Ash 57th
Morning was a span of time where all sorts of things could happen. This particular morning, there was a haze over Nivenhain, a fog unlike the warmer air of Ash. Under its cover, shadows skulked the streets in a congealing mass of thundering boots, heralded by an army of shambling, soulless creatures chained like hounds to their masters. Their wretched squealing awoke many a man or elf to their presence. Windows shuttered; vagrants turned away into the alleys. These were a people they knew would gut them--most in Lower Nivenhain wanted nothing to do with the military arm of Lorien.
That morning, Alphonse was naked as a babe, sprawled over a bed far too small for a creature her size. Holes riddled the spot above her head from where her horns had gored up the wall in her fitful slumber. Claws flexed, threatening wakefulness, but she seemed at peace. Like always, she preferred the night breeze, and left her window wide open; two pairs of talons clattered against the windowsill, ebon beak pushing through as an avian head twisted around. Its wings fluttered as it hopped inside, hopping up to a makeshift desk in total disarray.
"Rrr'Alphonse," squawked the bird, keeping its distance.
There was no response.
"Rrr'Alphonse!" squawked the bird, even louder with a flap of its wings. "Wake up!"
The great Rathor stirred at last, eyes flitting open with pupils dilating to a blurry picture of the ceiling. "Mnnuuugh. Vesta, this had better be good," groaned the woman. She folded over, hesitating as her bones creaked; she'd been working hard to cleanse those bloodsuckers. Everything was sore.
"They'rrre coming. For you! The Knights Argent. I'm quite sure. Two minutes, two minutes to pack your things Alphonse!" said Vesta sternly. "I told you so; I told you to keep your cover, but now they are rooting out all Rathor in the city looking for the 'arsonist heretic'."
Alphonse took a second to process it all, sitting up as her head spun. "Well, shit," was all she could say. "Sword, money, clothes, armor," she recited, as if she'd practiced for this. Her claws stretched out, picking up the heap of maille she'd left on the floor, stuffing it into her backpack. Then she popped the floorboard with her dew claw, yanking out the purse with her toe to feed it to her hands. Stuffing that in, she rose and swung the backpack over to her wardrobe, carelessly stuffing as many things as she could fit, sparing the few things she intended to wear.
"Hurry," Vesta hissed.
"If I lose my cool, it'll only take longer," spat Alphonse as she stepped into some britches and shimmied them up her leg with a grunt. Then came the tunic, and finally a cloak snatched off the hook on the wall. She whipped it around, tying it about her neck. Hefting the heavy pack, she grabbed her sword halfway down the scabbard.
"Do you have any documents or receipts?" crowed the woman in concern.
"No, I don't deal with those distractions," Alphonse replied in Vithmi.
"I don't know how you live," came the retort.
"Well enough, old crone."
Vesta waved her wing, a blip of light appearing at the tips of her feathers. The raven peered into the little window she'd made, peering through it. "They're here, Alphonse."
Alphonse's back straightened; she was just about to head out the door. "How many?" she asked.
"At least two dozen hollows, maybe eight knights."
The tall, feline Rathor's ears perked at the sound of a racket banging on the door beneath them. That was the only way out. Her mind spun with ideas on how she was going to make her escape. "I know you hate fighting, but--"
"--No. You got yourself into this mess. I did my part."
Bitch. "There's no way I'm gonna fell that feckin' many," she complained.
"Use your brain. I can't bail you out every time you dig a hole for yourself, dear. You bring that risk upon me every time I help you, and honestly I know better." Vesta shrugged. "I do not think they will take you as a prisoner, however. I won't be able to bust you out of prison like when you got caught felching coin in Atinaw.
Alphonse grumbled an incoherent spew of angry words. "What use're you to me, anyway? Ya never did a damn thing for me ever since!" Alphonse blinked a few times, lowering her ears. "Sorry, I'm just frustrated. You know I get like that when I'm under pressure, and there's a feckin' mountain of heat beneath my feet right now!" Her head spun around, thinking about where they were, and all sides of the building. "The building's got tenements on all sides. Crowley street is opposite 'ter us, but there's uhm, a wall."
"And what is a wall, Alphonse?"
The Rathor leered. She knew what she needed to do. Glass shattered in the distance as she strode forward with the sheath of her sword in hand, backpack tossed around her shoulder.
