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The Incident at Willow's Fall
((Please note, Alyssa does not currently exist as a player-character, though I do hope to play her one day. This tale contains adult imagery and themes (of a violent, not sexual nature), so a content warning may be appropriate.))
The Incident at Willow's Fall
The market crowd buzzed with life in the heat of midday. To an outsider, the midsummer market faire at Willow’s Fall might seem like any quaint rural market. Long stalls crowded the dirt street, lined with fruits and grain. On the corner, a haggard rancher sat with a half-dozen fat calves, haggling with a traveling Luskan merchant that looked quite displeased with the offer. Children weaved in and out of the crowds, running and laughing as they towed brightly-colored streamers behind them. The streets swelled with thousands of folk from across six villages, all meeting on this one day to earn their coin and seed for the coming fall planting season, and endure the next winter that followed. To an outsider, this was just another market. To the local farmers, this was the most important day of the year. To a young girl who rarely met anyone but the cows she milked every morning, this was a bold new adventure.
Alyssa closed her eyes and drew in a deep, lasting breath, almost blinding her senses with the smell of sweat and livestock and muddy dirt roads. She did not regret it; every new scent, sweet and foul, was a thrilling new experience. The sound of a hundred buzzing men and women did not offend her; it was a bathing melody, a hundred voices and souls she had never heard. She was a waif of a thing, clothed oddly as she was in a clean but plain dress and huddled under a low-hanging hood. She flexed her hands, covered in linen bandages, and eagerly drank in the sights and sounds around her.
She felt a sharp pinch at her neck which shattered her happy trance, and slapped a hand hard against her covered neck. New experiences or not, she could do without the biting flies.
Her father gave a low chuckle from beside her in their wagon, watching her smite the offending insect. He swung one leg over the edge of the wagon and dropped himself to the ground, giving their one horse a reassuring pat on the flank. Alyssa leaned over and peered at her father nervously, wondering if she should follow.
“Don’t worry, Aly,” he said as he grabbed a basked of corn ears from the rear of the wagon. “You’ll be fine. Just stay with the wagon.”
“…and Pancho.” She squeaked in reply, quirking her lips slightly. The old gelding at the front of the wagon turned his head to look back at them, as though recognizing his name.
Her father laughed. “Yes, and Pancho. He’s almost as old as me, and twice as bright! He’ll look after you.” He reached up under her hood rest a hand against his daughter’s cheek. She blushed and looked down, growing a gentle smile.
“You remind me more of your mother with each passing day…” he softly spoke. Alyssa’s heart swelled with pride at his words; she placed her bandaged hand over his, never wanting the feeling to end. After a long moment her father turned looked down the crowded street, stopping to adjust the weight of the sack over his shoulder. He looked back to offer Alyssa a reassuring smile, and disappeared in the crowd.
Alyssa leaned back in the wagon with a sigh. Nobody would approach the wagon, she knew; not with a girl known to be sickly sitting guard within it. To the faire-folk her bandages and layered robes marked her as one of the sick or diseased. Perhaps leprosy, many assumed. Her yellow eyes scanned the crowds curiously as she returned to taking in all the wonderful sights of the faire.
A new scent wafted past her nose, making her eyes widen in wonderment. Sticky-sweet and rich with tangy cinnamon, she turned her gaze to the tiny vendor stall sitting not a hundred paces away. The baker pulled a tray of fresh crème-covered rolls from his stone oven, and more than one person had turned to notice. Alyssa’s stomach groaned in complaint, for it had been a good six hours since it last tasted anything but water from a canteen.
She bit her lower lip nervously and shoved her hand deep in her front pocket, where a small number of copper coins clinked together in greeting. She could not see her father over the heads of the crowd, though she strained to find him heading back her way. The corn crop suffered some damage from the weevils this year, and he was likely having to make a hard sale to the vendors.
Making up her mind, she swung her feet over the side of the wagon and slid to the ground. She circled around to the front, resting her hand lightly on Pancho’s flank. He turned and gave a soft whicker in reply.
“Don’t you look at me like that…” she whispered. “I’ll be right back in two shakes of sparrow’s tail, you’ll see.”
