Fireside Tales

Oh, I should post my reason for such a delay of this story - I've been involved in a few too many pressing matters. You know, helping a young girl escape from thugs with submachine guns, nurse another young girl back to health from near death, running this county's military, helping a skeleton colony fight off their demon enslavers, and exploring an extraterrestrial crash sight, complete with hostile aliens. Nothing all too spectacular, but nonetheless time-consuming.

I really should be getting on with the story, shouldn't I? Very well, here it is...

This was quite a while back, when there were still widespread open warfare between the Nunnehi and the rest of the Kithain. This man had stayed out of it for the most part, just living for myself, as he could survive and thrive in any land he chose - a true mountain man. In following woodland game for my diet he travelled many times across America, living as much among the Nunnehi as he did among "his" people.

He was largely trusted by both sides, so he used his diplomatic persuasion to aid whatever conflicts he came across. In time, they knew him well enough that he could even cease warfare mid-battle, albeit only for the time he remained there. His mission branched out before him innumerable times, and despite his best efforts in the matter, he was losing ground. However, losing ground on a plane stretching to infinity in all directions means little, so he knew that no matter what the final outcome was, his travels and workings would have an impact deep into the hearts of those embroiled in this conflict.

This is not to say, however, that he was hailed as hero and savior wherever he traveled - had it been that easy, others would've done the same, and the situation today could have been changed quite radically. No, the more his mission spread, the harder people tried to discredit him. There were times when he'd ride into a war-ravaged town or encampment only to be framed for a murder. Other times he'd mostly pacify a region, only to be attacked in his sleep the first night after leaving. He suffered many trials, hardships, and setbacks on his course, just as he also obtained many peaces, friendships, and the love of no few women.

He was a man with simple ideals, and he was an acute admirer of women and feminine beauty. This was sometimes used in a plot against his life, but was found to have very little effectiveness - the women sent to have a scandal with or seduce him far more than often ended up infatuated with his blunt honesty and desire for peace. That, and he did outshine almost all others in raw physical beauty. In the end, almost none of the women he befriended or bedded looked back on that time with regret.

This part of the story is about one of these women that had such a fatal attraction to him. She was the only daughter of a simple warrior in a tribe of Nunnehi. No chieftan's daughter, no oracle's sister, she was of little political importance - he was an Eshu, not a Fiona. The area was relatively pacified, mainly because there were no settlers left. There had been fighting, like all areas then, but here it was one-sided. The few surviving settlers had fled to the nearby fort, and a letter had been sent for him. He was near the area, so he quickly rode to the standoff to ply his trade.

Upon arrival, he realized that this was new scenery to him - word of his mission had not reached here, making him an unknown face. The only reason he had been called to the end of his journey was that a friend of his had helped settle the now-ash outpost there, and thought to call him to make peace. The Nunnehi here were inordinately rancorous, and only the artillery-studded high walls of the fort had kept it alive. He realized that his entrance needed tact and show skill, so he would not be killed on sight. He had no need to go to the closely-watched fort and risk ambush, and he was at home enough in the wilderness to avoid even the Nunnehi hunters. Rather than reveal himself at neutral ground, he decided to go into their territory - both in showing he was not part of an ambush, but also display his keen attunement to nature and their ways.

On a fog-shrouded morning (whether by circumstance or consequence is unknown by the public) he rode silently into the Native American and Nunnehi encampment as it was waking up, dismounted, and stood there. Upon his first sighting, a great call went up for arms, and every inhabitant poured out to meet the interloper. Many would have attacked without a second's hesitation, but there was such an aura around him that, upon gazing on him and his obviously wild steed, not one was able to raise a weapon against him. This man, this white devil, had come upon them without being noticed, and showed no fear at being surrounded by both mortal and fae enemies!

Whether by his silent charisma or the others' utter disbelief of this interloper no blood was spilled that day. The leader of this band of marauders came and spoke with him, astonished once again that he knew with perfect fluency their speech. Impressed by his valor and faith, they immediately commenced talks of peace. These dealings were in no way easy for him, they would have been nigh impossible for anyone, no matter how skilled the diplomat. This was his calling, however, so he applied every technique and skill he knew to the task, throwing his formidable will and way against the obstacle, slowly crushing it under his resolve.

It was during these talks that he first saw this girl - or rather, young woman, as she had just passed into the full blush of womanhood. He was immediately smitten with her, but instead of attempting to forge a secret romance, he opted not to jeapordize the situation and brought forth his feelings directly to the woman's father and the Nunnehi leader. After the immediate reactions were tossed around and thrown aside, this became the unconventional peace-making issue - rather than attacking the settlers further, they started arguing about whether or not this should be allowed.

Needless to say, this worked as a fine distraction, until one time, during debate over the issue, tempers flared too hot, and blood was shed over the issue. I'm sure I don't need to extrapolate on their feelings about a Nunnehi death due to an internal conflict over an outsider. They chose to stop their bickering and simply kill the root of their problem.

They probably would have been able to do so, too, but his most recent lover, the girl involved in this question, interposed herself to protect him. Their most powerful fighter strode forward and loomed over the girl, ordering her out of the way. Her response? She punched him in the face. Both of their lives were forfeit then, but for whatever reason, perhaps showing respect for her strength of will, the insulted warrior bade them stay their blades. Both of their fates, he said, would be decided when the elders of the tribe returned the next evening. The mountain man willingly entered their custody, trusting that the elders would spare their lives.

The girl, however, was not as optimistic - that night, she slit the throats of both their guards and led him to escape. The two of them rode far that night, pushing their horses heavily. They stopped at dawn by a river, and the four of them stopped to quench their thirsts and bathe the dust and grime from their bodies. As the man returned from bathing, he saw the girl standing, motionless, watching the fire. He approached to inquire in greater detail just why she decided to have them flee, but he was stopped from asking.

