A recipe for disaster Who: Jill Sorrel, Group 3 NPCs: 5 easily disposable bandits. Three are already down, Salma is handling the rest. Where: On the road south from Denerim When: 21 molieris Summary: The road goes ever on an on. Except when you fall off and the world as you know it ends.
Jill and Salma cantered through Denerim, Jill for the first time ever making use of the name of her employer. “Make way for the Teyrn’s messenger”, she cried when the crowds got in her way. It earned her glances both angry and inquisitive, but she did not care either way. The messages in her bag felt as if they were made of hot coal, slowly burning a way through the leather of her bag. She wanted them delivered, to get the confirmation that Duane and Fionn had not died in vain. She wanted to know that the folded, sealed letters contained information so vital that she could forgive her employer. The methods she used made that she arrived quickly to the noble house she was bound for. She tossed the reins to a guard that happened to be standing close and took the steps of the stairs two by two. The steward of the house must have been informed of her arrival just as quickly, because she approached, beaming and bowing. “A messenger from Teyrn Fergus Cousland is always a welcome sight in our household,” she exclaimed heartily. But Jill didn’t listen; only thrust the two letters at her. The woman blinked once and looked at Jill in some confusion, but getting no comment or reaction she opened the letters. The two longest minutes in Jill’s life followed. She was still breathing heavily from the run and the ride, and she guessed there was blood and dirt on both her face and tunic. The woman read slowly, lips pronouncing each word silently. After a little while Jill wanted to shake her, tell her to read faster. The first letter made the steward nod in some satisfaction and the second made her smile. Then she raised her eyes to look at Jill. “Why did you hurry so to deliver this?” she asked, indicating Jill’s appearance and the letter in her hand. With lips suddenly gone white, the redhead did something she had never done in the seven years she had been a messenger. She inquired after the content of the letters. The steward told her.
The world took a tumble.
The horrible grief and anger at once warred inside Jill again, welling forth from where she had banished it earlier. “Two men died to deliver this”, she said coldly, her voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. She didn’t wait for an answer. Shivering with anger, spine stiff, she turned on her heel so quickly that she almost lost her balance, and marched out.
She had no memory of exiting the house. Suddenly the world snapped back into focus and she was mounted and spurring Salma away from the house. She was going south she realised, with no more coherent thought then to escape as far from Highever and Denerim as possible. The rational part of her brain, the part that was all practical farm girl and no part impulsive redhead, told her that the Teyrn had not intended for this. He did not value blackberry jam or banquet invitations higher than the lives of his messengers. It was all chance, fate, tragic coincidences. The rational part of Jill had never ruled her much. The anger continued to burn darkly inside her, finding plenty of fuel in her shame at leaving her fellow riders, her grief that they were dead and her fury towards the teyrn. She spurred Salma on relentless and they flew past buildings and people and were out of the city at the drop of a hat. The countryside rushed by in the same frantic pace, cottages and now and then a surprised cow that stared at them. But it came to a point where, even if she was still angry, Jill realised that she was pushing Salma too hard for no reason. She let the horse slow down, taking it in stages to cool her down. At last the horse was walking sedately and Jill once again started registering her surroundings. Looking around she saw that they had come to a bend in the road. It curled to the right, a copse of trees at one side and a small hill on the other making it impossible to a certain exactly where she was. She was just starting to debate the merits of bringing out a map – didn’t she have one of Denerim’s surroundings? – when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She reacted slowly, thinking it a farmer in his cart or some animal passing by. Not until the first bandit stepped out into the road did she put two and two together. Desolate part of the road south. Good hiding places on both sides of the road. Red headed girl on expensive horse passing by quite alone. Did the Maker, if he existed, have some kind of grudge against her? Had she been fated to die together with Duane and Fionn last night and the powers were trying to put right their mistake?
The man in front of her was torn and dressed in dirty rags. The signs of starvation and the frantic light in his eyes gave away his reasons for what he was apparently about to do. Jill could not really find fault with his reasoning. Horses were expensive and if they did get their hands on Salma, she would afford them a fortune. Clearly he was seizing the opportunity as he saw it ride by. But her slow reactions and thoughtful pause had lost her any advantage she could have had. Just as she was spurring Salma to flee, a long heavy cudgel connected with her shoulder, the impact twisted her shoulder painfully, sending a jarring stab up into her neck and down through her hand. In a second her left arm was numb and unfeeling, and the reins slid out of her hand just as a pair of strong arms suddenly pulled at her. She went down easily, having no strength to resist, and still reeling with confusion. Her mind was yelling at her, sounding suspiciously like Bennick. ‘Get up girl, get up, get up! Fight them!’ But even though her mind knew better, her body was still sluggish and heavy. Salma though, was fighting like a demon, and as Jill finally rose, a knife in her right hand, Salma reared and a crack resounded when her hooves connected with the skull of a bandit.
One woman and a horse against four men with swords and cudgels. Jill’s left hand was hanging uselessly at her side, and armed only with one knife, instead of two, she could not employ any of her usual tactics. Accordingly, the men were more wary of the horse they were trying to steal, than the rider. Two men drawing nearer, Jill tried, and failed, to see how Salma was doing. Horse and rider had been separated by a little distance and both were trying to protect the other. Salma was doing a better job of it though, her hooves and teeth terrible weapons. More terrible than the one knife Jill clutched in one trembling hand. Narrowly she dodged a blow from a rusty sword, by twirling and sidestepping. One man managed to get hold of Salma’s reins, but the strength of an angry and frightened horse was too much for him, and he lost the grip again. Trying for the one of the flashy twirls Bennick had taught her, Jill shifted her single knife in her hand, to a backhand grip, and tried to step swiftly and quickly. She came up back to chest with the bandit with the cudgel, her knife buried in his stomach. For one triumphant moment, she thought she had pulled it off. Until the other man armed with the sword took one single step and tried to do the same to her. Time slowed down. Her knife wouldn’t budge; somehow it was stuck in the stomach of the dead and crumbling man behind her. Tugging furiously at it, it came loose with a sickening spurt of blood that she could smell and certainly feel soaking the back of her tunic. Slowly, too slowly, she raised the knife, but it was an awkward angle and she only managed to block the sword so much. A rod of ice suddenly penetrated her shoulder. She glanced down as the rusty sword as the bandit pulled it out again. Detachedly she noted that there was a lot of blood. She was suddenly hot and cold, ice and fire at the same time. Funny, wasn’t it supposed to be painful to get stabbed? The blood was worrisome though, blood was supposed to be inside the body. Jill pressed her left hand to the wound, trying to stem the red tide. Wasn’t he going to run her through again? Had time slowed down so much it had stopped? Weakly, since her hands were shaking so badly, she tried to lift the knife but it was no good. It slipped from her fingers as her fingers as her vision started to go white at the edges. Her friends had died to deliver an order for more blackberry jam, and an invitation to a banquet. She was going to die hardly an hour out of town. Swaying gently she thought she heard a shout, but blood was rushing in her ears and it was so hard to think.