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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 3, 2006 20:54:52 GMT -5
The blade was stained with Copper’s dried blood and should have been cleaned yesterday. Robbyn brought out a small handkerchief from his pocket. It was damp, like most of the rest of his clothing, which saved him another trip down to the river to wet it. He began to carefully clean the blade. Again the strange metal surprised him. As the cloth passed along its surface, the blood slipped off as if it were still fresh. Some of the blood had soaked into the red leather of the pommel, and that would not come off, but otherwise, after a few passes with the cloth, the blade was like new.
As Robbyn sat studying the metal and wracking his memory for some text about obscure metals something moved in the periphery of his vision. He looked up sharply and all thoughts of the origin and craftsmanship of the blade vanished from his mind. Standing about fifty paces from the camp was an enormous wolf. Robbyn sat frozen, staring at the creature. Its fur was a patchwork of grey and its eyes shone with a strange luminescence in the darkness. Its head was up and its nose quivered as it sniffed the air. Robbyn broke out in a cold sweat and his fingers inched towards the mace at his side. Copper’s shortsword would be worse than useless in his hands. The wolf had been looking slightly to the side of Robbyn as it smelled the air. Now it turned its head and looked straight at him. A cruel intelligence shone out its eyes. The beast was tall but it had a thin hungry appearance and its unblinking eyes silently took his measure. Robbyn found that he could not look away. All about him the forest seemed to have fallen into silence. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the grey wolf turned and slipped back into the shadows of the forest.
Copper stirred beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her legs moving, but Robbyn remained transfixed, staring out into the twilight of the forest for any sign of the horrible beast. Only when she coughed did he glance down to her, and even then he could feel the hair on his back standing up as if to warn him that the wolf was right behind him. He looked back and scanned frantically, but all was silent and empty in the forest. Copper was still sleeping but her breathing was stronger and deeper than before and her body was warmer than it had been earlier that day. A trace of sweat glistened upon her lips and her cheeks were flushed. She appeared to be dreaming. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids, and a small frown line appeared on her forehead, but it was still impossible to tell how long it might be before she woke.
The appearance of the grey wolf had completely unnerved Robbyn. He knew that wolves usually travelled in packs. The fact that it had not attacked was no great relief, as it likely hunted at night. Robbyn was sure that he and the injured women had looked like easy prey. They would need to get moving before dark. But even if Copper woke before nightfall she would need time to heal. Robbyn checked her again. The bandages around the wounds were still secure and a dark bruising spread around them, discolouring the freckled skin on her shoulder and neck.
He would just have to wake her if she did not wake soon. Even without the threat of predators in the woods, he only had enough food for perhaps one more day at most, and even that was pushing it. He had no way to get more food either. If they headed straight south and were lucky they would be able to make it to Raven’s Hill before his meagre provisions ran out, but they would have to get moving soon. They would also need to find some secure place to rest before night fell. Out in the open they were just asking for trouble.
There was an oppressive quality to the forest. Looking up to the light Robbyn tried to gauge the time but could not be sure if it was midday or later. A grey pall seemed to hang over the air, making everything dreary and depressed. Robbyn was just being craven, he knew, but he could not shake the sense that something was wrong with the forest, as if secret malicious eyes were watching them where they rested in the slight cascade of light. He stirred the soup and tested it with a finger. It was bland and tasteless, but the meat was mostly broken down into stringy bits now, and a light film of fat covered the bubbling top of the broth. Mercifully, the wooden fork holding the helm in place over the fire had not caught fire or deteriorated, though it and the helm were now thoroughly blackened. Not having a spoon, he needed to let the helm, and the watery broth within it, cool. As it was it would be too hot to touch. Robbyn retrieved a fist-thick branch from the pile of firewood and scraped the fire away from under the helm, leaving a sooty stain upon the stone’s rough surface.
Time slowly passed. Robbyn tried to remember the maps of Duskwood Forest that he had studied in the library. If memory served, there were some ancient and long-eroded mountains in the heart of the forest. Robb guessed that would be approximately southeast of where they were camped. He was not sure if they were passable. But, in any event, they would not be heading that way. That way led to the Hamlet, which was probably four or five days journey by foot. They should probably head southeast only until the mountains came into view and then turn due south, he thought. Judging from the wet and rotted leaves all around them, the chance of their passage directly south being impeded by marshlands and bogs was high. If they stayed on higher ground and kept the mountains to their left they would be less likely to get lost and would also avoid being caught in a bog and having to backtrack.
Other than the mountains, there were no landmarks that he knew of until they reached the massive wartime burial grounds to the north of Raven Hill. After the Third War, the human dead, other than those plague victims that had to be burned, were brought back in sealed cartloads for public honours. Even with all those quarantined and burned, the Stormwind nobles still needed a vast space to house the dead and selected Raven Hill as the location of the war memorials and massive burial ground. Robbyn remembered travelling as a family to the dusky town when he was a boy. His father was just newly elevated to High Commander of the Stormwind Defence and needed to be in attendance at the ceremonies. He had impressed upon the boys the courage and nobility of the fallen and the dire necessity that required such valour and sacrifice. He had called it a moment of national significance, and had ordered that the family attend with him for the affair of state. So it was that they had all travelled in a plush carriage through Westfall to spend a few days in the quiet Duskwood town and attend the ceremonies.
A large contingent of militia had travelled from Stormwind; all of the high ranking officers and several other families. Through the windows of the carriage, the young Vatorio and Robbyn had watched the steely-eyed men travelling with them with awe and fascination. Robbyn remembered how he and his brother had argued because Vatorio had declared that one day he was going to be a the greatest hero that the world had ever seen, and Robbyn had said that no one could be greater than Sir Anduin Lothar, who first formed the Alliance and saved humanity by leading them to safety in Lordaeron. Vatorio dismissed Lothar as a coward and failure, and Robbyn had gotten frustrated. He was upset partly because Vatorio was being ignorant, but mostly because Vato was pretending like he knew what he was talking about even though Robbyn knew full well that he had not even read the histories. Robbyn had said as much, and had gone on to declare that Vato was always doing that. Robbyn claimed that Vatorio would listen enough to form an ignorant opinion and then would act like he knew it all. Vatorio had shot back that all Robb ever did was read books and that he would never amount to anything, which had hurt. In the end, Robbyn began stammering uncontrollably and their mother had to break them up.
Notwithstanding the argument, Robbyn remembered the trip to have been, for the most part, quite enjoyable. Their father spent the days away at the front of the column, but was in good spirits when he returned to eat with the family. Robbyn remembered that when they arrived in Raven Hill they had stayed in a beautiful old inn, with high wooden ceilings, pale blue painted walls, and white lace curtains. He remembered how the innkeeper had kept a bowl full of red caramel apples on a counter by the entryway. It was the first time he had ever had such a delicacy and he and his brother had been given one each to take out the back porch while their parents settled their things into the room upstairs.
