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Post by ancientspirit on May 17, 2006 0:38:18 GMT -5
A powerful beginning, and a nice twist deftly given. Defenders have launched a bard.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 20, 2006 11:11:17 GMT -5
A Coward's Tale - Chapter 2
“Well, well.” The man at the table spoke quietly, but Robbyn could just make out his words. “Copper, you are one mother of a pain in the ass. But you already knows that, don’t you?”
“Fuck you, Hatch,” she spat. The woman did not look at the speaker. She spoke at him but she stared straight ahead, as if she were speaking to the man leaning against the wall above the crack where Robbyn knelt peeking. There was a pause. The man at the table quietly tipped his flagon as if considering her remark. The room was dead quiet. Finally, he spoke again.
“I already let you carry on and get all that out of your system. Now, you and me, we’re gonna be…civil. I got nothin’ against you. You caused the dockmaster and his boys here some trouble, looks like… In fact, you cause everyone trouble. I aint gonna hold that against you. But… talk to me like that some more and I don’t care who’s whelp you are, I gonna straighten you out, and you aint gonna like it.”
Hatch paused, took a swallow of his drink, and then went back to rocking it back and forth. The woman sat silent.
“All right. Glad we have an understandin’. Now, look at me.”
The woman’s eyes reluctantly flicked towards the speaker and then she slowly turned her head to him.
“OK. We need to have a little talk, and I need to know that you aint lyin’ to me. I know that aint gonna be so easy for you, as I’m not a very trustin’ man. But I’m gonna have to keep askin’ until I’m sure you aint lyin’. Got it?”
For a few seconds the woman simply stared at him, then she nodded.
“OK. Good. Now Colley here tells me that you was hidin’ out at the loggin’ camp, playing with some lumberjack.”
Fire flashed in the woman’s blue eyes. “Colley doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He probably doesn’t even know what it’s like to have a woman.” A ripple of grins washed around the room. Colley opened his mouth to say something and then closed it abruptly, evidently at a glance from Hatch.
“Is he dead?” Hatch asked the room in general.
“No sir,” Colley answered. “We got her away quiet, like you said. He was off.”
There was a pause as Hatch considered his drink a moment. Then he said, “Copper, I don’t really care what you were doin’ with him. What I gotta know is whatcha told him.”
“He don’t know shit.” After a second, she continued, “I just said I was from Stormwind and didn’t want to go back. I said I didn’t want to talk about it and he let it go.”
Hatch rocked his drink back a forth for a few seconds, then put the flagon down on the wooden with a dull click. The old wood creaked as he pushed his chair back.
“You’re lyin’.”
Robbyn heard Hatch slap his thighs and then stand heavily. Something flickered across the prisoner’s eyes for a second and was gone. Hatch came into view as he walked around the table and approached the young woman. He was a large, broad-shouldered man of fifty or perhaps fifty-five years. Nothing was soft about him. His chest was thick and heavy with a noticeable paunch. He wore a short-sleeve leather buff coat under a battered and loose-hanging steel cuirass, and though clearly passed his prime, his scarred leathery arms were still imposingly thick and powerfully built. The signature red mask of the Defias bandits was twisted and tied with a knot around his neck. At his waist was a broad, big-buckled studded leather belt, and through the belt the iron chains of a morning-star were looped in a loose coil. His gait was slow and measured and there was something like a limp to it. The steel shaft and spiked iron head of the morning-star clanked at his leggings as he walked forward.
Hatch sidled up to stand behind the woman and lean his left wrist casually on her shoulder. As it came into the light, it became clear that something was wrong with his left hand. For one thing, his ring finger was missing. But there was something else about the way that it sat beside her face, a slight deformity, as if it had been broken and then poorly set, that gave his hand a clawed appearance. The woman in the chair stared straight forward, not looking at it as he slowly brushed her hair away from her face. However, it was Hatch’s face that caused Robbyn to turn away involuntarily. The right side of Hatch’s face was unblemished, but as he turned to stand behind the captive woman his left side came into view. Something or someone had evidently burnt his face long ago, for the flesh on the left side of his face was scorched red and grotesquely misshapen. On the left side of his head his hair grew in sparse patches and there was only a slight protrusion where his ear should have been. A black gaping hole stared out where his left eye should have been.
Hatch brought the disfigured side of his face down beside her.
“You know, sometimes I gets a powerful itch where my old ear used to be. And I like to think that maybe sometimes this itch it makes me hear things funny. So, I’m gonna listen with my good ear and ask you again.” As he spoke he pulled lightly on his right ear. Then, taking firm hold of her left shoulder with his clawed left hand, he moved his head to the other side to listen. “Tell me again Copper, what did you tell this simple lumberjack about yourself?”
The woman’s left eye twitched, but she did not recoil from him. Her voice was clear and steady.
“It was a man and his wife. I chose them because their cottage was on the edge of town and they seemed soft-hearted. The man was not there when I came up to the house and I spoke to the woman. I told her that I was from Stormwind…and running from my husband. I told her that he beat me and that I wanted to make a new life. I made sure I had enough bruises. She believed me and took me in. When her husband came home we talked again over dinner and I told them that I would only stay a few days and then be on my way; that I didn’t want to bring them any trouble.”
Hatch nodded. “And…?”
“And I told them that my name was Evlin…and that I didn’t know where to go because I was afraid he would find me. I told them that I just wanted to be safe. I don’t know how much of it they believed. I heard them fighting about me staying. He thought I was a liar and wanted me to go. But I guess she won because they let me stay.”
Hatch released her shoulder and tapped under his good ear with a hooked finger. “See? My good ear. You like the name Evlin, Copper?”
She shrugged.
“I like it.” Hatch moved to stand to the right side of her and looked about the room for a moment, considering. Then he looked back at her and asked, “Tell me, Evlin, what’s your last name?”
“Parker.”
“Evlin Parker?”
She nodded.
Hatch turned and walked to the table. From the table he lifted a thin, finely-wrought short sword, slightly larger than a stiletto. Its blade was crafted of some shining metal brighter than steel. Its red leather-bound grip was swallowed up by his large hand as he lifted it up to look down its length. On the blade, and near to the quillons, was a red mark of some kind, but Robbyn could not make it out. In the yellow light of the single lantern something dark and unnatural discoloured its surface for a moment, then was gone.
“Miss Parker, how does a runaway bride explain a sword like this?”
“They never saw it.”
The large man was facing away from the helpless woman, measuring the small blade in his hand. Without warning he turned and plunged the small blade into her. Robbyn’s could not see what Hatch did exactly as his bulk blocked the view, but he heard her gasp and curse in pain. Robbyn felt sick and dizzy, and he pulled away from his peephole to lean against the side of the cottage wall.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 21, 2006 2:13:35 GMT -5
The woman’s scream was high and disjointed. “Aaah! Son of a bitch! Hatch! I stuffed it in the back of my shirt before I met the woman and then I hid it in my room! She never saw it! I knew that they’d turn me over to the Stormwind militia if they saw it. Shit!!”
