| Logs |
2010 October 06
| Neverneverwhere |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Taps Logs |
Dark Blood
Suraksha stays waiting outside the warehouse, appearing to scribble casual notes in her little booklet as she waits for either Droog to emerge to do business with her... or the five minutes to be up, so they can all depart.
Up on the roof of the warehouse, Chanticleer nods quietly to Sna'thaid, and looks around. Is there a way for him to go down in there without being noticed, and without breaking any glass? Sna'thaid gets up into a three-point crouch and scans thoughtfully around the top of the warehouse. Finally she points toward what looks like a ventilation shaft. It seems to be made of corrugated tin, "There, I think. If I'm correct, it will bring us out into that small room in the back corner." Chanticleer nods and scrambles quietly over to the shaft opening. He doesn't touch it yet, because places like this have a habit of having iron in unfortunate and hard-to-see places. Sna'thaid follows him, using her wings to balance herself. She watches Chanticleer in silent interest.
Chanticleer takes in a breath, after pulling on a pair of gauntlets, and opens the shaft quietly and quickly. He dislikes this much metal; it's so easy to overlook a piece of iron or steel here. That he has a hunk of it strapped to his chest is besides the point. Sna'thaid lets Chanticleer go first and then follows after him, using all four of her arms to keep herself braced against the sides of the shaft. It drops straight down for about ten feet, then takes a right-angle turn and follows along horizontally for perhaps fifteen feet more, before Chanticleer comes to an ornate wooden grille.
Chanticleer tries to make as little noise as possible; tin carries sound wonderfully -- or in this case, horribly, for them. He peers through the grille, studying the edges of it and wondering if he can take it off quietly... and looking at what's on the other side of the grille.
On the other side of the grille is a small, crowded office. The grille itself seems to be attached with small clips that are turned into place, like latches. If he had something slender enough, he could push them out of the way. Chanticleer peers closely into the office, seeing if anyone is in there. He wonders if he can get his sword out, or if he might have by chance carried a knife on him when he left this morning; if not, he makes a mental note to carry a knife all the time from now on.
Chanticleer's own knife is just a little too thick to slide between the grille and the wall; it's fairly well-fitted. Inside the office there's a small, huddled figure on a sunken-looking couch. It isn't moving. It might be breathing -- it's hard to tell in the dimness. Chanticleer grimaces, then looks to Sna'tha, holding up the knife and trying to gesture that he needs something thinner... Sna'thaid nods and suddenly she's holding a nearly needle-thin poniard in her hand. She passes it carefully to Chanticleer. He blinks in surprise, but accepts the poniard gratefully. This is most definitely not the weapon one finds in a typical caravan; it's excellent quality... and elegantly lethal. He asks no questions now, however; slipping it between the edges of the grille and flicking open the latches before passing it back to Sna'thaid.
The warehouse has been quiet so far, but as Suraksha stands outside she hears raised voices, not quite shouting. Were her hearing a little less acute, she would have missed a rough voice saying, "... their gullets. This is gittin'..." Suraksha doesn't change her body position -- she still seems to be making notes -- but she tilts her head slightly, listening carefully. Her eyes flick back and forth, trying to place both Alg and where the voices are coming from. Suraksha herself is safely outside the warehouse; anyone wishing to slit her gullet is going to have to come around the door and be seen before they can reach her. Further, if they're still discussing what to do, that tells her they don't yet know of her companions. She remains calmly in place, continuing to wait for either someone to emerge -- she did ask Droog to do so, after all -- or for her companions to return, or a commotion to start -- which will let her know her companions have been detected.
Alg is between her and the voices. In fact, the little goblin is being unusually still, strange pupils dilated even in the bright light outside the warehouse. He looks relaxed -- but only if one is unaware of how the best fighters look. Suraksha is quietly relieved the goblin is aware of the potential danger -- she knows that particular alertly balanced stance well. She continues to search surreptitiously for the speakers; are the voices coming from around the corner of the warehouse, or just inside the doors, or someplace else entirely? They aren't visible; possibly they're behind the crates?
