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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 11:12:28 GMT
One day earlier, shortly before Kara left the Golden Harp… “We’ve unfinished business, Ringer.” Horund leaned against the wall of the small room where the packs sat. Kara was kneeling in front of her pack, adjusting the contents. At least he’d had the decency to wait until she’d finished changing; she was wearing her own black tunic and leggings now. “Do we.” She smoothed the top flap closed and rose, slowly, turning to look at Horund. “We do.” Horund straightened up, arms crossing over his chest, bulging biceps flexing as they settled into place. “And I mean to finish it before I leave Waterdeep.” Kara looked him over, slowly, up and down. “Fine.” She said, calmly. “Name the place.” Horund grinned. “Outside the North Gate, tomorrow after moonrise. Bring the glaive. I’d like you to put up something of a fight first.” Kara tilted her head to the side, slowly, until her neck cracked. She reached down, scooping up her pack and settling it onto her back, then taking her glaive in hand. “Out of my way, Horund.” “See you tomorrow, Ringer.” Kara could feel his eyes on her back long after she’d left the room.
Kara was waiting outside the gates shortly before moonrise, glaive in hand. It was late already, well after sunset, and over the edges of the hills to the north of Waterdeep she could see the curve of the round, silver moon starting to rise over the hills. The leather wrapper which kept the weapon city-acceptable was stashed against the wall, and the naked blade glistened in the torchlight from the wall. “There you are. I knew you were too stupid to stay away,” Horund strode out of the gates. He wore his Freewolves leather armor, and carried a heavy bag slung over his shoulder, the long shape and bulging top suggestive of a mace. Kara pushed away from the tree she’d been leaning against, looking at him. “No witnesses - just you and me,” Horund spat on the ground. “You don’t deserve it, but thought I’d spare you the rest of the company seeing you get beat down.” “Are we going to talk or fight?” Kara asked, voice rasping slightly in her throat. Her hands tightened on the shaft of the glaive. Horund grinned, drawing the bag off his back and pulling the mace out of it. He slipped the strap over his wrist, gripping the handle tightly and giving it a few experimental swings. “I’ll give you this, Ringer – you’ve balls bigger than most men. Over here – don’t want to do this in sight of the guards, do you?” Kara followed him into the scrubby woods north of the gate, the only noise the crunch of their feet against the ground. “Here,” Horund stopped at the edge of a bit of a clearing, then slowly stepped out into the middle of it, turning back to face Kara. “I won’t kill you,” He grinned, dirty yellow teeth visible in the moonlight. “Just beating you senseless is enough for me.” Kara glanced around, taking a few steps into the clearing. She adjusted her grip on the glaive, lowering the blade of the weapon to face him, and waited. “Fine then,” There was a nasty look in Horund’s eyes, one Kara had seen more than once before. With a grunt, he lunged forward. Kara’s initiative: rVam|4Ud1d20+1Horund’s initiative: 1d20Horund moved first, closing the distance between them expertly, bringing his arm back to swing the mace. But Kara had her glaive; as Horund got close enough she lashed out, the pointed tip of the weapon swinging for him. Glaive attack (AoC): 1d20+5 Damage: 1d10+3 The blade bit deep across Horund's arm, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. He snarled with fury, but didn't stop, swinging the heavy mace at Kara. Mace attack 1: 1d20+4 Damage: 1d6+2 Mace attack 2: 1d20+4
Damage: 1d6+2 The first strike smashed into Kara's right thigh, nearly shredding her tights. The pain made the world go white for a moment, and then the mace hit her again, this time across the chest; Kara felt her ribs crack under the pressure of it. Kara gasped for breath; for a moment she thought her leg would give out, but it didn't, it held. She could see the faint, nasty smile on Horund's face, the same one he'd shown the night before, and her teeth gritted, anger surging through her. It was a cold fury, sweeping away all useless emotions and thoughts, burning out the fear and pain and leaving behind only pure focus. ((Bonus action: Kara enters a rage)) Kara lunged forward, swinging her glaive at Horund again. Glaive attack: 1d20+5 Damage: 1d10+5 This time the blade of the glaive caught him across the chest, ripping through his armor and digging into the hairy, sweaty chest beneath; blood pooled almost immediately, soaking the weapon and dripping onto the ground. Horund staggered, once, but didn't come anywhere close to falling, lunging at Kara with the mace again. Mace attack 1: 1d20+4 Mace attack 2: 1d20+4 Damage: 1d6+2 Kara's leg dragged, but she dodged out of the way of the first blow; the second caught her on the shoulder, but she barely felt it, and her arms held strong. She didn't gasp, didn't cry out, her gaze and every last bit of her attention focused wholly on Horund and the glaive in her hands. She lunged forward and swept the weapon around again. Glaive attack: 1d20+5 Damage (non-lethal): 1d10+3 ((Edit: should have actually been +5, not +3, but... since it doesn't really matter...)) The heavy wood of the glaive's staff cracked against Horund's head. There was a moment of shock on his face, like a pause - and then he dropped slowly forward, landing in a muddled heap on the ground.