Robbyn was shaking; he could not watch. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against the wall. The low rasp of Hatch’s voice said something from inside, but Robb could not make it out. Then the woman spoke again. Her voice was breathy and ragged. “No! I was careful. I tied it tight to the underside of the bed. I…insisted on cleaning my own room. They were trusting, Hatch. I’m telling you. Even if she went through my things, she didn’t find it.”
Robbyn heard the creak of the wooden chair again, then silence. From inside, he heard the woman cough. After a minute, the dockmaster, Colley, spoke up.
“More drink?”
“Yes,” said Hatch.
The man leaning against the wall behind Robbyn started to walk away towards the door on the far side of the shack. Terrified of being discovered, Robbyn sat perfectly still, straining to hear anything that might indicate where the man was going. The floorboards creaked in rhythm with his step as he crossed the room, then there was silence. Robbyn's heart was racing as he listened for the sound of the man's footsteps coming to discover him. Nothing. Then, after another minute, there was the metal rattle of a chain being removed somewhere on the far side of the building, then the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the clink of a bottle being placed on the ground. Robbyn sat in perfect silence, barely daring to breathe, as the door closed and the chain rattled again. Only when the man’s steps once again creaked on the floorboards inside did he start to breathe normally again.
Meanwhile, inside the woman continued to speak. “Pull the fucking knife out of me Hatch. You call this civil? I didn’t lie to you!”
There was a long pause. Then, Hatch said, “Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. I’m not a trustin’ man.”
“You filthy sick and twisted…” the woman stopped abruptly as the sound of Hatch getting up from his chair. After a moment, Robb heard him sit down again.
“Tell me, Copper. If you was bein’ all lady-like, when did you put on the leather and weapons?”
“I saw Colley and his boys from the upstairs window. I got dressed for a fight. Then I ran out the back and into the forest. Hatch, take the Light-cursed knife out of me.”
“Maybe later. I figure you’re less likely to run, nailed to the chair.”
She swore and cried out, but whether from anger or pain it wasn’t clear. The man returned with the drink, and Robb inched over to peek inside again. The bandit placed a large dark urn on the table and then turned away to return to his spot by the wall. This time, however, he did not block Robbyn’s view. As Robbyn watched, Hatch picked up a second knife from the table, uncorked the bottle with it, and filled his cup. He took a long swig.
The woman was stabbed through the soft space between shoulder and chest and impaled upon the wooden post of the chair behind her. The blade was thrust deep; so deep that of the two foot blade only an inch remained visible before the quillons and grip. Blood soaked her padded jerkin around and beneath the blade and pumped sluggishly from where it ran through her. Her head sagged slightly and a light sheen of blood coated her lips. Sweat beaded her brow. She still stared at Hatch, but her eyes had lost focus.
Her interrogator sloshed his drink around, and then drank again. After what seemed like ages, he spoke.
“Alright. I heard enough. Truth is, you didn’t tell no one nothin’. Like as not, this couple was happy to see the backside of you. But one can never be too careful.”
Hatch turned on the dockmaster. “Colley, you make a strong brew, I’ll give you that. But the reason why you’re stuck in this run down hole brewin’ firewater and runnin’ contraband is because you are so bloody stupid. You saw the lumberjack, but not the wife. You coudn't even sneak up on the house without Copper here seein’ you. Then, she leads you on a merry chase into the forest and away from the house where the missus was hidin’. You better hope the missus was glad to see her guest clear out. Otherwise, the woods 'round here might just be crawlin’ with blades by mornin’.”
Colley had no answer.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do. How far to the cottage of these nice people?”
“An hour,” said Colley.
“Ok. Colley you’re gonna send three of your boys back to light up that cottage. You got oil, take it. Take this here lantern too, but cover it. And a pile of rags from your still. Once the house is lit up, they will forget all about little miss Parker. Your other boys are gonna keep their eyes open around here just in case anyone is searchin’ for her in the woods or down river. Copper’s gonna have a nap. Me, I’m gonna finish this drink.”
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 23, 2006 21:08:14 GMT -5
At Hatch’s command, Robbyn’s head snapped up and away from the peephole. The words, “your other boys are gonna keep their eyes open around here” were like a knife in Robb’s chest. There was no place to hide. The clearing behind the cabin was just an empty open space. Robb’s eyes darted over at the woods, but there was no time to get there. Even if no one heard him clanking and wheezing as he ran for his life, there was thirty yards of clear ground before he reached the trees with only the odd bit of tall grass and ground cover. He had never been a fast runner. He would never make it.
Inside, the men stirred into activity. Robbyn heard their footsteps heading to the doorway on the far side of the building. He knew full well that a terrible fate was in store for him should he be discovered. Robb’s mind worked feverishly trying to weigh the risks and reduce his chance of discovery. The back wall cottage was in front of him. He remembered that he had seen, as he approached from the hidden pathway, that there was an open space on the right-hand side of the building all the way to the half-submerged dock. The right side of the building was the closest path to the hidden path. Colley’s men, or three of them anyway, might come around the right-hand side to retrace their steps to the hidden pathway. But Colley’s man had gone to the far left side to get Hatch’s bottle of firewater. Robb knew that there must be a shed or something – the still – somewhere to the left. Hatch had told them to get rags from the still. So maybe they would go left and then around the left-hand side to get to the pathway. Which way was more likely? There was no way to tell. On top of which, there were the two others who were being sent to “keep their eyes open” in case someone was hiding!
Robbyn was paralysed. He remained on one knee, pressed against the back of the house. His throat was dry and he swallowed hard. He knew that he should do something, anything, but he could not move; he could not think.
The bandits moved and spoke quietly and gave scant indication as to their exact location. The light inside the shack wobbled as the lantern was taken down from its hanging place. Hatch’s rasp cut through the air. “Light a couple of those torches and stick ’em by the door so me and miss Parker can see each other.” After a moment there was the light whoosh of a torch being lit and dancing shadows flicked around the clearing, though Robbyn remained in the shadows on the far side from where the torches were planted.
Suddenly Robbyn heard footsteps and something, a twig or branch perhaps, cracked in the night. In his state of mind it was impossible for him to tell, but Robbyn thought it came from the right side of the house. A wave of panic screamed to him that the men were coming around the right side of the house and that he would be discovered. Before he knew what he was doing, Robb rose up to a low crouch and half-tiptoed, half-shuffled over to the left corner of the backside of the house with every intention of rushing around the corner to hide. But just as he went to turn the corner he lost his nerve. Instead he stopped and peeked his head around.
