|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 9:34:24 GMT
“Good- good you’re okay.” As soon as he heard movement, his ears twitched and he was on his feet, readjusting his clothes that he had made slightly comfier to relax in. In honesty, it didn’t make too great a difference. A borrowed skirt was going to stay slightly loose around the waist and hips, so he had taken pins out the back from the previous morning, now they had to go back in. It was such a pain having a nicer waist than his friends, but a part of him felt it had something to do with the ribs that poked out a little too much for comfort just above. He also had to tuck his shirt back in. That actually was his, it was far too straight of a cut. He feared if faerveren decided to peruse his clothes in return, he’d get a few shirts back with a chopped up neckline. He liked the neckline in this shirt! Just enough off the shoulder and- right. The woman.
He pushed his hair back off his face, a really rather rare occurrence, but he got the feeling she didn’t care too much about his slight imperfection in his otherwise godly good-looking face. “My dear, I had the, perhaps, fortune, of being out when you arrived through the gates. You fell, I simply carried you the rest of the way here. I know not what happened to you, and I was simply far too worried to vanish into the night before learning of your recovery. In such a large city, god knows if I’d ever find you.” Dhaunmyr spoke firmly, each word selected carefully and slowly, placed into the sentence with a click in his mind. His hands swept up and around him, his face and shaking arms a picture of slowly draining worry.
Dhaunmyr stared holes in the floor, scared of what would happen next. She was pretty strong, but she seemed creaky jointed and weak still. That said, he was a stick. A stick with arms, maybe, but they were far more used to archery, not defence. He should have left, he knew that, but how the hell could he do that?
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 9:47:52 GMT
Kara just – stared.
There was a drow, standing in the corner of her room. He was wearing what looked like a skirt, with a very odd-looking shirt tucked into it – why was his shoulder visible. He was, like many of his kind, flawlessly beautiful, at least to Kara’s eyes, although a little scrawny. He wore more money than she’d ever held at any point in her life, if the gems flashing on his fingers were real.
Kara blinked.
The drow was explaining how she’d collapsed and he’d carried her back to the inn. The memories came half-back as he spoke; Kara remembered staggering between the pools of light, remembered the feeling of her glaive slipping on the stones, of crashing to the ground, of pain – and – of a surprisingly strong pair of arms carrying her, a rhythmic step that had soothed her half to sleep long before they’d reached the inn.
Kara took a deep breath, slowly, thawing somewhat. She remembered. They were here at her inn because she’d told him where to find it – he was here in her room because he’d carried her and the glaive up the stairs and set her down on the bedroll. She took another deep breath.
“Thank you,” Kara said, finally. Her voice was hoarse and cracking.
Her leg still hadn’t given out. Kara turned, slowly, and limped across the small room to her pack, taking it one slow step at a time until she was sure her leg would continue to hold. She fumbled the pack open and grabbed the waterskin sitting at the top. It was more than half-empty, but she tilted her head back and drank greedily, not minding that the water splashed across her (dirty) face. It was cool and a little musty, but unbelievably refreshing. She gasped for breath, well-aware of the pain in her ribs, but it was only a gentle reminder, nothing sharp or worrying. Slowly, she lowered the mostly empty waterskin, looking back at the drow. Her head felt a little clearer now, and she rubbed at her slightly damp face with one dried-blood coated hand, managing to both smear the dirt on her face and add more blood to it.
“You – stayed?” Kara glanced at the window, at the sunlight filtering through, then back at the drow. “All night?”
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 10:11:25 GMT
He nodded, rubbing his thumb in circles around his scarred-up palm. “All night.” His eyes flicked over to her again, and he was glad for her being much recovered. He refused, however, to move an inch. This was his way of being as unprovocative as possible. Even if she had softened slightly, in his experience, women could be extremely changeable. One minute you were tenderly holding each other on a low couch, next the throw pillow was on the floor and she was dragging you to the door by your ear. Such simple things were all too easily the cause of violence these days and we weren’t about to have another one of those moments. Or maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have one normal woman around here.
