Jump to content


Chicken Stroll, Part 4


  • Please log in to reply
No replies to this topic

#1 Guest_Laufey_and_Ophidia_*

Posted 15 November 2007 - 05:41 PM

Chicken Stroll


Part Four

Under normal circumstances, Dekaras knew, the fight wouldn't have been much of a problem. True, there were about half a dozen armed thugs, heavyset men wielding clubs and staves, but he should have been able to cope. They were just street thugs after all, not possessed of any particular training whatsoever. Unfortunately, all his skills currently availed him not at all, given that his legs had apparently decided to cooperate no longer. Instead they seemed to have turned into wobbly jelly - and he was still uncertain just how many of them he had. Still, there was Andorel, and while the half-orc was also drunk, at least he was capable of standing on his own. So, there was still hope, and... Here, the assassin's thoughts were cut off, as Andorel gently dropped him into the mud again, in order to be able to get his sword out, and he was forced to focus all his attention on not inhaling.

As for Andorel, his thoughts were far less complicated. He and his friend were being attacked. He had a sword. The sword belonged inside the softer parts of the people attacking. 'Nuff said. So, he did his best to achieve that end, swinging the huge sword in great circles that did a fine job of keeping the attackers at bay. Not quite fine enough though. For one thing, he didn't dare move too far away from Vaddy - the assassin was hardly in any condition to defend himself. And for another, Andorel himself was also drunk, if not quite as badly, and that made him slower than normal.

Nevertheless, the day might have been won...if it hadn't been for the mage, that was.

By now, it was quite dark out, and so Andorel never saw the woman until it was too late. There was a sudden flash of lightning, and he could just glimpse a female silhouette, outlined against the sky. He looked down, and saw that Dekaras had managed to work himself into a sitting position, and was struggling to get one of his many daggers out. He was slow though, far too slow, the way you are always slow in a nightmare where some nasty monster is chasing you. Then thunder rolled towards them, deafeningly strong. And then another flash of light, only it wasn't regular lightning this time. It was a bright and somehow smudgy orange, and as he looked into it, Andorel felt his fingers freeze around the hilt of his sword, his arms raised immobile over his head. He couldn't move, not so much as a muscle...and then his thoughts froze as well, and the world faded away from him.

***


When Dekaras eventually woke up, his first thought was that he wished he hadn't. With every single beat of his heart, there was the sensation that his head was a large bell, and that some inconsiderate person was banging it. Also, it felt as if somebody was ramming hot needles into his eyes. His mouth felt as if something had died inside of it...possibly his tongue. There was a nasty twinge in one of his arms. And as for his stomach... No. Nooo. I don't really think I want to think about that right now. Right. Think about something else, anything really, as long as it didn't involve rolling...or heaving...or... No, no, no! Not that. Anything but that. He recognized the sensations all too well. Apparently, he must have got himself drunk, something that hardly ever happened. Andorel. I actually drank something Andorel mixed for me. I must have been insane, there can be no other explanation. And then...then what had happened? Edwin. Something about Edwin. With a painful jerk, the assassin suddenly came back to the land of the living, if very reluctantly. Chickens. Rooster. Edwin! His eyes startled open...and then he saw that although he'd managed to survive Andorel's cocktail, his troubles were far from over.

It took a few moments for his hungover brain to fully appreciate what it was seeing. There was Andorel. Lying on a table. Eyes closed. Silent. Not snoring? Why not snoring? Unconscious. Held down by straps. Needle inserted into arm. Pale skin. Clicking noises. Tubes. Brown liquid. Dekaras closed his eyes briefly to pull the scattered wanderings of his mind into a whole. Andorel was fastened firmly to the table next to him, and a needle in his arm was connected by shining tubes to a strange clicking contraption that made Dekaras think both of a Blacksmith's and a clockmaker's studio. Bellows pumped on it, and glassware gurgled, until at one end, the brown liquid it collected dripped into a glass flask that rested on a pile of crushed ice. Brown. Half-orc blood. Andorel was being drained of blood. Why, Dekaras had no idea. Slowly, a nasty feeling crept upon him. He could hear two clicking machines, and he had a pain in his arm. He looked down carefully, and saw an identical needle sticking out of a white band of his arm where the mud had been cleaned off, pumping a red fluid this time. Damn that idiotic half-orc, couldn't he have guessed that something like this would happen? He didn't have time to speculate, though, because the idiotic half-orc in question was stirring, muttering to himself.

