
“No, Mora just needs to lower the shield for a moment.”
“There’s no time!”
“What do you mean… dra--,” her favourite expletive died in her throat when she noticed the two massive pairs of grey legs planted just beyond the guards limp feet. Her head tilted up to spot the monster’s ugly mug.
“Only a mother could love you.” she blurted without thought, making herself seem more cocky than she felt. Then her gaze fell on the Norn war-hammers the beast had in each of his hands.
The Jotun warrior raised his left weapon high as if was a mere gavel. With a gurgling roar.
Orla knew her life was seconds away from ending like a bug on a desk. She was about to let out a scream for help but she realised there was no one to call for. Srykar was miles away by now, probably home with Seven, and not to seem rude, but Limmock did not seem like the hero-type.
I’m going to die right here. She realised. Prey to some random Jotun ambush.
With all his strength the guard let out a heart rending roar, “Go!!!”
Startled by the noise she dropped him to the ground and took half a step back. She spotted the hammer begin to thunder down, no longer was it going to hit her but the guard alone.
In the next microseconds she realised something. She was angry, not at the Jotun, not at herself, but at the guard. He reminded her of Seven when he was slashed by that guardian. Not again would she be the cause for someone else’s pain!
Without another thought she struck out with all her might.
Time seemed to stop when her fist made contact with the descending mallet and then with the flash of a golden aura the hammer shattered, its granite, rune-covered head blasting apart, never hitting the intended target.
The Jotun reeled back holding his mangled hand and bellowing in pain dropping his other hammer in the process.
The guard looked up at his rescuer, his eyes transfixed on the fiery aura about her. His eyes widened in recognition of the form. Juggernaut!
“You remembered to grab a knife from the shed?”
Orla nodded, ignoring the fact that it was the fourth time he had asked. “Yes, and I have a proper whetstone because ‘Those Norn and humans are incompetent at sharpening tools properly.’ ‘Use a shallow angle but not too shallow.’ I know Srykar, I sharpened your knives every week.”
He looked perplexed a moment. “Huh, that’s right, I did teach you that. Oh but how about your hands are they better?”
She resisted the immense temptation to roll her eyes. She had learned to sharpen knives under a previous owner, a blacksmith of the citadel.
Orla slung on the pack and backed away to avoid further inspection. “Yes Srykar, they are fine, Seven’s elixir worked wonders. But don’t we need to get going, your human friend is punctual right?”
Srykar laughed through his huge canines. “Limmock? The day he’s on time is the day the sun shines in The Mists. But you’re right, no reason for us to tarnish the charr reputation of timeliness.”
Spinning on her heel Orla stretched, enjoying the feel of her warm trousers and lined leather jacket against her skin. She had dressed in anticipation for the mountain clime where spring had not yet woken. Ahead of her Seven stood in the doorway, his bulk only leaving barely enough room for her to pass.
She avoided eye-contact, not wanting him to see the excitement behind her eyes. It was true she did not want to leave any more than he wanted to see her go. She loved this place as a home, but at the same time she felt happy to go on this journey. Guilt welled up in her chest as she approached the door. She held her breath as she passed Seven into the cool morning.
A thick leathery paw grasped her hand, stopping her.
“Orla,” he choked out. “Don’t forget us, please.”
Even though she had not seen his face, the emotion in his voice hit her like a storm. She turned and flung her arms around his body, squeezing as tightly as she could and buried her face in his pale leather tunic. She could not say anything lest she start crying so she hoped the hug would convey her thoughts. I would never forget you! The charr who never treated me like a servant, but as his dearest friend. No matter where the road takes me, nothing could make me forget these two most beautiful years of my life.
The hug lasted a little too long so Seven patted her shoulder and nudged her away. “You need to get going.”
Orla sighed in relief at the sight of his shy grin. She stood up straight and stuck out her chin imperiously. “Now Seven, remember to take care of your teeth, don’t get in the habit of drinking hard, and,” despite her efforts her eyes started to water. “know that your are the most important person in the world to me, so stop muttering about how useless you are when you think I can’t hear. You are more than just that bent leg!” She stomped her foot angrily. “Drats! I didn’t want to cry, look what you made me do!” she scolded.
Seven touched both her cheeks with the back of a finger, wiping up the tears. “Sorry, I’ve delayed you long enough.”
“Right you have!” Srykar bellowed shoving his way past the young Charr. He turned and gave his orders. “Seven, feed the cattle, I’ll take them out to pasture when I get back, don’t overexert yourself though, take things slow.”
