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A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014
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<blockquote data-quote="ellinor" data-source="post: 4964007" data-attributes="member: 14561"><p><strong>6x03</strong></p><p></p><p>CRASH.</p><p></p><p>Kormick knew the sound of breaking crockery when he heard it. <em>That</em> was breaking crockery. </p><p></p><p>Sure enough, as the slave backed away from the corner, there was a trickle of blood mixed with some unknown dark liquid dripping down her temple, mingling with the red of her hair. Tavi was the next to peek around the corner, and—BAM—the same thing happened to him.</p><p></p><p>“I’m sick of this.” Komick nearly spat the words as he strode into the room. “Seriously—“ he threw down the unconscious derro sorcerer whom he had been dragging by the collar —“I’m sick of this.”</p><p></p><p>Kormick found himself in a small cave, supported by columns. Tables crowded the room, covered with bottles, vials, boxes, jars . . . sorcery stuff, he supposed. A large fireplace covered much of the opposite wall. </p><p></p><p>A piece of crockery whizzed by his ear. “Shtay back, derro shcum!” It was a female voice, speaking dwarven, no less vitriolic for being slurred with inebriation.</p><p></p><p>“We are no derro,” Mena’s voice called back. Mena’s armor snarled as bottles caromed off her shield and smashed against the floor. Mena stepped beside Kormick and put her foot on the body of the still-unconscious derro sorcerer. “But we have one here with us. Do you want to kill it, or should I?”</p><p></p><p>Kormick blinked in surprise. <em>That may be the single sexiest thing I have ever seen,</em> he thought.</p><p></p><p>The crockery stopped. “Whozzat?” asked the voice.</p><p></p><p>“I am Dame Filomena of the Defiers of the Wind. We are here to help you.”</p><p></p><p>“Liar,” the dwaven woman replied, “Lying shcum.”</p><p></p><p> “I speak the truth,” Mena said. “I swear it.”</p><p></p><p>“Your oath meansh nothing,” the voice snarled. “No honor.”</p><p></p><p>“I swear,” Mena sighed, “on my ancestors.” </p><p></p><p>"Yeah? Who're they?" the voice demanded.</p><p></p><p>Mena paused, exasperation showing clearly on her face. “I swear on the di Rossini family of Pol Henna.”</p><p></p><p>After a long moment, the voice replied. “Fine,” it said, “throw me the derro shcum.”</p><p></p><p>Mena heaved the body over the pile of boxes, and Kormick heard more crashing as pieces of crockery smashed, mostly against the floor, some against the derro body. Kormick envied the ease of the dwarf’s revenge, but imagined that she wasn’t doing much damage, not in her state. “Are you all right back there—?“ he began.</p><p></p><p>“Zirkai!” The voice of Sertani, the eldest wife of the late Rockminder, rang out from behind him as Rose and the dwarves entered the room. “Zirkai, that’s enough!” Sertani marched past Kormick and reached behind the boxes.</p><p></p><p>She emerged holding the collar of a dwarven woman—pregnant, although less so than Corani, and perhaps a few years older—unsteady with intoxication. </p><p></p><p>“About time you found me,” slurred Zirkai.</p><p></p><p>###</p><p> </p><p><em>That’s twice,</em> Mena thought, <em>twice in this gods-forsaken hellhole that I have been made to think of my family. Twice I have had to invoke them in some twisted parody of “honor.”</em> Her mind swam with anger. Mena did not think about her family. Ever. </p><p></p><p>Mena looked down at the unconscious derro that Zirkai had been battering and listened, numbly, as the others toured the room, picking up useful items. Two healing potions. A large pouch of processed residuum. Two alchemical recipes. A potion of sacrifice. A cloak of the chirurgeon. A pair of bracers that could be used to emit flame. A shield that would prevent the user from being pushed or pulled.</p><p></p><p>In the back of Mena’s hearing, the reunion—no, shouting match—between the dwarven women continued. A story emerged: Zirkai had been separated from the others and drugged to prevent her from doing injury to herself (or, equally likely, to others). The last sister-wife had been carted off to points unknown, as had the eldest son and Mertal, the cook. </p><p></p><p>At Mertal’s name, the still-suffering Ordren slumped in sympathetic pain. “So we have no idea where they are”? he implored. </p><p></p><p>“What do you think I just shaid?” Zirkai shot back. </p><p></p><p>The dwarves’ voices were filled with rancor and recrimination. It was, Mena supposed, their version of family. It only made things worse.