As he sat waiting in the half-light of the forest, the memory of the interminably long day of the military memorial service came back to haunt him. The dead were long buried, and all that could be seen were row upon row of sparkling clean tombstones arranged in a great circle about them. The day was hot and bright, the General was dressed in his finest, their mother stood quiet, and the boys were expected to stand at attention in their dress clothes and to appreciate the importance of the event. A large crowd was on hand, but everything was silent in the great graveyard but for the sequence of diplomatic speakers who paraded before them. The speeches were long and Robbyn soon lost interest. Even the occasional symbolic military displays did not break up the monotony, and Robbyn’s mind had wandered back over the argument he had had with his brother. Suddenly he felt the oppressive weight of the thousands of dead bodies buried right under the stones around him, and an overwhelming sadness welled up inside him. He cried then, thinking about the men who had thought to be great heroes too but who had ended up laid to rest under the soil of the Raven Hill cemetery. The guards stood in shining ranks about him and as his eyesight blurred with tears Robbyn could no longer tell what was a tombstone and what living. In that moment all he knew was that he did not ever want to be a hero, and he did not want Vatorio to be one either.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 5, 2006 22:29:33 GMT -5
Robbyn had been lost in his old memories and so had not noticed that Copper’s eyes had opened. When he glanced over to check on her he almost jumped at the sight of her steely blue eyes staring directly at him. Her left eye was smaller than her right on account of the bruising, but that lack of symmetry just added to the piercing nature of her stare. A cold calculation showed through her eyes and for a moment she reminded him of the wolf he had seen earlier that day. Something about that look made him feel like at any moment she might rise up and strike him.
Robbyn had thought of a number of things that he might say when she woke, but suddenly his mind was a blank. He opened his mouth, but his tongue was like sandpaper and after a moment of looking like an idiot he simply shut it again. The longer the silence stretched, the more nervous he got, and the more desperately he wracked him mind for something, anything, to say. She blinked, but said nothing. For some inexplicable reason, the words that finally tumbled out were as follows:
“I hope the p-p-pot isn’t t-too hot.”
He shook his head and tried again. “I mean…ahh…I have s-soup…”
That was, of course, not at all what he had meant to say, and didn’t explain anything. He started to sweat nervously and babbled on, “...b-but no spoon. And it’s not v-very g-good. You see, I wasn’t expecting…that is…” and then, “I thought you’d be hungry. You’ve b-been s-s-sleeping…”
She stared at him uncomprehendingly. He couldn’t blame her. His brain was firing uselessly and he knew that his mouth was hanging open like an idiot again. Too late, he remembered what he should have said, what he had meant to say instead of launching into a discussion about soups and spoons and sleeping. Hanging his head, he muttered,
“My name is Robbyn. I’ll just get the soup.”
Robbyn turned away from her and went to retrieve the broth. He tested the metal of the helm lightly. It was still warm, but not dangerous. Inside, the broth was surprisingly cool and the fat from the dried meat had congealed disgustingly over the surface of the water. Robbyn stirred it quickly with his pocketknife, but his efforts did not improve its appearance much. With a small sigh, he eased the makeshift pot out of its perch with both hands and brought it over to the prone woman. A light steam from the soup trailed over the surface as he kneeled over her. She did not move, simply looking up at him that same cold wariness that so unnerved him. She had not even said she was hungry, he thought. Defeated, he sat back on his haunches and put the pathetic mixture down in his lap.
Finally she spoke.
“Hatch.” It was a question, but sounded like a command the way she said it.
“I think he’s d-d-dead.”
“How long?” She swallowed. “How long has it been?”
“Since you were…?” Robbyn could not find the right word. He gave up, and started again. “I f-found you last night. About a day.”
Her eyes left his face to take in their surroundings. “Where are we?”
“D-Duskwood. Across the river. Are you hungry? You lost a lot of b-blood, and should eat.”
She nodded, and then grimaced.
“Careful. Let me help you,” he said. Switching his grip and wrapping the fingers of his right hand over the top edge of the inverted helm, he reached behind her neck with his left hand and carefully helped her up to drink. She moved both hands up to take the bowl, and then drew a quick breath through her teeth. Her face contorted with pain.
“D-don’t use your right hand,” he said.
She did as he suggested, and cupped the bottom of the bowl with her left hand. The smell of the broth was weak and unpleasant, but she drank greedily. After a gulp she started coughing, so he took the bowl away from her and lowered her down again to clear the air passage. After a moment she quieted.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” she said.
Robbyn nodded. “I’m sorry. All I have is dried salt pork, raisins, and c-crackers.”
After a moment, she looked at the helm and commanded, “More.”
He lifted her again, and she finished the rest of the broth with his help. He put the empty bowl aside and laid her head down upon the makeshift pillow again. She looked down at her bloody shirt and the bulge where the bandages pushed the shirt up, and asked, “You do that?”
Robbyn nodded.
Robbyn felt the weight of her scrutiny. “Why?”
It was a good question, and one that Robbyn had asked himself many times in the last twelve hours. He had no real answer, and what he gave was a jumbled mess.
“I didn’t mean to…I mean, I saw you were in trouble and ... I know I didn’t w-want to get involved, but… I was afraid and it all kind of just happened. Somehow. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”
“I just couldn’t leave you like that,” he added as an afterthought, realizing that he hadn't made any sense.
She was not listening. She had already fallen back asleep.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 6, 2006 23:13:42 GMT -5
“Great,” he said to himself sarcastically. What a way to make a first impression! And not only that, but he had forgotten to say the most important things. Like, that there was no way back across the river, and that their entire provisions consisted of five strips of bacon, a small bag of raisins, and a dozen crackers. That a giant wolf was currently on his way to gather all his pack to a feast in their honour that night. And that he had no idea where they might find safety. Instead, he had just let her fall asleep while he rambled on mindlessly.
Robbyn knew that he should wake her and get moving, but looking down he did not have the heart to disturb her. Instead, he occupied himself striking the makeshift camp. The supplies that belonged in his belt pouch he simply gathered together, as Copper’s head still rested upon the makeshift pillow he had made. He stuck his gloves through his belt and gathered up Copper’s blade from where it was laid. After another glance, he carefully slid it back into the scabbard at her side. Looking at he other empty scabbard, he realized that he had left her other knife back in Colley’s cabin. “Nothing for it now,” he said to himself.
Robbyn gathered up the discarded helm and headed off to the river. The light shocked his eyes again when he emerged from the forest cover, but squinting and looking up he saw that it was not far past midday. He had thought it much later. Evidently, it was impossible to track time within the forest. Across the water the Elwynn forest sat quiet and inviting, and though he scrutinized it for signs of life, he saw nothing but tree and leaf, rustling quietly in the lazy afternoon breeze. Likely there was not a person for miles around. He fished his handkerchief out of his pocket, then plunged the makeshift pot into the river and began to scrub it clean. Bits of sinewy pork remnants rinsed out and floated away into the open water. The blackened exterior was permanently stained, but he figured that there was no real harm done to the metal. He would still be safer wearing it.
Twenty minutes later he was back at the camp. Copper still slept, but she had tossed off his cloak and pulled back her torn shirt to cool her feverish body. Sweat glistened on her neck and chest where it lay exposed, and though her breasts were still covered, Robbyn felt wrong looking at her and had to avert his eyes. He felt flushed. To occupy himself, he picked up the leather inner lining and padding for his helm and, turning his back to her, he worked the pieces back together.
The fact that her fever had broken was a good sign, he thought, but it also meant that she would likely be unable to travel for a few more hours. Also, she would need something cold and damp to bring down her temperature. He could soak his cloak in the river, but wool stayed wet forever and he wanted to keep it dry in case she needed something warm that night. His handkerchief would have to do.
Copper moaned and turned her head in her sleep, so Robbyn put down his work and turned back to check on her. Her damaged face lay towards him and it broke Robbyn’s heart just looking at it. Folding the cool wet cloth, he lightly wiped her forehead to calm her. She muttered something unintelligible and then sighed and her body relaxed against him, and for the first time in ages Robbyn felt like he might have done something right.
