Road Trip (3/14)

Wrote another story set in my DnD world. Lots of characters in this who have been rattling around my head for years! I feel like the fiction pieces I write tend to feel low on details because they're a little in media res so I don't feel like writing a bunch of words about how characters look because "in fiction" we've already met the characters. Anyways, this was fun and I like writing fantasy more since I've been reading Throne of Glass.

            The kid had to go North, and nobody had any qualms about Daska taking point. Even if people couldn’t make out her Tornesh features from a distance, the jingling bells hanging from her scabbard sent a message. The gentle, pure sound of the bells screamed “butcher,” which should be enough to deter the errant highwayman from accosting the quartet of travelers. Avek hoped that was the case.

He’d been edgy since they’d departed Titan’s Rest. The lonesome stretches of countryside had few divine eyes on them, which always made him nervous. He made sure to give a small offering to Saint Theodorus, Saint of Travelers, at every crossroads to guarantee a safe journey. He could feel the kid’s hungry, jealous gaze on the wine skin as he poured out the customary four drops. It was sour and cheap, but the kid didn’t know any better. At that age a drink was a drink, and Avek had decided he didn’t want the kid to have any.

Not because he was a humanitarian, saving the poor boy’s soul from the red stained lips of drunken perdition. Avek simply loved having things that others didn’t. He made it a point to make eye contact with the kid as he took a sip of the foul wine after each prayer, doing his best to tamp down on the pang of revulsion that threatened to play across his face. The fiery glint in those adolescent eyes was as intoxicating to Avek as any wine.

Eventually the wine dried up. Soon after, and Avek tried not to ascribe superstition to this, the roads did too. The old imperial road’s stones had crumbled to worn footpaths, and even those had been defeated by the joint legions of entropy and undergrowth. The trek North was slow going. Avek’s prayers instead turned to Saint Krios the deeper they delved into the wilds.

The hills were rocky and their sides were steep, making every mile grate on their joints and sinews. Avek didn’t like cross country travel, nor did it much like him. Give him a damp rooftop and a flagon of watery beer and he was happy. If he had to sleep under the stars let those stars shine over a city where the wallets were fat and their owners imperceptive. Sleeping among the mud and muck was not suited to his tastes, and he let his companions know as much.

“If I hear that croak escape your mouth one more time,” growled Fire-of-Transcendence, “I will carve a new hole in your throat so the words spill out before they reach your teeth,”. The elf continued sharpening her daggers in the warm light of the campfire. Each scrape on the whetstone made Avek’s teeth itch. A strawberry blonde braid, tight as a cord of rope, draped lazily across Fire-of-Transcendence’s shoulder. Avek gave his best smile, which was not much.

“The wide world was not designed for people like me. The points on the map are what I find interesting. All else is a waste of parchment,” he threw another sprig of rosemary into the rabbit stew he was monitoring. Another reason he hated travel. He could prepare a fine enough meal, he had to if he wanted his burnt offerings to the saints to be worth a damn. But in a city there were scores of people who were better cooks than he. Out here, he was the only option. He didn’t trust the kid not to poison their meals. He wasn’t even sure Daska could taste. And Fire, well, she made it clear she would catch the food but preparation fell to more skilled hands. He continued to smile at her as he cursed the fact that those hands were his.

The kid brooded in the corner with his book, Daska had showed enough trust to remove the shackles on his hands. The ones on his legs remained, and Avek could see rings of angry pink skin around the ankles. The kid had given his name once to the two women, but had not shared it with Avek. That was fine by him. He didn’t much care to know.

Daska paced, stripped of her armor but still carrying her sword, the tinkling of the bells barely audible over the roar of the fire. She scanned the dark, green eyes focused on the horizon. The moon was nearly full, the cool blue light making the hills around them grow tall and gloomy. It was serene, almost beautiful, in the late spring. Daska, of course, didn’t trust it. She demanded to take first watch every night, and she was always awake by the time Avek roused himself in the morning.

The kid flipped through the same book he’d been reading since they’d departed Titan’s Rest. Some small history about the Imperial Wars, great heroes and dastardly villains clashing on fields of battle. Avek had gifted it to the kid because if he were preoccupied with reading he’d be less likely to run off, which would make Daska less likely to have to catch him, which would make Fire-Of-Transcendence less likely to have to talk her wife down from killing the teenager for his insolence. He was a peace keeper.

Hells, maybe Avek was a humanitarian after all.

Avek took a sip of the stew and grinned. He cursed his lot as camp cook but that didn’t mean he’d give anything less than his best. He ladled the first portion into a misshapen pewter bowl and handed it over to Fire-Of-Transcendence. He knew Daska would never eat before Fire did, and he knew the elven custom was to serve your guests first. The kid he was reluctant to feed at all. The kid needed the food, he was a wiry thing of angles and sharp points, but Fire hadn’t broken Avek’s nose and so Fire got to eat first.

When Daska received her bowl she didn’t sniff it, the efforts of Avek to create a balanced flavor profile entirely ignored. Avek convinced himself that he saw the corners of her eyes crinkle in appreciation at the meal, but he understood it was a fool’s hope. The kid stared at them from the periphery as Avek ladled another bowl of stew. Fire-of-Transcendence nudged Avek with the muddy toe of her boot, casting a glance with her moonlight-silver eyes. Give him something to eat, they said. Avek’s eyes said something less kind in reply.

“Here,” he grunted, shoving the bowl into the kid’s eyeline. The kid didn’t make any moves. “Eat it. It’s food. You watched me cook it. I didn’t poison it,” the kid remained rigid. Avek took a deep slurp from the side of the bowl. How Daska had refrained from showing any delight was beyond him. Saints above he was good at what he did. The kid took the bowl like a stray being offered a bone.

“Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” Avek turned back to the pot and splashed some of the broth on a burning log. He muttered to himself as the liquid hissed and bubbled.

“Why’d you do that?” the kid piped up, leaning to get a closer look at the steaming log.

“An offering to the saints of the culinary arts. To thank them for my skills, and to request the honing of my craft hereafter,”

“What for?”

Avek didn’t turn to face the kid as he served himself a hefty portion. “Because,” he answered, “If I do decide to poison you, I’d rather you not be able to taste it,” he looked over his shoulder, flashing the kid a wide smile of crooked teeth.