By: Mystriss Freya
“The tracks are blocked!” Mystri yelled, “Full stop!” The screeching of the brakes echoed through the valley, a chunk of coal bouncing out as the tender car slammed into the locomotive. “Tis Brighthammer’s!” she yelled over the hissing valves as she jumped down, “better get down ‘ere.” She jogged past the rear boxcars, “These are awful high… What’s ‘e hauling, Elfin wine?,” she muttered over her shoulder. She chuckled at her joke, trying to remember the last time they’d had Elfin wine: it was in the capital city of Monolith, a loud overly crowded tavern whose name escaped her after all that had happened; the war and their friends who never came home, their leader and friends, slain at the hands of a corrupt warrior priest. She sighed, her heart still heavy from the loss.
She slowed as the derailed locomotive came into view. “Something t’aint right ‘ere… How’d ‘e derail like this with such a light load?” She stopped next to the twisted tender car, “Ice cold… ‘asn’t run in days I’d reckon…,” she scanned the overturned boxcars and gondolas, the twisted and broken rails, “This was no accident,” she whispered into the light breeze, “this was an attack...” A voice rumbled softly from behind, “orc...” Instinctively she ran toward the voice, long braid streaming behind as she scampered between the boxcars; startled as she found herself face to face with the hulking monster on the other side.
She dug in her heels to face the threat towering over her, quickly activating her runes and gagging slightly from its foul breath. The orc grinned, his oversized boar-like teeth gleaming with spittle as he smashed his massive shield into her chest, the force of the impact knocking her backwards a couple feet as it bounced off her protective runes. Slamming her foot into the ground, she called forth a massive surge of energy that sent the orc hurling backwards, “Back heathen!,” she growled, hurling a fiery blast after him. The orc bounced heavily on his feet as he landed, his hollow yellow eyes narrowing in surprise and anger.
She smiled coldly, pale blue eyes twinkling as she met his gaze. “Well come on then,” she taunted gesturing with her hand. He howled in outrage, raising his crude sword above his head as he charged toward her. An evil smile spread across its face as it closed the distance between them, she flinched instinctively as throwing axes bounced off the invisible barrier she’d thrown up. She steadied herself to receive the blow as the choppa raised its axe high over its head. A spray of spit showered her as its scream pierced the air, a hail of arrows whizzing around her body, embedding deeply into its leathery hide. “Damn it Ruthlos, ‘ow ya gonna interrogate that?,” she grumbled as the orc crumpled to the ground. “It got to close,” came the soft reply from atop the boxcar behind her. She turned to scowl at the now empty space on the boxcar, shaking her head as she moved cautiously towards the store houses.
A bird warbled and she darted under an overturned gondola as a pair of greenskin’s came charging around the corner of the store house towards the fallen orc. “Looks like elf will be on the menu tonight,” chuckled the choppa as he saw the pin cushioned remains. “Go getz em,” said the Shaman as he started chanting at the fallen black orc. The choppa charged towards their steaming locomotive, and she quickly silenced the shaman as an arrow pierced its neck. Crawling out from under the gondola, she locked eyes with the dying shaman and smiled ever so slightly as their pale yellow glow faded into darkness. A short whistle came from behind and she whipped around to met his intense gaze. He raised 2 fingers and waved his bow in the direction of the store house, then 1 finger and pointed in the direction the choppa had run off before disappearing amidst the train cars. She nodded to herself, dodging between two boxcars as she made her way back to the other side of the tracks.
The choppa was rifling around inside when she arrived, she growled softly as he carelessly tossed things out. “Ya best not sit there,” she said sternly in the doorway, hands on her hips. Startled the choppa turned towards her, looking down he laughed, “Gonna try to stop me stunty?” She smiled, “Could ya toss me mah staff there?” The choppa chortled as he flopped into the chair, “I sayz me chair now, if youz want back, youz gonna haz t’ take it.” She jumped up into the cabin, “Tis not me ya need t’ worry ‘bout lad…” The choppa growled as she reached for her staff, grabbing her arm, “Youz gonna make a filling dinner t’night.” She grumbled, “First ya throw mah stuff in the dirt, an’ now yer callin’ me fat? You be needin’ a lesson in manners son.” There was a thump on the roof, “Whatz that?” he asked. She shrugged, yanking her arm away, “Want me ta’ go check it out?” He jumped up, lurching forward as he tried to grab her arm again.
