Beauty and the Beast

[Daughters of Peralia]

The two small figures stood over the dead farmer just outside a nameless tavern that served the nameless village. The place was not even a smudge on the merchant travelers’ maps, just an inn for a night’s rest and ale. The halflings seemed out of their element here. The various current interests in the tavern surely would have thought the two were an odd pairing in any case. One was as the bright morning just touched by dews as the sun rose gently in the cloudless sky. Her companion was decidedly not. Scars marred the already unattractive features of her tiny countenance. Their character was reflected in their appearances with warmth and brilliance in one and coldness and harshness in the other.

It was a mystery what bound the two together. The other patrons of the establishment had been left wondering what kept the two from killing each other as their spirited exchange had become more heated. Only the intervention of a drunken sot seemed to prevent an actual exchange of blows. The farmer, not long from the fields from his smell, chose to have a bit of fun. His swerving gait and flammable breath caused the patrons to turn toward the evening’s upcoming entertainment as he approached the feuding pair. There was only a brief exchange of words before things got decidedly ugly.

The drunken lout grabbed a hold of the pretty one’s hair with some thoughtful remarks on a possible coupling. Then he pushed it one step too far. The poor little one was outweighed enough to be at the mercy of his motions and the rugged pig herder knew it. Everything stopped when he started slamming her head under the rope tying up his pants. Laughter that competed with the violent yelling of the ugly halfling was silenced. Drinks were set down where there was room and dripping mouths were wiped as a dagger appeared.

The patrons wanted to look away and couldn’t as one word broke the silence, “NO!” It was too late. The short blade disappeared and the tiny hilt stuck out of the farmer’s crotch as he made motion to draw his victim’s head back once more. His tiny attacker crashed against him, her feet planted into his chest, bearing the drunk to the floor as her abused partner fell away from his loosened grip. She never saw the patrons. She never saw the barmaids that giggled behind their hands. She never saw her friend, her sister, her responsibility get up and dust away the dirt from her leathers.

Sgiana knelt on the farmer and raged. “You will NEVER do that again! You rotten, filthy pig farming, grub chewing son of a wet swamp dwelling whore! My sister deserves RESPECT and you will bow on your KNEES and give her that once I have chosen whether or not you live!”

Two deadly blades sprang into the fiery warrior’s hands and only Shamshir could stay the farmer’s execution. “Sgiana, no, please. He isn’t worth killing. He isn’t worth anything. Sgiana for the love of peace, no.”

“As you wish, sister, as you wish.” With practiced movement and strength Sgiana yanked the drunk to his feet, ignoring the hilt of her dagger still in its new home. “I said on your KNEES bastard!” Both her fists slammed into either side of the tiny protruding hilt, forcing the air out of him as he fell to a kneeling position. “BEG her forgiveness. BEG as if you life depends on it because it does.” Once more the twin blades appeared as Shamshir moved to face the drunk that knelt before the pair.

Shamshir frowned almost sadly at him. The poor beggar deserved what he got perhaps but Sgiana was not known for her ability to restrain herself. The farmer apologized profusely for the sins of the eve and sins long since forgotten. He seemed to want to make peace with all his demons after encountering what he was sure was one borne up from the bowels of hell.

He had gotten his reprieve for a time. The fool had left the tavern alone not long after Sgiana had retrieved her dagger. They had followed intending to move on into the night but the farmer had other plans. His flask had buoyed him and his wounded pride had pushed him to wait patiently. Drinking quietly, wondering to himself if his equipment had been damaged, praising the gods his codpiece had been so thick and her blade had been so short, he waited. Sgiana and Shamshir had left the tavern with salted meats and flasks of ale for their journey. They knew he was there before he knew he was dead. The perforated lungs sighed gently as his body dropped to the dirt. His blood pumped freely from the hole in his chest. He never even had time to think about his chances.

“Damn it!” Sgiana wiped her blades on a scrap of the dead farmer’s shirt. “I was really hoping for a quiet night tonight for once. Now we, meaning I of course, have to drag this stupid bastard into the swamp.”

Shamshir cleaned her blade musing, “Well, at least we still have the flints for a fire. The night is clear and the road should be at this hour. We sleep in Cear tomorrow night.”

[Grayle]

Drinking quietly, wondering to himself if his equipment had been damaged, praising the gods his codpiece had been so thick and her blade had been so short, he waited.[/i]

Great line.

Great read. Very mature, well written and suited to a dark, violent age, complete with gender issues. I love the usage of 'Shamshir' and her introspection.

It might be a little too risky. I'll leave it at that.