Kara stood over him, gasping for breath. For a moment, she considered it, touching the blade of the glaive to his throat... but only for a moment. She lowered the weapon, chest still heaving. The cool fury seeped away, and left behind a lot of pain in its wake. Kara shuddered a little, coughing and feeling a sharp pain in her ribs. Her vision blurred for a moment, and she forced the tiredness away, taking a deep breath. After a moment of consideration, she raised the glaive to Horund again, pushing him over onto his back with the shaft, and carved a scratch across the Freewolves insignia on his chest - not deep enough to hurt him, but only just.
By the time Kara returned to Waterdeep it was late indeed. It had been a warm spring day, and the evening warm as well, but the night was cold and damp, with a whistling wind threatening a storm the next day. The moon was nearly full overhead, shining its light down through the scraggly trees outside the city. Kara was beaten and bloody, the black leggings on her right leg half-shredded across the thigh, with bloody and bruised skin visible beneath. Her left shoulder was nearly as bad, looking as if someone had dragged a mace across it, and she was filthy with dirt and leaves from the forest floor. Her glaive served as a walking stick, letting her keep her weight off her right leg; with each step, the butt thumped heavily against the soft dirt of the path back down to the gates. The walk that had seemed short before the fight seemed to stretch out endlessly, and it was about all she could do to just keep moving. She found the leather cover for her glaive where she’d stashed it, and, with shaking hands slowly managed the ties to cover the blade; she'd done her best to clean it with a handful of leaves, but there were still smears of blood on it. She stood, still and silent, as the guards at the North Gate debated whether to let her inside, unable to say even a word in her own defense, the noise breaking over her in incoherent waves that seemed to fade in and out of her consciousness. Eventually, the door in the gates opened, and Kara limped through; now the butt of her glaive banged against cobblestones instead of dirt. Kara clung to it, hunched and swaying. She kept her eyes fixed on the street before her, needing all of her focus to stave off the impending collapse. Until then, grimly, she kept going. 1d20+1·1d20·1d20+5·1d10+3·1d20+4·1d6+2·1d20+4·1d6+2·1d20+5·1d10+5·1d20+4·1d20+4·1d6+2·1d20+5·1d10+3
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 13:24:24 GMT
With pleasant company, Dhaunmyr considered himself to be a finely turned out young man, not terribly high in the social order, but he was a climber. He socialised well, kept the correct mannerisms and jovial stance that had either been beaten into him or picked up quickly in the towns around the grassy areas he roamed for about a tenday alone before uncovering civilisation in this ridiculously large space above. He was kind, well dressed, and had a slightly naughty glint in his eye to wow the men and women into remembering him when it came to invitations to their expensive parties, but nothing too scandalous, of course.
However, Dhaunmyr did not find himself in pleasant company when he left for his nighttime strolls, when he did. They were becoming more infrequent as his nerves settled, and as he was finally training his meditation schedule to fall somewhere in the dark hours. That did leave him either early evening to late, or late to early morning to do as he pleased, unless he wanted a hangover the next morning. He needed some good sales to make the week look good so... no. The problem with that, is that it gave him plenty of time to socialise in the wrong kinds of groups. The kinds that probably had some ties to people Dhaunmyr would never like to meet, and the kinds that gladly supplied him with objects and consumables he would never stoop to sell. Even if some of them were rather pretty.
As such, he was in the right mind to go back to his room and zone out for a while, at least until he fell into his trance, but seeing the figure slowly creeping its way towards an eventual, much more damaging collapse, Dhaunmyr felt himself something of a helpful, friendly face. Also he wanted to have some points in the ‘doing good things’ column to make it look much less terrible when you consider everyone he’d snapped at lately. Grins were hard to keep when they were so utterly fake.