The afternoon waned and still Copper did not reawaken. Robbyn used his small cloth to periodically wipe away the sweat from her head and neck. The sweat poured off of her; so much, in fact, that he had to make another trip to the river to rinse the small cloth. A slight odour of sweat and blood rose from her body as her perspiration soaked into the blood-caked shirt. He thought about removing her shirt and taking it to clean the blood out but he could not bring himself to undress her. Visions of her fierce eyes opening while he pawed her came to mind and made him shudder. No, not a fate he wanted to court. Robbyn was becoming more and more nervous about the coming night. It was summer, but still, he estimated that they only had about five good hours of daylight.
Finally, her eyes opened again. For a moment she gazed blankly at him, as if furiously processing what she was seeing, then the steel returned to her blue eyes.
“Thirsty…” Her voice was rough and gravely.
Cursing himself for a fool, he said, “You have a high fever and have been s-sweating a lot. I don’t have any water, but can get you some f-from the river. I’ll be a f-few minutes though. It’s not that close.”
She just looked at him, but he could see profanities in her eyes. He scrambled up.
“Wait here,” he said, stupidly, and ran off hitting his head with his palm.
He was puffing by the time he got back with a mostly-full helm of river water. He had run all the way there, but had been forced to walk back after most had slopped out on the first run back. She was sitting up. Approaching her, he offered her the water, but she needed his help to drink. Even when she drank her eyes remained fixed upon him, studying his every move. It was very unnerving. Finally, her thirst was sated.
When she was done, he finished the rest of the water. It was silty and warm, and tasted vaguely of the leather liner he had reinserted into the helm. Finally, he put the sodden thing back on his head. A trickle of wet ran down his forehead and neck, which was a actually comfort after his exertions.
“Robbyn, is it?” she stopped to confirm his name. He nodded. “I need you to explain what happened, starting from the beginning. Alright?”
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Post by Fechak on Jun 7, 2006 0:33:04 GMT -5
((Don't... stop...))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 7, 2006 23:12:50 GMT -5
“I will, but I c-can’t right now,” he responded. “At least not until we get moving. Can you w-walk?”
“I think so.” She struggled to her feet. When she stood, she closed her eyes for a moment and wobbled precariously, but as much as Robbyn wanted to he did not reach out to steady her. Now that she was awake he was afraid to touch her. Her shirt hung limply off her body and while she was not exactly exposing herself, neither was she exactly decent. She made no attempt to cover herself. After a moment, she opened her eyes again, and said, “This had better be fucking important.”
Robbyn gathered up the rest of the supplies and provisions while he talked. “I’m sorry, but it is. There is no way back across the river and we don’t have much in the way of rations. Also, there are wolves in the forest and we need to find shelter before n-nightfall.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Well, I figure our best chance is R-Raven Hill to the south. I think it’s about a day’s walk. If we can make it there, we can…well, we’ll be safe anyway.”
Robbyn shook the moss out of the makeshift pillow, and then put away the various supplies and wrapped the pouch around his waist. Once finished, he stood up and casually moved to her left side, just in case she felt faint and needed something to grab onto.
She regarded him coolly. “Listen, if you think that we can just waltz through Duskwood Forest, you are sadly mistaken. There are worse things in here than wolves, and I for one am not interested in becoming food for some hideous beast lurking in the heart of the forest. How is it we got across the water but can't get back?”
Robbyn felt his face flush. “There was a flat b-b-boat in the reeds. I rowed it across the river, but was afraid we w-would be discovered, so once we were ashore I...I p-pushed it down the river.” Embarrassed, he looked down. There was a pause. Then she said, “You stole Colley’s boat.” There was a strange tenor in her voice. Robbyn looked back up at her and saw a wicked smile on her face. For some reason, she seemed highly entertained by what he had done.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he explained.
“That thing was about fifty years old and heavy, and as awkward, as a dead kodo. How in the Light did you move it?”
Robbyn shrugged. “It sure was heavy.”
She laughed then, a light musical sound like a bird, and Robbyn felt a goofy grin spread across his face. Unfortunately the laughter shook her chest, which caused her to wince and curse. As quickly as the laughter had come it was gone. After a moment he continued, “I am s-sorry. I wasn’t prepared for any of this. W-we don’t have enough food. I don’t want to go through the forest at all! I wish I hadn’t got rid of the b-boat. Really. But I was afraid of being discovered. I knew you were injured and they seemed like b-bad men…”
“You have no idea, Robbyn.”
“…and, well, I did think about sticking to the water's edge, but it’s got to be at least four or five days journey around the forest, and I j-just don’t think we have enough food to make it. Here look,” Robbyn showed her the meagre provisions. Her calculating eyes took it all in.
For a second she stood there staring at him. Then, with a curse and a muttered, “You had better be good with that mace,” she started walking southward. He hurried after her. Her movement was slow and she winced with each step, but she didn’t reach out to him for support, and a determined look flashed from her eyes. The dim light of the forest enveloped them completely as they stepped away from the great stone outcropping and began to work their way slowly through the forest. As they walked, he explained to her how it all happened: about the Maclures, and getting lost, and happening upon her in the dark, and the shack, and everything. It took a long time to explain it all, but Copper listened quietly throughout without interrupting. While he talked, he gradually directed them toward what he hoped was the southeast, and eventually he was explaining to her about the appearance of the grey wolf and about his plan to stick to the higher ground for speed and safety.
It was hard going through the rotted undergrowth. Robb did offer to stop and rest several times, but notwithstanding her wounds and fever she refused. Each time he stopped, she would just walk past him and say, “I don’t need any fucking pity.” He assured her that he intended no insult and that he marvelled at her determination. He guaranteed her that if the situation were reversed he would not be as tough as her. She just scowled and kept walking.
After a few hours, they emerged from the dark of the forest and came across the remains of an ancient dried riverbed. The forest branches hung out over the scattered stones from either side, but the tree cover was incomplete. The evening sun slanted down around them, giving the pale stones a ghostly appearance. Even so, it was good to be out of the oppressive darkness of the Duskwood Forest and Robbyn breathed a small sigh of relief. The river had evidently once run down in force from the high land to the east, down into the lower flatland and eventually to the Elwynn River to the west. In its day it must have been at least fifteen feet across, but for some reason it had dried it up at some point and all that was left of the forest stream was a tiny trickle of water that wound its way through a winding channel at the centre of the stones. Here they stopped, drank from the water, and rested on the large stones. Robbyn shared out some of the meagre rations and they ate in silence. Robbyn had not realized just how hungry he was, and he tried to savour each bite.
Copper had been silent for so long he was startled when she spoke. “So you didn’t check Hatch’s body to make sure he was dead?”
Robbyn looked at her. For a second a vision of Hatch’s twisted neck and horrible disfigured face flashed back at him, but he just shook his head. “He was too close to the horse.”
She was quiet a while longer. Then she said, “He ain’t dead.” She looked up at the fading light and spoke quietly and impassively, but what she said made the blood run cold in his chest. “He ain’t dead, and you better hope he was too bloody drunk to remember your face, for he ain’t likely to forgive you for what you’ve done. It’s a good thing you hid our tracks because that man is a fucking bloodhound, and I don’t care about any blighting 'undertow,' he would have swum the Light-cursed river and been upon us both in the night.” She looked at him then, and though that dauntless fire still flashed in her blue eyes there was a hint of compassion there. “When we get to Raven Hill,” she said, “you are going to go your way, and I’m going to go mine. And if you want my advice you’ll take yourself back to Stormwind and stay there. You seem like a decent man Robbyn, which is, frankly, a bloody shame. Because if Hatch ever finds you, he is going to tear your mother-fucking heart out.”
Robbyn suddenly wasn’t hungry any more.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 10, 2006 11:50:26 GMT -5
Robbyn had not mentioned Stormwind in his narrative. Copper must have assumed he was from the guard because of the armour he wore. Robbyn didn’t want to talk about Stormwind, however, so he said nothing. In an attempt to calm his nerves, Robbyn went and wet his handkerchief in the water. He then handed the damp cloth to Copper.