Sna'thaid flashes Chanti a tight smile when he hands the blade back; she can tell by the way he handled it that he's aware of its quality. Chanticleer finds it even more interesting, besides the quality of the poniard, that it is bronze -- which is both more difficult to care for than steel, as well as sharper and harder. The grille is light, made of some soft wood, and the scraping sound doesn't appear to have disturbed the huddled figure on the couch. The sidhe moves the grille to the side and, with one eye on the figure, starts to slip out of the shaft.
The figure's head comes up as Chanticleer slips out of the shaft, and he sees the face. Bruised and bloody though it is, Chanticleer is a trained knight; he recognizes her. She's one of the chambermaids at the palace, one of the half-dozen or so who work most of the time in the royal wing. There's a squeaking gasp and she slaps her hands over her mouth, only to jerk with the pain of doing so with swollen lips.
Chanticleer blinks as he recognizes her. "Lisbet?" he whispers. He looks quickly at the door, then comes closer, crouching beside her and frowning. "It's okay, Lisbet," he whispers, "You'll be safe now." [I hope.] "What happened?" Then he shakes his head. "No, tell me later. Let's get you out of here." He looks up at the shaft. "Can you climb, if I help you up there? Or are you too injured? If you are, it's all right -- we'll try something else."
Lisbet sniffles as quietly as she can and shakes her head, whispering, "Broke my ankle. Said he was hobbling me, like a fractious horse..." She twitches aside the tarp-like blanket wrapped around her body and shows him the horribly swollen and just wrong-shaped foot and ankle. It looks less broken and more shattered. Sna'thaid makes an angry buzzing sound behind him.
Chanticleer narrows his eyes, but only for a moment. He doesn't want to let Lisbet feel how cold he suddenly became inside. [No matter what Droog is up to, he dies for this. On my brother's sword, I swear.] "We'll get you healed up soon, Lisbet," he says softly and gently. "Lisbet... we're going to work on getting you out of here, and setting things right. But I have to ask you to wait here -- hide yourself if you can. But wait here, please. I promise we won't leave you, and we'll be back for you. You'll be safest here." [Because you'll be behind us, and I don't intend on leaving anything culpable for doing this to you alive in our wake.]
Lisbet sniffles, tears running down her face and leaving pale tracks in the blood and dirt. Sna'thaid says, "Yes. Do not move from here until one of us comes for you. No matter what you hear. Like Tam Lin."
Lisbet blinks at Sna'thaid, puzzled, but nods anyway. She knows what "stay here" means. To Chanticleer she whispers, "Did the king send you after me?"
Chanticleer shakes his head. "No; but not for not noticing. But don't worry about that for now. You'll be safe and healed up soon." Lisbet nods and puts a fist against her mouth.
Outside the building, the voices from inside the warehouse have quieted again, but Alg has crept closer to the door. He doesn't have any external weapons on him, but he's flexing his hands like he's limbering them up. Suraksha whispers very softly, "Alg, please stay close! Let them come out to us."
In the cramped office, Chanticleer smiles warmly and encouragingly to Lisbet, placing a hand on her shoulder, then stands and creeps to the door. By the time he's gotten there he has drawn his sword, and his expression is flat and cold. Sna'thaid is moving with Chanticleer. She's become quite certain she knows who he is, or at least who his family is, and they have a good martial reputation. This is going to be fun. Her own expression is smiling, but it is an alien, ice-blade smile. As Chanticleer reaches for the door, voices come from the other side, "... get rid of her. We got all we can outta her."
Chanticleer takes a moment to estimate the distance from the door that the voices appear to be. He's not heavy, and in a stand-up fight against a human he'd be taken down fairly quick. But he's armored, and he has a sword, and -- as he kicks down the door in the faces of the two who are about to open it -- he hopes the door exploding outward caught them by surprise. He moves to the side a bit to allow Sna'thaid to throw her daggers, taking the chance to thrust forward immediately in a short fleche with his sabre, aiming for the vitals of one of the ruffians.