“Is that alright?” He covered his mouth, muffling his gasp. What if that meant she was angry? Oh goddess, it had been months since he’d had to try to deal with that kind of situation. He flattened out the skirt at the front, pushing his hands down it and when he reached the bottom, adjusting and tightening his laces. “I just felt that if something happened that, as far as I know, I’m the only one who could really... get help. I’m sorry I’m not some kind of medical genius, and I could never be a miracle user, but uh. I did what I could.”
He seemed apologetic, simply for bringing her to her room. He was sorry that he wasn’t good enough. The tiptoeing and worthlessness was all too familiar to him. His hands were still shaky as he held them still and stood poker straight before her.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 10:23:22 GMT
Kara paused, setting the waterskin down. He looked – she wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong with him. Was he afraid of her? Kara glanced down at herself. Her tunic was black, so she didn’t think the bloodstains were visible. Her shoulder was an enormous black and blue mess, with red streaks where the mace had torn through her skin; her right leg was just as bad, although mostly covered by the half-shredded leggings sticking to the blood. That was going to hurt to remove.
He had six inches and easily twenty pounds on her, and she looked like she’d been put through a meat grinder. Why was he afraid?
“It’s – fine,” Kara said, slowly, looking at the drow in her corner. “I understand.” She paused. She’d already thanked him, but… it couldn’t hurt, could it? “Thank you,” she repeated. She meant it too; if he hadn’t interrupted her, Kara knew there was still a decent chance she’d have passed out on the street. Then her best outcome would’ve been waking up in a guard cell, probably a drunk tank, and at worse waking up still on the street, probably when a horse stepped on her. If she’d woken up at all. She wasn’t sure she was thrilled that he’d sat – watching her? – in the corner all night, but she understood that he hadn’t felt he could leave her.
“I’ll be fine,” Kara added a moment later, trying to be encouraging.
Honestly, this was a little more than she could deal with at the moment. Most pressing in her mind was the urgent needto get a good look at her leg; the throbbing was a bit deeper than before, and there was a painful heat to the ache that was not encouraging. At least she could walk; that counted for a lot. After a moment, she limped to the bed and sat. She couldn’t waste any more time trying to guess how bad it was. She didn’t have much time to spare for modesty at the moment either; deciding if she risked gangrene by not going to a healer was more important.
Kara gripped the fabric of the leggings in her hands and yanked them along her legs. The world went red hot around her, and her vision blacked out for a moment. She gasped, doubling forward, the pain like a blow – but the fabric had pulled clear of the wounds on her right leg, leaving just a few strands behind.
Slowly, hands shaking, Kara straightened back up, looking down at her right thigh. It was swollen, black and blue and purple mixed together, much worse than her shoulder, with angry red gashes where the mace had torn her skin. Carefully, very carefully, she pressed her fingers against the skin between two of the worst gashes. Pain – red hot, shooting pain – and a good bit of heat radiating from the wounds, but no pus. Kara exhaled in slow relief. She needed a healer, yes, but she didn’t think she was in immediate danger.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 10:44:01 GMT
Dhaunmyr smiled, finding himself bowing just slightly. “You are very welcome, my lady.” It was a jerky movement, like he wasn’t sure if he was wanting to do it or not. He stopped, started, drew back, stopped and followed through, eventually. “I can go now, if you like, or I could get you to a healer, perhaps even fetch one here if you prefer.” The dark elf articulated, finding just enough confidence to bring himself out of the corner. He stood as perfectly straight as he could, arms locked down by his sides unless he particularly needed to gesture, which was more frequently now he was a little nervous. Each movement was either symmetrical or quickly echoed by the other hand after a second’s delay.
Watching what she was about to do, he turned around, spinning on his heel, supporting his head with his hand as though he had a headache. He was so confused by the way some people around here lived their lives. If nothing else, she could have given him some warning. The discolouration was disgusting, not that it was particularly her fault, but it still made the business Dhaunmyr feel sick. In another mindset he might get upset, reminded of the pools of blood that dripped down and around the entrances to the temples littered around the Underdark, or even just feel completely jaded by it. Violence, and therefore injury, were extremely common. You would often see the skinned body of a poor man desired by two women, floating down the river. Slaves were routinely sacrificed, beaten, killed. Whole houses were wiped out for internal politics. It was just a fact of life.