A low voice asked, “Did you sit in my chair?” The choppa spun around, puzzled by the invisible voice. “DID YOU SIT IN MY CHAIR!?” Ruthlos boomed, his voice reverberating inside the small cabin as he landed lightly in the aft doorway. The coppa looked over the frail figure and laughed, raising his swords over his head, “I sayz me chair now.” Mystri chirped, “He sat in yer chair, an’ he grabbed mah arm too,” as she jumped to the ground, moving towards the store houses. “I ain’t cleaning that up,” she muttered under her breath as the choppa’s battle cry turned into a pained scream. She turned at the sharp whistle behind her, barely catching her staff before it smacked her in the face, she glared at Ruthlos as he cleaned off his sword with a piece of the choppas loin cloth, “Ewww! Ya couldn’t pay me enough t’ touch that…” Ruthlos grinned slightly, eyes twinkling beneath his hood, “It fell off…” She made a gagging motion at him as he waved her to the left side of the store house.
She peeked around the stone blocks as Ruthlos sauntered toward the building, he whistled as he zeroed in on the back of the zealots head and launched a rapid succession of of arrows into her back. The witch elf squeaked and disappeared as he dashed toward the falling body, he flailed his sword uselessly around trying to find her. “You missed one,” Mystri commented as she walked over, “Ya shoulda used that rune I gave ya, woulda caught ‘er,” she chided. He snorted, crouching down to rifle through the zealot’s clothes, “I don’t need runes to catch her, do not worry about that.” Mystri glanced around for any sign of the dark elf, “Who’s worried?” she asked.
“Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly, “Look at this fine piece of jewelry I’ve found, this is sure to fetch a hefty price,” he crooned, waving a filthy strip of leather with a dull rock tied in the middle above his head. “Worthless junk,” she said glancing towards the choppa’s body hanging out of the locomotive. She grinned, “Bet ya couldn’t ‘it that choppa with it.” Ruthlos eyed the choppa’s body and chuckled as he tied the necklace to an arrow, he winked at Mystri as he readied the arrow in his bow, “I told you I would catch her.” he purred. She cocked her head to the side and watched him send the necklace whistling through the air, “Nice, ya corrected fer the weight o’ the necklace ‘anging down,” she commented, “Woulda been better t’ wrap it ‘round the shaft a bit though, don’t’cha think?” He smirked as he quickly launched another arrow and sprinted past her.
Mystri started mumbling “show off,” but whistled under her breath when the rock in the necklace thwacked the invisible witch elf in the back of the head, the second arrow embedded itself in her right buttock, and a third arrow sliced through her leg. Ruthlos bowled the witch elf over as she fell to the ground, snatching up the arrow with the necklace tied to it, he hurled it through the air; it stuck in the choppas body, the necklace spinning violent circles in the air. “Don’t count, it touched the ground,” Mystri muttered as she trotted up. He looked up at her over his shoulder grinning, “I get credit for the witch, right?” Mystri glanced down at the scantily clad witch elf struggling to get out from under him, her writhing motions almost looked attractive. A tinge of jealousy struck her and she spun her staff in the air, slamming its heavy top against the witches forehead with a solid thud. Ruthlos sprang into the air like a startled cat, landing on all fours a few feet away, he looked at her wide eyed. “…Yea, I suppose ya do…” she mused.
* * * * * *
“Karak Eight Peaks breached? Impossible!” she scoffed as he knelt by the river. He watched the blood tinted water as it drifted slowly away, “Ulthuan is under siege… I must go help,” he said quietly. Her eyes traced the outline of his delicately pointed ear, she struggled to keep her voice steady, “We can’t go there…” she trailed off as he whipped around, his cold eyes locking with hers, “I will go.” She nodded turning away to hide the glimmer of fear in her eyes, she concentrated on the soothing sound of the river flowing behind her. “She claimed that humans, elves, and dwarves have forged an alliance,” he said softly, watching as her braid swayed slowly on her back. She looked at the sky, “Pfffttt, we ‘aven’t been gone long enough fer that ta ‘appen, ‘ave we?” He shrugged, staring intently at the horizon, “If it is true...,” his voice trailed off self-consciously when she looked at him. A broad smile spreading across his face he leap up and tugged playfully on one of her braids, “Make me dinner wench, my stomach is empty.” A smile pulled up on the corners of her scowl as she jokingly lamented, “I’m afraid there be no meat t’ cook fer ya, sir.” Winking at her, he snatched up his bow and sprinted towards the woods laughing, “I go to hunt then. Spankings may occur if the fire is not ready when I return...” She roared out in laughter, drowning out his wistful words to himself drifting on the wind; “Do not joke fool, you would enjoy that too much...”