</p><p></p><p><em>No evil is ever defeated without a price,</em> Mena thought. Her stomach churned in anger as she thought back to the derro woman’s question. <em>“Do you have children?”</em> she had asked. Visions of her own childhood pushed their way into her mind. <em>No evil is ever defeated without a price, and the Twilight Lurker never lets anyone off cheaply.</em> She quietly lifted the body of the unconscious derro and quietly carried it into the hallway, closing the door behind her. <em>I will not pay that price for nothing.</em></p><p></p><p>Mena slapped the derro’s face and ordered it awake with quiet malice. “We need information,” she said, “and you need to tell it to us. Now.” The Defier’s armor purred, malevolently.</p><p></p><p>The derro trembled in fear as its eyes fluttered open, and it turned its head away. </p><p></p><p>Mena put one hand on each side of the derro’s head and stared into its eyes. “I have done things in this hellhole that I would prefer not to have done.” She continued to stare, letting her words sink in. “Although it gives me no pleasure,” she continued, “I will not hesitate to do them again.” </p><p></p><p>A pool of urine formed under the derro’s body. </p><p></p><p>“I would like to know where the dwarven prisoners are,” Mena cooed. “I would like to know without any fuss or trouble.”</p><p></p><p>The derro prisoner trembled in fear. “Children in nursery. Two in cages. One in kitchen. Two on lower levels.”</p><p></p><p>Mena nodded and continued, speaking as if to a young child. “What is waiting for us on the lower levels?”</p><p></p><p>“Many. More each day. Lurx. Our clan expand.”</p><p></p><p><em>Our clan.</em> Blood swam before Mena’s eyes. “And what is waiting for us in the kitchen?” she whispered. “I like details.”</p><p></p><p>“Pets.” The derro could not control its voice. “Pets pets pets pets pets.”</p><p></p><p>“Do they have big teeth?” </p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“So do I.” She slit its throat and turned away.</p><p></p><p>###</p><p></p><p>A healing potion and the effects of Savina’s new cloak had bolstered Arden’s strength considerably, but it hadn’t made the derro hellhole any more palatable. </p><p></p><p> “Two places left,” said Tavi, with surprisingly good cheer, “the kitchen and the lower levels.” The gentleman glanced from Ordren’s pleading eyes to Sertani’s determined scowl. </p><p></p><p>Neither sounded appetizing to Arden. Both were further underground. Both meant more time in this place. But she had no choice.</p><p></p><p>“Back to the crevice,” announced Tavi.</p><p></p><p>As they climbed into the crevice, Arden felt her chest tighten with the terror that seemed to come with all small, dark spaces. But one of the dwarven children looked up at her, reaching its hand out to touch her cloak with the tight grip of its young fingers. Its face positively glowed with gratitude. <em>There is some good I can do here,</em> Arden thought. <em>If I’m not killed first.</em> </p><p></p><p>As they walked, the Justicar made conversation. “So, how does this work? How many wives can one dwarf have?” </p><p></p><p>Signor Octavian, whose family apparently had considerable experience with dwarven trade, explained: Dwarven women frequently ran the family’s business concerns, and a successful dwarven man would marry as many women as needed to run the business and raise the family. </p><p></p><p> “You could never run a crew that way,” Kormick chuckled. “No man can serve two masters.”</p><p></p><p>Arden trudged behind Savina, letting the familiar rhythm of resignation move her feet as the rough-hewn passage descended into the bowels of the earth. After a long time, Arden noticed a narrower branch heading upward and away. She pointed it out. The Signor’s hummingbird flitted about eagerly, darting in and out of the tunnel. </p><p></p><p>“Acorn says the lower levels are ahead,” Twiggy reminded them, referring to her mouse’s earlier reconnaissance mission. They continued walking. Walking.</p><p></p><p>The passage opened into an irregular chamber, a small natural cave that had been hewn wider by hand. Stalactites shimmered above, reflecting the green glow of electrical moss growing on the walls. Three derro stared down another passage on the other side of the room, their backs to the party.