S (She/Her but open to negotiation) 20-something whump enthusiast with a sneeze kink. Alleged writer and confirmed reader of historical snzfic. On-again-off-again university student. Noted rakehell. This is a kink blog. Which means it’s an adult-only space.
sorry, another poll, but i would love to know the overlap of snzfuckers who are also into dacryphilia. those are my only ‘strange’ kinks that i don’t always think of in terms of sex. i am into it in the same way i am sneezing, i mostly (but not always) enjoy it in a causal setting, not a sexual one, just getting to take care of someone in everyday life is hot to me. if you are a dacryphiliac who only enjoys it in only sexual situations, this is for dacryphiliacs of any kind, let me know how many of us there are out there!
This one's set on the first Underdark expedition, with Perry, Janessa, and Talavin seeking some ancient ruins, and stumbling onto a nefarious plot. Perry's cold puts the party in danger, as he struggles to keep his sneezes quiet...
This one's a bit more plotty than my more romantic fics; figured, since this is a DnD type setting, I needed to get to the adventuring part eventually! CW for an injury and some blood at the end.
Stay tuned for parts two and three!
“I’m so terribly sorry, but perhaps we might… HhHISHYIEW!... rest a moment?”
Talavin cursed under her breath, turning an irritable gaze upon her two charges. Janessa, despite her gnomish small size, was keeping pace well, driven by enthusiasm for the deep gnome ruins they had set out to find. Perry, however, had once again fallen behind. The cold he had insisted was “barely a sniffle” when they left camp that morning had been worsening at an alarming rate. Now that they had stopped, he leaned against the stone ridge at the side of the path, glassy-eyed and out of breath, pressing a handkerchief to his nose and plainly readying himself for another sneeze.
Talavin let out a huff of annoyance.
“I said you weren’t fit to leave camp. We should have waited until you shook off your latest plague. Sit for twenty minutes. If you don’t look better after that, we’re going back.”
Janessa looked up at her in disbelief.
“We can’t go back now! We must be so close! I’ve seen all the landmarks my family mentioned in their notes, the ruins have to be nearby!”
“They’re ruins. They aren’t going anywhere.”
“But we already walked so far, and Perry can have a rest once we get there!”
Perry, having caught his breath but lost the sneeze, straightened up and came to join them, patting Janessa’s shoulder reassuringly.
“Janessa’s right, we’ve already come this far. A quick rest and some water, and I’ll be quite ready to carry on. Come and sit, Janessa. We’ve been walking for hours, your legs must need a rest too.”
Janessa groaned, but allowed Perry to lead her to a mossy clearing by the edge of the path, surrounded by great stone pillars and patches of bizarre fungi. Talavin watched as Perry settled himself down on a rock, coughing into his handkerchief, then fumbling with the stopper of his canteen. As he tried to calm the coughing with careful sips of water, Janessa slumped onto a patch of rock beside him, removing her boots.
“Guess I could use a rest. Mum put so much detail in her notes about her expedition, but she never mentioned the blisters! Look at this one, it’s as big as a coin!”
Talavin, unfamiliar with the area and wary as a result, looked up and down the seemingly long-abandoned path, then joined them in the clearing. Looking for hand and footholds on the pillars, she made her way to the top of one with a series of graceful leaps. Once at the top, she settled herself, still as a statue, able to survey her surroundings and the two figures beneath her.
As Janessa tended to her blistered feet, Perry looked at the nearby fungi, putting away his canteen and removing his journal from his satchel. Eyes alight with interest, he began sketching a coral-like red growth, reaching up from the moss like gnarled, clawed fingers. It was amazing how, despite clearly feeling miserable, all it took was an interesting specimen to bring a delighted smile to his face. Talavin almost envied him.
