There are many ways that one may seek to comfort a scared child. Gentle words and slow soothing movements immediately come to mind. So when Rose instead rushed quickly towards the human urchins fallen friend, well, he quite understandably panicked. Seeing the fanged mystery monstrosity crouch over his fallen ally. With its fangs flashing unsteadily in the flickering candlelight the brave lad didn’t hesitate. He introduced his knife to the situation. The gentle creek and sharp snap of old poorly forged steel filled the air, and the urchin stared in shock at his newly bladeless knife. He was a bit too focused on it, in fact, as he didn’t notice the blurring mass of shadow that was rapidly approaching him.
Which is how Rose found herself in another persons secret base, standing over the prone bodies of two children. “Whoops.” She murmured, beginning to realize she’d rather made a mess of things. She’d only been trying to check on the fallen beastkin, and hadn’t been expecting a sudden stab from its companion. When she’d felt the attack months of street honed reflexes kicked in without so much as a thought to hinder them. Luckily for him she’d managed to pull her punch at the end there, or she’d have a much bigger problem than a pair of unconscious urchins on her hands.
With a sigh, and a gentle recrimination to herself for being clumsy, she went back to checking the kids. Luckily, the beastkin was just unconscious. His breathing was even and his pulse strong and steady. Which was about all that Rose knew to check. How do you even begin to examine someone to figure out what caused them to just randomly pass out? She thought, completely oblivious to her culpability in that regard. So she moved on to his friend. Ah, yeah this is more my speed. He had a glorious goose egg growing from his scalp, and what looked to be a lovely shiner blooming over his left eye.
Well, I’ve got just the thing for that. Rose reached into one of her many pockets, and pulled out a small pouch. The pouch was made from the hide of a snow hare, and as the gleaming white fur caught the dim flickering of the candlelight ghostly and fragmented auroras shimmered around it. That was the defense mechanism of the snow hare. When startled their fur acquired a special quality. When it was touched by light, but especially direct sunlight, the fur gave off a dazzling array of dancing auroras. While their would be predator tried to deal with the sudden eyeful of shifting lights the hare dashed away to safety. The only way to get that kind of effect on the dead beasts hide was if you killed it while it was using whatever natural magics caused the effect. Which was easier said than done.
But the object Rose was looking for wasn’t the fur, no matter how dazzling it might be, but the object that had been wrapped in the fur. A slender sliver of glossy blue white material. The odd thing seemed to almost glow with an inner light, and as Rose ran the long edge of it along the urchins swollen and bruised face something wondrous happened. The bruises melted away like ice before the sun and the swelling vanished like snow drifts at springtime. Nyvi blessed ice, the answer for all your bruises and bumps. Rose smiled fondly as she remembered the very same sliver of ice being used to soothe her many childhood related injuries. But then she remembered what had happened later. What had happened to the old man who had been so kind to an angry and destructive child, and her smile melted away into a frigid grimace of pure hatred.
Which was unluckily the same moment that the beastkin child had finally stirred. The unlucky Captain Murderdeath had opened his eyes, and spotted the monster from his recent nightmares huddled over his friend. A blood freezing bone shattering expression of rage carved into its misshapen face. The fragile child promptly keeled over again, yet another stain spreading on his already soggy trousers.
Lost in the mists of remembrance Rose failed to realize she was traumatizing people. After a minute she shook herself out of her funk, put away the fragment of God blessed ice, and settled in to wait for the kids to wake up so she could get directions to Dogger. While she waited Rose took a tour of the urchins base. It was a series of interconnected rooms and corridors. The walls made of ratty blankets, and occasionally actual walls. Dozens of cozy cubbies clustered together, offering both privacy and communal body heat.
There was little of a personal nature in the cozy blanket fort. Urchins tended to keep their most precious possessions either secreted away on their person, or hidden somewhere safe. In case they had to leave their home fast to escape danger. That way they wouldn’t lose precious time trying to save their valuables, and could just run for it.
Rose returned to her captives just in time for blonde human kid to stir. He started to groan and reach for his head. Obviously remembering being clobbered rather thoroughly. He froze in surprised shock when his body informed his mind that it was quite fine, thank you very much, and that he should focus on more important things. Like the huge monster lady standing right in front of you. Spike, as he was known, lifted his head very slowly. Scanning his eyes up the impressive height of the stranger standing in the middle of his gangs most secretest of bases. With an oddly impressive amount of outrage at this intrusion Spike stood up, puffed out his chest, and attempted to add a surly growl to his voice.
“What do you think you’re doing! This is our base! Get out, and stay out!” His quaking knees and sadly squeaky voice really didn’t convey the message as well as he’d hoped to. But Rose wasn’t really interested in teasing a child.