There's a shout of surprise as the door suddenly flies outward, hitting something or someone with a very solid, satisfying thud. Swearing and scuffling is almost instant -- and then there is a blur of bronze through the air and the hungry whistle of blades flying toward their targets. The splash and splatter of blood is immediate. Chanti's blade bites into the one that was in the lead, a fireplug of a man with bronze-red skin. He looks comically surprised before blood spurts from his mouth. Chanticleer doesn't smile just yet, instead kicking out at the squat man to help pull his blade from that one's body. Still mindful of Sna'thaid's line of fire, he looks for the second thug, hoping to swing his blade in an arc that intersects with him.
The fireplug-shaped thug falls bonelessly to the ground. The second one is screaming and clawing at his face, trying to dislodge the several daggers piercing it. It's a very tight pattern and, as he registers there are no wounds elsewhere, Chanticleer hears more buzzing whistles -- and several more poniards thud home in the thug's chest.
Outside, the shouting is clearly audible to both Sura and Alg. The goblin cackles happily and capers around for a moment. There's scuffling from inside the warehouse and the sound of feet running toward them. Suraksha nods firmly, tucking away her notebook and whispers to Alg, "Come on! Would you stick close to me, please?" She dashes into the warehouse as she pulls a small wrist crossbow out of her bag. She hastily mounts it on her wrist, then starts moving carefully and warily through the building. The crates comprise quite a bewildering maze, reaching far up over Suraksha's head and making the aisle-ways between them dim. It's positively labyrinthine. Suraksha whispers to Alg, "If you can, track the ones that just ran inwards towards the shouting, all right?" She has her arm up and a quarrel mounted, as she continues warily moving through the aisles. She's cautious at crossings, careful to keep her searching gaze swinging upwards as well as behind her.
Alg grunts, "Not running in. Running out..." As they turn a corner, she sees what he means. Droog comes skidding around it, a saddlebag thrown over his shoulder. His eyes widen as he sees the woman and the goblin and he raises his right hand, something darkly gleaming in it.
Suraksha swings her arm around to point at Droog and snaps with all the authority she can muster on such short notice, "Drop your weapon!" She's already starting to tense her trigger finger, but she'll give him a heartbeat to obey.
Droog's eyes widen and he snarls, "Burn in hell, freak." He jerks his hand like he expects something to happen, only to stare incredulously when he realizes it's empty. He dropped the weapon.
Suraksha calmly aims for the man's leg and shoots, adding to the goblin as the quarrel flies, "Alg, grab his weapon, quick!" The quarrel doesn't land in Droog's leg, instead caroming off the floor of the warehouse and ricocheting into the man's side, making him howl in pain. Sulochana rolls her eyes in exasperation, muttering to herself, "Was aiming for the leg, darnit!" Alg is skittering gleefully around the man, much faster than he. Sulochana strides swiftly forward, loading another quarrel. "Alg, can you give me the weapon, please? I'll cover him, and you can find the others and lead them to me?"
Alg has found the weapon and there's a crunch and clatter. He hands it to her in two pieces. It is wooden and metal and looks quite old. Droog is yanking at the first quarrel. Suraksha smiles at the goblin as she accepts the two pieces, "Thank you so much! Hurry and find the others, please? I'll keep Droog here, but the sooner you're all back, the better." Alg grunts and turns to skitter off deeper into the warehouse. The flailing Droog snarls at him and manages to yank the bolt out of his side. With the speed of the desperate, he plunges it into the goblin's shoulder, making Alg howl with pain.