“Here. You m-must still have a high fever,” he said.
She took the cloth from him and proceeded to wipe her head, neck and chest with it. She clearly did not have any sense of propriety, for she merely pulled back the sides of her blood-caked shirt and wiped herself without bothering to make any effort to cover herself or even turn away from him. When she began to expose herself to him, Robbyn felt a lump swell in his neck and a hot rush of embarrassment rushed to his face. He quickly averted his eyes and turned away.
“W-w-who was he?” he asked, looking off down the path of the riverbed as it disappeared into the forest to the east.
“Hatch? A very dangerous man. Likely the best killer I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. Before the Resistance went underground he was a farmer, like most of them were. His name is Hatcher; he raised chickens, I think. Anyway, his family did. Hatch killed them."
Robbyn's breath caught in his throat. "The chickens, Robbyn," she said, clarifying. "Hatch killed chickens."
"Oh," he said, relieved.
"This was all before I was born, you understand," she continued. "The way I hear it, Hatch had a wife and bunch of kids. He was a hard man even then, but a good farmer. Like most about everyone, Hatch didn’t pay the fucking Stormwind levy. He probably was involved in the Resistance in one way or another, but Nether take me if I know. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that one night the militia showed up and killed his whole bloody family; wife, kids, dogs…the whole works. Torched his farm. Word is that they killed Hatch too and left him dead in the fire. But…well, maybe it’s like they say. Maybe he sold his soul for revenge. I don’t know, and I don’t rotting care. What I do know is that it is going to take a lot more than a horse to put him in the ground. He don’t feel pain the way that others do. I have seen him fight. Sometimes some fucking hotshot scrapper who wants to make a name for himself will call Hatch out. Everyone knows Hatch is some kind of Scourge-tainted freak, invincible. Makes him a target for the scraps. Hatch, he only fights to the death, and everybody knows it, but still some of them are stupid enough to want to take a shot at him. It’s not approved of, but…”
Robbyn had unconsciously turned back to Copper in horror at her story. She shrugged, and continued, “The fights don’t last long. Hatch is a big man and he is good with his hands. He just goes in for the kill. He doesn’t even need a weapon. I have seen him lift a man up by his neck with one hand and crush the life out of him. I’ve seen him get stabbed right through, with blood shooting out of his back, and he doesn’t even flinch. I’ve seen…”
Robbyn could not take it any more. “P-please! Stop!” he blurted out, interrupting her.
Copper regarded him for a moment. Then she held up the sweaty handkerchief. “You mind wetting this again?”
Robb looked at the rag and blanched, thinking of where it had just been. Still, he knew she could not lean down without pain, so he took it from her and knelt to wring it out in the tiny stream. Then he gave it back to her, saying, “W-what do you mean, the ‘Stormwind Levy’?”
Copper held the cold cloth to her blackened eye and the bruises on her face, and answered, with a touch of exasperation, “The Reconstruction Levy? The Great Tax? You know, after the war…”
Now Robbyn knew what she was talking about. After the city of Lordaeron was destroyed in the north, the remnants of humanity fled to the south for safety from the undead Scourge and the plague. Stormwind was a ruin at that time and had to be rebuilt to house all of the dispossessed and to give humanity new hope. The coming of the Scourge was so horrifying that many felt that it was only a matter of time before even the southern kingdoms were besieged. It was then that Edwin VanCleef, quite possibly the greatest construction engineer to ever grace human society, designed a master plan that would raise from the ruins of the once great city a marvel of human engineering. More than a just new capital, the new Stormwind was to be a wonder of the world, an indomitable fortress, and a vision of the power and enduring splendour of human society. Diplomatic emissaries were sent to every nation asking for aid, including the dwarves in the north and even across the sea to the land of the then reclusive elves, requesting support for the Stormwind reconstruction. Every able-bodied citizen was called upon to volunteer his or her time and talents. And a great tax was imposed upon every citizen of Elwynn, as well as in its neighbouring provinces of Westfall, Duskwood and Lakeshire, to rebuild the city. The levies were hard, but it was for the greater good, and the people gave generously to protect their homes, their families, and their very way of life. Craftsmen poured in from every land to lend a hand to the undertaking. They came by the hundreds and thousands, and within a mere two years virtually the entire city was rebuilt. Build out of massive white stones, and sweeping up to a crowning cathedral the size and majesty of which had never before been seen, the new Stormwind was indeed a beacon of hope. But though the white city was magnificent, the very reconstruction effort itself was also a crowning achievement and a testament to the indomitable power of the human spirit.
“Oh, that,” he said. It was a shock to Robbyn that anyone might have not paid the reconstruction levy. “Why didn’t he pay? He couldn’t afford it?”
Copper put the cloth down and looked at him scornfully. “Are you fucking kidding me?! No one paid the plague-infested levy!”
Robbyn realized that he hated it when Copper swore. It was strange, because Robbyn had grown up with foul language from the General. But the General swore at his men, not at his boys, and never at his wife. And Robbyn’s mother was always quiet and well mannered. Copper’s way of speaking was so aggressive and angry; it made Robbyn feel attacked. And it was disturbing to have such a beautiful woman saying such things. He didn’t say anything about it to her, of course, only, “W-where did the gold come from then? The city got built...”
She interrupted him. “Look Robbyn, you are…” She paused and stared at him, her eyes smouldering, before continuing, “You’re not going to want to know the truth anyway.”
“No, I am interested. Really. I know it l-looks like I’m from the guard,” Robbyn waved his hand over the Stormwind crest on his breastplate, “but I want to know the truth. It’s just that the city got rebuilt, so someone m-must have paid.”
Copper held the wet cloth to her face again and looked away from him. Robbyn waited, but she clearly was no longer interested in talking to him. After a few minutes, he said, “It’s g-getting late. Are you alright to keep going?”
“Do I have any fucking choice?” She stood up, wincing.
When they pushed their way back into the forest, it was immediately apparent that evening was upon them. The forest light, always dim, was now so dark that they had to peer into the darkness. Robbyn thought it might have been just his imagination, but it seemed that a low-hanging fog covered the ground, dampening sound and blurring the darkness around them. More than once a fallen branch was invisible underfoot until it was upon them, tripping them up. Copper cursed terribly every time she stumbled, and though Robbyn tried to make himself available to assist her, she refused to even look at him. She certainly did not reach out for help. Robbyn worried about her, but there was nothing he could do. They just went slower.
All day Robbyn had not been able to shake the sense that someone was watching them. Now, as the darkness closed in around them, that feeling began to become overpoweringly real. Every time Robbyn looked over his shoulder, he had the distinct impression that glowing malevolent eyes had just closed to hide themselves from him. And every time he looked away, his spine tingled to tell him that they had opened again. The shadows moved in his peripheral vision but faded away when he tried to see what was there.
