The Curved Path Ahead
The Curved Path Ahead
by ArosLion
"If it weren't for me, you would have lost both your damn arms out there."
The sheer arrogance of Khav's statement bothered Roarc the most.
"Listen, just because I'm the one who gets in front and has the most risk of bleeding doesn't mean you get bragging rights when I get swarmed." Roarc replied.
"Sure it does. Considering that's the third time this week we've had to step in and slay a few creatures, I think I'm entitled to act however I wish as long as I get my job done." Khav hopped up on a small rock to look Roarc at eye level. No easy task considering their size difference of about 3 feet. Neither were particularly tall or short for their kind, but orcs and halfings rarely matched in height.
Roarc himself was neither completely orc or completely human, but an odd mix between. He tried to imagine a few times where along that gradient he found himself, but his thoughts were consistently interrupted. Usually by a customer or some townsfolk bemoaning the oncoming apocalypse that consisted of one rabid boar.
Khav was a rare sight for the rest of them. Normally halflings were along the river, or nomadic, but it seemed that Khav only wanted to stay nice and settled in the village, without a desire to move. He always begrudgingly accepted his duty to help protect the town, but ended up bragging the most after the battle was over.
Yet the two of them shared one thing for certain: A very short temper.
"You get your job done, but you keep walking all over us and you'll find yourself without backup. And let me tell you! Those claws sure do sting when you're pulling out the chunks of flesh that just managed to get in your wounds." Roarc shouted as they approached the town plaza.
"You think it's easy for me to stand back and make sure the both of you don't get torn to bits? For me to have to think four steps ahead of the rest of them?"
"They're crazed animals. They're not even thinking one step ahead!"
Fruhand was remaining quiet, like always. It was his job to keep the other two in physical working order. Mental states were their own problem, but that didn't stop him from intervening when things turned sour. The elf merely strode regally, a completely unnecessary posture given present company.
And things were turning sour enough to make anyone's lips pucker.
"For the past three weeks every other day we've been called by the city to go and solve their damned problems and keep it all safe!" Khav groaned back. "Do you really think it's all coincidence? That there's no correlation here? Something's causing all of this."
Roarc nearly roared back. "This isn't about them! It's about your utter lack of responsibility and tact while we're out doing our job!"
Khav scoffed, the row having attracted the attention of most of the passing villagers. A few young men, human and with satisfied expressions on their faces, emerged from the nearby tavern only to be sobered by the intense exchange.
"Fine, if I'm such a weak link, then see how you do without me." Khav muttered.
Without another word, he turned on the spot and walked out of the plaza, drawing a few gasps from the citizens nearby. They knew what his departure meant: Potential attacks on the populace from the monster "problem."
Fruhand let out a heavy sigh. "I'll go after him." He sounded neither annoyed nor apologetic. "Take a break. Let your nerves settle. I'll find him and talk to him. And make sure you get your wounds attended to." And then the elf was gone, assumedly catching up to the halfling.
Roarc felt the bandages on his side and arms. One of the monsters, some kind of bastard child of mountain cat and boar, had managed to claw at his body for a few precious seconds. He couldn't ignore what Khav said. Normally the village only had a problem two or three times a year, but they'd been working for safety for the last month nearly four times a week. When he first volunteered, he'd never imagined he'd be spending that much time with Khav and Fruhand.
Roarc stepped softly, as softly as he could with such thunderous feet, into the tavern. He, like many of the villagers, was also half-human, but he was unique in being the only half-orc. Easily the tallest and the largest, his physique was hard to come by except for true orcs. The few times people shared their opinion with him, their descriptions of his face ranged from "brutish" to "rugged and handsome." Considering they were coming from shopkeepers offended by his presence or a curious young lady who had just found the courage to speak to him, it wasn't surprising. He honestly couldn't blame the girls; proportionally, it was a good guess. (And they were right.)
When he first came to the small town, he could hear whispers of questions of his trust in public places and as people passed by him. He kept to himself in his home, forging weapons and selling them for passing travelers and soldiers who needed their blades replaced. Little by little, his reputation as the quiet, potentially deadly outsider was replaced by one centered around his fine craftsmanship as a blacksmith. Every so often, he stretched his mind and tried to create something more than a weapon, something artistic. No one could tell the difference.
After several weeks, he was asked by the city to be part of a group of volunteers who watched over the town. "Keep it safe in case of an emergency" he was told, "Something we don't expect to happen." Feeling honored, Roarc accepted the position. The emergencies were indeed never expected. They often came at the most inconvenient of times, but he happily dealt with them. Yet the recent swelling of the monster population in the areas surrounding the village meant only more "volunteer work" for him.