“Hey, I’m Rose. I’m looking for Dogger, he your boss?” She drawled lazily, trying her hardest to seem innocent and unthreatening. The sting from her black eye detracted quite a bit from her attempt. And Rose spent a few seconds berating herself for not fixing it when she had the ice out earlier. Her internal argument was reflected as a scowl, and it combined with the pained flinch when the tender flesh around her eye was shifted by her attempt at appearing friendly. Leaving her with a brutal and menacing grimace instead of the intended calming smile.
Needless to say, this did not help matters. Spike got defensive, and broke out that old favorite tactic of criminals and children the world over. Lie and deny. “Dogger, I ain’t never heard of no Dogger. This here is the base of Barrel Joe.” He threw out the name of the leader of a rival gang of urchins, hoping that the scary lady would take his word for it and go away. He had no such luck I’m afraid.
“Look kid, I know this is Doggers base. And all I want to know is where he is or when he’ll be back! He owes me a favor, and I need to cash it in!” Rose was really not in the mood for this. So far today she’d been beaten, dropped in sewage, and chased out of her pub by irate orcs. And now this kid was trying to give her the business? What was going on? Had she accidentally blasphemed against Du somehow? The God of punishments and vengeance was known for being on a hair trigger when it came to such things, but she, and most everyone else, was careful to avoid even mentioning him.
No she was just having a bad day. And yelling at a kid wasn’t going to make it better. So Rose carefully reeled her temper back in, took a deep breath, and started heading towards the exit. “When he shows up, tell Dogger Rose needs to talk to him. If he can’t even find me, then I guess he won’t be much help anyway. Oh, and maybe you should get some fresh pants and a bucket of water for your friend. He looks soaked.” And with that Rose stomped back up the stairs, pushed open the trapdoor, and headed back into the maze of the Cull. Her head on a swivel watching for orcs or gangers in purple.
Back in the urchins base Spike collapsed. He had been so scared! That lady looked like she was one stray word from strangling someone! He lay there on his back. Staring at the barely lit stones overhead, and then he started laughing the strained giddy laughter of someone who had just escaped disaster. It wasn’t until he’d finally calmed down that he realized his shirt was getting wet, and recalled the last thing the scary lady, Rose, had said. Scrambling to his feet Spike saw he had indeed flopped down in a small puddle of his friends urine.
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“FLUFF! EWWWW!!!” He started scrambling for a new shirt and hurling curses at the very much unconscious beastkin in the soaked trousers.
Far away from that dim basement, and far from the glowering and pacing of a certain tall blue teenager. A small child was chasing a wayward lamb. “No! Snowy! You gots to go the other way! You gots ta go with your family! SNOWY!!!” The tiny tyke chased the seemingly deaf lamb out of the tall grass and onto the narrow dirt track that led to Pelior Village. When she cleared the tall grass she found her lost lamb cradled in the arms of an cheerful looking older lady in green robes. With a happy squeal the little lass rocketed towards the woman, burrowing into her robes and clinging like a limpet to her leg.
Violet smiled down at the tiny elfin child, and patted her gently on the head. Much to the child’s delight. “Hello Ivy, miss me?” She asked rhetorically, before continuing her walk, the tiny burdens in her arms and on her leg not slowing her one whit. The muffled murmuring of Ivy speaking into her robes mingled into the steady susurrus of the long windblown grass, and Violet felt like she was back home.
The village of Pelior is one of small houses and big families. Like most towns in the Fold their primary occupation was the herding of sheep. A few families managed to scrape enough crops out of the hard and stony soil to provide the other families with potatoes, carrots, and a variety of turnip and squash. Then there was the town blacksmith, cooper, tanner, and hunter who all provided their services to the sleepy little town. But most people herded the especially fluffy, obstinate, and ornery sheep that had been of the Fold long before human, elves, dwarves, and the rest moved in. Yes, Pelior Village was just like every other small town in the Fold, or rather it would have been. Were it not for the orphanage.
Life was hard, everyone living knows this is true. And there are some times when another child is more burden than blessing, or whose parents suffered a tragic accident or fell to misfortune. Those poor children often followed their parents in due course, but some few managed to be brought or find their own way to an orphanage. The Gardener Orphanage was one such place. It had originally been a mansion for the local lord to feel lordly in, but he’d decided that the charms of the countryside paled in comparison to the fun of the city. And many years ago had sold it to a kindly elf known simply as Mr. Gardener who had turned it into an orphanage. Where for many long years he had cared for the young souls within its walls like they were his own sons and daughters. He was joined, and eventually replaced, in this endeavor by his actual daughter, Forsythia Gardener.
Violet was a graduate of the Gardener Orphanage, and made a trip from Ramsom at least once a month to teach the children about medicine and healing. As a priestess of Gorm, the god of earth and life, as well as a healer she was extremely well versed in these subjects. But when your audience is a collection a squirrely children and surly teens it was best to tailor your lessons accordingly. So she spoke of her more interesting cases, of the oddest, grossest, most unusual ailments first. To catch their ears and minds, and only then did she teach them the boring details that so often mean the difference between life and death. How to identify a break versus a sprain. How to treat a fever as opposed to a cold. When to wait for help, and when to rush for aid. She also always brought a tin of treats, one apiece for each of the kids. And they loved her for it.
