Role Playing Fan Fiction ❯ Purifying Hand of Flame ❯ Chapter 1
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Magical Savior 
Miscellaneous: Role Playing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Fantasy / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.18.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 268 | Status: Completed
Miscellaneous: Role Playing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Fantasy / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.18.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 268 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer. This story was created in the setting of White-Wolf's Exalted. Characters created by White-Wolf and not myself will be credited in notes. Reference to White-Wolf canonical storyline and published work will probably not be bothered with; it's part of the setting, which I admit to stealing whole cloth. I, Magical Savior, do not own this series and am not affiliated with White-Wolf in any way. Moving on.
*** Chapter 1
This coast was scenic, but I didn't have time to enjoy the view. I cinched my pack a little tighter to my back, and kept walking.
It was near dark. Twilight time, when everything is either red or gold. The hills in this area were soft and easily worn down, but this rise was kept up by the bladegrass that thrived in the salty, sandy soil of this area.
I paused to look out. The brackish coast was perhaps ten feet below me. Quite beautiful. Bladegrass, each blade the height of a man and made of tough, waxy stuff, clanked and clapped against the breeze. It spread as far as the eye could see along the rise.
Blasted odd plant. Choked out other growing things. It was a weed in this part of the Threshold, and a dangerous one at that. Made travel through it hard and bloody.
The green plants, they were safe enough. As the plants aged and turned brown, they got sharp as swords. After a while, they leaked a dark red fluid from flatly six-sided edges.
Eventually, when a cold snap on a windy day happened, they burst open. Shed fluffy white seeds everywhere... In a rain of splintered, hard shrapnel. Being near bladegrass in winter was asking for bad, bad luck.
Still, when it grew in marshes and other areas, it was harvested while green and the seeds used to make bread. Slats of it were used for building. Durable, useful stuff. If it hadn't leaked that dark red oil, that is.
The ocean was on my left as I was walked. Golden and glittering it may be against the red sky, but I couldn't wait and look at it anymore. Either I had to get somewhere clear to make camp, or I had to make it to a town.
The slapping of wood on wood continued, added to by the buzz of evening insects. I scratched idly at my cheek where one bit me, feeling the thick stubble of three days’ growth.
I'd been hoping to get clear of the blasted pointy-weed since this morning. This path was kept clear enough, but I couldn't pitch a tent in the middle of a road.
Robberies and muggings just happened around here. It was the influence Realm. Or the lack of it. Law just didn't belong.
Twilight moved on to dusk. Dimmer and darker, but there was enough light to see. For now. I looked left and right, trying to find a break in the bladegrass. Then, I found one, leading off to my right. Into where, I wasn't quite sure. But it was far enough from bladegrass to avoid more than a shallow cut; it would have to do.
I hiked up my ruck and went. It was hard to see much of anywhere through the tall grass. This wasn't an open path, like the dirt road I had been following. It wasn't cleared so much as it was just... broken.
The pointy stuff was simply pushed and knocked down. It wasn't winter yet, but some of the plants were already a ruddy brown. Touching one plant carefully as I pushed it aside, my fingers came away sticky. The oil on it was like blood.
My boots slipped on waxy bladegrass, trampled flat underfoot. If I hadn't had thick-soled boots, I'd be in for a lot of pain.
The breeze picked up again, and I felt a buzzing sting on my arm. Cut.
The slash was just above the elbow. Another blade stung my shoulder in a shallow gash. Left arm, at least I wasn't left handed. It would heal, probably gone by morning. Another man might have put fresh bandages on it for days.
I heard a loud, hollow pop farther on. It was followed by a staccato dozen more. Early bloomers, I guessed. As long as it wasn't here. Hopefully, the cut near my shoulder hadn't gotten the strap of my ruck. I'd had to mend that blasted strap too many times.
Getting dark now. The sun wasn't below the horizon, but it was below the bladegrass that I was neck-deep in. Starting to regret this. The path meandered to nowhere as I walked on. Almost night.