Copper was fading. Given the amount of blood she had lost, it was amazing that she had lasted so long. More than once she stumbled and almost fell. Her breath came ragged from her chest and her eyes began to sag. Robbyn knew he needed to find shelter, but there was nothing safe around them. Just endless tree trunks and rotten ground and fog and darkness. Then, out of the darkness came the shrill howl of a wolf. Instinctively, they both stopped walking. Robbyn’s mouth went dry and Copper’s eyes snapped open. It was impossible to tell if the sound had come from before or behind them. For a heartbeat they waited, then Robbyn whispered out, “W-w-we need to hurry. You n-need to hold on to m-me so that we can go f-f-faster.” To his surprise she reached out and took hold of him by the shoulder.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 10, 2006 22:57:08 GMT -5
The darkness pressed in around them and they stumbled forward blindly. A cold sweat dripped down from Robbyn’s forehead and got in his eyes, causing him to blink back a sting of salt. His helmet did not help matters either, blocking his eyesight on left and right and dampening the already hushed forest noises, but Robbyn was terrified to remove it. The fog opened in front of them and closed behind them and out in the darkness, just beyond his vision, dark shapes seemed to rush along beside them. Another howl rose up, this time closer and clearly behind them. Visions of the grey wolf filled Robbyn’s mind, of its wasted and hungry appearance and its cold calculating eyes. Robbyn rushed through the woods, halfway dragging Copper as she held tightly onto the leather of his shirt at his shoulder.
They were travelling uphill, and as they did so the lowest branches of the trees about them started to creep down until they were slashing at the pair as they hurried along. Robbyn bulled through them until one snapped back and hit Copper in the face, causing her to release him and spew a string of profanities. Robbyn stopped and went to help her but she just grabbed back onto him and commanded him to keep going. He turned and continued forward again, but brought his mace out and began swinging violently at the base of the branches, breaking a path before them.
Again the howl went up behind them, this time echoed by a second canine voice somewhere in the forest to their right. Robb’s legs and arm started aching from his exertions, but the blood-curdling cries of their pursuers kept him moving. Looking over his shoulder he saw that Copper had brought out her blade as well, and that she watched behind them for any sign of the hunters. Robbyn turned back forward just in time to see another branch swinging maliciously towards them. He grabbed it with his left hand and snapped it in two, then pushed forward again.
Robbyn looked frantically for a rock wall, stone outcropping, or anything that they might use for defence or shelter, but all around them were only thinning trees and rotted undergrowth. It was impossible to see. For all they knew they might be passing within a stone’s throw of a cave and still be completely oblivious to its existence. The cold realization sank home to Robbyn that they were going to be run down and devoured by a pack of rabid wolves in the darkness, and there was nothing they could do about it.
A sudden sharp squeeze on his shoulder caused him to look back. Copper’s head was still twisted around to stare behind them, and following her gaze Robbyn saw the luminous yellow eyes of their pursuers materialize behind them in the woods. It was hard to tell how many of them there were, for the eyes shifted and moved and the wolves’ bodies were still hidden by the darkness, but there might have been a dozen of them loping along behind them, wearing them down. Robbyn was already breathing hard and his muscles were crying out from the strain.
The eyes in the darkness were too much for Robbyn; he lost all sense of reason. Grabbing Copper by the waist he sprinted uphill full tilt. Her feet slipped and dragged behind her and she swore something furiously in his ear, but Robbyn could not understand her. He was in full flight from the terror behind him. The forest blurred before him and he blinked back the sweat running down his face. He ran, but his head twisted around repeatedly, watching in horror as the wolves casually emerged from the darkness. Five of them; twenty yards behind them. They ran with a killer’s grace and closed in for the kill.
Something hit Robbyn’s knee, hard, and before he knew what was happening he and Copper had gone flying over a large fallen tree that he had not seen in his panic, what with his head turned back. Their weapons flew out of their hands, hers to imbed itself in the base of a nearby tree and his on the ground beside them. She fell on her injured shoulder and did not get up. Robbyn frantically grabbed his mace and scrambled to his feet. The wolves had slowed and were sliding forward around him at about ten paces. Robbyn’s primal instincts took over. He started screaming incoherently and he waved his hands up and down in front of his attackers, as if trying to scare them off with his size and power. The wolves were each more than half the size of a man. Their heads were down and their teeth bared as they moved to surround him. Robbyn turned one way and then the other, trying not to let any get at his back.
Robbyn had always read in the histories about how heroes had faced their death with grim determination. How they had made a last stand and died nobly, defending that which they believed in. As he stood over Copper’s fallen body and looked at the face of his own death in the dark forest, for some bizarre reason he found himself thinking about Onna’s meat pies. Onna was a short broad woman with a big mouth who believed in cooking with liberal amounts of fat. Her meat pies were good enough to sell. In fact, once a year she would take a week off and set up at table at the harvest faire and turn a tidy profit with them. In the Jonathan household, she always made a huge batch of them. She cooked them with lots of onions and garlic and sautéed the onion and garlic first. Everyone always knew when she was cooking meat pie because the smell would fill the house. Robbyn’s mother hated it, but Robbyn would sneak down and just sit in the servants’ quarters, savouring the delicious aroma. And as his head twisted frantically, waiting for the inevitable attack, all that was in his head was a wistful sadness that he would never be able to enjoy them again.
Copper shuddered and Robbyn dropped his guard momentarily as his concern was drawn to her. Too late he realized his mistake. A ripple of fear raced down his spine and he twisted around to see the grey form and feverish yellow eyes of one of the wolves leaping towards him. Something snapped inside Robbyn; time seemed to slow down. It was as if he was outside his body and merely watching as his mace came up from below to meet the head of the hurtling foe. The heavy iron of the mace sank into the soft head of the wolf and it burst in an explosion of blood and bone. The body of the wolf crashed into him but was surprisingly light and merely forced his body to twist rather than being knocked over.
Suddenly Robbyn felt a pinch and a heavy weight on his left arm, and looking down he met the cold eyes of a second attacker as its teeth sank into the flesh. Its fore paws clawed at his side but scraped harmlessly off of his chainmail hauberk. Robb saw his own blood fill the beast’s mouth, but his mind registered no pain. All the same, the weight of the wolf as it yanked upon him caused him to stumble. As he tried to shake off the wolf his eyes caught sight of a third wolf lunging in low, either at Copper or at Robbyn's legs. He brought his mace down upon it hard. There was a crack of bones breaking in its spine and it crumpled, yelping piteously. Two more rushed at him. One pinned his right arm and pulled him down onto one knee. The other went at his face. Robbyn saw nothing but teeth and turned his head at the last second. His head snapped back from the impact. The wolf snapped furiously at him as he tried desperately to rise. His feet could find no purchase and he slipped on the rotted ground cover. Pain suddenly washed back into his consciousness. The wolf on his left arm had torn off his leather sleeve and it felt like his arm was being ripped off. As he struggled to rise, Robbyn managed to bash the head of the one on his mace arm against the log that had tripped him, but he lost hold of his mace in the process.
It was all a blur now. Suddenly the pressure on his mace arm released. He quickly brought his hand up and grabbed at the head of the wolf that was biting at his face. Looking into its eyes he knew for certain that it was the wolf he had seen that morning. Robbyn instinctively knew that it was the pack leader. Was clearly the largest beast, and an unnatural hatred shone from its eyes. Robbyn’s fingers tangled themselves in the fur at its neck. He ripped its head away from his face, and then began shaking it madly in the air above him as if he might kill it simply by shaking the life out of it. The wolf dangled in the air, its long claws tearing futilely at his armour and face.