</p><p></p><p>The Justicar stopped and signaled silently to Arden, who looked back at the group. Savina, Mena, and Rose were busy keeping the dwarves together. Arden understood – they’d have to handle this by themselves. The Justicar looked at Tavi, who looked at Twiggy. Twiggy cast. A bolt of force streaked past the derro. Arden released her sling, striking one in the head. Before it could even yelp, Kormick’s crossbow bolt pierced through its neck. Then Tavi charged in, slicing through the reminaing two. They had barely made a sound.</p><p></p><p>“Like a well-oiled machine,” said Tavi, grinning.</p><p></p><p>The corridor continued, sloping further down. There were sounds ahead: derro voices; a far-off trickling sound; clanging. The crack of a whip.</p><p></p><p>It was all too familiar to Arden. </p><p></p><p>She braced herself and peeked into the room. Before her was a very large natural cavern, lit by green moss on the ceiling and a few dim torches lining the walls. There were large piles of . . . smashed furniture, perhaps, and heaps of dirt, rocks, and other scree along the back walls. A number of derro were standing around, idly holding axes and whips.</p><p></p><p>But Arden wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at several dwarves who were chained in the rear of the room, breaking rocks with anemic-looking picks. They were mostly old, but one was young—virtually a child, Arden thought. </p><p></p><p>It was all too familiar. The cold rage that flared through all her veins was familiar, too. But one thing was new: <em>This time, I'm armed.</em></p><p></p><p>Looking closer, she saw that there was a human on the chain gang, a slight woman with sovereign features and a tattoo on her face, hauling a bucket of scree. Arden watched the woman's eyeline and picked her moment, raising a finger at precisely the right instant to catch the woman's attention. As soon as the woman saw her, Arden raised the finger all the way to her lips: <em>Be quiet. Be ready.</em> </p><p></p><p>The woman palmed a couple of rocks and slid them into the folds of her torn clothing. Arden could have cheered.</p><p></p><p>She backed away from the room and described what she'd seen to the gentlefolk. Tavi looked for himself. </p><p></p><p>"A lot of derro in that room," he commented. "I'd like to know if anything else is lurking down here first. Let's keep going." Mena nodded and Kormick prepared to lead the way on down the corridor.</p><p></p><p>"Signor," Arden said, and swallowed hard. "With respect, will we come back and help these people?" She was addressing a gentleperson directly. She was not to address a gentleperson directly. She was not to ask a gentleperson for anything. She…</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” he replied, absentmindedly.</p><p></p><p>Arden’s voice shook as she spoke again. “Signor Octavian, do I have your word that we will help these people?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ellinor, post: 4964007, member: 14561"] [b]6x03[/b] CRASH. Kormick knew the sound of breaking crockery when he heard it. [i]That[/i] was breaking crockery. Sure enough, as the slave backed away from the corner, there was a trickle of blood mixed with some unknown dark liquid dripping down her temple, mingling with the red of her hair. Tavi was the next to peek around the corner, and—BAM—the same thing happened to him. “I’m sick of this.” Komick nearly spat the words as he strode into the room. “Seriously—“ he threw down the unconscious derro sorcerer whom he had been dragging by the collar —“I’m sick of this.” Kormick found himself in a small cave, supported by columns. Tables crowded the room, covered with bottles, vials, boxes, jars . . . sorcery stuff, he supposed. A large fireplace covered much of the opposite wall. A piece of crockery whizzed by his ear. “Shtay back, derro shcum!” It was a female voice, speaking dwarven, no less vitriolic for being slurred with inebriation. “We are no derro,” Mena’s voice called back. Mena’s armor snarled as bottles caromed off her shield and smashed against the floor. Mena stepped beside Kormick and put her foot on the body of the still-unconscious derro sorcerer. “But we have one here with us. Do you want to kill it, or should I?” Kormick blinked in surprise. [i]That may be the single sexiest thing I have ever seen,[/i] he thought. The crockery stopped. “Whozzat?” asked the voice. “I am Dame Filomena of the Defiers of the Wind. We are here to help you.” “Liar,” the dwaven woman replied, “Lying shcum.” “I speak the truth,” Mena said. “I swear it.” “Your oath meansh nothing,” the voice snarled. “No honor.” “I swear,” Mena sighed, “on my ancestors.” "Yeah? Who're they?" the voice demanded. Mena paused, exasperation showing clearly on her face. “I swear on the di Rossini family of Pol Henna.” After a long moment, the voice replied. “Fine,” it said, “throw me the derro shcum.” Mena heaved the body over the pile of boxes, and Kormick heard more crashing as pieces of crockery smashed, mostly against the floor, some against the derro body. Kormick envied the ease of the dwarf’s revenge, but imagined that she wasn’t doing much damage, not in her state. “Are you all right back there—?