HOME | DD

Description
Old Friends

As she returned to the fire, Chantal saw Neeshka sitting up, watching her approaching with an unreadable expression on her face. She got up and met Chantal halfway.

“So he has been back, huh?”, she asked. Then she saw the tears streaming down Chantal’s face, murmured something unintelligible and hugged her close.

“I’m so sorry”, she whispered.

For a moment, Chantal hugged her back, then detached herself, resolutely wiping her tears away.

“Did you…”, she asked, her voice still shaking.

“Hear you? Oh, yes”, Neeshka replied, the grin back on her face for a moment. “What’s more, I had to look if you were alright. So I saw you, too. He’s sure got fire. Made me feel downright envious. Would not mind some of that, myself.”

“Be careful what you wish for”, Chantal replied, bitterly.

The grin vanished. “Oh, I’m so sorry… sometimes my mouth just runs on without consulting my brain first.” The sheepish look on Neeshka’s face would have made Chantal laugh, if the pain had not been so bad.

Her eyes went to Casavir, seemingly still sleeping soundly. “Has he…”

“He? No, he slept through the whole thing. Takes more than that to wake him, believe me.”

Chantal closed her eyes in relief. “Thank the gods for that.”

Neeshka nodded. “Oh yes. I think he would have taken it badly.”

Chantal sighed and sat down besides the fire. Neeshka followed.

“What will you do now?”, the tiefling asked, unusually solemn.

Chantal shrugged. “Don’t know. Go back home. Try to get back to my life. Try to get over it.” Her voice caught at the last sentence.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through that again”, Neeshka said, sincerely. “And it is all my fault for being stupid enough to try to sneak into Luskan.”

Chantal shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s my own, for letting him in again. How could I have been so foolish? Still, it could have been worse”, she added, bitterness in her voice. “At least this time, I’m still alive.”

Neeshka took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re not foolish. We can’t choose who we love.”

Chantal stared at her with wide eyes.

Love?

She could feel the blood drain from her face, as a feeling of horror slowly crept up on her.

Love?

The way her heart had stopped when she first saw him again, walking up to her.

The unexpected tenderness she sometimes felt when he looked hurt or vulnerable.

The way his laugh made her whole body tingle.

The way her desire flared at his touch.

The way she had missed him when he left, feeling empty, incomplete.

The way seeing him again had instantly banished all the hurt.

The tender, safe feeling of belonging when he held her close.

Love.

She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, the little wooden wolf clattering to the ground. How could that happen? Of all the men she had met, good men, handsome, nice men, why had her heart decided it belonged to the one that would break it as certainly as night followed the day?

Next to her, Neeshka bent down, picking up the carving. “This is beautiful”, she said after a moment, wonder in her voice. “Did he give it to you?”

“He left it on the ground”, Chantal answered, still dazed by her realisation. “I think it’s his farewell present. Guess he wanted to tell me something.”

“Guess so”, Neeshka said, her hand squeezing Chantal’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Yes”, Chantal said, feeling the tears rise again. “I’m getting the message, loud and clear.”

“You should get some sleep”, Neeshka said, stroking her back.

Chantal shook her head. “No, I can’t right now. You go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“I can stay up too, keep you company?”

“No! Sorry, no, but I need some time alone right now.”

Neeshka sighed, patting her back once more, then she got up. “Ok, I understand. But you will get over it, you hear? We will be there for you. Don’t let it break you.”

Chantal just shook her head, unable to speak.

Bishop ran through the woods, as if all nine levels of hell were on his heels. Arriving at his camp, exhausted and completely out of breath, he started to pack his stuff frantically, throwing everything into his backpack, rolling up his blankets haphazardly. Then, hastily kicking some dirt over the smouldering rest of his fire, he quickly made it further into the night.

Have to get away!

And he had to. Had to run, had to keep moving. Had to keep himself from thinking. From feeling. Most of all from feeling.