It was a good thing that he hadn’t rushed around the corner. There were two buildings hidden on the left-hand side of the bandits’ hideout. At about ten paces from where Robbyn crouched was a wooden outhouse, tilted and broken-down, with a dark hole where its door should have been. At about thirty paces, and close to the bank of the Elwynn River, was a small stone building of about ten feet long and six feet wide. Though overgrown with creeping vines and weeds, and though surrounded by various rusted and discarded pieces of debris, a closer look revealed that the stone building was solid and impenetrable. It was this cache both contained the still and functioned as the storage room for the bandit gang. The cache was tucked out of sight of the river by several close-set trees, one of which was tilted and whose branches hung down like a curtain over the water. The low stone building had upon it a thick wooden door with a metal handle where the iron chain would have been fastened. Now, the door was open and Robbyn saw Colley and three of his men gathered around it. Colley had with him the small lantern taken from inside. In its light, Robbyn saw two of the men gathering supplies from inside the cache, and the third, after a brief exchange of words with Colley, heading off into the woods to the east.
In between the two hidden buildings was a single tall oak tree. Its branches were thick, high, and spread over the shack, the outhouse and the hidden stone cache. As Robbyn’s mind furiously counted the men, something moved in the darkness under the tree and Robbyn heard the dull thud of a hoof stamping on the ground. Robb squinted into the darkness. Standing at about fifteen paces from him, and in between Robbyn and the three Defias, was a great black stallion tethered to the oak by a long length of black cord.
The horse shook its large head and stamped again at some flea or annoyance. Robbyn was immediately taken aback by its size. It stood at least sixteen hands high. Its body was heavily muscled and honed for power. Robbyn had grown up around military horses and he immediately knew that he would not like this animal. He liked slow, gentle horses that took sweets from your hand. The kind that rarely galloped; that children played on. He liked horses with ribbons in their hair; that went in parades or at the faire. This beast, that measured Robbyn with pitch-black eyes, was a horse for the General and his troops. This was a beast bred to be both mount and weapon. Robbyn had seen displays of such horses’ brutal power with bite and kick upon straw dummies outside the military barracks at Stormwind. He knew that they were usually deliberately kept fierce and temperamental, and that even their owners were wise to tread carefully around them. He pulled his head back.
Remembering the footstep he had heard moments ago, Robbyn looked behind him just in time to see the fifth Defias bandit disappear in the forest on the far right hand side of the clearing, near to the river. The man was walking west, downstream, and evidently had not come to look behind the cottage. Robbyn breathed a small sigh of relief. Two gone.
By this point, Colley and his men were finished, and Robbyn heard the sound of the heavy door closing and the chain being put back into place to secure the contraband supplies of the gang. He could not get up the courage to look around the corner. He knew that now they would head his way, but he did not know which side of the shack to hide on, and his heart raced in his chest. Fortunately, they carried with them the lit lantern. Evidently Colley and his men also knew well enough to stay far away from the black stallion tethered on the left side of the house for they travelled the long way around the right side to travel across the clearing and follow the pathway back to the Eastvale Logging Camp and the cottage of the lumberjack and his kindly wife. As the light from the lantern waxed brighter on the far right side, Robb inched away and then ducked around the corner.
Unfortunately, Robbyn did not see the loose nail sticking out from the wood at the very corner of the house. At the last second he found himself yanked back by his shirt and unable to finish rounding the corner. For a second he was stuck halfway as the lantern’s light spread across the back of the shack and the men’s padded footsteps came into view. Then, with a rush of adrenaline he tore his shirt and ducked around the corner. For a second the men stopped walking, and Robb was sure that they had heard him, but then they moved on. Finally, the light of the lantern faded as the three men entered the forest. Robbyn stood panting in the darkness, pressed against sidewall of the run-down shack and staring into the eyes of the black beast tethered before him.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 25, 2006 0:47:53 GMT -5
Inside the rundown shack, Hatch sat silently drinking the hard liquor. He was a hard man, with a will of iron and an unflagging determination to survive. As his face would bear witness, Hatch had survived encounters that would kill a normal man. Many now maintained that he could not die. He had even heard whispers that some thought he had made a dark pact with some warlock and sold part or all of his soul in exchange for physical invincibility. He did not bother to dissuade them. In his line of work fear was more important than any weapon. Likely, he thought idly, the same could be said for any line of work.
The trouble with being alive when you should by rights be dead was that your body was not so easily persuaded you should be alive. In Hatch’s case this meant that he lived with almost constant pain. Every day of his life the first thing he knew in the morning was how much his body ached, and the last thing he thought before he slept was how much his body just wanted to lay down and die already. Something had festered in the old injury to his hand and everyday it seemed to curl more into an unusable fist. It was excruciatingly painful to bend his fingers back and force his left hand to lie flat, but he did it like a ritual to push back the implacable foe that was his own deformity. As for his ruined face, the flesh might be gone but his nerves were not yet entirely dead. Sometimes the lightest touch set off a spasm of pain that made him buckle and want to rip what was left of his face clean off. Not a day went by that he didn’t lie in bed wondering if he should just let death win.
Sometimes it helped to hit things until the pain to his flesh and blood outweighed the ache of his contorted bones and exposed nerves. Most times he just used drink to moderate his pain. And Colley might be a useless idiot in every other regard, but he made the strongest booze Hatch had ever tasted. It was a foul-smelling syrup-like substance that was supposed to be watered down before consumed. Undiluted, it burnt like the Nether going down, and on the heels of the burning came a merciful numbness. Any amount of hangover was worth that respite.
The light of the torches by the door half illuminated the small room, casting Copper into shadow. Hatch took another long swallow, then sat back to study the girl as she sagged from lost blood. Her eyes were still open, but already she stared blankly at the floor. A bit longer, then he would be guaranteed there would be no trouble along the way. Once she passed out he would patch her up with the bandages in his saddlebags and head off for Westfall with her. Better she be bled and weak; otherwise she was likely to kick up a fuss as usual. Hatch shook his head. Too much like her old man, he thought. She’d get herself killed yet, but not on his watch.
Colley and his boys wouldn’t be back for a few hours. Even if they botched the job and brought the whole logging camp on their heels, he and Copper would be long gone before they got back. There was plenty of time to get right pissed. Hatch poured himself another drink, then tipped it back and forth to let it breathe. The stuff was fire. Hatch took his time drinking, and by the fifth or sixth tankard the girl was done. Her head hung limp and her breathing came slow and shallow. Colley’s boys were long gone by now. With a sigh, Hatch put his cup down then pushed himself back from the lopsided table. Standing, he realized that he was already at least half cocked, for the room tilted slightly and he had to take a moment to steady himself. He whistled appreciatively. He’d have to remember to take a bottle with him. “Wait,” he muttered, correcting himself. Colley would’ve locked up the storeroom; he knew his life wasn’t worth spit if he botched a delivery. “Ah well,” he slurred out, resignedly. He shook his head ruefully and licked his lips. At least he still had most of a bottle to take with him.
