Gruumsh's Favour (Closed; Kara)

Kara’s nightmares weren’t quite the same as most people’s. There was no need for her mind to invent horrors; when she woke in the night, sweating and gasping and shaking, it was from memories, playing back in her mind as if she were there again, so deeply etched into her that there was almost no change from what had really happened.

That night was no different.

The nightmares had been part of why she’d had to leave Sundabar. The war had ended, and Kara had been one of those who had wanted to rebuild the city. It wasn’t as though there were many of the Stone Shields left. Her rank before the war had been low, and her rank after the war had been only slightly higher, but she had been prized as someone with proper training, and as someone able to explain how things had been. It had been good work, important work. The few survivors were deeply scarred, and coming back to anything close to how life had been before was a challenge.

But the nightmares. Kara hadn’t been able to sleep well at night; fine, she could handle that. There were stimulants, after all, and naps, and herbs for dreamless sleep. But it was as if the nightmares couldn’t stand being chased away and they had started to creep into her waking hours. One moment she was patrolling, and the next she was back in the war, fighting the initial assault, creeping around an occupied city trying to resist, or enslaved and forced to work and watch the horrors visited on them all. It hadn’t made for an effective guardsman. She had never known what set them off, had never been able to predict or control it.

So Kara had left Sundabar. There were no waking dreams in Everlund, although there were still plenty of nightmares. Those started to fade with the passing of years. When she was outside the city, she rarely had them.

Since coming to Waterdeep she had had none. Kara had thought, when she bothered to think on it at all, that she had escaped them, that she had come far enough away to be free from the memories of the war. Until last night.

---

“No!” Hana was screaming.

Hana - Hanariel Telnarryl - had served in the guard with Kara. Not served. Fought and blood and suffered. They had fought and bleed and suffered in the resistance too, and been captured together. Kara hadn’t seen her again - until today.

Kara was kneeling, chains around her wrists and ankles to keep her still. Her right eye was a swollen mess, throbbing and painful, her nose bloodied, her lip and eyebrow split. Kneeling forced her broken ribs into one big painful ache.

None of that mattered.

“No!” Kara screamed the word along with Hana. The orcs watching her and the other “dangerous” prisoners laughed, pointing at her.

Gulken Dead-Eye lumbered forward, smiling.

Hana went silent, gritting her teeth, lifting her head to face her death with honor, green eyes blazing with defiance.

“No!” Kara screamed for both of them. Tears were streaming down her filthy cheeks. She didn’t care about the pain, she didn’t care about any of it; she hurled herself against her chains, all of the power in her small, compact body fighting against them. They jerked and caught short against the metal circle jammed into the stone behind her. Kara only thrashed harder, fighting the bonds, as if somehow - somehow -

A hand caught Kara on the back of the head and smashed her into the stone balcony railing. “You watch,” an orc chuckled in her ear, glee audible in his tone. He thrust her forward, pressing her face onto the space between the bars.

And Kara watched. She watched as Gulken cupped Hana’s face in his hands and tore her eyes out. Hana did scream, then, and every second of the sound burrowed into Kara’s heart and made itself at home.

And Kara watched. The orc’s hot, smelly breath tickled her neck, and she could feel the low rumble of his laughter, cutting through her. He wouldn’t have let her look away and Kara couldn’t have anyway. Gulken dragged Hana by her hair to the pyre and roped her to it himself, lit the flames beneath her. The last thing Kara saw of Hana was her bloodied and ravaged face, before the flames locked up around her and overwhelmed her, a dark silhouette inside them for a moment before she was gone - just gone.

---

There was nothing to do in the day after such a dream but to keep moving. Kara woke with the taste of blood and bile in her mouth. She stumbled, barefoot and dazed, to the yard at the back of the inn, and emptied her stomach into the grass with tears streaming down her face, choking and gasping as every bite of last night’s dinner returns with a vengeance.

The water closet next, back inside. Kara washed out her mouth then rinsed her entire body, trying to scrub away the reek of sour fear sweat with soap and warm water. She combed her hair, but her hands were shaking too badly to braid it, and despite the stubble on the shaved part of her head having grown a little too thick, Kara didn’t dare try to shave it.

Kara didn’t eat; she wasn’t one for breakfast on the best days, and she doubted she would be able to keep anything down. She tried not to think either; it was only asking for trouble. Instead, she did what was the best thing for such dreams: she walked.