“Wow, we’ve only been for one romantic walk, going a little fast, aren’t we?” Nausea punctuated his sentence, but it was clear he was trying to make a joke as he spoke with a slightly cracking voice. He let himself chuckle, hoping it would clear some of the feeling from his head and stomach. It did, but only a little. Speaking of- he wanted to get her a proper hot breakfast if at all possible. That and another day of rest would help her along, surely. He only knew these kinds of remedies, kitchen medicine. He had made a lot of hot whiskey, honeyed citrus type drinks for his sisters. When he got sick he just got some fresh air, but he supposed the air wasn’t as fresh as he thought initially. As a child, he didn’t believe in the sky. Or anyone living above the roof.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 11:12:07 GMT
It didn’t occur to Kara until she looked up and saw that the drow was hiding his face in his hand and facing the corner that she’d been rude. She hadn’t thought of it that was, as taking her pants off; rather, there had been cloth stuck to her wound, and she’d needed to remove it in order to make an assessment.
“Sorry,” Kara said, slowly, in response to the drow’s joke. She glanced down at her legs, pushing the ruined leggings the rest of the way off, then slowly reached to tug the tunic down to a more modest level. It had been cut down for her, but still reached below mid-thigh, long enough to hide much of the injury as well. She still felt a little clammy from the sudden shock of pain, but it was receding, leaving behind a dry mouth. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Kara took a deep breath. He’d offered a healer. A good idea; Kara didn’t like to think about the steady lightening of her coin purse, but as long as she had funds she would spend them over risking an infection in her leg. One coming to the room would be more expensive, Kara suspected. Better to go out.
“You don’t need to stay,” Kara said, finally. She couldn’t impose on the drow any more than she already had. Honestly, she wasn’t entirely sure why he was still there. She’d survived the night – she was up and about – she’d told him she would be fine. “I can make it to a healer.” She paused, wishing she’d made the statement a little stronger, but also suspecting that anything more optimistic about her capabilities would have been too obvious a lie.
Slowly, Kara leaned forward, resting her weight on her leg again with visible care, and pushed herself back to her feet. The tunic dropped a little lower; she wouldn’t usually have done it, but she could wear it without leggings if need be. She didn’t even wobble this time when she rested her weight on her right leg, a clear improvement.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 13:03:10 GMT
He checked round quickly, and, noticing that she was decent, he nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s not a problem, don’t worry, my lady.” The dark elf pondered, turning around just halfway. “We all do make quick decisions.” He sure made one when he dropped the supplies he was supposed to sell and made a run for it. And then got lost. And then did a lot of wandering. But Dhaunmyr was pretty fine now! He was relatively settled. He was glad only Faerveren and Brennip were around to witness his shaking babbling, where he’d scream if anyone touched him at all. He rubbed his thumb over his palm again. He was also glad for the bandages.
“I’d like to make sure you get there.” Dhaunmyr said, politely and not wanting to sound too pushy, although he was ready to start to be pretty pushy if she said no. He’d already invested quite a lot of emotional energy into this, more than she knew. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel after she was gone, which freaked him out a little. Defensively, he folded his arms, and got ready to leave, either on his own or accompanying the woman. Thinking on it-
“Oh, and uh- I’m Dhaunmyr Ale- Vaaaavavivacity. Dhaunmyr Vivacity.” He shook his head as he stumbled over the words. She reminded him too much of just... a normal person. So far, at least. And to those kinds of people he certainly wasn’t a Mr. Vivacity. He was a boy, a merchant’s son. He kept quiet unless spoken to, so as a bare minimum he could congratulate himself on fighting through the instinct to keep almost completely silent. It would have been pretty awkward and much more creepy for a completely silent elf to rise from his trance in a stranger’s room, only to stare at them blankly. “I’m a wandering salesman, I carry only jewellery and the occasional painting or objet d’art, but, these are my passions,” he chuckled with a smile, “As such it’s completely within my power to cover any costs, if need be. Not that I suggest you couldn’t, just that it might be appreciated by your coin purse to stay fuller.”
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 13:49:18 GMT
“Dhaunmyr Vivacity,” Kara repeated, slowly. She ignored the struggle he’d initially had repeating his own name; what business was it of hers if he’d changed it? None. She hadn’t – she never would – but she knew more than a few guards who’d done so, and of course, among mercenaries it was – very common.
