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Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 959564" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 2</p><p></p><p>“What do you want?” Zenna said, as Mole stood frozen, her eyes locked on the crossbowman’s deadly quarrel, beside her. Zenna herself felt a cold terror grip her somewhere deep down inside her gut, but she willed it aside through a sheer force of will. </p><p></p><p>The man with the sword stepped forward, flanked by the crossbowman on his right and the scarred man with the knives to his left. A good ten paces separated the two groups, but there was no shelter close enough to offer a possible escape from that crossbow. </p><p></p><p>“Just our due, m’lady, just our due,” the leader said. He took another step closer, slowly, as if not to spook them. </p><p></p><p>Mole started shaking, and let out a tremulous sound that might have been a sob of terror. She leaned slightly over toward Zenna’s leg. Still looking as though she was paralyzed by fear, Zenna could just make out the words that drifted up in the lyrical speech of the gnome tongue. </p><p></p><p><em>Can you handle the crossbowman?</em></p><p></p><p>Zenna reached down and patted the gnome, as if to console her. “Look, we don’t have anything... we’re poor travelers, we’ll give you what little we have, just don’t hurt us...” Under her breath, she added, also in gnomish, <em>Need distraction...</em></p><p></p><p>“Please don’t hurt us!” Mole shrieked, falling to her knees in the middle of the dusty trail. “Please!” she repeated, clutching her hands before her. </p><p></p><p>If the bandits—for they were clearly that—were moved by the display, they did not show it. The knife-wielder chuckled again, and licked his lips, his eyes drinking in the lines of Zenna’s figure. The crossbowman said nothing, but the bolt-head did not move, holding both of them in line as ready targets. </p><p></p><p>“This doesn’t have to get ugly,” the swordsman said. “Throw down your weapons, and you won’t be harmed.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, I’ve known women who believed men who said that,” Zenna said, her voice tinged with equal measures of bitterness and sarcasm.</p><p></p><p>“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” the bandit persisted. “The easy way, you might not like it, but you’ll walk away from it, I promise. Zeek here,” he said, with a slight nod toward the scarred man, “he likes the hard way.”</p><p></p><p>Suddenly Mole let out another loud shriek, drawing the attention of all three men to her. She fell to the side, as if collapsing, but at the last instant she tucked into a roll, springing back to her feet in a single smooth motion. Even as she regained her footing, her arm snapped up, and a gleaming object flew from her fingers toward the bowman. </p><p> </p><p>The crossbowman had tracked her movements with his weapon, and as she rolled to her feet he sneered and tightened his grip on the trigger of the bow. But even as Mole began her maneuver, Zenna was taking action as well. Her stare became intensely focused as she drew her hands across her body in a complex pattern, weaving an invisible lattice with her slender, nimble fingers. Arcane syllables erupted from her lips, words not meant to be spoken by mundane folk. </p><p></p><p>The swordsman had drawn his blade, but as he recognized the signs of spellcasting, quickly threw himself aside. </p><p></p><p>The scarred man, on the other hand, drew both knives and leapt greedily toward Zenna. </p><p></p><p>A cone of blazing colors erupted from Zenna’s fingertips, engulfing both the charging knife-fighter and the crossbowman behind. The scarred man screamed as the lights overwhelmed his senses, knocking him unconscious. The crossbowman fired even as the <em>color spray</em> hit him as well, but Mole’s thrown knife had glanced off of his arm, doing no damage but throwing off his aim just enough so that the deadly bolt passed harmlessly between them. A moment later he, too, fell to the ground, out cold. </p><p></p><p>Two of the three bandits were down, but the third, the swordsman, had dodged out of the path of Zenna’s spell and now lunged at her from the side. The woman, her own vision dazzled from the effects of the <em>color spray</em>, did not appear to see him at first. </p><p></p><p>“Zenna, look out!” Mole cried. The gnome leapt into the path of the man, slicing at him with her shortsword. The bandit quickly dodged back, and the two faced off, their weapons of roughly equal size, but the human towering over the slight figure of the gnome. </p><p></p><p>Zenna blinked, then hurriedly drew back out of the way of the