Micheal tried to remember how this had all happened. His skull lanced with pain and his mind felt shattered. He asked himself the questions many ask themselves upon finding they came awake in an odd place away from the comfort of a familiar bed, but what came to mind for answers was tainted with months of broken and painful memories. How he had ended up here in this strange place of suffering and pain, and endless labor, how his life had changed from the boring mundane modern life so quickly to this? He tried to think, but his body was too worn out and his mind too exhausted to think of much. His fever was getting worse. That had to be it. Whatever those goblins fed him was making him sick again. His mind wavered and wandered from thought to thought trying to pull itself out of its dream-like and dizzying state. Goblins? Were goblins even real? Where was he?
-But how did he come here? He lay on his back now, his head pounding, vision spinning, blood running down his face, matting in his long oily hair and soaking into his messy beard. His body ached, his muscles tight, his stomach tied in knots, and his face was hot with fever making him feel sick. Even with his head singing this way he could still feel the most recent of the wounds left by the whip of the orc slave master. How did orcs seem so real now when before they had been nothing but tales in a book or video game? When had he begun to think he would never escape? When had he given in? When did this nightmare become real? These were the questions he asked himself as his eyes fluttered open to the light of a late summer evening, the light blinding to his eyes and stabbing at his mind and thoughts.
He tried to think of that as he looked about to get his bearings careful of the wound on his head. He was on the ground near the end of the ruined fortress. In the bailey here still danced the woman he had saved. Yes that was right. She hadn't seen that last orc when she came in here and she would have been struck down unaware if he had not stood to intervene. How had he thought to stand against an orc in his state? The answer was that she was a woman, and he could no longer stand to bear witness to what the orcs did to women. Even now as weak as he was, something in his soul cried out for him to stand to fight against the orcs to give it one last try though what he did try only sent him back to the ground. It was not like before, in an instant he had rallied his strength to stand against his captors and defend this woman giving her valuable time to escape. Still on the ground however he could only wonder: Why was she here? Who would come here? She had to get away. Instead of making the most of the time he had given her and getting away she did the last thing he expected. In fact it had been the very thing he had done. She stood against them. He watched amazed as the woman he had saved fought like she was possessed by an ancient goddess of war, her face a visage of bloody determination.
She danced like she was part of morbid play or ruinous war dance with her as the star. Her moves looked practiced and easy compared to that of the orcs that were attempting to overwhelm and capture her with wild charges and savage all out attacks. The blades in her hands flashed and darted like sparrows around the orcs that were made awkward by comparison. They couldn’t seem to touch her. Not now. One with a man catcher lashed out for her neck, but those short swords of hers flashed in an arc and loosed first the head of the polearm and then the orcs own head from its body dropping it in a heap as she danced about as if on the wind itself. The orcs still alive near her closed in after that roaring in rage and desperation against her furious onslaught. Blades clashed with force enough to throw sparks the girl danced away and around the brutes growling and shouting at them as fiercely as they did to her though they were half a head taller than her and twice her width or more in the shoulders or more each of them. Still they could not catch her. Her long auburn hair made up in neat intricate braids flowed behind her just out of reach of their hands and blades. Her leather armor would do nothing against the blades of the orcs with a square hit, not that the blades were sharp enough to cut, but they were certainly heavy enough to simply crush to the bone beneath on the first strike. He watched in a daze as she danced back and forth the world tilting like dying spins of a top to his mind, around and through the four or five orcs that battled her. Her beautiful somewhat alien face was bent in a visage of rage, and she struck out against the orcs as they came after her felling them one by one. They lost fingers first, then hands, eyes, and throats. Her blades took whatever opening they gave and bit deep when they struck flashing like striking vipers.
She wore boots of polished leather that rode up over her knees accented with silvery armor, and matching thick gloves that clung to the form of her arms up to her elbows. The cuirass she wore was made of interwoven pleats of the same leather, and all of it accented in the dark greens of late summer foliage like the clothes underneath the armor. Her skin was tan with the sun and her ears went out in points just beyond the neat layers of her braids upon which a silver circlet rested on her head making her like a princess of battle. She danced and battled with the orcs making them look as before unpracticed performers in a play they should have never been allowed on stage for. The woman who battled before him was simply too beautiful, graceful, and alien to play any role alongside the likes of them. Even soaked in sweat and blood like she was there was just no way he could have allowed her to be reduced to the state he was in. Was that why he had struck at that orc? Or had he only noticed her beauty now together with her wonderful dance of death?
Micheal began to worry that something in his head had come loose as he watched. She was an elf of some kind. An elven princess like in the stories, games, and tales back home. She was as impossible as the orcs she was fighting against wasn't she? He felt his head, his fingers found a place where it was clear that bone had been broken. It was where he bled from. His vision and thoughts swayed and he found himself watching the woman once more as more and more orcs rushed to meet her and die by her blades and her wonderful, impossible dance.
The woman clashed blades, and danced away, clashed and danced until one by one the orcs began to lose hands, fingers again with their careless attacks and crude weapons, or gained great wounds deep in the meat of their thick legs and arms. Goblins rushed in at the call of their masters, but they too were no match for the woman in the fever pitch heat of her dance. She moved like the wind. Her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, and her long limbs carried her away from their strikes gracefully before returning with blades to harvest death like twin scythes to wheat against the childlike forms of the goblins. Arms and legs fell in great arcs of blood all around her, and arrows flew in from somewhere besides. Micheal's stomach went cold there was no way the woman no matter how graceful could keep track of the incoming arrows while dealing with the melee, but as he watched the shafts flew clear of her, each of them taking a target approaching her flanks or landing the finishing blow on a retreating orc. Somewhere beyond he could hear the rallying cry of the rest of the goblins, coming for their chance at glory, but again he heard more fighting aside from the woman before him.
Shakily he reached up to touch his head again. What was he doing laying on the ground like this? Shouldn't he be using this chance to escape? Or at least to steal supplies out from under the orcs? How long had it been since his last full meal? Why did these people come here? The orcs would be furious and take their anger out on he and the other slaves. Most would likely never survive after this and the women...the poor women would fall victim to the orcs like they had not before. It made him sick to think of their cries and how helpless he felt hearing them. His head swam once again as he tried to move.
Before he knew it the woman was suddenly all he could see, her hand on his shoulder, the other gently touching his head. She was splattered with gore and sweat, but others were around him too now. Someone was crying out, and another was still giving orders of some kind like some sort of military commander. He wore strange chitinous armor and something about him bothered Micheal very much, but he was too weak to so much as sit up on his own. His head...oh his head hurt! It got so much worse once they started moving him.
