Rescue from Refuge. [Solo]

[Seisha]

The pitchfork came in and she ducked, watching with satisfaction as it hooked into the tree behind her. She watched with almost sincere sympathy as the moron tried to pull it out of the tree. Bringing out one of her short swords she swung it about, putting a laceration across his arm which made the farm tool wielding highwayman withdraw his hand. With a jerk she freed the pitchfork and made as if to catch him in the gut.

When the man froze, her bright eyes burst into cyan flame. An opening. She could kill the man in an instant. It would take nothing at all to slam a spike into his brain through an eye. The man was slowed by fear, and alcohol, and he was very clearly little more than a farmer. He showed no signs of warfare training. The white and fearful face proved that. Through a veil of silver hair she saw the trembling form that brought the tiniest bit of disgust to her mind. Honestly, he had started it.

Seisha pulled the pitchfork back, spun it around and then cracked him over the skull with the wooden handle. The highwayman crumbled and landed on his face. With a sudden and loud crack, she broke the handle and tossed the weapon aside. She gazed upon the man and intended to walk resolutely away before she noticed his cloak. It was the one that had been hanging outside of her tent last night; the one that was gone by morning. A silver stitching of her name into the black cloak gave it away.

With a crouch she reached around to the man’s front and undid the clasp—that at least wasn’t hers—and lifted the cloak from her attacker. Tossing the brooch back to the ground, she settled herself against the tree long enough to repack the cloak and think, not to mention settle the young fox pup back into his spot in the pack. (Though she had woken the poor thing up.) It wouldn’t do to leave the man out here where he could wake up and attempt to rob any other passers by. She felt the shade cool her pumping blood a bit.

Ding.

With a smirk, she crouched down and pulled her mugger into a standing position and then looked up. In the lower branches of the tree she had been leaning on was an especially thick one.

One that was shaded.

A noise reached her ears as darkness enfolded around her. It was almost like a lover’s sigh this time. Elongated just briefly until it ended, placing her standing upright at the base of the limb. The sound of a whine from her back showed her that the pup had looked out and noticed their altitude. Assuming the pup would soon grow fidgety, she placed her attacker on the limb against the trunk of the tree. He looked pretty well balanced, and if he fell he’d endure without a broken bone.

Looking toward the ground, she moved without moving.

This time it was more like the roar of a lion, the sound surrounding her as reality found itself without her for the briefest moment of time, and then she was back on the ground, lifting the fox pup from the pack and into her arms where it rested as she continued down the path, naught but the briefest of glances to the world ahead of her. She kept her eyes on the sky, the gathering storm clouds captivating her. She always had loved a good storm.

It was in this state of meditation that she heard it.

In the deep of the forest she stood at the edge of, there came the sound of screaming. She could assume that it was an Elven child by the almost melodious quality of the voice. Another sound met her ears, and she recognized it. Fire. With a rush she erupted into the forest, using her ability every few steps to cover distance quickly, trying with all of her might to get closer to that crystalline call of despair.

The voice echoed like a note from the skies stretched thin over the infinite ears of infinite worlds, perverted and lessened by trees and wind. It scared the hell out of her, frankly, and she felt herself hurrying all the more. So much so that as she got close to the source—a log cabin that seemed to be catching flame—she almost didn’t notice the form moving away from it.

[Seisha]

What saved Seisha from missing the fleeing form was a flash of lighting in that direction. The lightning seemed to be a signal with a double meaning. The rain began to pour—not enough to put the fire out in time for someone stuck inside to live—just as the bolt struck. At the same time, the strike of lightning brought her attention to the running shadow in the darkness. It was passing a few meters from her and didn’t show any signs of slowing down.

In the two seconds that she observed all of this she had reached the edge of the cabin. Swiftly she kicked the door once… twice… thrice and then the splintering and shattering of wood announced that the door had been successfully broken down. To her ears, the screaming was unbearable now. What’s more, she could tell many more things about the noise. The voice was of an Elven child, no older than eight, no younger than five. The child was in pain as well as scared; she was hoping she was wrong about that one, however. The child was male, and likely not yet adept at any sort of skill… mundane or otherwise.

Smoke rolled out of the cabin as she entered, hitting her like a blast. Coughing harshly she took a moment to cover her mouth with one sleeve, and then ran in. Immediately the small, one room cabin yielded to her the sight of a young Elven boy, with an obviously broken arm. He was small enough to be about five, with blonde hair and bright green eyes. His face was gaunt, even for an Elven child. Elven children were known to be beautiful, elegant creatures. This one’s face was contorted in pain, and to soothe him she spoke in his native tongue.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Seisha whispered, approaching quickly and crouching down. She blocked out worry, confusion, and tried to be as soothing as possible. He was bound tightly, and babbling softly in Tradespeak. “Relax, child, I’m going to remove your bindings now.” She drew her iron hunting knife and brought it slowly to the ropes. “Relax,” she said, in Tradespeak.

With a brief flick of her wrist, she severed the bonds at once, sheathing the knife quickly. Setting the bone… it wasn’t something she was prepared to try. There were cuts and bruises all over the child, whose bare chest also showed what looked like welts, whether of a belt or a whip, she wasn’t sure on the front. The thin lines on his back were definitely of a whip. “This is going to hurt.” Without a second more of delay she seized the child, brought him into her arms, and ran. The room had been growing rapidly worse in the passing seconds, and it was time for them to get out.