“I am Kara Bellringer,” Kara said. Dhaunmyr – as she now knew he was called – continued, explaining that he was a wandering salesman. Kara’s eyes dropped to the jewels he was wearing; now she understood. He was his own advertisement. It made sense; not so different from warriors in that way. She carried her glaive, he his jewels.
He offered to cover the costs of her healing. Kara lifted her gaze back up to his, pride warring with pragmatism. She had no job, and she didn’t know when she would find another. Almost all of the money she’d had saved had gone to boots; the little she had left would not be enough to keep her under a roof and fed for long, and she didn’t know how hard it would be to find work in Waterdeep. In Everlund she had had the reputation of the Stone Shields to go off. Here, she didn’t know if they were at all known. She would rather starve than trade on the reputation of the Freewolves; if that meant she had no reputation at all, then so be it.
Kara bowed her head, slowly. There were some battles it was safer not to fight. “Thank you,” the words stuck in her throat a little, but she forced them out. “I would be – grateful.” Kara wasn’t sure she’d thanked anyone so many times in a row since her trainee days. It was true; she owed Dhaunmyr a debt already, and he was only digging her in deeper with every kindness. If he came calling, then so be it; there was no debt so great Kara would sacrifice her principles for it, but short of that she would be glad to do as he asked.
“I will find a way to repay you,” Kara added, perhaps the longest sentence she’d said in Dhaunmyr’s presence yet, just edging out her statement that she would be able to find a healer if left to her own devices.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 16:32:03 GMT
“Aah, I see. A befitting name, sweet but to the point.” He bit his tongue around the word short - maybe too soon for such a ribbing. “Maybe you’re more eloquent when you’re not in such dire need of a healer- come, come. We’ll find someone.” Dhaunmyr hadn’t needed medical attention here in Waterdeep, not yet at least, so he wasn’t exactly sure where to look. If Kara didn’t know either, well, there would surely be someone to ask.
Dhaunmyr laughed, a kind of dignified, but still heavily amused laugh. Repay? First of all - giving a drow a favour you must return was like telling a fey your name, generally not the best idea. Oh how wonderful that it was not a drow but a dark elf, and that elf was in fact Dhaunmyr! As he laughed, his mouth was quickly hidden by the back of his hand, showing off the rather odd textures of scars and other such skin defects specifically on the palm and inside of his fingers. They seemed well healed. Otherwise, he seemed perfect, not a scratch on him, so either he wasn’t much of a fighter, or he excelled at not getting hit. Of course the truth there was that he usually hurt himself the most with a little string slap, if he wasn’t careful.
“Oh my dear Kara, I already have decided what you can do for me. Join me for breakfast after you get patched up, yes? Or perhaps it will be more like brunch by then, oh, well. Either way, still on me.” Dhaunmyr said with a slight chime to his voice, a happier tone than even he thought capable some days. She probably guessed by now that his tastes were expensive, and he didn’t particularly want to alter them this morning, however, it didn’t really matter where they went to her, if he was paying, he supposed.
“And this really will repay me in full, for everything, you see, I know only two people in the full fashion, and they can get quiet, or repetitive, and quite honestly they seem best suited to company with each other alone. Sans Dhaunmyr, a travesty really — for them, of course, not me!”
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 17:09:07 GMT
This was, Kara thought, the same tone she’d first heard the night before. She’d thought him a butterfly in her half-dead haze, and it was that flapping of words like wings that had given rise to the feeling. Perhaps moth would have been appropriate, but – she couldn’t bring herself to think it. He was colorful; that was clear.
Kara felt vaguely tricked by Dhaunmyr’s demand – perhaps he thought he was letting her off easily, just demanding a meal, but she felt a vague, unsettling weight from it. She was well aware that she was not, really, more eloquent when not in need of a healer, and she thought it likely she would disappoint him as a companion; either he would find fun only at her expense, or, like so many of those she came across, something she said or did – she never seemed to know what – would make him afraid or uncomfortable.
“… All right,” Kara agreed. She couldn’t back out now; she was aware, uncomfortably so, that he could have demanded something much worse.
