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Thresh walked the narrow dirt-paths with a inflated sense of confidence. In her wake, seven dead bandits each one gripped with a horrified expression, clenching their chests as their hearts had ceased to function. Victims of the Weird spell, having witnessed horrors that only they, and the elf knew. And only one of them was talking now.
Funny... their fears seemed so small and petty when it came to perspective. Thresh not paying them a second glance as one of the gnomish 'privateers' twitched, convulsed and found his limbs snapping tighter outwards. She didn't enjoy killing them. Nor delight in the fact it was almost like a dead spider in its dying throes, limbs cracking to cave in on themselves in a miserable display.
For them, it was the last day of their lives. For Thresh, it was another day of trying to get to work, and sell a few damn wands or potions. Her gloomy expression countering her tall stance and flick of hips on her path like some fashion of forlorn nymph arriving at the Second Wind, finally glancing back not for the sake of those dead, but instead thinking of River, and Lord Hellstrom.
She'd been so nice, inviting Thresh to stay with them for an evening. Offering security like that. It made her ponder too many of the usual things, and today she simply wanted to pretend everything was okay. So with a great deal of trained, mental cues. With as few tugs of her curly black bangs as possible, Thresh managed a smile.
Of all the smiles in all the world, this one was a polished, rough jewel. Unpracticed and goofy looking. Mischievous, and delicate. But what made it special was it hung on the lips of a girl that never smiled. And as briefly lived as it was, no one would witness it. Thresh letting it drop with weight to rival a brick of iron, while thrusting her meager little picket sign into the dirt beside the statue. Glancing up at the pretty, immortalized visage of the archer beside her, freed of debris thanks to the elf secretly polishing it away with small cantrips out of sight.
And then Thresh's nose was in a book. Her vigil set, her sign posted, 'Princess and Starweaver, Potions, Wands, and Enchantments'. Life had organization today.
__________________________________________________ __________
It couldn't have been an hour before she saw him. The Banite, marching with militaristic discipline, a skeletal knight at his side. The elf's ears had been twitching up a storm from a very familiar, yet distant memory of plated foot-falls. And each rattling step reminded her of dark hallways, and kneeling. Reminded her of a scent unmistakeable. Decay. It was not the Banite himself, nor even his chosen guard of a skeleton. It was just that strange organ, the brain, summoning every memory at once.
Massive yellow eyes met the Lyonstongue's steps, and to say she'd been gawking was a understatement. Thresh's book dropped to her waist, where the chain pulled taut, and she studied a helm she would have done very well not to see ever again until the end of her days.
"... wha-really?"
She expected this to happen, one day. She knew the why, or she thought she did. Poor Michael, and his innocent designs had betrayed her. She knew it, now. Knew that what was right before her was the first stand of the Banite. She could tell he was flexing his muscles, that he knew Thresh... it narrowed down her suspects.
But Thresh would not go back to kneeling for Colibrus, to bleed for vampires. Her back stiffening and though her anxiety was clearly expressed, she didn't... back down.
What had happened to her? She'd been such a meek thing. In many ways, she still was. She'd never have talked back to Lyonstongue a month ago. Hells, even a week ago would have been quite the feat. Panic stricken eyes locked onto the venomous tints of undead eyes looking back at her.
For a moment, she played her death in her own mind. And it didn't scare her... she'd die free, before returning to the Citadel. She'd die and, in the very least, bloody the Lyonstongue if she had to. She didn't stand a chance. He was armored more tightly then a fortress, but she didn't care as a growl rose from the Lyonstongue's throat to put her in her place.
Black eyebrows knit, and the girl's expression turned from horrified to challenging. Hand already poised to throw arcane flames and color sprays until the last breath left her lungs, her voice speaking clearly. No trace of a stutter, or of a wince.
"Sod off."
She'd pushed her luck, and she knew it. Heart racing loudly enough the Lyonstongue's senses surely would have heard it from his stance, walking back down the road. Something made the meeting end only with that stiff rebuttal. AS if a chipmunk had found the heart of a lion to challenge a wolf.
She'd drawn her line in the sand. He'd drawn his. And somehow, the two had tap-danced around those lines, kissed each other like spiteful serpents, and walked away.
Thresh's eyes slowly glanced to her banged hair. Something silver caught her gaze as her heartbeat slowly returned, pump by pump, to normal.
A grey hair. How disgusting. Her fingers reach, pinching the offending strand and yanking it clean from her scalp without a wince. A grind of two fingertips and darksteel gloves quickly incinerated the strand. The elf returned to her book, and resumed her day. What Lyonstongue was off to do? She had no idea. What kept them both from attacking? She still wasn't sure.
But the little elf felt something in the back of her head shift. It was like a sharp pinch, that annoyed her at the same time it bolstered her stance.
She'd finally developed a sense of pride. A sense of right, and wrong. She would've thanked Lyonstongue for that, sincerely. Whichever one it had been... she knew it was one of them. That growl was unmistakeable. That stance, everything. She'd not forget her times in the Citadel.