“Yes sir.”
Seven watched as the human girl and the elder charr walked towards the distant mountains and disappeared behind a low rise. Now that they were gone, he raised his muzzle to the mountains and roared out of anger, sadness and shame.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The temperatures changed far faster than Orla had suspected. Less than an hour before she had been tempted to shed the warm lined leather jacket and just continue on in her adequately covering skivvies. Now that she was above the lowest clouds she could see her breath. She shivered as they turned a corner on the narrow mountain path and she saw before her snow lining the path and cold air blew down, chilling her face. The fear of falling backwards off the path and down the steep incline suddenly gripped her.
Srykar must have sensed her fear, or heard her teeth rattle because he wrapped his burly arm around her and held her close, enveloping her in his cloak that smelt heavily of straw and charcoal. Together they slowed their pace, in no hurry to arrive at their destination, even stopping several times to admire a view or take a breather.
Orla was more than a little concerned about her aging friend. The climb was not easy and she never remembered seeing Srykar exert himself this much. For a moment she pressed closer to him and closed her eyes. His heart was beating hard but at a regular pace. She sighed in relief.
“Something wrong?” he asked
“Oh! No, nothing.”
“Good, cause here we are!” Srykar declared as he backed away from her.
Orla looked up to see crescent of five coloured wagons pulled by a dolyak each. Colour drained from her face and she felt her heart skip a beat and then race. There were at least a dozen people milling about, human people. It was then she realised she was scared, scared of what they would think of her. These people had lived amongst themselves and for themselves all their lives. And here she was, practically raised by charr, uncertain even how one greets another human from Kryta. She wondered if free humans said ‘hello’ to each other as well, or were there rules? She knew charr etiquette, but would she offend these people? Would they like her?
A couple of the women looked her way, they were wearing such pretty dresses, as if they were animated flowers tasselled with fur. A grey haired man, surely Limmock, waved and cantered towards her.
Without thinking she dashed behind Srykar and clung to his coat.
“Srykar you old warcat! It’s been to long!” Limmock’s cried out cheerfully as he gave the retired warrior a firm handshake.
“Indeed it has, deranged cotton ball, still as slight as ever I see.”
“At least I haven’t been putting on the pounds in my old age.” the man replied giving a playful backhanded smack to the charr’s broad abdomen. He shook his hand in pain. “Or not, is that wide girth of yours actually muscle?”
Srykar laughed. “Hardly, I just make sure to package my reserves right with religious training. But I have cows to feed so that conversation needs to wait for another day I fear, in the meantime--,” he turned around bringing Orla into view. “She is the reason I came.”
Limmock acted as if this was the first time he had noticed her. “Well, is this the scrawny little bug you purchased a couple years back? My has she become a rather comely young lady if I do say so. What’s your name dear?”
After giving an uncertain glance Srykar’s way Orla answered the strange man. “My name is Orla. I assume you’re Limmock, or should I call you ‘deranged cotton ball?’”
“Oh hohoho! I like her old chum, she’s got spice! You teach her that?”
“I assure you, she didn’t need to learn anything from me.” Srykar told the truth. Slaves with a threatening glint and saucy tongue fetched higher prices and greater respect from charr masters. It showed that despite their humble position they still carried a fire, which meant they could be useful if that fire was accompanied with loyalty. Orla had learned at a young age that attitude was the key to survival.
“So why did you trek all the way up here to see me and bring along this lovely specimen, who I’m afraid is far too young for me, thank you for the thought.”
Before Orla could make a scathing remark Srykar tugged down her collar and replied, “Ever seen one of these before.”
Limmock’s mirthful face immediately turned grave at the sight of the scars on the side of her neck. “I see, she’s supposed to come back to Kryta with me I assume?”
Srykar nodded. “It was a dormant for around three years but just activated yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you examine her body when you bought her?” Limmock demanded.
“I did, thoroughly, there were no marks.” Srykar replied with a meaningful glare.
“But how do you know how long it’s… wait-- you mean the wretch did this again?!”
Srykar silence confirmed Limmock’s accusation. Then he bent down to look Orla eye to eye. “Listen kit, Limmock here is a good man who I’ve know most of his life. He will take care of you and find you a home. Do what he says, although I warn you he jokes too much.”
Orla looked between the two elders wondering how long they knew about Caelmurg. With a gentle pat she felt Srykar corral her towards Limmock and the wagons. She turned her head as he began to back away. He nodded a salute her way and left, disappearing around the mountain bend.