“Janessa, look at that! I’m sure that’s devil’s lash! I’ve never seen a specimen in person, but it was described in one of Professor Palegill’s earlier works. He was the one to name it, for the burning and blistering it causes upon skin contact. He said he’d rather be lashed by all the devils in all the hells than touch one again! Though it’s not the mushroom itself that causes the burning, but the… Hhehhhh… HEHSHYIEW! HhhHISHYEW! ISHYIEW! SNF!... Ugh, I beg your pardon. Erm, where was I?”
“Really painful mushroom. If it’s that bad, maybe don’t get so close?”
“I’m not touching it. Not with my bare hands, at least, though I’d love to collect a sample. As I was saying, it’s not the mushroom itself, but the parasitic slime mould that infests it that… that causes… HhhhHISHYIEW! SHYIEW!”
Talavin flinched. Perry’s sneezing had a pitch to it that seemed perfectly calculated to echo in the vast, cavernous depths of the Underdark. She looked about, gazing over the ancient path, the rocky ledges that lined in on either side, and the distant stone ceiling above. Some glowing eyes looked down, seemingly drawn to the sound, but nothing seemed poised to pounce. Yet. She turned her attention back to Perry.
The man had no business being here. Muffling yet another sneeze into his handkerchief and blowing his rapidly reddening nose, he looked pale and fragile, with a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Whether from a fever, or simply the hours of walking, it still marked him as weak and unfit. At least Janessa, though just as much a soft surface-dweller as Perry, had come armed. Having finished bandaging her blisters, she was now tinkering with her ridiculous cannon, an invention of her own design. Talavin had seen her put it to use. It was unsubtle, unstable, and had enough of a knockback to land the gnome on her backside when fired, but it was something. All Perry carried by way of weaponry was a small knife for harvesting mushrooms, and vials of various spores.
Talavin looked down at them, placing herself in the mind of a bandit, or worse, a drow patrol. She would take Janessa first, in the moments where she tried to ready her unwieldy cannon. She was small, and would break easily. With her neutralized, she would then turn her attentions to the sickly Perry. He was building up to another sneeze, watery eyes squeezing shut, handkerchief pressed to his nose. Weak. Diseased. Easy prey.
“Hhihhh… Hehhh… HiieeSHIEW! SNF! I beg your pardon.”
Tending to his nose, looking a little dazed from the violent sneezing, Perry looked around. Spotting where Talavin had perched, he smiled up at her, blissfully unaware that she had been contemplating the order in which she might kill him and his companion.
“Are you quite comfortable up there?”
“Comfort is irrelevant. I need to see if that damned sneezing is drawing any attention.”
Perry knew better than to press the issue. He turned his attention back to the devil’s lash, mushroom knife in hand, seemingly contemplating how to collect a sample. Talavin once more turned her attention to her surroundings, the points of her ears twitching as she listened intently.
The clattering of stones falling in the distance.
Water dripping from stalactites.
The shriek of some small creature becoming some larger creature’s next meal.
A voice.
Talavin froze. The voice was too distant to pick up the words, but she recognized the tone of a command being shouted. Heartbeat quickening, she leapt from her perch, landing with the quiet grace of a predator. Perry looked to her in concern.
“Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps. Stay here. Stay quiet.”
Her feet making no sound as she hurried back to the path, Talavin kept to the shadows beneath the rocky ledges that bordered it. Ears twitching, breath carefully controlled, footsteps quick and silent, she hurried in the direction of the voice. As she drew closer, it sounded again, somewhere ahead. This path evidently wasn’t so abandoned as it had seemed.
“Olot Dos! Careful with that chest! Break what’s inside, and I break your skulls!”
Talavin froze. She knew that voice. She would never forget it.
Jys’tyrr.
A sorceress of House Zaurret.
Her sister.
Old scars on Talavin’s back burned at the memory of their last confrontation. Malice and magic, running, hunted, lungs and muscles burning, mind blank, heart pounding… She had barely dragged herself away alive. Fear flooding her veins, she turned, running for the clearing as silently as she could. Alone, she might be able to flee Jys’tyrr, but her charges would stand no chance.
Perry was waiting by the side of the path, looking concerned, and Talavin pushed him back.