It took him a moment to see that the woman was trying to speak to him, and had taken his arm, and was trying to pull him to his feet. His feet found their way unsteadily once he was able to get up, but she aided him and before long he was able to stand with her as support under his arm. She was slender and long limbed, but strong as a horse or so it seemed to him as he was helped to his feet by her hands. He was amazed by how solid she was. Even breathing hard and panting with his weight on her shoulders she did not falter, not once, in carrying him. Someone else smaller than the woman came to his other side as he began to stumble and fall of his own accord, his head swimming once again and his vision going dark. That person said something about a mark on his hand, made a comment about his size, and began shouting at him to run as best he could, but he was only getting it in waves other than her gestures. Some of the sounds didn't make sense. Like she was speaking the wrong language.
He worked forward on shaky feet and as he did he spied that all around him slaves were being rescued by a myriad of fantasy figures. Knights and Archers in mail and armor, Spell Casters and Summoners in colorful robes wielding staves and wands, Clerics and Paladins all about him holding up shields, maces, and broadswords beside holy symbols all commanded by that imposing figure in the strange armor at the front as the team made their way out of the camp throwing about death and destruction in whichever way they knew best. His feet worked and worked. However absurd it was, he had to hope. Some part of him had to hope that he was actually going to be free. How long? How long has it been? How long had he been made a slave? He was so exhausted. His body was in so much pain...
He heard the woman's voice then somehow cutting through the murk of his pain and the muddling of his mind.
“Keep running, we're almost out.” Her voice was like sweet bell chimes even as ragged with shouting as it was. “You're too heavy to carry, you have to keep moving. Just to the wagons.” She said encouraging him. “You're an adventurer, you can do this. You can do this. Keep running.”
He looked to her and then noticed they were breaking through the tree line into the woods away from the camps' outer perimeter. To his left and right he saw the other slaves running in their rags and filth as best they could. He saw the bodies of dead orcs and goblins all around. A field of carnage that had been the cause for him to keep slipping as the two under his arms pressed him forward. There were blackened marks against the ground and trees. There was ice frozen into place in sharp lances that stuck out from green bodied corpses, and vile smells from piles of bones and clear blackened dirt. Acid? Ice? Fire? He looked around. Someone far to his left in the middle of some slaves turned back and flashed a wooden wand in the air behind her.
“Goblins! Look out!” She yelled before all light and sound vanished as a lightning bolt, a real silver blue and white arcing lightning bolt broke from her wand in a scream of energy that not only blinded him, but put all his hairs on end.
Even with that impressive display of magic, dark and dart-like arrows of goblins flashed through the air around them and the woman at his side cursed in a language he had never heard outside of Tolkien's stories. They dodged left to right moving in sluggish zig zags, getting trees and thickets between them and the oncoming arrows.
“Now Amelia!”
An explosion rocked behind them that call from the commander after this Ameallia took up the order and somehow Micheal kept his feet against the shaking earth even as the two under his arms keeping him upright took him this way and that through the trees. They went on like that through the dark with nothing but the sound of everyone's breathing ragged in the air with the shift of the wind in the trees above. Every now and then someone would curse as they were caught in the underbrush, but before long the commander behind began to call out to everyone.
“Alright everyone it's only just ahead now.” He boomed. “There are wagons, food, rest and safety ahead.” His voice still very full of command, but now it rang with pride and triumph. “We'll get you all out of here and back to where you belong safe and sound just make it to the wagons!” He called out somewhere to Micheal's right. “Members of the Unbroken Guard!” He called then, and the energy of the heroic figures around him surged. “HOOOAHHH!” The commander roared only to be joined by the throats of everyone but the slaves all about him. That gave him pause. Were they marines? Was this really just his delirious mind painting fantasy over some rescue mission? Even the woman with pointed ears like an elf called out the war cry furiously raising her bloodied sword in the air as she did.
Before too much longer they approached a large team of sheltered wagons with open backs guarded by another dozen or so members dressed very much the same in odd clothes and cut off stylish garments like fantasy figures. The war cry had likely been to signal their approach as friendlies, but Micheal could take in little else; this was all he had the run had taken all he had left. Even as he tried his best, and even as the woman under his arm called for him to keep moving just a little more, his legs had begun to completely lose their strength.
“You're an adventurer. Keep moving.” She told him reassuringly. “You saved me back there, you can do this now. Just a little more. A little more.” Her accent was lovely and musical. What an odd thing to notice at a time like this. She was still solid as a rock under his arm. What a strong woman. He really should at least ask her name.
He fought to stay conscious a little longer as the wagons grew closer step by step like a slideshow until he felt the arms of the men around the wagons begin to help him into the bed of it with the other slaves. Men and women he knew among the camp helped him in too. People he had been captured and made to work with. People he had used what little knowledge and wit he had left to him to persuade the orcs to spare for work and chores around the camp saving their lives from sickness and overwork. Death was a release in that place, but he had made them linger on as he had. As they had made him to. He felt sick. They held him now inside the wagon, one of them keeping his head steady.
“His skull is cracked.” He heard the woman who had saved him say. “Healer!” She bellowed. “Hold his head!” She ordered one of those in the wagon who were already doing as she said. “Healer! Pelanna where are you?” She bellowed again with the clear rasp of her two bladed weapons returning to their scabbards. Before long a girl in white robes and gown with a staff was clambering into the back of the wagon even as they began to roll away. Explosions sounded again and again after the use of a long chant like some sort of wizard's spell from someone in the front of the wagon. The other slaves around him cowered about the sides of the wagons.
“EXTERMINATION TEAM ON ME!” The man from before called out. Something rolled over Micheal, something strange and as alien as anything he had ever heard he was still certain came from that same voice. Far away orcs and goblins cried out in anger. -And fear.
“He's extremely worn out.” The woman in white said to someone over the side of the wagon. “The healing might--”
“Do it Pel!” The woman's voice came from that direction. “He won't last long with that kind of wound now that he has it. Heal him! I'm going back to cover the retreat. Take care of him.”
The girl seemed startled by the command, but then with little hesitation reached down to touch his forehead as the red headed elf took up a spear handed her by another outside the wagon and went back towards that hell. The girl pulled something like a string of prayer beads laced with silver bells from her vestments with a silver and gold talisman of some kind on the end and began a chant in something very close to Latin. A staff with things like windchimes laid near the entrance of the wagon where she had set it chiming with the rumble of the wagon wheels, it drew his eye even as she spoke a prayer. What an odd thing to use Micheal thought. So familiar too. Light began to show around her even as his vision began to blacken with his thoughts growing looser and looser. He was growing cold in his fingers and toes, but the sensation seemed too far off to seem real. Even the pain he had felt getting here seemed a little too far gone for him to pay attention to. Everything kinda did actually. Even his narrow slight of vision seemed to be something far off, or maybe just a vision through a scope with the wrong eye relief. There was black around the central image and no matter what he did he couldn’t get it to focus. At least the somewhat plump faced girl in the robes was cute. She had looked terrified at first, but now she was literally shining. How funny was that? People didn't glow like that.