She drew her hood tight around her and slipped off into the crowd, moving quickly across the street to the baker’s booth. Even as she drew near to the tempting smells ahead of her, she grew a sense of dread at her impulsiveness. You foolish girl! she screamed at herself, What if someone takes your horse!? She shot a glance behind her, and breathed a small sigh of relief to see Pancho and the wagon sitting unmolested. Unfortunately, she was still moving forward.
“Watch it!” yelled the large man in front of her as she walked straight into him. He turned to the hooded girl with an angry sneer, his mouth covered in crème-roll crumbs. Alyssa took a small step back, raising her hands in apology. The man ignored the gesture and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. Her mind raced in dumbstruck panic as he leaned over close enough for her to smell the sour taste of his breath.
“How’d you like to learn where you’re going!?” spat the man, and with a might shove her sent Alyssa careening to the muddy ground.
She counted the seconds as she flew backwards off her feet toward the earth, cursing her foolishness with every heartbeat. As her rear stuck first, she instantly remembered to hold onto her hood; her hands shot to the sides of her head two seconds too late. She tumbled over roughly to her back, her head striking the earth hard enough to reduce her vision to stars. Her hood fell back, exposing the two curved horns adorning her skull to the world around her.
For several long seconds, nobody seemed to notice. The overweight man turned back to the baker to order another roll, and Alyssa groggily blinked away the stars. She reached for her pounding skull, when the first, shrill scream shattered the air like a hammer upon glass.
“Demon!”
Alyssa’s eyes shot fully open at the word, her pupils closing to mere slits in the sudden rush of sunlight. She yanked her hood back over her horns in the next instant, but there was no way to close the door that had been opened. Screams sent off a chain-reaction in the crowd, as more and more eyes and ears turned to the commotion and the small, hooded girl in the center of a crowd retreating back in all directions. Alyssa sat in the center of the road as the people crept back away from her like a slipping tide. Many turned to run, but with every heartbeat that she trembled helplessly, others grew bold.
“Someone do something!” one woman screamed.
"Kill it!” came the snarl of an older man deep in the crowd.
The confident ones swept in on her with sneers and vicious glares. She felt a boot collide with her side hard enough to crack bone, and it nearly did. She cried out at the sickening crunch, and fell to her hands and knees as she tried to crawl away through the dust and mud.
Another blow struck her from above, through was not as sound; she fell regardless under the force, her chin falling in muck as she lost her footing. The mob hooped and cheered at the display, while others cried out for blood.
As her eyes turned upwards, a familiar figure shoved his way through the crowd and entered her view, causing a swell of desperate hope within her. She tried to push herself up with both arms, and weakly reached out for her father.
“P-papa…” she croaked, a trickle of blood pooling in the corner of her lips. She started up at him, caked in mud and grime, her eyes begging him to rescue her. He took a bold step forward, and stopped; he hesitated, and turned to look at the bloodthirsty crowd. She witnessed the beginnings of tears, welling in his eyes.
He turned away. Her heart shattered.
She was struck again, but it was numb compared to the pain that now washed over her. Her outstretched hand fell to clench into mud, as tears ran freely down her dirty cheeks. Her father slipped back into the crowd, and away from her.
A shattering blow fell against her temple, snapping her back to the real world. A leering woman stood over her with a cracked bottle hanging in her hand, dripping with blood. Alyssa touched a trembling hand to the side of her head as though in a trance, where it was wet and warm.
“Monster!” the woman spat.
“Get a rope!” another voice cried.
A shadow fell over her as the woman raised her bottle again, a murderous frenzy in her eyes. Alyssa trembled and clenched her eyes shut, but only saw her father again.
She saw him turn, and abandon her again.
She felt the wind rush towards her as the bottle was swung down towards her skull.
She heard a voice, whispering darkly in the back of her bleeding skull.
“Die.”
Alyssa opened her eyes several seconds later, a nagging concern that the bottle never landed upon her brow piercing through her pain. The crowd had fallen deathly silent all around her. She raised her head to find her hand outstretched toward the wicked woman of its own accord, and the air crackling with magic.