He sat down at the bar, a soft ache coming from his right arm, with a single drop of blood sliding down to his elbow to punctuate the feeling.
The tavern was intimate and cozy, and unnecessarily dark. Something about it felt out of place with the rest of the inn and even the rest of the village. There had to be one place though, Roarc reasoned to himself, where the diligent, upstanding citizens could truly unwind without having to worry about who's watching. Whether it had intended to or not, the tavern had become that one place, but Roarc didn't care too much. Unlike most, he was fairly open about his actions and desires.
"Blackbark wine." Roarc requested to the bartender.
The human behind the counter gave him a nod and fetched a bottle for him. As the bartender poured Roarc a glass, the half-orc found himself distracted by the main focus of the rest of the patrons' attention. A dancer, an elf by her looks, was gyrating and sliding around the stage, keeping her small audience captivated.
"Are you three going to be okay? It's awful nasty out there. Kids are coming home bleedin' and groanin'. If you three can't handle it, then who knows what we'll do?" He heard the bartender say.
"I don't suppose you can apply your wonderful talent at interrupting to the battlefield, can you?" Roarc fired back.
"I...er..."
"Then it's none of your business. Let me do my job and I'll let you do yours." Roarc took a few coins from his pocket and slapped them on the counter, turning to face the dancer again as he sipped some of his wine.
But she was gone.
"Ale, James. Whatever's best today." Roarc heard a voice behind him say. "Two, actually."
Roarc turned to face his new barstool neighbor and found that the dancer had sat next to him. She looked exactly as she did on stage, barely clothed with fabric draped over only the most necessary parts of her anatomy. Up close, she proved to be as shapely as he thought, much to Roarc's delight. He found himself shocked that it took him so long to discover the brilliant blue color of her eyes.
The bartender brought out two drinks and gave them to her. She slid one to the half-orc.
"Have something better, please. Someone like you deserves a real drink." She said.
"Blackbark wine has a one in fifty chance of making a male impotent. Farmers feed it to livestock to keep them from overpopulating." Roarc offered back as counterpoint.
"Old wives' tale. Even if it were true, it still has no flavor."
Roarc smiled. He realized just how long it had been since he had last done so, and it felt like days. He took a swig of the ale, and found he could barely, just barely, appreciate it.
"Not bad."
The elf took a drink from her own glass and gave a refreshed "Ah." She smirked. "If 'not bad' is all you can give it, you may very well be a lost cause." She held out her hand. "Ashira."
Roarc lightly grasped her hand with his, telling her his name.
"That's all? Your handshake is as firm as a dead fish."
"If I applied any kind of pressure, your hand would be crushed. Trust me, it's better this way." Roarc laughed it off.
"So did you enjoy the show?" Ashira asked, blowing right past other formalities after the handshake was out of the way.
"I'm sure that if I came in for the whole thing, I would have loved it. From the four seconds I did see, it was nice."
"I've been dancing for three years, and no one has ever called it 'nice.' That's cute."
"I've been half-orc for almost ten times that long, and no one has ever called anything I did or said 'cute.'" Roarc said with a smirk.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but a wounded man is a bit attractive to me."
"Well you're in luck. I don't mean to boast, but it's rare for me to be this damaged. For lack of a better word."
"You're more eloquent than I expected." Ashira said. Roarc was getting the impression that the dancer generally spoke whatever came to mind. It made her easy to read, that was for sure. He had almost hoped to have a more challenging conversation with her, but he had to remember that he was in a tavern, not a circle of scholars.
"I get that a lot."
"More eloquent than your wounds led me to believe. It takes a certain amount of...well, some call it bravery, but I prefer a different word-"
"Stupidity? You're not the first to call it that. But to answer your question, I'm not normally a warrior. I help out the city when its in 'danger.' I'm really just a blacksmith."
"Then you deserve something better than ale after such a fight." Ashira told him with a gleam in her eye. Why do you think I got the wine instead? thought Roarc. The dancer didn't answer his unspoken question though. "I know just the way to relax your muscles after getting them so tense from a battle."
"And what's that?" Roarc chuckled to himself, humoring her.
"A massage, of course. In my private room upstairs."
"I appreciate the gesture, but I'm not really in the mood tonight."
"Ah." Ashira said, and Roarc swore that he heard a tinge of sadness in her voice.
What followed was a silence that not even the awkward bartender dared to break.
"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Ashira asked, all sense of mystique gone about her. She seemed more like a shameful villager wearing her outfit because everything else was dirty or torn.
"What do you mean?" Roarc asked, noticing her sudden shift in demeanor.
