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fortielen:
Something about the interloper had reignited the dying embers of a hatred that Allyria had made no effort to maintain or stomp out. She could not tell if it was the shape of his brow or the way he smiled like he wanted something from her, but it reminded her of the man who had took the life of her only family.
But even stranger than that was the fact that Allyria had forgotten the lineage of all of her team members other than the ones who had recently joined. Their identities were no longer attached to their race, but to the faces and the moments she’d shared with them. Allyria no longer thought of Wulf as human, she thought of him as the person with soft brown eyes, a kind smile, and an aura of understanding that she could not fathom. She liked him and it was only when she thought of his history that her fear sparked back up and made her withdraw like a wounded animal.
She watched him approach with wariness and confusion only because she was worried he was coming forward to reveal some injury for her to heal. Upon being handed the small gift the wariness faded and the confusion grew. She looked at him, a long and unbroken stare as if to look deeper and understand better.
Then, with shaking hands she accepted the trinket, the guilt inside her raging like a sea. For so long she had buried herself in the belief that she was in the right, that above all else she was the good person and all others around her were evil. One moment defined her life: it tore her happiness and hope from her. All humans were greedy with knives grasped in calloused palms which they held being their back’s while flashing a greedy smile. She had created an image in her mind - an illusion to fill the void left by her father. If she could not fill her mind with thoughts of love, she would drown them out in the cold red blood of hate. She believed so firmly in her silent resignation as an act of revenge.
And she was wrong.
“I do not deserve this,” were her words, but her hands grasped firmly but gently around the carved wood. She observed the gift, and moved the mechanism twice to watched the wings beat. A faint sad smile donned her features and she looked back up to him, “How brilliant… Your talents are wasted on me.”
His journal had suffered from their drop into the river, currently water-logged, slowly drying out, but still too damp to write in. And it had been a long time since Wulf had actually felt real frustration over his communication issues -- he’d made peace with it as a child, making himself understand that different didn’t mean bad and if people didn’t have the patience for his alternate methods, then that was their fault, not his.
But there were things he wanted to say that would take too long to spell out on his tattoos, things that he wanted to say more eloquently than his ink allowed.
Instead, he was left to watch Allyria, a tiny frown catching on the edge of his lips, sadness stark in his eyes as she talked about how she didn’t deserve the gift, how it was wasted on her, and her words about herself were so unfair that Wulf couldn’t help the grumbly little sigh that made it past his lips.
He pointed at the word carved onto the side of the toy dragon.
D E W R, Wulf spelled out. One of the few words that had survived from his people’s ancient language. One of the two, to be precise. Dewr, and forgoil, a slur against the fair-haired men of pre-Ironhaust. It means B R A V E. Like Y O U.
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thaldan-rotmiir:
this was less than ideal. being separated like this was the last thing this team needed. their strength would come from them being together. thaldan could only worry about what the others must be thinking, seeing them fall like that. what theo was thinking. he shook those thoughts aside as he continued through the mines. he knew these mines and where they could lead, he hoped. he was going by his gut and what the dwarves had taught him. but he was going to get them out of here.
as they walked he noticed wulf trying to grab his attention and he watched carefully as he spelt out his words. luckily it was completely pitch black within the mines. “ahhh yes, i did see that.” he said, clapping wulf on the back. “it was a good clean hit. you’re learning fast.” he said, almost with a proud smile. however it quickly turned into a smirk as he leaned in closer. “word of advice though, try not almost falling off the cliff next time? takes away some of the style of the fight.”
Wulf laughed silently, a flash of teeth in the darkness of the mine, and wrangled up a self-effacing grimace. Yes, falling off the cliff had sort of taken away from the impressiveness of his first fight.
Still. He was thrilled that Thaldan had complimented him on it!
I T H I N K, he paused, choosing his words carefully, I want to get B E T T E R ?
If he had his journal (it was currently water-logged), he’d explain in more depth. He’d explain that his people were fighters, warriors, and had been for generations, as far back as their oldest stories went. He’d explain that he’d never wanted to fight, that he’d crossed into the territory of the Freymirrans most hated foes and lived with them in an attempt to make peace. And that wanting to get better at fighting would make his family proud but made him feel vaguely queasy, but that maybe he was beginning to see the necessity of it, now, if he could help protect people.
C O U L D you T E A C H me ?