I could smell something faint. Like char, as a doused campfire. But I heard nothing against the sound of the bladegrass and bugs. Nothing to do, nowhere to be.
This plan I had was foolishness, anyway. Ten minutes more walking and scratching and occasionally cursing.
Suddenly, the area cleared out. A large circle was empty of standing bladegrass. It had been knocked flat in a way that clearly traced back to the center. Couldn't make out any details in this red-black glow, sunset was too past. But I thought I could see a hollow shine on the ground.
Wondering if there was anyone nearby to see, I raised a finger to my forehead and focused. Light dimly showed on the area, and my eyes adjusted a bit slowly. There was something on the ground... The size of a person. Barely, I could hear a soft, soft sound. Breathing.
I moved quickly, stepping beside what looked like a person wrapped in a cloak or blanket. Leaning low, crouching down, keeping my knees off pointy wooden ground. Slowly, I pulled back the cloth from where I saw a head-shaped bulge.
I sucked in my breath. That was a face, but barely so. This person had been beaten horribly. The smell of doused campfire, it must have been from bursting of bladegrass.
The cuts on that face. This... was... bad.
Quickly, gently, I tried to pull the cloak or cloth away from the body. It separated with a sickening, sticky feel. It was stuck in some places. Must be reopening injuries. I had to be careful.
The person, their breathing came in a quick gasp. They were still alive.
The shine on the ground was blood, clotting. The cloak was nearly shredded. Hair was matted and soaked together. In what was left of the sun and blood and my own pale light, everything looked red.
Cuts were everywhere. Quickly, I tried to figure out what may have happened. What I might have to do. There had been a chase, perhaps.
My ruck dropped from my shoulders with a thump, almost unnoticed by me.
My arms worked on their own, feeling where injuries might be, my eyes and hands taking in as much as I could. Some of the blood was clotting, but it was recent. Deeper gashes still bled freely. This may be beyond me.
Had to have been a chase. No one runs through this stuff like a field of clover. This person had ran into the brush. Seemed slight, small; the weather had been nearly still earlier. No breeze, even by the ocean. A person could push through bladegrass like that.
I started tearing into strips any cloth I could get my hands on and securing it to where I could see blood still flow. There had been a group of people chasing him; that much was sure. It was recent. They had pushed through the bladegrass with shields or something in front of them, following the sound of this person.
That explained the path. There could have been many. They could still be around.
I jumped to my feet again quickly; the sword of bronze at my back came reflexively to my hand. The dagger at my waist was there, in my other hand. I looked around; paths were knocked in the bladegrass. They had fled something.
It was disorderly; I could see it in the periphery of the circle. The clearing was perhaps ten yards across, but in my failing light I could only barely see to the edges.
I couldn't draw too much attention to myself with the light from my forehead. It was a death-sentence in this land. It was a mark. I was hunted, like this person had been. Still, I renewed the force that kept it lit. I had to see what I was doing.
My sword was sheathed as I resumed working. The dagger stayed out and near to hand; just a tool. I found one piece of shrapnel wood in a wound, then another. It wasn't much, though... Could have been much worse. When people get caught in bladegrass, it's bad. People survive when they're armored in steel. Rarely in less.
This was where it all ended. But it wasn't too bad, it was treatable. The dagger in my hand cut the cloth to ribbons. I tried to save any useable strips.
I cut down the shredded, ruined cloth to see what other injuries there were. The upper arms, what I could see of the upper body, I had done what I could.
The arms were the worst. This person had ran through the bladegrass with their arms up, just pushing through. Everything was crazily gashed and ripped. I wrapped everything as best I could, as tightly as i could. As quickly as i could.
I took the pulse at the artery just below the thumb. Faltering, but there. My own heart was racing as I tried to work; it took extra effort to tell the pulse under my fingers from my own.
Legs, wrists, cheeks, and ribs were all likely to be broken. Fights end on the ground. It was guaranteed; this person got caught before the bladegrass burst and chased off the attackers. It may have been seven, eight people.