He wanted to laugh. He wished he had been carrying one of his guns whenever this had started. Those bows and swords were nice, and either would have done better than that piece of firewood he saved that elf looking woman from that orc with, but his Mossberg Shotgun, or maybe even his Henry Big Boy would have done so much better. It made him feel like giggling. He could be a cowboy desperado. There was something funny about the way even the orcs used swords and bows too; he just was fading too fast to figure it out. The whole world was funny. What was this girl doing? Some sort of magical chant? The role play was getting a little too out of hand wasn't it? He was going to die. Wasn't he? A cold fear was taking hold in his chest as moments slid by in a hazy blur of pain and delirium.
Then the priestess stretched out her hand to touch him. The light around her seemed to weave into bands that fell into Micheal’s chest and burn through his limbs. He gasped as the healing hit him. That faraway image slammed into him like scope bite, the image becoming full and clear so fast it was like getting hit in the head all over again. He saw enough to see the girl who healed him look startled before everything went black. She was young, cute, and slightly terrified again, but mostly looked like she thought she just killed him, her face bent in horror, and in the state he was in, all it made him want to do was laugh.
The first thing he heard was a call from outside. A hawker of some kind, like those at a ball game. Calling over and over again. Surprisingly it didn't make his head ache. For some reason he felt it should have.
“Meat pies for the hungry adventurer! Discounts for your bravery! Get a full belly or a treat for later before you go!” Her accent was a little funny. A little old English in some ways, but it was a little off from what he had heard before. Different from the way the other first slaves had spoken in the camp for certain. They seemed to speak some sort of French or German. He couldn't place it. But the newer ones had been able to speak with him and they talked like this vendor woman.
A curtain near him caught in the wind. It carried the scent of wildflowers, fresh cooked bread, a bit of what might have been a meat pie that woman was going on about, and the sure scent of livestock. Clean livestock, but you didn't forget that sharp scent after living in the midwest for any amount of time. The curtain brushed against what must have been an old window thrown open and the glass made a small sound. They creaked and made a sound again as the shutters moved at least gave an old timey sort of imagery to mind. Somewhere near him the page of a book was turned and a chair creaked as its occupant adjusted their sitting position.
Outside what must have been some sort of horse and buggy rolled by in the mud by all the creaking and the wet sloshing sounds. He thought he was on the first floor with how close it sounded. The house he was in must be close to the street, but who would be driving a horse and buggy? Why would he be in an old timey house? The wind gusted in gently once more with its gentle scents and the biting one of horse poop. At least it wasn't as bad as the hog pens back at work.
Wasn't he going to be late? No that wasn't right he hadn't worked since...Memory came back to him broken and fuzzy. He had been working on Cut Loop. It hadn't been long since he bid the job, and he was just starting to lose weight again. Something had happened. Someone hadn't been driving their lift safely and he had gone to make them see the error of that, loudly and as abrasively as he could get away with, but then...He remembered being sprayed with hydraulic fluid from the lift he was approaching and being blinded. He remembered a pallet cracking above him. He remembered watching the product fall just above his head, the forks of the lift at an odd angle for being up so high and getting larger and larger in that slow motion way big things had when they fell and your brain kicked its perception up to eleven.
And then just as suddenly he remembered falling on his face and being captured not moments after pulling himself out of the grassy dirt. He remembered being put to work like a slave. Beaten and whipped in gray and hazy memories that stung with agony, pain, anger, and the despair of giving up completely. Endless days of work and fear. Pain. Beatings. Screaming. Months of it, but broken as his other memories and scattered. Nightmarishly real, but hazy like a half remembered dream. The thought of it made his heart pound in panic.
His eyes opened with a start with sweat covering his palms and forehead, but he was too worn out to sit upright or roll out of bed like he wanted. He must have inhaled sharply too. The person beside him in the chair shifted. The book closed. He could barely hear anything over the sudden fast pace of his heart.
He looked around. He was in a log cabin style house. The walls were sanded smooth, but made of rounded timbers with some curve left to them, and treated with something, but he could clearly pick out the tar used to seal the layers. The door was made of wooden planks and well made, for the clear use of hand tools at least, and made good use of an ancient latch style lock not unlike a garden gate lock. The walls were decorated with hanging woven tapestries depicting fields of wheat in what wasn't horrible hand stitching but had no place in an art museum since they were clearly new enough made, and the other some scene of a knight he didn't recognize from any show or book he knew. To his right was a table with a long wooden funnel and a pottery pitcher that might have held water or the like. There was a hard wood ceiling above him. From what he could hear there was even a second floor with people up there. A nice log cabin indeed, though as distant sounds spilled in from the open window he revised the cabin part. Finally though he looked to his left to the person who had been sitting beside him and reading.
She was dressed in a green tunic of some sort that was drawn open at the neck showing her collar bones and the lovely skin of her tall neck. The tunic came down and split at her hips like one of those Chinese dresses before falling over the front and back of her legs and was tied just below her breasts with a very thin belt of leather in some loops made of the same fabric as the garment. She wore some sort of cottony shirt or blouse underneath, and tight leather pants where he could see them between the covering of the tunic and the thigh high leather boots with turned down tops she wore. They bore a slight heel, and the toe was a comfortable looking rounded shape. The sole looked of old fashion make, some kind of hard leather making the bottom match the rest of the boot though they looked sturdy and well used and cared for. Actually there were no synthetic materials in sight which sort of made sense the more time he spent awake and began to collect himself, but the more he thought about it that fact didn't surprise him very much at all. The white shirt clung loosely to her arms and ended in a somewhat teardrop shape at the sleeve, it looked something like a light sort of fleece or light wool, but not cotton as he knew it, the kind with plastic fibers woven into it at least. All her clothes were very clean unlike when he had seen her before. Her hands looked used to work being both rough and strong in appearance, and she looked as though she saw plenty of sun. Her face was a thing of foreign beauty. Her cheek bones were high and the lines of her face elegantly curved. Her nose was a sort of regal affair that only complimented the lines of her face and brow. There was a scar on her cheek far up the side of her jaw that looked to be an old wound, some deep cut of some kind to twist the flesh like that; it stuck out once he noticed it next to the rest of her beauty. Her brows were nearly thick as the hair on her head in thin lines, but both her hair and brows were neat and well tended. They were that same lovely auburn color like the final days of autumn turned into a hair color. From those silky locks two pointed ears stuck out from where the rest of them was hidden by her hair. The thick and complex braid hung down her shoulder as she sat. It looked like it would weigh twenty pounds or more when wet.
She smiled at him and that scar on the back of her left cheek had an effect not far off from being a dimple on her cheek. Her eyes were as green as ever he had seen a verdant field of long grasses in the height of spring just before summer, and piercing with their hidden knowledge and experience where they were not painted with real appreciation and relief. Strangely her iris extended near to the outside edges of her eyes and gave her a sort of almost feral non-human appearance, but she was beautiful all the same to him. Stunningly so actually. He vaguely remembered something about having to speak to a person before you just stared at them; a little voice in the back of his mind urging him to stop gaping. The little men in his brain stopped gawking at the beautiful, mostly impossible elf woman and did their best to assemble some sort of greeting for her. But they mostly just failed and tripped over themselves as he compared her relaxed continuance to the sweat covered blood drenched dancer in his hazy memories.