After her latest batch of lessons she took a moment to stretch, her back stiff and sore from sitting in a hard chair. She remembered when she was young, and could sleep on roots or stones with nary a twinge. Now look at me. Violet thought with a self mocking smile. Can’t even finish a short lesson without feeling like a giants tap danced on my tailbone. She gave herself another moment of therapeutic self pity, before moving on to her next mission.
She slowly walked deeper into the large creaky mansion that was the orphanage. Heading towards the library, where she knew she’d find her old friend sipping a cup of her favorite tea and reading an old book. Probably a trashy romance novel.
Sure enough, sitting in a comfy old armchair that matched none of the rest of the furniture and sipping at a pale blue tea was Forsythia. Her eyes riveted onto the yellowed and creased pages of an oft read and poorly made romance novel. Passion On The High Seas proclaimed the ragged cover. No doubt a thrilling read, that was nearly identical to the other several hundred other romance novels Forsythia had hoarded over her long life.
Forsythia herself was an older looking elf, which meant she was probably over 100, it is considered rude to ask, but looked to be about her late thirties by human standards. What good looks she might once have had were marred by a twisting ragged burn scar running up the left side of her face. Violet glanced at the fluffy wool blanket covering her friends lower body. She knew under there the kind elfs left leg was a bent and twisted ruin. Hence the crutch leaning against the side of her chair. It was mostly used for decorative purposes, but Violet knew that on long days, when Forsythia had been run especially ragged by the dozens of children under her ward, her friend was thankful for its support.
“Still got your nose buried in the gutter I see.” Violet announced her presence with a friendly jab.
“Art is only ever appreciated by the cultured, my dear Violet.” The elf returned, not lifting her eyes from the page for an instant. “I really wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Finishing her page, the mistress of the Gardener Orphanage raised her head and smiled gently at Violet. “Now, how is our lost little lamb doing Vi? Is she still claiming to be a big bad wolf?”
At the reminder of why she was here in the first place Violet pulled the purse containing the entirety of Roses fight money for the previous month out of her satchel. “Indeed she does Syth. She seems to have managed to convince plenty of others as well. Rose sends her love, and I know she misses you every day.” Not that the stubborn child will actually say such a thing, of course. Violet added silently. The scarred elf gingerly took the purse from Violets hands. Grimacing at the weight of it.
“She always was good at pretending. I remember the time she convinced Kalen that if he stared at the full moon a whole night through, he would become able to fly. The poor land stayed up all night, and leapt from the landing come morning. Broke both his legs if I recall correctly.” Violet nodded, she had been the one to heal Kalens legs. “Poor lass, she was distraught that her little prank had hurt her friend. She cried for days.” Forsythia sighed heavily, staring into the memory. “And now she wants me to believe her some cold blooded knee snapper?” She shook her head.
Violet was silent for a moment, thinking of their little troublemaker. “She blames herself, you know? For what happened.” She said quietly and sadly. Her voice small with shame and regret.
Forsythia looked at her, really looked at her. And for a slender moment Violet forgot all the years of friendship between them. She was taken back to so very long ago, when she’d been a scared and silent little girl, and this woman had just been introduced as her guardian and caretaker. She’d given Violet the same look now as then. Like she was reading your thoughts and feelings off of the back of your skull.
“Yes, I know she does. And I know you blame yourself as well.” Violet opened her mouth to argue, and Forsythia rode right over her half voiced protests. “And I’ll tell you what I’d tell her. Were she in front of me right now. There was nothing you could have done. No aid you could have lent, no blow you could have stopped, and no spark you could have extinguished.” The kindly elfs normally warm green eyes hardened into frozen jade splinters.
“If you had been there, you would have just become another casualty. Another life I’d regret outliving. So seek whatever revenge you desire. Walk whatever path you choose. But do not do so while bearing the burden of blame for that monsters actions. Walk it freely, and without shame.” The elf seemed to deflate then. Suddenly seeming to carry all her many years with a new weight. “If you’d be so kind Violet. Could you make me another cup of Sky Blue tea? I’m afraid all those emotions and memories have me feeling rather exhausted at the moment.”
Violet puttered about, waking the heat stone and starting the water to boil. All the while she kept an eye on her oldest friend. She hadn’t seen her exert that much force in many years, and she hoped she wouldn’t see it again for many more. The years hadn’t been kind of late, and who knew how much more time the stricken elf had left.
I hope she manages to outlive me yet. I know it’s horribly selfish of me. But I’d much rather her bury me, than me bury her. Violet thought, before finally shaking off the morbid thoughts that had seemed to be plaguing her of late. She had been asked to make tea. And she was going to strive to make the perfect cup. It would be a nice distraction, for a little while.