“We should go to Altdorf first,” she argued as she spat a chunk of half chewed fat on the ground, “it is the best place to get all the supplies we will need.” He scowled, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire, “I need to know what is happening there and I do not have time to waste on shopping trips.” She flipped the remainder of her dinner into the fire violently, “I?” she emphasized with a low growl, “Tis ‘I’ now, eh?” She stomped off toward the soft glow of the locomotive, swearing under her breath as she lit her pipe. He rolled his eyes and poured his mug over the dying flames, watching the coals dim and sputter out before he walked slowly after her. His eyes drifted upwards to the clear sky, the stars twinkled brightly, “always brightest before the moons rise,” he thought to himself, idly tracing the constellations. Smoke from her pipe drifted back to his nose, he inhaled deeply enjoying the slightly bitter taste. She sighed loudly, and he fought back the urge to apologize. Unwelcome emotions tickled at the edge of his mind, “tell her how you feel,” they whispered faintly, “it isn’t right,” he answered. “She probably feels the same,” they pushed. “And what if she doesn’t? What then?,” he asked. “You will never know if you do not try…” A twig snapped jolting him to attention.
He sprinted forward, hissing in her ear, “We have company… At least 2.” He shoved her roughly to the ground as an arrow whistled over them. “The squig herder dies first,” he purred softly as he disappeared into the darkness. She spit some dirt out of her mouth as she crawled toward an empty boxcar. She etched runes in the air and chanted quietly, then waited. Closing her eyes and straining her senses to locate their assailants like he had been teaching her. Her eyes widened in alarm as a chill enveloped her. “Sorceress!” she said knowing he would still hear her, but no sound came out. “Blast!,” she swore to herself, ducking under the boxcar. Grunting indignantly, yet silently, as something smashed into her exposed posterior. She scampered out the other side of the boxcar and dashed toward the cover of the woods. Dark tendrils of energy sizzled around her, she yelped, stumbling slightly as she crashed into the brush. She barked out a word and soothing energy coursed through her. Dark crystals jutted up under her interrupting her concentration, swearing under her breath, she pushed deeper into the dark woods as the Sorceress hurled curses at her. Drawing runes and chanting she calmed the magically induced terror in her mind and paused to get her bearings. The high pitched laughter of a squig herder in the distance came to her ears; she made her way through the dense underbrush toward the sound...
Ruthlos nimbly climbed to the top of the empty boxcar, concentrating he honed in on the breathing of the squig hearder in the woods. Mystri’s breathing rasped loudly in his ears, he frowned slightly at her inability to master even the most basic techniques for quiet breathing. Leaping lightly down, he loped easily through the trees toward his prey, mapping its surroundings in his mind and figuring out the best plan of attack. He smiled and quickened his pace as the smell of squig tickled his nose. He deftly scaled halfway up a tree, parted the foliage and took careful aim at the back of the squig herders head. “There must be no scream,” he thought to himself adjusting his aim slightly. Suddenly Mystri’s breathing was gone. He startled slightly, nearly losing his perch on the narrow branch. Cursing himself he focused on his balance, closing his eyes as he strained to hear what was happening in the distance. The faint cursing came to his ears, his eyes flew open as his mind raced to piece together what was happening. Mystri’s yelp broke through the silence, he breathed a sigh of relief and glanced again at the squig herder; it was gone, he swore softly at his inattention. A barrage of arrows whizzed past and he flung himself from the branch, an arrow slicing through the skin on his arm. Coiling his muscles, he launched himself to the side the second his feet hit the ground, an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder none the less. He ripped the arrow out, snarling at the explosion of pain; the damage was done… He swore softly, pulling his sword as he circled silently around the squig hearder’s position.
