The Consequences of Taking Hostages

Tanitha will be the first to admit that knocking him unconscious probably wasn’t the best course of action. You know, given the fact that she’s supposed to be running and hiding. But whatever, she’s sure the exhaustion that comes with transporting him will be well worth the silver or possibly gold that he’ll fetch on the train .

She briefly looks around.

The air feels heavy, but she can sense no eyes on her. Digging into her magical pack of wonders again, she stows away her weapon then pulls out something that seems like nothing but an ordinary little twig. Closing up her pack and putting it on securely, she twists the top half of the stick and points it at the man’s slumped form. The action causes a bout of stiff pain to shoot up her injured arm.

“You don’t know how lucky you are that I have this thing. I would have had to butcher you right here otherwise.” She smiles as his body begins to levitate. The Gods’ power is truly magnificent. The fact that they created the magic that went into this tool is mind bending. She can’t begin to imagine the raw energy they have. Walking to him, Tanitha begins to pick up any of the loose items of his that might have fallen and shoves them into any empty pocket she can find.

She knows that she shouldn’t be wasting any time, but curiosity gets the best of her. Knowing what she now knows about this smazer and his abilities, she’s wondering if he has anything particularly useful in those pouches she had snatched off of him. She pulls her mask down and places the twig between her teeth, freeing her good hand.

The first one that she opens is filled with what looks to be old dried leaves. They’re crumbly and brown. Maybe it’s some kind of tea. Leaning down, she takes a sniff and almost immediately retreats back. The smell of organisms unknown to her causes a fit of coughing. One would think that she was about to hack up a lung with how brutally her coughs rack her body.

When she’s finally able to breathe again, she tosses the pouch to the ground. She has half a mind to stomp on it, but then her vision swims, and she’s reminded that she’s supposed to be traveling home. So, the amono woman breaks out into a jog, happy that the druid’s body is following behind at a good enough pace. The coin she spent on this enchanted tool was well worth it.

The grass that was beneath her feet turns to wet mulch as the pair enters the forest. The cover that the trees offer is sparse at first, but the father along they go, the more clustered the trees become. The druid may have hit a trunk, or two or maybe it was five, during the journey. Tanitha’s mentality was that he would heal anyway, so it really doesn’t matter what happens to his body along the way.

She turns as she sees one of her carved markers high up on a tree, and suddenly the area begins to look familiar. Looking in all directions and seeing no one, Tanitha inhales deeply and drags her foot along the ground. Mulch and twigs and dead leaves part until she finally feels the solid wooden door and its iron handles. Grunting, she pulls on the handle with as much force as she can conjure with one arm out of the game.

It gives away with a resonating and shrill squeak.

Looking around one more time, they descend.

Dropping down a few wet stone steps, the hall becomes clearer. The candles held in their iron sconces look like they’ve been recently replaced, and despite the fact that the stairs are wet, Tanitha can see no signs of footprints. She shakes her head as she experiences a burst of dizziness. She grabs onto the wall and almost drops the only thing that’s keeping the druid with her.

She needs water and rest, and she needs it quickly.

Blinking rapidly, she starts to travel down the eerily empty hall. Though this is the back entrance, she’s never once seen this hall so deserted. Her hand uses the wall as a guide and a brace. The stumbling woman falls to the next closest wall as they turn a corner, and her heart nearly punches out of her body when she comes across the first sign of life. A small Swacuran girl, no more than ten years old, stares up at her.

Her little feet are bare and there’s a discoloration on her arms that would suggest someone had been handling her a little too roughly. Her big amber eyes try to find Tanitha’s, but the woman avoids them. “You’ve been gone for a while,” The child declares.

She nods at the girl, still holding the druid’s body around the corner, out of sight. “You said you would be back hours ago.” Again, she nods. “Is today the day you’ll help me?” She bites her lip under her mask, then forcefully shakes her head. This has been their routine since the little girl had caught her unawares a year ago.

She had slipped into Tanitha’s room, under the guise of the shadows that her candles hadn’t illuminated, and sat in her corner. The girl had watched her stare at nothing for hours on end. The little girl had broken the silence with a quick, “I can see you.” Then she had scampered out without another word. The next morning, she had asked Tanitha where she was going and if she would help her when she returned.

The little girl never told her what she needed help with, and the woman never asked, for her answer would always be the same.

Without replying to her, the Swacuran girl turns and goes back the way she came, her curls bouncing ferociously behind her. Tanitha waits until she no longer hears her footsteps, then she begins walking again. There’s something about the way that little girl speaks that throws her off. Something about her isn’t right, and Tanitha knows that as soon as she looks into her big amber eyes, she’ll see everything that she doesn’t want to see, regardless of the drugs.

She wants nothing to do with anyone here, especially her. She doesn’t need to grow sympathetic to the little foreigner when she’s leaving so soon. After struggling to insert her key into her lock, she stumbles into the room. The barely conscious woman flings the stick, and thus the druid, onto her bed and just barely manages to pull the key out of the door before falling to the ground.