Turning back to the table Hatch poured himself another glassful of the distilled firewater, but he must have been drunker than he thought for he slopped some on the table. Shame to waste it. It was the bloody uneven surface of the table, he thought. Why couldn’t Colley even fix a bloody table so it was flat? He carefully put the bottle down, placing his good hand on top to steady it, then lifted his glass in his left hand and turned back to Copper to toast her health. Tipping back his head he downed half the tankard, savouring the sweet pain of the liquor as it rushed through his veins and forced his body to involuntarily shudder.
Hatch had intended on pulling out the knife from the girl, but suddenly he felt the need to relieve himself. With a garbled, “Hold on there, Miss Parker” he stumbled towards the doorway of the shack and the torches planted there. For a moment, he stood with right hand up high on the doorframe and left hand low holding his sloshing drink. Then he lurched past the torches planted in the ground and headed around back, to where the outhouse was.
Hatch did not make it to the outhouse, however. He decided that the corner of the house was good enough. Turning the corner, he stepped up to the sidewall, loosened his belt with his right hand and then set about his business. For a long moment he stood staring at the wall in front of him, taking the occasional swig from the tankard in his left hand, while the stream ran down the wood and was swallowed by the weeds.
Then Hatch looked to his right. He shook his head and blinked, not believing his eyes for a second. There, standing not ten paces from him was a fucking Stormwind guard! It was dark, and the large man stood in the shadows, but Hatch would recognize the breastplate and surcoat of the Stormwind militia anywhere. The man was large and heavily built, wore a full helm, and clearly meant business. “Who the Dark…?” escaped his lips as he saw the warrior raise a heavy iron mace in both hands.
Hatch lurched away from the wall, dropping his drink and spraying an arc of urine in the air. His mind was thick and his vision lurched sickeningly. He fumbled uselessly at his belt, trying to release the straps and get his morningstar into his hand. The large man first stepped away, and then silently approached with the careful stance of a well-trained warrior leaving nothing to chance. Hatch had no time to get his weapon free. Instead he barrelled into the man, attempting to knock him down. For a big man, the guard was surprisingly fast. He managed to plant a hit on Hatch’s chest with his mace, slowing Hatch’s charge and preventing him from getting a decent handhold. Hatch did get one hand onto the man’s surcoat, but he knew his attacker’s next hit would likely break a bone, so was forced to release him. Hatch pushed the man away, then staggered back, trying desperately to keep his footing. The man started to approach again. Finally, Hatch’s fumbling fingers released the weapon at his side and it fell in a clatter at his feet. For a second both men stopped. Then, as Hatch reached for his weapon the man ran at him. Hatch barely managed to sidestep and the big man swung wildly and barrelled right past.
Finally, Hatch got his hand on the shaft of his weapon and turned around to face his attacker with weapon in hand. "Ok, you maggot," he began, but then stopped. Hatch looked and saw that when the man had missed him he had run close to where Hatch had tethered his horse, and now the beast was biting and harrying him from behind. Hatch knew that in his intoxicated state he was lucky to still be alive. He needed to end the fight now. Raising up his morningstar, he began to spin the chained weapon above his head, then charged while his foe was still distracted. Hatch was a strong man and he put all of his force into the whirling attack. The spiked iron ball flew at the man, but in his stupor Hatch had misjudged the distance. With a loud crack the ball embedded itself into the gnarled bark of the oak tree. A foul curse flew from his lips and Hatch braced himself for his enemy's counterattack. But even though he had lost his weapon, the attack did not arrive as expected. Instead, two things happened in such rapid sequence that Hatch’s befuddled mind could not keep up. First, with a fierce bray the stallion rose up on its hind legs and lashed out with its fore hoof. Second, the large man suddenly dropped down and crawled away on hands and knees. It didn't make any sense. Hatch's mind was too slow to react. All he knew was that he suddenly stood blinking at a hoof as it hurled toward his face. He felt a blinding flash of pain; then blackness took him.
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Post by Sorcha'Rei on May 25, 2006 3:28:47 GMT -5
((Marvelous! More, please . . . . ))
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Post by Fechak on May 25, 2006 8:15:13 GMT -5
((Keep it coming!))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 28, 2006 14:15:07 GMT -5
By the end of the fight, Robbyn had lost any remnant of courage and he was reduced to a blubbering fool, begging for mercy and crawling away on hands and knees. It was not until he had scrambled to his feet by the shack wall and turned to defend himself again that he realized that Hatch was lying prone on the ground. The great black horse snorted and stamped, staring balefully at him and occasionally pushing at the prostrate form of his master with a fore hoof. Hatch lay still as death, his head twisted at an unnatural angle and his one eye staring blankly at Robbyn. After a long breath, Robbyn slumped down against the wall, pulled off his helmet, and started crying weakly. Even lifeless, Hatch was terrifying.
After a minute the night sounds of the forest came back into Robbyn’s mind and he started to collect himself together. From far off across the water of the Elwynn River a wolf howled at the moon. He needed to hurry; Colley’s men might return at any time. With his eyes on the prostrate form of the monstrous bandit, Robbyn pushed himself to his feet and began to edge along the wall towards the front door. Then he remembered that Hatch had used the wall as a urinal. He stepped away and, still keeping his eyes on the broken man, rounded the corner. Only when the corner of the shack fully obscured Hatch’s body did Robbyn turn and, stepping past the now guttering torches, hurry inside.
The room was devoid of any decoration; clearly intended to suggest to the casual observer that the place was long deserted. Other than the odd bucket and barrel, table and two chairs, and the cutting table, in the far back corner of the room was something that might have been a mattress. The smell of the room assaulted his nostrils; blood and alcohol mixed with rotten fish and old sweat. Flies were everywhere. Disgusted, Robbyn put a hand over his nose and mouth and approached the woman.
Copper lay bound and slumped in the half-light. She remained bound waist and legs, but her head rested on her chest and he hair fell down in a long sheet around her. Robbyn knelt down beside her and checked for vital signs. Her breathing was shallow and ragged but she was still alive. The cruel blade ran her through and stuck out of the wood of the chair behind her, cracking the wood of the post. Blood stained the floor beneath her.