Mystri’s breathing was much closer he noted, she was headed straight into the squig herder. An embrace of dark energy blasted him. Swearing he launched himself toward the sorceress, biting his tongue against her painful blasts. He thrust his sword toward her, barely piercing her robe; he pounced upon her, jamming the butt of his sword into his abdomen, and throwing his good arm around her body. His sword slid slowly into her as he pulled her closer, her eyes widening in realization she struggled. He wrapped his leg around her, entwining her body in a deadly embrace. As the blood flowing down his blade warmed his groin and ran hotly down his legs the world seemed to stop moving, his eyes fluttered slightly in rapture. Her lips parted slightly, ruby red blood trickled out of her mouth; he lightly kissed a droplet off her chin. He smiled at her coldly, licking his lips and savoring the taste. He watched her eyes through his eyelashes as he traced the path of blood with his tongue. Seeking more he thrust his hips violently into her, savagely biting her lip. He watched intently as the light in her eyes flickered and faded…
Mystri’s pained yelp snapped his head up, he tossed the sorceress to the ground and launched himself in the direction of the squig herder. Bursting recklessly through the trees he saw Mystri cowering under a relentless volley of arrows in a small clearing. She was trying to draw her runes and chanting, flinching with each arrow that imbedded its self in her body. His mind still swimming in bloodlust he hesitated trying to decide the best course of action. Mystri let out a piercing scream that dissolved into a gurgle, an arrow sticking out of her throat as she fell to the ground. Crying out unconsciously, he stared at her in disbelief. The squig herder laughed and spun toward him in slow motion, he tore his eyes from her corpse and stared down the shaft of the arrow pointed at him. The squig herders beady yellow eyes twinkled with triumph, its laughter harsh in his sensitive ears. Rage cut through him and he launched himself at the squig herder with a booming shout. A volley of arrows sliced into him as the startled squig herder tried to back away, but adrenaline overshadowed the pain. He tore into the squig herder wolfishly; with his teeth and nails. His prey panicked under the ferocity of his attack, squealing in pain as he bit its ear off and spit it into its face. The squig herder shoved Ruthlos’ off, scrambling back to its feet. The second Ruthlos’ feet and hand hit the ground he pounced back onto the squig herder, burying his teeth deep into its neck. Icy cold blanketed him as the squig herder’s spear ran him through. He clasped aimlessly after the retreating legs as his eyes fluttered and darkness descended upon him.
* * * * * *
The clanging of hammers rang out a steady beat in Mystri’s ears, the pitch of the forge changing with each whoosh of the bellows, and in the distance, the clanking of tankards echoed faintly. The scent of burning wood with faint hints of sulfur filled her nostrils, intermixing with the dampness of the stronghold’s walls. A flashing white light interrupted her sensory enjoyment and she clinched her eyes tightly. Grumbling softly she opened her eyes and stared at the smooth stone ceiling, the flashing persisted. She started to sit up to shake her head, but it felt like someone was gently pulling her back down, she relaxed into the warm embrace. The insistent flashing continued, driving her to struggle into a seated position, “Just need t’ sit up fer a second,” she mumbled. She shook her head and yawned as the flashing light grew a little dimmer, “See, I jus’ needed a second, it’ll be gone soon enough,” she smiled stretching her hands towards the ceiling.
Fuzzy images were playing on the back of her eyelids, she concentrated on them, she could just make out a short figure in the distance, another dwarf? … with a bow, “ah, ranger,” she thought to herself lazily as she started to lay back down. Intrigued she concentrated on the images, smacking her head to clear off the rest of the fuzz. A tall figure came flying out of the woods and pounced on the ranger. She bolted upright with sudden clarity; not a ranger, a squig herder, and it had killed her! “Ruthlos!,” she cried. She bellowed a word and strengthened her stomach against the wave of nausea that threatened to bring back her dinner. A blinding light forced her to slam her eyes tightly closed, she swayed as she felt the world spin haphazardly around her. Steadying herself with her staff she opened her eyes and flung herself into the nearest cover. She collapsed exhausted, struggling to draw strength from the earthly energy pulsing beneath her. Regaining just enough strength to move she turned her eyes towards the raging battle in the clearing in time to see him impaled. Choking down a shout, she began the intricate carving of a powerful rune.