“You're awake.” She said simply. Her accent was not so bad as the woman he still heard crying her meat pies from time to time still outside, but there was still something different there. She tapped her finger lightly on the book in her lap before she spoke more. “It's been a few days, but I am quite glad of your health. You missed quite the ride into town.” She finished with a slight twist of her head that made her smile seem all the more pleasant. It made him rather aware of just how beautiful she was again and words fell from his tongue once more as his thoughts, again little men in his brain tripped over themselves at the distraction of her voice.
He was still taking her in. She was tall for many women he had met; even with her sitting he could tell. She was long of limb, and no small amount of muscle showed as she moved and adjusted herself. She appeared to be very athletic in the least. He should have supposed that much from what he had seen of her fighting. If she had not been about to have been jumped by that orc that had sneaked by her she likely never would have had much problem with the rest of them. No wonder she had felt so solid holding him up. She looked sort of like a robust Olympic athlete mixed with a long legged supermodel. She was actually staggeringly pretty just in physique, her face and features aside.
“You're in the village of Rosebridge. Safe as most places nowadays.” There was a hint of her eyes rolling then, but then her lips turned with a self assured smile. “Safe with me anyway.” She said before making his heart race with a playful grin that broke through her cool demeanor. She tilted her head then all of a sudden and asked; “Are you having trouble understanding me?” Her face was kind and sincere.
“No.” He coughed. His throat was not exactly dry, well not any worse than it did when he usually woke from bed after snoring, but his voice felt as if he indeed had not spoken in days. “I'm just..” For a moment he was not too sure of what he had been going to say, but finished with; “ -adjusting.”
The woman nodded to his reply. Her features softened from a mild concern to contentment before she stood and set the book on the stand beside the bed. “Here--” She began as she went across the room to the other side of the bed. “I'll get you some water as you sit up. We've been feeding you some beef broth and keeping you from drying out with a funnel so far, but it has been three days. Likely,” She continued as she got to the small table set beside the bed with the other chair, “You will realize your bodily needs soon since as far as I know you haven't made a mess of the bed yet, so we'll see if we can't get you up on your feet after you drink.”
He struggled feeling weak still, and somewhat underfed, but managed to sit up to meet her. She poured the water into a murky glass cup. Only the quality of material the cup was made from the water looked dirty. He took the glass from her in shaky hands and just about downed the thing in one gulp after he got a taste of it. Well water. His friends back in the day sometimes thought it odd about how much he loved the taste of well water. It was miles ahead of anything he had drunk in what felt like years.
The woman smiled at him once more as she pulled back the blankets from his lap and used her hip with the pitcher still in hand to scoot the table beside the bed out of the way. If he had to guess she was about 5'10” or more now that he saw her standing, but that still meant she was quite a bit shorter than him as he was just shy of 6'5” last time he bothered to check. Still tall as she was, she fit her frame well now that he saw her move a little more. She was not ganguly or lanky in any way, but the both of them seemed to be a little too tall for who the house was made for. That in itself was kind of odd when he thought about it, but it wasn't a moment later that indeed his body realized it had functions that had not been met in a few days. The dire need pressed down on him with its enormity.
She looked down his torso as he stood with her help and as he gained his balance she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised high, humor clearly displayed on her face. He looked down to notice his member had pitched quite the tent with the rough pair of shorts someone had put him in. He was bare everywhere else.
“Sorry that's...” He began quickly, but she jumped in before he could think what to say.
“Three days worth of morning wood?” She suggested with a big grin on her face. She actually looked down at him again while still providing him balance and when she looked up again a wider more impish grin split her face once more. “Or is that its normal size?” She asked flirtatiously, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Her bright green eyes were sparkling with her humor.
Whatever he had been thinking to say was blown out of his head like paperwork in the wind. He must have turned red from the neck up with the heat flooding his face, but he couldn't stop himself from letting out something of a laugh. She was so pretty and her making a joke like that totally blind sided him.
She giggled in such a wonderful way then at his reaction, but she did seem to blush deeply despite herself. She stood back from him now that she knew she wouldn't have to support his weight with him at least able to stand steady if not able to truly think after that comment, but her hand stayed on his arm all the same seemingly just in case.
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With her smile still wide on her face she said; “I'll leave you to your use of the chamber pot.” She let go of him hesitantly, but after a moment when they were both sure of his balance she almost danced away a couple of steps. Her humor almost seemed as though it had lightened her step; he couldn't tell her age at all really, but the way she danced back had a girlish sort of feel. In a quick few steps she pulled the windows shut and drew in the curtains over them before heading for the door. She turned towards him there and added one more thing as she pulled the latch open. “My name is Vivian Talhalen by the way.” She tilted her head in that smile once more as her eyes scanned him top to bottom once more. Though he had more or less laid the mast of the tent down now her eyes still seemed to pause there glinting with a teasing or perhaps even hungry light that was at least as real as the walls around him or her blush. “You can call me Vee if you like. I'll be back with food in a few minutes.” She disappeared behind the door then and closed it smoothly in her wake her face suddenly very red.
The latch jumped shut with a click and he was left alone in the room. He looked over at the dark brass pot that could only be of what she spoke. He remembered certainly having worse in the slave camp, but for some reason he had imagined an out house of some kind before this. He pulled lightly at the tie of what actually might have passed for mens underwear wherever he was. He scratched his head trying to remember just where he had gotten clothes before, but dismissed it as the needs of nature pressed him. Without any more preamble he dropped trow and popped a squat over the large brass pot to start his business. There was a lot of business after three days of beef broth and water even if it wasn't very solid...
Sometime later after he had cleaned up with the small wash basin nearby and Vivian had returned he found himself struggling with the latch for a few moments as he figured out the unfamiliar yet simple mechanism. As he did he noticed, not for the first time, the strange tattoo on the back of his left hand. It was an odd thing, all in colors, something like a compass with a cross pointing in four directions with a clear symbol at the end of each arrow with an outline of flowing lines, scrolls, books, and even what seemed to be a computer screen and keyboard, however odd that was. He had no idea what it meant or when it had gotten there. Whatever it was, it did not wash away or fade in any way. In some ways it reminded him of the command seals from the Fate Series anime and manga, but it had with it strange writing on either side of the design inside the peculiar outline. A stigmata? Was that what it was called? It was a medical term he thought for the appearance of something on the skin. Whatever it was he remembered that it had caused some fuss among the orcs when they had first noticed and that had caused him to be taken before one of their shamans too. That had been the start of what had allowed him to live so long there in the first place. Many fresh captives, especially women, but men no less did not last very long in the care of the orcs. Worse were those watched over by the goblins. Like careless cruel children playing with fire or a magnifying glass goblins found a simple joy in tormenting anyone or anything they had alone.
