Cold Blooded v1
This account was restored by your humble servant of the Talos temple, Wynston Bendylwyr, in the year 4E 894. Blessings to Loewyld Serbejin and the Bards’ Guild of Bodrum, Morrowind, for the preservation and provision of the original texts, dated over seven centuries prior. May its message provide kindness to a hurting empire, and inspiration for those who have lost hope in the gentleness of our fellow Men and Mer, and the beneficence of the Divines.
Morndas, Rain’s Hand
The map was brittle. Each time she rolled it open it would pop and crack; it was showing its age. Haj’Felim figured it was authentic as he followed along the ashen trail behind his mistress. That is, his female master, Laurus Hard-Heart. He found himself distracted by her impatience.
Thoughtlessly, Haj’Felim slipped a claw under the iron ring that tugged at his dewlap, and coughed. The chain wrapped around his shoulders jangled.
Laurus craned her head to shout at Haj’Felim, her bright red crown of braids framing the rage in her cheeks, “Another complaint, wretch?”
Haj’Felim didn’t respond, looking at the trail as they continued to walk. Laurus sighed in disgust, “I can take you back to the Telvanni if you prefer.” Laurus waited for the hypothetical response for a short moment, then held up her map in both hands. She sighed as she compared the faded scrawls to the surrounding foothills.
The Argonian broke the silence, “But then you would not find him.”
Laurus hastily rolled the map back up, her anger crumpling the map more than she had intended. “I only purchased you because you are a slower runner than I am,” she huffed. “Don’t go thinking I believe a word they told me about you.”
“Is that why you no longer guide me by this chain,” Haj’Felim asked, holding the end of the chain, draqed around his neck, “because you know you will be able to catch me should I attempt escape?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Perhaps a cheaper slave would’ve been a more economical choice.”
A bonemeal gauntlet clattered across the Argonian’s jaw, sending him into a pool of thin gray mud.
“When I need help from a muck-dweller like you, I’ll order it.”
Haj’Felim sat upright and began rubbing the mud into the scales of his legs, and over his face, milky liquid forming tributaries in the pattern of his skin as it flowed. The mountain was deceptively warm, as the ash clouds blotted out the sky with a dreary haze. The warmth of the gigantic volcano was trapped within. Laurus stood staring at Haj’Felim with a glazed-over look in her eyes. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes, venting hot breath.
Gently, Laurus tugged Haj’Felim up by the muddied chain, forcing him to regain his stance. He refused eye contact as the iron collar throttled his neck.
Opening the map again, Laurus stared at the arch drawn between two hills. Haj’Felim’s eyes followed a flake of parchment as it fluttered down into the muck near the Nord’s bonemeal boots.
“Slave: I order you to read this map and point us to the den.”
Not looking at the map, Haj’Felim spoke with a guttural whisper lifting his hand, “We must go through that ravine if we are to reach it before nightfall.”
“W-w—,” Laurus began to protest. Looking at the map in frustration, she spun the map to the left, then to the right, then all the way around.
“Let’s move then, cold-blood. The cliff racers can spot easy prey like you, even in this fog.”
Haj’Felim replied, “This will make sure they hear the both of us when we go through that ravine.” He jiggled the chain.
Laurus looked up on the cliffs of the ravine and found the grotesque tell-tale signs of cliff-racer nests. Guano streaked down the side of the cliffs with humanoid bones and nix chitin scattered in every crevice. Laurus glared at the Argonian suspiciously, “You cannot run from me. I will kill you.”
Haj’Felim replied, giving a side-glance to the battle-axe hung on Laurus’ back, “Yes, I know. You can run faster than I.” He attempted to conceal a smile as she removed the collar from his neck and tossed the chain into the dust.
“She’ll be fine,” he assured himself.
Packed ash paths gave way to a cooled lava-rock river as they made their way toward the ravine, its frozen pools and ripples forming a sturdy, if strange, road. The Argonian crept quickly behind the Nord as she jogged with a noisy, confident clatter. The remains of a silt strider lay hollow, cast off to the side of the mouth of the winding and dark ravine. The shrill call of a cliff racer echoed through the stone walls, followed by a cascade of squawks from every direction. Laurus hefted her axe. Haj’Felim crept away.
“You better stick close, lizard,” Laurus warned, “unless you want your eyes plucked…” Laurus shot a glance at where the slave had been standing. He was no longer there. “YOU COLD BLOODED BASTARD!”
Laurus cursed furiously under her breath as cliff racers began pouring over the edge of the ravine.
The first racer matched Laurus’ timing exactly as expected, her axe split a leathery wing completely apart. Throwing her shoulder into the next, it rebounded off her armor and into the cliff wall before it tumbled to the ground. Her neck suddenly felt warm; it began to tingle and sting. Silver blade gleaming, the axe whirled to strike the third racer across its beak as it flew in, screeching. Sweat and blood mixed on her neck. The fourth and fifth racer dive in. One grasped her frayed braids, gouging at her face, laying cuts all around her nose and cheeks. The other racer was batted aside with the axe haft as she releases a hand to shield her eyes. Laurus punched the cliff racer in the head and it flopped to the ground. She jammed her heel onto its body, feeling the crunch of its ribcage beneath her boot.
One of the racers leapt up onto her back, pulling her head back by her hair, another racer swooped in and tackled her midsection, staggering her backward. Nordic silver rang as it struck the rippled rock, axe dropped at her disoriented stagger.
A burst of energy surged through Laurus' shoulders. She grabbed the cliff racer that clung to her belt. Spinning, she flung the other that grasped her braids from her hair. In a smooth motion, she flung one racer at the next upon the ground, tackling the flapping mass on the floor of the ravine. She pummeled them with her fist until her bonemeal gauntlets were slick with racer blood.
Flapping echoed at the top of the ravine as the remaining brood flapped away. Laurus instinctively pressed her fingers against the cut she had earned on her neck in the fight, reaching for the salve she kept at her hip. She felt no pain as her rigid fingers brushed against her skin.
Retrieving her axe with one hand, she wiped the muddied sweat from her brow with the other. There was no sting from the cuts on her face. She was not out of breath. Laurus put the salve away. Haj'Felim emerged from beneath the shade of the silt strider's shell, creeping toward his mistress.
Laurus felt good. She didn't feel like cliff racers would ever offer her a valiant death, but their destruction made her feel powerful. It was difficult to be vicious to Haj'Felim after such a release of rage.
“Stick close if you don't want to get disemboweled, lizard.”
As the shrieks of the cliff racers grew more distant, a powerful roar shook the ravine.
“I will stay as close as you need me to.”
Laurus whirled her axe with a flourish and scowled briefly at Haj'Felim, “Heh.” An Ogrim squeezed into the ravine. They both knew that she would need the Argonian's help.
» Sun May 27, 2012 11:49 am 