“Oh! My dear are you lost? Come, come - allow me.” His rather flashy jewellery and clothes afforded him no hiding, even in the gloom of the sparse torchlit night. He spoke breathlessly as usual, but had something of a relaxed tone, despite his obvious concern. Usually he’d panic, but here he managed to smile warmly and, before extending a hand towards the woman, rubbed the side of his thumb against his chin, just before it became lips. He was more worried about having lipstick halfway down his face at this point, likely she wouldn’t notice, nor care, but perhaps a disheveled lady and a slightly tousled dark elf wasn’t the best appearance to have at any point, especially not the dead of night- oh, of course, drow. He half retracted his open arms, he supposed anyone could be offended and scoff that a skinny looking elf might be of assistance here, but he didn’t want to scare her, he hadn’t scared anyone yet, but she didn’t seem particularly well-walked in Waterdeep, perhaps even newer than he, and his singular obvious experience of dislike towards the kind of elf he was had tainted his opinion on gladly meeting with strangers. Of course there were likely people who thought his gold may be fake, or he sold zircon as perfect diamonds, but it was up to them where they brought business and sales - and any merchant at all could be charged with such an activity, here it was a little different. Most people didn’t care, but that medic had... well. Her opinion was highly regarded.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 14:14:03 GMT
Kara kept her gaze fixed ahead. Her whole world had shrank to the pools of torchlight in the streets. She kept her gaze on the next one ahead, chin slowly lowering until she reached it, then looked up again and focused on the next one. One torch at a time; that was about all she could manage. She had gotten into a rhythm, which helped too; step with her left food, swing the glaive forward and follow it with her body and trailing right leg, then step again. Each step sent shooting pain up through her legs, past her ribs and into her shoulder, but that was all right; as long as she kept moving, as long as she kept up the rhythm and kept her gaze on the next light pool, she would –
A flash of light and a burst of words fluttered off to her left. Kara didn’t think it was aimed at her, at first, but the sight of a well-manicured hand thrusting itself into her vision made it clear that it was.
Kara stopped. She had to; she couldn’t walk and think at the same time, not anymore. She couldn’t exactly stand upright; instead, she clung whole-heartedly to the glaive, wedging the heavy butt into a space between the cobblestones and sending up a quick prayer to Helm that it wouldn’t topple over. They were standing under one of the pools of dim light, and in it Kara could see the person who’d approached her – a drow, well-dressed.
Kara had no idea what’d he’d said to her. She didn’t think it had been threatening, if only because she’d have noticed that, and because he was smiling in a way that didn’t look dangerous. All the same, his hand was entirely too close, and she jerked away a little. That proved a mistake; she nearly overbalanced, and caught herself against the glaive at the last moment.
If she went down, Kara realized, she was not going to get back up. At this point, she thought it was a toss up as to whether she’d be able to take another step or not. She wobbled, slightly, and steadied herself again. She could pass out for as long as she wanted when she reached the inn, Kara promised herself. Just – not yet. Just not yet.
“Leave me alone,” Kara rasped, her voice dry and hoarse, fading to something that might have been called a squeak on the last word. She coughed to clear her throat and regretted it instantly when her ribs protested and stars flashed in front of her eyes. She hunched forward, shaking, swallowing the cry of pain that threatened to emerge, and resolutely refusing to look at the well-dressed man.
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 17:02:11 GMT
“My dear I only intend to help.” His smile faded as he registered something of negativity on her face, a jerk - perhaps fear. It returned, slightly withered, as soon as he noticed the absence, and he caught himself lightly scraping his nails against the back of his other hand, resolving to keep one busy in his pocket. “And really I think the best thing for you right now is a warm bed. I don’t mind getting you a room, if only for tonight, if you need it, but I really insist you allow me to get you out of the cold. Here.”
Dhaunmyr lifted his coat from where it draped, threatening perhaps to fall if he didn’t tug on the lapels on occasion, from his shoulders, and moved the garment to the woman, not quite dropping it around her, but almost. He sighed very quietly, just to himself, it was a full length coat with a silk lining, and she was hunched over and rather small for a... human? Maybe? Probably. He was sure that a half elf would have perhaps been a little nicer, and she was short but she wasn’t... that small. Not small enough to be a dwarf, by any means. But either way, damp cobble floor with a nice coating of mud from general usage, beautiful silk lining and a golden thread trim. If only his name were Vanity he may have offered nothing to her, but Dhaunmyr’s thoughts were more centred around this poor creature’s health.