Her vision gradually blackens. Though she doesn’t know the exact seconds and minutes, she does know that she’s knocked out faster than she had anticipated.

The man wakes with a startled gasp, his hands flying directly to his neck. That sociopath hadn’t even bothered to take the dart out of his skin. Gritting his teeth, he pulls on the end of the sharp piece of metal. The skin that had healed around it tears, but eventually releases the devilish little contraption.

After throwing it and feeling the rest of his body for any type of injury, he takes in his surroundings. The room that he’s in is just barely illuminated with a single candle. He’s on a rock of a bed, the covers made of some kind of animal skin that he had never come across before. The only pieces of furniture are the bed and a small wooden end-table that sits directly to his left.

Leaning over, he sees what looks to be a journal. Curiosity guides his limbs as he reaches for the small leather bound thing. The druid cautiously unwraps the thin piece of twine that holds the book closed, and pulls the cover open. Strangely enough, the pages that fill the book are all made of some kind of black parchment. He’s never seen anything like it before.

He slides his fingers across the first page, eyes going wide as the sensation of rich velvet travels up the tips of his fingers. He pauses when he feels disruptions. Even when squinting, he can’t seem to find any words, but when he closes his eyes and lets his fingers do the work, he can make out etched lines. “Amazing...” Just as he’s beginning to make out the word etched in the center of the first page, he hears something. The druid jumps, dropping the journal back onto the small table, as he looks around.

At first he doesn’t see it.

Given that the room is so poorly illuminated, he’s not sure anyone could really blame him for his initial lack of observational skills. The sound comes again, and he finally directs his attention downward. On the cold stone floor is his kidnapper. He blinks, confused. Slowly rising from the bed, the man tiptoes forward, wondering if this is some kind of trick to catch him unawares. He taps the unmoving body with the tip of his foot and retreats, expecting some kind of response.

When nothing happens, he stands taller.

Then a gurgling sound echoes throughout the tiny stone room. The druid’s lips part and his brows draw together moments before he realizes that she needs help. All pretenses are lost. He drops to his knees and rolls the body over. Pulling the mask down, he sees nasty red spit bubbling and spilling out of the woman’s mouth. “This... this can’t be good.” He wonders if the woman is choking or if this is her body’s response to eating too much of her vile desert earlier.

Just the thought of her consuming it in front of him is enough to make him hesitate in helping her. But then he shakes his head. He wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t help her. Letting his hand hover over her neck, he senses that nothing is stuck. He moves his hand over her head, his brows glistening with the energy that it’s taking him to do this assessment. It’s like her body is pushing against his powers, almost as if she doesn’t want to be healed.

But that can’t be.

As he pushes harder against whatever wall it is that he’s hit, a stinging sensation in his palm becomes increasingly harder to ignore. His vision becomes blurred by the water building in his eyes. He’s so focused on trying not to cry that he doesn’t notice the small drop blood that falls from his hand. It hits the woman’s left cheek just as his index finger breaks through the taut invisible veil.

As if the blood had summoned something in her, the woman’s eyes fly open and she shoots up.

The air in the room warms and thickens as shadows snatch what’s left of the candle light. Time stands still as the hairs all along the druid’s body raise. The woman’s mouth opens.

The crease between her brows deepens, her nose wrinkles, and her mouth widens to what looks to be an unbearable width. Then, the sound of a thousand years worth of agony is pulled from the depths of her body.

She screams.

The ground beneath and above them shakes.

The druid’s hands fly to his ears.

The flame of the candle takes its last breath.

She whispers, and somehow through the darkness, he can see her eyes on him.

“You’re going to die.”

Then her eyes roll back, her arms shoots out, and her voice takes on a tone more... sinister. “Your breath will not pass the rising of the sun. Fair well in the city of trees, and you might live to see what will become of the world you so willingly betrayed. ”

She folds in on herself as the druid stares into the darkness, his mind mulling over the words that had slid forcefully past her lips. This woman must be a seer or an oracle. The empress has one of her own, but he had only heard distant stories of their uncontrollable freak outs and prophetic songs.

Never did he imagine that he would experience first hand just how terrible words sound when they speak death into existence. And he knows without having to ask that this was indeed a prophecy called into being. A prophecy that could end with him dead...

But why him? He’s just a lone shaman born from nobodies in the land of nothing. Prophecies are meant for noblemen and entities of great power, and he’s... he’s nothing but a healer.

When the woman speaks again, her voice has returned to normal. “Well... the Gods have spoken. Now, can you grab me my water pouch?”

It seems that Tanitha’s attempt at self medication didn’t really help the matter. In fact, it seems that it did more damage than healing. Who would’ve thought? Not only did it knock her out, but it also left her vulnerable to the Gods' suggestions , something she regularly tries to avoid. The amono had gone at least a year without being invaded by their will, but it seems the streak has ended tonight.

She wonders what could be so special about the druid that the Gods sought to give him warnings.

The man hands her the water pouch, which was laying in the drawer of her bedside table. She takes a swig, her eyes burning in response to how strong the alcoholic drink is. “Gods!” She rubs at her eyes before taking another sip, then she stands up and wipes her mouth.

