This story came about in a roleplaying session with a complete stranger who I met on NeoPets. I recently came in contact with her and she’s doing really well, which is what got me thinking about this story. It’s a little longs so I guess I’ll do it chapter by chapter.
Chapter I
A soft sigh escaped a young woman’s lips as she leaned against the bar, her hand reaching underneath it for the knife she kept hidden for customers like this one. Men who saw her young, shapely figure and thought they could get away with flirting.
“You’re a might’ pritt’ girl-y ta be workin’ ‘ere,” He said.
“What would you like, sir?” She asked in her nicest voice. In hindsight she realised she should have just kicked him out then.
“I wou’ li’e a nice nigh’ wit’ you, li’l-”
“How about no?” She suggested. Her speech was crisp and clean, her words carefully pronounced, the vowels wide and open. Her accent was strange, but a closer look at her explained that. It was clear English was a second language for the young woman behind the bar in her uncle’s tavern.
Her skin was the colour of coffee with cream, a light brown shade that stuck out among the pale villagers. The woman’s hair was snow white, and fell just to her waist. Her eyes were amber, a red-brown-gold mix that was the result of her mixed heritage. What was she? The pointed ears gave a clue. A drow, a dark elf. And human, too. Half human. Only half. Not enough, no, not nearly enough for the villagers. And dark-elf! That horrible race had ransacked this village fifty years ago! And she was female. A miserable young girl who worked in her uncle’s tavern, serving drinks and earning miserable, meagre wages.
She wore a brown skirt, a white shirt, and a blood red corset. Her old brown jacket hung neatly on a hook along side her customers’. The white hair hung loose, but one strand near her face had been braided. Heavy leather boots clad her small feet, just like everyone else. It was a slow day, and once the man realised he was getting nothing, he left. Now the tavern was nearly empty, save for a rowdy group of regulars and a man near the fire. She sighed and yawned, sitting on the stool she kept behind the bar for occasions like this. The young woman took out a small book, and began to read. Or try to read, anyway. She had to sound out most of the words, almost all of them in fact. It was in some language, something about magic, a spell book of some sort, but she was missing the point as she couldn’t read it fluently enough.
He sat near the fire, warming his bones from the chill that crept into the tavern through the wooden boards. His dark green cloak covered the leather vest over his brown tunic. Heavy wool pants wrapped around his legs and his feet were laced in leather traveling boots. He pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal curly brown hair and a friendly face. But the most unusual thing about him was his eyes…they were a bright golden color…almost wolf-like. His eyes surveyed the scene at the bar with the irritable vagrant and the young barmaid. A dark elf if he wasn’t mistaken.
What was she doing here? The scene ended and he saw her pull out a book. A fellow intellectual, maybe? His eyes were so sharp he could actually see the leather cover. The runes on the cover were interesting so he decided to investigate. He grabbed his mug of ale and walked up to the bar.
“A refill of Myrish wine, if you please?” he asked, placing a silver coin on the counter.
She looked up from the book at the stranger standing before her, getting to her feet as she closed it, tucking it away beneath the counter. At her full height she was 5′4″, not much shorter then the average human, but short for a drow. She weighed far too little, like many people in town, as she got little to eat. Taxes took most of what everyone had, so that they had little to feed their families with. Also like most people, she was dirty, her dark cheeks stained darker with dried mud and earth that never went away. The young woman took the coin and put it in the small wooden box with the rest of the money they’d earned that day. It did not chink against other metal, but simply fell flat against the bottom. A slow day indeed.
“Of course sir,” She said, carefully pronouncing her words, trying hard to make them clear. This was not her native tongue, which was far too obvious. She turned, getting a bottle and a glass. The bartender set the glass on the counter, opened the bottle, and poured the wine.
“There you go, sir,” She said, passing the cup toward him and putting the bottle away. “Mirish wine.”
He sat at the bar and took a sip of his wine, something most people couldn’t handle without a glass of water by their side to wash out the stinging taste. But he found it enjoyable to his enhanced senses. He fiddled with a gold ring, the shape of a wolf’s head.
“That is a very interesting accent by the way. Might I ask for a name? Or do you make it a point not to talk to odd men who order outlandish drinks?” He smiled, a disarming smile most people have told him. He took another sip, longer this time, as he awaited an answer.
“Mikalya Tonalità Scura-Majere,” She said, the words flowing easily off her tongue. “Most people here call me Mika.” The young woman sat on the chair again, watching him. “What about your? Do you have a names?” She was oblivious to her mistakes with the language – it was new to her, and her teacher in the language had only given her the basics, enough to survive on.
He smiled at her mistakes, but in good humor.