“ he began. “Zirkai!” The voice of Sertani, the eldest wife of the late Rockminder, rang out from behind him as Rose and the dwarves entered the room. “Zirkai, that’s enough!” Sertani marched past Kormick and reached behind the boxes. She emerged holding the collar of a dwarven woman—pregnant, although less so than Corani, and perhaps a few years older—unsteady with intoxication. “About time you found me,” slurred Zirkai. ### [i]That’s twice,[/i] Mena thought, [i]twice in this gods-forsaken hellhole that I have been made to think of my family. Twice I have had to invoke them in some twisted parody of “honor.”[/i] Her mind swam with anger. Mena did not think about her family. Ever. Mena looked down at the unconscious derro that Zirkai had been battering and listened, numbly, as the others toured the room, picking up useful items. Two healing potions. A large pouch of processed residuum. Two alchemical recipes. A potion of sacrifice. A cloak of the chirurgeon. A pair of bracers that could be used to emit flame. A shield that would prevent the user from being pushed or pulled. In the back of Mena’s hearing, the reunion—no, shouting match—between the dwarven women continued. A story emerged: Zirkai had been separated from the others and drugged to prevent her from doing injury to herself (or, equally likely, to others). The last sister-wife had been carted off to points unknown, as had the eldest son and Mertal, the cook. At Mertal’s name, the still-suffering Ordren slumped in sympathetic pain. “So we have no idea where they are”? he implored. “What do you think I just shaid?” Zirkai shot back. The dwarves’ voices were filled with rancor and recrimination. It was, Mena supposed, their version of family. It only made things worse. [i]No evil is ever defeated without a price,[/i] Mena thought. Her stomach churned in anger as she thought back to the derro woman’s question. [i]“Do you have children?”[/i] she had asked. Visions of her own childhood pushed their way into her mind. [i]No evil is ever defeated without a price, and the Twilight Lurker never lets anyone off cheaply.[/i] She quietly lifted the body of the unconscious derro and quietly carried it into the hallway, closing the door behind her. [i]I will not pay that price for nothing.[/i] Mena slapped the derro’s face and ordered it awake with quiet malice. “We need information,” she said, “and you need to tell it to us. Now.” The Defier’s armor purred, malevolently. The derro trembled in fear as its eyes fluttered open, and it turned its head away. Mena put one hand on each side of the derro’s head and stared into its eyes. “I have done things in this hellhole that I would prefer not to have done.” She continued to stare, letting her words sink in. “Although it gives me no pleasure,” she continued, “I will not hesitate to do them again.” A pool of urine formed under the derro’s body. “I would like to know where the dwarven prisoners are,” Mena cooed. “I would like to know without any fuss or trouble.” The derro prisoner trembled in fear. “Children in nursery. Two in cages. One in kitchen. Two on lower levels.” Mena nodded and continued, speaking as if to a young child. “What is waiting for us on the lower levels?” “Many. More each day. Lurx. Our clan expand.” [i]Our clan.[/i] Blood swam before Mena’s eyes. “And what is waiting for us in the kitchen?” she whispered. “I like details.” “Pets.” The derro could not control its voice. “Pets pets pets pets pets.” “Do they have big teeth?” “Yes.” “So do I.” She slit its throat and turned away. ### A healing potion and the effects of Savina’s new cloak had bolstered Arden’s strength considerably, but it hadn’t made the derro hellhole any more palatable. “Two places left,” said Tavi, with surprisingly good cheer, “the kitchen and the lower levels.” The gentleman glanced from Ordren’s pleading eyes to Sertani’s determined scowl. Neither sounded appetizing to Arden. Both were further underground. Both meant more time in this place. But she had no choice. “Back to the crevice,” announced Tavi. As they climbed into the crevice, Arden felt her chest tighten with the terror that seemed to come with all small, dark spaces. But one of the dwarven children looked up at her, reaching its hand out to touch her cloak with the tight grip of its young fingers. Its face positively glowed with gratitude. [i]There is some good I can do here,[/i] Arden thought. [i]If I’m not killed first.