“Would you take my coat?” Even so, consent was very important. If she didn’t want it, well, she’d probably get shivering once the adrenaline of whatever caused her current condition melted away. “I’m a little warm, to be honest, so you needn’t worry, my dearest.” Oh and it was so cold in the Underdark. And the dripping stalactites. And the slippy floor. It was quite funny, actually. People falling over, mostly slaves, of course, but in his extremely limited education he could only imagine it resembling a... never mind. He had to stop himself laughing. Goddess, what had gotten into him? Well. Stalactites.
“And you will come to the inn I stay at, yes? In the morning we may need you being looked at. But frankly at this time of night the treatment will be advised as sleep, anyway.” He spoke more slowly, noticing her slight sense of being lost, or perhaps of confusion. Either way, he was doing his best to be understood. At least she spoke common, he wasn’t too good a fan of Elvish these days.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 17:31:54 GMT
His voice was warm and insistent, wrapping around her. Kara shut her eyes, trying to best to block it out; if she listened, if she stopped, if she took the heavy blanket, she would never make it home. If she let her guard down, then – then –
Her thoughts seemed to stutter and slow to a stop. She didn't know what would happen then, but she was sure it wouldn't be good. She was very sure.
It was cold, Kara realized. She hadn’t thought about it before; pain and walking had taken up all her ability to even notice such things. Now that she’d stopped the cold seemed to be creeping deeper and deeper into her limbs, weighing them down. She gritted her teeth together, trying to stop them chattering and largely failing. He asked if she would take the coat.
She didn’t need the coat, Kara told herself. She was fine on her own; she didn’t need a coat or any help. She just had to keep going, one foot in front of the other, she just – she just needed to make it back to the dock ward. She did her best to look around, trying to figure out where she was now, how far it would be; she couldn’t tell. The streets all looked the same in the dark. She wasn’t, Kara realized, even entirely sure that she’d gone the right way from the gates. She’d found the inn easily enough earlier in the day, but at night?
“I have a room,” Kara forced her chattering teeth to stop long enough for the words to slip out, despite the soft prodding of thoughts that suggested she would be better off accepting his offer. What could he do to her, anyway? A little sleep and she’d be her usual self again, and then – and then –
“I don’t know – where it is,” Kara admitted, teeth chattering again. She hadn’t realized she was actually saying the words until they were already out of her mouth. She swayed again on the glaive, losing her grip; it clattered to the cobblestones and Kara pitched after it, catching herself on her hands and knees. Her shoulder gave out almost immediately and she sank the rest of the way to the cobblestones, slowly, the world graying around her.
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 17:47:34 GMT
He gasped, dropping the coat and falling to his knees next to her.
“Hey, hey, what’s the name of the place, let me take you - hey - hey, my lady? My dear, hey-“
Dhaunmyr was no first aider, no physician, no medical genius, but he wasn’t an idiot. He could only get her help. He could get her somewhere safer, and if she passed out then he may have to drag her the whole way. But he’d manage- it really was his problem now, wasn’t it? Damn him and his sense of duty towards those in need who weren’t ugly or undesirable.
She needed help. But she also had to stay awake for a bit. He supposed he could drag her to his room if it really got bad, but, he hoped it wouldn’t get that bad, if only to keep her in hands she knew and trusted a bit more than his burn-scar calloused ones. Those hands grabbed the torso of the woman into his lap and the coat over her. If she got too cold, things would get worse very quickly. Maybe he could slow stuff down a bit. “Let’s not do that again, okay? You can trust me, and to be honest you don’t have much choice.”
He sighed and looked down at her in near despair, he’d have this in the back of his mind for his entire life if he couldn’t get her safe, and that was going to be another nine centuries if he was lucky. He propped her up, head in the bend of his elbow like a child with a weak neck, the other hand gently clasped over one of hers. “Where do you need to be?”
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 17:59:39 GMT
Kara could feel the cold, damp stone pressing against her cheek, although only just barely. Part of her was aware that it was profoundly uncomfortable; the rest of her was more focused on how very easy it would be to shut her eyes and fall asleep. Everything felt better laying down. Except her shoulder. Her shoulder really hurt again. She wasn’t exactly sure why because she was laying down; she thought maybe she was laying on her shoulder, which was why it hurt? It was hard to tell.