"I buy you a drink, invite you up for a private session and you're 'not in the mood.' If I wasn't paid to dance for men, most might think I was the one with the penis."
"Knowing Khav's penchant for revenge, you still might have one."
Ashira laughed. And continued to laugh. At first Roarc was flattered, but as her laugh continued into a sighing giggle, he sensed the trickle of embarrassment over his body.
A sincere, satisfied smile formed on Ashira's face as she folded her arms on the bar and rested her forehead on them.
"Can I change my mind about the private session?" Roarc asked.
She lifted her head and folded a few strands of hair back from her face. "Absolutely."
âââ
It didn't take long for Ashira to lead Roarc to her room. The management must have thought highly of her, giving her a place to stay on the second floor. As they entered, Roarc noticed that while it may have been her room, but it didn't feel like her home. Other than a bed, a dress, and a few well-placed hanging fabrics, the room was bare. If she had been dancing for as long as she said before, he figured she would have collected more souvenirs by that time.
"It doesn't look all that great, but I can assure you the bed is the best in the village." She said.
Sitting on the edge, Roarc asked "Am I supposed to believe that you've tried every bed in town?"
"I suppose that's for you to decide. Now take off your clothes and lay down on your stomach."
Roarc did as requested, leaving no piece of armor or clothing on his body and let himself rest face down on the bed. She was right. It was easily the best bed he'd ever touched, let alone laid on. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and listened for anything else Ashira might say.
Instead, his response came from her hands. She knew exactly what she was doing, gently pressing against all the right muscles of Roarc's shoulders and back to get him to moan oh-so-softly and melt into the bed.
"It feels...wonderful."
She let out a chuckle and moved down his sides with her hands, fingers tapping lightly. "Most folks think I'm turning tricks when I invite them up, but I'm not that kind of girl." As her hands approached his middle, Roarc noticed how they completely passed his groin and continued to his right leg. "No one ever quite realizes I really say what I mean. When you're that open, it makes you hard to read."
"I can imagine." He muttered, not from pain or annoyance, but distraction. It was so heavenly, he was beginning to feel light headed. "The tavern doesn't mind that you're a dancer and an elf? I thought elves were always destined for scholarly things."
"Half-elf, actually. The owner wouldn't care if I was a halfling as long as I shake my hips the way that brings in the customers."
Roarc responded with a happy moan.
"I'm glad you're enjoying this so much. Out of anyone, you probably deserve it for going out there and protecting us." She moved to his other leg and dragged her fingertips along his skin, a tingling sensation rising from where they touched.
"Please, don't remind me of my other job. I almost wish I didn't volunteer." He said, the memories of the battle and emotional aftermath giving him a sharp pain in his side.
"What's your normal job then?" She returned to his back, kneading around the spine.
"Blacksmith." Roarc spurt out before another groan.
"Really? I think I've been in there a few times. Never made the connection."
Roarc started to lose his sense of gravity, feeling something pulling at him from side to side, washing over him. "Only one in town..." He said, the last word failing to have the punch it intended.
Ashira's hands stopped at his side. "Oh my...This is much worse than it looked downstairs. What happened?"
Before he could answer, Roarc saw everything go black.
âââ
Beasts all around him, frozen. Snarling mouths and open jaws. Blood-stained teeth and claws. They all were still, placed facing one spot. Roarc stood between the monsters, admiring them as if they had already been killed and stuffed. He barely even noticed his only clothing being a towel wrapped around his waist. Something else had his attention.
The creatures all pointed in the same direction, to a single spot. Roarc walked closer, touching a few of them on the way and feeling their heat despite the stillness. The patch of land that all the muzzles and beaks pointed to was bare save for a single, ripped piece of purple fabric stained with a drop of blood.
As he touched it, there came a great shining light from the piece of cloth, almost blinding him. Roarc was shoved onto his back as the light enveloped him and his vision.
"He's coming out of it..."
âââ
Roarc opened his eyes, adjusting to being in such a bright setting. Something large, with vaulted ceilings.
"Much better." A high, ragged voice said.
"Are you sure? He came in pretty bad." Another one said, more pleasant and not unfamiliar.
"We've applied the salve and said the proper prayers. If he's got any other problems, we can't help him."
He was laying in a bed, not nearly as comfortable as he was before the dream. The large room around him was filled with similar cots, holding the sick and wounded. There were two figures hovering close to him, both clothed in white hooded robes, beads and charms dangling from their waists.
"The temple is crowded enough with the monster attacks already. Do we have to have citizens in barfights? Can't we convince them to stop hurting each other?" The first raspy voice said.
"She said it was a just a misunderstanding."
