TemplarFF - Thanks for reading! Yes, I thought for sure no one would read
this as it's in the Misc section, and Lords of Magic is such an old game.
And I did plan on having a Dwarf - in fact, the original draft of the
tavern scene talked about how Daelin was all into Dwarf dice and ale and
generally preferred Dwarves over Elves, but that'll be explored later on.
brbr
Typically I play Life, but make it a point to (nicely) take over Earth,
Order, and Water. No fan fiction would do without some ale-guzzling Dwarves
in it! Thank you for reviewing, I appreciate it. brbr
Chapter 3: A Strange Curse
Dark, mangled shapes blurred by as they raced through the trees. The bracing wind, deafening silence, and jarring motion of the war mount swirled together and forced Daelin to shut her eyes against the impending nausea. She force her mind to concentrate on things more still. she felt the blood of her arm oozing slowly from her wound, the heavy feeling of fatigue her skin and body. the tense muscles and rigid back of the warrior. The rings of his mail felt like scales, his tunic rough, and the golden hair flowing past his shoulder smooth and silken against her cheek. She barely noted the slipping of her legs and the sudden lack of a saddle beneath her.
A distant feeling of pain pervaded her foggy thoughts, and Daelin feebly attempted to straighten herself from the ground. She opened her eyes but saw only black, with occasional flashes of red from the throbbing pain in her arm. All sense of the world around her was lost as her mind went in circles, but she could hear a soft step as the warrior quickly dismounted.
"Are you alright?"
There was a pause, and she could feel one hand gingerly lift her shoulder, the other tentatively pressing against her ribs, searching for injury. He spoke again, his voice soft but insistent.
"Can you hear me? You must speak."
Whether she made any sort of reply, Daelin didn't know, but she could feel his arms sliding under her shoulders and knees as he carefully lifted her. Shortly, they were back in the saddle. As they departed at a steady canter, Daelin found herself drifting to sleep. The warrior's voice interrupted her dozing.
"Stay awake, you mustn't sleep. What is your name?"
He constantly inquired about herself, or spoke to her about anything, to keep her awake. Before long, however, his voice began to fade and she could no longer hear him. After that, darkness.
* * * * *
The faint sound of singing birds and running water resonated through the black. Her mind felt incredibly at ease, and slowly, Daelin opened her eyes.
The dawn began to trickle through the window at the side of her pallet, which was made up of wool blankets of down, vibrantly quilted with leaves and suns, moons, and countless stars. Her arm was carefully wrapped in fresh linens, detecting amongst the painful tingling the soothing numbness of a common herbal salve. It was then that she noticed she felt unnaturally tired, even for the events of the night before.
"You've woken up, that's lovely. How are you feeling, my dear?" inquired a female voice.
Daelin sat up carefully, looking across the hamlet room at an elderly Elf - as elderly an Elf could be, at least, for their eternal youthfulness, though their eyes betrayed a look of wisdom - who smiled at her warmly. She was crushing herbs, glimmer blossoms, in a mortar, making another poultice Daelin guessed.
Daelin lifted her good arm to rest against her aching head. "Where is this place, how did I get here?"
The lady Elf crossed the room then, propping extra pillows behind Daelin's back so that she might sit up without strain. "Llandon brought you were from the Tel'Shan. That's all he would tell me."
"Who?"
"Llandon," repeated the Elf as she began to unwrap the bandages to replace the poultice. "He'll be back soon enough to bring you to the capital for a proper healing, but until then I'll see what I can do."
Placing the bandages aside, she removed the poultice of crushed flowers and leaves to reveal the wound. It was the span of a finger, though not too deep. It was a flesh wound, and would only take perhaps a week or so to knit enough to move (unaided by magick). But the weapon used to inflict it added a certain complication. The center of the wound was pale yellow, rather than blood red, and faint black-blue lines crept away from it like spider veins. A sort of dark arcane disease, spreading through her blood.
