Name: Charisse Race: Human
Ht: 5’6, Wt: 130, Sex: Female,
Archetype: Rogue
HP: 5 / 7 Mana: 0 / 0
Stats:
Physical : 2, Moxie : 3, Spiritual : 2, Luck : 3,
Agility : 3, Magic : 2, Mental : 2, Energy : 2.
Relevant Skills: Archetype - Awareness, Archetype - Opportunistic Strike, Knowledge - Basic Survival, Moxie - Deceive, Physical Lift, Physical Melee - Knife, Physical - Suppress Vomit and/or Nausea, Stealth - Hide, Stealth - Move Silent
__________________
It took almost a minute of flexing her hand and working the muscles for Charisse to regain enough movement in it. She'd already wrapped a piece of cloth around the bite marks; luckily, the man's teeth hadn't gone too deep, but there was some blood and who knows what else. Then, mulling over if she needed to worry about some disease, she pulled open her backpack to get her gloves out of it. If nothing else, they would keep the bandages wrapped in place and prevent a repeat incident.
With the gloves on, and backpack in place, and candle relit; she stroke out into the middle walkway and made her way down toward the back of the room. As she passed by each row of shelves, she waved the candle down it. Each the same, shelf upon shelf filled with bodies. Some new, some old, some that looked almost mummified.
When she reached the end of the room, and even more foul odor wafted from a hole in the wall. The opening was several feet wide and coated with what she guessed; layers of dried blood.
Biting against her cheek to get more salvia to swallow, Charisse looked away from the hole and back at the entrance. Then, mentally taking a picture of the way, she extinguished the candle and walked carefully back to where she'd left the body—counting the shelves until she got to her row.
Hunching down, she moved with her hands in front of her to help locate the corpse. The body was where she'd left it, a pool of fresh blood now coating the floor, making it sticky and a little slick in places. With a groan, she reached down, grabbed the carcass under its shoulders, and lifted it.
A loud squelching sound echoed through the chamber as the body was pulled from the congealing blood. With a grimace and an ear listening for anyone who may have heard the sound, she hefted the body up onto the nearest shelf. An old corpse already rested there; she stuffed the new body in anyways. After making sure it wouldn't roll back out, she stuffed the hands under it so they wouldn't dangle into the hallway.
A sardonic quip came to her lips, but she held it back to keep from saying aloud, "Why couldn't he have been a fasting priest?" Wiping her hands on the last clean spot on the clothes, she moved out of the isle of dead and into the hallway. Relighting her candle, she cupped the flame so only a little light would show.
Charisse walked down the hallway steadily, not trying to be stealthy but not blindly running. Once she got back to the fork, she went down the other path, covering the candle; as the flame started licking at the palm of her hand, she stopped and reached into her backpack. Thinking of a cup, she pulled out a little tin cup from the backpack. Putting the pack back on her shoulders, she covered the candle with the cup, using the edge of her hand to raise part of it. It took a few tries to figure out how little light she needed but left enough airflow to ensure the candle stayed lit.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The faint light from under the cup gave enough light to see the ground in front and a few feet in front of her. She lost count of how far she'd traveled when she saw the path start to open up in front of her.
Faint sounds ahead, as if two people were talking, drifted in through the darkness. Charisse quickly extinguished the light by moving the cup to cover it completely. She moved forward to where the hallway ended, and the room began, lightly touching the wall with her free hand to ensure she didn't bump into it.
Feeling the room open, she turned around the corner, a faint glow emanated from a corner, and to her eyes, it revealed the source of the voices. The room was open, with little in it, every dozen feet or so a stone table rested, the one near the candlelight had a corpse on it. Two men stood next to it on the left side, one holding an arm and the other making stitching motions. A candle rested on the table in the far corner.
"I told you, I don't know, nor do I care, as long as I learn more how to do raise dead, I'll assemble a jigsaw puzzle of flesh if he wants me to." said the Stitcher, as he cut the thread he was using to sew. "The fewer questions I ask, the better chance I have to learn."
"Just makes little sense to me." said the arm holder as he carefully rested the limb onto the stone. "there's thousands of dead already, and his army, why more?"
Charisse navigated closer, using the minimal light to avoid running into anything. Each step she took, she slowly lowered the toes of her foot, then once sure there was no noise, shifted her weight and took another step toward the arm holder who was closest. Each movement painstakingly slow as the two people spoke.
"Go ask him the next time you can, and when I'm stitching you back together, I'll tell you I told you so."
"I just thought..." the arm holder said.
"What, that your time here would always be in big circles and chanting, raising some undead beast from the beyond? Look, unless you're a master of the sword and magic, I recommend you be quiet and learn."
Charisse changed direction to get behind the Stitcher. It was only a few more steps, but soon she was standing behind him.
"You're not gonna tell anyone, are you?" the arm holder said with a slight quake in his voice.
"Depends," the Stitcher started to say, but Charisse interrupted him.
Charisse brought both arms around the man's face. One was holding a dagger that slid across his neck, and the other wrapping around his mouth. The man choked and struggled for a few seconds before the other person realized what was going on. As each second passed, the man's struggles became weaker as he deflated. Finally, the arm holder dropped the partially stitched arm and stared at Charisse as she slowly lowered the Stitcher to the floor.
"Please don't kill me." the arm holder said. His voice much higher pitched than previously. He raised both hands. "I don't have any money, but,"
"Not here for the money." Charisse stepped away from the weakly struggling man and held her knife out toward the previous arm holder. "Here for information." Taking a step toward the man, she realized he looked a lot younger in the light, his height concealing his age. "I promise I won't hurt you,"
"My name is Charisse. What's your name?" Charisse smiled and started to offer a hand to the man. As soon as she realized it was still covered in blood, she pulled the hand back and wiped it against her pant leg. "Sorry, though to be honest, I don't think he would have kept your secret."
"If, if you, gonna kill me, just do it." The man stood up straight.
"I'm not gonna kill you," Charisse paused and looked around. "Seems they have enough dead already for their army. I want to keep you from joining it. A friend of mine is a paladin and a just man, and I'll let him figure out your fate."
A sound of a rock hitting another rock echoed through the hallway. Charisse's head turned involuntarily toward the entrance, and she held her breath. The arm holder looked toward the entrance then back at Charisse.
"Probably a delivery. Marshal is handling intake, nothing to worry about." The man said.
"Right, I think it is time we left. If you're a good boy and follow directions, you'll live to see the morning." Charisse pushed the candle across the table toward the man. "Hold this; we walk out and then to the south. If you scream, well, I'll make sure it takes them a long time to stitch you back together."
The young man picked up the candle and turned toward the exit with a nod. He held the candle in front and started walking. Each step, covering several feet as his long legs seemed to devour the distance. Charisse followed closely but kept enough space that she wouldn't stab him in the back if he were to stop suddenly.
But also, if he tried anything, she could follow through with that stab in the back.