[/i] As they walked, the Justicar made conversation. “So, how does this work? How many wives can one dwarf have?” Signor Octavian, whose family apparently had considerable experience with dwarven trade, explained: Dwarven women frequently ran the family’s business concerns, and a successful dwarven man would marry as many women as needed to run the business and raise the family. “You could never run a crew that way,” Kormick chuckled. “No man can serve two masters.” Arden trudged behind Savina, letting the familiar rhythm of resignation move her feet as the rough-hewn passage descended into the bowels of the earth. After a long time, Arden noticed a narrower branch heading upward and away. She pointed it out. The Signor’s hummingbird flitted about eagerly, darting in and out of the tunnel. “Acorn says the lower levels are ahead,” Twiggy reminded them, referring to her mouse’s earlier reconnaissance mission. They continued walking. Walking. The passage opened into an irregular chamber, a small natural cave that had been hewn wider by hand. Stalactites shimmered above, reflecting the green glow of electrical moss growing on the walls. Three derro stared down another passage on the other side of the room, their backs to the party. The Justicar stopped and signaled silently to Arden, who looked back at the group. Savina, Mena, and Rose were busy keeping the dwarves together. Arden understood – they’d have to handle this by themselves. The Justicar looked at Tavi, who looked at Twiggy. Twiggy cast. A bolt of force streaked past the derro. Arden released her sling, striking one in the head. Before it could even yelp, Kormick’s crossbow bolt pierced through its neck. Then Tavi charged in, slicing through the reminaing two. They had barely made a sound. “Like a well-oiled machine,” said Tavi, grinning. The corridor continued, sloping further down. There were sounds ahead: derro voices; a far-off trickling sound; clanging. The crack of a whip. It was all too familiar to Arden. She braced herself and peeked into the room. Before her was a very large natural cavern, lit by green moss on the ceiling and a few dim torches lining the walls. There were large piles of . . . smashed furniture, perhaps, and heaps of dirt, rocks, and other scree along the back walls. A number of derro were standing around, idly holding axes and whips. But Arden wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at several dwarves who were chained in the rear of the room, breaking rocks with anemic-looking picks. They were mostly old, but one was young—virtually a child, Arden thought. It was all too familiar. The cold rage that flared through all her veins was familiar, too. But one thing was new: [i]This time, I'm armed.[/i] Looking closer, she saw that there was a human on the chain gang, a slight woman with sovereign features and a tattoo on her face, hauling a bucket of scree. Arden watched the woman's eyeline and picked her moment, raising a finger at precisely the right instant to catch the woman's attention. As soon as the woman saw her, Arden raised the finger all the way to her lips: [i]Be quiet. Be ready.[/i] The woman palmed a couple of rocks and slid them into the folds of her torn clothing. Arden could have cheered. She backed away from the room and described what she'd seen to the gentlefolk. Tavi looked for himself. "A lot of derro in that room," he commented. "I'd like to know if anything else is lurking down here first. Let's keep going." Mena nodded and Kormick prepared to lead the way on down the corridor. "Signor," Arden said, and swallowed hard. "With respect, will we come back and help these people?" She was addressing a gentleperson directly. She was not to address a gentleperson directly. She was not to ask a gentleperson for anything. She… “Yes,” he replied, absentmindedly. Arden’s voice shook as she spoke again. “Signor Octavian, do I have your word that we will help these people?” “Yes.” [/QUOTE]
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A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014
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