“Still struggling are you?” Vivian asked as she came into the room with him once more. She held in both hands a wooden tray covered with a clean white cloth in one hand and a heavy mug in the other. All sorts of lovely smells wafted out from it. Her eyes watched him and went over the door once. She had been listening to him struggle idly with the latch after all even if most of his attention had been on the strange mark.
Micheal just sighed before he spoke.
“Yeah I guess.” He said solemnly. “I'm not from around here.”
Vivian eyed him, but pulled the table clear of the bed with her foot and set the platter down before pulling the chair out for him. “Sit then. We can talk about it while you eat.” She said that pleasantly enough, but her upturned nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of what was still in the chamber pot. She made a face at it, but tapped the chair all the same. “Actually I will run that out quickly and we can talk then.” He thought he heard her mumble 'three days of something' under her breath as she took hold of the pot carefully by the handles, but he couldn't be sure. When he made to move to her she simply shot him a look from him to the chair before she glided out of the room once more. He was actually thankful for the seat. He had to hold himself at a slight crouch to avoid the beams holding up the floor above when he was standing, and anyway he still felt a little weak and tired. His stomach ached for something solid to work on and the food was calling his name.
That left him alone again though Vivian had left the door open as she went this time. It was suddenly all he could do to keep still. The inside of the building he was in was filled with warm light from the open windows outside, and he took that moment to move to open the windows again. With that he got his first real look outside. His stomach was still calling to be fed, but he was a little too curious about where he had ended up.
Indeed he was on the first floor of a building built much in the fashion of log cabins, though it was larger than most houses he was used to by a few factors. He was situated in a room in the back corner of the building on one of the back streets, though from the ruts in the mud it looked well traveled. A small village woman looked him up and down with curious eyes as she went by with a cloth covered basket. He still had not dressed, and so not to hit his head he was quite literally leaning out of the window to look about. He waved to her, feeling abashed, but she smiled at him and returned the wave before she joined up with a few other women on the main street. They were of a height with her and each of them waved to him just before they turned around the corner laughing and covering their mouths as they looked back at him. They were short. Maybe the tallest of them being five foot tall or better by an inch and no more.
The place had a feel of an old timey village that was for sure. Whatever those months with the orcs had done for him it wasn't really expecting this. It had only been months right? Or had it only been weeks? Actually it was hard to expect much of anything long in their care, but he had survived that somehow all the same. It occurred to him then that his situation was just odd. Where was he? He stepped back from the window and nearly knocked the wooden curtain rod from its carrier with his head as he did. The room was large enough laterally, but he had been in cheap hotel rooms on vacation that had higher ceilings than this. He considered a Renaissance fair for a moment, but then it clicked in his head how odd a ren faire would be with orcs and elfs and...he paused in his thoughts. He remembered those hazy moments on the wagons, the sounds of explosions, the chants, the healing the cute plump faced priestess looking girl had done to him...Hadn't he been about to die? She really had healed him then...
He ran a hand across the back of his head where he had been struck by the orc after clubbing it twice over the head with the same piece of firewood he had used to try to kill it with. His scalp was smooth under his few months of uncut hair. In fact interestingly enough his hair had been washed recently as well it wasn't nearly so oily or awful as it had been. He looked at his hands then before him in the sunlight. They were tight with muscle..and scars. Christ the scars...they were everywhere on him. Up and down his limbs, across his chest and the whole of his body. He touched his scarred bare chest and stomach in thought. He had no idea what weight he was now. His skin looked worn and leathery from his treatment in the camp, not to mention the scars again, and a little loose yet from the fifty or more pounds he had lost. Still though he felt good or at least sort of. Healthy in weight if not a little worn out yet. So he had really been healed? His fever was gone, and the ache that had certainly been in his bones was dull and faded, almost unnoticeable compared to what it used to be. He was hardly in pain at all. And that would have been sort of amazing even in his old life.
Vivian returned then with the now clean chamber pot in hand. She looked to the table and then at him. She squinted at him in a speculative manner before taking in the window. Then she seemed to compare him to the window. His head was fully above the top of the window. In return he noticed that she had been coming and leaving from the room in a small crouch. She was close to the top of the doorways. He would have to duck down or crouch to get out of the room.
“Aren't you hungry Micheal?” She asked. She paused in her step toward the table. “Your name is Micheal is it not? That's what the other slaves called you though a great deal of them speak Frantish, and not Ruldian.” He took her in once more. She saw him doing so and gave him a subtle cock of her head as he did. She looked herself over even as much as to inspect the sides and backs of her boots. “What?”
He shook his head. There was no way.
“Ruldian? As in the language of Ruldanja?” He asked as he came slowly across the room. For some reason the smoothness of the boards under his feet stood out in his mind as he did. Maybe he just didn't want to consider just where he might be if well this all wasn't some sort of imagining of his own. Still his mind picked out details. The stitching of the rooms patterned artworks, village works, but hand made all the same. He noticed the scent of the room, of the wooden building, and again the mix of scents coming in from outside. He looked at Vivian, the way she moved and shifted her balance as she studied him. She was beautiful and if she was part of the same nightmare he had seemed to have been in for so long she was a welcome addition. That had been his only world. A nightmare he couldn't wake up from. That's what he remembered thinking of his time in the camp. Though it never kept him from trying to take care of the others.
Vivian tilted her head more at him curiously, but nodded. “Of course. You lived in Ruldanja did you not? Maybe Treaonne or Three Bridge?” She asked. “Before you were taken?” she added with care in her tone.
He came to sit and looked at her once more before he pulled back the covering of the meal she had brought him. A favorite of the area around the north and west ends of Ruldanja in his writings was the trout they pulled from the many cold water mountain streams, and clear water rivers before they turned muddy and brown nearer the delta and indeed one of his plates was a couple of well prepared filets of it with wild hardy tubers and a few garden veggies and a small serving of pan seared mushrooms. He couldn't name them however. He'd never gotten into that detail in his writing, or if he did it was only in one draft or another where they showed up. Sure one of the tubers was clearly just one kind of potato, but the mushroom and veggies were different from what he was used to. There was this green thing like leafy broccoli, and something that looked kind of like a small cucumber or very large and fleshy green bean of some kind. The few of them seemed to have pan seared in butter and looked tasty despite its unfamiliarity.
He gave a start as he became aware of Vivian leaning over his shoulder. She looked at him and then at the food with a curious eye. From what he could remember of the orc encampment the food he did get was eaten in a scuffle and he was not all too sure what that had been either. With the food cooked arrayed like an actual meal it looked too strange not to notice even though his stomach began to protest loudly as he did. Vivian continued to watch him with her startlingly pretty green eyes.
“You hardly could have survived in that camp as a picky eater.” She mentioned. Still she kept her eyes locked on him.