melee. The swordsman grinned as he took the measure of his foe, but his expression twisted into a frown as Zenna, now safely clear, started casting another spell. He quickly lunged forward, knocking aside Mole’s blade and thrusting his own weapon deep into her shoulder. Mole cried out and staggered back, a blossom of bright scarlet erupting over her tunic from the savage wound. The bandit was already rushing forward, hoping to finish the mage before she could unleash her magic upon him. </p><p></p><p>But Zenna completed her spell, and with a gesture the swordsman staggered, his sword dipping limply in his hand as a mental fog dropped over him. The <em>daze</em> only lasted a few moments, but even as he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, Mole came up behind him and with a vicious cry slipped half of the length of her sword into his back. The swordsman staggered forward a step and crumpled, but the attack had clearly cost the gnome, for she too fell, her sword slipping from her fingers to clatter uselessly in the packed dirt of the trail. </p><p></p><p>Zenna was there in an instant, bending over her friend. The wound was critical, she saw immediately, with blood continuing to gush out onto her shirt. Zenna, who was no stranger to battlefield wounds, quickly applied pressure to the wound with her hand, and clumsily tore off a length from her own undershirt to fashion a makeshift bandage. Her vision grew blurry as she worked to save her friend, and she realized that tears were flowing down her face. </p><p></p><p>“Damn you, Mole, don’t leave me...”</p><p></p><p>The gnome’s eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at her friend, the pain evident in her eyes. “I... I’m hurt bad, Izandra. I’m sorry...”</p><p></p><p>“You’ll be alright... we’re not far from Cauldron, I’ll get us there, you’ll see...”</p><p></p><p>Mole’s face twisted in pain as the wizard drew the bandage tight about her shoulder. Zenna—Izandra—feared that the thrust might have punctured her lung, but there was nothing she could do about it now. In Cauldron, there might be a priest that could provide magical healing; here there was no option except to wait for her friend’s death. </p><p></p><p>Mole took a ragged breath and looked up at Zenna. “Those others—they’ll recover shortly, and won’t be in a good mood when they do...”</p><p></p><p>Zenna nodded, and gently laid her friend down before she stood. With a grim expression, and her hand clutched so tightly on the hilt of her dagger that her fingers were white, she turned and walked away. </p><p></p><p>Shortly that problem was permanently solved. </p><p></p><p>Mole was pale, and her eyes had closed, but the bleeding at least appeared to have stopped. For a moment Zenna’s heart clutched in her breast as she feared that Mole had died, but then she saw the soft rise and fall of the gnome’s chest, and relaxed. </p><p></p><p>But that relief was only temporary, as she cast her gaze around her at the vast, empty hills that surrounded them. Mole needed healing, and she needed it soon. </p><p></p><p>Zenna worked quickly, first shrugging out of the light traveling pack that she wore under her cloak, and then dumping the contents of two of her larger belt pouches—holding a miscellany of basic gear—onto the ground. She opened the pack and quickly took out small packets of food, rope, a few spare shirts and assorted undergarments, and a compact lamp with a hooded shutter. She also took out a half-full waterskin attached to a leather throng, which she tucked into her belt. The backpack was now all but empty, and she quickly put it back on. She glanced down at the cloak. Without the concealing cowl, the full light of the afternoon sun illuminated her, revealing the details earlier obscured. She was young and attractive, her red hair framing soft, delicate features. </p><p></p><p>And also a pair of short, ivory-colored horns that jutted from her head just beyond where her forehead gave way to her cap of hair. </p><p></p><p>Quickly she bent down and recovered the cloak, sweeping it across her shoulders and snapping its clasp back into place before tugging the cowl back up to conceal her features. She then bent over the unconscious form of her friend, quickly divesting her of excess gear much the same way that she had just done for herself. Mole’s pack and crossbow were quickly discarded. Zenna glanced down at the gnome’s sword, now sticky with the congealed blood of her enemy, considering for a moment, but finally left it where it lay. </p><p></p><p>She bent low and wrapped her arms around the motionless form of her friend, and with a grunt lifted her as gently as she could. Mole wasn’t that heavy, but Zenna wasn’t very strong, and she knew that the burden would grow quickly with every step. </p><p></p><p>Without even a look back at the three corpses lying in the dirt, she started down the long road ahead, a road that she quietly hoped led swiftly to Cauldron.