His mind racing, turning over the last hours over and over again, he hurried through the woods, not minding where his path took him, not paying attention to anything around him. He just walked as fast as he could. It did not matter where he went, as long as he increased the distance between him and her.

He remembered how it had felt to hold her close, his face buried in her neck, her arms around him, snuggled close against his chest. Breathing in her scent, feeling… contented. Feeling like he never wanted to let go again. Feeling like he never wanted to leave.

Oh, she was dangerous.

Leaving her behind had been one of the hardest things he had done in his life. And that was saying something. But nothing, nothing had ever cost him as much as walking into the empty night, without as much as a glance back.

But he could not look at her. Could not afford to turn around. Because if he had, he would not have been able to go. He could still feel the pull, the invisible strings that seemed to tighten with every step he took, trying to draw him back to her.

She had him in chains, as sure as Luskan had had him years ago. Only her chains were invisible.

Those are the worst kind.

Oh yes, they were. Because this sort of chains was so much harder to fight. You could escape the customary kind. But these – you took them with you, wherever you went. They shackled your spirit, not your body.

Those kept you in Luskan as well.

Only it had not felt like chains at the time.

I can’t! I can’t go through that any more.

I swore myself never to let it happen again.

Fighting the ever growing urge to turn around, run back, back to her, he kept walking through the night. Through the following day. Still not caring, not watching, where he went. Come evening, he was so exhausted, physically as well as mentally, he was stumbling on much more than walking. When he could not take another step, he just dropped to the ground, asleep nearly instantly.

In his dream, she was with him again. He felt her arms around him, her mouth, kissing him hungrily, her hands clutching his hair, her body, arching against him... He woke, gasping, heart racing, full of desire.

He sat up, cursing her, cursing himself, got to his feet and started out into the still dark night. He had no idea where he was, but he would just walk until he came to the next settlement. He knew what he needed right now.

Late in the afternoon, he came to the edge of the wood. Looking around, he nearly started to laugh hysterically.

This is a joke, right?

He could not be here, of all places. Impossible.

But no amount of rubbing his tired, burning eyes made the sight of the sturdy walls of Crossroad Keep, looming ahead, go away. Seemed like even his own mind liked to play cruel jokes on him, otherwise it would not have led him here.

He took in the fortifications, the massive walls he had stood on with her so many times, discussing tactics, the enemy, her past, everything.

Good times.

Good times? Nonsense! He had just been biding his time, trying to find out what she knew about him. Waiting for the opportune moment to get rid of her.

Still, in some aspects, it had been good times. It had felt good to have a purpose again, a goal. Even if this whole Stopping-The-Shadow-King had been madness in his eyes, it had been good to make use of his abilities again, to pursue something, instead of just drifting aimlessly, only trying to avoid being caught by Luskan troops. Had been good to have a purpose in life.

Had been good to be near her.

He realised he had started walking again, already having crossed nearly half the distance to the Keep.

Stop it, idiot! What are you doing?

He stopped in his tracks. This was madness, nearly as insane as walking into Luskan.

But they won’t be expecting me here. Nearly everyone gone who knew me.

And they will have what I need there, in the tavern.

He looked ahead, at the grey walls that seemed to beckon to him. And continued on his way. Maybe they would catch him. What the hell. He just did not care.

Later, he sat in a dark corner of the tavern, a bottle in front of him, already half empty. His lips curled in a bitter smile. His life surely seemed to go in circles. It had actually hurt, seeing this place again. It was ridiculous. It was just stones and timber, right? And the memories could go straight to hell, for all he cared.

Getting in had been easier than he thought. The new guards sure were no match to the old ones. They had let him pass with barely a glance.

If they were mine, I’d have them flogged.

Getting into the tavern, he had his hood drawn up. And sure enough, there was Sal, still behind the counter. He had thrown Bishop a suspicious glance when he had ordered the bottle, but had not recognised him. And now he was sitting here, the strong alcohol already making for a nice buzz in his head.