“I’ll just – “ Kara slowly, slowly limped to her bag and picked up the waterskin, hoping that was sufficient suggestion about what she intended. She glanced at Dhaunmyr, not sure if he’d understood, and fetched out a comb, a cake of soap, and her spare clothing as well; she had one more pair of leggings, another shirt and another tunic, this one deep blue. The leggings she’d worn the night before were likely past repair. The tunic was her black one, at least, so once she rinsed the blood out it would be fine; the shirt too, she thought.
Hoping he’d get the gist of it, Kara limped past Dhaunmyr to the door, figuring he would probably want to wait in the room for her. She brought the glaive too; it needed cleaning as much as she did.
The walk down the pump at the back of the inn was long, slow and painful; Kara honestly didn’t quite remember how she’d made it down the stairs, just flashes of pain and heat behind her eyes and a feeling like if she stopped for even a second she’d be unable to keep going. The first thing she did was to fill the waterskin and drink it down until her ribs ached and she was gasping for breath. The water was cold, but there was a little tank you could pump it up to in order to make a sluice, and Kara did so an extravagant three times, standing beneath the jutting stream with closed eyes, the frigid water streaming the dirt and blood off her. It hurt nearly as much as it felt good. She didn’t really wash the tunic and shirt, but she at least rinsed them until the water ran clear instead of reddish-brown and left them to dry. The blade she rinsed and wiped clean. As long as she didn't stop moving, it wasn't too bad.
Kara returned to the room dressed in the shirt and the blue tunic, the leggings draped over her arm; she thought it would only soil them to put them on over the injury on her leg. Now that she was clean, Dhaunmyr would be able to see her scars better than before; her hands, arms and legs were well-marked, suggesting this wasn't her first brush with post-combat. Her wrists and ankles had thin chafed scars around them, potentially recognizable by Dhaunmyr, given his experience, as something often caused by being cuffed for a long time. Her hair was combed, at least on the side where it was long enough for combing, and still wet, loose over her shoulder; braiding had proved too painful. She was limping, if anything, more than before, but – well – up the stairs was easier than down.
Kara deposited the full waterskin next to her bag, carefully tucked the things she needed into her tunic, transferring the stone shields badge from the heart pocket of her black tunic to her blue one, and arranging her coin purse and various other necessities where they needed to be. Her last chore, one which she couldn't put off any longer, was a careful oiling the blade of the glaive; she didn’t want to wait even a few more hours, as leaving the blood on it the night before might already have left the steel in danger of rust. With the ease of long practice, she worked a palmful of oil into the metal, then placed a cloth over it and tied the leather thong back over the top. That would need more careful cleaning – later. The very last step was to put her makeshift halter on her back, and strap the glaive to it. Her shoulder protested so vigorously that for a moment Kara thought she would black out, but she gritted her teeth through the pain and finished it. She wouldn't leave the glaive behind, not in this inn.
Finally ready, she turned to Dhaunmyr, and nodded, once, hoping that would be sufficient indication that she was ready to go.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 1, 2019 19:20:15 GMT
In her absence, Dhaunmyr elected to scribble notes within his diary. Of course is scrawl was far more readable than most people’s would have been. Kara Bellringer, friendly enough, seems to have a decent sense of humour - oh, her face, right. Rather than fill his book with praise of the features granted to a woman, Dhaunmyr produced a small, rough sketch from memory. He wasn’t an artist, but he had also been with her for several hours straight with no other thing to distract him but her appearance. Her muscles were admirable — she was admirable. And while he was easily distracted like this by most ladies who gave him the time of day, inflated his ego beyond measure and generally weren’t huge misandrists, he was comforted immensely by her acceptance of help by him when she was so vulnerable. Now he was assured she meant him no harm at all, Dhaunmyr was able to think far more clearly and far more pleasantly, although he’d think even more pleasantly after a few glasses of a nice sweet white wine, or perhaps even something a little more fruity. It was now, of course, a day off, so it was his to do with as he pleased. Being his own boss was rather a problematic situation when it came to actually doing work.
