Chapter 2B: Emerging from the Shadows

[Luca the Thief]

Luca tried to damndest to keep her eyelids screwed shut, but yet the light wormed it's way in just enough to pound at her skull. Suddenly, there was an obstruction and the half elf lifted her hands away to take a peak at what had gotten between her and the persistant ball of fire. At first the thief thought it was Tasuli come to gloat/beat up/rape/apolgize or whatever else he was inclined to do. Fortunately, as her eyes adjusted to the glare of the afternoon, Luca realized that it was not, in fact, a bipolar brat, but instead the naive woman she had grown to enjoy the company of.

"Ah... little maid," she murmured, attempting to rock herself to her side only to find that the movement did monumental damage to her already dismal state of comfort. "Find me a bandage or a cool cloth.. or better yet, some rum. There should be a flask hanging off my pack somewhere..." Luca leaned back into the grass, happy to recall that she had swiped some liquor from the duke's residence before taking her leave. Recalling the young man's presence once again not only soured her mood but reminded the half-elf of something. Raising a finger in the air, she waved it around to get Elen's attention.

"And don't let that bugger get to you... I'll deal with him later. For now, I'll need to get to town and pass out good and hard. Eat too, if the gods're willing."

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[Elendilwyn]

Elen saw that Luca was extremely weak, could hear it in her voice in fact, but was pleased that she still had that spice in her voice, the one that kept her sardonic humour even though her condition would give her every reason not to keep it.

The hobbit was keeping her company but apparently did not know what else to do—sometimes when you want something done properly, you got to do it yourself—Elen sighed and nodded to Luca to indicate that she had heard her request, proceeding immediately to get the rum and cloth.

On turning she replied, “The Duke will need more intelligence to get to me, currently, I’m just dealing with a bad case of childish temper. Also, once we get your wounds tended to, we’ll move on to the next town. We are all in bad need of rest and warm food.”

Elen found Luca’s flask and brought it back to her. “The rum should take your mind off the pain, just don’t take too much of it. You don’t need any more of a headache than the one you are having now. Drink up while I dress your wounds.” After passing the flask to Luca, Elen moved Luca's legs, raising it to lie on a low boulder which she had moved closer to Luca. "You will be able to breathe better with your legs slightly raised."

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

[Luca the Thief]

"Ah, lovely deary," she replied, taking the metal flask and rocking back a hefty swig, downing it like an experienced drinker. The burn warmed her heart and ears, but the throbbing persisted. Unimpressed by her ability to still feel, the half-elf helped herself to a few more good swallows of the brew.

Watching Elen work her first-aid around her was mildly impressive; but Luca found her growing ability to take Tasuli with less and less seriousness the most amusing. She may not turn out half bad Luca thought to herself, cradling the flask in her hand and humming quietly in her detached state of mind.

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[Elendilwyn]

Luca had allowed herself more to drink than she should but before she could drown herself in with what was in the flask, Elen promptly took the bottle away from Luca’s hand, not exactly without a struggle but with Luca’s current physical state, it definitely was not too much of a problem.

Her own actions had left Elen slightly surprised at herself, first her audacity with the Duke and the her current treatment of Luca. The number of times Elen had taken charge of a situation could be counted easily and often they were really insignificant, not to mention that none ever concerned those above her social class. This was an exception but she was really tired, both physically and mentally taxed that she could find no energy within herself to be overly concerned with protocol.

The day had barely begun but things just seem to keep going out of control. Elen finished what she had to do with Luca and taking the flask away, went to saddle the horses so that the group could get going.

But before going to the horses, she turned to Yarg and asked, “Will you be joining us?”

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

[Tasuli Rose]

Sulking, the youth watched silently as one woman tended the other, his lips curling into a sneer as the thief drank of the rum. Gaze cast downward, he glanced toward the stream, glaring at the tattered rags that were once his fine clothes, flame and then water having damaged them. But yet, Tasul'i was not worried nor enraged, clothes were easy enough to purchase, and was he not rich? Too, his mother had thought to pack several sets of clothing for him, so he had discovered upon first peering into his saddlebags.