Robbyn knew by now that he should never have gotten involved. He cursed his stupid instincts; they were always wrong! He should have never followed Colley and his men in the woods. This was none of his business. From the overheard conversation he knew now that Copper was a bandit just like the rest of them. She probably deserved whatever it was that they were going to do to her. But here he was, looking at the broken body of the once fierce woman, and his heart went out to her. He could not help it. That little voice inside his head whispered that maybe there was an explanation. She didn’t look wicked. In fact, under the cuts and bruises she was quite beautiful in a sort of delicate and fragile way. Maybe she had gotten drawn into a life of crime against her will or through bad luck, he thought. Who knew what her story was? He had no idea; who was he to judge? In any event, he could not just leave her here to die whoever she was, he decided.
It was impossible to tell if the bleeding had stopped under her leather jerkin. Robbyn knew he needed to get the knife out, but he also needed to get them both away from the shack before one of Colley’s men came back. He had a small belt pouch with first aid supplies, but he could not risk ministering to her here. And if he just removed the knife without bandaging her it would certainly cause more blood-loss, which might kill her. No. He needed to get her away and then take the knife out. But how? He would not get far carrying her strapped in the chair.
Robbyn looked again at the wood of the chair where the knife pierced it. The wood was old and split where the knife had run it through. It might be possible to break the wood and free the knife, he thought. Over on the table was the bottle of firewater and beside it the dagger Hatch had used to open it with the cork still stuck to it. Tying his helm to his waist, Robbyn retrieved the knife, removed the cork, and came back to stand behind the woman. The end of the knife fit into the crack above the thicker blade of the shortsword. Robbyn knew that he would probably jar the woman when he twisted the blade in the wood. He checked to make sure she was unconscious. This might hurt. He hoped that he did not wake her.
Taking firm hold of the lower chair back with his left hand, Robbyn pried the dagger to the right in a sudden hard motion. There was a loud crack, the wood split, and a large piece of the chair post flew off across the floor. Robbyn checked the woman but she still slept. He breathed out, relieved. Using the knife, he then untied the bonds holding her to the chair and picked her up gently. She was light in his arms like a broken bird and moaned slightly, but she did not wake. The blood had apparently clotted around the knife, for only a small trickle slipped down the blade as he lifted her. It was a bit awkward carrying her without touching the blade, but he managed the best he could. When he reached the doorway of the derelict building Robbyn turned sideway and slid past the torches. He stood outside the cabin, glad to be out of the foul smell inside, but painfully aware of how he had no idea where he was going. In his mind Colley’s men were everywhere. One had gone upriver to the East, one had gone downriver to the West, and the others had gone North. The only other way was the river to the South. But Robbyn could not swim the broad river in his mail.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 29, 2006 12:54:08 GMT -5
Robbyn walked down to the river, wracking his mind for some way to get across. As he approached the edge of the river, he emerged from the tree cover and the light of the moon shone down upon them. The broad water moved languidly in the moonlight, but he knew full well that the thick murky depths hid treacherously powerful undertow. Even if he were to strip down he would never make it to the other side. Copper turned her head and grimaced in his arms. Robb looked at her worriedly and was shocked to see that the men must have hit her repeatedly in the face. Dark welts were starting to swell on her face and a dried line of blood trailed from her nose. A wave of anger swelled through him as he looked down upon her. The General was right; the Defias were monsters.
As he stood in the moonlight, Robbyn remembered something from the bandits’ conversation. Hatch had said that Colley was “running contraband.” Perhaps it was no coincidence that the bandits’ hideout was on the shore of the river, he thought. Maybe they smuggled their goods up and down the river. And if they did, they would have a boat hidden somewhere nearby. It was only the faintest hope of a chance, but Robbyn latched onto it and looked about for a hiding place.
Over by the stone cache the tilted tree hung down over the water, and there, under the shadow of the leaves Robbyn found a wooden boat pulled up and hidden among high weeds and brambles. It was actually more like a raft than a traditional boat. It was about seven feet long and almost equally as wide, with short thick sidewalls and a large flat centre area with no seating. It’s wood was old and the even in the darkness Robbyn could see the paint curling and peeling off it, but it appeared solid. Two broad paddles were tucked against the sidewalls along with a long wooden pole, but the boat could not be rowed, as it had no gunwales.
Placing the woman carefully on the ground, Robb went to push it back into the water. It did not budge. For a moment he thought that maybe it was beached because it was not seaworthy. He looked again inside the craft but could see no holes in the wood or rot. Walking around to the front of the boat he saw scrape lines that confirmed that it had seen recent use. He pulled on it, but his boots slipped on the muddy ground and the boat remained fixed in its spot. Clearly moving the boat was more than a one-man job.
To be so close to escape and stymied! The first touch of panic began to creep into him, and questions rose up unbidden in his mind. What if Hatch was not dead but was this very moment rising up in the darkness to catch him unawares? When would Colley’s men return? How long had it even been since they left? Robbyn fought to keep the panic at bay. For a second he thought he should go check on Hatch’s body, but the stallion was back there in the darkness and he could not get up the courage to look. Instead, he went around to the other side again and put all of his weight into lifting and pushing the heavy wooden vessel towards the water. “Please!” he begged between gritted teeth, straining with all his might. The panic was rising uncontrollably. Then, with a sudden lurch the boat slid forward and Robbyn fell with a clatter onto the ground. When he scrambled to his feet and looked, he saw that half of the boat now stuck in the water. Robbyn glanced around quickly to make sure no one was coming, and then carefully retrieved Copper and placed her inside the front of the boat. With her added weight it was relatively easy to tip and push the craft into the water. Robbyn waded out in the stream and then clumsily clambered aboard.
Taking up the pole, Robbyn pushed through the hanging branches and began to make his way out into the deep waters of the river. The ground under the shoreline water was soft and muddy and sucked at the pole. He knelt down to make sure that he did not get pulled overboard. Before long, he could not longer reach the bottom safely and, laying down the pole, he picked up one of the broad wooden paddles. It was not easy work for one man, paddling the unwieldy craft. Instead of heading to the far shore it turned in lazy circles as the steady current of the river grabbed the boat and began to carry it downstream. Robbyn moved back and forth in the stern of the boat, trying to keep the boat from shaking the passenger, but he was a heavy man in heavier armour and the craft tipped wildly every time he shifted. He watched in horror as Copper’s body jerked against the long blade that stabbed through her and the wound started bleeding again. There was nothing he could do. He moved up to her and moved her nearer to him, then held on to her with one hand as he moved from side to side. Progress was slow.
The far shore was overgrown with gnarled trees and thick vegetation that came right down to the water’s edge. Robbyn had a secret passion for cartography and had studied the maps and travelogues in the Stormwind library, so he knew that the land before him was the forest of Duskwood, and knew that it was a large and mostly uncharted wilderness. Few travelled there. The land was too rocky to make good farmland. There were no real settlements until Raven’s Hill, to the south, or Grand Hamlet to the distant east. Any travellers wanting to get to Raven’s Hill took the road through Westfall. Travellers to the Hamlet were best off to take the long road east into Redridge and then back south to the town. As for the forest, it was generally recognized to be impassable but for on foot. A perfect place to smuggle goods if you were willing to travel on foot and did not want to be discovered, he thought.