It must have been people. No animals were this cruel. It had been something absolutely horrible. I removed a third, long splinter of wood.
This one was from the thigh. As tied a bandage knotted above the wound, I heard not just labored breathing. I heard a sharp, voiced cry.
*** Chapter 1
This coast was scenic, but I didn't have time to enjoy the view. I cinched my pack a little tighter to my back, and kept walking.
It was near dark. Twilight time, when everything is either red or gold. The hills in this area were soft and easily worn down, but this rise was kept up by the bladegrass that thrived in the salty, sandy soil of this area.
I paused to look out. The brackish coast was perhaps ten feet below me. Quite beautiful. Bladegrass, each blade the height of a man and made of tough, waxy stuff, clanked and clapped against the breeze. It spread as far as the eye could see along the rise.
Blasted odd plant. Choked out other growing things. It was a weed in this part of the Threshold, and a dangerous one at that. Made travel through it hard and bloody.
The green plants, they were safe enough. As the plants aged and turned brown, they got sharp as swords. After a while, they leaked a dark red fluid from flatly six-sided edges.
Eventually, when a cold snap on a windy day happened, they burst open. Shed fluffy white seeds everywhere... In a rain of splintered, hard shrapnel. Being near bladegrass in winter was asking for bad, bad luck.
Still, when it grew in marshes and other areas, it was harvested while green and the seeds used to make bread. Slats of it were used for building. Durable, useful stuff. If it hadn't leaked that dark red oil, that is.
The ocean was on my left as I was walked. Golden and glittering it may be against the red sky, but I couldn't wait and look at it anymore. Either I had to get somewhere clear to make camp, or I had to make it to a town.
The slapping of wood on wood continued, added to by the buzz of evening insects. I scratched idly at my cheek where one bit me, feeling the thick stubble of three days’ growth.
I'd been hoping to get clear of the blasted pointy-weed since this morning. This path was kept clear enough, but I couldn't pitch a tent in the middle of a road.
Robberies and muggings just happened around here. It was the influence Realm. Or the lack of it. Law just didn't belong.
Twilight moved on to dusk. Dimmer and darker, but there was enough light to see. For now. I looked left and right, trying to find a break in the bladegrass. Then, I found one, leading off to my right. Into where, I wasn't quite sure. But it was far enough from bladegrass to avoid more than a shallow cut; it would have to do.
I hiked up my ruck and went. It was hard to see much of anywhere through the tall grass. This wasn't an open path, like the dirt road I had been following. It wasn't cleared so much as it was just... broken.
The pointy stuff was simply pushed and knocked down. It wasn't winter yet, but some of the plants were already a ruddy brown. Touching one plant carefully as I pushed it aside, my fingers came away sticky. The oil on it was like blood.
My boots slipped on waxy bladegrass, trampled flat underfoot. If I hadn't had thick-soled boots, I'd be in for a lot of pain.
The breeze picked up again, and I felt a buzzing sting on my arm. Cut.
The slash was just above the elbow. Another blade stung my shoulder in a shallow gash. Left arm, at least I wasn't left handed. It would heal, probably gone by morning. Another man might have put fresh bandages on it for days.
I heard a loud, hollow pop farther on. It was followed by a staccato dozen more. Early bloomers, I guessed. As long as it wasn't here. Hopefully, the cut near my shoulder hadn't gotten the strap of my ruck. I'd had to mend that blasted strap too many times.
Getting dark now. The sun wasn't below the horizon, but it was below the bladegrass that I was neck-deep in. Starting to regret this. The path meandered to nowhere as I walked on. Almost night.
I could smell something faint. Like char, as a doused campfire. But I heard nothing against the sound of the bladegrass and bugs. Nothing to do, nowhere to be.
This plan I had was foolishness, anyway. Ten minutes more walking and scratching and occasionally cursing.
