I’m awoken by shouts and a pounding
on the door. Blearily my eyes open, struggling to take in the details of the
dingy room through the sunlight streaming in through the cracks in the walls.
My head pounds from all the drinks of last night taking their toll now. My mind
struggles to piece together what happened, passing over the two naked bodies in
bed with me, the sheets half covering their forms. None of it immediately makes
sense, the shouts and pounding getting more insistent and making my head throb
even harder. The sound of the door frame cracking helps jolt everything into
place
“Not again,” I mumble. Instincts
take over and I bolt out of bed, haphazardly throwing my pants on and gathering
the rest of my clothes in my arms. My rapier bashes against my shin, drawing a
curse from my lips. Frantically I scan the room, and praise every god I can
think of that the me from last night had the foresight to choose a room with a
window. It’s a matter of seconds to unlock the shutters, and with a quick grab
of my lute I was free!
The resounding crash as I rebounded
off the stuck shutters fully roused the sleeping women. Their shrieks of alarm
mixed with my very fluent cursing led to the efforts outside the door being
redoubled. I could now see several red faced men through the thoroughly broken
door, a single bolt holding valiantly against the onslaught. Scampering
undignified across the floor to gather my scattered belongings, I decided
discretion was fully out the window so to speak.
A sharp whistle blasted the window
from its frame. Glass shards and scrap wood rained into the dingy alley. The
women screamed at the sudden violence, the men at the door screamed at the
women’s screams, and I took that as my cue to leave. Credit to whoever crafted
that lock for lasting this long but it was on its last legs and I would rather
be elsewhere when it finally gave. A wink over my shoulder and the bed and aa
quick laugh and I was out.
My legs gave out against the
unforgiving cobbles. Thankfully it seemed like I’d avoided major injury and
welcomed the minor pain shooting through my knees. I t galvanized my thoughts
and made my escape that much quicker. Heads popped out of the shattered window
and shouted instructions to unseen others. I took a moment making myself
presentable before limping out of the alley. Hood up, I blended into the early
morning traffic around the market.
My eyes were on a swivel while I
kept my pace reasonable trying not to draw attention to myself. Everywhere I
could see enraged farmers roughly stopping anyone who looked even remotely
guilty. Guards were being alerted by the outraged noises, creating an even
bigger distraction I could use to escape. I took my time, moving nonchalantly
towards the gate. I even stopped at a few merchants to replenish some supplies
I was running low on.
“Slow is smooth, smooth is fast,” I
muttered under my breath. If you don’t look guilty you’re less likely to be
treated as guilty. Doesn’t work in every situation, but in this case it would
work admirably.
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The next obstacle came at the gate
itself. Seems like they posted some men to head me off. Thankfully the presence
of the guards kept them from more direct search, but they still watched
everyone like a hawk. A little distraction was in order and thankfully I had
just the thing in mind. Carts bringing produce to market were lined up waiting
inspection to get in. While I would regret causing others trouble I needed to
get out soon.
Lips pursed I whistled up a jaunty
tune. The oxen pulling the carts became restless. Drivers immediately went to
calm then down, guards rushing to see what the commotion was, and the watchers drawn
to the commotion. Carts crashed into one another, produce spilled on the
ground, and shouts of pain and frustration erupted from the mess. I used the better
then expected distraction to slip put the gates. Soon the town was a shrinking
mass behind me and I mentally marked another place on the map I’d have to avoid
for a while. Pickings were getting slim on this stretch of road and I’d have to
move to another trade route.
For most, the forest is a
frightening place full of fae and demons. There were even reports of some
hapless person being dragged away near the Theocracy. Bards like me, on the
other hand, feared little. The stories wouldn’t allow it until they finally did.
We had ways of telling when that happened though and today was not my time. I
found a small copse to make camp for the
night. An outcropping of rock made the perfect place to keep any wind and
weather off me and there was plenty of dead wood around to keep my fire burning
all night.
Going through the motions of
setting up camp allowed the adrenaline to drain from me. Soon my hands were
shaking, and breathing was becoming difficult. The damn magic got me in trouble
AGAIN. A panic attack was settling in. I could still feel them on me. I
needed to find a stream. A lake. A puddle. ANYTHING. Panic was fully on me, my
hands fumbling the ties of my oilcloth. The trees seemed to narrow and my chest
hurts; the pain in my knees was a distant concern. Breath was short. I couldn’t
stop shaking. Again. It happened again. Why did this keep happening? Why was I
like this? Why? WHY?!?
A sharp slap resounded in the
clearing. My cheek hurt now, my hand seeming to drop of its own accord. The
pain centered me. It always did. I drew my work knife and lifted my shirt. A
clean row of fresh scars marked my torso, and soon a new weeping wound joined
them. Pain. Blissful pain. Everything came back to focus. Deep breaths. Soon I
got back to the task at hand. Oil cloth went up , bedroll went down. A small
pile of wood next to a hastily built fire pit. Normalcy.
Night came eventually. The fire
popped merrily, and I cleaned myself the best I could with a canteen and a rag.
Stew bubbled away filling the clearing with domestic smells. After food I
banked the fire and rolled into bed. Night sounds started to lull me to sleep.
Stars twinkled overhead. Everything was normal. Everything was alright. I
curled into a tiny ball and cried myself to sleep.
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