Guess I’m going to sleep better tonight.

He smiled again, mirthlessly, and downed the next shot. And another. And a third. Now he was seeing two bottles standing before him, weaving in and out of each other. He reached out for it, when the conversation of the two Greycloaks sitting at the table next to him reached his ear.

He frowned, trying to concentrate on what they were saying.

“Gods, that new Captain sure is a shrew.”

The other man groaned. “Tell me about it. I liked the last one better. Pity she did not come back.”

Bishop turned on his chair, towards the Greycloaks. He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig.

The first one grinned lewdly. “More pleasing to look at, too. Would have loved helping myself to a piece of that ass.”

The ranger’s blurred gaze left the bottle in his hand and started to focus on the speaker.

The second Greycloak chuckled. “Oh yes, me too. The way she always had either the paladin or that creepy ranger in tow... she sure had an appetite.”

Bishop’s hands clenched around the neck of the bottle. He slowly moved his chair back from the table.

“You don’t say”, the first one leered. “One man was not enough for that one. If ever I’ve seen a slut...”

Bishop jumped up, his chair falling with a crash behind him, bottle smashing on the floor. The sudden movement made him stagger as the room seemed to spin before his eyes, but his fist shot out nevertheless. His aim a bit off, it connected with the Greycloak’s ear instead of his chin, but it still was enough to make the man go down.

Murderous rage burning in him, he snarled and threw himself upon the man on the floor, his hands going round his throat, an angry red mist dancing before his eyes. He started squeezing, squeezing until the son of a bitch stopped moving. And still he would not let go, only dimly aware of the shouts around him.

Then something connected sharply with the back of his head, and the room went dark.

Sal, cudgel in hand, stood above the unconscious man on the floor. The hood had fallen back to reveal messy brown hair and a face that was thinner than he remembered, but still very much familiar.

“Well, look who decided to visit!”, he said.

Description
Old Friends

As she returned to the fire, Chantal saw Neeshka sitting up, watching her approaching with an unreadable expression on her face. She got up and met Chantal halfway.

“So he has been back, huh?”, she asked. Then she saw the tears streaming down Chantal’s face, murmured something unintelligible and hugged her close.

“I’m so sorry”, she whispered.

For a moment, Chantal hugged her back, then detached herself, resolutely wiping her tears away.

“Did you…”, she asked, her voice still shaking.

“Hear you? Oh, yes”, Neeshka replied, the grin back on her face for a moment. “What’s more, I had to look if you were alright. So I saw you, too. He’s sure got fire. Made me feel downright envious. Would not mind some of that, myself.”

“Be careful what you wish for”, Chantal replied, bitterly.

The grin vanished. “Oh, I’m so sorry… sometimes my mouth just runs on without consulting my brain first.” The sheepish look on Neeshka’s face would have made Chantal laugh, if the pain had not been so bad.

Her eyes went to Casavir, seemingly still sleeping soundly. “Has he…”

“He? No, he slept through the whole thing. Takes more than that to wake him, believe me.”

Chantal closed her eyes in relief. “Thank the gods for that.”

Neeshka nodded. “Oh yes. I think he would have taken it badly.”

Chantal sighed and sat down besides the fire. Neeshka followed.

“What will you do now?”, the tiefling asked, unusually solemn.

Chantal shrugged. “Don’t know. Go back home. Try to get back to my life. Try to get over it.” Her voice caught at the last sentence.

“I’m so sorry you have to go through that again”, Neeshka said, sincerely. “And it is all my fault for being stupid enough to try to sneak into Luskan.”

Chantal shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s my own, for letting him in again. How could I have been so foolish? Still, it could have been worse”, she added, bitterness in her voice. “At least this time, I’m still alive.”

Neeshka took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re not foolish. We can’t choose who we love.”

Chantal stared at her with wide eyes.

Love?