"Right, this mysterious dancer that came with him. Can't believe she dumped him on us." The raspy one gave a sarcastic edge to her sentence.
"If it's all right, I'd like to move him to a private chamber."
"Just don't take too long. If he's one of the town guardians, then he needs to be up and out of here by dusk."
"It won't take that long at all."
"Very well, get moving then."
Roarc suddenly felt his cot being moved. He lifted his head and saw the end of it push through double doors and down a cramped hallway, walls lined with muted red bricks that arched over each threshold to another room. Suddenly the cot took a turn into one of those rooms. It was modest, merely a set of walls and a ceiling to separate the contents of the room from the rest of the world.
"That was quite a surprise you gave me." The soft voice said.
Roarc turned his head to look at the source, at the face of the robed woman. "Where am I?"
"The temple at Serris." She said quietly back. "You were brought here because of your injuries defending the town."
Roarc looked down at his body, red-tinged bandages cover specific spots of his chest, arms, and legs. "Right. These."
"It was quite a surprise you gave me back there. Your skin is deceptively thin. One little touch and it nearly burst."
"You...Gave you back where?" The half-orc looked back at his healer and noticed she had a strikingly similar face. After close examination, he noticed her shapely figure underneath her robes and a pair of startling blue eyes.
Brilliantly blue eyes.
"Ashi-"
She placed her hand over his mouth, the rest of her name muffled between her fingers. "Not here. When I'm here, I'm Sister Lúthie, Junior Healer." She walked over to close the door, ensuring it was locked and guaranteeing their privacy.
Roarc balked, "Healer...and a dancer? Doesn't that break some kind of law?"
"Oh, plenty. But I'm more interested in the actual healing than worrying about silly laws the old women fuss over."
"They can't possibly approve of a tavern dancer being a healer at the same time. I've heard their whisperings about what the women of the town are wearing. How do-"
"They don't." She interrupted. "What the elder ladies of the Serris temple don't know won't hurt them." She stepped away, looking down at the floor. "I get four hours of sleep every night I dance, four nights a week. The other sisters call me lazy when they see me wake up an hour after they do."
"Lúthie, why..." Roarc started to ask, his sentence drifting off somewhere from his mouth to her ears.
"There's something about dancing that I can't ignore. To be wanted by so many men," she turned to him with a smirk, "And the occasional woman, it's just so freeing. You are in demand because they want you, not that they need you. Everyone needs a healer when they're sick or wounded, but no one ever needs a dancer. It's all about desire."
"You told me you never take private sessions like that."
"I don't. It's how I hold my power. Denying everyone that wants me for my body and not for my true self, it gives me satisfaction. That no one knows my double life. Except, now, for you.
"You know, I'm only a little surprised that you didn't recognize me. I've been in your forge a few times before. I went there to pick up a defensive weapon in case-"
"In case the monsters attacked the temple." Roarc finished her sentence. "I remember you." He stated, not needing to explain any more. They both knew what it meant. How she had visited several times after that; how she made sure he was busy while she looked at his unique weapons, never buying anything more than the small dagger on her first visit. Anything else, after all, would be too heavy or unwieldy for the dainty women of the temple.
"I...knew what those pieces were." Lúthie said. "You once explained to me how they didn't need to be sharpened or were supposed to hurt the monsters more, paralyze them or kill them faster. How it'd be cruel to use it on another living being but it was necessary to do for the sake of the village. You never used them though. I always saw the dust gather more and more every time I came to seem them.
"They're your art."
Never before had someone so plainly stated what Roarc did to express himself. Someone, in the very place he never expected it, understood why and how he created those unique blades hanging in his forge. He saw an opportunity and made sure not to let go.
"You're one of a kind, Lúthie." He said. "I don't know how you can pull off doing this, but I know that someday-"
"Someday I'll have to choose. And I know what I will choose. Dancers come and go, but the healers will always be needed. Hopefully, we won't always be overworked as we are now." She gave another wry smirk to him. "That's partially your job."
"As soon as we can figure out where these monsters are coming from, we'll exterminate them." Roarc grinned knowingly.
Lúthie moved to Roarc's side and lifted the bandage, gently removing it. He looked down to see that the wounds that caused him to pass out the previous night had already healed.
"Do healers have to live alone, without a companion?" Roarc asked. The question hung in the air like a storm cloud forming inside the small damp room.
"We're supposed to." Lúthie replied, starting to straighten the sheets on Roarc's cot.
Her response was cold and unforgiving for Roarc. A million happy dreams of a future had been shot down in one single sentence. We're supposed to. The one other living being he had ever come in contact with that truly understood him, how he operated, how he lived, had just told him that he would have to find another. It had taken him years of waiting to find someone even close to her, and it would take more to find another.