((text limit reached, continued in next post))
The Incident at Willow's Fall
The market crowd buzzed with life in the heat of midday. To an outsider, the midsummer market faire at Willow’s Fall might seem like any quaint rural market. Long stalls crowded the dirt street, lined with fruits and grain. On the corner, a haggard rancher sat with a half-dozen fat calves, haggling with a traveling Luskan merchant that looked quite displeased with the offer. Children weaved in and out of the crowds, running and laughing as they towed brightly-colored streamers behind them. The streets swelled with thousands of folk from across six villages, all meeting on this one day to earn their coin and seed for the coming fall planting season, and endure the next winter that followed. To an outsider, this was just another market. To the local farmers, this was the most important day of the year. To a young girl who rarely met anyone but the cows she milked every morning, this was a bold new adventure.
Alyssa closed her eyes and drew in a deep, lasting breath, almost blinding her senses with the smell of sweat and livestock and muddy dirt roads. She did not regret it; every new scent, sweet and foul, was a thrilling new experience. The sound of a hundred buzzing men and women did not offend her; it was a bathing melody, a hundred voices and souls she had never heard. She was a waif of a thing, clothed oddly as she was in a clean but plain dress and huddled under a low-hanging hood. She flexed her hands, covered in linen bandages, and eagerly drank in the sights and sounds around her.
She felt a sharp pinch at her neck which shattered her happy trance, and slapped a hand hard against her covered neck. New experiences or not, she could do without the biting flies.
Her father gave a low chuckle from beside her in their wagon, watching her smite the offending insect. He swung one leg over the edge of the wagon and dropped himself to the ground, giving their one horse a reassuring pat on the flank. Alyssa leaned over and peered at her father nervously, wondering if she should follow.
“Don’t worry, Aly,” he said as he grabbed a basked of corn ears from the rear of the wagon. “You’ll be fine. Just stay with the wagon.”
“…and Pancho.” She squeaked in reply, quirking her lips slightly. The old gelding at the front of the wagon turned his head to look back at them, as though recognizing his name.
Her father laughed. “Yes, and Pancho. He’s almost as old as me, and twice as bright! He’ll look after you.” He reached up under her hood rest a hand against his daughter’s cheek. She blushed and looked down, growing a gentle smile.
“You remind me more of your mother with each passing day…” he softly spoke. Alyssa’s heart swelled with pride at his words; she placed her bandaged hand over his, never wanting the feeling to end. After a long moment her father turned looked down the crowded street, stopping to adjust the weight of the sack over his shoulder. He looked back to offer Alyssa a reassuring smile, and disappeared in the crowd.
Alyssa leaned back in the wagon with a sigh. Nobody would approach the wagon, she knew; not with a girl known to be sickly sitting guard within it. To the faire-folk her bandages and layered robes marked her as one of the sick or diseased. Perhaps leprosy, many assumed. Her yellow eyes scanned the crowds curiously as she returned to taking in all the wonderful sights of the faire.
A new scent wafted past her nose, making her eyes widen in wonderment. Sticky-sweet and rich with tangy cinnamon, she turned her gaze to the tiny vendor stall sitting not a hundred paces away. The baker pulled a tray of fresh crème-covered rolls from his stone oven, and more than one person had turned to notice. Alyssa’s stomach groaned in complaint, for it had been a good six hours since it last tasted anything but water from a canteen.
She bit her lower lip nervously and shoved her hand deep in her front pocket, where a small number of copper coins clinked together in greeting. She could not see her father over the heads of the crowd, though she strained to find him heading back her way. The corn crop suffered some damage from the weevils this year, and he was likely having to make a hard sale to the vendors.
Making up her mind, she swung her feet over the side of the wagon and slid to the ground. She circled around to the front, resting her hand lightly on Pancho’s flank. He turned and gave a soft whicker in reply.
“Don’t you look at me like that…” she whispered. “I’ll be right back in two shakes of sparrow’s tail, you’ll see.”