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ofheiirs:
the goblin attack certainly brought about more destruction than elas had suspected. the nasty little creatures seemed to care very little for their own life– they were more intent in ending their opponent’s lives than saving themselves. elas detested them, and now even more so.
he stood by the river, attempting to catch his breath, trying to regroup the events in order. he saved wulf, and then the ground cracked and they found themselves on the bridge only to meet their fall there. elas’ arm was bleeding from the gash made by one of the goblins, but he was not yet aware of his physical state; the adrenaline overthrew all of the other signals his body was sending him.
he turned to wulf when he felt a grasp on his shoulder, glad to see that he was okay enough to walk. he paid attention to his hands and then turned to do a head-count. it looked like half of them fell– elas was right behind wulf about to step on land when the bridge fell apart. “ i believe the rest of our companions are up there. i do not know about– ” he looked around again, then at wulf, “ i do not know about bigs. i know he was close to us when the bridge fell apart. ”
Despite everything -- despite the bruises and the scrapes and the river-water still dripping off the ends of his hair -- Wulf found himself beaming, touched that Elas had considered his dog’s fate. He shook his head, and held his arms out, mimicking the way he’d been carrying his dog. Then, he mimed a mighty toss (which had been difficult, to say the least, because Bigs was not a small dog), and gestured up at the cliff. In other words, Bigs was safe.
He just hoped that the rest of their party looked after him. Then again, they’d done an excellent job when Wulf had been imprisoned.
Reassured that the rest of their party was probably safe, Wulf turned his attention toward other matters: namely, the gash he could see in Elas’ arm. It looked like it was just beginning to stop bleeding, but none of them had anything in the way of dry bandages on them, so Wulf did the next best thing. One of his sleeves was already ripped from his encounter with the cliff face; it was easy to tear a scrap off, and to take Elas’ arm to start wiping away some of the blood.
While he worked, he pointed up at the cliff face, and rolled a wrist to show Elas the inked THANKS on the side of his hand. Even if they’d still fallen, it meant a lot that Elas had hauled him up first.
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@fortielen
Now that the adrenaline of the fight and the fall from the bridge had worn off, and they’d started their journey into the frankly horrifying looking abandoned mine, Wulf found himself trailing at the back of the group -- and every so often, his gaze went to Allyria’s back, thoughtful and confused and concerned. He still wasn’t sure what to think of... well, what she’d said, before the fight. Early on, barely a day’s ride into their journey, he’d promised her that if she ever grew uncomfortable with his human presence, then he’d stay away.
And maybe that was exactly what he should do? Allyria had been so kind and patient and thoughtful, and Wulf had just kind of forgotten about her wariness -- only to have that awareness come right back with an unpleasant suddenness, leaving him feeling guilty that he’d forgotten in the first place.
So maybe he should respect that wariness, and leave her alone. But a little while ago, he’d finished carving and constructing something for her, he just hadn’t had the chance to give it to her, between the mists and Rosa’s kidnapping. Now was... as good a time as any?
Wulf deliberately made a lot of noise as he approached, not wanting to startle Allyria. He gave an awkward little half-wave, and once he’d gotten her attention, he held out a wooden toy, roughly hand-sized. A little toy dragon, with jointed wings that could move up and down, and a word in a nearly-forgotten language carved neatly into the side.
This is for you, he gestured, pulling up a hesitant, hopeful smile. I M A D E it A F T E R G I L D E R.
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@thaldan-rotmiir
To say that Wulf was not a fan of trudging through the mines would be an understatement. He’d spent most of his childhood living under the stars, and most of his adulthood in buildings that at least had windows. The abandoned mines were stuffy at best, the air feeling close and humid, no natural light to guide their way.
So, in effort to cheer himself up, Wulf decided he’d stick close to Thaldan for a bit as they walked. His arms had gotten scraped up in his tumble over the cliff, some of his ink obscured, but he’d have to make do.
D I D you see me in the F I G H T ? He gestured. I T O O K O U T 2 G O B L I N S ! Beaming, Wulf mimed a spear thrust. I have N E V E R done that B E F O R E ! It was S C A R Y !
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@ofheiirs
There were many things Wulf could have been feeling as he hauled himself out of the river. Frustration, fear, the dull ache of the bruises and scrapes he’d acquired. But perhaps the keenest emotion he felt was a sense of resigned irony -- he’d been pulled up from the cliff only to fall from the bridge a mere minute later.