There was a soft voice shouting at her, a little edge of panic to it. Kara’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment. That was familiar, she thought, muzzily. For a moment she was back in Sundabar, and the voice was Hana’s, and she could hear distant shouts and screams at the edge of her attention, the clash of black iron swords against stones.
There was a shift, a feeling of movement, and she wasn’t lying on the stones anymore. Kara came back to the present very abruptly, eyes wide, her head lifted off the ground, a coat lying over her. She panicked – terror was immediate and obvious in her eyes, and she lashed out, giving the man holding her what amounted to an extremely feeble shove that seemed to hurt her more than it hurt him, if the fresh blood welling from her shoulder was any indication. It wasn’t even strong enough to force him to let go of her, if he didn’t want to.
“No – no – ” Kara wasn’t sure if she was shouting at herself or at the drow. She also wasn’t really shouting, she was vaguely aware; it was probably more like whispering. She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, not unconsciousness this time. This was Waterdeep – it wasn’t Sundabar. That nightmare was over. Hana was gone but she wasn’t, Kara wasn’t, and this was Waterdeep.
“I’m,” Kara opened her eyes, slowly, taking a deep breath. For probably the first time, her gaze actually focused on the drow, and she seemed to really see him. “I’m sorry,” her chest was heaving as if she’d just run across a battlefield, and her skin had gotten noticeably more cold and clammy.
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 18:17:41 GMT
He felt something of a familiarity in the way she seemed to see beyond him. There wasn’t anything there, she was lashing out at a memory. He’d done it before. An overwhelming feeling of being trapped somewhere you hadn’t envisaged returning to. Dhaunmyr was scared of being back in the Underdark, this woman was probably scared or angry or... but mostly she needed to stop being hurt. Quickly.
“Don’t worry about it, my dear, not a problem. Are you ready to tell me how I can help you now?” He kept himself calm, it was easier to do than he really expected, but his vision was rose tinted, he was weightless but grounded, and he was pretty comfortable. The feeling of the ground didn’t seem to bother him, he very easily ignored the cold that he wished away when it seeped around his legs. His arms felt strong, firm. There was no cold to shake them, to send them trembling... as of yet. It could maybe be a problem, but he was really only feeling this general warmth from good liquor and good... air. Those didn’t fly away too fast, at least slow enough for him to get her wherever she needed to go. Then, once she’d just about laid down, he could have a complete mental breakdown on her and she could drift between recovery and staring at the weird drow, sobbing at the end of her bed.
Seems about right.
“Don’t say medical help though, I really... that’s not my bag. I could probably do as good as to stick my finger in it to stop the blood.” Dhaunmyr shrugged. Maybe she would laugh, maybe she’d not laugh but find it funny. Maybe she’d even try to slap him. He’d help her with that. It was a terrrible joke and pretty distasteful, but that was just how he was feeling at the time, he couldn’t exactly help it. Or rather, he didn’t feel like slapping the filter back over his mouth when he was riding a gentle high of not giving a second thought to how he was potentially going to upset someone. Let’s face it, what was the worst she could do? Bleed on him? Phah.
Maybe she could hit him later, though, she didn’t feel terribly weak and feeble in his arms.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 18:29:14 GMT
Kara worked on taking slow, even breaths. That had worked, for a long time, in Sundabar. Until it hadn’t. But it had worked in Everlund well enough, when the memories weren’t so close, and she thought it would work here in Waterdeep, to keep them at bay. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment – she was so tired – but she willed them to open again.
The drow was still gazing down at her. He had a kind face, Kara thought, muzzily. A kind voice too. She wouldn’t quite have said she trusted him, but by now she had accepted that she didn’t really have any choice other than to accept his help. Kara couldn’t have been said to smile at his joke, but she did sort of… twitch, in a way that didn’t particularly seem to express unhappiness.
“I need to rest,” Kara had missed most of what he’d been saying this whole time, between the light-headedness and the actual blacking out, not to mention the brief flashback to worse times. She was pretty sure he’d told her she needed to sleep; she agreed. If she could just get back to her inn – she would probably even be able to sleep through the fleas biting her and the faintly rock-like texture of the mattress. She was pretty sure she would wake up; she hadn’t taken any head injuries. It was as much blood loss and trauma as anything.
“The – The Bird’s Nest. In the Dock Ward.” Kara shifted a little, gathering her energy as if trying to stand. It wasn’t anywhere near a successful attempt; she didn’t even really make it out of the drow’s lap.