She could feel the blood drain from her face, as a feeling of horror slowly crept up on her.

Love?

The way her heart had stopped when she first saw him again, walking up to her.

The unexpected tenderness she sometimes felt when he looked hurt or vulnerable.

The way his laugh made her whole body tingle.

The way her desire flared at his touch.

The way she had missed him when he left, feeling empty, incomplete.

The way seeing him again had instantly banished all the hurt.

The tender, safe feeling of belonging when he held her close.

Love.

She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, the little wooden wolf clattering to the ground. How could that happen? Of all the men she had met, good men, handsome, nice men, why had her heart decided it belonged to the one that would break it as certainly as night followed the day?

Next to her, Neeshka bent down, picking up the carving. “This is beautiful”, she said after a moment, wonder in her voice. “Did he give it to you?”

“He left it on the ground”, Chantal answered, still dazed by her realisation. “I think it’s his farewell present. Guess he wanted to tell me something.”

“Guess so”, Neeshka said, her hand squeezing Chantal’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Yes”, Chantal said, feeling the tears rise again. “I’m getting the message, loud and clear.”

“You should get some sleep”, Neeshka said, stroking her back.

Chantal shook her head. “No, I can’t right now. You go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“I can stay up too, keep you company?”

“No! Sorry, no, but I need some time alone right now.”

Neeshka sighed, patting her back once more, then she got up. “Ok, I understand. But you will get over it, you hear? We will be there for you. Don’t let it break you.”

Chantal just shook her head, unable to speak.

Bishop ran through the woods, as if all nine levels of hell were on his heels. Arriving at his camp, exhausted and completely out of breath, he started to pack his stuff frantically, throwing everything into his backpack, rolling up his blankets haphazardly. Then, hastily kicking some dirt over the smouldering rest of his fire, he quickly made it further into the night.

Have to get away!

And he had to. Had to run, had to keep moving. Had to keep himself from thinking. From feeling. Most of all from feeling.

His mind racing, turning over the last hours over and over again, he hurried through the woods, not minding where his path took him, not paying attention to anything around him. He just walked as fast as he could. It did not matter where he went, as long as he increased the distance between him and her.

He remembered how it had felt to hold her close, his face buried in her neck, her arms around him, snuggled close against his chest. Breathing in her scent, feeling… contented. Feeling like he never wanted to let go again. Feeling like he never wanted to leave.

Oh, she was dangerous.

Leaving her behind had been one of the hardest things he had done in his life. And that was saying something. But nothing, nothing had ever cost him as much as walking into the empty night, without as much as a glance back.

But he could not look at her. Could not afford to turn around. Because if he had, he would not have been able to go. He could still feel the pull, the invisible strings that seemed to tighten with every step he took, trying to draw him back to her.

She had him in chains, as sure as Luskan had had him years ago. Only her chains were invisible.

Those are the worst kind.

Oh yes, they were. Because this sort of chains was so much harder to fight. You could escape the customary kind. But these – you took them with you, wherever you went. They shackled your spirit, not your body.

Those kept you in Luskan as well.

Only it had not felt like chains at the time.

I can’t! I can’t go through that any more.

I swore myself never to let it happen again.

Fighting the ever growing urge to turn around, run back, back to her, he kept walking through the night. Through the following day. Still not caring, not watching, where he went. Come evening, he was so exhausted, physically as well as mentally, he was stumbling on much more than walking. When he could not take another step, he just dropped to the ground, asleep nearly instantly.

In his dream, she was with him again. He felt her arms around him, her mouth, kissing him hungrily, her hands clutching his hair, her body, arching against him... He woke, gasping, heart racing, full of desire.

He sat up, cursing her, cursing himself, got to his feet and started out into the still dark night. He had no idea where he was, but he would just walk until he came to the next settlement. He knew what he needed right now.

Late in the afternoon, he came to the edge of the wood. Looking around, he nearly started to laugh hysterically.