As Orla neared the wagons, she noted how there was no one here she knew. It was not the first time in her life this had happened, but somehow during the time she lived with Seven and Srykar she felt a sense of permanence.
She brushed her moistening eyes. There’s no sense in crying about it now.
The caravan started towards the mountains, the axel wheels groaned and the dolyaks bellowed amongst themselves, bemoaning their woes.
Orla found herself rocking back and forth on a bench inside the wagons. Two brightly dressed, beautiful women sat across from her. Silver and copper earrings and nose rings ordained their faces. They smiled at her though did not speak, not as if any speech would be possible without shouting over the rattling wheels and mooing cattle. So she gave her best smile back.
She wondered at their skin too, so much darker than even her brownest tan after a long summer in the fields, but they had no blemishes, as if their faces were made of the smoothest satin worn by the generals. Orla felt rather bland in comparison, not that she ever felt a need to compete in beauty but it was still humbling for her to be around them.
She huddled into the thick quilts allowing herself to be lulled into a fitful sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something caused Orla to wake with a start. The first thing she noticed was that the wagon was still, then how her two fellow passengers were absent.
Is it already time to set camp?
She peeked out of her wagon. The sun was just beginning to disappear at the bottom of a valley to the west. She jumped at the sound of various grunts and groans.
After she got out on the ground she walked to the other side of the wagon and spotted the source of the commotion. A pitiful rotten spruce had fallen down in the path before them. She could clearly see the remains of its stump up the side of the mountain. It was not a big tree, but it was large enough to impede the oxcarts so the men and women of the caravan were hauling away the crumbling, rotten chunks to clear the way.
She popped her knuckles rotated her arms, stretching away the cramps so she could help. Hastening to assist she was just about to reach the lock when an uneasy feeling clenched her gut. She looked up at the slopes on both sides.
Something caught her eye. Was that a grey elbow sticking out from a rock? She squinted but decided it was her imagination. She was going to return to the task at hand but she spotted one of the three caravan guards staring up at the same slope she had been. His hand found its way to an uneasy rest on the pommel of his sword.
Orla glanced around. No one else seemed to be nervous, but something was obviously bothering that guard. As nonchalant as possible she approached him.
Once she was close enough she asked in a quiet voice, “You see something sir?”
He looked at her with one brown eye, keeping the other on the slope.
She nodded, informing him she was aware that something was there.
“Maybe,” he muttered bringing his other hand to scratch his dark 5 o‘clock shadow. He gave her a quick once over, assessing her usefulness. “Listen, I’m going to get a closer look, follow twenty paces behind me, if something is there I’ll wave twice. Then I want you to hurry, but don’t run, and tell another guard and Sir Limmock, be sure to say I waved twice.”
Orla nodded.
The guard set his scruffy jaw and moved towards the slope while Orla made certain to stay twenty steps behind. She became more nervous as she approached the foot of the wooded slope. Again out of the corner of her eye she was certain she saw a greyish form, but when she turned her head it was gone.
Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears once she entered the shade of the trees. An odd putrid scent reached her nose, a mix of pine, rock moss, and musky sweat. The stench was so overpowering she almost missed the signal from the guard.
She nodded back and cantered back to the group clearing the rotten tree. Finding the closest guard, a towering Elonian, she grabbed his arm.
He looked down at her in irritation. “What? I’m busy.”
“The other guard sent me, there’s something up the slope… He waved twice.”
Like magic the guard changed his attitude. “Go tell Limmock that there’s a Jotun patrol nearby.”
Orla hastened on the way to Limmock. She had heard about the giants that dwelled in the Shiverpeaks, they were a nasty bunch apparently. Finally she spotted Limmock’s head of fluffy white hair.
She called out to him getting everyone’s attention, surprising all but Limmock that she did after all have a voice.
“What’s the matter dear?” he asked.
She hurried up to him and whispered. “Jotun are up the slope!”
Limmock raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “How do you figure th-?”
A nasally rattling roar put his doubts at rest. The entire party froze what they were doing.
“Orla, round up the women and get them into the middle wagon and keep them there. Then listen to Mora, she’s guardian of sorts, she’ll know what to do.”
She nodded and dashed towards the almost cleared fallen tree, trying to block out the sound of massive footfalls and roars. She found the four women of the party already making their way to the wagon so she simply joined them.
As they climbed into the wheeled refuge, one of the women, a skinniest, shortest, and darkest one began muttering to herself and waved her hand before her.