Seisha and the boy emerged into the storm, a reality so powerfully different from the cabin which had been only the sound of her voice, his screaming and crackling flame. Thunder and wind dominated her hearing now, and yet she continued running. A shuffling in her pack suggested that the pup was again unsettled, but there was no whining or signs of pain. The good arm of the child she was holding had wrapped behind her head, holding tight to her. “We need to get you to the nearest town. Close your eyes… this can be a little scary.”

She watched until the boy acquiesced her command, and then the pair blinked from existence. Fifteen feet were cleared in the space of time necessary for a single step. When they reemerged into reality she felt the boy shaking in her arms and rushed onward. “Tell me your name, ” Seisha whispered as soothingly as she could in Elven.

A pained but eloquent voice answered, “Jasi.”

“Well Jaxi,” she said, shifting the child. “We’re getting away from this place and getting you somewhere safe. Then we’ll figure out who did this to you.” The last town was about an hour’s run from here at full speed. However… there had been a farmer whom she had spoken with only a few minutes before she had been attacked by another one. That was still a few very painful minutes she would be carrying Jasi.

Seisha was… nervous about his pain. She knew if she went quickly it would jostle him. Go slowly and it would drag things out. Jostling was preferable to prolonged agony, in her opinion. Seisha shot along with full focus and intent, every bit of her intensely focused on reaching the farm as soon as possible. She could feel the pain almost, and felt a bit of agony herself.

[Seisha]

As Seisha rounded the corner she heard loud cursing in Tradespeak. A human farmer was trying fruitlessly to convince his horse to get moving; the poor thing seemed to be spooked by the storm. A sudden clap of thunder set it off and it took off freely toward the barn, splattering the farmer with mud. Noticing his understandably bad mood, Seisha almost considered running past the man.

But the child was in agony.

The farmer gave in the moment he saw the wounded elf that had passed out—from pain or weariness she didn’t know—some time before. It hadn’t taken too much begging to pull at the man’s heartstrings; in fact, had she been mute he probably would still have rushed the pair into his home the moment he saw the child. She was silent under his inquiries until she had laid the boy on the bed in the room she was lead to. The room was clean but looked unused; she had to presume it was a long departed child’s from the tones of the color on the walls.

“I found him in the woods. Someone had him bound in an old cabin that they saw fit to set flame to before abandoning him.” With a brief sigh, she turned to the man. “Your name would be appreciated, I’d like to know who I’m about to thank.”

Seisha gazed up at the man as he muttered, “John.” What followed was a stammering refusal of thanks that fell by the wayside when she made a brief bow—most unbecoming of a woman in Human and Elven culture—and smiled.

“I am Seisha Lesperte, and I am, for the duration of my brief stay in this area, at your service.”

To her surprise, he spoke in her native tongue, the language of the dark elves. “I am due nothing.”

“You know my tongue?” she asked in fair surprise; fair because not many humans bothered to learn much more than common Elven.

“Very little. My farm briefly played host to a hand that spoke your language. He tried to teach me but I am afraid I am not much of a learner. Instead of learning to speak it, he trained me how to say a few key phrases as close to perfectly as I could.” The man was balding and graying all at once, but she was content to see that he was moderately well built and could take care of himself. “I could sure use that one back here. My current hand went out earlier… and hasn’t return.”

“Was he wearing a dark cloak when he went?” she asked with a feeling of dread as she lowered her pack to the ground.

The fox pup looked out as she opened it the rest of the way. When he nodded, she removed the cloak she had retaken from her pack.

“This one?”

“Why yes!” The man did indeed sound surprised. “I’d never seen it before today.”

She smiled wryly. “This was stolen from outside of my tent last night… and the thief saw fit to try to rob me two hours ago on the side of the road while wearing it. He wielded naught but a pitchfork.” The man paused, and then John grew red with irritation.

“Stole my pitchfork to go thieving! Well, I’ll have you know, madam, that he will not be working on my land again… though I admit I developed a soft spot for him… please tell me—” he seemed to hesitate, “is he….”

“Oh no,” she said, sounding appalled. “I left him sitting up in a tree and… I’m afraid I shattered your pitchfork beyond repair, kind sir.”

The man nodded as if he had expected as much.

“And now,” Seisha said, turning her clear blue gaze on the form on the bed, “I must ask one more favor of you. Do you have any hands you can send to town for a doctor?” Tucking a lock behind her ear she approached the child. “I do believe someone should clean these wounds and set this arm.”

“Of course, it’s the least I could do after that good for nothing Will pulled a stunt like this.”

“You might also have the same man send someone to the edge of the forest with a ladder. Your farmhand is fairly high up,” she admitted, regretfully.

“He’s not my farmhand anymore. Let him get down on his own....”

“Fair enough,” Seisha said, crouching down beside the bed to begin examining the wounds other than the arm—which looked bad as a bit of bone showed through the elbow—concentrating on the front of the chest. Was it a whip or a belt that had brought these injuries. Were they welts or nearly healed lacerations? It was impossible to tell through all the dirt and this was the most important question; it revealed the nature of the person who did this to him.

“I’ll go find a cloth and some water on my way back in,” John told her kindly. When she bowed her head silently for a moment, he retreated from the room, wiping his brow with a sigh.