In the distance birds were singing, a shallow creek babbled soothingly over its rocks, and Ruthlos could just make out the beautiful melody of the Elven sages. He lazily opened one eye; he was laying in a misty meadow, the trees dancing slowly in a light breeze. He stretched luxuriously and closed his eyes, enjoying the clean smell of the mist and the intoxicating scent of flowers drifting on the wind. He sunk deeper into the warm embrace of the grass beneath him, reveling in the unaccustomed peace that blanketed his mind. Fuzzy images appeared on the back of his eye lids; he ignored them, sighing contentedly as he sunk further into oblivion. His ears twitched slightly, a vibration rumbled, more felt than heard, like rolling thunder in far distant mountains. Curious he concentrated on the sound, his intense focus seeming to pull it even closer to him. A deep chanting with guttural undertones clarified in his ears, “Just Mystri,” he mumbled allowing the sound to slip back into the distance. He nestled into the warm grass and welcomed back the cocoon of peace wrapping around him. The rumbling thunder of her chants violently jolted him, he groaned as the bass tones uncomfortably twisted his stomach, “I am trying to sleep,” he grumbled. He could only make out snippets of words as their echoes overlapped each other in a deafening roar, “Stop babbling,” he said, clapping his hands over his ears. Silence… He slowly uncovered his ears, relaxing fully as he drifted in the peaceful darkness.
The crescendo of thunder exploded in his mind again, he snarled, clapping his hands tightly over his ears. With sudden clarity her voice pierced the deafening noise, “get back here,” she demanded. Her bass voice pounded in his head like charging cavalry, “Stop,” he growled. A white light exploded in the back of his head as ire cut through the peace in his mind. The peaceful darkness began slipping away, he grasped the air trying to catch it, then it was gone. Snarling he flung himself into growing rage. His stomach churned uncontrollably as everything around him swirled into a vortex of rapidly fading light. A pop deafened him and he fell to the ground, someone pounced on him immediately; crushing him under their weight and slapping a hand over his mouth, muffling a torrent of swear words. He struggled, furious he sunk his teeth into the hand, but he was too weak to overpower his assailant. Reason crept slowly in as exhaustion quieted his raging mind, he tried to make out what was being whispered in his ear, “… still out there ya chuffin’ idiot, shud’up.” He struggled to find meaning in her words, she kneed him hard in the ribs as a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. “I don’t know where ‘e went, I need ya t’ calm down so we can find ‘im,” she hissed. He stopped struggling as the memories crashed back into his consciousness, relaxing his jaw he mumbled into her palm, “I’m back.” She leaned up, her weight putting uncomfortable pressure on his queasy stomach, her eyes locked on his intently searching. Satisfied she slowly uncovered his mouth, “I’m fine, get off me,” he panted.
“Fine mah arse, yer still nearly dead an’ I ‘ave ‘alf a mind t’ let ye stay that way,” she grumbled rolling off him into a crouch. Glancing at her lacerated hand, she snarled softly and spit at him, before shoving her hand in front of his face, guiltily he watched as blood trickled down from the deep puncture marks like an intricate pattern of fine jewelry. As she sucked on the wound anger flashed through her eyes like the sun glinting off freshly polished plate mail, he caught her gaze apologetically. She spit blood on the ground and hissed at him, “I hate it when ya die.” Smiling weakly as his eyes rolled back into his head he whispered, “Me too…” She pulled him back from the brink of unconsciousness and quickly began the more intricate runes to mend his injuries and restore his strength.
“How long?,” he inquired carefully getting to his feet. “I don’t know, long enough to recover though,” she replied, closing her eyes tiredly. He stared down at her face, leaves were tangled in her muddy red braids, and drying blood from a long gash on her cheek glistened slightly in the moonlight. “Did I do that?,” he asked silently, reaching out to gently touch her wounded cheek, he snapped his hand back self-consciously as her eyes fluttered. His mind raced as the shock wore off, his heart pounding as waves of emotions flooded into his mind, he struggled to contain them, clenching his fists. “Okay,” she sighed, startling him, “let’s go.” He stared into the darkness, unconsciously plucking a twig out of her hair and tossing it to the ground, “Are you sure you are ready?” he asked softly, biting back all the things his emotionally cluttered mind wanted to say. “I’ll be fine,” she sighed, “kill that chuffin’ bastard.” Nodding, he shook his head to regain his mental balance and stretched his senses out, homing in on the squig herder’s location. “By Der Ruhmzug,” he said quietly, she grunted in acknowledgement, waving him off towards the train. “My bow…” he trailed off as she held the repaired bow up. Their eyes locked briefly sending pleasant shockwaves through him before he melded into the woods.