He didn’t know how many of them had fallen. There were seven currently on the bank, catching their breath, but seven more unaccounted for.
Wobbly, he made his way over to Elas, and grasped his shoulder to announce his arrival, gesturing worriedly at the raging river, then held up both hands, counting off seven fingers. Maybe Elas might have a better idea if there were any more that had fallen.
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THE QUEST HAS BEGUN
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ofheiirs:
he made sure to pay close attention to the words wulf was spelling out to him, knowing that he had limited time before the guard came to tell him he had to leave. once wulf came to the end of his sentence, elas nodded. he continuously looked for a better way to get wulf out of there faster, prove his innocence somehow, but there was no way of doing that except through– he hoped– negotiations. if he had to give them all his gold, hell, he did not care. after this, they would head out of civilization anyway. it was more important to have wulf with them.
“ i know, though it is a shame that you could not see him well. i have a bizarre theory that the man who pinned this on you is the real theft, but we have no way of knowing who that is, not in this village. ” he spoke, the word ‘bizzare’ leaving him in a rather sarcastic manner because it was, indeed, a very likely assumption.
he could hear footsteps approaching them, a tell-tale sign of the guard coming to tell him that his time was up. “ will you be alright here until we find a way ? ” he questioned in a lowered voice. “ i know it is not much, but if you are hungry or in need of medicine, i will get someone to bring you food and water or talk to lady allyria and ask her to come see you. ”
Neither the notion of wrongful accusations, nor the concept of framing an innocent man for a crime, were new concepts to Wulf. Such things had happened in Ironhaust, of course, as such things would occur anywhere there was a large enough population. He’d even had wrongful accusations lobbed at him on occasion -- a Freymirran in Ironhaust was an obvious target if a horse went missing or something was stolen. Wulf had been lucky enough that the craftman he worked for had always vouched for his innocence.
So, what Elas said made sense. But why here? Had Wulf just been unlucky? Had the thief caught sight of Wulf’s tattoos and supposed he wouldn’t be able to defend himself well?
He just wished he’d gotten a good look at the man who had accused him. Maybe then he could actually help.
Frustrated, Wulf shook his head -- he wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t sure anything would settle well in his stomach right now, and quite honestly, he didn’t want to subject Allyria to the guards in here.
I . A M . F I N E . T H A N K . Y O U .
Wulf dredged up a smile, and even though it was dim with worry, it was still grateful, touched that Elas cared. That the Prince of Ironhaust was doing this for him was still something that was difficult to wrap his mind around.
G O O D . L U C K ?
And with that, he handed the notepaper back -- though he was sad to see it go, it would be too much of a risk for him to keep it where the guards might discover it.
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oftorrens:
Torren muttered to himself in Khuzdul as he made his way towards the building that Wulf was being kept captive in. He was furious and quite ready to knock some heads together and hightail it out of here and continue on their journey - for the time being, it seemed like they would be stuck here until they came to an agreement on his release - or break him out. The dwarrow favoured the last option, but he knew others in the company did not. They had come seeking aid and wound up with one of the townsfolk accusing Wulf of stealing. The number of looks he had received when he arrived was staggering. Clearly, they had never seen any Durins folk before. He’d quietly cursed them all, muttering harsh insults that only another of his kind or anyone else who knew Khuzdul would understand. He had gotten away with a lot of comments so far - most in the company speak the common tongue or Elvish.
“Look, lads, the wee lad wants to see our newest prisoner.” He pushed his anger aside and ignored his comment as he clenched his jaw before speaking. “Aye, I’m here to see him - let me past.” After a few more moments of teasing, they let him go, but not before two guards stood up - both towering over him by at least a few feet. Torren was tall for dwarven standards but these men were clearly on the larger side, not that it bothered him. “Mahal preserve me.” He pushed past one of the guards who’d stopped him from entering. He walked for a few more minutes until he reached the very last cell. “It seems you’ree in a bit of a predicament.”
“Has anyone else been to visit?”
A couple of their party had been to visit -- including Rosalyn, who had at least managed to convince the guard to unbind his hands, to ensure that Wulf would be able to communicate. Since then, he’d tried over and over to talk with the guard, but the guard either didn’t understand what he was trying to do, or just couldn’t be bothered to take the time to adjust to non-verbal communication.