Suddenly, the area cleared out. A large circle was empty of standing bladegrass. It had been knocked flat in a way that clearly traced back to the center. Couldn't make out any details in this red-black glow, sunset was too past. But I thought I could see a hollow shine on the ground.
Wondering if there was anyone nearby to see, I raised a finger to my forehead and focused. Light dimly showed on the area, and my eyes adjusted a bit slowly. There was something on the ground... The size of a person. Barely, I could hear a soft, soft sound. Breathing.
I moved quickly, stepping beside what looked like a person wrapped in a cloak or blanket. Leaning low, crouching down, keeping my knees off pointy wooden ground. Slowly, I pulled back the cloth from where I saw a head-shaped bulge.
I sucked in my breath. That was a face, but barely so. This person had been beaten horribly. The smell of doused campfire, it must have been from bursting of bladegrass.
The cuts on that face. This... was... bad.
Quickly, gently, I tried to pull the cloak or cloth away from the body. It separated with a sickening, sticky feel. It was stuck in some places. Must be reopening injuries. I had to be careful.
The person, their breathing came in a quick gasp. They were still alive.
The shine on the ground was blood, clotting. The cloak was nearly shredded. Hair was matted and soaked together. In what was left of the sun and blood and my own pale light, everything looked red.
Cuts were everywhere. Quickly, I tried to figure out what may have happened. What I might have to do. There had been a chase, perhaps.
My ruck dropped from my shoulders with a thump, almost unnoticed by me.
My arms worked on their own, feeling where injuries might be, my eyes and hands taking in as much as I could. Some of the blood was clotting, but it was recent. Deeper gashes still bled freely. This may be beyond me.
Had to have been a chase. No one runs through this stuff like a field of clover. This person had ran into the brush. Seemed slight, small; the weather had been nearly still earlier. No breeze, even by the ocean. A person could push through bladegrass like that.
I started tearing into strips any cloth I could get my hands on and securing it to where I could see blood still flow. There had been a group of people chasing him; that much was sure. It was recent. They had pushed through the bladegrass with shields or something in front of them, following the sound of this person.
That explained the path. There could have been many. They could still be around.
I jumped to my feet again quickly; the sword of bronze at my back came reflexively to my hand. The dagger at my waist was there, in my other hand. I looked around; paths were knocked in the bladegrass. They had fled something.
It was disorderly; I could see it in the periphery of the circle. The clearing was perhaps ten yards across, but in my failing light I could only barely see to the edges.
I couldn't draw too much attention to myself with the light from my forehead. It was a death-sentence in this land. It was a mark. I was hunted, like this person had been. Still, I renewed the force that kept it lit. I had to see what I was doing.
My sword was sheathed as I resumed working. The dagger stayed out and near to hand; just a tool. I found one piece of shrapnel wood in a wound, then another. It wasn't much, though... Could have been much worse. When people get caught in bladegrass, it's bad. People survive when they're armored in steel. Rarely in less.
This was where it all ended. But it wasn't too bad, it was treatable. The dagger in my hand cut the cloth to ribbons. I tried to save any useable strips.
I cut down the shredded, ruined cloth to see what other injuries there were. The upper arms, what I could see of the upper body, I had done what I could.
The arms were the worst. This person had ran through the bladegrass with their arms up, just pushing through. Everything was crazily gashed and ripped. I wrapped everything as best I could, as tightly as i could. As quickly as i could.
I took the pulse at the artery just below the thumb. Faltering, but there. My own heart was racing as I tried to work; it took extra effort to tell the pulse under my fingers from my own.
Legs, wrists, cheeks, and ribs were all likely to be broken. Fights end on the ground. It was guaranteed; this person got caught before the bladegrass burst and chased off the attackers. It may have been seven, eight people.
It must have been people. No animals were this cruel. It had been something absolutely horrible. I removed a third, long splinter of wood.
This one was from the thigh. As tied a bandage knotted above the wound, I heard not just labored breathing. I heard a sharp, voiced cry.