Daelin had seen worse, but chose to look away anyway. She was too tired to be alarmed. The lady Elf smiled at her comfortingly.
"Don't worry, the healers at the city temple will be able to cure it easily enough. I can slow it, but I'm sorry I could not be of more help." She applied the second remedy and bandaged the sight quickly, much to Daelin's contentment. It was easier not having to look at it.
Just then, a tall figure stepped through the doorway. At first, the sunlight pouring in from behind him blinded her to his features, but as he moved to the lady Elf's side, Daelin slowly recognized him as the pale- haired warrior from the previous night - previous, assuming she had only slept a short while. Llandon put his hand on the Elf's shoulder in greeting, and then looked down at her, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"Are you feeling well?"
The lady Elf answered before Daelin could herself.
"She needs to get to a proper healer as soon as possible. There is no threat to her life, but I have never seen a curse like this and can't be sure of the effects."
And that is a great comfort to me, Daelin thought bitterly as she felt a burning sensation traveling through her veins. Llandon nodded. "We will leave immediately. Are you able to walk?"
If she couldn't walk, she wouldn't have told the truth anyway. She only gave a quick nod in answer, and swung her legs to the floor, standing slowly and testing her balance. The room began to tilt and she shut her eyes against dizziness. Strong hands took hold of her shoulders before Daelin even knew she was falling.
"I'll take that as a 'no.'"
He lifted her into his arms without effort, speaking in hushed tones to the lady Elf before heading out the door. Had her head not been pounding out the beat to 'Crossroads of the Forest,' Daelin would have protested. Trust me. Llandon set her in the saddle before him, and sped quickly down the highway toward the capital.
* * * * *
The morning felt warm and fresh. Dew reflected the rising sunlight off of the grass and flowers across the meadowlands, and there were white billowing clouds stretching across the sky all the way to the horizon. All seemed right with the world as another beautiful day began. So beautiful that one wouldn't imagine the dark encounter that took place only the previous night, Llandon thought.
It wasn't unusual that he ran into other champions on his treks across the lands of Life, although Thieves were uncommon. They wouldn't allow themselves to be seen, even by their own people. Thieves being attacked by Golgothans were rarer still - especially when a highly skilled Assassin was involved. Only a truly prestigious Assassin would be able to get close enough to inflict such a wound on a high ranking Life Thief - on Eldren territory.
And this girl did appear to be high ranking. He looked down at the now- unconscious form before him, and it was not the first time he had considered her appearance so carefully. She was beautiful, as all Elves are, with rich, dark auburn hair which she wore back. He could recall the color of her eyes perfectly as he had seen them during her brief moments of wakefulness at Gilwen's hamlet. They had been green, an emerald color. If you looked close enough, imperceptible flecks of gold shone around her irises. She seemed young even for an Elf, still fresh and green enough for most others to be able to speak down to her. Not much unlike himself. Her clothes were the typical garb most Life Thieves donned - a short riding skirt, green, and a sleeveless green shirt that exposed her abdomen. The dark emblem on her leather vest was the only indication of her rank.
Still, his attention always drifted back to the wound on her forearm. In some part of his mind that had been cultivated to defend, he felt partially responsible. His life and training was dedicated to protect. He had never been in any sort of battle which called upon that duty, but Llandon considered this his first test - and he had failed. He knew he could never have prevented this, but maybe if he had been keeping a better watch, or had been more wary of trespassers...?
His thoughts were interrupted as his mount, a large lizard as golden-yellow as the sun, slowed to a halt. The city gates loomed before him, and one of the guards looked up at him from his post. He took one good look at him, and then gestured up at the gatekeeper.
"It's Llandon, let him pass."
No one seemed to notice the Elf in his lap was injured. Just as well, he didn't have time to stop and explain. As the gates open, he passed through quickly, making his way through the capital to the temple.
* * * * *
The temple in the Capital was a structure of considerable size. As all of the other buildings in Atarandor, the walls were whitewashed and immaculate, the roof shingled in a yellow-gold color which reflected the sunshine, creating a halo-like glow around the city, which added to its grandeur. It was tucked away at one of the far ends of the city, away from the busy streets and markets.