By the time he was done collecting thoughts, musings and quick notes from all he had gathered so far, Kara had just about reached the door. His verbose nature was perhaps not a virtue for speed. He snapped the book shut and stowed the thing in his pocket, graphite and all. A quick look up at her solidified his thinking - a warrior type, looks after herself well. Pretty.
He stood up, and glided gracefully to the door, allowing her to pass before him, pointing with his arm through it. “Ladies first, I’m afraid.” He said with a wink, happy to close the opening behind him, but left her space to see to the padlock on it. He stretched up, finally free to move around fully, rather than standing like a soldier before an officer or hunched up in the corner, scrawling away.
“So, Kara, as I’m sure this question will soon be posed to me, and I fully understand as the answer ought not to be assumed for fear of offense on my part, or even safety in choosing to believe that I am not like all the other dark elves, but perhaps it is already, as it is a rather grim truth, make of that what you will, should I be from my old homeland or overseas... where are you from?” He kept light and airy, a jovial tone in the rather dismal hallway.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 1, 2019 19:33:50 GMT
Kara didn’t respond with word or gesture to Dhaunmyr’s ladies first; she didn’t fight it either, just walked out the door past him and waited, glaive on her back and leggings wrapped in a tight knot around her halter. Once he was out of the door, she snapped the padlock shut and locked it with the key from around her neck, before tucking it back into her tunic, safely out of sight; the tunic was blue, but her undershirt was still black, and hid the cord well.
Kara stopped at the top of the steps, staring down them, Dhaunmyr’s voice echoing from behind her. The world swirled slowly at the edges at the thought of descending, and she rocked slightly, needing to rest against the wall for a moment before she could face them.
“Sundabar.” It took Kara a few moments to tease out what Dhaunmyr was actually asking. Once she did, she answered the question without thinking; given more time, given more space left over for anything but pain, she might have said Everlund. She should have said Everlund. There was no reason, now that she was in Waterdeep, to admit to being from Sundabar; no reason to let everyone know what she had gone through.
Kara’s face was pale but for a growing red flush in her cheeks, but she went ahead, making her way down the first step, then the second, then the third. She did her best to rest her weight against the wall. Even so, every step jarred her leg excruciatingly. She kept her breath held, refusing to hiss or gasp and especially refusing to whimper. Pain was only temporary; it was her body letting her know that she needed healing. She accepted the message over again and over again, the world hazy at the edges.
Then she came to the first of the missing boards. Kara stared down at it. This was where she’d nearly blacked out last time. She stopped, and that was her mistake; abruptly she didn’t think she could actually manage to step over it again, let alone the next one. She swallowed, hard. Two options. Either she had to ask Dhaunmyr for help, or sit down and slide her legs over the missing board, and stand up again below.
Sitting it was.
Carefully, carefully, Kara eased herself down into a sitting position, slowly stretching her legs over the missing board.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 2, 2019 8:47:08 GMT
Dhaunmyr nodded, not too sure he knew where that was, but he’d find out later at one stage or another. If not by direct choice, then by overhearing something, or perhaps a direct conversation. Being a merchant gave one an odd place in society, people talked to you, an awful lot in some cases, about things they never really considered weren’t falling on ears that wouldn’t transfer the information to the brain of an actual, living, breathing elf. Funny how that worked out. It wasn’t too great of a problem, in fact it was of benefit to him. He knew many things he figured that he shouldn’t really, lots of snippets. Juicy gossip was easily to spin into much larger tales.
His concern only grew as she moved down the stairs. He wished he had gone first to catch her as she went, but instead he held his arms out, not quite around her, ready to grab her if she fell, stumbled, tripped. In his mild panic, he forgot entirely about the missing steps. He was resolved then to carry her, but she seemed to have it handled. Sort of. He kept low, still ready to grab her if things went badly. It would be all his fault for allowing it, and then how could he survive? Such a weight to hang around his neck.
“Hey, hey, I can do this for you.” He spoke quietly and softly, not trying to be too firm in his offer. “As long as it is not too offensive to you my lady, of course, I ought not to underestimate you, however, it would simply make me, personally, feel better about the situation, if I were to know entirely in my heart of your complete safety, perhaps my worry should steady.”