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 18:52:50 GMT
“Sounds like a nice stroll, but really I should get a name first.” Dhaunmyr chuckled, gently squeezing the hand he hand grasp of, then moving to pick her up as kindly as he could. He didn’t know where she was injured, but he could guess. “And ... up.”
He wasn’t sure what exact weight he’d be dealing with, but it was maybe ten pounds more than his usual draw weight, and with two arms supporting her, it was barely noticeable. Dhaunmyr began the walk to the inn. If she fell asleep he was certain it wouldn’t be much of a problem in the long term. She could probably do with it. He did feel bad for her, it must have been bloody agony, but the best he could offer was a smile and reassurances, maybe a couple jokes here or there. Maybe.
The dark elf checked, looking for signs of discomfort, or, rather, additional discomfort. If they showed, he did his best to adjust, but it wasn’t, perhaps, always that simple in the night, nor was it easy to know exactly how to help. He did not have her nerve endings to spy into, he could only assume and hope. Dhaunmyr felt a lot of things were based on hope, and honestly he hoped she’d be alright, more than anything in that moment, more than keeping away from his family, or his ex-‘wife’.
Suppose you could call her a wife, it would make the most sense to the people of Waterdeep. Marriage is less of a thing when it’s socially acceptable to go through a man a week.
“Are you warm enough? There’s not much else I can give you, but I will give you my shirt if you need it.” It didn’t feel proper to him, but there were many things more important in this situation than what was proper. Nothing at all here was terribly proper, for starters, he hadn’t really even said hello, and here he was, touching her - carrying her no less. It’s funny how easily all that malarkey can be dropped in an emergency. Speaking of emergencies, he felt like a guard should have taken her somewhere, like, the state of her. The... the... imagine seeing such a lady in trouble and not even giving her half an escort to her destination. What a world we live in.
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 31, 2019 19:18:15 GMT
Kara’s whole body tensed when the drow lifted her. It was agony – another fresh spurt of blood darkened her shoulder and her leg – but she couldn’t help it. Muscles stood out hard against the skin on her arms, triceps and biceps both defined, and the hard muscle of her forearm as well, corded and taut to mid-arm. Her legs were just as defined, muscles bulging against the thin fabric of her leggings. Her jaw clenched, tightly. It was a long few moments before, with conscious effort, she relaxed herself, slowly. She didn’t exactly soften, but she wasn’t so taut, and she seemed to sort of sink into his arms. She hadn’t shoved him this time, at least.
“The glaive – wait – “ Kara twisted, hard enough that she saw stars – her ribs this time – and struggled, trying to reach back towards the weapon lying on the cobblestones. “Please,” she added, voice cracking. She would carry it if she had to – she would find a way – but she couldn’t leave it behind. The rest of her things she didn’t care about; if the quarterstaff back in her room was stolen Kara wouldn’t bat an eye. The glaive she had carried with her for years; it was perhaps the oldest friend she had left.
Kara was calmer once she knew they had the weapon as well. Every step of the drow’s was agony, but considerably less agonizing than it had been to walk by herself, if what she had been doing could be called walking. The flares of pain settled into a slow, manageable rhythm, and Kara found she could breathe through them. Over time they seemed to soften and melt away; she didn’t know if it was that her injuries were healing, or that her body could only take so much. She had been there, on the edge of as much pain as she could stand, more than once.
Kara was, in fact, warm. She didn’t respond to the drow’s question, mostly because while she wasn’t quite asleep, she couldn’t exactly be said to be awake either. Her eyelids were closed, eyes flickering behind them. Mercifully, there were no memories this time, no half-remembered comparisons, just an overwhelming darkness with faint, soft flickers of sound and pain reminding her that, yes, she was still alive.
It would be a long walk indeed to the Dock Ward, not quite an hour. The Bird’s Nest was a squalid, dirty place, that somehow managed to give the impression of being low to the ground despite having several floors. It was evidently named for the pigeons' nesting on the rooftop and most of what might once have been windowsills, and looked to either have been painted white or naturally acquired that color. The smell suggested a more natural method, but it was hard to be sure, with the reek of garbage, human filth and stale ale rising from the street. Its one – perhaps – redeeming feature was that, unlike many of the other inns nearby, it didn’t also have a tavern inside, meaning it was (relatively) quiet; there were only a few people having shouting arguments on one of the upper floors.