Slowly, painfully, the boat moved across the water. To Robb is seemed like he would never make it to the safety of the far bank. Out in the water he knew he was entirely exposed to a shot or poisoned arrow from the shoreline. He kept looking back over his shoulder nervously. He knew that one of Colley’s men was in there, searching. Nothing stirred. Robb puffed and wheezed with exhaustion but kept switching his paddle from side to side until the far shore began to appear closer than the Elwynn forest side. Finally, he saw rocks in the water under the boat and he was able to switch back to the pole and pull the boat awkwardly into the shallows. Finally, with a grate of rocks and then a jarring crunch the boat came to stop on the bank.
Copper had not made a sound, even when the boat lurched to stop. Robbyn was worried about her. He knew he needed to get that knife out of her. It had been too long; he had been too slow, immobilized by his cowardice and delayed by his incompetence. Putting down the staff, he shifted her body over to the side, then hopped out into the ankle-deep water and turned back to lift her out. For a moment he could not tell if she was breathing, but then her body gave out a ragged shudder. Holding her closely to him, Robbyn pushed the boat out into the water again with his hip to make sure that they could not be found. He had to walk out to his waist before it was taken by the current and swirled off towards the centre of the channel. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped into the thick undergrowth of the Duskwood Forest.
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Post by Fechak on May 29, 2006 13:51:57 GMT -5
((Ruh roh Shaggy... He's going to like Duskwood))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 29, 2006 23:37:58 GMT -5
A Coward's Tale - Chapter 3
Robbyn was plunged into pitch darkness. The forest was dense and dark and a thick scent of decaying leaves rose up from the ground. The air was heavy and still. Far above him the leaves competed with each other for light and cut Robbyn off from the night sky. Robbyn stood still, hoping that his eyes would adjust to the darkness and taking strange comfort from the limp body of the woman in his arms. After a minute he began to make out his surroundings and slowly began to move forward again.
The forest floor was soft and moist and his heavy boots sank into the ground as he walked. Among the layers of dead leaves were fallen branches in various states of decay along with the occasional stone that tripped at him as he moved forward into the darkness. More than once he almost lost his footing and reeled clumsily to the side or down on one knee. Just as he was beginning to give up hope of finding any solid ground, the massive shape of a boulder rose up in the darkness before him. The surrounding trees were pushed aside by the rock and a light shower of moonlight trickled down to illuminate its top surface.
Finding a way up was not easy. The layers of rotting leaves made climbing difficult and Robbyn did not have the benefit of his hands. After a few failed starts and a long travel around Robbyn finally made it to the top and placed the unconscious woman upon the mossy surface of the stone. The knife clicked softly as she settled. With a groan, Robbyn straightened his back and stretched his aching muscles. He was long past exhaustion.
Kneeling down beside her he removed his chainmail gauntlets, laid them aside, and examined the sword where it entered her. The blade was approximately an inch and a half broad and it pinned the rough padded leather of her jerkin tightly against her shirt and skin. The clothes on her right side were saturated with her drying blood. When Robbyn looked closely at the wound he realized that Hatch had not merely stabbed her. He had actually stabbed her and then twisted the blade an inch or so downward into her chest either to deliberately torturer her or to cause her to bleed profusely, or both. Probably both, Robbyn thought angrily. No wonder she had lost so much blood.
Robbyn removed his small travel pouch and fished out his first aid supplies and brought them close beside her. Fortunately he had a good supply of bandages, for the wound would likely need to be dressed a few times before it healed. He knew he would need to get her armour off to treat her wound. The blood was congealed now, but as soon as he pulled out the blade it would begin to bleed again. The blade was clean, sharp and crafted from high quality metal, and the wound had been covered by her clothing, which was fortunate in one regard. The wound would likely be relatively clean, he hoped, so that he would not need to take time to clean it. The real danger at this point was more blood-loss. He had a thick paste that would slow the blood-flow somewhat, but would need to wrap the wound tightly. And he could not do that without removing her garments.
Robbyn had two problems. One, the shortsword pinned her clothes to her preventing him from undressing her, and two, he felt foolishly embarrassed about taking her clothes off. Robbyn certainly had never undressed a woman before. In fact he had precious little experience with women, and what experience he did have did not make him feel comfortable around them. When he was sixteen, the General had taken him to Goldshire and paid an elf courtesan to make a man out of him, but the woman before him in the forest was nothing like the tall leathery woman he had gone upstairs with to shame himself with his own impotence and fear. It was impossible to tell how old elves were, but Robbyn had somehow felt like she was old enough to be his grandmother. Instead of normal human pupils a strange light shone from her eyes, and he could not look at her in the face. There, in the dilapidated upstairs room of the inn, she had danced for him, undressed before him, and rubbed her body against him, but he had only felt small and afraid. Her hands were dextrous and professional and she whispered gently to him in her lilting voice, but Robbyn had remained limp and unresponsive. In the end, he begged her to stop and asked her to lie to the General or anyone who might ask about what had happened. She had politely agreed. Though she was nothing but cordial as she left him to get dressed and leave, he knew she was angry with him. He didn't know if she kept her word or not, but he never spoke to anyone about what had happened that night.
Copper’s padded jerkin was tightly laced up her front by a single long leather string that looped at the bottom and tied at the top. Robbyn reached out and began to gingerly unlace her, trying not to disturb her body. Once the vest was unlaced, he removed the leather cord, laid it aside, then carefully peeled open the padded leather to examine her shirt. The stark contrast of the dark red blood and the off-white of the loose-fitting cotton shirt was disturbing. It was long sleeved and clearly was simply pulled on over her head, as there were no ties or buttons. The neck was loose and followed the line of her collarbone. He could not very well pull off the shirt over her head, he realized. He would need to cut it open. From his pack he brought out a small fishing knife. Then starting from the bottom hem of the shirt, he cut a long rough slash up the front of her shirt.
