We traveled far, my daughter and I. Over hills and peaks, through rivers and streams, past crumbling ruins and abandoned forts.
We crossed the border of Bree-land from the east, from our homeland of the horselords to arrive at the realm of the common folk. A realm where few amount to little more than merchants and farmers. We stopped in woodland.
My daughter, consistently moaning that her feet ache, that her clothes are too wet, then too dry, then too muddy, then too clean. Too cold, too warm, too tired, too hungry. I meet every want of hers with outstanding victory, but still she finds ways to be displeased. Regardless, I love her, and I know she feels the same. Even if she has rarely spoke of it. She'd sooner moan than express any form of gratitude directly. Still, she has her ways in showing affection, even if they are subtle.
Draped across my back, her legs wrapped around my thighs, I carried her through the woodland of Chetwood. We were careful to avoid all signs of settlements till we reached the heart of the land, a town known as Bree. I place her down, and she willingly walks a short distance to obtain firewood, always seeking adventure in any form. The fire is lit, we eat from our game, we drink from the streams. We talk, well, she moans and I chuckle, she smiles very slightly here and there, though looks regretful for doing so. A girl she maybe, but it is evident she seeks to be something more. Perhaps one day, I shall allow her to be so. But that day is far off.
I stand slowly and snatch up my bow, off into the woods to obtain produce for tomorrow's breakfast. A short while later, I return with my game, to find Riplay, my daughter, simply gone. I sigh, the situation occuring far to often. I slump down the boar meat, sack and all, and look to the ground. Tracks, which I follow intently.
There I find her, one of her hands upon the branch of bush, as she gazes ahead to a troubled looking man, huddled around his own fire, his head bowed as he weeps gently, scribbling into a journal. I wrap a hand around my daughters mouth, and pull her back sharply, the branch swaying up and down due to the sudden release of pressure. Her eyebrows crease, and her eyes glare, as what can be seen of her dirty face looks apologetic. I look at her irratably, but what can I say to her? Especially with a stranger in our midst. We turned sharply, and I carried her off with haste back to our own encampment.
Words were exchanged in whispers, our expressions always conveying more emotions and thoughts than our vocal efforts ever could. Soon after we lay down our heads, and as quickly as we blinked, the night became the day.
Beams of light burst through the tree's, like rays from a higher being. I blink drearily, Riplay breathing softly and twitching lightly every so often. I prepare breakfast, we eat breakfast, and off we go. Riplay insists we check on the stranger we looked upon, so keen to have social interaction with someone who is not her father, or in her tantrums, herself. I sigh, draw my blade, and off we go at her insistance (moaning).
We step upon the twigs and leaves and gaze out wearily across the deserted clearing, the chirping of birds is only to be heard. The space is vacated, but she saw it before I. A journal, battered and scratched, was in the palms of my daughter, her olive gaze scanning the pages. She seemed sadened, a rare sight indeed, but nevertheless I snatched the inscriptions from her, and read the words myself. I tutted, shook my head, and sighed. She insisted we help the man, I naturally refused. But off she went anyway, with me first pocketing the journal and made off in chase, close on her heel in the hopes of snatching her. She always was the keen adventurer.
After a short time, we reach a flurry of hills and ruins, and I am able to tackle her gently to the ground. She protests, she struggles with me atop her, but something else caught my attention. Again my hand covers her mouth, as we gaze at each other with a look of concentration. Voices could be heard overhead, and in unison, our gazes traveled upward. A yelp sounded, as if torture was commencing, and the thought of dishonor for the man we learned to be Thayalengir in his sacrifice, brought me rage. We peaked out over the hill we lay upon, and we watched in silence. Waiting for an opportune moment.
We were able to match names to faces, due to the journal Thayalengir bore. There stood Blince Kolten, gazing vacantly ahead upon the scene before him, whilst another onlooker, Tinsith, had her head turned sharply away, unable to witness the shear horror before her. Thayalengir was crying, cradling a bloody stump where his hand once resided, and towering over him was Dreothorn, a bloody greatsword in hand. Riplay looked torn, and I had looked shocked. Nostalgia was brought to me at the sight of blood, for it was long since I last partook in battle, or even witnessed such.
A slash of the greatsword again, and the opposing arm flew in the air as if belonging to a ragdoll. More blood and cries echo'd through the day, and I bury Riplay's head into my chest with her crying quietly. The mannerisms of the onlookers remained the same, Thayalengir was on his knees with his head bowed, blood gushing from him with each sharp breath of his. Shame really, he was under the assumption a quick death would claim him, but no such came. Outcame a small knife of Dreothorn's, and quick strikes impaled Thayalengir's neck. One. Two. Three. Four. And many more. Till off came his head, with flesh and blood ensuing. His killer raised it aloft, victorious. Blince had left, unaffected by the event. Tinsith was determined to stare away. But the killer slammed the head upon a pike, and attached the pike to his horse, his victory in a physical statement till the end of time it seemed.
A tear ran down my cheek as the killer laughed and chanted, my daughter fearful and shivering, the remaining onlooker striding away to vomit wretching all the while. I stood, daughter in arms, and ran fiercly back for the woods. We packed up our camp vigerously, and ran even harder once done. I ran until the air in my lungs was cleanly sucked out of me, and collapsed to my knee's, cradling my daughter.
As I raised my head to the twinkling lanterns, the billowing chimney's, and the laughs of the drunkards of the town of Bree, it became clear to me how severely I underestimated such a realm. Danger was to be found here, brutality and death in unison. Still, business took me here, and it is here I am commanded to stay. I looked down to Riplay, who simply gazed up at me vacantly. I pecked her forehead quickly, and raised myself to my feet with Riplay in my arms. Feebily from all the sprinting and carrying, I stumbled toward the gates of Bree.
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New beginnings (bad ones).
Submitted by Yogunheim on April 1st, 2013