She would have liked to thank him. If they weren't so much like oil and water. After-all, she never would have realized she had a conscience. Until it'd been challenged by the right circumstances.
Funny... their fears seemed so small and petty when it came to perspective. Thresh not paying them a second glance as one of the gnomish 'privateers' twitched, convulsed and found his limbs snapping tighter outwards. She didn't enjoy killing them. Nor delight in the fact it was almost like a dead spider in its dying throes, limbs cracking to cave in on themselves in a miserable display.
For them, it was the last day of their lives. For Thresh, it was another day of trying to get to work, and sell a few damn wands or potions. Her gloomy expression countering her tall stance and flick of hips on her path like some fashion of forlorn nymph arriving at the Second Wind, finally glancing back not for the sake of those dead, but instead thinking of River, and Lord Hellstrom.
She'd been so nice, inviting Thresh to stay with them for an evening. Offering security like that. It made her ponder too many of the usual things, and today she simply wanted to pretend everything was okay. So with a great deal of trained, mental cues. With as few tugs of her curly black bangs as possible, Thresh managed a smile.
Of all the smiles in all the world, this one was a polished, rough jewel. Unpracticed and goofy looking. Mischievous, and delicate. But what made it special was it hung on the lips of a girl that never smiled. And as briefly lived as it was, no one would witness it. Thresh letting it drop with weight to rival a brick of iron, while thrusting her meager little picket sign into the dirt beside the statue. Glancing up at the pretty, immortalized visage of the archer beside her, freed of debris thanks to the elf secretly polishing it away with small cantrips out of sight.
And then Thresh's nose was in a book. Her vigil set, her sign posted, 'Princess and Starweaver, Potions, Wands, and Enchantments'. Life had organization today.
__________________________________________________ __________
It couldn't have been an hour before she saw him. The Banite, marching with militaristic discipline, a skeletal knight at his side. The elf's ears had been twitching up a storm from a very familiar, yet distant memory of plated foot-falls. And each rattling step reminded her of dark hallways, and kneeling. Reminded her of a scent unmistakeable. Decay. It was not the Banite himself, nor even his chosen guard of a skeleton. It was just that strange organ, the brain, summoning every memory at once.
Massive yellow eyes met the Lyonstongue's steps, and to say she'd been gawking was a understatement. Thresh's book dropped to her waist, where the chain pulled taut, and she studied a helm she would have done very well not to see ever again until the end of her days.
"... wha-really?"
She expected this to happen, one day. She knew the why, or she thought she did. Poor Michael, and his innocent designs had betrayed her. She knew it, now. Knew that what was right before her was the first stand of the Banite. She could tell he was flexing his muscles, that he knew Thresh... it narrowed down her suspects.
But Thresh would not go back to kneeling for Colibrus, to bleed for vampires. Her back stiffening and though her anxiety was clearly expressed, she didn't... back down.
What had happened to her? She'd been such a meek thing. In many ways, she still was. She'd never have talked back to Lyonstongue a month ago. Hells, even a week ago would have been quite the feat. Panic stricken eyes locked onto the venomous tints of undead eyes looking back at her.
For a moment, she played her death in her own mind. And it didn't scare her... she'd die free, before returning to the Citadel. She'd die and, in the very least, bloody the Lyonstongue if she had to. She didn't stand a chance. He was armored more tightly then a fortress, but she didn't care as a growl rose from the Lyonstongue's throat to put her in her place.
Black eyebrows knit, and the girl's expression turned from horrified to challenging. Hand already poised to throw arcane flames and color sprays until the last breath left her lungs, her voice speaking clearly. No trace of a stutter, or of a wince.
"Sod off."
She'd pushed her luck, and she knew it. Heart racing loudly enough the Lyonstongue's senses surely would have heard it from his stance, walking back down the road. Something made the meeting end only with that stiff rebuttal. AS if a chipmunk had found the heart of a lion to challenge a wolf.
She'd drawn her line in the sand. He'd drawn his. And somehow, the two had tap-danced around those lines, kissed each other like spiteful serpents, and walked away.
Thresh's eyes slowly glanced to her banged hair. Something silver caught her gaze as her heartbeat slowly returned, pump by pump, to normal.
A grey hair. How disgusting. Her fingers reach, pinching the offending strand and yanking it clean from her scalp without a wince. A grind of two fingertips and darksteel gloves quickly incinerated the strand. The elf returned to her book, and resumed her day. What Lyonstongue was off to do? She had no idea. What kept them both from attacking? She still wasn't sure.
But the little elf felt something in the back of her head shift. It was like a sharp pinch, that annoyed her at the same time it bolstered her stance.
She'd finally developed a sense of pride. A sense of right, and wrong. She would've thanked Lyonstongue for that, sincerely. Whichever one it had been... she knew it was one of them. That growl was unmistakeable. That stance, everything. She'd not forget her times in the Citadel.
She would have liked to thank him. If they weren't so much like oil and water. After-all, she never would have realized she had a conscience. Until it'd been challenged by the right circumstances.
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