A Different Sort of Alarm

[Devyn]

(Closed to Cards of Fate)

There were lots of perks to being a budding inventor. For example, there was no lazy boss yelling instructions at you, no irritating co-workers ready to pounce on your every mistake, and there was absolutely no risk of getting fired. There were no huge deadlines to meet aside from your bills, and, the most important reason of all: being a budding inventor allowed your creative talents to blossom into their full potential. Yes, being a budding inventor was all well and good. That was a fact of life Devyn Tarrendane wholeheartedly believed in.

Unfortunately, even the best of things seemed to have a downside, another rather disappointing fact Devyn Tarrendane was forced to confront.

While running for her life, she found it much too easy to believe.

Had her pursuers been human, remarkably less fit, and preferably with potbellies or wider waists, Vyn wouldn’t have minded being chased in the slightest. She could run fast enough to escape a slow runner, a fast human runner, and most species should they happen to be out of shape. However, that was not the case, and so she found that she minded quite a bit. Being chased through the streets of Ettermire wasn’t as fun as it sounded, especially when it was by two unsatisfied Dark Elves with a thirst for Tarrendane blood.

Why must I be so fucking short? Why must being short alter the speed at which you can run?

Vyn chanced a peek over her shoulder and instantaneously turned to face forwards once more, green eyes wide. The streets nearby El'inssring were crowded, and rightfully so. It wasn't known as the Great Tavern for nothing. In fact, everything seemed rather crowded. The sky was a sharp cerulean blue but had clouds scudding across its expanse in patterns that seemed to draw the attention inwards, like the roof of their world was slowly folding around its inhabitants. The wind was non-existent, with the air almost completely stagnant, save for the breeze caressing her skin as she ran. Buildings flashed past, signs and ads fading away as quickly as they came, the only constant thing the Tavern/Inn to her left. Traffic in the streets proved to be both an advantage and a disadvantage as Vyn weaved her way in and out of the crowd, elbows flying left and right like daggers. I really don’t want to die right now…

Her curly hair wasn’t helping matters either, as the pins had fallen out minutes before, leaving the unruly mass of dark brown to flop free. The flyaway curls constantly lingered at the edge of her vision, just begging her to blow them out of sight. As well as getting in the way of her vision, her hair seemed determined to stick to her head as closely as possible, while at the same time, getting in her way even more. Vyn turned her head to the side in order to spit a hair out of her mouth and pushed her goggles back onto the crown of her head, nose scrunching up. Her callused hand came away sticky and rather damp, so she wiped it on her leggings before pushing the pace again to make up for time lost.

A wordless cry came from behind her, only spurring the woman to run ever faster, her muscular legs pumping unceasingly. It seemed to be either a cry of pain, a battle cry or a threatening cry. A cry of pain would have been nice, but as the cry sounded again, only closer, she dismissed that option. My golly, these elves are fast. I can’t keep going on like this… There were more options, though, and so Vyn changed her pace, tucked her arms to her sides and charged forwards, ignoring those that she knocked aside.

Letting loose her own battle cry, she pummeled her way into the thicker crowd, people a blurred mass of vivid colours, sweat, and soft flesh. With iron rods banging at the hip, leather jacket flapping and goggles sliding down her forehead, Vyn was probably an odd sight. It was most likely even odder to see the same small woman leap headfirst into a crowd, push those who got in her way aside, and periodically glance over her shoulder. An act like this was bound to gain some spectators.

More and more angry shouts echoed from behind her, prompting another, more horrified glance back. It seemed that quite a few people were not very appreciative of a nice elbow to the ribs. In fact, they seemed quite enraged, or at least angry enough to chase after her. Oh, shit.

All this because of one mishap as well! It was a simple mistake, which could easily have been smoothed over with a bit of wine and some idle chatter. The Dark Elves- whose alarm (one of her latest inventions was a variant of a normal alarm) had inexplicably exploded instead of ringing- hadn’t taken kindly to some singed hair and a burnt shell of a bed. They should have been thankful their house hadn’t burned down. Apparently, they didn’t see it that way, though, and so they had decided that if she didn’t want to give a refund; they would have to beat it out of her. They seemed like the violent sort.

By now, a mini-mob had gathered and the majority of the crowd had scattered, leaving the way clear for both her and the people chasing her. Focus, Vyn, focus. Just keep on running. Maybe they’re less fit than they appear! Narrowing her eyes, she shot one look back over her shoulder and then back in front, only to run straight into another person, bouncing back onto the ground, scowl already fixed in place. Really? Not only did she have a mob on her trail, her ass was quite sore, and she had run into probably the only person on the street. Being an inventor certainly had a darker side than she had expected.

“I s’pose you’re gonna string me up next, huh? Hand me over to the horde? Make a huge fucking ruckus over a different sort of alarm?”