The last wolf had savaged his left arm and side but with a massive effort Robbyn managed to toss it away from him and stand. A large piece of his flesh ripped off and a spray of blood filled the air as the wolf rolled to its feet on the far side of the fallen tree. As it prepared to spring upon him, Robbyn screamed again and brought the lead wolf’s body down upon the tree between them, like a stick upon a drum. The wolf facing him hesitated, then turned and ran off into the darkness. Robbyn continued screaming, however, smashing the grey wolf in his hands against the fallen tree before him until it’s blood covered the surface of the log and the its body lay broken and lifeless in his hands. Even then he did not let go of it, but just stood panting and tottering in the darkness. Finally, he released the shattered body and look down at where Copper had fallen. She lay underneath the lifeless body of the wolf that had attacked Robbyn’s mace arm. Reaching down he grabbed the beast and rolled it off her, revealing her unconscious form. Her hand still held onto the hilt of her sword where it ran the beast through.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 11, 2006 13:24:21 GMT -5
Robbyn was covered in blood. Some of it was the wolves’, but most of it was his. He seemed to be bleeding everywhere. Blood poured out from the hole in his left arm and overflowed his mail glove. Blood ran down his chest from a gash in his collarbone. His chainmail leggings were torn and tattered in several places, exposing bleeding furrows from the clawed paws that had ravaged him. His legs were shaking uncontrollably. A warm dampness and the pungent smell of urine told him that he had soiled himself sometime during the fight. Robbyn sank down to sit on the wet ground and leaned heavily against the bloody log behind him, his head drooping.
The last remaining wolf still cried piteously nearby. Robbyn’s eyes were drawn to it by the sound. It kept pathetically lifting its head as if it were trying to get up, but its back was broken and its body no longer responded. A black pool of blood surrounded its head. The dark yellow light of its eyes had faded away and it stared blankly at Robbyn with a pale weak luminosity. Looking at the tortured creature, Robbyn suddenly felt an overpowering gag reflex and, bending over, he threw up violently on the ground beside him.
Robbyn had not eaten much that day and before long his body was shaken by dry heaves. When even that reflex stopped, he collapsed back against the tree, breathing raggedly. A long line of spit and vomit trailed from his mouth and down upon his chest. He wanted to wipe it away but his arms were too heavy. A fog was in Robbyn’s mind and he could not think straight. His heartbeat felt weak in his chest and he knew that he should do something about his wounded arm, but he could not focus long enough to think of what it was he should do. His eyes were heavy. He just wanted to sleep.
Off in the darkness, Robbyn heard barking and howling again. More wolves, he thought idly. He was too weak to be afraid and just started crying weakly. It was too much to bear. He could not even stand to face them. He could barely hold his head up.
A red light swelled in the darkness of the forest. Robbyn heard more barking and the sound of something scrabbling noisily towards them. His mouth was so dry. He just needed a drink of water. Robbyn tried to keep his eyes open. He tried to keep his head up. The red light blurred and then refocused into two dancing fires, bobbing from side to side in tandem. Robbyn’s eyes closed for a moment. The next moment, something large and bestial was licking his bloody arm and a fire was shining in his eyes. His helmet was off and the forest air felt cool on his cheeks. There was a murmur in his ear but as much as he wanted to understand it he could not focus and his eyes closed again.
Someone was slapping his face and talking to him. Robbyn looked up into the face of an old grey-bearded man. The man's eyes were dark and surrounded by wrinkled leathery skin, and his moustache and beard were unkempt and matted. Though bald on top of his head, the man’s grey hair was long at the sides and hung down wildly to his shoulders. He held a torch in his hand and was saying something to Robbyn, but Robbyn could not understand it. About him a pack of leashed dogs roamed freely, sniffing the carcasses. Robbyn was not sure, but he thought he saw one of the dogs eating from the shattered head of one of the dead wolves. The man slapped Robbyn again and then grabbed Robbyn’s face and forced it back to focus on what he was saying. Something about a cart. Robbyn shook his head, no. He didn’t have a cart.
The man stepped away and returned with the leather remains of Robbyn’s shirt. Taking hold of Robbyn’s arm, he tourniqueted it tightly above the wound. Then he pressed a bottle to Robbyn’s lips and tipped it back. Robbyn felt a wave of fire rush through him as the alcohol rushed down his throat. He coughed and his eyes cleared.
“Thank you,” he gasped, weakly. “Who are you? How did you find us?”
The old man had a high, nasally voice, choppy as if he were unaccustomed to conversing with others. “I live here. I heard your screaming and used the dogs to find you. The name’s Abercrombie.”
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Post by Fechak on Jun 12, 2006 0:16:02 GMT -5
((Nice cliffhanger!! Now I really can't wait to see where it goes!))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 16, 2006 12:22:36 GMT -5
[WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG! AUGH! I HATE IT AND IT IS GONE. THREE DAYS WORK DOWN THE DRAIN. STARTING AGAIN TONIGHT. BLEAH]
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Post by Caspin Mordain on Jun 16, 2006 12:36:11 GMT -5
[WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG! AUGH! I HATE IT AND IT IS GONE. THREE DAYS WORK DOWN THE DRAIN. STARTING AGAIN TONIGHT. BLEAH] (( Hahahah, you'll get it man. ))
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 17, 2006 1:15:58 GMT -5
A Coward’s Tale - Chapter 4
Robbyn did not remember much of what happened next. The light faded and returned, and somehow he found himself on his feet, leaning with his back against nearby tree. The old man--what was his name?--must have lifted him up. Robbyn’s head kept falling upon his chest, but he knew he needed to stay awake. The forest wasn’t safe. The wolves were coming and he needed to get them to safety. No, that wasn’t right, he thought. The wolves were dead.
A scratchy voice cut into the foggy silence in his mind, startling him. Robbyn still stood, but he realized that his chin had fallen on his chest and that his eyes had closed at some point. With an effort, he opened his eyes and he looked up at the blurred figure of the old man in front of him. Abercrombie; that was it, he thought. Abercrombie was carrying Copper. He had her body slung over his shoulder like bag of sand. Her body lay lifeless and her bruised face was turned towards Robbyn. Her hair poured down the old man’s back like blood.
Copper’s body floated off into the forest, illuminated above by the ruddy torchlight. Her head hung limply down and her hair waved as if saying goodbye. Someone was barking at him to follow. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t far. Robbyn pushed away from the tree, but the world spun and he fell on one knee. Something rough and wet licked his shoulder and Robbyn’s mind filled with a panic of wolves. No, the wolves were dead. Abercrombie. Abercrombie’s dog. Robbyn had broken the wolf’s body with his bare hands.
Robbyn staggered back to his feet and lurched forward after the red light, after Copper’s waving hair. He was so tired. Everything was silent but for the sound of blood in his ears. The torchlight was at the end of a dark tunnel. He needed to hurry to follow the shrinking torchlight as it dwindled into the darkness. He needed to call out to the old man to wait, but his mouth was too dry to speak. His tongue was stuck again, and useless. Everything ached. Robbyn plodded along trying to keep his head up. His eyes kept closing and he had to blink to keep them open.
A tangle of shrubs and clinging branches surrounded him, barring his passage. The trees grabbed onto him, trying to keep him back from the dwindling firelight. Robbyn crashed through the branches and suddenly they fell behind him. A cool breeze brushed his face and the smell of decay slipped away. He was standing wavering upon the top of a small rise, looking down upon a small clearing. Wandering shadows played upon the surfaces of a few squat buildings within the clearing, distorting them and making them look as if they were alive. Somewhere in front of him the torchlight was bobbing down the hill, and the old man’s face appeared inside it looking back up at Robbyn. The face had dark cadaverous holes where the eyes and mouth should have been. The name of the old man escaped Robbyn again. A dull thudding blotted out all sound. Robbyn started to stumble down the hill, but the slope was too steep. His feet did not land properly on the ground. The tiny firelight twisted and spun away from him. A swift wind rushed by his face. The pale moon swung into sight before him, halfway obscured by a drifting cloud. It was so large. Robbyn’s body hit something soft and solid. Darkness fell.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 17, 2006 11:47:32 GMT -5
Robbyn was back in the woods. He was running. It was dark and the tree cover weighed down upon him oppressively. Robbyn was looking for something in the forest, but he could not remember what it was. All around him the forest seemed to press forward, as if blocking his path. A wall of branches appeared before him and he put his hands up to protect his face. It was then that he realized that his hands were pale, colourless, and semi-transparent. Pale wisps of white smoke trailed off his fingers as he moved. Shocked, he stumbled and fell into the branches but they did not seem to touch him, but rather simply passed through his body harmlessly.