“...liar...always...none o' that...go away...Immy...What?” Andorel slowly opened his eyes and blinked. He then groaned and closed them again. “Vaddy? I, I feel...but...but I don't get hangovers! I never...Oh, Gods...”

“Any lasting repercussions from last night's unfortunate binge drinking session are probably coincidental. Look around you.”

“I...don't wanna.” Andorel moaned peevishly. “It hurts too much.”

“Oh, but I insist,” Dekaras said. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, to try to lessen the lancing pain. “You, after all, may have some inkling of an idea where we are, given that you are not the one who foolishly trusted his friend to serve him alcoholic beverages that I think would have been better suited for scouring pots.” He winced briefly. The headache was really bad...and his stomach was... No. Do not think of your stomach. “What I recall,” he went on, forcing the nausea down, “is that right after spotting Edwin on that cart, we were ambushed. I have no idea where we are though - much less why our captor has seen fit to treat us as oranges meant to be squeezed out of all their juice.” He gave the bottles a considering look. “I would estimate that we have lost about a fifth or sixth of our blood volume so far...well, at least I have. I'm not entirely certain how to calculate it for half-orcs. Perhaps you would care to venture a guess?”

Andorel sneaked a short peak at the two bottles, and his green skin turned an even paler shade than before. He rapidly closed his eyes. “Ooooooh...” he moaned. “I...I don't feel good.”

“Well, if you feel bad now, just think of how you will feel when that bottle is full.” Dekaras had already begun twisting his wrist into a rather painful position, but one that would hopefully grant him access to a small dagger hidden up his sleeve...it seemed their captors had missed it. “Now, I don't go in for bleeding people to death,” he said. “Very sloppy, takes far too long, and entirely too likely that something will go wrong. Still, it is a nasty way to go. Imagine your heart pumping more and more slowly, its beating growing more and more muffled as it strives in vain to drive the ever dwindling supply of blood through your failing body...”

Andorel swallowed heavily, and bit his lip. “Uh...Vaddy? Do ya mind?”

“Imagine the dull roaring in your ears, the grey mists closing in before your eyes as the red...pardon, the brown stream gushes out of your veins, your heartbeat getting muffled...low...quick...and then slow...so very slow.”

“Vaddy!”

“Drop by drop,” the assassin calmly went on, “while you lie there helpless, hopeless and doomed, waiting for your soul to shed its mortal coil. Drop...by...drop.”

There was a faint sigh from the other bench, and Dekaras looked over curiously. Andorel's eyes rolled back in his head as his body went limp. After a few seconds, he opened them again with a groan, his face now more white then green. “You really enjoyed that, didn't ya?” he accused.

“No,” Dekaras said, as he got the dagger out and began slicing through the straps that bound him. Then he shrugged. “Well. Maybe just a little bit. I'm not at my most benevolent when hungover.”

“You're just mean.” Andorel swallowed. “Those bottles...I really hate those bottles. They're...they're just...” He shuddered.

“That is an interesting and unusual phobia...” Dekaras began, working slowly at the left hand strap.

“A what? No, I'm not scared! I just don't like 'em!”

“...not so much the sight of blood, but the sight of it contained after being drained from the body.”

“I'm not scared of some stupid bottles!” Andorel protested.

“Do you think it's the fact that it is such a visual representation of just how injured you are? Pain is far more vague than the level of fluid. As you watch the level of blood rise, you are observing your own mortality in a way.”

“Vaddy,” Andorel pleaded. “Ok, I'm sorry I got ya drunk. Now please shut the Abyss up before I pass out, uh, again, or puke everywhere.”

Dekaras' stomach heaved dangerously at the thought of the half-orc vomiting half-digested beer everywhere, and he gulped hastily. No. I will not show such a weakness in front of Andorel. He told himself sternly. Even if it would make me feel decidedly better. The left wrist restraint snapped, and he turned over and started working on the right.

“Want a hand there?” Andorel asked behind him.

“I don't believe you would be able to help in any useful way, I'm afraid.” He replied absently. This strap was quicker- now he had one hand free, he would get far better purchase. There was a slight pinging noise behind him.

“You sure?”

There! The strap was finally cut through, and Dekaras sat up, flexing his fingers and rubbing his chafed wrists. He leant down and started to work on his leg cuffs. Something caught the edge of his vision, and he straightened up again, and then stared in blank astonishment. Andorel was sitting on the edge of the bench he had recently been strapped to, idly scratching his tangled mop of brown hair. He gave a sheepish grin.

“Well, I did ask you if ya wanted help.”




0 user(s) are reading this topic

0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users

Skin Designed By Evanescence at IBSkin.com