* * * * * *
Mystri picked her way through the denser brush at the edge of the woods. “I be as light as a feather,” she chanted silently, mouthing the words as she carefully placed each foot to avoid snapping twigs that might alert the squig herder to her presence. Faint snickering caught her ears, she stopped, glaring at Ruthlos, who was crouching behind an overturned gondola. His eyes twinkled under his hood as he mouthed “light as a feather” at her and struggled not to burst out laughing. She scowled at him and went back to her slow forward progress. Finally clearing the woods, she glanced up toward Ruthlos beaming triumphantly; a spray of spittle escaped her mouth as she clamped down hard on the bark of laughter. A rock was propped up, “Died of boredom,” lightly scratched into its face. His body draped over the stone, tongue hanging out of his mouth. He opened one eye and peeked at her, quickly slamming it shut as she met his gaze. She doubled over, clamping her hand over her mouth to smother another bark of laugher. Composing herself she slowly stood up, wiped her hands on her tunic, and walked toward him. He nodded, his eyes narrowing coldly; he motioned towards the locomotive with his hands spread apart. She pondered a moment and shook her head slightly, slashing twice with one hand. He shook his head at her, she returned his stare demandingly, and pursed her lips. He rolled his eyes at her angrily, gnashing his teeth at her slightly as he grudgingly nodded. She watched him slip under the boxcars to the other side of the tracks and start moving toward the squig herder before she followed.
Ducking under the boxcar Mystri settled her eyes on the outline of Ruthlos’ lithe figure, his long legs quickly increasing the distance between them. He bounced lightly on his tip toes, like the ballerinas she had watched in Altdorf she mused, “How wonderful it would be to move so gracefully,” she thought to herself. She envisioned herself twirling across a stage, stretching her hands gracefully above her head as the hem of her gown flared out around her feet. She lightly caught Ruthlos’ hand in hers, he bowed as he whisked her up into his arms, embracing her as they glided across the stage. Their cheeks touched lightly as they spun in a circle. She pulled her head off his shoulder studying the details of his finely chiseled face, her eyes resting momentarily on his lips. She slid her hand up his neck running her fingers down his jaw. His eyes glowed warmly as she leaned slowly toward his slightly parted lips… She tripped; the clomping of her heavy footsteps bringing a deep scowl to her face. Ruthlos paused, glaring at her over his shoulder. She shrugged at him guiltily, “tell him how you feel,” she whispered in her vision. She grimaced cursing her foolishness as she snapped herself back into focus. Ruthlos narrowed his eyes at her, she nodded slightly and he continued down the tracks. As the sound of the squig herders soft cackling grew closer she began activating runes. Ruthlos lept gracefully onto the tender car and disappeared behind the bulk of the cabin with a final glance at her. She began tracing her healing runes, firing them off as she completed each one.
Ruthlos slowly relaxed his minds control over his emotions, the warmth of her magic washed over him in waves and he smiled peacefully. He rolled his eyes and envisioned the choppa and anger jumped into his mind. He recalled the orc that nearly cleaved Mystri in two, the anger built inside him. He recalled the witch elf he had interrogated and smiled at the sound of her pleading cries. Crouching down next to the tender entrance to the cabin he closed his eyes, bringing forth the hatred that fueled his resolve. He recalled the sorceress, the sweet taste of her blood tickled his tongue, he licked his lips, “more,” he whispered in his mind... Visions of countless battles splashed across his mind in a blood splattered haze as the rage and bloodlust built up inside him. Wincing he watched his sister taken by a black guard and the plea in her eyes as she looked to him for help. His heart tightened thinking about what the foul druchii did to her, or possibly worse things they could still be doing to her; he shuttered as his sister’s screams pierced his heart like daggers… He recalling those who denied him even the chance to save her from that, “you cannot win,” his brother had told him, and the surprised look on his face when he plunged his sword into him. “You failed to protect your sister,” “you killed your brother,” “you fail yourself.” he whispered. His father’s voice sliced through him, “you are no son of mine,” he clenched his eyes tightly closed. “Your life is forfeit,” echoed in his ears as he slaughtered his brethren during his escape. “You deserved to die coward,” he screamed silently as self-hatred filled his mind.