The druid stares past her as she walks to her small armoire. There isn’t much in there, so this shouldn’t take long. Tanitha pulls out her heavy duty back pack and begins to pack the few pairs of clothes that she still has into it. Her possessions are few, as she’s currently what many would call a nomad. She has her survival kit in her small pack that she typically takes on her excursions, then she has a few pairs of pants, tops, and underthings.

Along with the few blessed trinkets that she had gotten in exchange for her bounties at the train and her tiny pouch of coins, there isn’t much else that she needs. The druid notices her packing and begins to pound at the back of her head with his questions.

“What was that?”

That was his death sentence signed and sealed by the most wicked of Gods, then hand delivered by their personal carrier.

“Where are you going?”

That isn’t really any of his concern.

“You can’t just leave me?”

Oh, indeed she can.

Is he truly this stupid? Has he forgotten that Tanitha had beaten his face in, knocked him out with a poisonous dart, then kidnapped him?

Speaking of shot... She looks to her arm, which had previously been pierced by an arrow. The traitorous piece of weaponry is gone and her skin is unmarred. There isn’t even a speckling of dull pain. She looks from him to her arm a few times before shrugging, coming to the conclusion that he was good for at least one thing.

Tanitha rolls her sheets up neatly and tightly before shoving them into her bag. “What more do you want me to say to you? From what I can tell, I’ve done nothing but bring nasty energy into your life. Why are you questioning the fact that I’m leaving? I’d be bouncing on the tips of my toes if I were you.” He’s looking at her like some kind of lost cub, so she turns back to her packing.

“I... I have nowhere else to go... no one else to go to.” So he’s a stray. Sucks to suck. He’s not the first, and he certainly won’t be the last stray that she runs into. If she started collecting each and every lost soul out there, she’d have enough of them to build a country atop of.

So Tanitha shrugs. “That isn’t really my problem, beetle. ” She pulls her heavy pack onto her back and lifts her mask back up. She holds in her gag as the smell of her stomach acid fills her nose. It might be time to wash her things. Flipping her hood back over her head, she says, “Consider my letting you go as a symbol of my gratitude for you not slitting my throat while I was choking on my own saliva. Can’t say I would have made the same choice.”

She checks around the room that had been her home for a year now. It had always been fairly empty, with nothing but the bed, side table, and built in shelves, but without her sheets and her shoes thrown around it just seems lifeless. Seeing her journal, she snatches it and tosses it into her pack before walking to the door. She picks up the bow and quiver that she had barely mastered the basics of a few months ago, strapping the latter to her leg, then she walks out of the door.

The man, unfortunately, follows.

She takes two steps, and he takes one and a half. She stops, and he pauses.

Gritting her teeth, she turns. “Stop following me!”

The druid scowls. “Even if I am to go my own way, I still need to know how to get out of here.” She supposes he has a point. That doesn’t stop her from grumbling as she continues on her way out. Thankfully, she doesn’t come across the creepy little child. The Gods must have decided to grace her with one small miracle after high-jacking her body.

He stumbles on their way up the stairs, and Tanitha has to hold back her chuckle at his lack of grace. She thought all smazers were meant to be elegant and powerful beings. She had heard horror stories that suggested they were a master race of creatures that would soon take over her own world. While the latter seems to be coming true, the former remains to be seen.

They had undergone all of the nastiness that came with whatever plague ravaged their continent, and they had survived. There must be something inherently strong in their blood, right? At the thought of the disease, Tanitha inches away a little.

She wonders if smazers are carriers. Her lands have been considered mundaneless lands for centuries. Humans and their diseases aren’t common here. Throughout the decades, the lone wanderer or three have washed ashore and managed to survive. That being said, they have no overarching ruler, which is why a fraction of both the Velish and Trindanian troops have been allowed to camp on their coast. Though, the Tridanians seem to have been wiped out. The people of her lands, much like herself, never had to experience the horrors of this plague.

Some said it was because they were blessed by the Gods for their continuous devotion. Tanitha said it was because most of the people on her continent are nomadic creatures that understand the importance of taking care of the earth that grants them their energy. They don’t poison their lands, though the moonys had never had the connection to the Gods that the people of her lands had. They never understood it.

After seeing the wreckage that these armies have brought, Tanitha has no doubt now that they will indeed bring this disease with them. Whatever efforts that might have been made to keep that from happening would fail eventually.

The pair break through to the surface and Tanitha immediately turns left, entering into a light jog. It’s getting dark out, so she’ll need to find shelter soon. Creatures, bigger and stronger than the likes of her, enjoy prowling in the night’s shadows. Looking over her shoulder, she sees that the druid has stopped and is staring at the area in confusion.

“No. Don’t do it,” She begs herself. But then she looks up at the faded gray sky and realizes that it’s going to rain. She looks back to him. “Dammit!” She whispers to herself as she makes a large turn. “I’m definetly going to regret this.” She jogs back up to him, a scowl on her covered face. Without saying anything, she grabs and tugs on his arm.

He understands quickly and manages to keep up with her brisk pace.