Kara kept her glaive in hand, leather tie covering the top so it wouldn’t be counted as “drawn” by Waterdhavian standards. Normally she wore it in a makeshift harness on her back, but today she needed the feel of it, the heavy wood as comforting in her hand as a friend. She left the inn without speaking to anyone and she - walked. By now she knew the Dock Wards nearly as well as if she had patrolled them, but she didn’t pay her usual attention, didn’t focus on knowing the city. Kara just walked, as if somehow moving enough might chase away the dream. Her eyes were blank and unfocused; she avoided others on the street by body memory and instinct more than conscious thought.

When she saw Gulken, at first Kara thought it was another waking dream. She froze in the middle of the sidewalk opposite the street from him, quivering like a trapped hare - until another walked bumped into her from behind. Kara spun, bringing her glaive to a ready position, then stopped, lowering the wood.

This was no dream.

Kara turned back. Gulken wasn’t hard to spot; even in Waterdeep he stood out. Kara would have known his face anywhere; it was etched deep into her heart in hatred. There was fear too; a horrible rough spurt of it shot through her, leaving Kara pale and clammy and half-frozen, still so long that Gulken nearly disappeared from sight.

No! An echo of that long ago scream tore through her and Kara began to move, her gaze fixed on the orc, tracking him down the street.

((Yes on the stealth!))

Stealth check: D7V|Fs161d20+1
Perception check: 1d20+21d20+1·1d20+2

Kara had looked into Gulken’s gaze before. She remembered that snort, remembered the way his lips curled back to reveal his disgusting teeth. She remembered the foul smell of his breath; as he looked at her, from across the street, she thought she could smell it.

For a moment Kara was back in the prison: naked, helpless, chained, dripping wet from having her head shoved into a bucket yet again and held there just long enough that her lungs burned, just long enough that she had started to think of breathing in, had started to think that even water would be better than nothing - and the orc holding her had pulled her out and she had coughed and sputtered and looked up into Gulken’s face, and he had smirked.

For a moment Kara felt everything she had felt then too, the pain and rage and shame and fear. There had been so much fear; she had thought she would die of it. Kara hadn’t been able to imagine that one could be so afraid and yet live. Her knees wobbled, but caught and held; the movement dragged her hand along the wood of the glaive.

Her glaive; never once in prison had she held her glaive. Kara fought her way back to the present, focusing on the soft smooth wood in her callused hand. Her back and face were damp with sweat but she emerged from the memory, standing on the streets of Waterdeep. The world rushed back, the noise and smells of the streets with it, and Kara watched Gruumsh snarl and turn away, no hint of recognition in his gaze.

It was another moment before she could convince herself to move again, but she did, that lingering fear turned to hot anger and clear focus that burned through her and burned her out, leaving behind no time for more reminiscing. Kara followed the hulking orc, doggedly, until they reached Virgin’s Square.

What was he doing here? Kara couldn’t begin to imagine it. How could the men passing her be such fools as to think him harmless? Surely she wasn’t the only one who would recognize him. Surely at any moment the City Guards would come bearing down; Kara imagined dozens of them, armed with all the weapons one needed for a difficult capture. It wouldn’t be easy to take him but with numbers and planning they could do it.

Kara’s jaw ached from how hard she was clenching. It was a childish fantasy. Hasn’t she learned by now that sometimes no help came? Hadn’t Gulken himself taught her that lesson?

And hadn’t Kara fought back? Not then, not in his prisons. Well, how could she? But hadn’t she worked since to make herself into the person who would come? The weight of the bear claw against her chest, still new enough to itch, was a powerful, comforting reminder. Whenever she could, as often as she could, to anyone needed it, heedless of any consequences: Kara would come, and she would fight. Gulken would find today what he had made, and if it wasn’t enough to stop him then Kara would know at least she had done her utmost. She refused to do less.

Stealth check: L5REWKqo1d20+1
Investigation check: 1d201d20+1·1d20

Gulken thrust through the crowd towards her, and Kara stood her ground, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Fear swept through her again, cold and paralyzing. The smell – the smell was even worse than the sight of him. Kara didn’t know whether she could really smell the reek of burned flesh and death. No one else seemed to notice; how could that be? It was as if he had rolled in the ashes of the bonfire he had made of Hana, of all the bonfires he had ever made of her friends, her colleagues, her family. Kara’s knees locked, more from reflex than conscious thought, and it was only that which kept her standing.

Kara remembered fear. She had lived with so much of it for so long but – she had half-thought she had lost the ability to feel it anew. It had been as if she had used up all the fear she could feel for her lifetime, as if one got some set amount of fear and Kara had spent it, wildly and profligately, and been left with nothing remaining. Gulken had proved her wrong.