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 959564, member: 143"] Chapter 2 “What do you want?” Zenna said, as Mole stood frozen, her eyes locked on the crossbowman’s deadly quarrel, beside her. Zenna herself felt a cold terror grip her somewhere deep down inside her gut, but she willed it aside through a sheer force of will. The man with the sword stepped forward, flanked by the crossbowman on his right and the scarred man with the knives to his left. A good ten paces separated the two groups, but there was no shelter close enough to offer a possible escape from that crossbow. “Just our due, m’lady, just our due,” the leader said. He took another step closer, slowly, as if not to spook them. Mole started shaking, and let out a tremulous sound that might have been a sob of terror. She leaned slightly over toward Zenna’s leg. Still looking as though she was paralyzed by fear, Zenna could just make out the words that drifted up in the lyrical speech of the gnome tongue. [I]Can you handle the crossbowman?[/I] Zenna reached down and patted the gnome, as if to console her. “Look, we don’t have anything... we’re poor travelers, we’ll give you what little we have, just don’t hurt us...” Under her breath, she added, also in gnomish, [I]Need distraction...[/I] “Please don’t hurt us!” Mole shrieked, falling to her knees in the middle of the dusty trail. “Please!” she repeated, clutching her hands before her. If the bandits—for they were clearly that—were moved by the display, they did not show it. The knife-wielder chuckled again, and licked his lips, his eyes drinking in the lines of Zenna’s figure. The crossbowman said nothing, but the bolt-head did not move, holding both of them in line as ready targets. “This doesn’t have to get ugly,” the swordsman said. “Throw down your weapons, and you won’t be harmed.” “Yeah, I’ve known women who believed men who said that,” Zenna said, her voice tinged with equal measures of bitterness and sarcasm. “We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” the bandit persisted. “The easy way, you might not like it, but you’ll walk away from it, I promise. Zeek here,” he said, with a slight nod toward the scarred man, “he likes the hard way.” Suddenly Mole let out another loud shriek, drawing the attention of all three men to her. She fell to the side, as if collapsing, but at the last instant she tucked into a roll, springing back to her feet in a single smooth motion. Even as she regained her footing, her arm snapped up, and a gleaming object flew from her fingers toward the bowman. The crossbowman had tracked her movements with his weapon, and as she rolled to her feet he sneered and tightened his grip on the trigger of the bow. But even as Mole began her maneuver, Zenna was taking action as well. Her stare became intensely focused as she drew her hands across her body in a complex pattern, weaving an invisible lattice with her slender, nimble fingers. Arcane syllables erupted from her lips, words not meant to be spoken by mundane folk. The swordsman had drawn his blade, but as he recognized the signs of spellcasting, quickly threw himself aside. The scarred man, on the other hand, drew both knives and leapt greedily toward Zenna. A cone of blazing colors erupted from Zenna’s fingertips, engulfing both the charging knife-fighter and the crossbowman behind. The scarred man screamed as the lights overwhelmed his senses, knocking him unconscious. The crossbowman fired even as the [I]color spray[/I] hit him as well, but Mole’s thrown knife had glanced off of his arm, doing no damage but throwing off his aim just enough so that the deadly bolt passed harmlessly between them. A moment later he, too, fell to the ground, out cold. Two of the three bandits were down, but the third, the swordsman, had dodged out of the path of Zenna’s spell and now lunged at her from the side. The woman, her own vision dazzled from the effects of the [I]color spray[/I], did not appear to see him at first. “Zenna, look out!” Mole cried. The gnome leapt into the path of the man, slicing at him with her shortsword. The bandit quickly dodged back, and the two faced off, their weapons of roughly equal size, but the human towering over the slight figure of the gnome. Zenna blinked, then hurriedly drew back out of the way of the melee. The swordsman grinned as he took the measure of his foe, but his expression twisted into a frown as