"But I'm not one to follow the rules if they don't align with my interests." She turned to him with a knowing smile.
The ice in Roarc's stomach melted, leaving a warm, even sloshing feeling in his stomach and chest.
"And am I one of those interests?" He asked.
She continued to give that smile. Roarc didn't need a response. She leaned closer to him as he lifted his chest up toward her. Her face was so full of color, full of beauty, full of life. Their lips touched, and a thousand firecrackers sparked from his mouth to his toes, tingling each limb of his body, every digit on his hands and feet. It was a moment that Roarc would not soon forget.
That wonderful moment of unity and excitement that they shared was woefully interrupted.
Interrupted by a shriek.
"Beasts! Foul, evil things! Get back or taste my steel!"
"Sister Ryssa!" Lúthie gasped, her head snapping toward the door to the chamber. Without a moment's hesitation, Roarc hurried toward the door, unlocking it and thrusting it open, forgetting his armor and most of his clothes in the room. Lúthie tailed behind him.
One of the cat-boars had just knocked a middle-aged healer off her feet, ready to pounce. The healer was waving around the tiny dagger that Lúthie bought from him. In a matter of seconds, Roarc took a few heavy steps and launched himself forward, knocking the cat-boar from on top of the healer to a few feet beside her. He struggled with it for a moment before managing to pin the monster to the ground. He snapped his fingers, stretching his arm behind him and yelling back to the two healers.
"Knife!"
Someone, probably Sister Ryssa, quickly gave him the dagger, which he used to slice open the beast's throat. Blood fell from the wound and onto the floor, a pool starting to expand outward.
"What were those beasts thinking, barging in the temple? And what a right mess you've made taking care of him." Ryssa said in a haughty voice.
Roarc gave her an indignant look.
"And for that you shall surely be rewarded for saving a member of the temple!" She added with an air of unspoken apology. "Lúthie, get the mop and bucket. Can't have the temple floors stained by this rude beast's blood."
"Sister Ryssa," Lúthie replied, "Shouldn't we make sure the village is safe first?"
"Oh, yes. Well, you do that, and I'll get the mop. The tiler's already stopped his tithe and we can't afford to replace this floor." Ryssa said, scurrying off.
Lúthie led them both back into the other room, where she gave Roarc his armor and weapons, who put them on hastily. After he felt completely prepared, they gazed at each other for another moment, the flow of time slowing to a trickle as the crept toward each other again.
The fireworks were even stronger that second time. They touched their hands together and Roarc turned toward the entrance to the temple, keeping contact until he could no longer.
As he rushed into the village plaza, he saw Khav and Fruhand already preparing to take on the monsters starting toward the town in the distance.
"About damn time you got here." Khav grumbled. "Can't throw spells at these little devils if you're not there to stop 'em from skewering me."
"That's his version of an apology." Fruhand noted.
Roarc didn't care about Khav and his apologies though. He found something much greater than a reputation to protect in the village of Serris.
âââ
At the end of the week, in the dancer's room inside the inn and tavern at Serris, there hung a beautiful silver sword on the wall. It was one of the few decorations in the room, but it would have drawn eyes even if surrounded by other potential distractions.
The blade itself was straight in design, symmetrical down the center. The edge of the sword fluttered in and out, curving back and forth until the two lines met at the end in a sharp point, deadly but beautiful. The curved blade, when held at the right angle, looked like the body of a beautiful woman.
Eventually, the sword was moved when the room was vacated, to the temple in the village. It did not stay there long, though, and found itself near the forge where it was craft. The blade hung on the wall in a single room in the home of the blacksmith who crafted it. The blacksmith himself was less and less concerned about the blade itself, and more enamored with what it represented as the days went on.
The blacksmith never let the blade rust, though, giving it the same care that he gave to his lover. The dancer still danced, but only for a private audience. The healer never stopped, and always gave top priority for the village's favored warrior.
When the moonlight struck the blade hanging on the wall, one could almost swear it were shaking its hips for the owner.
~~~
This is a commission for tolgron tolgron that I've been working on since April. He gave me a really great place to start from, and I love how it turned out. Progress was slow because of the production of the play, general student activities and moving all my possessions from place to place. I've discovered that Fantasy is one of the harder things for me to do, mainly because I'm afraid to get things wrong with this. (Be gentle if I did.) In the end, it was a fun experience, and I'm excited to say that this is one of the first stories I'll be offering in physical form. The price is the bare minimum at $6.10, so I get no money from it at all. It's all just the cost of the production of the book. It's not completely set up yet, but there will be a journal when it is. The pdf above is pretty close replica of what it will look like.