Dhaunmyr’s worry showed in his again (slightly) shaking hands. He was more scared of the blame — if she got worse, if she got more hurt, surely it was his fault. Stairs were pretty dangerous, slopes in caverns were more of his preference. By now, his investment in Kara was beyond accepting her becoming any more bruised, and in her weakened state, it could be worse than that if she fell. She had a hold on it, but, things happened, things always happened.
|
|
|
Post by moralhazard on Apr 2, 2019 9:17:04 GMT
Take care of it. Kara paused, perched on the stair above the missing board, looking to the side. She couldn’t see Dhaunmyr fully, but she could see his hands – shaking?
She was shaking too, Kara realized. She couldn’t stay here. It was more the pain than the effort; she could hold herself up well enough even with only one good arm, but it hurt. Slowly she began to move again. Her left foot slid onto the step below the missing board, and she took a deep breath. Her right arm pushed against the wall, and she levered herself up to her feet. There was no momentum to the movement; it was pure strength, the muscles in her arm and left leg visibly taut throughout the single, smooth push. That meant she didn’t overbalance, didn’t tip, and could easily set her right foot down on the step below.
“I’ve got it,” Kara said. She did her best to sound encouraging; she didn’t understand why Dhaunmyr’s hands were shaking, or why he sounded so – so – fluttery. She’d surrendered last night because she had no other option, but to let him carry her down the stairs, with any other choice left open to her, was more than she could bear.
Another step, another – around the first of the turns in the stair. Her color was still drained, but for the two spots high on her cheeks. Another step. The second missing board. The trick was easier this time; Kara sat, reached, and stood again, faster this time, another smooth controlled motion; she even managed to angle herself so the hilt of the glaive sailed smoothly through the space where the boards stuck out, not catching on anything.
A few more steps and they were at the bottom of the steps. Kara rested against the wall for a moment, taking a deep breath. She accepted the pain, she told herself. It was a guide, telling her – not to take anymore stairs. The little bit of humor cheered her up, however faintly, and she pushed off the wall, making her way down the narrow, depressing hallway of the Bird’s Nest.
A healer. Kara hesitated. She’d been in Waterdeep two days, so she didn’t yet know a good one. She didn’t want to travel far outside of the Dock Ward; she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. But then – she did know a healer. Caim had said to call on him if she needed anything when they'd met two days ago. Kara hadn't expected it, but now she meant to take him at his word.
“I know a healer,” Kara announced, unprompted. If Dhaunmyr had another suggestion she would likely take it, but - then - Caim had healed her eye seemingly without effort, and he was at least less of a stranger than an unrecommended healer would be.
|
|
|
Post by enchilada on Apr 2, 2019 11:35:35 GMT
He recovered quickly once Kara was safely down the stairs, he was far more reassured and everything was going to be okay. They needed to get to a healer now, and quickly. Dhaunmyr wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to get to one in a decent amount of time, but he was certain that he could get the information out of someone. Somewhere.
Dhaunmyr sighed in relief hearing that she knew someone. Those words were sweet and cool, washing over him with enough assurance to leave him calm. “Let’s get to the healer then.” He replied, thankfully. He stepped over to the doors, not having to count his steps but doing so anyway, just in case. Each click sounded loudly, and his lips moved with every tick up of the number, in Elvish. He opened his eyes, as he found them closed, and pulled on the door.
Again, Dhaunmyr waited for Kara to pass him before he left himself, but he did make sure it closed behind him. He said nothing, he was more or less calm, however he shielded his eyes from the sun, the star already burning his retinas. He remembered the first time he saw it, high in the sky. It was hot, too hot, midday, too hot even in winter. He probably lost a few layers in the first days on the surface, now he thought about it. Stripping them off to cope with the white light. His skin absorbed it like nothing else, it was so... so hot.
Right now it was bearable, it had been for the last few months. He imagined going home would be too cold now. Not home, that is, the Underdark was not his home. Dhaunmyr didn’t really have a home, but a lot of people in Waterdeep felt the same way. The ones who travelled, to escape, or for better opportunities, or both, they were not necessarily at home in their new accommodation, in their new city, or even with their new friends. He realised it could take time, but then again, there were no guarantees. Not even suffering was guaranteed in Waterdeep.
“Where do you suppose they shall be?”
|
|