Zenna, now safely clear, started casting another spell. He quickly lunged forward, knocking aside Mole’s blade and thrusting his own weapon deep into her shoulder. Mole cried out and staggered back, a blossom of bright scarlet erupting over her tunic from the savage wound. The bandit was already rushing forward, hoping to finish the mage before she could unleash her magic upon him. But Zenna completed her spell, and with a gesture the swordsman staggered, his sword dipping limply in his hand as a mental fog dropped over him. The [I]daze[/I] only lasted a few moments, but even as he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, Mole came up behind him and with a vicious cry slipped half of the length of her sword into his back. The swordsman staggered forward a step and crumpled, but the attack had clearly cost the gnome, for she too fell, her sword slipping from her fingers to clatter uselessly in the packed dirt of the trail. Zenna was there in an instant, bending over her friend. The wound was critical, she saw immediately, with blood continuing to gush out onto her shirt. Zenna, who was no stranger to battlefield wounds, quickly applied pressure to the wound with her hand, and clumsily tore off a length from her own undershirt to fashion a makeshift bandage. Her vision grew blurry as she worked to save her friend, and she realized that tears were flowing down her face. “Damn you, Mole, don’t leave me...” The gnome’s eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at her friend, the pain evident in her eyes. “I... I’m hurt bad, Izandra. I’m sorry...” “You’ll be alright... we’re not far from Cauldron, I’ll get us there, you’ll see...” Mole’s face twisted in pain as the wizard drew the bandage tight about her shoulder. Zenna—Izandra—feared that the thrust might have punctured her lung, but there was nothing she could do about it now. In Cauldron, there might be a priest that could provide magical healing; here there was no option except to wait for her friend’s death. Mole took a ragged breath and looked up at Zenna. “Those others—they’ll recover shortly, and won’t be in a good mood when they do...” Zenna nodded, and gently laid her friend down before she stood. With a grim expression, and her hand clutched so tightly on the hilt of her dagger that her fingers were white, she turned and walked away. Shortly that problem was permanently solved. Mole was pale, and her eyes had closed, but the bleeding at least appeared to have stopped. For a moment Zenna’s heart clutched in her breast as she feared that Mole had died, but then she saw the soft rise and fall of the gnome’s chest, and relaxed. But that relief was only temporary, as she cast her gaze around her at the vast, empty hills that surrounded them. Mole needed healing, and she needed it soon. Zenna worked quickly, first shrugging out of the light traveling pack that she wore under her cloak, and then dumping the contents of two of her larger belt pouches—holding a miscellany of basic gear—onto the ground. She opened the pack and quickly took out small packets of food, rope, a few spare shirts and assorted undergarments, and a compact lamp with a hooded shutter. She also took out a half-full waterskin attached to a leather throng, which she tucked into her belt. The backpack was now all but empty, and she quickly put it back on. She glanced down at the cloak. Without the concealing cowl, the full light of the afternoon sun illuminated her, revealing the details earlier obscured. She was young and attractive, her red hair framing soft, delicate features. And also a pair of short, ivory-colored horns that jutted from her head just beyond where her forehead gave way to her cap of hair. Quickly she bent down and recovered the cloak, sweeping it across her shoulders and snapping its clasp back into place before tugging the cowl back up to conceal her features. She then bent over the unconscious form of her friend, quickly divesting her of excess gear much the same way that she had just done for herself. Mole’s pack and crossbow were quickly discarded. Zenna glanced down at the gnome’s sword, now sticky with the congealed blood of her enemy, considering for a moment, but finally left it where it lay. She bent low and wrapped her arms around the motionless form of her friend, and with a grunt lifted her as gently as she could. Mole wasn’t that heavy, but Zenna wasn’t very strong, and she knew that the burden would grow quickly with every step. Without even a look back at the three corpses lying in the dirt, she started down the long road ahead, a road that she quietly hoped led swiftly to Cauldron. [/QUOTE]
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