The girl spun around quickly and plunged a dagger into his chest completely to the hilt. In his last moments, on his knees, he looked up at her, smiled oddly, and spoke a single word: "Why?".

He never got the answer in that life, but her reasons have been found:

She felt guilty about betraying her tribe, and felt it necessary to redeem her honor. Furthermore, she had feared, after running away with him, that he had somehow manipulated these events into realization. After he died there, in her arms, she realized that all that had happened had been of her own will - the betrayal, escape, and murders.

Wracked with grief over these events, she returned to her tribe to face her exectution. She was not killed, however. She was not even punished or reprimanded. She was hailed as a hero by all parties and extremists on both sides for ending his mission. She couldn't understand how they could celebrate the death of her beloved, it tortured her spirit to watch the revelry. One night soon after she crept she crept among her tribe's lodgings and slit the throats of every inhabitant, then disappeared, unable to bear either her guilt over the murder or her anger at it's acceptance in public.

No one's really sure to where she left - to where could one go, after such a life?

Since I know I'm going to be asked to tell the story of the fight, I'll tell it here and now, and hopefully keep myself from repeating it.  Got it?  Right, then let's continue.

 

And no, this isn't going to be an embellished, grandiose tale.  Short, and with the facts.  If it was a good tale, perhaps I'd dress it up some, but it isn't.  It's just fighting, quick and effective.

 

Well, after I got bored with the slothful progression of the Scrabble game, I went to see what my friends were doing.  Apparently, they had gone off on some questish thing in Chief's humvee, so I was intrigued and followed.  Led off to the north a ways, then they got out of the humvee and went on foot.  Following, I heard very, very strange noises.  Also heard fighting, so I hastened through the woods.  I came upon a clearing and depression in the land, home to one of the oddest sights I've ever encountered...

There were odd female chimera, which I found out later to be amazonian soccer moms, caught in the middle of a stampede of partially tamed esuvees, led by one Boggan professor.  Very good riding on his part, actually.  Heh...in truth, everyone rode damn well.  The Sluagh's fall can't be faulted, as he was tackled off by one of the women.  Well, as I was unnoticed by the chaos, I looked around me and found one massive esuvee near me.  It was tied, saddle-chaired, and had a cupholder with a starbucks in it.  That really pissed me off.  So I tore off it's trappings, got on, and was about to charge into the fray, when I spotted a distinct group of warriors facing me...

A line of spear-wielding amazons (soccer moms as well, obviously), and behind them an esuvee with a huge warrior beside it.  She shined with the light of the fae, but upon closer viewing, I noticed the taint of the Thallain upon her.  She was no Troll - she was an Ogre.  Disgusting scum with no honor.  I decided not to let it outlive the day, and aimed my esuvee towards her group...

As I rode towards her, the baseness of her person showed itself.  She killed her own women and threw their corpses at me using her weapon as a miniature catapult.  When I got near, she cleaved off one of the legs of her own mount and hurled that at me.  As I almost reached her, the Professor's esuvee came charging by, slicing off the warriors' spearheads with his glass knife, which held until the last one, shattering as it cut through the wood.  Aaron, also riding on the Professor's esuvee, threw a javelin at her, ripping off her left shoulder plate.  I was also aided by Chief - immediately following their pass, he quicksilvered me, and the entire world seemed to slow down...

I leapt from the head of my esuvee, an amazonian javelin in each hand, up and towards the Ogre.  Nearing the peak of my arc, I lashed out with my booted foot, smashing her helmet from her head.  She reeled back - or rather would have, had I not been moving so quickly.  My trajectory carried me over her, and the impact of my blow had spun me around so I was still facing her.  I used the full force of my fall to bury one of the javelins deep down into her, through the missing plate on her shoulder.  I landed on the ground in a crouch, and, springing up from that position, jammed the second javelin into her back through the gap in the armor at the waist.  She then lept up and sprung off the back of one of her women to jump over me, swinging her weapon, which I can only call a hooked war maul, at my head.  Anticipating the move, I tossed my hat up into the air and ducked.  My hat went over the weapon, my head went under, and it landed back on.  Spinning around, I pulled out the flintlock - the one that Devon gave to me earlier that night - and fired a shot straight into her breastplate, ruining the armor.  Using the momentum of her weapon, she swung it around in a circle, again trying to decapitate me.  I had the shattered remains of the javelin in my hand, so I deflected the haft of her maul over me, spinning with the weapon, coming far inside her weapon's range.  Surprised by this move, I had the opportunity to draw my hunting knife and leap onto her chest, bracing my feet on her plated hips and my free hand grabbing the opening at the neck, to plunge my knife into her neck.  There was fear in her eyes - something I never thought I'd see in an Ogre.  Still, I couldn't be distracted from the fight.  She, too, knew that, and dropped her weapon and drew two short swords, them cutting so close to me they severed my belt.  It was almost over, or so I hoped.  I leapt up from my position, pushing and twisting my body into a flip over her.  As I arced over her, head to head, I drew my revolver, with three shots left, and lodged one into her skull, straight down.  She dropped, shaking the ground as she hit.  I almost landed my flip, too, but slipped in the ichor-covered grass.  When I got up, the battle was over...

The others slowly came around, walking, riding, or hobbling, as each of their conditions allowed.  Her ride had died due to it's amputation, and many of the amazons were dead as well.  We built a funeral pyre for them, and I lit it with fire from the heavens.  We didn't take the Ogre's equipment - they were hers, and nightmare-tainted.  We left with the three esuvees that had not run away (including my enormous one) and came back to court to heal our wounded...

ashes to ashes, dust to dust.