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Post by enchilada on Mar 31, 2019 21:42:13 GMT
He was more than patient in retrieving the glaive. He understood perfectly how one could long for an object of familiar comfort, and simply he helped as best he could. Walking with it longways may have been irritating during the daytime, but they were rather alone, so if anyone had to avoid being hit or whatever, that was far more down to them than down to him. It was really the only way to carry it safely, well, safely for the two of them.
That said, there really was nearly nobody to bother the two of them, and he was much happier with that. He didn’t enjoy walking around in secluded areas. There were no times when nobody walked the streets of the Underdark. Someone was always up, moving around. Having shifts of meditation in place of some agreed-upon false nighttime was far easier. Every high priestess would try to change the time, it would be an utter mess. So, this kind of desolation unnerved him. He was extremely grateful that not only he could help this poor lady, but that he didn’t have to be alone while he spent unfortunate wasted hours in a vague daze.
Dhaunmyr was slightly disgusted by the place - that is to say that he was very disgusted by it. Nonetheless, here he was. He felt a little bad that her recovery would be here, perhaps if he had entirely known the exact kind of establishment he wouldn’t have taken her here at all. But it was all too far to be walking back with her now. The noise was an unusually unsettling one. He had longed for closer sentient beings, and here they were, but they made the atmosphere all the worse. Dhaunmyr leaned on the door with his back, hoping to simply swing in. Hopefully she had a relatively close room. His arms were a little tired, but it was more from the position than anything else, he could happily carry her weight for a whole day, not that he particularly wanted to.
“My dear,” he leaned in, to get her attention with noise rather than movement. He didn’t want to hurt her. “My dear, where is your room?” He kept it simple. He couldn’t imagine a single thing going through her head, plus all the pain and torment on her body right now, it had to be horrific, especially amplified by the sleeping mind’s eye. That said, she would surely remember him as incredibly handsome, kindhearted and generous, but, perhaps not particularly modest- Dhaunmyr what are those thoughts-
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 4:30:47 GMT
The door swung open.
The Bird’s Nest had a guard, sitting on a chair outside the entrance to a passage, and a table that might have been called a desk at the best of times, currently covered in yellowed papers with no one behind it. The guard might have been a bigger problem if he hadn’t been snoring loudly, slumped over in a way that looked like it would give him a very bad neck the next day, a half-full bottle dangling from his hand. At the sound of Dhaunmyr’s footsteps, he’d snort, jerk awake, sit up, looking through Dhaunmyr and Kara rather than at them, drain a heavy slug of liquor from the bottle, and promptly begin to snore again.
Behind him was a narrow passage with doors dotting it, with a narrow, twisting stair jutting out at the top. The doors were close together, suggesting too many rooms crammed on top of one another. It looked like they had at one point been white but had yellowed and peeled over time, giving the whole hallway rather the odd impression of being a mouth, but the mouth of someone with bad hygiene and too few teeth.
Kara’s eyes were open again. “Up the stairs,” she said, tiredly. “Then – second on the right.” Her eyes flickered shut again for a brief moment, and she seemed to rest even more against Dhaunmyr, as if the effort of speaking had nearly sapped the last of her strength.
The stairway was at the end of the hall, twisting its way up to what could generously be called a second floor; some of the steps looked to have been replaced with mismatched planks. One or two hadn’t, and were just broken boards jutting into the air. The whole thing was narrow and claustrophobic, even when one wasn't carrying a small human and a larger glaive.
The second door on the right came soon enough. It was locked, at least, a heavy padlock on the door that did not look like it belonged to the inn – too little rust. Kara shifted in Dhaunmyr’s arms when they reached it, one hand lifting slowly to her neck. She tugged at a black cord mostly invisible against the tunic, breathing a little hard, slowly pulling at it, until a heavy key emerged out of the neckline of her shirt, the cord tied through the handle.
The room inside was about as miserable as could be expected. It looked like someone had swept it recently, or at least, there was a rather conspicuous absence of dust. A heavy traveler's pack, with a quarterstaff and four javelins resting beside it, sat in one corner of the room. The miserable lumpy bed was neatly made, the mismatched, ratty sheets folded over it with military precision; it had been pushed against the wall to make more space for the bedroll spread out on the floor. Just being in the room would probably be enough to make Dhaunmyr itchy, but the bedroll itself looked surprisingly clean, and honestly more comfortable than the bed.