He recalled Mystri crumpling to the ground, “You have failed again,” his sister whispered as he watched her blood soak into the grass. Falling to his knees, he cradled his head in his hands and sobbed, “she is all I have left to live for…” A trickle of blood ran down his wrist. He stared down the shaft of the arrow pointed at him, locking gazes with the squig herder. The squig herder’s laughter exploded painfully in his mind, shattering the vision and snapping his emotional control. A surge of seething hatred coursed through him and he struggled to maintain awareness of reality, to control the blind hatred on the verge of tearing him apart from the inside. “Too far!,” he yelled, straining to hear his own voice over the squig herder’s booming laughter. His head lolled forward in the real world as he started to slip into the internal madness he had unleashed.
The ground underneath him began tilting vertical, “NO!” he screamed, tilting his body forward to keep his balance. Mystri began sliding, he lunged toward her, wrapping his arm around her lifeless body. He clawed at the dirt with his free hand as his feet began to slip out from under him. His real world body tilted heavily forward in its crouch, his hand subconsciously stopping him from falling over. He grabbed a root as they slid by, the jarring stop dislodging his grip on her body, she started slipping from his grasp. He released the root hauling her back up with both hands while they slid uncontrollably. Reaching out again he grabbed hold of a passing tree, clutching her tightly to him as he dug his nails into the bark. Straining with all his might he tried unsuccessfully to lift them up on top of it. He looked up sadly, watching in slow motion as he started to lose his grip. “Mystri,” he said, looking at her lifeless face, “this is going to be a bumpy ride.” He laughed maniacally as his fingers slipped off the side of the tree truck.
Her eyes popped open, “Ruthlos!” she hissed, “What the ‘ell are ye doin’, takin’ a nap?” He slammed back into reality, hard. Losing his balance, he fell backwards off the connector he had been perched on. He pivoted and twisted his body around as he fell, but not quite enough to land all fours. His shoulder hitting first he curled into a ball and rolled across the ground. He snarled as he sprung out the roll, his crazed eyes coming to rest on Mystri. “Shhh, the squig herder will hear you,” she whispered waving toward the locomotive. Growling, he tore his gaze from her and looked toward the locomotive, listening to its breathing and occasional mumbling to itself. “Your bow is by the wheel,” she continued. His hate filled gaze locked on her again and he licked his lips, the taste of blood flooded his senses, he coiled his leg muscles up to pounce. She glanced at him undaunted, “No, the squig herder,” she whispered waving again at the locomotive. A warm blast of energy washed over him, he paused, breathing heavily as his frenzied mind tried to decide what to do. “Squig herder,” she prodded, its beady eyes flashed in his mind as “squig herder” echoed over and over. “Yer bow,” she whispered, with a low growl he launched himself through the doorway into the cabin. Mystri sighed, “or not...”
* * * * * *
“We live on the railroad, ’cause we can’t return ‘ome an’ we got nowhere else t’ go,” she sang, wiping his forehead with a wet cloth. “Fer years we ‘ave traveled,” she pulled what might have been a finger out of his hair, “the steam engine a’chuggin’ an’ the long whistle blow.” She flicked a green chunk of flesh off his nose and wiped his face off, “Many places we ‘ave seen, o’er the flat plains an’ the mountains blanket o’ snow.” He discovered something gristly in his mouth and explored it with his tongue, “What is in your mouth?” she demanded, he shrugged slightly. “Give it,” she barked, he spit it out into her hand, “A tongue?,” she mused as she flung it over her shoulder. “Der Ruhmzug has arrived,” she continued singing as she cleaned a bloody glob out of his ear, “can’t say how long we’ll be stayin’ ‘cause we ne’er know.” She wiped the through a thick layer of blood on his neck and shoulders, he realized his tunic was gone as the shivers raced down his spine. “We’re forced t’ keep rollin’, ‘cause if’n ‘e loses ‘is temper the blood starts t’ flow.” He winced slightly as she cleaned a long gash on his chest. “Ruthlos the Ruthless, countless thousands ‘ave fallen t’ the deadly kiss o’ ‘is bow.” She grabbed his arm, “open,” she commanded, he unclenched his fist and she picked the gooey mass out of his hand, “intestines?” she chuckled as she flung it into the woods, he shrugged. “From the shadows ‘e pounces,” she wrung out the rag and cleaned his hand, “they ne’er ‘ear ‘im comin’ and don’t live t’ see ‘im go.” He smiled, watching her face as she methodically combed her fingers through his long brown hair picking out chunks, “Ruthlos the Ruthless, some people ask if’n I’ll e’er lea’e ‘im an’ the answer’s no.” Noticing his eyes were open she smiled at him warmly and tapped her finger lightly on the tip of his nose in time with her singing, “Mah Ruthlos the Ruthless, I’ll be fore’er fightin’ by ‘is side ‘cause I enjoy the show.” She winked at him as he faded back into blackness.
