Post by dominica on Apr 15, 2008 19:41:15 GMT -5
The hag stared up at Dominica as if she were mad. "I've heard of no poison like this," she announced.
Dominica Nightthorn hissed her frustration. "They told me you were the best within leagues at this sort of thing, and you've never heard of it? Do you need me to go over the symptoms again?"
The hag shrugged, displaying gappy yellow teeth. "You say you went through months of hallucinations, sweating, fever. You claim you had but a scratch at the time, on the back of your neck. I can think of several things that cause chills and hallucinations and weakness, but only for the span of a few heartbeats, my Lady. And then..." The hag mimed slitting her own throat, and Dominica gritted her teeth.
"Thank you for your time and courtesy."
She stepped out into the forest, leaving the hag's hut behind. The wind was ripping through the Greatwood, but the sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day, with sunlight slashing through the leaf canopy like gentle daggers. Sighing, she took to the road, heading back towards the Mittlemarch settlement. She'd been a fool to come out here on her own, but she hadn't been sure who she could trust to watch her back, so she chose the evil she knew: solitude.
The smell of meat drew her attention, and she turned farther down the road, away from Mittlemarch. It seemed, since her recovery, that she was always hungry -- she grew dizzy and faint if she left too long between meals. She wondered if that was a sign of recovery, or if that was a sign of a weakness that the poison had birthed in her body, something that was there to stay. She wasn't faint yet but she was hungry.
She came to a group of men in a hunting party, settling down to roast their boar on the spot. She hailed them, and they hailed back, welcoming her generously and sharing their food. She began exchanging names with them, and she started to relax.
Until a breathless elf came charging into the center. "Orcs," the elf said, and everyone leaped to their feet, drawing weapons, Dominica among them, heart pounding. Great. She'd run through a few drills, but she was not ready for this.
They came snarling and hacking, and the battle became a blur. The first one was twice her size and slammed down on her sword with his own. It went flying, but she dove and rolled and came up on her feet, looking desperately for a weapon, any weapon. Noting her distress, someone shoved a glaive at her. She hoisted it, eyes wide. The thing was heavier than it had looked. She'd never trained with something like it. She had no time to contemplate as the orc charged her. She dove to the side again, her bare foot slipping in wet grass and gouging the mud. She swung awkwardly at the thing's legs, feeling her wrist twist and cry out in protest. She'd done something wrong. She thought maybe she connected, but she had no time to worry with that as the orc's sword bit straight into her side. It wasn't mortal, but it hurt. She gritted her teeth again, preparing to roll out of the way or die.
There was a flash of steel and a slender man charged forward and planted his sword beneath the orc's ribs. No -- not his sword. Her sword. She nodded her thanks, sweating and heaving for breath. The slender man went to pull the sword free, only to discover it stuck in the dead orc. He tugged and twisted. The battle had moved through the tree line, and he gazed after it, eager to be on it. She heard a loud snap and watched him withdraw about half of her sword. Mostly the hilt, with a few bits of metal on it. He gave her a look of chagrin and she waved it aside. He'd saved her life, after all. He soon looked around and discovered another fallen weapon, then charged after the others. Dominica pressed her hands to her bleeding side and edged over to a tree, thunking her head back against it. Not because she feared to pick up another weapon and try again, but because she did not want to be a liability to those who were in better form and unwounded.
She couldn't help but laugh at the ironies swirling around her life. Day one, snapped boot, saved life. Day two, snapped sword, saved life. She began to wonder if her entire existence forward would be a story of broken things leading to near-misses.
OOC: So I based this off today's practice a little.
Anyone want to be in that hunting party and RP with me?
Dominica Nightthorn hissed her frustration. "They told me you were the best within leagues at this sort of thing, and you've never heard of it? Do you need me to go over the symptoms again?"
The hag shrugged, displaying gappy yellow teeth. "You say you went through months of hallucinations, sweating, fever. You claim you had but a scratch at the time, on the back of your neck. I can think of several things that cause chills and hallucinations and weakness, but only for the span of a few heartbeats, my Lady. And then..." The hag mimed slitting her own throat, and Dominica gritted her teeth.
"Thank you for your time and courtesy."
She stepped out into the forest, leaving the hag's hut behind. The wind was ripping through the Greatwood, but the sun was shining and it was a gorgeous day, with sunlight slashing through the leaf canopy like gentle daggers. Sighing, she took to the road, heading back towards the Mittlemarch settlement. She'd been a fool to come out here on her own, but she hadn't been sure who she could trust to watch her back, so she chose the evil she knew: solitude.
The smell of meat drew her attention, and she turned farther down the road, away from Mittlemarch. It seemed, since her recovery, that she was always hungry -- she grew dizzy and faint if she left too long between meals. She wondered if that was a sign of recovery, or if that was a sign of a weakness that the poison had birthed in her body, something that was there to stay. She wasn't faint yet but she was hungry.
She came to a group of men in a hunting party, settling down to roast their boar on the spot. She hailed them, and they hailed back, welcoming her generously and sharing their food. She began exchanging names with them, and she started to relax.
Until a breathless elf came charging into the center. "Orcs," the elf said, and everyone leaped to their feet, drawing weapons, Dominica among them, heart pounding. Great. She'd run through a few drills, but she was not ready for this.
They came snarling and hacking, and the battle became a blur. The first one was twice her size and slammed down on her sword with his own. It went flying, but she dove and rolled and came up on her feet, looking desperately for a weapon, any weapon. Noting her distress, someone shoved a glaive at her. She hoisted it, eyes wide. The thing was heavier than it had looked. She'd never trained with something like it. She had no time to contemplate as the orc charged her. She dove to the side again, her bare foot slipping in wet grass and gouging the mud. She swung awkwardly at the thing's legs, feeling her wrist twist and cry out in protest. She'd done something wrong. She thought maybe she connected, but she had no time to worry with that as the orc's sword bit straight into her side. It wasn't mortal, but it hurt. She gritted her teeth again, preparing to roll out of the way or die.
There was a flash of steel and a slender man charged forward and planted his sword beneath the orc's ribs. No -- not his sword. Her sword. She nodded her thanks, sweating and heaving for breath. The slender man went to pull the sword free, only to discover it stuck in the dead orc. He tugged and twisted. The battle had moved through the tree line, and he gazed after it, eager to be on it. She heard a loud snap and watched him withdraw about half of her sword. Mostly the hilt, with a few bits of metal on it. He gave her a look of chagrin and she waved it aside. He'd saved her life, after all. He soon looked around and discovered another fallen weapon, then charged after the others. Dominica pressed her hands to her bleeding side and edged over to a tree, thunking her head back against it. Not because she feared to pick up another weapon and try again, but because she did not want to be a liability to those who were in better form and unwounded.
She couldn't help but laugh at the ironies swirling around her life. Day one, snapped boot, saved life. Day two, snapped sword, saved life. She began to wonder if her entire existence forward would be a story of broken things leading to near-misses.
OOC: So I based this off today's practice a little.
Anyone want to be in that hunting party and RP with me?