Robbyn fell on his hands and knees on the far side of the forest branches. The forest melted away and a great yellow moon shone down upon him. He knelt upon the top of a dry lifeless hill and looked down into a deep narrow valley, almost like a crevice. Far below, a few broken buildings sat lifeless in the darkness. Somehow Robbyn knew that whatever it was that he was seeking was down there, in the darkness. He was afraid of falling, but he started down, pulled like gravity towards his goal.
Robbyn’s body was light and airy and floated down into the darkness. Although he touched the steep ground, he felt nothing. The walls of the valley rose up on either side and closed in upon him. The sickly light of the moon faded and was blocked out by earthen walls on either side of him. Robbyn looked back up and saw that he was in some kind of hole cut into the ground. Far above him, the pale sky sat within a rough rectangular frame. Everything else was darkness.
The urging pull of his objective was strong here, and Robbyn scrabbled away in the soil covering the bottom on the hole. His could no longer see himself in the darkness, but he felt himself getting deeper as he pushed the loose dirt aside. All around him faces appeared in the darkness, watching him, waiting for him to fail. He did not want to look at them, but he knew his father was there, watching with cold disappointed eyes. Robbyn realized that he must have begun crying, for his vision shifted and blurred before him. He wiped the tears away with a muddy hand.
All had been silent around him. Now a quiet rhythmic knocking came out of the darkness in front of him. The sound was muffled at first, as if from behind a wall or door, but it continued, getting increasingly louder as Robbyn dug deeper into the ground. Robbyn could make out two beats to the pounding rhythm, beating almost together. It grew to be a great pounding, urging him forward. Whatever it was under the ground desperately needed to be released. Robbyn dug faster.
Out of the soil before him two arms shot up, scattering dirt and debris around him. Long human fingers took hold of the top of his breastplate, right at his neck, and pulled down hard. Robbyn’s armour ripped away from his body, and something dark and terrible rose up before him. Vaguely human, but grotesque and wasted, it forced its way out of the ground beneath him. The sudden knowledge that he was kneeling in a grave came home to Robbyn and a wave of terror washed through him. Robbyn tried desperately to get away but the creature wrapped cold fingers around his arms and held him down. Robbyn lay upon his back in the darkness. The risen creature towered over him, it’s head framed in the moonlight. Long copper hair fell down about its head. It was impossibly strong and Robbyn could not move. Something cold and dreadful rasped out his name.
“Robbyn!”
Light.
“For fel's sake!! Robbyn!” The dream faded. It was Copper’s voice. Robbyn opened his eyes to find Copper sitting on top of him, her knees holding down his hands at either side of him and her hands pinning his shoulders to something soft behind him. He blinked and stopped struggling against her.
“Robbyn, are you awake?” she asked.
He nodded confusedly. She grunted, climbed off of him, and moved to a nearby chair muttering something about his strength that might have been complimentary if it had not been filled with expletives.
Robbyn laid for a moment trying get his bearings. He lay in an old sunken bed with the ragged remnants of a dirty sheet upon him. Someone had removed his armour and his upper body was naked and half-exposed to the heavy air of the room. His left arm was tightly bandaged where the wolf had bitten him. The room was dark and the fetid odour of an animal den assaulted his nostrils. A few glimmers of daylight slanted into the room from various cracks in the wooden walls, but there did not appear to be any windows and the only real source of light came from the square frame of an open doorway at the far side of the room. The interior of the dark room was oddly gutted, as if someone either never finished constructing the inside or else had decided at some point to renovate but had only got so far as to tear down most of the interior walls. Various frames and supporting posts remained intact, suggesting three or possibly four original rooms, and in one place most of a dividing wall remained, but to all intents and purposes it was a one-room dwelling. Chests, drawers and tables lined the perimeter wall or sat scattered about the room, but every surface and most of the floor was littered with disorganized heaps of odds and ends. In the centre of the room was a large oaken table piled with various unrecognizable objects, and in the far front corner, near to the open doorway, Robbyn could make out the shape of a wood stove surrounded by a jumbled pile of chopped wood. The most striking feature of the interior, however, was neither the missing interior walls nor the ubiquitous mess, but rather the embalmed trophy heads that stared blankly down from every wall. Creatures of all kinds and descriptions were stuffed, mounted and hammered into the walls, making the space feel uncomfortably small and crowded. Robbyn stared open-mouthed for a moment, and then looked back to Copper for grounding.
“Wh-wh-wh-“
“What the fuck!?” Copper volunteered.
Robbyn’s tongue was useless and his mouth was dry. That wasn’t what he was going to say, exactly, but it would do. He just nodded.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 17, 2006 16:21:00 GMT -5
Copper was wearing her leathers, but she wore a new shirt. It was light coloured and feminine, with a tiny flower pattern running down it and a frilled low neckline that swooped down to a bow between her breasts. Her hair was washed and brushed clean, and the bruising on her face was inexplicably gone.
“The old man fixed us up,” she said, looking around. “This forsaken sty is apparently his home.”
She turned back to him and must have seen the confusion in his eyes, because she said, “Last thing I remembered was that wolf tearing into me in the woods last night, and me ripping the sword out of the tree to defend myself. Then I woke up lying on the table with the old man leaning over me sewing up my shoulder. Hurt like the Nether, I can tell you. But he had tied me down to the table and I could barely move. He kept rambling on about someone named ’Liza, but it didn’t make any blighting sense. Then he put this wet cloth over my mouth and, next I knew, it was morning.”
Copper paused, as if considering what to tell him next, then continued, “When I woke up, the old man was sleeping with his dogs in this here bed, but he got up, came over, and untied me. He told me his name. I told him I didn’t blighting appreciate being tied down. He didn’t exactly answer but he started talking to himself again and I gathered from what he said that he had left me tied up for my own good.”
Copper paused again, thinking for a moment. "The old man has some kind of magic. I don’t know for sure, but I think it has something to do with his potions, because there was this disgusting green paste on my shoulder and face, but when I washed it off, my wounds were completely gone.” She put her left hand under the neckline of her shirt to touch where the hole from the knife wound should have been, as if she still hardly believed it.
“Anyway, you were out cold on the floor. I guess Abercrombie had dragged you inside, as there was a long trail of your blood out the door. He had already sewn up your arm, I guess, because it was wrapped up already, but he rambled on about how he needed to get you undressed and up on the table so he could work on you. You were in pretty bad shape. We got you out of what was left of your armour, but couldn’t lift you to the table so we put you here instead. Then he set about fixing you up. I don’t blighting know what all he did, but I saw him pour some kind of foul yellow mixture down your throat, and he muttered that it would probably make you shake. He told me to tie you to the bed so you wouldn’t hurt yourself, but I didn’t believe him. I should have. You were thrashing something awful before you woke.”
Robbyn was distinctly uncomfortable with visions of Copper undressing him and embarrassed by the fact that he was too fat to be lifted. He reached up to his neck, where the wolf had ravaged him, and his fingers encountered a soft substance covering the wound. When he looked at his fingers, their tips were covered in a thick green paste. It smelled awful. Putting his hand down, Robbyn looked back to Copper and asked, “W-where is Abercrombie now?” His mouth was parched and his voice sounded like a rasping squeak.