Llandon halted his mount at the foot of the pathway that led up to the doors, and it was here that two priestesses came down to meet him. They didn't wait for him to explain, but motioned for him to follow them inside. He carried her along the path, up the granite steps, and inside the cave of a room. It was dim, as only a few windows were open to puncture the darkness to light the studying of training healers. The scent of herbs overpowered all else, and the walls were covered in bookshelves, tapestries, and images of the Mother.
The priestesses led him to a high set rectangle of marble, the sides ornately carved with trees, flowers, and a sun in the center, its rays stretching out evenly around it to bathe all Life in its light. He laid Daelin down across the top, which was polished and smooth. It would be here that the healer would treat her.
The presiding healer was one that Llandon did not recognize. Having been raised and trained close to the city, he was familiar with most who offered services here, especially at the temple, which he had to visit for treatment more than once. The healer, a young Eldren maiden, smiled at him warmly.
"Elvara has been called away for a ceremony at the Great Temple. I am her apprentice, Talien, and will be taking her place for the time being."
Llandon nodded politely, but the girl had already turned her back on him to examine the patient.
"This is a Golgothan curse. How did this happen?" The healer turned a curious look his way.
"I wasn't present at the time it happened, but as far as I know she had an encounter with an Assassin."
The healer looked again at the wound, unwrapping Gilwen's poultice carefully. She started visibly at the sight of the cut. "This is a strange manner for a curse to spread, but it's nothing I can't handle. Are you family? A relation?"
"No, I was-" She cut him off before he could continue.
"Then please inform her family. It is spreading through her veins; the curse is physical, a disease, not magickal. Medicine should be able to eradicate the infection before she sustains any serious injury. She'll need assistance moving about after she wakes, and I want her under watch for the next few days. I want to make sure this doesn't take an unexpected turn."
Llandon nodded and turned away, exiting the premises. He failed to mention that he didn't know who she was. No matter, he would inquire at the Thieves Guild, learn her identity, and deliver the message to a relative. This would be his top priority above all other duties until it was fulfilled. It was the least he could do for the nameless Thief who had been injured in a region under his watch.
Chapter 3: A Strange Curse
Dark, mangled shapes blurred by as they raced through the trees. The bracing wind, deafening silence, and jarring motion of the war mount swirled together and forced Daelin to shut her eyes against the impending nausea. She force her mind to concentrate on things more still. she felt the blood of her arm oozing slowly from her wound, the heavy feeling of fatigue her skin and body. the tense muscles and rigid back of the warrior. The rings of his mail felt like scales, his tunic rough, and the golden hair flowing past his shoulder smooth and silken against her cheek. She barely noted the slipping of her legs and the sudden lack of a saddle beneath her.
A distant feeling of pain pervaded her foggy thoughts, and Daelin feebly attempted to straighten herself from the ground. She opened her eyes but saw only black, with occasional flashes of red from the throbbing pain in her arm. All sense of the world around her was lost as her mind went in circles, but she could hear a soft step as the warrior quickly dismounted.
"Are you alright?"
There was a pause, and she could feel one hand gingerly lift her shoulder, the other tentatively pressing against her ribs, searching for injury. He spoke again, his voice soft but insistent.
"Can you hear me? You must speak."
Whether she made any sort of reply, Daelin didn't know, but she could feel his arms sliding under her shoulders and knees as he carefully lifted her. Shortly, they were back in the saddle. As they departed at a steady canter, Daelin found herself drifting to sleep. The warrior's voice interrupted her dozing.
"Stay awake, you mustn't sleep. What is your name?"
He constantly inquired about herself, or spoke to her about anything, to keep her awake. Before long, however, his voice began to fade and she could no longer hear him. After that, darkness.
* * * * *
The faint sound of singing birds and running water resonated through the black. Her mind felt incredibly at ease, and slowly, Daelin opened her eyes.