But it had been a while since the last visit, and Wulf was... unhappy might be one way to put it. Scared was another. Lonely, too. Every hour that ticked by brought him closer to a short drop and a sudden stop.
So, relieved at the sight of Torren, Wulf nodded rapidly in answer, beaming a grateful grin. If he was going to go to his death, he’d at least go with the knowledge that this odd, wonderful group of people cared enough to come visit.
He approached the bars, rolling up his sleeves to bare armfuls of inked words, and went a bit slower than usual in pointing them out because of the dim light.
Yes! Thank you. Wulf hesitated, then: Do you T H I N K they will get me F R E E ? E L A S said he has a P L A N.
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ofheiirs:
he wordlessly handed over the piece of paper, watching as wulf made his best attempt to communicate back to him and belatedly wishing he would have thought to write out the alphabet the same way wulf had tattooed over his skin. despite that, he understood his question, and it was nearly astonishing to elas how the other was worried about the rest of the party when he was scheduled for execution based on false accusations… with no trial, at that.
“ indeed, rest at ease, ” he replied with a nod and a smile wide enough to be reassuring. “ lady allyria was of great aid and healed our wounds– you sustained the most serious of injuries, ” he informed, looking up and down wulf’s body to check for said wounds.
“ is your health stable ? ”
Wulf sagged against the bars, relieved at the news of the rest of the party. He’d been so worried -- with no way to know what had happened, his imagination had gone wild, summoning up ever greater images of doom and gloom. Injury, death, the entire party gone, with himself soon to follow at the end of a hangman’s rope.
Though he’d never been the greatest liar, nodding took almost no acting ability. At best, it was only a half-lie. His health was stable, provided he didn’t get an infection. Whatever magic Allyria had used to heal injuries was apparently unable to tackle larger problems, so Wulf was left with stitches and poultices. Still, the doctor had been kind enough.
He used the note again, pointing to individual letters.
I . D I D . N O T . S T E A L . Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been accused of stealing. Gold, perhaps? A . M A N . C L A I M E D . I . D I D . B U T . I . D I D . N O T . G E T . A . C L E A R . L O O K . A T . H I M .
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hcrince:
“me? you’re here in jail and you’re asking how i am? i’m fine, i’m fine. ally healed me up.” her eyes quickly caught his hands as he attempted to communicate with her. “they cannot just keep you like this! you haven’t done anything wrong. i know you wouldn’t.” rosa said, very firm in that idea. since their travels together wulf had been nothing but kind to her. she’d gotten to spend time with them as they cooked and set up the campsite. he was the last person she would think to do something horrible to end up in this sort of jail. it was a mistake she knew it was.
the fact that they kept his hands bound was very troubling to her. it was clear he had no notebook with him to write to them. and if they kept his hands like this then there was little to no chance he’d be able to talk with anyone. “this is horrible…they can’t do this to you.” rosa’s eyes locked on the guard who still sat in his chair. “stay here with him for a moment, alright? make sure he’s okay.” she told bigs before walking over to the guard.
rosa hesitated a moment before giving the guard a small tap on the shoulder. “pardon me sir. you have my friend locked up in that cell over there but you’re keeping his hands bound together. would you mind terribly if you untie his hands? he cannot talk with them like that. plus you’ve already got him in a cell, it’s not like he’s going anywhere.” rosa asked, as kindly as she could. “please, sir.”
the guard looked more annoyed to be bothered than anything else. he looked between the small woman and the man behind the bars. after a begrudging sigh, he stood up from his seat and walked over to the bars. although a bit rough, he took wulf’s bound hands in between the bars and undid the ties that bound his hand together. “thank you sir.” rosa said quickly as he took his seat again.
Rosalyn might insist she was fine, but Wulf was still horrified at the knowledge that she’d had to be healed. She’d gotten hurt? That wasn’t-- that just wasn’t right. Of their party of mixed talents, there were some that had no idea how to fight, like himself, but Rosalyn just seemed so...
Maybe it was her small stature that made an injury to her seem worse. More likely, it was her innocence, her cheeriness and positivity. She shouldn’t be within a thousand leagues of violence, but she’d signed up for this quest anyway. Wulf just fixed her with a pained look -- the expression ruined somewhat by Bigs’ attempts to happily slobber all over his face -- and tensed up as she approached the guard.