Elsewhere, Chanticleer steps past the man, using one hand to push him backwards so he falls on the ground. "Die with some dignity, at least," he murmurs. He perks, hearing Suraksha's voice snapping something, and moves quickly but steadily towards it, alert for anything else which might come out -- though he trusts Sna'thaid when she says there were only three. He makes the most direct way to the sound of Sulochana's voice, even clambering quickly over crates in the way -- "as the crow flies," so to speak. Sna'thaid is going the more roundabout route, but she's moving quickly, making sure the makeshift corridors are clear.
Suraksha shouts in anger, whipping the crossbow up and firing blindly again at Droog to protect Alg. She runs forward when the bolt misses, shouting a fierce, "No!" and intent on driving Droog back from the goblin. Droog spins; he's got a knife in his hand, eyes gleaming madly in the dimness. He screeches laughter, "Fuck you, freak-lovin' bitch!" The knife flashes toward her unprotected neck -- and then there's another scream as Alg's razor-like teeth clamp down on his forearm. Suraksha shies startledly sideways like a spooked cat, hissing at the man -- then she whirls around and lashes out with one foot at his unprotected knee, trying to knock him down. It's about then Chanti drops over the last barricade.
Chanticleer pauses to take stock of the situation. Droog's in close melee with Suraksha and Alg, and that's not good; there's not enough room to properly attack him. He scrambles forward, looking for one opening to thrust without risking Suraksha or Alg at all. Droog squeals in pain and falls to the ground, clutching at his shattered knee. Alg is snarling and looks like he has every intention of taking out some of the tenderer, tastier parts of the screeching man. Suraksha spots the dark shape coming towards them and recognizes the silhouette. She yells, "Don't kill him -- just pin him down!" to Chanti, then grabs Alg, gasping, "Come away! You're pouring blood, Alg!" The goblin struggles a bit, but then lets himself be pulled away, alternately snarling and snapping, and licking at his wounded shoulder with a long pink tongue.
Chanticleer twitches a little at the command, but -- [Someday, Droog, I'm going to fulfill that oath. Just not today. Lucky bastard.] He keeps the saber at Droog's throat. "Stay!" he barks. "Or so help me I'll forget what the lady just asked me to do!" Actually, he'd sooner just jump up and down on Droog's chest -- that would probably keep the vicious man down a bit longer.
Suraksha is on her knees a short distance away, using the edge of her long tunic to put pressure on the wound. Her voice is quiet and calming, reassuring the wounded goblin that it's fine, Chanti will keep the man down. She glances around worriedly, searching visually for Sna'tha. While the sidhe woman isn't a chirugeon, she does know more about binding wounds than her godsdaughter. Suraksha adds softly to the goblin, as she keeps steady pressure on the ugly tear in his shoulder, "Alg, thank you -- from the bottom of my heart! I think you saved my life there."
Sna'tha turns up a moment or so later, wings fluttering and buzzing, "That's everyone but the girl."
Suraksha glances over at Sna'tha, her voice terse, "Got a bad one here, Sna'tha -- torn shoulder wound. Can you take care of it while I run for the city guard?"
Sna'tha moves over and tsks over Alg's wound. From a pouch at her waist she takes bandaging materials, "Don't. There's a girl from Roy's household here. I think the king may wish to know about this first." Droog is still bleeding from the wound in his side, but he's staying still.
Suraksha thinks a bit, then nods as she rises, "All right, I'll run there." She rests a hand gently on Alg, saying softly, "Alg, you can trust my godsmother -- she'll take good care of you. You're going to be fine, all right? Just stay relaxed, and I'll be back soon with more help."
Chanticleer, now he's a bit calmer, naturally regrets the oath he made. Well... if nothing else, he is sidhe; he'll outlive Droog by any stretch, and will just have to go out of his way to find out when the bastard is dying, even if of natural causes. Alg whines a little, but lets Sna'tha start binding up the wound -- at which point he does set up a howling. Chanticleer tightens his grip on his sabre, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to make Droog hors d'combat. Instead he takes slow breaths and tries hard not to let the goblin's howls get to him too much. The dragonfly sidhe's voice is clinical, "You should bind the human and go get the girl."
