2012-01-09: Strange Bedfellows
Strange Bedfellows
| Author: EM Drosselmeyer | Published: January 9, 2012 |
The hooded figure walked slowly down through the dank wetness of the cavern, her plated steps echoing throughout the area. She kept a hand close to the hilt of the broadsword at her side and took careful, searching gazes through the side tunnels with her potion enhanced vision. Stepping into a larger cavern she heard the snarl of an approaching ogre, and she drew her red broadsword to face the enemy head on. It roared it’s fury as hands nearly as large as she was grasped a fallen stalactite and hefted it as a makeshift club before charging at her. Letting her body tense she waited until the beast was almost on top of her, its putrescent stink cloying the air around her, and she sidestepped a crushing blow from its rocky weapon. Her response was a quick succession of cuts to one of its trunk like legs, the creature howling in fury before crashing down to a knee. With a heaving swing the club sliced the air sideways in an attempt to catch her full on, but she dropped her body flat as it the club cleaved the air above her. Scrambling to her feet, she thrust her broadsword deep into its chest, piercing the creatures heart as it looked at her with a shocked look, before slumping forward in death. Silence was once again restored to the cavern until a mirthful and undeniably feminine voice pierced the air from a natural platform a bit higher up in the cave.
“Well I suppose that removes any doubts that you didn’t come here alone. It does make me wonder about your overconfidence in doing so. So you’ve succeeded, Gwendolyn, in catching my attention. Now other than my capture what could you possibly want from me?”
Captain Irina threw the hood back from her cloak, revealing herself. The bandages still covered fully half her face over the empty socket that was all that remained from the assassin’s murderous assault, her life barely saved by the healers in attendance. “I want information, and I want the truth. I know that Honesty isn’t typically a thief’s stock in trade, but I’m sure you have familiarity with people and connections that I don’t. As far as we can tell, you’ve never gone past theft yourself…so despite what people have been offering, we haven’t put you as a prime suspect in this matter yourself. I don’t care about your thefts at the moment, either. I want the little slag that took my eye. I’m sure it’ll also help with leniency in the event of your capture if you help us out here.” Captain Irina waited, her offer hanging in the air as the stunning redheaded thief considered it. After a moment of thought, a laugh emitted from her throat.
“You’re direct, I’ll give you that. Although I’m kind of surprised at you, Gwen…I’d heard you were much fiercer than this. Where are your threats and intimidation to get what you want?”
It was Gwen’s turn to smile, though hers was a rueful one. “Just because I’m missing an eye doesn’t mean it escaped my notice that you’ve got two of your men with heavy crossbows hiding behind me on those other platforms.”
Scarlet gave a genuinely amused laugh at the Royal Guard’s response. “I don’t suppose I could name my price as having you give up that dreadful Captaincy of yours and joining my gang could I?”
Gwen gave her a shrug. “Your chances are about as good as if I asked you politely to return what you’ve stolen and turn yourself in.”
Scarlet took out a small bit of parchment from a pouch at her side along with a sealed quill, and opened it and penned a brief notation on it, before crumpling the parchment and tossing it to Gwen. As Gwen began to unfold it Scarlet’s voice called out, dwindling in volume as she retreated through the upper passageway.
“Take the advice. I know how to reach you when I have something. And Gwendolyn…Try not to die on me. Our little game just wouldn't be the same...”
As Scarlet’s voice faded to nothing, Captain Irina looked over the brief message that Scarlet had written and she crumpled the note up again before tossing it into the spreading pool of blood that was draining from the ogre’s corpse. The ink began to run as the paper soaked up the blood, briefly causing the black letters to be outlined in crimson. The message was as simple as it was expected from someone like Scarlet Von Trinsic.
Trust No One.
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