But that tension dissipated the second his hands were free, relief hitting him so hard that he sagged where he sat. Then, moments later, his hands were flying.
I did not S T E A L ! The guard was barely looking at him, but this wasn’t for his benefit, it was for Rosa’s, even though she’d expressed confidence in her idea that he couldn’t have done it. A man B L A M E D me for it, H A L F a day A F T E R we G O T here. He really wished he had his journal; luckily, Rosa had the patience to put up with him laboriously spelling out longer sentences. I do not K N O W why ?
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harlowes:
“Don’t you give me that look.” Harlowe chided in an attempt to mask the absolute relief he felt at seeing Wulf. The circumstances weren’t what he wanted them to be, to say the least, but for a moment he would relish him being there. Alive. Bruised and banged up, but alive. For now. Time was ticking away far too quickly, and he had no good news to offer. No certain plans, though he knew they’d find a way to get him out. Mostly, he had come to try to be reassuring.
Wulf was one of his oldest friends and seeing him in this condition, with the threat of an unwarranted execution looming over him, made his stomach knot painfully. He moved closer to the cell, careful not to call the guards attention any further though he knew they were watching, eyes narrowed and suspicious. “Your wounds, they’ve been treated?” He asked, hoping that a possible infection wouldn’t be an additional concern. He trusted that the healer had helped him, but who knew what all he’d suffered since.
If he were speaking to anybody else, Wulf would have lied about the state of his injuries. But this was Harlowe -- a man who hadn’t cared about his heritage or his family group, a man that had been his friend since they were children. He couldn’t lie to Harlowe.
So he huffed a sigh, tipped Harlowe an apologetic smile, and made a so-so motion. He’d been treated well enough by the town doctor, with stitches and salves and herbs to keep infection away, but no magic. Truth be told, he didn’t know how effective magic would even be. Not completely so, if Arion had had to transport him here rather than relying or Allyria or Yaphier.
Inching closer to the bars, he worked bound hands through a gap to grab a handful of Harlowe’s shirt. The contact was grounding, reassuring, though he had to let go to motion once more. Without his journal or his ink, or even full use of his hands, speaking with Harlowe would still be stilted, no matter how good at understanding him Harlowe was.
He poked Harlowe in the chest, then made a little gesture, wanting to know if Harlowe was hurt, and what had happened since he’d been taken.
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ofheiirs:
getting past the guard was easy, all he needed to use were a few persuasive words ( and a bit of gold after that had failed ) and he was in, swiftly on his way inside the small village prison to locate wulf. he hoped, against all odds– and hell, there were many– that his health had increased from the last time he saw him being taken away by arion on his horse. back then, wulf had just barely been holding on to consciousness, and elas found that an ache had threaded itself in his chest that tightened more every moment that he wasn’t aware of wulf’s wellbeing.
if the feeling found a place in him because the last moment etched into elas’ mind of standing beside wulf was when the toy-maker saved his life, or if it was because wulf lived in ironhaust and he was his people, he didn’t know. all he knew was that he felt relief flood through his veins the moment he walked by his cell, backtracking and immediately surveying the state he was in.
“ how blind does someone need to be to believe you a criminal, ” he breathed out quietly, wasting no time in pulling a piece of wrinkled paper out of the pocket of his vest. he knew that it would be unwise to speak out loud of their plans to get him out of execution with guards standing around to listen in, so this had been his makeshift plan to reassure wulf that he was, not now, but would be safe. he opened the paper, clearly on display to be read.
‘ ROSA AND I WILL NEGOTIATE WITH THE TOWNSPEOPLE. IF WE ARE TO FAIL, PREPARE FOR AN ESCAPE. ’
Why, Wulf wanted to ask, was the Prince of Ironhaust even here?
Surely he had more important things to do. Namely: continuing the journey to re-light the beacon. He had the hope of many lands resting partially on his shoulders, and that he was delaying to come visit Wulf in a cell was... baffling. It wasn’t that Wulf wanted to be left alone and executed, certainly not. He’d just never conceived of the notion that retrieving him would be on the list of important things to do.
He pulled himself up to stand (a rather slow endeavor, with the way his side was aching), and came closer to the bars to read, his gaze darting between the paper and Elas, not quite managing to concentrate on the former with his surprise over the appearance of the latter.