“Connor Wolfswood at your service,” he tipped his head.
“That is a lovely language. What region are you from?” he took another sip of wine. His eye wandered to the door, a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. He now noticed that the tavern was completely empty, as if everyone had left at once, under a mysterious control. He knew what was coming, but he kept the foreign barmaid calm, still speaking with her. She was important to this quest without even knowing it, and he needed her with her wits about her when the time came.
“I’m from Leterre de Nerrezza,” She said softly, naming the country far to the south, in the Wüste desert, a common place for outlaws and thieves. The dark elves built their cities beneath the hot sands, and emerged at night, preying on unwary travelers. It was a very different land from the one she now lived in, a country which, ironically, was named with the drow word for foe – Nemico. “The northern side of the desert, in Città Delleregine.” That name. Città Delleregine was, by far, the largest drow city, in a deep natural cavern that, rumor had it, could not be found except by those who already knew where it was. That was ridiculous, however. The entrance – and there was only one entrance – was simply very hard to find unless one knew where they were looking. It was easy to get lost in the great sea of sand that was the Wüste desert. Suddenly she stopped, looking up at Connor. “What is wrong? Something… something bad is coming…?”
In what seemed like one movement Connor drained his glass of the Myrish wine and drew his sword turning towards the oaken doors.
“Yes…something very bad is coming…” he said with a pained look on his face. He had to protect her, for the realm’s sake.
“Impressive Connor…”The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It touched everything, its aura penetrating the very foundations.
“Last time my dagger was between your ribs before you sensed me”
Shadows crept under the doors and the candles flickered.
A figure appeared…not an impressive sight really. He was old and seemed sort of decrepit. But behind his smile…there was grief, pain, vengeance, murder, sorrow of every kind, disgust, sin, destruction…
“Genosha. Found me again, have you?” Connor gripped his sword tighter.
“As if it was supposed to be hard…please Connor put that away, you know it won’t kill me.”
“No but it sliced you to ribbons pretty well last time.” Connor shot back.
A flash of anger crossed his face. Then he noticed the girl.
“So…you’re her, huh? You’re the one He wants?” Genosha scoffed.
“Mika? Mika!” Connor called to her…
Mika stared at the man that had entered, unable to take her dark eyes off him. Genosha, Connor had called him. Who was he? What did he want with her? She was just a girl, a stranger in a strange land, a foreigner struggling to survive. Someone was saying her name, and her gaze flickered to the man by the bar. “What is going on?” She asked him shakily, glancing from him to the new arrival then back. “I am nobody important… just a simple barmaid.” She backed away, shaking a little with fear. “What do you want from me?”
Genosha’s scowl deepened.
“You haven’t told her?” He seemed almost angry at this revelation.
“I was just getting to that when you decided to grace us with your presence.” Connor’s sword came up to threaten that it would be a short-lived presence.
“Mika, I need you to listen to me. When I say so, we’re going to run out of here, okay?”
“Connor, do not give her false hope. You will not escape me again and this girl, this savior will die” Genosha said this matter-of-factly, as if it was already written somewhere.
“Mika…go now! To the window!” Connor growled.
As he said this he began to change, his clothes stretching to fit his new form. Fur began to cover his body, his hands grew into claws, his mouth and nose grew to a wolf-like snout, and his straight white teeth became wolf-fangs. He lifted a table and threw it through the window to break the panes and glass.
“Run!” he yelled in a gruffer voice, like gravel scraping a road.
At that moment Genosha lifted his arm and sent a flume of fire towards Connor.
His sword rose to meet it and mysteriously absorbed the impact. He muttered a few guttural sounds and a flash of green covered the room…
“Let’s go!” He ordered towards Mika’s general direction…
The savior. Her heart beat faster in her chest. She wasn’t any sort of hero. There had to be some mistake. Mika watched the exchange, watched Connor change. As he shouted at her to run she grabbed the book from under the bar, snatched up the small bag of her tips, and ran. She leapt gracefully through the window, thankful for her drow blood. While the dark elves were very different from elves and not actually a breed of elf at all, they had a similar grace and speed.
As Mika leapt through the window, Connor lifted another table and tossed this one towards Genosha.
A simple wave of Genosha’s arm smashed the table into splinters while it was in mid-air…but it wasn’t meant to harm him, only distract him. He flashed another flume of fire towards Connor’s leg as he made his way out the window. The smell of burnt hair and flesh followed Connor as he limped after Mika.
“You won’t escape Connor! I shall find you again…enjoy your freedom, for now” With this last statement the tavern collapsed in on itself in a green flash and earthquake.
Connor morphed back into his human form and collapsed by a tree.