The dawn began to trickle through the window at the side of her pallet, which was made up of wool blankets of down, vibrantly quilted with leaves and suns, moons, and countless stars. Her arm was carefully wrapped in fresh linens, detecting amongst the painful tingling the soothing numbness of a common herbal salve. It was then that she noticed she felt unnaturally tired, even for the events of the night before.
"You've woken up, that's lovely. How are you feeling, my dear?" inquired a female voice.
Daelin sat up carefully, looking across the hamlet room at an elderly Elf - as elderly an Elf could be, at least, for their eternal youthfulness, though their eyes betrayed a look of wisdom - who smiled at her warmly. She was crushing herbs, glimmer blossoms, in a mortar, making another poultice Daelin guessed.
Daelin lifted her good arm to rest against her aching head. "Where is this place, how did I get here?"
The lady Elf crossed the room then, propping extra pillows behind Daelin's back so that she might sit up without strain. "Llandon brought you were from the Tel'Shan. That's all he would tell me."
"Who?"
"Llandon," repeated the Elf as she began to unwrap the bandages to replace the poultice. "He'll be back soon enough to bring you to the capital for a proper healing, but until then I'll see what I can do."
Placing the bandages aside, she removed the poultice of crushed flowers and leaves to reveal the wound. It was the span of a finger, though not too deep. It was a flesh wound, and would only take perhaps a week or so to knit enough to move (unaided by magick). But the weapon used to inflict it added a certain complication. The center of the wound was pale yellow, rather than blood red, and faint black-blue lines crept away from it like spider veins. A sort of dark arcane disease, spreading through her blood.
Daelin had seen worse, but chose to look away anyway. She was too tired to be alarmed. The lady Elf smiled at her comfortingly.
"Don't worry, the healers at the city temple will be able to cure it easily enough. I can slow it, but I'm sorry I could not be of more help." She applied the second remedy and bandaged the sight quickly, much to Daelin's contentment. It was easier not having to look at it.
Just then, a tall figure stepped through the doorway. At first, the sunlight pouring in from behind him blinded her to his features, but as he moved to the lady Elf's side, Daelin slowly recognized him as the pale- haired warrior from the previous night - previous, assuming she had only slept a short while. Llandon put his hand on the Elf's shoulder in greeting, and then looked down at her, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"Are you feeling well?"
The lady Elf answered before Daelin could herself.
"She needs to get to a proper healer as soon as possible. There is no threat to her life, but I have never seen a curse like this and can't be sure of the effects."
And that is a great comfort to me, Daelin thought bitterly as she felt a burning sensation traveling through her veins. Llandon nodded. "We will leave immediately. Are you able to walk?"
If she couldn't walk, she wouldn't have told the truth anyway. She only gave a quick nod in answer, and swung her legs to the floor, standing slowly and testing her balance. The room began to tilt and she shut her eyes against dizziness. Strong hands took hold of her shoulders before Daelin even knew she was falling.
"I'll take that as a 'no.'"
He lifted her into his arms without effort, speaking in hushed tones to the lady Elf before heading out the door. Had her head not been pounding out the beat to 'Crossroads of the Forest,' Daelin would have protested. Trust me. Llandon set her in the saddle before him, and sped quickly down the highway toward the capital.
* * * * *
The morning felt warm and fresh. Dew reflected the rising sunlight off of the grass and flowers across the meadowlands, and there were white billowing clouds stretching across the sky all the way to the horizon. All seemed right with the world as another beautiful day began. So beautiful that one wouldn't imagine the dark encounter that took place only the previous night, Llandon thought.
It wasn't unusual that he ran into other champions on his treks across the lands of Life, although Thieves were uncommon. They wouldn't allow themselves to be seen, even by their own people. Thieves being attacked by Golgothans were rarer still - especially when a highly skilled Assassin was involved. Only a truly prestigious Assassin would be able to get close enough to inflict such a wound on a high ranking Life Thief - on Eldren territory.