“It's just...” He began giving her a sideways glance. His eyes locked on the pointed ends of her ears for a moment before he met her eye to eye. Her smile began to slip, but he went on. “It's just not what I'm used to I guess. Thank you.” She was a real elf all right. How did he deal with that? With any of this? He had so many questions now that he was free and was thinking up more by the moment as he considered that he might have been suffering in his own setting. His own damn writing!
She watched him while she stood leaned over for a moment more then rocked back on her heels before going around the bed to take up the other chair. He took the crude iron fork and the simple knife he had been given and began eating slowly. Each bite was so good, as strange as the food might have been to what he remembered in the world he knew, but it wasn't so much as he hadn't known of the differences inside his own writings from the real world... if that world was any more real than this one anyway. He stopped that line of thought before it could gain any momentum. Whatever was happening he was here now, he couldn't dream up taste like this or replicate the unique facets, appearance, and feel of the utensils in his hands. Not like he had been...his hands shook a little before his mind cleared and he went to work on the food. For a moment he had no thoughts at all as he began to eat. His body seemed to have finally wrenched control of that out from under him.
The fish tasted fresh and they had used just the right amount of butter and not over cooked the meat. It pulled apart easily and though it was a bit paler of an orange than he had imagined it was still quite good. Maybe trout farms back in the states did some acid wash or other treatment to give the meat's color a longer life or greater effect like pork loins and hams in the plant. It certainly supported the fact in his mind that he was apparently alive in the world he had made in his writing. Which explained a lot about the orcs and the vicious memories he had of being in that camp. His fingers began to shake and become unsteady again, but the relief of eating a good meal after so long was almost enough to comfort him for the terrible thoughts and memories coming inside his mind.
Vivian put the chair down beside him and watched him with a wondering look in her eyes. It really wasn't that being watched while he ate bothered him, but Vivian, or Vee, he hadn't decided what he would be calling her yet, was pretty enough to be distracting. She watched him appearing for the world content in just watching him eat. Not rudely, but still he wondered just what else she had to do other than watch over him. Perhaps he should ask, but how could he do so without seeming rude himself? He was not terribly good at being subtle about things. Which made it all the harder because all he could think when he looked at her was various things about how pretty she was. In fact on the factory floor he was quite abrasive and brutally honest. It had gotten him in trouble from time to time, but that only brought him around to questioning just why he was where he was again. He tried to embrace that, but there weren't exactly a lot of women at the plant and certainly the ones who did work there were casual and easy to talk to. Not like this woman. He had to ask himself; Why was he here with Vivian? What was either clearly an elf or the best cosplayer slash nursemaid combo he had ever seen or heard of. Why did such a pretty and obviously capable woman care about him?
When he was through some of his meal, disappointingly he could only hold a few of his normal bites after having ate so little during his time as a slave, Vivian spoke up.
“You said the food isn't what you're used to.” She began softly with a light of curiosity showing plain and honest in her eyes. “You know the fish clearly, but you've been looking at the coli's and spring potatoes like you've never seen them before.”
His only response he could manage was a quick darting look, but her expression only softened.
“You speak Ruldian, but you don't know their foods.” She said gently and somewhat to herself. “You share some of their features, but I'm guessing you've already picked up that your height is well above theirs.” She laughed softly and put her chin in her palms with her elbows up on the table adjacent to his plate. She tilted her head at him and would likely begin making more observations if he didn't speak. It was hard not to pick up on her earnest interest in him.
“I'm just a good old mid-western boy.” He said not meaning to be as sarcastic as he might have sounded. He was nervous with her so close.
Vivian watched him carefully as he played with one of the 'coli's'.
“Mid-western?” She mused looking him in the eye then.
He nodded to her as he took another bite.
“Minnesota actually.”
“Minny...” She mouthed the unfamiliar word.
“Minnesota.” He said again with emphasis as he pulled down another bite of fish.
“Mini-so-da?” She asked.
He nodded. “More of a 'ta' than a 'da' actually, but yeah. You know it?” He asked her.
She shook her head all the while watching his eyes. “Never heard of a place with a name like that.” She looked interested, but also a little dubious.
“Thought not.” He replied. His stomach ached being full, but the food was so good after so long he couldn't stop himself. There was certainly a part of him from back in the camp that told him not to leave anything behind as well.
She made a bit of a face at him as he made a little bite sized piece of fish with the fork and knife in his hands trying to stop their continued shaking. “Are you teasing me?”
Micheal simply took a bit of fish and gave her a level gaze feeling his determination rising against the pressure he felt from having her pretty visage so close to his own. “How did you heal me Vivian?” He asked instead of answering. “Last thing I remember is hearing you say my skull was cracked, and certainly feeling like it had been.” He looked around the room, gave a special glare for the chamber pot, and then back to her. “Certainly doesn't seem to be any world class brain surgeons in this locale, but I could be wrong.”
Her face had turned curious as he spoke but at the last she followed his gaze about looking confused. “Brain surgeons?” She asked with a hint of incredulity to her voice. Clearly she understood the concept of the words, but the two just as clearly did not go together in her mind. “No, no I had you healed by the guild's priestess. She's a follower of Olivarch, Pelanna's her name, and she's pretty useful when she isn't frozen in fear.”
Olivarch? Now that was new to him, and not something he had put in the setting. Like these half baked broccoli things. They were good seared like this. Like spinach and broccoli all in one. They were a little crunchy and took to the butter they had been seared in well.
Vivian watched him with a level gaze and began to sit upright. She looked him in the eye the whole while too, the gears spinning in her head as he wolfed down another bite of fish. He raised an eyebrow at her. And she mimicked the gesture.
“You don't...” Vivian began her expression growing soft. “Are you serious?” She asked suddenly after concern washed across her features. “You've never been healed before or seen it done?” She asked, seeming incredulous. Her fascination with him grew even as she took in his reaction.
He shook his head. “Nothing like it where I come from. No magic at all.” He would leave it vague for now. No reason to come full outright lest she think his brain had been rattled around a little too much after all.
“If I got you a map...” She began, but he was already shaking his head.
“I don't think that would do any good. Either I don't remember right or I got hit so hard I'm remembering in detail a place and time completely separate from this one.” He sighed and toyed with another one of the 'coli's' on his glazed pottery plate with his wooden spoon across the bright blue designs in its center. “I don't really know how I got here at all.” He admitted while meaning getting back onto the more serious nature of their conversation. “I was in that camp so long that whatever small details I might have remembered are gone now.” He nearly fumbled the iron fork just speaking of the place making tremors run through him.
She watched him with concern painting her face as he spoke and then for a little time after. He toyed with that same piece of food for a moment longer before deciding if he ate any more he might just make himself sick if he did. It was hard to put the fork down however. Despite his efforts he had barely eaten half of what was given to him still from how it looked on the plate.
“But you know Ruldanja?” She asked.