Suraksha smiles encouragingly at the small goblin, patting him lightly before she darts swiftly out of the warehouse. She doesn't know what mischief was up there that would cause light to shy away from entering the warehouse, but she doesn't need to know just now. She runs as directly as she can towards the palace, hoping her memory and her luck is good -- and that she'll meet someone on a horse who can get help faster.
Chanticleer glances to Sna'tha, then nods. He crouches down. "Maybe you'll wake up," he says to Droog, and clocks him across the brow with the hilt of his sword. Ensuring the thug is out cold, he take the time to bind Droog's hands and ankles tightly, not quite hogtying the wounded man, before going to get Lisbet. He also takes a moment to bind Droog's wound -- rudimentarily, but enough to keep the man from bleeding out.
As Chanti moves away, Sna'tha calls after him, "You're quite good, D'Anver. I think we most definitely need you in our caravan."
Chanticleer freezes for a moment as Sna'tha calls out his family name, then glances over his shoulder, smiling wanly. "There aren't any D'Anvers left... for the time being. But that's a story for sooner rather than later. I promise, milady."
Sna'tha gives him a smile that's fractionally less cold than the ones she's been using, though it's hard to tell with such alien eyes, "I look forward to hearing it. Now, let's go get the girl. I mislike the feel of this place more and more the longer we're here."
Luck is a fickle mistress, but she's smiling on Suraksha that morning. As the worried young woman races toward the palace -- leaving a trail of shocked and worried people staring at her bloody clothing -- she almost literally runs into King Roy. The self-styled monarch is still astride the big, lovely horse she saw him with earlier, and he looks dumbfounded at her sudden appearance. Suraksha whips around a corner and spots Roy at almost the same time he sees her. She skids to a stop at once, not wanting to spook Hermoso again, and gasps out, "Need healer and more guards, please -- got attacked down by the docks!"
Roy swings down from the horse and says, "You hurt?" His brows are drawn together as he reaches for her, looking for wounds.
Suraksha leans against the wall, panting to catch her breath as she adds, "Girl from your household held prisoner there, too!" She shakes her head, pushing Roy's hands away, "No, no, I'm fine! This is Alg's..."
Hearing of the girl makes the king swear across Sulochana's words, "Goddammit. Come on." He swings back up into the saddle and offers Suraksha a hand, "We'll go get my chirugeon and some guards." 'Chana's voice trails off as Roy speaks, and she looks a bit doubtfully at the young stallion. He's already spooked at her once, and now she's bloody too... she steps forward cautiously, watching the horse warily. The stallion prances a little, but Roy's hands are steady on the reins, "C'mon. We ain't got time for dawdlin'." Hermoso tosses his head a couple of times and Roy strokes his mane, "Shhh, boy, 's just some blood."
Suraksha is starting to feel the first dragging tiredness of commanding Droog, now the adrenaline is starting to ebb. She sighs gustily, then steps forward and carefully reaches a hand towards Roy. Her wary gaze is on the restive horse, though -- she doesn't want to get pawed or bitten by an angry stallion! Hermoso snorts, but calms under his master's soothing. Roy offers Suraksha his hand again and pulls her up to ride before him on the big horse's back. Sulochana tries to help lift her weight, scrambling a bit ineffectively against the horse's shoulder as Roy hauls her up by one arm. She gives a soft, tired, "Ow!" but tries to settle as quickly as possible against the king so he can head immediately towards the palace. As she closes one hand tightly about his arm, she starts to relax in relief. Exhaustion sweeps over her, and she closes her eyes and leans her head against Roy's chest.
Roy wraps one arm around Suraksha's waist, holding her securely back against his chest as he puts his heels lightly to Hermoso, "Hate it when folks mess wi' my people. Fuckin' kidnappers..." He's muttering under his breath as he wheels the horse and heads for home. Suraksha sighs and smiles faintly in relief, eyes still closed. Good... Roy will take care of things.
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