“You lost a lot of blood. Drink,” she said, handing him a bottle of clear liquid. Robbyn sat up slightly, took the bottle, and drank eagerly. It was plain warm water. He had never tasted anything so good.
“The old man took his dogs and went out this morning. I think he said something about the wolves in the woods. I heard him wheeling something around, but I didn’t see what it was. Haven’t seen him since.”
Robbyn handed the empty bottle of water back to Copper, who looked at it and then tossed it aside into a pile of clothes lying nearby. He lay back down, and tested his wounded arm. To his surprise it moved without any pain and felt surprisingly good. Reaching up, he went to remove the bandage, but Copper stopped him. “Abercrombie said not to touch it for a day. Something about how it needed time to grow back.”
Copper had leaned forward over him to stop him and was holding his arm by the wrist. Her grip was rough and firm, more of a man’s than a woman’s. The light from the doorway was behind her and her eyes appeared dark blue and almost compassionate in the shadows. Her cheek, bruised and purple just yesterday, was now clear and smooth. For some reason he felt himself start to blush and he looked away. His body felt limp and weak. After a second she released him and sat back.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a second. Then he looked back to her and said, “I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Copper.”
“Oh,” he said stupidly. “On account of your hair?”
She nodded slightly. “On account of the hair.”
“Ah.” What he wanted to say was, what is your real name? Instead what he said was, “I’m Robbyn Jonathan.”
“Jonathan?”
He nodded.
“Hm.”
More silence. Robbyn was kicking himself inside. Why had he told her that his last name was Jonathan? She was a Defias! His father flogged and hanged her people! Surely anything, anything at all, would have been a better topic of conversation. He sighed at his own stupidity and itched to punch himself in the head. If only he could change the subject! But his mind was a blank and his tongue was, as usual, useless.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Ah…w-well, actually…good.”
“There’s a bowl and sponge if you want to wash. Over there.” Copper pointed to the other back corner, where the last remnants of the inner walls still stood.
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Post by Robbyn Jonathan on Jun 18, 2006 1:28:14 GMT -5
Robbyn pushed the ragged sheet off and immediately covered himself back up again. He was stripped down to his small cotton underclothes! His skin was pasty, and his fat folded and flapped embarrassingly. Robbyn hated being undressed at the best of times. Now, with a beautiful woman sitting not three feet from him, it was awful. Instinctively, he looked up at Copper to see if she had seen anything. She stared right at him and laughed.
“You think I’ve never seen a naked man, Robbyn?”
“No. I mean, I d-don’t know. I guess so. It’s j-just that I’d rather you not look.”
She smiled mockingly at him for a long moment. Then with a backhand, “I can’t blighting believe this,” she walked across the room and stepped out the front door.
As Copper stood silhouetted in the doorway, Robbyn slid out of the bed and walked over to the corner she had indicated. A large shallow bowl sat on the floor, filled with cloudy water and a sponge. The floorboards were cold and wet against his feet and showed the splatters of someone else’s bath, likely Copper’s that morning. Robbyn turned his back on the door and began to clean himself. The water was cold and smelled curiously of mud as he washed the dirt, sweat and the odd green paste off his body with the sponge. It all ran down and soaked the wood at his feet, and Robb wondered why the wash was inside rather than out in the yard. As usual, he had more questions than answers.
Only when he was done did Robb realize that he did not know where his clothes or armour were. Fortunately, finding his armour was easy. It was piled up against the wall near the bottom of the bed. His leather shirt was gone though, and the chain leggings were tattered and mostly useless. Robbyn held them up towards the light and stood looking at the great gashes and broken rings for a long moment, then involuntarily shivered as the memory of the wolves' attack came back to him. It was a miracle that he was alive at all. He sat down weakly on the bed and looked down at his legs, which showed no sign of injury. Copper was right. The healing was inexplicable.
“I figure you’ll need new pants and a new shirt.”
Robbyn’s head snapped up at Copper’s voice. She still stood in the doorway, but she had turned back towards Robbyn and she stared inside. She probably couldn’t see him in the dark, and he felt foolish for doing so, but he covered his legs with the ruined chain leggings anyway. “What can I wear?” he asked.
“I just scrounged around and found a few things. That’s how I found my shirt. The old man didn’t mind. There wasn’t much that might fit you, though. Look on the back of the chair I was sitting on.”
On the back of the chair was draped a pair of cotton pants and a heavy woollen shirt. The pants were several sizes too small. When Robbyn tried to get them on, they only went down to his knees and he couldn’t do up the buttons at his waist. The shirt pulled uncomfortably at his shoulders and did not reach over his gut. He stood for a moment in the darkness of the room, feeling both uncomfortable and ridiculous, then got undressed again and put his armour on. The chainmail leggings jangled noisily when he walked and the breastplate chafed against his skin, but they fit.
Robbyn hated being overweight. Of all the things he hated about himself, the fact that he was fat was second only to his stutter. His weight made him too slow to fight and too slow to run. He knew he smelled like sweat virtually all the time; he was always sweating. He was embarrassed by how his behind did not fit in normal chairs, and how he took up two places at a table. He particularly hated the way people looked at him while he ate. As a boy, he had made all kinds of vows to himself about how he would tone himself down, but nothing ever worked for him. Probably he did not keep his resolves long enough. But even when he starved himself for a month, eating no sweets, snacks or deserts, and only picking at his food, it made no difference. The gods had cursed him to be bloated and useless.
Once his leggings, belt, boots and breastplate were on, Robbyn looked around for his mace and helmet. With a sinking feeling in his chest he realized that he had left them behind at the wolves, along with Copper’s sword. He closed his eyes and groaned. What would they do without any way to protect themselves? Not only that, but Copper’s sword had been exceptional. It was probably worth a fortune. Robbyn certainly did not relish the idea of explaining to Copper that he had lost her sword. But he would never be able to retrace their steps; the journey to Abercrombie’s home last night was nothing but an indistinct blur in his memory.
Robbyn stomped over to the doorway and pushed past Copper in his tattered armour. One of the leather straps that held the left side of breastplate was broken and flapped loudly against the rolls of fat that stuck out from his sides as he walked. He did not look at her; he did not want to see her condescending eyes and mocking smile.
“Didn’t fit?” she asked blandly.
He shook his head and asked, “Where’s my jacket?”
“The dogs got it. It was ripped to pieces and covered in blood.”
“It could have been washed,” he snapped.
It was a small mercy to get away from the heat and rank smells inside of the house, and Robbyn took a deep breath of the outside air, looked around, and tried to calm himself. From the position of the sun it must have been about midday, but the day was not hot. It was as if the sun did not give off heat, which was odd. Before Robbyn was a worn pathway up the hill flanked by something that might have been a vegetable garden, but which looked more like a heavy collection of weeds. Various bits of debris stuck out of the ground around the yard, and two large muddy wheel tracks ran up and over the hill. The front of the house was a patchwork of haphazard repairs. All of the windows were boarded up from the outside, sealing the inside in darkness. Misshapen and broken boards stuck out from the house at various locations, giving it a heavy lurching appearance. Immediately behind him, the door was thick and composed of several layers of nailed-together boards. Looking more closely, Robbyn realized that the boards hammered all over the outside of the house and blocking off the windows were taken from the missing walls inside the house.
Copper spoke again. “There’s a necropolis-worth of junk inside. I’m sure we can find you something.”
Robbyn was about to reply when his attention was distracted by the sound of something crashing through the woods in front of them. A moment later Abercrombie appeared, walking stick in hand, followed by his pack of dogs, which were now harnessed and pulling a massive flatbed cart out of the forest. Upon the cart were the rotting carcasses of the wolves.
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