#11
In-game Name: Maxscha
Story Name: Three mistakes & a one way ticket
Story Text:
Part 1
I sit in a pub where drinks are expensive, talk is cheap and names are unspoken. I wait, in dreary darkness, for a sign; a beacon of hope amidst the dire news
of Nifelheim. A Clock-tower nearby erupts in a single lonely hollow clang. Good; I am on time. I would know my contact by the ring he wore; a rare signet bearing
the mark of a priest. Not many true healers in these parts, so I hear...
Somehow, time seems to hold it's breath in these moments between one frey and the next. Tugging my dull grey cloak further over my brow with gloved fingers,
I stare into my cup of vivid carmine tea, hoping to not be noticed. Much. Who would notice innocuous me in a room this crowded with the drinking and the
stinking? Well..... Anyone that noticed I wasn't Drinking, or Stinking, of course. THAT was my first mistake.
The Freyjan grabbed my wrist, and loosed my cup, spilling the steaming toddy onto the dusty floor. Then twisting my arm around and forcing me to look into
his deep-set golden eyes, he growled,"Whet ye be doin 'ere, Lass?" Wincing from the morodona stench on his breath, and the inhuman strength of his grip...
I jolted. My cloak hood fell from my head, revealing my sun-touched skin; there was no longer hope of going unnoticed. Or was there?
"Whet's dis?" he boomed, "A lass from Midgard? Luks like da night might be intrestin' after all....." and with that he threw me on the ground and spat in
disgust, uttering cruel profanities. "I gots me a sweet lil spot fer da likes o' yew." He threw me such that I landed right where I needed to be; next to my pack.
I rolled a bit to conceal the fact that I was really pulling trinkets from my bag... and...
There! With a quick flick and a twist, the traps were sprung! A snare binding his feet, a claymore flash blinding his eyes, and frost, filling the room with a haze
so thick that my flash had been refracted into all unshielded eyes. The room, now a hazy blur, no longer filled with the sights of drunken dirty Freyjans; too bad
I didn't have a remedy for the smell...
Before anyone could single me out in the ensuing chaos, I grabbed my stuff and somersaulted away. In the blink of an eye, I was out the window and on the roof.
A long sigh of relief and despair filled me. That was too close for comfort, yet it led me too far from hope. How will I ever find my contact now?
Even in my moment of uncertainty, there is a hint of triumph permeating. It seems I left quite the mess of disoriented drunks behind. Why bother fighting when
I am so good at tumbling and sneaking away? Surely, they will bruise each other on my behalf. Teehee, I snickered gleefully.
Part 2
From the vantage of the Tavern roof, much of the town can be seen and heard. Oh, and smelled. Wrinkling my nose again, I melt into the shadows, wrapping
myself in the embrace of the unseen. There are few passers by in the night, but more than I have seen in any small farm town since the shady happenings in
Maple... Something other than farming must be going on here...
My eyes, keen as an owl, spy a trio of scarlet-clad priests; none wearing a notable ring, however. They came from the alley behind the tavern, and went into
the temple nearby; a 4th, large incapacitated fellow in tow. Hmm... He looks familiar somehow? Could he be the same Freyjan that accosted me? This may be
as good a lead to follow as any, perhaps. It should be easy enough to track that smell...
Skillfully, I dart like a circus acrobat from rooftop to rooftop, barely making more noise than a night-critter on the prowl. The temple walls are easy to scale, so
heavily covered with entablature on every level. There was a time when climbing was fun sport, and not a necessity of survival. Oh, how I miss the days of
jovial Hide & Seek... But now is not the time for a nostalgic reverie!
Now is the time to focus on the task at hand. I need to find my contact; an agent within the Freyjan ranks. I have to take his collection of intel back to Trade
Master Onasis, so we can prepare for the impending threat from Nifelheim. The fog of war is thick. Without more specifics from our undercover operative, we
won't know what to prepare for, or when. We need to know. Now.
Thru an open window on the top floor I could hear a tense exchange. "He handled her in the tavern, but she got away, my Lord." There was a momentary
pause, laden with disappointed silence and trembling nerves. A deep commanding voice replied,"Find her," and nothing more. Peering into the room, I could
barely see thru the lush damask curtains. A single figure stood cowering in the dim candlelight: no notable ring upon him.
His thick heavy robes whiffled as he backed away, retreating from the office, to the stairwell beyond. The man still seated at the desk could be heard opening
a drawer, closing it, then scratching at parchment with a newly forged quill. In a few short sentences, his note was done. The crinkling of the note,
and unclasping of a cage, made it evident that the letter was bound for imminent flight. Uh oh, I thought, I best make haste from this window perch.
Scampering down and around the corner as quietly as I could, I was not a moment too soon! I stifled a gasp as the Lord sent his familiar into the night, carrying
a missive of urgent import to a destination unknown. He stood at the window, watching it fade into the distance, thus making it unwise for me to reveal myself
by sending any arrow after his pet. I spied him discreetly from my sly niche, and noted a jewel encrusted hand; but alas, no signet.
It's a shame I couldn't intercept that message; I can only imagine what it might have said. No doubt, the ruckus I caused at the tavern was the trigger for
tonight's concern. Hopefully I can make it thru the night without triggering any further concern amongst these most inhospitable of neighbors. Ah well...
Part 3
Pressed against the side of the fourth floor, pausing to catch my breath, a familiar scent (er... stench) found it's way to my senses. It must be wafting from the
nearest window, I surmised. Finding my footing gingerly onto the balcony next to me, I came to view him, The Freyjan. Or so I thought... For there, upon his
hand, was what I had failed to see before. The signet I had been looking for! THAT was my second mistake.