This is a joke, right?

He could not be here, of all places. Impossible.

But no amount of rubbing his tired, burning eyes made the sight of the sturdy walls of Crossroad Keep, looming ahead, go away. Seemed like even his own mind liked to play cruel jokes on him, otherwise it would not have led him here.

He took in the fortifications, the massive walls he had stood on with her so many times, discussing tactics, the enemy, her past, everything.

Good times.

Good times? Nonsense! He had just been biding his time, trying to find out what she knew about him. Waiting for the opportune moment to get rid of her.

Still, in some aspects, it had been good times. It had felt good to have a purpose again, a goal. Even if this whole Stopping-The-Shadow-King had been madness in his eyes, it had been good to make use of his abilities again, to pursue something, instead of just drifting aimlessly, only trying to avoid being caught by Luskan troops. Had been good to have a purpose in life.

Had been good to be near her.

He realised he had started walking again, already having crossed nearly half the distance to the Keep.

Stop it, idiot! What are you doing?

He stopped in his tracks. This was madness, nearly as insane as walking into Luskan.

But they won’t be expecting me here. Nearly everyone gone who knew me.

And they will have what I need there, in the tavern.

He looked ahead, at the grey walls that seemed to beckon to him. And continued on his way. Maybe they would catch him. What the hell. He just did not care.

Later, he sat in a dark corner of the tavern, a bottle in front of him, already half empty. His lips curled in a bitter smile. His life surely seemed to go in circles. It had actually hurt, seeing this place again. It was ridiculous. It was just stones and timber, right? And the memories could go straight to hell, for all he cared.

Getting in had been easier than he thought. The new guards sure were no match to the old ones. They had let him pass with barely a glance.

If they were mine, I’d have them flogged.

Getting into the tavern, he had his hood drawn up. And sure enough, there was Sal, still behind the counter. He had thrown Bishop a suspicious glance when he had ordered the bottle, but had not recognised him. And now he was sitting here, the strong alcohol already making for a nice buzz in his head.

Guess I’m going to sleep better tonight.

He smiled again, mirthlessly, and downed the next shot. And another. And a third. Now he was seeing two bottles standing before him, weaving in and out of each other. He reached out for it, when the conversation of the two Greycloaks sitting at the table next to him reached his ear.

He frowned, trying to concentrate on what they were saying.

“Gods, that new Captain sure is a shrew.”

The other man groaned. “Tell me about it. I liked the last one better. Pity she did not come back.”

Bishop turned on his chair, towards the Greycloaks. He grabbed the bottle and took a long swig.

The first one grinned lewdly. “More pleasing to look at, too. Would have loved helping myself to a piece of that ass.”

The ranger’s blurred gaze left the bottle in his hand and started to focus on the speaker.

The second Greycloak chuckled. “Oh yes, me too. The way she always had either the paladin or that creepy ranger in tow... she sure had an appetite.”

Bishop’s hands clenched around the neck of the bottle. He slowly moved his chair back from the table.

“You don’t say”, the first one leered. “One man was not enough for that one. If ever I’ve seen a slut...”

Bishop jumped up, his chair falling with a crash behind him, bottle smashing on the floor. The sudden movement made him stagger as the room seemed to spin before his eyes, but his fist shot out nevertheless. His aim a bit off, it connected with the Greycloak’s ear instead of his chin, but it still was enough to make the man go down.

Murderous rage burning in him, he snarled and threw himself upon the man on the floor, his hands going round his throat, an angry red mist dancing before his eyes. He started squeezing, squeezing until the son of a bitch stopped moving. And still he would not let go, only dimly aware of the shouts around him.

Then something connected sharply with the back of his head, and the room went dark.

Sal, cudgel in hand, stood above the unconscious man on the floor. The hood had fallen back to reveal messy brown hair and a face that was thinner than he remembered, but still very much familiar.

“Well, look who decided to visit!”, he said.