Vesta hopped up to the windowsill. "I'll rendezvous with you on the southeastern side of the city where Argent patrols are thinnest, and I'll help to cover you if absolutely necessary." Nobody seemed to pay any heed to the bird as it dove out the window into the foggy street, the faintest shadow nobody save for a single observant Hollow had noticed, its cries squelched by a tight squeeze to the collar that bound it to service.
Adjusting the straps to her pack, Alphonse quickly drew her sword with a hop out the door, crashing into the rented apartment across the hall, horns first. Crack!
Wham!
Stumbling through the doorway as the wood splintered under the weight and force of her body, she slammed it to the floor and stormed through the room towards the other side. She stepped to the side and swung her sword hard like an ax, driving her hips into the force of the blow. The blade smacked into the hard wood, finding stone behind it and slowing its advance. "Hah, c'mon!" barked the lady. "Feck!"
Sssslck! Wood melted away, and her sword gashed the stone. Clack! Her ears rose to the sound of pattering feet behind her rushing up the stairs, shouts and the squeals of wretches haunting her heels. With one forward shove of her sword, she poked a hole in the wall, and with a slam of her foot into the softened masonry, much of the rest of the mortar cracked open, and bricks came tumbling out.
The footsteps grew closer. A Hollow lunged at her with a small blade, colliding with her body just as she twisted around to get her sword between her and it.
Hot, shocking pain lanced up her belly, and the Rathari shook, shoving back. "Hssss!" She swung her blade right as the creature left her, its blade clattering to the ground; it scrambled for it, but Alphonse was too busy shoving her way through the wall as she clutched the gaping stab wound. Leading with her sword, she limped forward and grit her teeth through the pain as she entered some abandoned apartment with a dust-caked interior. At this point in time, all she could smell was the metallic scent of her own blood.
Pain kept her breath labored, but she let go of the wound in her side and made the sign of Irothar with her fingers. Already, she could feel His presence, and she began to mutter; she needed more than just a sword to fight back the monsters hot on her heels. Running forward, Alphonse powered through the pain and slammed into the next rotting door, blowing it off its hinges and momentarily interrupting her incantation. She didn't even bother to try the knob.
There was a window: bright blue freedom into a foggy world of the morning air. Just as she trotted over to the window, Hollows came piling in behind her, but just as she finished bargaining with the bird and sealed the deal, she opened her palm as she felt power surge through her, congealing into a small little feathered bird standing upon her fingers. Falling out the window, she let it go.
Whoosh!
Boom!
The ground rose up and bit her.
Thud.
"Ooooaaahgh, "Alphonse groaned, reaching for her sword which had finally fallen from her grip. She was covered in filth from the road as she found herself in a busy lane of travel, commoners stepping around her with a startled fright. Ash rained down from above, and what few Hollows survived the explosion from her Caru were now squealing in the fire. One tumbled out of the window, crashing to a useless, broken mess right next to her as Alphonse ripped herself up to her feet, the pain clear in her eyes as she limped along to safety.
The window, haaah, not the best idea - falling out of a window after getting feckin' stabbed!
Blotting up her cloak around the bloody wound, she flicked her blood in the other direction to throw off the trail and stumbled down the street like a wounded animal. There was nowhere to escape. They'd get to the ends of the street before she could. She found an alley with a dead end, jiggling a door she found there; locked. "Feck."
She looked about her, hearing howling in the distance. There was a huge pile of rotting refuse in the alley, and little else. Having no other choice, she sheathed her blade, held her nose and dug in, burrowing and pulling the sludgy garbage over herself. "Ughhh..." she shuddered, as she heard the howling getting closer. She popped part of her sword from its scabbard and held the blade against her wound; she could hold onto it for awhile, but eventually it'd start to burn. That slow torture progressed as she breathed harder, burning the outline of her weapon into her belly and singing away the fur.
Even if I make it through this, it's gonna be a long, shitty day.
Minutes ticked on, the howling fading. The bustle of the city filled her ears, and she waited for the dark as her mind fought her. Everything itched. She was pretty sure she had fleas now, and she definitely needed to get her wound looked at. It didn't help that she could taste the rotten stench.
Survive.
Meet up with ... Vesta.
...Continued Here
