In what would be called late September in another world, there is the holy week that is known as Saune (pronounced like “sound” without the “d” ending). It celebrates the end of harvesting, the remembrance of fallen friends and family, and the coming of winter. Fruitcakes are made, there are parties and games and gambling and feasting, and presents are exchanged on the last day of the week (Mickelmas Day).
For a single man, it’s a chance to hook up with that special someone at the Mickelmas Eve’s Dance.
For a married man, it’s a chance to laugh at all the brats trying to hook up with that same special someone at the Mickelmas Eve’s Dance.
It’s also a damn good excuse to drink lots of alcohol.
It was not yet the week of Saune, but even so the time-honored tradition of “celebrating early” is still strong in certain places and with certain people.
Mike Evans staggered slowly towards him, confident and leering.
That voice…
“[What the hell?]”
“[Got it.]”
That voice…
“[Okay. Okay! OKAY! DOWN! You’ll get fed… Damn, I don’t have any plates. Well, you guys are just going to have to share for today.]”
“[Okay cats, these are for you. NO. I said these are for the CATS. Go over there. Go on!]”
“[WH-WHAT AM I DOING???]”
THAT VOICE…!
"[Now, now. YOU came to ME, after all...]"
THAT VOICE!
OH MY GOD IT’S HIM!
On an instinctual level, he KNEW this was the man who had almost raped him when he was paralyzed and alone in the church.
For the first time in both of his lives, a certain elf felt his sphincter suddenly clench tightly all on its own.
His mind stopped working as adrenaline and fear moved his feet in the opposite direction.
Somewhere. Anywhere.
Away from HIM.
A sudden cold wind whipped at his eyes as he ran for his life… and virginity…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Herschel and Tomas Evans walked around in the near-freezing weather, turning away when a cold wind blew by, and completely ignored the front gate.
This was intentional.
Mike Evans had been put on late-night guard duty. With them.
Mike Evans is a handsome man.
Because of Mike Evans, many a young boy in love had to settle for second best (or AS second best) at every Mickelmas Eve Dance.
Herschel knew all about that... from personal experience.
Because of Mike Evans, there hasn’t been a virginal bride for the last fifteen weddings at the village.
Because of Mike Evans, many a husband and father had to face the very real fear that their wives and daughters may NOT, in fact, be “visiting friends” as they said.
Tomas could explain that feeling in quite explicit details.
How they HATED Mike Evans.
They hated him with a passion.
Some day, they believed, some jealous man will stick a knife in him.
Unfortunately, just as Mike Evans loved the ladies, the ladies also loved him, and didn’t tolerate anyone picking on him.
Sister Teresa liked him as well, and NOBODY wants to tick off a cleric of Ilya, especially if she’s the only cleric in the village and a close personal friend of Lord Bowen himself.
So they left Mike Evans alone.
If they had to spend much time with the man who always laughed off accusations with, “Hey, THEY came to ME!” the jealous man with a knife might suddenly be one of them.
Also, leaving the bastard alone increased the chance that someone ELSE would come and do the deed for them. Since they could honestly say “we didn’t see anything at the time", it would practically be the perfect crime. Win-win.
Eventually Mike Evans will put the moves on the wrong woman, and pay the price.
They hoped they would be nearby to (not) witness it.
So when they noticed – how could they not – a stunningly beautiful elf, wearing a white one-piece dress…
Running towards them with tears in her eyes…
(which was actually from the cold wind just now)
Looking pale and terrified…
Followed by a lumbering, staggering, red-faced, drunk, and obviously aroused Mike Evans…
Who was holding a bottle of what was obviously alcohol in one hand and fumbling with his pants with the other…
Well.
One plus one was looking an AWFUL LOT like two now, wasn’t it?
Years of repressed hatred, what could only be a elven princess straight out of a epic saga, an easy excuse to become the so-called dashing knights in shining armor (theirs was made of leather though), and a drunk (and therefore off his game) Mike Evans made their simultaneous decision a no-brainer.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Mike foolishly tried to shove them aside.
His girl, his PREY was escaping.
He had SO MUCH to teach her.
She didn’t know that she would be screaming his name later.
Not yet.
It was with no small amount of surprise that he noticed that:
1. The two men looked rather upset;
2. He suddenly had a great deal of trouble staying upright and that his lungs weren’t pulling in enough air;
3. It might have something to do with the two loud *thumps* he heard;
4. The ground was coming to meet him rather fast, wasn’t it?
5. For that matter, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus on it much…
6. *THUD*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He ran.
It was all he could do.
He was trapped.
Or was he?
A tall ladder was resting against the wall. At the top, what looked like clay(?) tiles lay in a pile next to a bucket. Someone had been doing roofing here, and had left the work to be finished the next day.
A ladder meant up.
Up meant over.
Over meant ESCAPE.
With renewed energy he ran towards it. He couldn’t hear any pursuers, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
“[What the--]”
See?
He had already been spotted.
Again.
It sounded female this time.
Almost there!
With a relieved sob he reached for the ladder…
It disappeared.
Ladder, Tall
He slammed, face-first, into the wall.
-2 hp helpfully flashed in front of his eyes. There was a faint “I want to have a nosebleed” feeling.
Dammit! I don’t have time for this!
“Inventory!”
He yanked the newly-acquired ladder out again and set it against the wall.
“[Hey! You there! Stop!]”
I can pretty much tell what you’re saying, but sorry, I’m getting the HELL out of here!
He clambered up to the roof, pausing only to say, “Close” to the inventory screen before blinking the ladder out of existence again.
Ladder, Tall
Behind him, Miss Female Guard Voice started blowing a tin whistle loudly. Oddly, the sound reminded him of Elizabethan England policemen. He used to love watching that old Sherlock Holmes series…
Oh, for the love of --
There was a THIRD wall, shorter than this one, but still blocking his escape. Several more guards looked up and noticed him.
How could they not?
A couple of them also pulled out tin whistles, preparing to blow. More alarms.
“INVENTORY!” He screamed. He had no time, he was clearly out-numbered, he only had one chance…
He ran across the rooftop as fast as he could go.
+1 Stamina flashed at him briefly.
He yanked out the ladder, not even trying to hold it aloft.
It slammed into the ground.
He jumped up as much as he could.
+1 Athletics flashed at him briefly.
He half-pole vaulted, half-rode the ladder to the next rooftop.
“CLOSE!” He yelled and grabbed.
Ladder, Tall
Before him lay the entirety of Bowen Village.
A white cobble stone road lay before him.
To the left was what looked like a playground, only made for both children and adults. There were swings, a slide, some sort of wooden… fort… thing, picnic tables, what appeared to be public toilets…
And also an archery range, training dummies for sword practice, several small arena-like circles, and a jogging track.
To the right was clearly an inn. Lights were on in a few windows, and more than one person stared back at him from inside their rooms.
Next to it was a general store… maybe?
Across the street from it was what looked like a smithy.
There were a number of buildings he had no idea about down the road. They didn’t seem like residences.
All around, there were fields.
There were a LOT of fields.
Most were clearly for farming. Not being a farmer himself he had no idea what the crop was, but it looked to be mostly harvested by now. There were several large hay bales here and there.
At least four orchards. They too looked mostly picked clean.
And YET ANOTHER FREAKING WALL surrounded the entire village. This one was more like a traditional castle wall… if castle walls had small guard towers every twenty feet or so.
JUST HOW PARANOID ARE YOU PEOPLE???
Behind him, a number of whistles blared out.
In front of him, a number of whistles started answering them.