Dreams of a Flawless Escape

[Flynn]

A cool evening washed over Concordia, rinsing the blistering heat of the summer day off of raddled loggers shoulders. The sun had set earlier than normal, signaling the approach of the impending winter. A cool lateral breeze cut through the West Road, lifting vagrant leaves and sweeping them aside, cutting a path for the homeward bound loggers. Six men marched in a staggered line along side the tattered path connecting the West Road of Corone and the small logging camp that employed the rag-tag group of human and elvish foresters. The men traced the meeting of two knolls in the forest, a muddy, forgotten, forlorn route that was the only cleared passage to the logger's clearing. Two donkeys followed behind the hard-worked men, boldly bearing the brunt of the fevered foresters equipment. The men kicked the moist ground, digging for a foothold as the trekked up a small mire-like knot in the path. Two of the loggers spoke out to one another, making clear their feelings on hiking to the road just to meet with the walk home to Underwood.

"Who's idea was it puttin' the camp at the end of this blasted mud hole, anyway!?" dared the oldest of the crew, a gray haired elf, poor on teeth though rich with a certain work-ripened odor that attacked the sweet summer breeze.

"Riley did!" barked the foremost brooding lumberjack. His brow still dripped with the heavy sweat from the lengthy work day. His dark greasy hair lied nestled under a shady toboggan, which the man found fit to adjust at every sign of a breeze. After a snort and a short pause the heavy man continued with his heavy know-it-all attitude.

"See, we don't have to replant the trees if no one knows where our camp is." The jack let out a hearty cackle, which bellowed through the encompassing trees.

Aside from hatchets, only one of the foresters carried arms, and the one who did was noticeably the smallest of the hikers. Sherlock, a rusty-haired young man, had been tasked with guarding the troupe as it made way from town to forest and back. Flynn, as the men in his crew knew him held a slow stride in the back of the procession near the donkeys. Flynn was obviously more occupied with his sword's harness than the road before him. The straps had grown tight on him and the added weight of both the sword and the chainmail that he wore made the trek more of a challenge for one of the youngest, though not the fittest, of the group. He happily surrendered his arms to the donkey, laying both his sword and the belt which held both his hatchet and assorted carpenter nails across the pack animal's back. He offered his own, albeit late, retort to the large jack's reasoning.

"Yes, though some days I'd rather plant a few saplings rather than carry the lumber up this path on the fortnights. Though..." He paused to lean and retrieve a lantern from the donkey to combat the shadow of Althanas left by the sun's plummet from the sky.

"I suppose Riley doesn't want to spare the funds to buy the little trees... He hasn't even paid me the extra money for carrying that damned sword around for the last two months." He digressed, as he often did, but regained focused his attention back on the route in time to see the birth of the enveloped path to the wider road to home. A few of the men sat as they reached the top, resting their weak leg for a moment to wait for their comrades, and more importantly the donkeys. Flynn held the lantern high to keep his balance as he crested the hill to the West Road. As he reached the top he set his lantern beside the resting, foul smelling, old elf, and turned to grab the Donkey's lead to tug them over the hill. The donkeys were reluctant to move, feet sinking in to the washed out hillside. Flynn repositioned himself along side the first of the donkeys, he grabbed both the strap on it's chest and one of many straps scattered alone the cargo to secure it to the stubborn animal. He braced himself, took a deep breath, dug his feet into the slope to meet a rock and then pushed. The rock that he had found as a safe brace, though, did not hold and swept down the hill to collide with the donkey's leg.

The donkey let out a shriek, it's eyes widened, it tugged at Flynn, and Flynn tugged back, but to no avail. The donkey turned to follow it's partner which was already engulfed by the dark forest, leaving Sherlock alone holding the back strap, which had turned out to be the straps from his sheath and belt. He turned to look to the other men, who had obvious unamusement painted on their faces. The largest of the men wafted his hand towards the forest, motioning for Flynn to follow after and seize the donkeys.

"It's dark, what if there's something down there?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Then you'd better head down there and protect our donkeys from it, hadn't you, Guard?" the largest jack tongued in a taunting tone.


The hesitant guard retrieved his lantern again, and angrily removed his sword from the sheath, dropping the sheath to lay where it landed. He started slowly down the path, holding the lantern far ahead of him to keep the line of light at far as he could. He crept slowly, making sure not to rustle the leaves, as if he prowled a fox. Each branch jutted into his path, causing his balance to change constantly. He squirmed as if he walked on wire, bouncing slowly across the toes of each foot. He held his lantern high to keep his balance, and tightened his loose clutch on his sword.



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Suddenly, a shrill piped from the road behind him. The noise frightened Sherlock, causing him jump slightly. He turned to run back to the road to see the matter, but dropped his lantern in the process. He sighed deeply, but continued up the path unguided. His eyes instinctively squinted when they met the pale gray evening sky. His head peeked from the tip of the forest's edge to see one of the loggers, a tall elf named Benchwood, at his knees in front of a dark, grim, cloaked man. Other men stood around the crew, 4 in total, holding swords out as warnings to man who might act as heroes. Flynn fell to his knees at the sight, slowly flattening himself to the ground. He turned to put his back to the bank to listen to the scene. No words were spoke, the silence was deafening. Flynn adjusted the sword in his hand, and tried to slow his quickening pulse. He forced himself to breath through his nose, thinking it a quieter method, as he turned back to watch under cover of darkness.

[Seraphima]

Not terribly far away from the loggers, a blind woman was making her way through Concordia. The crisp, cool air of an autumn day was starting to give way to the evening's gentle musk, meaning it would be time to find a good place to sleep soon. Already the little birds that made their roosts among the branches of the trees were starting to sound their nesting calls, bidding good night to a sleepy world.