Negotiations. Escape plans. The Prince of Ironhaust was willing to negotiate with the people of Gilder. For him.
He held a hand out, silently asking for the piece of paper. And, once it was handed to him, Wulf awkwardly maneuvered it, held in one hand while using the other to point to specific letters. In the absence of anything else, this would have to do, and he wanted to ask about the other people on this journey.
A L L . O K ?
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hcrince:
rosa had assumed the worst was behind them after the warg attack. she knew that wulf was ahead of them in the closest town and she had no doubt in her mind that he’d be feeling all better by the time they got there.
that, of course, was not what happened in the slightest.
the news the at wulf was arrested had taken rosa back completely. how could anyone think that wulf would do anything like this at all. if they gave him a chance to explain himself then this would all be settled. but with the looming date of his execution ahead it did not seem like they were willing to listen to him.
the first moment she could, rosa packed up what she might need and headed for the local jail, taking bigs along with her in the hopes she could lighten his spirits some.
the guard at the jail gave very little thought as he glanced at rosa and the large dog following with her. to him just a child with a dog. there was no threat. so he allowed her to visit her friend. rosa thanked the man as she passed but quickly hurried over to the bars that separated her from wulf.
“wulf!” she called out. “wulf…oh my god what did they do to you. are you alright?” she paused, waiting for his response. “you aren’t still hurt are you?”
Wulf had never heard a sweeter sound than the pitter-patter of giant clomping dog paws.
It wasn’t easy to hug Bigs, not with the bars between them. Bigs could only really shove his head between them -- on his knees, Wulf could only bury his face in the ruff of fur between Bigs’ ears. He’d been so worried; not that the party would leave him behind, he knew that wouldn’t happen, but that maybe Bigs would wander off in search of him, or get himself eaten by wargs.
As best he could, he put his hands between the bars to hold on to Bigs, and finally acknowledged that Rosa had asked him a question. Despite everything, Wulf managed a relieved smile for her -- he was fairly certain he’d seen her get injured during the fight, but Allyria must have been able to heal her.
He shook his head: no, he wasn’t injured. Which was a lie, as the doctor had only managed to stitch his wounds, but he didn’t want Rosalyn to worry. Seeing as his communication options were limited, to say the least, Wulf improvised: he pointed at himself, then gave a thumbs up.Then, a gesture around the cell, and a wry smile. He was alright, but the accommodations and situation could be better. Finally, he pointed at Rosalyn with a worried look, wanting to know if she, too, was alright.
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@fortielen, @oftorrens, @theodoremontfort, @hcrince, @harlowes, @ofheiirs
Too much had happened, too quickly, for Wulf to properly comprehend.
Fighting alongside Allyria. He thought he’d been doing okay, but then, he’d stopped doing okay. Flashes of a galloping horse, Arion’s determined face. A town, then a doctor. Stitches, bruise salve. Later, delirious, Wulf had wandered outside -- only to have a finger pointed at him. A an shouting, he’s the one, he’s the one that stole it.
Wulf didn’t even have the chance to defend himself. He’d gotten tackled, his hands bound, and his journal was back on his horse with the rest of the group. Then, he’d gotten tossed in a cell; a hard dirt floor, stone walls, and a promise that he’d be executed soon.
And that was that.
No doubt, the rest of the group would carry on without him. Arion would ride back to meet them, and they’d continue their long journey. Whatever he’d seen of them in the fight with the wargs, however much he’d tried to help, Wulf was sure that was the last he’d see of them. And it hurt, but he knew it would be the best course of action for them. He just hoped that they cared for Bigs and Donkey, and didn’t laugh too much at his journal and his puppets.
A day and a half into his stay, however, brought a surprising sight: a visitor. A visitor that he knew.
Wulf blinked owlishly from where he sat against the back of the cell, and raised his bound hands in an attempt at a question, a silent what on earth are you doing here?
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fortielen:
Allyria was no stranger to blood. In fact, most of her fine garments were stained at the sleeve with the deep scarlet hue. It was the very reason she chose to wear dark purples, browns, and reds. She did not mind the feeling of it seeping into her clothes or running under her fingernails. It was all in day’s work. To be a healer she had to get her hand’s messy. By this point in her life she was so far form squeamish that others found her startlingly desensitized.