Her skin was pale and soft in the dappled moonlight. As it came into view Robbyn saw more bruises from the beatings she had received at the hands of Colley and his men. Even with the bruising her skin was beautiful, and he swallowed hard and tried not to touch her body as he worked. Her stomach was thin and muscular and she had a small athletic chest. Robbyn kept her body covered as best he could with the sides of the cotton shirt and tried not to look. Once the shirt was cut from neck to waist, he took hold of the sword in his right fist and splayed his left fingers on either side of the blade against her chest. He took a few deep breaths and then, holding her body fast, he yanked the blade out of her with all of his strength. With a wet sucking sound it slid from her body. Her body fell flush on the stone and immediately her blood began to spurt out again. Quickly, he tipped her body up, and then slipped her leathers and shirt off and down her arm. Her clothes caught on her arm for a moment, but he managed to get them off. Then, holding her body tipped on its side, he smeared the thick paste on her chest and back where the blood poured out. It did not stop the bleeding but it helped. Once that was done he began to loop the bandages tightly around her to stop the flow of her blood. After he had secured the bandages, he carefully slipped her arm back into the sleeve of her slashed shirt and bloody vest and covered her nakedness.
Throughout the ordeal she never woke, which was a mercy. Completely exhausted, he lay down beside her simply to rest a moment. He had intended on making a crude shelter for the night but his when his head lay against the stone his eyes closed involuntarily and he knew no more.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on May 31, 2006 23:02:48 GMT -5
When Robbyn opened his eyes the forest was still in darkness, but the sky showing through the forest branches above him was pale and light. Robbyn had fallen asleep so quickly that he had slept fully clad in his armour. Now, his muscles were sore and aching. The metal edge of his breastplate jabbed into his back painfully, and he had a terrible kink in his neck from sleeping with his head tipped back. He reached up and lifted his head with a groan. For a second nothing made sense, as his mind scrambled to catch up with the fact that he had fallen asleep. Then his body snapped up to a sitting position as he realized what had happened and the danger of his current situation came home to him.
Copper was lying beside him still. She lay on her back, with her legs tilted towards him and her back flush against the stone surface. Her vest was open and stood out from her body framing her chest, but the cut shirt lay flush against her body. A thin line of her pale flesh peeked out from where the sides of the cotton shirt almost met and ran intermittently down from the hollow of her neck to her waist. Her face lay towards him and her hair was matted and tangled about her face like straw. She did not appear to be breathing. Even when he put a hand over her mouth Robbyn felt nothing. Only when he rolled over on hands and knees and put his face next to hers did he feel the slightest flow of air coming from her lips. Even though it was dangerously weak, he sat back on his haunches and breathed a huge sight of relief. She would make it, he told himself.
Cursing himself for falling asleep, he leaned forward again to peel back her shirt slightly and check her wounds. Her shirt was crusted and brittle from her dried blood, and had to be peeled away from her body. It was hard to check her wounds without exposing her nakedness inappropriately, but Robbyn did his best to keep her covered while he worked. The bandages were saturated with her blood and mostly useless now. He pulled back the bandages carefully and he saw that the bleeding seemed to have stopped, which was good, but the bandages clung tightly to her wounds making them impossible to inspect without aggravating them further.
He would not change the bandages and risk reopening the wound, he decided. The bandages had been clean and with her lying still there was little chance of contamination. What she needed was time to heal, and her body needed food and liquids. Thinking of food caused him to realize that he had not eaten since yesterday noon and how hungry he was. On cue, his stomach rumbled. What he would really like was a nice hot meal; maybe with roast beef, baked potatoes, and mulled wine. Or thick pumpkin soup the way that Onna made it! Or… “Or a t-tasteless strip of dried salt pork, raisins, and crackers,” he sighed, pulling out his meagre rations from his small travel pouch. He had not planned on getting embroiled in any of this, and certainly had not packed travel provisions when he had set out yesterday.
After he had left Stormwind, he had meandered aimlessly south taking the odd job, ostensibly to put a roof over his head and a meal in front of him but in fact to have something to do while he figured out what he was going to do with himself. The Maclures had a fair sized winery and had posted notices that they were looking for help, and he had approached them and offered his services. Pa Maclure and his boys were a rough lot, and had eyed him warily as he approached on account of the Stormwind militia armour he wore, but had accepted his offer of help. When Robbyn had tried to address him as “Mr. Maclure” the old man had insisted that Robb call him “Pa” just like everyone else did, even "Ma," his wife. Robbyn had then asked for a room in which to store his armour and belongings so that he might get to work in the fields, but evidently Pa had had other plans for he had kept Robbyn on his porch listening to a lengthy saga which boiled down to what sounded like a never-ending feud that the Maclures had with the Stonefields, another farming family not a league off to the west. By the end of the rambling diatribe, Robb could not keep track of who had killed whom first and how, or who had betrayed whose trust first or last, or if it even mattered any longer. Robb started to worry that he might have given the wrong impression. He kept putting in how he didn’t want to get involved, and even didn’t like fighting at all particularly, but the old man did not appear to be listening.
Dinner conversation had also revolved around the family’s apparent obsessive hatred for their close neighbours. One of the burly Maclure boys had volunteered that he had whacked one of the Stonefield boys with a sling that day, to which Pa nodded into his stew and responded that the son should have put a bullet in the boy. Down at the end of the table, little Billy Maclure kept looking at Robb with beady calculating eyes as if he was counting the coins in Robbyn's purse just by looking at him. Then Pa and Ma’s pretty young daughter suddenly started crying and ran out of the room. Apparently she did this all the time; at least that’s what Mrs. Maclure said to him as she served out more stew. Pa muttered that it was the hormones. It was all very disturbing.
As Robbyn had tried to settle down in his room that night he had received several unexpected visitors. A couple of the older boys wanted to know how many gnolls, and kobolds and men he had killed, and then asked if they could try out his mace. Robb had stammered and fumbled out something noncommittal, not knowing how to ask them to leave him alone, and he let them try swinging the mace in the tiny quarters, which was a mistake. For a second it looked like they were going to do some serious damage to the room until the daughter, Maybell, had come in and run them off. The boys towered over her and taunted her with named like “weeping willow,” “gusher” and “bawling baby” but they put down the weapon and cleared out. Robb was amazed, and had turned to thank the young woman for saving him only to see her duck into the room and close the door behind her conspiratorially, which caused his blood pressure to rise precipitously. He didn’t need any trouble, he stuttered out, but she blurted out that she desperately needed his help. Then, as he stood slack-jawed, she proceeded to reveal to him that she was secretly in love with one of the Stonefield boys. Robbyn suddenly did not feel ‘saved’ at all. He must help her or she was bound to kill herself, she declared, near tears. Robbyn was a powerful man and just had to help get word to her true love, Tommy Joe, that she desperately loved him even though their families were mortal enemies. Her eyes ached to gaze upon his handsome face even now! Robbyn was pretty sure that he had not promised anything of the kind, but she had nonetheless pressed a letter to Tommy in Robb’s hand and thanked him for agreeing to save her from certain death. When she had finally snuck from the room, Robbyn hid the note under the mattress and lay on the bed terrified.