That took him a moment to answer, but he nodded. “I've read about it in a book before, but it was a book of tales where I lived. A story. A fantasy. Things like magic healing don't exist there.” He tried not to look at her ears too directly as he spoke. He didn't want to offend her more than he had to, but he had a feeling that he should be at least partially honest. There's no way he could tell all of it. It barely made any sense that he was here at all and it had all happened to him directly. He had no memory between that last day on the factory floor and finding himself being dragged away by orcs in the forest somewhere. How could he explain what he himself didn't understand?
She watched him for a long time after that. Looking into each of eyes in turn. As if doing so could root out a lie or some other shred of proof. Her look was serious and she had an intensity to her that spoke of age and purpose though he still could not exactly put an age to her except some sort of foreign youthfulness that didn't exactly match the older spirit in her eyes.
“I have heard that far, far from here, there is a place called the Lowlands. A place beyond what some call the Edge past the Ocean of Fog and the Deadlands.” She began looking at him once more with her head cocked on her hands. “It's a legend of sorts really since no one dares ever go there, but some say that there is no magic there. None at all. And those people who can use it and go there, adventurers like you and I who do go there, lose their power to do so. Perhaps you are from there.”
He looked at her in return and said; “You said that before when we were running. That we are both adventurers. How can you tell? All you saw of me before then was how pitifully I tried clubbing that orc to death.” Her immediate response was to study him again.
She reached out for his left hand after a moment. He offered it to her after another moment's hesitation.
“Do you know what this is?” She asked him while running her fingers across the mark on the back of his left hand. Her touch was soft, but her fingers were rough like a working woman's.
He shook his head. He really didn't know, and couldn't read the symbols and rune looking markings contained within it.
“An adventurer's mark. Or curse depending on who you ask.” She provided while keeping earnest eyes on his face. “It's how I knew you were like me. How I thought you ended up in that camp.”
This too was new to him and not in what he had planned for the setting. In fact it had been something of a gap in his writing he had been working on. He had been listening to all sorts of lit rpg books however so it was clear where the effects would be going if this world was truly borrowing from his thoughts and writing on the setting. Hell maybe the Dungeons and Dragons campaign had something to do with it.
“It is a blessing if you choose to use it and curse those who do not. One way or another this mark selects you for adventure. And it will come to you or you can come to it. It's really up to you to decide, but with it on your hand like that it would become hard to hide among anyone who knew what it was, which is most everyone. The folk here know of it, they welcome us when we come to deal with problems that have been affecting them, and will shoo us away when there is nothing they see wrong. Lest we bring our troubles to them.” She explained as both her fingers and eyes made a path around his mark. It sent shivers down his spine to be touched so gently after...after that place. “It allows us to gain a great many abilities and skills that we were not born with or would otherwise take another a lifetime to learn. Magic. Crafts. Anything we care to learn will be recorded here and gain the ability to be amplified as we practice them. Even our bodily attributes can be read from these. Though the ranked effects change wildly depending on your build and size.” So it really was as he had thought. Maybe running the setting through a dungeons and dragon campaign had done that, and this the shape of its own unique system. He became curious of the markings, and what it would say about him.
“Attributes?” Micheal asked incredulously despite his earlier thoughts. For all the world saying it as if it were a video game or the lit rpg he suspected. It must read out like some kind of character sheet then he surmised. He could almost see it in the design actually. If those runic sorts of markings were numbers of some kind and those the attributes...yes he could see the layout if not read any of it for that.
Indeed it was. Vivian went about then explaining to him the various attributes that summarized his overall qualities though they seemed to function in a range, and weren't so set and rigid as some leveling systems he knew from games. The attributes she spoke of covered the whole of his physical, mental, and spiritual attributes like grades back in school all colored in a metal system to show quality; a ranking inside a ranking. She explained that for most people not marked or cursed as adventurers that they would function somewhere in the F to E range. Some excellent individuals could reach D, but the adventurer's mark gave a person clear advantages over those who did not. Though she did explain that some people gain the mark and lose it rather quickly their bodies still function as if they were empowered by the mark and could even continue to improve their attributes and skills still like others. There was even a class of magic ritual used to mimic the quantifying effects of the mark for those who were curious or for adventurer's who wanted a better look at their own skills and abilities if their mark much like his own was too small to make out all the detailed and intricate runes upon it.
Vivian seemed rather pleased that his lowest attributes, that of Dexterity, Luck, and Charisma ranked at an E. His Strength, Intellect, and Vitality all ranked at D. His Spirit attribute ranked at a startling B as his highest stat. It seemed to please and impress her, but as she held his hand in her palm she seemed troubled by something in it.
“Is there something wrong?” He asked.
She took a short moment to answer, but said; “No. Not really. Your attributes are actually very good. It's pretty uncommon not to have any F tier attributes. Honestly most parties would kill to have you even with your complete lack of skills and equipment. Getting you up to speed wouldn't take long, and there are so many viable options for you to take as far as skill sets. It just troubles me that your mark is still Copper even without any listed skills..” She ran her thumb over the dull script of the mark. There were a good deal of reds, blues, greens, and other metallic colors in the mark.
“Copper?” He asked, confused.
She nodded and outlined an artful border and separating line that ran throughout and around the mark. It blended in pretty well with his sun tanned skin, but it was there and certainly a coppery color, it even had a light sheen to it like there was metal under his skin.
“With your attributes you should be at least Iron rank by now, but it's like...Well sometimes when kids get the mark even if they have high attributes or a good deal of skills it keeps their rank lower until they are older and more ready. If they have A rank strength it's still A rank in a child's body.”
“The younger adventurers rank up slower you mean? How young can they get the mark?” He asked both curious and worried about children who might be so marked.
“Some are born with it.” Vivian answered with her lovely green eyes still on his mark. Her thumb followed the lines of the mark and it was sending chills down the base of his spine again as she did it. She sat just bent over too. There was a tiny drop of sweat making its way down between her modest breasts. Its slow progress drew his eyes, but he did his best not to look too much. “And it's only kind of a rank. There's a number of debates that have happened through the ages trying to determine exactly what the ranking colors mean. As you gather skills and raise your attributes it will increase naturally with you as you take the proactive approach. --But I've been on a job with the guild where a noble and his son had been hiding the mark and doing nothing special about preparing, and his mark had turned to silver rank. Our guild leader made the decision to get the boy out of there and back to the providential fortress before anything happened to him. We did that with some trouble along the way, but nothing like what happened to his fathers estate. Groundlings destroyed everything not bolted down outside and burned down the manor house. No one escaped. I felt bad for the boy, but we only learned of the estate when we stopped at the capital and his mark had turned back to copper.”
“Groundlings?” He asked completely unfamiliar with what she meant.