As he stood, his cheeks flushed a shade of crimson as he realized, indeed for the first time, that he stood nude, among females no less. Hands flying to his crotch, concealing it from the view of the maidens fair, he slowly backed away as to not turn around and expose his rear to them. A sigh of relief escaped his lips only when he moved to stand behind Rowan, using the flank of the stallion to conceal his nether regions from the others. Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled forth a set of clothing and hastily began to dress. Similar in style to the clothes burned by the halfling these were, yet their colors differed. Of a crimson shade reminiscent of blood, the tunic descended to mid thigh, gathered about his waist by a wide leather belt. Worn beneath the tunic was a white silk undershirt, akin to the one now lying by the stream. Onto his hips were pulled bleached white leather pants, snugly fitting upon his shapely legs. For gloves and boots, those he had been wearing previously would serve, as they were yet undamaged.

Now dressed, though his crimson locks were yet plastered to his scalp, slowly drying in the morning sun, Tasul'i stepped from behind the stallion, looking upon the two females with disdain, his lips curled into an all too familiar sneer.

"If ye are now done, we have a journey to continue. I wouldst not have us slowed by the whims of weaklings."

[Elendilwyn]

While she was waiting for Yarg’s answer, she caught sight of the Duke being ashamed of his own nudity—so that man still has a sense of shame—a smile breaking out at the corner of her lips. Seeing him walk to his horse, she is also reminded of how late it is getting and letting her impatience rule temporarily, she went to get her own and Luca’s horse, bringing them both to where Luca was lying. She had heard the Duke's sneer but chose to ignore him. He was merely stating the obvious, that being the need to continue.

Addressing Luca: “Are you still hurting badly? Would you be able to ride?”

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

[Luca the Thief]

“Are you still hurting badly? Would you be able to ride?”

Luca rolled her head to the side to squint at Elen. She pondered this and sat up slowly, holding her head and blinking a lot. The lopsided swimming of her head subsided after a moment and she glanced around.

"Take 'er easy and I reckon I'll be okay... probably best getting me out of the sun anyway about it," she said with a nod, Luca tugging at the damp clothing that clung uncomfortably to her skin still.

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Edited by: Luca the Thief at: 8/15/06 7:43

[Elendilwyn]

Elen nodded at Luca's reply and proceeded to help her up on her feet, kneeling down first and sliding one hand behind Luca's back to support her while using her other hand to pull her up. Getting up the horse would be a problem though. Elen had neither the strength nor expertise to put someone injured up on a horse--Luca shouldn't even be riding alone but Elen had no confidence to let Luca ride with her and putting her with Tasuli was out of the question--Elen frowned as she pondered over this problem.

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

[Luca the Thief]

Smiling in thanks to Elen for her help, Luca was able to read her face easilly enough. That had been the easy part...

As the two half-elves pondered the equation, it seemed the answer came to them from above. Or rather, behind and to the left. There was a sound of a heavy thunk on grass and Luca spun only to find Gert sitting on her haunches like a dog might, chewing on a mouthful of long grass. The horse, eyes big, glassy and dumb, lolled her head to the side to look at the two women, her bottom jaw grinding away like cattle.

"Well... that's not too bad..." Luca shrugged, bending down gingerly and taking up her pack, looking at Elen. "Lets get on then."

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[Elendilwyn]

That horse is definitely not normal, either that or it is exceptionally intelligent—Elen broke into a smile of relief as the problem which was weighing on her mind found a release and then said in amusement, “well, that solves one problem and before more crops up, we had better hurry.” She assisted Luca to her horse and after helping her up, went to get her own horse.

When she was done, adjusting the stirrups and repacking all their used items in to the saddlebags, she nodded to Luca and looked at Tasuli straight in the face, not as a servant but as an equal fellow traveler and replied in response to his brooding impatience, “We are ready. Lead the way.”

To Yarg who was standing by all this time, she said, “Thank you for helping us at the river. If the fates allow and destiny permits, we will meet again. Take care and have a safe journey wherever you are going.”

The artist usually sets out — or used to — to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist’s and the tale’s. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
- DH Lawrence

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