The next day Pa had sent his boys out at dawn but much to Robbyn’s horror, had insisted on Robb getting into his armour “so as to guard the farm.” Robbyn had started to protest until Pa gave him a look that was so dangerous that Robbyn’s tongue had gone dry in his mouth and he had stuttered to a halt in mid-sentence. So it was that he was cooling his heels by the house after lunch when Maybell brought to him the letter. She had fished it out from under his mattress, she told him. Then she somehow simultaneously commanded and pleaded him to deliver the letter to Tommy Joe, “down by the river.” Robbyn was not sure how it happened, exactly, but he found himself travelling through the forest.
Of course, that was when the kobolds had found him, and then he had gotten lost, and now here he was, hungry, sore, and alone with a dying bandit woman in an uncharted dark forest. Leaning his head on his hand, Robbyn began to miserably gnaw on the tough dried meat in his hand.
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Post by Fechak on Jun 1, 2006 0:23:37 GMT -5
((Fantastic! Way to bring to life some cool quests in Elwynn, great job as usual))
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Post by embermoon on Jun 1, 2006 19:06:19 GMT -5
((Excellent writing! What a pen! More please...))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 2, 2006 20:47:49 GMT -5
The food did not lighten Robbyn’s spirit much but it did at least take away the gnawing ache it his stomach and allow him to think things out more clearly. Copper would need food and water to help her body restore lost blood if and when she woke, but would not accept anything while unconscious. Even when she woke, she might be too weak to eat much and certainly would be too weak to eat the tough dried meat he had brought with him. A soup would be good, but for that he would need a pot and fire. He had some tinder, and there was plenty of dead wood about in the forest. He could make a small fire nearby on the rock. But what if the bandits saw the smoke? He would need to be careful to choose wood that would not smoke, just in case he was being followed. Though, he admitted, the chance of being followed was pretty slim what with having taken the bandits’ boat and pushed it downriver. It might be in Westfall by now for all he knew. He had no cooking supplies, however. Would crackers be enough for her to recover? Probably not.
Robbyn’s own clothes were still damp from wading out into the river last night and were starting to get itchy. He shifted and scratched himself, and his helmet clanked against the stone beside him. It was still looped through his belt. He untied it and placed on the stone beside them. It was a crazy idea, admittedly, but looking down upon the pot-shaped helm he started to think that maybe he had a pot with him after all. He would need to remove the lining, but that was fastened to the inside by metal snaps and was removable. Robbyn picked up the helmet, turned it over and unfastened the leather inside. Under the leather was a wad of padding in the peak of the helm, but it came out in his hand revealing a relatively smooth metal inner surface. He looked at the emptied helm in his hands, thinking about how his father would kill him for blackening it with a fire. Still, the more he thought about it the more it seemed like his best option.
Robbyn began to scour the forest for dry, moss-free twigs and for something that might work as a handle for the makeshift pot. There was no lack of firewood, but it did take some doing to find a forked branch that would hold the helm securely enough. Eventually he found a ten foot fallen log with a serviceable branch sticking from it, and dragged it through the fallen leaves back to the camp. The back end of the log was rotting and the whole thing was heavier than it looked, but the front was sturdy and once he had got it to the camp he was satisfied that he could position it to hold the helm securely in place about two feet off the ground. Room enough to build a fire beneath it.
Robbyn knelt down and checked Copper before heading to the river for water. Her skin was cold and pale, and her pulse was weak, but she was still breathing shallowly. Robbyn wore a mid-length woollen cloak and pulling it off he covered the frail form of the sleeping woman. Then, emptying the rest of the supplies from his leather belt pack, he stuffed it with moss and slipped it under her head. A gust of her breath brushed the inside of his arm causing the hair on his arm to stand up. Carefully, he removed the hair that was plastered to her face. The left side of her face was swollen from her beatings at the hands of her captors and a purple ring framed her left eye. Her eyes fluttered at his touch but she did not wake.
Robbyn picked up his helmet and headed off towards the river. He was surprised to see the distance that he had covered the previous night. Given the thickness of the forest cover it was impossible to see the river, but he used the great stone of the camp as a guidepost and followed the direction it pointed. He was pretty sure that it had confronted him head on in the darkness. Still, it was a good five minutes downhill before he reached water. He could barely see the camp behind him.
The undergrowth was particularly thick at the river’s edge. Robbyn knew that he would need to let Copper out of his sight in order step through the undergrowth and down into the water’s edge. He didn’t like to lose sight of her, but there was nothing for it. With a last look back, he pushed his way through the tangle and stepped down into the reeds lining the gravely edge of the river. Midday sun shone down brightly upon him, reminding him painfully that his eyes had adjusted to the twilight of the covered forest, and showing him exactly how much he had slept. Before him the great expanse of the river rippled and flowed. On the other side, the Elywnn Forest looked peaceful and safe. Suddenly Robbyn regretted his panicked decision to get rid of the smugglers’ boat and hide his location. It couldn’t be more than two day’s journey north to Stormwind; one to Goldshire. Even if Copper recovered enough to strength to travel on foot, it would be at least three days south to Raven Hill, if not more. And without the sun to guide them they would be liable to get lost. He didn’t know much about Duskwood, but he knew he did not want to get lost in there. Robbyn leaned down and, filling his helmet, drank deeply of the water. It was yellowish from mud and silt, but he was thirsty and it tasted wonderful. Then, filling the helm again, he turned back into the dark of the forest.
As he returned to the camp, Robbyn saw that Copper had shifted slightly in her sleep, disturbing the cloak that he had wrapped around her. It was a good sign. He wrapped her up again, and then set about getting the fire started. He had gathered some birch bark and the moss about the stone was dry, and before long he was feeding a little blaze. The tiniest wisp of smoke trailed up to escape in the patch of sky above him. Surely not enough for anyone to see. He was careful to keep the fire tended until the larger logs were burning steadily, then got up and poured half of the water from the helmet over the forked branch that was to hold it in place over the fire. Then he shifted the log into place and carefully placed the helmet over the flame. Sitting back down, he began to tear one of the strips of dried meat into pieces and to toss them into the would-be broth. He was quite pleased with himself.
His armour was really aggravating him, but he kept it on for safety, only loosening the straps that bound the breastplate front-to-back. He loosened his belt as well, then sat back to wait. He had no spoon, but would be able to use the fishing knife to stir the broth as needed. Robbyn went to retrieve it from where he had laid it aside the previous night and noticed Copper’s shortsword lying on the stone’s face. He picked it up and examined it. It was incredibly light in his hand; lighter than any metal he had ever felt. The metal was bright silver and glistened with an unnatural beauty. As he turned it over in the half-light he noticed a small engraving next to the handle. Carved in red into the base of the blade were two crossed swords behind a pointed shield. Robbyn could just make out a stylized letter inside the face of the shield, which might have been an "L," or a "B," or both.
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