She drew her hood tight around her and slipped off into the crowd, moving quickly across the street to the baker’s booth. Even as she drew near to the tempting smells ahead of her, she grew a sense of dread at her impulsiveness. You foolish girl! she screamed at herself, What if someone takes your horse!? She shot a glance behind her, and breathed a small sigh of relief to see Pancho and the wagon sitting unmolested. Unfortunately, she was still moving forward.
“Watch it!” yelled the large man in front of her as she walked straight into him. He turned to the hooded girl with an angry sneer, his mouth covered in crème-roll crumbs. Alyssa took a small step back, raising her hands in apology. The man ignored the gesture and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. Her mind raced in dumbstruck panic as he leaned over close enough for her to smell the sour taste of his breath.
“How’d you like to learn where you’re going!?” spat the man, and with a might shove her sent Alyssa careening to the muddy ground.
She counted the seconds as she flew backwards off her feet toward the earth, cursing her foolishness with every heartbeat. As her rear stuck first, she instantly remembered to hold onto her hood; her hands shot to the sides of her head two seconds too late. She tumbled over roughly to her back, her head striking the earth hard enough to reduce her vision to stars. Her hood fell back, exposing the two curved horns adorning her skull to the world around her.
For several long seconds, nobody seemed to notice. The overweight man turned back to the baker to order another roll, and Alyssa groggily blinked away the stars. She reached for her pounding skull, when the first, shrill scream shattered the air like a hammer upon glass.
“Demon!”
Alyssa’s eyes shot fully open at the word, her pupils closing to mere slits in the sudden rush of sunlight. She yanked her hood back over her horns in the next instant, but there was no way to close the door that had been opened. Screams sent off a chain-reaction in the crowd, as more and more eyes and ears turned to the commotion and the small, hooded girl in the center of a crowd retreating back in all directions. Alyssa sat in the center of the road as the people crept back away from her like a slipping tide. Many turned to run, but with every heartbeat that she trembled helplessly, others grew bold.
“Someone do something!” one woman screamed.
"Kill it!” came the snarl of an older man deep in the crowd.
The confident ones swept in on her with sneers and vicious glares. She felt a boot collide with her side hard enough to crack bone, and it nearly did. She cried out at the sickening crunch, and fell to her hands and knees as she tried to crawl away through the dust and mud.
Another blow struck her from above, through was not as sound; she fell regardless under the force, her chin falling in muck as she lost her footing. The mob hooped and cheered at the display, while others cried out for blood.
As her eyes turned upwards, a familiar figure shoved his way through the crowd and entered her view, causing a swell of desperate hope within her. She tried to push herself up with both arms, and weakly reached out for her father.
“P-papa…” she croaked, a trickle of blood pooling in the corner of her lips. She started up at him, caked in mud and grime, her eyes begging him to rescue her. He took a bold step forward, and stopped; he hesitated, and turned to look at the bloodthirsty crowd. She witnessed the beginnings of tears, welling in his eyes.
He turned away. Her heart shattered.
She was struck again, but it was numb compared to the pain that now washed over her. Her outstretched hand fell to clench into mud, as tears ran freely down her dirty cheeks. Her father slipped back into the crowd, and away from her.
A shattering blow fell against her temple, snapping her back to the real world. A leering woman stood over her with a cracked bottle hanging in her hand, dripping with blood. Alyssa touched a trembling hand to the side of her head as though in a trance, where it was wet and warm.
“Monster!” the woman spat.
“Get a rope!” another voice cried.
A shadow fell over her as the woman raised her bottle again, a murderous frenzy in her eyes. Alyssa trembled and clenched her eyes shut, but only saw her father again.
She saw him turn, and abandon her again.
She felt the wind rush towards her as the bottle was swung down towards her skull.
She heard a voice, whispering darkly in the back of her bleeding skull.
“Die.”
Alyssa opened her eyes several seconds later, a nagging concern that the bottle never landed upon her brow piercing through her pain. The crowd had fallen deathly silent all around her. She raised her head to find her hand outstretched toward the wicked woman of its own accord, and the air crackling with magic.
((text limit reached, continued in next post))
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