I must have been too distracted by the spilling of my tea, that I didn't notice the hand that had grabbed me. Oh, woe! I blundered the rendezvous! How was I
supposed to know that he would approach me thusly? I suppose it makes sense; it would be hard for him to explain a polite exchange with someone like me
amidst such raucous revelry... He DOES have a barbarian image to maintain, after all. With this realization, my inward sigh stretched deep and long.
Gazing about the temple room, I am surprised to see that nothing therein resembles a house of healing and recovery. Nay. This chamber is more akin to
an interrogation room. These are the instruments of torture, tools to dismantle one's will. To damage a person in body and mind, not all at once, but over
time. Why would they hold him here? Surely his cover is intact? Other than our brief and explosive exchange, we had no other contact.
He is still breathing; not dead. If he bears the heart of Ymir, he won't simply die, but be renewed elsewhere. However, I fear he does not, for he is older than I;
perhaps a generation before me? Even so, he is no weakling. I have only known a few humans so burly and buff. Hmmm... He reminds me of... No, wait...
Can it be? But I see it now... The resemblance to Master Jehoon is striking! Is this, perhaps, his long lost brother? Not lost at all, but incognito? He's our spy?!
I thought, frantically, of the situation he was in, and how I might get him out... I can't leave him here to be tortured; especially since it was my blunder that
landed him in this dreadful chamber... Just then, a heavy knock upon the old oaken door echoed within the stone-walled room. Reacting instinctively, I folded
myself into the shadows once again, breath baited, arrow poised.
The Freyjan, er, I mean... My contact stirred slightly and mumbled groggily as the door creaked open. "Hmmm, I see," uttered the looming priest in the
doorway, "The sod's still waylaid with morodona, hm? I'll get my answers, tomorrow then." And with that, he shut the door behind him, which thoroughly
stifled any ambient sounds from bleeding thru. Now's my chance! Time to get him out of here, and scram! Before the morning torture session begins...
Silently sifting thru my pack, I grab a spinel potion for him. Cradling his head in my lap, I let the potion slowly trickle down his throat. Soon, his pallor fades,
his breathing softens, and finally, his eyes flutter open. For half a heartbeat, his eyes seem a world away; somewhere sublime. His mind finds reality faster
than I can introduce myself; suddenly, I am pinned against the wall, his strong arms crushing my shoulders, my toes barely brushing the ground.
Unearthly growls emanate from deep within him as he looks me up and down, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. "Lass! Ye came!" His gaze and grip slowly
easing as he let my feet find the floor. "But how..." His voice faded as he looked around the room nervously. "Shhh..." He placed his finger softly on my lip,
hushing my explanation for the nonce. Then he sauntered to the door and latched it, with an uncanny familiarity.
"Wait..." I whispered urgenty,"We have to get out of here, follow me..." I motioned him to step towards the balcony, and began unraveling rope from my pack.
A clear look of calculated concern on my face as I pondered the strength of the rope relative to our respective weights. Just then, he let fourth a bellowed snort
of a laugh. The look on his face was both amused and unconcerned. He clearly had no intention of following me. Apparently THAT was my third mistake?
Part 4
"Funni lass," shaking his head, and taking a seat upon the same bench that he was previously draped across,"ye don't know whet's whet, n'do ye?"
He patted the bench next to him invitingly,"Let me try t' tell ye. Sit ye down for a spell." Hesitant and wary, I sat at his side, nodded, and quietly repacked
my rope (but poised to grab my bow in a trice).
"Ye see, dis 's MY room; fer MY werk," he explained. "I'm da Torture Maester." My eyes widened, and I shuddered where I sat. "Fear not, young lass; it's a
perfect plan fer me ta be 'ere as da Torture Maester. For as such, I can pick whet infermation gets to da Temple Lord, and whet don't. I can also give mercy
when no other Torture Maester would. Do ye see, lass? It's perfect fer me. Perfect for a collector of infermation, ya see?"
Wide eyed, I nodded again, unable to utter a word. With that, he nodded also, and solemnly marched across the room. He bent forward and grabbed at the
base of a cupboard with his calloused bare hands. The wood splinters too weak to phase his skin, the nails too rusty to creak, the wooden frame gave way to
a cleverly concealed compartment. He pulled a small book from the slick; bland and shabby as anything else in this room, save for the vivid red bookmarks.
I stood, ready for departure, as he returned to my side. A grim expression on his face, the weight of woe in his eyes; when he placed the book in my hands,
I could feel the disproportionate heft of emotion that it contained. Our hearts heavy, and our souls somber, he opened his arms invitingly. "Come 'ere lass,
Let us share a hug before ye flit away." I folded myself into his embrace, trustingly,"Tis too long since a fellow kinsman's agreed to come this way."
As we held eachother gently, he stifled a sob, but I felt an unmistakable aqua-tear land on my cheek. It seemed the hug should end, but a foreboding came
over me. "I'm sorry it had to be dis way, Lass." My blood began to surge, panic setting in; I had been stunned. "But dis is the fastest 'n surest way home."
He began to squeeze me so tight that air ceased to cycle within me."Yer scroll-trinkets won't werk 'ere; not in MY werk-room."
His prayers sent waves of holy light around me, and rays of genesis cycling thru me. Reality dissolved into chaos; Ymir beat in my heart loud and clear. Then, with
a familiar carillon pealing once in a distant belfry, entropy gave way to order once again. My breath returned to me, my body renewed for me, my sight restored to
see the cerulean eyes of Kafra Ivory. She smiled with a flustered but friendly relief. "Hi There! The Kafra location... um... location save service is always with you!"
(Apologies if my attempt at capturing an accent was too hard to read. Thanks for reading!)
Edited by Idun, 11 April 2016 - 11:14 AM.