She felt no loss when cutting into the flesh of the warg. As a healer she’d vowed never to harm any living creature of the light. But wargs were not one of those things. Wargs were infected by that same dark magic that corrupted men’s hearts and made the forest grow feral. They were not feeling, not truly living, anymore. Like goblins and orcs they were merely a shell that gobbled up good people. Allyria had no qualms with putting them down.
As Wulf did as she instructed Allyria followed through with her plan. She stayed close to the opposite flanks of the creature, just enough that if it turn back to her she could stills trike even if it was not in an opportune location. She could see Wulf’s feet moving deftly, but not gracefully on the other side. And she could hear the thunk of some blunt weapon against the warg’s ribcage. When she reached the hind of the beast she slashed, cutting the tendons with precision. The leg faltered, now useless.
The creature was wounded badly but not fully immobile. And surely the pain had aggravated some greater instinct. The fight would not be so easy anymore.
Wulf could hear the moment that Allyria cut the creature’s hind leg -- the terrible howl it gave off was enough of a clue, and the accompanied frenzied thrashing. Wide-eyed, Wulf scurried back, out of reach of its jaws.
Only then did he bring out the long knife that Kieran had given him, clutched in both hands like a small sword, for all the good it would do him. If he hoped that the warg might quiet and calm, he was out of luck; the pain and uselessness of its back leg only seemed to enrage it. Wulf met Allyria’s eyes, and gave her a distinctly helpless look -- what on earth could they do now? Wait for it to bleed out?
That might have been the exact plan that Wulf decided to go with, if the warg had chosen to attempt to start turning. Slower than usual, pain and rage and a crippled leg making it clumsy, it fell and scrambled up in its effort to get to the source of its new misery, Allyria, and Wulf dove forward, Kieran’s knife slashing a tiny scratch into its hide as he mostly missed his target. He tried again, catching the warg’s ear with the blade, because there were people here that were so important, and Allyria was one of them, and he’d be damned if he let the warg get a clear shot at her.
He got his wish: of a sort. Though, perhaps, not quite in the way he’d wanted. Another thrust downward of the knife, but the warg’s head swung around too fast, jaws clamping around his arm -- fangs catching mostly on cloth, but it was enough, as it found its balance and charged, dragging Wulf along for the ride. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before it came down wrong on its bad leg, dropping him and sending Wulf tumbling along the grass. Dizzy, he grabbed at the trunk of a tree to pick himself up, trying to spot Allyria in the hopes that she hadn’t gotten caught up in the charge.
But all he could see was wild eyes and gleaming fangs, a split-second before it crashed into him, pinning him between tree trunk and flailing claws that tore through his side and hip -- and all Wulf could do was crumple silently, trying to present as small a target as possible in the face of snapping jaws.
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kieranargent:
Kieran frowned faintly. Normally so cheerful, it was easy to see the way Wulf’s smile wavered.
“I’m fine, yeah,” he replied, waving it off. The twinge in his shoulder from where he’d landed wrong after being taken down by his own warg protested, but he ignored it. He blinked in surprise at the arrows, but accepted them quickly, slinging his quiver down to slide them in. “Thanks.”
The shriek of wargs was still loud around them, but Kieran paused. After a moment’s hesitation, he slid a long knife out of the sheath at his hip and pressed it hilt first into Wulf’s hand. “Pointy end out, eh?” he said with a faint smile.
If this were any other situation, Wulf might have refused the knife. If he’d had the time, he might have insisted that Kieran take some time to go see the healers in their party -- unfortunately, with the sound of howls and battle-cries still raging, it seemed none of them could afford to take a break.
Especially not those who, like Kieran, actually stood a chance of fighting the beasts.
Instead, he folded his fingers around the hilt of the knife, and nodded rapidly, a silent, yes, definitely, pointy end out. He’d try not to stab himself with it, at least, and count himself lucky if he didn’t. And there was more he wanted to say -- a thank you, a hope that Kieran stayed safe -- but where others would have been able to say those words quickly, Wulf could not.
In lieu of words, Wulf pressed his hand over his heart in a half-bow (accompanied by Big’s enthusiastic headbutt against Kieran’s knee), and pointed emphatically at a skirmish where it looked like Elas wasn’t having a wonderful time of things. He was fine, and Kieran’s abilities would be far better suited helping Elas.
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