And this girl did appear to be high ranking. He looked down at the now- unconscious form before him, and it was not the first time he had considered her appearance so carefully. She was beautiful, as all Elves are, with rich, dark auburn hair which she wore back. He could recall the color of her eyes perfectly as he had seen them during her brief moments of wakefulness at Gilwen's hamlet. They had been green, an emerald color. If you looked close enough, imperceptible flecks of gold shone around her irises. She seemed young even for an Elf, still fresh and green enough for most others to be able to speak down to her. Not much unlike himself. Her clothes were the typical garb most Life Thieves donned - a short riding skirt, green, and a sleeveless green shirt that exposed her abdomen. The dark emblem on her leather vest was the only indication of her rank.
Still, his attention always drifted back to the wound on her forearm. In some part of his mind that had been cultivated to defend, he felt partially responsible. His life and training was dedicated to protect. He had never been in any sort of battle which called upon that duty, but Llandon considered this his first test - and he had failed. He knew he could never have prevented this, but maybe if he had been keeping a better watch, or had been more wary of trespassers...?
His thoughts were interrupted as his mount, a large lizard as golden-yellow as the sun, slowed to a halt. The city gates loomed before him, and one of the guards looked up at him from his post. He took one good look at him, and then gestured up at the gatekeeper.
"It's Llandon, let him pass."
No one seemed to notice the Elf in his lap was injured. Just as well, he didn't have time to stop and explain. As the gates open, he passed through quickly, making his way through the capital to the temple.
* * * * *
The temple in the Capital was a structure of considerable size. As all of the other buildings in Atarandor, the walls were whitewashed and immaculate, the roof shingled in a yellow-gold color which reflected the sunshine, creating a halo-like glow around the city, which added to its grandeur. It was tucked away at one of the far ends of the city, away from the busy streets and markets.
Llandon halted his mount at the foot of the pathway that led up to the doors, and it was here that two priestesses came down to meet him. They didn't wait for him to explain, but motioned for him to follow them inside. He carried her along the path, up the granite steps, and inside the cave of a room. It was dim, as only a few windows were open to puncture the darkness to light the studying of training healers. The scent of herbs overpowered all else, and the walls were covered in bookshelves, tapestries, and images of the Mother.
The priestesses led him to a high set rectangle of marble, the sides ornately carved with trees, flowers, and a sun in the center, its rays stretching out evenly around it to bathe all Life in its light. He laid Daelin down across the top, which was polished and smooth. It would be here that the healer would treat her.
The presiding healer was one that Llandon did not recognize. Having been raised and trained close to the city, he was familiar with most who offered services here, especially at the temple, which he had to visit for treatment more than once. The healer, a young Eldren maiden, smiled at him warmly.
"Elvara has been called away for a ceremony at the Great Temple. I am her apprentice, Talien, and will be taking her place for the time being."
Llandon nodded politely, but the girl had already turned her back on him to examine the patient.
"This is a Golgothan curse. How did this happen?" The healer turned a curious look his way.
"I wasn't present at the time it happened, but as far as I know she had an encounter with an Assassin."
The healer looked again at the wound, unwrapping Gilwen's poultice carefully. She started visibly at the sight of the cut. "This is a strange manner for a curse to spread, but it's nothing I can't handle. Are you family? A relation?"
"No, I was-" She cut him off before he could continue.
"Then please inform her family. It is spreading through her veins; the curse is physical, a disease, not magickal. Medicine should be able to eradicate the infection before she sustains any serious injury. She'll need assistance moving about after she wakes, and I want her under watch for the next few days. I want to make sure this doesn't take an unexpected turn."
Llandon nodded and turned away, exiting the premises. He failed to mention that he didn't know who she was. No matter, he would inquire at the Thieves Guild, learn her identity, and deliver the message to a relative. This would be his top priority above all other duties until it was fulfilled. It was the least he could do for the nameless Thief who had been injured in a region under his watch.