In her left hand she held a worn leather strap, her only connection to her "eyes." Beside her and a little in front, she could hear the dog's breathing as he led her dutifully through the forest. Her dog was one of her first memories, the warmth of his breath and wetness of his tongue on her cheek, the rapidly repeating thump of his tail wagging in his joy at being united with her. Never once since had he left her side, never once had he complained when she chose to go or stay, he just faithfully led her, protected her, watched over her.

"It's time to stop for the night, Maurz," she murmured gently. Seraphima had always been frail and sickly, so deciding to move from one town to another, particularly alone, often meant sleeping on the cold ground at night. It wasn't good for her, but she simply hadn't the strength to force herself on much farther.

The dog wagged his tail gently, understanding, and led her to the shelter of a particularly large tree. He sat down in the soft, sweet-smelling grass when she did and watched her rummage through her pack. There wasn't much food in it, just enough to get them to the next town, but they did need to eat - and meal time was Maurizio's favorite time of the day.

He waited patiently for her to get out his evening allowance of meat and cheese, wolfing them down hungrily while she nibbled on some bread. When the meal was eaten, she stroked his fur, using her delicate fingers to clean him of burrs and brambles, and when that was done, she leaned against the rough bark of the tree to rest, laying on his blindfolded mistress to keep her warm.

Usually the nights were quiet, but tonight was an exception. Something huge came crashing through the forest, alerting Maurz, who stood up and started barking. Whatever it was - or rather, they were, they stopped a few feet shy of the dog and the girl, pawing the ground.

[Flynn]

Flynn wiped the sweat from his cocked brow as he watched one of the cloaked man begin to speak through crooked teeth. The proud man weaved himself between the hostaged loggers; teasing, taunting, tugging at their wits. He patted his broken sword at the largest logger, Carroll's, cheek. Carroll shaped a cynical snarl with his large hateful mouth. The cloaked adversary leaned in to Carroll to whisper to him, though interrupted by the instinctive barking of the nearby guardian dog. All of the men adverted their gaze to investigate as to the origin, even Flynn. The hidden man, however, spotted an moment of weakness as 3 of the dark bandits started towards the barking. He watched them closely, gauging their distance. He took his mark, taking care not to rattle his light chainmail as he repositioned himself into the starting steps of a charge. He counted to himself, 5...4...3... but before he sprung into action he returned his eyes to Carroll, who was now in a bloodthirsty rage.

Flynn braved the crest of the hill and slowed to a hypnotized state, vicariously watching the reddened, crazed, drooling gaze in Carroll's eyes. The sound of metal could be heard hitting the dusty cobblestone below, as the once-proud bandit slowly had the life squeezed from his breath by Carroll's large paws. Flynn ran to kick the fallen sword away, sending it into a hissing slide along the rocky ground. He watched Carroll bring the man to his weakened knees, the man kicking violently and trying feebly to pry the large bear's claws from his neck. The bandit's face turned the shade of ripened grapes before he finally surrendered to the force against him. Carroll threw his spent body aside, as Flynn ran to assist the other loggers who now wrestled for control of the jagged and worn arms of the bandits. Sherlock slipped between two of the locked combatants, and pointed his sword to meet the gullet of the now disarmed bandit. The successful 'guardian' looked to his side to see that the other foresters had dispatched of the amateur bandits, one slain and one fled. Flynn grabbed for the cloaked prisoner's collar, dropping his sword to his side, the bandit's hood was knocked from his head, revealing the face of a young boy. Flynn held the boy for a moment, watching the terror in his eyes, he pushed the boy back to Carrol, who caught him instinctively.

"Take him back to Underwood, maybe we'll fetch a bounty for him." Flynn murdered quietly. He moved to retrieve his equipment, buckling and tightening his belt and sheath tightly. He looked away from the men, into the dark, shaded trail before him.

"And where might you be headed?" Benchwood voiced, standing with crossed arms and a crooked brow.

Flynn stated simply, "I'm going to see what the ruckus downrange was, make sure that pup is alright." He started toward the barking's origin, mind already decided. Each of the men stood in a stagger, looking to each other for words. The silence was broken by Benchwood, the tall slender man pushing the hair from his face.

"He'll be fine, let's head on home."

[Seraphima]

The donkeys pawed the ground and snorted at the dog who ran one way and another, barking constantly to keep them in place. Having forgotten what had spooked them earlier, now they simply sought a way around the big black lab that impeded their path and were determined to go forward. Since going forward would put them too close to his mistress, Maurizio barked and snapped to keep them at bay.

Sara sat still while Maurz paced and darted. His warning bark told her that there was potential danger, and the stench of animal sweat and heavy sound of their breathing told her that there wasn't any reasoning or pleading with the beasts that had her dog so defensive. As the scene drew out, the tension rose in Sara's frail body. She felt tiny pin pricks all over her body, and a pale green light bathed the area where she was sitting.

She wanted to grab her dog and hold him close. She always felt safer with her fingers tangled in his soft, thick coat, even if the fact of the matter was that his absence from her side was what kept her safe. Suddenly the dog's tone changed; rather than the deep barks that warned the equines away, he started letting out higher pitched barks.

That's a person bark.

Suddenly, her dog was under her left arm, letting her grab his harness. His barks alternated between a gruff warning to the donkeys to keep away and a call to the person who was coming to help deal with the situation. If the person could deal with them, he could keep Sara safe like he always had. His tail wagged in short, stiff bursts against his owner's side, an aggressive signal for no one to approach too close without an okay. And Sara, not sure who it was or what they intended, didn't quiet her dog.

"...Hello?" The voice was little more than a tremulous murmur. "Who...who's there?" The elegant head turned this way and that as she tried to catch the sound of the stranger's footfalls above Maurz's barking and the snorts of the horses.