“They're lesser dragons that can't fly.” She said looking up at him. She tilted her head and a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “They are pretty common in small packs and not terribly dangerous for a competent group of adventurers to take on if they're smart and don't get ambushed. It takes a very dominant alpha to hold together a pack of more than two or three following him or her, but the pack that attacked that boy's estate had been almost three dozen strong. Taking on a small pack alone is something some real Gold ranked adventurer's like Theradin the Light Bringer or old Sunlain Darkrift could handle with difficulty, but normally it takes a team of close to a dozen iron adventurers to take on a job with Groundlings involved if you want to be safe. Like with that silver ranked boy who needed help we brought extra like we did on this last job. Orcs for instance always have more than you think or were reported in the notice and that's not always reflective of the threat rank on your mark going in. We would have needed the whole guild with all our most skilled Adventurer's to survive that onslaught at the estate though.” She had been watching for a reaction from him until she broke into a more casual conversational tone and turned her gaze back to his mark. Hopefully he had passed.
He had never written anything, short story or otherwise, about a character named Sunlain Darkrift, but Theradin the Light Bringer was a core character in the lore he had been working on, or at least included in the lore of the setting for years. He had a chilling thought about Sarraleah the Blood Knight who starred in a short story he had written with Theradin before he mostly dismissed it. If Theradin was here she would be around somewhere, and his mood lifting, Jakcova. Depending on the timeline Sarraleah could be half mad or worse, but Jakcova was always around in his setting at one age or another. Which would this glorification of his writing make him out to be here? And what about the others? There were so many other characters he could meet if he was really here.
“This Theradin, and Sunlain Darkrift...they're heroes of some kind I take it?” He asked. He hoped he was getting the most out of that E in his charisma because he was sure he would need it. This world, the way it worked, bothered Vivian in some ways, but even so it was clear that it was her reality. He wouldn't tell her he had written half or more of the horrible situation her life was centered around or how easily he might have once been able to change it if this world could be changed by his writing once he left it. Those thoughts lead him to another digression however. And that was the fact that she was an elf. Originally elves were supposed to be very rare in his setting, at least in Ruldanja, sticking to their huge forests to the northwest or the jungles far to the south past the equator so he was a little surprised to have her as a potential first companion. His maps of those areas had been sketches at best and he was suddenly curious to see what had filled in the rest of the world. He had far from completed it. On second thought however he put a pause on that ambition. If they turned out to be just as nightmarish as some of the other things he had written he didn't want to know what was going on there or worse taken by surprise by it.
She looked up at him again and tilted her head to a cant as she looked into his eyes. He wondered if it was a conscious gesture, but when one of her ears twitched a little he had the curious thought that she might be listening for his heartbeat or something or something like that with her sensitive hearing. Her hands were still lightly touching his, but he could see the fierce spirit inside Vivian through her eyes. She was a woman who did not like to think she was being lied to or played with. And she was frighteningly pretty when she was focused. Oh she had seemed like a thoughtful looker while she toyed with the mark on his hand, but that direct gaze...There was powerful passion in her, determination, all things he very much liked in women even if it did make him hesitate a little. He couldn't help but feel very attracted to her at that moment even if he had no clue what to do or say.
He dropped his gaze and felt a bit of heat wash through his cheeks as the corners of her lips had begun to come up in a smile. A little nervous pit had grown in his stomach even as part of him urged him on to take action.
“You watch my ears like they're strange to you, and still you have to fight to keep from looking down my blouse like men would women of your kind. You seem to have never heard the names of the most famous adventurers to go the world round. You speak of a strange place then refuse with certainty to point out this place on a map.” She said in a wondering, curious tone as she made her observations out loud. She smiled at him and tilted her head at him, seeming happy as he looked up.
He blinked shocked for a moment, but then asked a question before he thought it through. “Human men don't think you're pretty?”
She smiled showing teeth at him and her eyes seemed to twinkle as she raised an eyebrow at him. “No they don't. Especially around here. Oh they may look from time to time...” She said running a playful hand along her fitted leather breeches in a gesture that matched the mischief that was suddenly in her full smile. “But they would never look me in the eye and have that hunger in their eyes like you just did.” She made a subtle gesture then with her lips parting and her smile fading, a small movement of her tongue visible between her lips that sent the growing smolder in her eyes through him like a light shot of adrenaline.
His heart began to pick up its pace as he had the sneaking suspicion that Vivian liked to chase more than be chased, and just maybe she was thinking about chasing him if he'd run a little more. What must have been an obvious blush in his cheeks seemed to suffice for that or at least somewhat as her smolder turned to bright and honest humor. She stood and leaned forward coming close to kiss his forehead. That little nervous pit turned to a fire with that.
“I think I believe you.” She said as she drew back. The kiss only made his heat grow a little deeper, but he was wrestling control back slowly and feeling more confident. “I've seen conjurers reach into the elemental planes to bring forth magic, watched as monsters tear themselves in and out of reality or completely vanish from sight, and seen summoners bring up various creatures from other worlds. I think maybe you are some sort of other worlder. I've heard of such things before when the Towers were open. This Minnesota--” She struggled with the unfamiliar word, but managed it. “--must not have had elves or adventurers and I have never heard of it. I think you might have heard tales for what world would totally lack some sort of adventure or a hero or two, but I don't think you know much more of our culture than what little you could learn in that horrible camp.” She made that subtle gesture with her tongue and parted lips again as he looked up at her standing before him and she suddenly blushed, but shook it off just as fast. She took up both of his hands looking as if she might draw him to his feet, but then she went on instead of doing so. “I think I would enjoy having you around. And like I said before long you will be quite the asset as an adventurer and it's my duty to the guild to bring you into our fold. In the very least it will suit to repay you for saving me from that orc that would have likely had my head if you need a direct reason. Otherwise I think I will stay by your side for some time and refine whatever skills I can teach you since you have very few. I also think it will be fun to see where this world, and that mark in particular, takes you besides.”
He watched her smile at him a little surprised at her openness, but it just seemed the way she operated. He decided he could deal with that. She was good looking and seemed easy to talk to. What more could he ask for? Maybe one of his rifles would have been good along with some sort of magical endless ammo bag, but the lovely female companion was pretty excellent by itself. Thinking about that made him consider just what he could offer her, which wasn't a whole lot more than what she said. He wrote at least some of what existed of lore and maps in this world, but he didn't really have the knitty gritty details of daily life and survival down pat. It would take lots of time learning and living here before he was totally used to it. At least, he knew for sure, it would be better than anything he had experienced in that orc slave camp. Maybe it was that brutal thump on the head he had taken, but he had nothing but vague flashes and memories of pain, anxiety, and hunger from that camp. And maybe it was his mind taking shelter from the memories...giving him a chance to get a hold of something before the tide of memory came back in and tried to wash out his broken mental foundations.
“I would like that.” He found himself saying. The fondness in his voice almost startled him. Vivian's hands tightened on his and he looked up at her to find her smiling again, her eyes bright with anticipation and her cheeks starting to flush with color once again. He had no idea what he had done, but she seemed to shy for a moment or two at what he said before the focus came back.
Her eyes shot down to his left hand and her eyebrows began to climb.
He looked down at them to see that the copper color of his marks outline had turned a dull iron gray in a soft flash of light.