Ruthlos felt oddly at peace, he opened his eyes and stared at the clouds above him, tinted a thousand shades of orange by the setting sun. His head rested on Mystri’s stomach, rising and falling with her steady breathing. He rolled half onto his stomach and sighed contentedly, her tunic was soft as he rubbed his cheek across it, he closed his eyes again. A cool breeze blew through his hair and he shivered slightly as it tickled his back. Inhaling deeply he groaned a little and rolled onto his back to study the sky again. Sighing unhappily, he sat up, stretching his hands toward the sky and rolling his head around to realign his spine. The aroma of seasoned meat drifted by on the wind and his stomach rumbled unhappily, he stood up stretching again before he made his way over to the dying fire. A hunk of bread rested on the lid of the cooking pot, he shoved it in his mouth as he lifted the lid; the symphony of herbs caressed his nose and he smiled in anticipation. He cast about for a spoon, finding one sitting on top of an empty bowl off to the side. “How well you know me,” he chuckled as he fished a chunk out of the stew. “Carrots! My favorite,” he thought, “where did these come from?” Snatching the warm pot off the fire he sat down on a boulder and started eating. Another cold breeze blew insistently across his chest. He glanced around the camp assessing what needed to be taken care of before the storm hit and spied a bottle of wine. He shook his head smiling and retrieved the bottle, a piece of parchment hung from a branch tied around the neck. The note read, “Regain your strength, in the morning we go t’ Altdorf,” he laughed quietly.
He picked her up and started carrying her to the train, she stirred mumbling quietly under her breath. Leaning his head down, he whispered in her ear, “Storms coming so we’re going inside,” she nodded sleepily. The dusky smell of her hair filled his nose, he closed his eyes slightly enjoying the comfortable darkness it always conjured up. His ears picked up the twin beats of their hearts, his quickening as she wrapped her arms around him, a chill raced down his spine as she lazily slid one hand across his bare chest and up around his neck. He adjusted his arms to support her new position, a jolt of lust shooting through him as her tunic pulled out from under his hand on her thigh. She sighed contentedly, her breath on his neck sending waves of pleasure though him. The faint smell of stew on her breath teased his tongue, he closed his eyes and allowed her smell to envelop his senses as he stepped into the warmth of the cabin. “What would I e’er do without ya,” she mumbled into his neck. “I will always be here for you,” he whispered tightly. She hugged him slightly, his hand sliding slightly on her bare thigh. “An’ I fer ye,” she whispered as he lowered himself to his knees. “We were meant t’ find each other,” she sighed as he laid her gently down on the bedroll. Thunder rolled across the sky as he hovered over her, her lips mere inches from his. “More than that, I think we were meant to be together,” he trailed off, startled by his blurted confession. “As do I, my Ruthlos,” she whispered softly as she drifted back to sleep. A thunder clap echoed through the valley as a powerful wave of emotion surged through him, he closed his eyes and struggled internally to contain it.
* * * * * *
“Did you sleep well?” Ruthlos asked. Mystri stretched wondering how he always knew the second she woke up, “Aye, quite well, and ye?” she asked. “My dreams were … restless,” he replied, taking a long draw off his pipe. “Are you feeling better?” she asked as their eyes met. He nodded, his eyes flicking back out the window quickly. She raised an eyebrow and rolled out of bed, stretching as she scratched her head. “Well then, me thinks it is time fer some breakfast,” she said, without turning around he thrust a plate of fruit in her direction. “Ooo, I love apples!” she exclaimed plucking a wedge off the top and popping it into her mouth before taking the plate. “This I know,” he thought to himself with a smile as he watched the rain fall on the leaves of the trees. “I dreamt o’ a glorious war,” she said excitedly, “We should join these folks an’ toast the blood o’ many worthy foes.” He glanced at her face, her eyes glowing with anticipation. He remembered their past wars together, the smell of blood and sweat, the delightful sounds of their screams... “Agreed, to Ulthuan then” he smile broadly as he began stoking the coal box. “Oh no ya don’t,” she growled at him, “we’ll be goin’ t’ Altdorf first.” He chuckled to himself as the argument began anew…
Site No. 70 by Benjamin Foley