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Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 8:21:19 GMT
Dhaunmyr winced at the guard, he sighed at the stairs and he was surprised by the lock. Although in this area, he didn’t really fault it. The whole place made him feel sick, it was almost comparable to the slave pens, although he kept those in good condition, and by that he meant that he asked the slaves nicely to clean up before they slept and he gave them decent cleaning materials to do it with. Not that he was supposed to do that, of course. Dhaunmyr was just too kind. Or perhaps he was sick of the smell of sweat and dirt and hard, unpaid labour when he was trying to study somewhere quiet. He doubted his matron would approve of his sitting in there, but it was really the only place he could be unbothered. Plus, everyone was usually relaxing when he was teaching himself, so it wasn’t like he was avoiding anyone. It was exactly like he was avoiding everyone, but he just didn’t think it entirely looked that way.
He slowly moved her down to the bedroll. If it was wrong then, she could tell him, he’d move her. He didn’t want to put some deep mental work into this because he needed to meditate pretty soon. He was ready to follow in the woman’s footsteps, heading off to bed. But he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to go away. In fact, he was pretty willing to mess up this week’s books just to make sure she was okay. Dhaunmyr considered leaving, and just staying up and keeping a watch on the door, until she came out of them, he could stay in here but it wasn’t entirely to his... taste. It would probably also be pretty creepy. He could write for a while, and probably push some numbers around, but after a while he’d have nothing to do except watch her sleep. Nasty.
Either way, she could keep the coat. He wasn’t keen on bloody silk, and it was far more her colour. Even if it went really well with his skirt. Shame. He looked around in more depth with his improved vision in greys. Rooms, regardless of the interior, were far more comforting to him than the night. Walls, even floor, and a roof. Oh he loved having a roof. It was just so much safer than the alternative, which was not having a roof. For that reason he wanted a shop, so he could do his job and feel safer. And never get wet. Rain was the worst.
”Do you want me to stay?”
He didn’t expect a response.
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Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 9:18:45 GMT
Kara let out a little sigh when Dhaunmyr set her down on the bedroll, an oddly contented sort of sound, all things considered. Her whole body relaxed against the familiar cloth, and her already shut eyes seemed to flicker further closed. She’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel of consciousness as it was, and the slight comfort of the bedroll left her firmly empty.
There would be no response, exactly as Dhaunmyr had expected; by the deep, rhythmic breathing, Kara was already asleep. She shifted on the bedroll, once, then settled into stillness on her back, where there wasn’t any pressure on her damaged shoulder or leg.
Kara wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, nor was she aware of whether she’d dreamt. The fight with Horund was clear; she remembered looking down on him lying unconscious in the dirt. Where things got fuzzier was trying to remember how she’d gotten from the North Gate back to her room at the Bird’s Nest. She had a vague memory of collapsing against the cobblestones and – had she been carried through the streets of Waterdeep by a drow? That was ridiculous, but she couldn’t be sure. Instead of her usual blanket, she seemed to be covered with a bloodied silk-lined coat, one of the most ridiculous garments she’d ever seen.
Kara sat up from her bedroll, squeezing her eyes shut. Everything – really everything – hurt. She put the question of how she’d gotten to the inn aside. Her whole body seemed to ache. Her leg was the worst, throbbing viciously, but sitting she couldn’t test it well. There was no point in further examination until she at least knew whether it would hold her weight. A quick, probing examination of her ribs with her fingers confirmed the damage there, as if she hadn’t been sure; she remembered the mace striking them all too well. The lack of sharp pain when she pushed suggested cracked at worst, not broken. Promising. She’d need to bind them. Cautiously, she tested her range of motion with her left arm, stretching it out and pulling it back in. It moved, her fingers too, and the pain wasn’t more than a nuisance. Good. Nothing broken then, just a nasty bruise that colored the entirety of her shoulder black and purple.
From the light filtering in through her shutters and the musty taste in her mouth, she’d slept a while. Kara heaved herself to her feet, grunting through gritted teeth with the pain. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if her leg would hold; there was a deep, throbbing pain there that only seemed to worsen. She had nothing to hold on to, so she could only stand, waiting, to see if it gave out.
There was a faint noise from the corner of the room. Kara looked over and – there was a drow. Sitting in the corner of her room. How she’d missed him before Kara had no idea, other than that she’d been so entirely focused on trying to figure out if her body still worked – the corner was shadowed – it was the last thing she’d possibly have expected. Years of combat training utterly deserted her and she stood, frozen and stunned.
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