Feeling that magic was in the air Orla peeked outside to see a bubble-like membrane grow up from the ground and encompass them, wagon and all. She looked back at the woman.
I suppose this is Mora. Orla mused. I thought she was a little girl but now that I look closer, she could be my grandmother.
A thunderous crash and the sounds of metal clanging brought the girl back to the current situation. “Um, Mora, how long can you keep this shield up?”
The woman replied with a surprisingly youthful voice that once again confused Orla’s perception of her age, “This is one of two techniques I ever learned, and I’ve practiced them all my life, I can keep this up for hours as long as I stay still.”
Orla sighed and tried to forget the sounds of conflict outside. However the din of violence rose to such a crescendo she had to cover her ears. After several minutes the noise ceased. She lowered her hands and looked at the other women in askance, but they seemed as oblivious as she was as to their situation.
A pained cry broke the silence followed by the sound of shifting gravel. Orla looked out to see the scruffy guard she had assisted earlier. Half of his pale face was red with blood. He lay immobile was just a couple metres outside the shield.
For a moment she wondered if he was dead until he made a deep gasping breath followed by coughs which sprayed specks of red onto the grey gravel. She whirled back at the women.
“Can any of you heal?!” She shouted almost at a scream.
The two women either side of Mora raised their hands.
Orla nodded then hopped out of the wagon ignoring their warnings and demands to stay inside until it was safe. She only hesitated briefly at the bubble like barrier but mustered her courage. She pressed herself through the thin membrane which felt like dry water, which did not make any sense. Once through she knelt over the injured guard, wrapping her arms under his pits and began dragging him back to the bubble.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he demanded through weak lips.
“Saving y-- drats!” She felt her rear bump against the shield. She kicked herself for not confirming whether she could get back through.”
“Leave me!” the guard ordered.
“No, Mora just needs to lower the shield for a moment.”
“There’s no time!”
“What do you mean… dra--,” her favourite expletive died in her throat when she noticed the two massive pairs of grey legs planted just beyond the guards limp feet. Her head tilted up to spot the monster’s ugly mug.
“Only a mother could love you.” she blurted without thought, making herself seem more cocky than she felt. Then her gaze fell on the Norn war-hammers the beast had in each of his hands.
The Jotun warrior raised his left weapon high as if was a mere gavel. With a gurgling roar.
Orla knew her life was seconds away from ending like a bug on a desk. She was about to let out a scream for help but she realised there was no one to call for. Srykar was miles away by now, probably home with Seven, and not to seem rude, but Limmock did not seem like the hero-type.
I’m going to die right here. She realised. Prey to some random Jotun ambush.
With all his strength the guard let out a heart rending roar, “Go!!!”
Startled by the noise she dropped him to the ground and took half a step back. She spotted the hammer begin to thunder down, no longer was it going to hit her but the guard alone.
In the next microseconds she realised something. She was angry, not at the Jotun, not at herself, but at the guard. He reminded her of Seven when he was slashed by that guardian. Not again would she be the cause for someone else’s pain!
Without another thought she struck out with all her might.
Time seemed to stop when her fist made contact with the descending mallet and then with the flash of a golden aura the hammer shattered, its granite, rune-covered head blasting apart, never hitting the intended target.
The Jotun reeled back holding his mangled hand and bellowing in pain dropping his other hammer in the process.
The guard looked up at his rescuer, his eyes transfixed on the fiery aura about her. His eyes widened in recognition of the form. Juggernaut!
Character Bios
-Seven Steelwolf
Appearance: Silver, wolfish fur. Pale blue eyes that are ancient and intellectual. Slightly bearded around the muzzel. When working on mechanisms he wears a mechanical eyepiece in his left eye. He is left handed. Wears a dark grey engineers jacket the coattails reach the back and sides of his knees. On the shorter end of the Charr build.
Personality: Charming, in a weird un-charr way.
Biography: 15 years old. Member of the Iron Legion. Sire was a treacherous shaman (he doesn't like to talk about him).
Profession: Engineer
-Orla Ni Jen
Appearance: Fair skin, mixed Canthan and Tyrian heritage. Rusty hair which falls to the middle of her back. Brown eyes. Slightly taller than the average woman.
Personality: Dignified and spicy, but tenderhearted.
Biography: 16 years old. Slave since she was very young. Doesn't know her parents. Was hexed by the charr Caelmurg when she was 13.
Profession: Warrior
