The Task at Hand

[DoS Archive]

From: tareththrn@aol.com (TarethThrn)
Date: 17 Nov 2002 00:36:41 EST

Combat boots, that's what they were called. Yet in all the combat they'd seen, this was their first taste of real blood. They handled it remarkably well, the thick crimson liquid barely affecting their traction on the stairs leading up from the basement Arena. That was important, because he certainly didn't want to slip carrying such a precious burden.

Tareth was a man familiar with death. Perhaps that's what caused the rest of those present to balk at the task at hand, their sensibilities didn't allow them the luxury of familiarity. For the entire ordeal of Ria's salvation the other body lay forcibly ignored, bleeding long after the moment of actual death. "She deserves better than to just lay there, Sarah," he'd said as the others seemed to silently question his motives in retrieving Charlie's body. But somebody had to.

Now, pluming the dry winter air of Rhydin town, he shifted the boneless weight of her body against his. The girl hardly weighed anything anymore, she was far from the healthy figure that had graced last year's CDR calendars. Somehow, he'd expected more of a reaction from the patrons of the inn and the surrounding populated areas, but apparently a dark man carrying a blood-soaked, cloth-bound bundle was a common enough sight in this town that nobody made much mention.

He was a strong man, certainly, yet more than a few times during the trip he had to set Charlie down and rest. Charlie ... that was an odd thought. This was certainly the meat and bone of Charlie, but it could hardly be considered the girl he'd known anymore. The oddly shiny cast her blood gave his coat in the dim streetlit night made him think of himself as some odd angel of death, doomed to a haunted eternity of bearing grizzly remains through the streets she used to travel. Sometimes imagination was the only retreat from truly frightening thoughts, moments like this generally had a tendency to force him to consider his own mortality. Yet he stoically pressed on, a task like any other.

By the time he reached the short wall surrounding the Golden Ivy, his shoulders were aching, his forearms numb. He kicked open the gate, wandered past the stables, and similarly opened the front door. That would certainly signify to anyone inside exactly whom was entering, maybe even G'nort would hear.

The proper room was empty, not even a gnome in sight. He bore his burden to a nearby table, laying her upon its rough surface. He didn't think she'd mind.

"Guy I, if you're here, you need to get your ass down here," he shouted, knowing many of the shadow-lurkers would hear and if G'nort wasn't immediately present that he could be fetched.

After a few fist clenching and releasings, his fingers worked enough so that he could peel back the cover from her face. Her blood had congealed enough so that the linen stuck to her wounds, and pulling it only released the cuts to renew a weak trickle of whatever vitae was left in her. Her cheeks sunken, her hair matted with crimson, her lips puffy, this was the final face of Charlotte Jericho, and he was glad to have saved it from the public view.

A chain, tangled in the cloth bundle along with Charlie's hair, caught his eye. He pulled, it grudgingly came mostly free, yet stopped when a particularly nasty snarl had reached its limit. A soft clatter accompanied its halt, yet he was examining the end of the chain. It looked like it had been cut clean through the metal. Ria certainly wasn't pulling her blows.

Pawing gently, he investigated the sound he'd heard previously. He was rewarded with a small ring, blood soaked enough so that the pattern engraved in it was near-unrecognizable. The item found a home in one of the pockets of his coat soon enough, a final momento for him to keep of the pin-up girl of TDL.

"G! Charlie's here to see you!" It was cruel, but accurate. Waiting time would be better spent washing off his overcoat, so he went to do just that.


----------=Thorn=----------