Kara was terrified. She felt, for the first time in years, small – like the little cowering thing so many mistook her for. It took all the strength she had just to hold her ground; there was a part of her, pure instinct, that wanted to break and run, as Gulken closed the distance to her. Her hand tightened on her glaive, the butt resting solidly against the ground. Training and experience held, and Kara stayed, utterly still. If she ran, she might never find him again; Gulken was large, but Waterdeep was larger still. If he were swallowed up by the city – if she lost his traces now – he might do anything.

His voice; Kara had forgotten his voice until the first words emerged, but it came rushing back too. Her body wanted to shake, wanted to tremble with the force of the fear sweeping through her. Kara held it steady, gripping the glaive so tightly that the knuckles of her small brown hand showed white through the skin, and held, unflinching, when he poked at her.

Kara had to answer him. Dreams of a bold speech accusing him of war crimes in Sundabar raced through her, flickered and died. She wasn’t the speech type; such words were never come for her. Did she deny it? Kara had never been much of a liar; even when she had tried her face always seemed to betray her. The contact – what contact? What was he doing here? Why come to Waterdeep?

No – she would be honest. No speeches, not for Kara, but honesty.

Kara had kept her gaze on Gulken’s, trying not to shake. “Thought I recognized you,” she said, as calmly as she could manage, still standing her ground, hoping against hope that the hate she felt in her heart wouldn't show in her voice. She had to keep going; she had to try. “In Waterdeep often?” Kara could almost feel that there would be laughter from those watching; normally it bothered her. Just now she didn’t think she would care.

Insight check: ZgpTL70n1d201d20

Kara was aware that she was shaking. She was aware that she was apologizing. She was aware that she had never felt so pathetic before. Afraid? Yes, of course. Pathetic? No. Never like this.

As a prisoner in Sundabar, most of Kara’s energy had been focused on surviving. But she had had long periods of quiet, often while chained, and sometimes her mind had drifted, wandering forward. Most of her fantasies had been of surviving, a scant few of seeing the family or friends she hadn’t yet known were dead again. She had dreamt of hot meals, of beds not made of rock, of healing fully from injuries before more were inflicted.

Occasionally – very occasionally – she had dreamt of confronting her captors. Gulken had not been the most prominent in these fantasies, but he had featured in them. She had dreamt of fighting him, knocking him to his knees, bleeding and weak, and digging the blade of her glaive into his throat, yanking it through and letting his hot, reeking blood spray out as he choked and bled to death.

Kara had not imagined that she would find herself weak-kneed and fumble-fingered with terror, barely able to construct an apology. She watched Gulken walk away with the dark-robed man, eyes on his back for a moment before they dropped to the ground. Her knees stayed locked, and her hand stayed tight on her glaive; even now she still had to fight the urge to move back, to retreat from where they’d stood.

It was a long moment before Kara felt herself able to move. She ached, as if all those injuries she'd felt at the hands of Gulken and the other orcs, long-since healed, suddenly flared up again. Her arms and legs felt heavy, too heavy, weighted down by her own long history and the deep, miserable fear it created in her.

But move she did. Slowly, determinedly, Kara kept at it. This time, at least, she didn’t cross the square directly behind Gulken, but she followed after his general direction nonetheless, trying to at least figure out where he and his contact were headed.

Stealth check: pI8OHeGn1d20+11d20+1

With the assistance of the crowd, Kara was able to keep herself out of immediate view as the orc and the robed figure moved away. Those few moments of frozen indecision bought her the time she needed for it not to be immediately apparent that she was following the orc and his contact.

The moment of mortifying embarrassment had at least passed quickly. The people of the Square were here for business, not for pleasure, and as it became obvious that there wasn’t going to be any kind of fight or further free entertainment, nobody cared enough to trail her with their eyes and continue the humiliation. Small mercies, perhaps, but Kara was at least dressed appropriately for the Square; she was one of them, even if the people who had witnessed her faltering might now think that she was a rather inexperienced and naïve mercenary.

Gods knew that Waterdeep didn’t have any shortage of those.

Gulken and the robed figured made their way across the square and to one of the many small passages which fed into it. There, the orc grabbed the homeless old man who had made the space his temporary home, and tossed him into the square with a grunt and a glare. Apparently satisfied that they had the level of privacy that they needed, the pair began to discuss their business…

(Very quick perception check and I'll give you what you overhear!)