[Ludovic]

I, unlike Grayle, seemed to have missed some message in this story, however, it was a very interesting read. Clearly a setup for a much longer tale that has yet to play it's course.


This is a great quote:

"They knew he was there before he knew he was dead.”

[Grayle]

Ready for more.

[Redleafe]

I found myself reading very intently and enjoyed the piece very much, I'm also waiting for the next installment.

[Daughters of Peralia]

The story continues - Night Terrors

Shamshir stood barefooted and clothed only in her chemise in the cold darkness. The chill of the dead of night did not trouble her in the least. She was warmed by the anticipation on a longing to be finally fulfilled. She had stood practically motionless watching her companion sleep for what seemed like eternity waiting for the right moment. Shamshir knew Sgiana would not come to her embrace willingly but perhaps she would be more easily taken if she thought she was dreaming. This was Shamshir’s hope because if the sleeping mercenary knew her companion’s intentions, Sgiana would readily break her.

Shamshir sprang catlike onto the bed where Sgiana lie flat on her back. Shamshir knew all too well the mercenary kept her blades beneath her pillow just beneath her head in ready reach in case of night visitations. When one killed for a living, one lived only so long as they remembered their victims had friends and family left behind. Sgiana’s paranoia only helped her survive in her line of work. Shamshir did not fear the blades because she had watched her closely for months since their pairing and knew all too well
Sgiana could not bear them against her. Shamshir had become her only friend and more in her long life of solitude. Shamshir would share peace with her at last before the sun rose again.

The practiced form glided across Sgiana without disturbing her slumber. Her delicate fingers lacing around the halfling’s heaving neck as almost brutal wind rushed out of her body. The killer could find no peace even in her dreams, even now she murmured and ground her teeth in a jaw locked in concentration. Her hands clenched into practiced fists leaving space enough for the hilts of her short swords. Shamshir’s own fingers, now gripping lightly just restricting the flow of air in and out of her companion, loosened ever so much. She found she was curious and wanted to know whom the mercenary faced in her slumber. Quietly with the voice of a slight breeze, the night invader brought her mouth near Sgiana’s ear, “What troubles you so, my dear Sgiana? Allow me to know that I may dispatch them for you. You would do the same for me I am sure. Give me the name and they will trouble you no more.”

A shudder ran through Sgiana and her hands relaxed exposing the bleeding reopened marks left by her clenched fingernails where they bit her flesh. She replied in a soft voice most unlike that of the mercenary that Shamshir knew. It was no more than a child’s whimper when a mother has found them weeping in fear of the night. “There is no blade that can pierce him. No way can this one be kept from me. Your skills cannot protect me nor can they keep him from me. He is Death and we all fall to him. He will have me when he is ready and this I cannot change.”

Shamshir smiled and shuddered in the same breath. She tightened her grip at her companion’s throat bringing all her focus and strength to bear. Her answer came brightly as she brought her weight into position to restrain the dreamer. “You should worry no more. I am his instrument. Peace you long for and peace you shall have.”

The blow was quick and precise. Sgiana brought her arms across as one driving Shamshir to the floor. Her breathing did not even quicken and her eyes never fluttered as she resumed her slumber. Shamshir was stunned for a moment. She had never demonstrated such strength before. The assassin had desperately wanted to take Sgiana’s last breath but that no longer seemed an option. She took a moment to fancy that perhaps Death enjoyed Sgiana’s nightly suffering and did not want her soul just yet. The hilt sticking from under the pillow on the side nearest her gave her the answer she was seeking. Sgiana had killed so many in cold blood, her debt was to be paid with her own warm blood. The grace with which Shamshir removed the blade would have made a dancer envious as she prepared once more to finish the fiend. Shamshir sprung into the air ready to bury the sword into the demoness’s heart when the world stopped.

“What in the nine lowest levels of hell are you screaming about?!?!” Here knelt her victim fully awake and shaking Shamshir violently. Somehow Sgiana had donned her armour and thrown Shamshir to the floor. Feathers and cloth were strewn all about the halfling females and Shamshir willed her vision to clear. Sgiana continued shaking her and yelling in her face. “You are crying out in terror or ecstasy in some language I do not know so here I am thinking I have to come save you from choosing a bed warmer poorly. I come in here to find you stabbing the stuffing out of the innocent mattress that I was just able to save. There was no hope left for the pillows, may the Gods of Light take mercy on them. Have you gone completely insane? What were you dreaming about?”

The sweetest smile traced its way across the mischievous halfling’s face as she answered endearingly, “Oh nothing, Sgiana, nothing at all. Why don’t you just… go to sleep.”