“What is it? You look as if you’ve seen something dreadful!”
“I have, and it’s coming this way. Behind the pillars. Now.”
Janessa leapt to her feet, cannon in hand.
“We need to be ready for a fight?”
“You need to shut up, and hide.”
Talavin seized the gnome by the arm and dragged her behind the largest of the stone pillars. Perry joined them, kneeling in the shadows, pressed close against Talavin’s side. This close, she could feel the warmth of his skin. Too warm to be healthy. To her sensitive ears, his congested breathing sounded dangerously loud. Why had she not forced them to remain in their camp? She glared at him as he gave a damp snuffle, his nose twitching, and he gave her an apologetic look as he buried the troubled appendage in his handkerchief. Her words came out barely louder than a breath.
“Absolute. Silence.”
They remained, kneeling together, tense, listening. Twice Perry had to clamp his handkerchief over his mouth and suppress a ticklish cough, going red in the face as he tried to control himself. Each time, Talavin elbowed him sharply in the ribs, glaring at him.
The sound of footsteps grew closer. Leaning over Janessa, trusting the shadows to cloak her, Talavin leaned around the pillar, just enough to see the path. As the footsteps grew closer, a voice sounded once more. Male, this time, out of breath and annoyed.
“Oi, we’re not your slaves. Let us set this down a moment. It’s been in storage that long, another few minutes isn’t going to make a difference.”
“I ought to have brought slaves. They don’t speak, and don’t beg for rest. But Duke Rousseau assured me you were competent. I find myself doubting his judgment more by the minute.”
And there she was. Jys’tyrr, exactly as Talavin remembered her. Her voice clipped and cold. Slender, elegant, robed in black silk, adorned with silver ornaments. Her hair a perfectly straight curtain of white, her ruby eyes lined with kohl. Her fingers each tipped with a delicately crafted silver claw. Talavin had felt their sting before.
“Doubt all you like. Put it down here, Brasha, it’s as good a place as any for a rest.”
More people had approached behind Jys’tyrr. Six drow guards, silent and disciplined, armed with swords and crossbows, dressed in the regalia of House Zaurret. And, carrying a large crate between them, a human man in leather armour, and a muscular orc woman, her bare arms heavily scarred. They set the crate down with a thud, and the man promptly sat down on top of it.
Talavin moved back behind the pillar, meeting her charges’ eyes.
What she saw made her heart race, turning her blood to ice.
Perry’s eyes were closed, and he had clamped his handkerchief over his nose and mouth, his knuckles turned white with the pressure. He was plainly fighting the urge to start hitching in desperate breaths, and he shook with the effort. He tried to open his eyes, looking from Talavin to Janessa in silent apology.
Just as he looked ready to lose his battle, Talavin grabbed his arm and dragged him closer. She wrapped one arm around his chest, squeezing tight, and with her other hand, she broke his weakening hold on his nose. Before he could gasp in a breath, she replaced his grip with her own.
Warm moisture leaked over her fingers as she pinched his nose shut. Her palm pressed firmly over his mouth, and she felt his lips twitch as he tried to breathe. Talavin tightened her grip around his chest in response. Better he suffocate than bring Jys’tyrr down upon them.
Jys’tyrr seemed to have drawn closer. Talavin flinched at the sound of her voice.
“Were you of House Zaurret…”
“Yeah, yeah, you’d have us flogged.”
“Flogging? Hardly. So very… inelegant. Our methods of discipline are far more refined. And far more painful. A pity our Matron Mother forbids their use on you. For now.”
Perry shuddered, his head jolting forward into Talavin’s hand in a silent attempt at a sneeze. She debated briefly loosening her grip and allowing him a breath. He was going red in the face, beginning to instinctively struggle against her. She felt his nose squirm against her fingers, desperate for relief, and squeezed tighter. He would need to endure a little longer.
Janessa, looking panicked, reached out, rubbing Perry’s arm in an attempt at reassurance. She met Talavin’s eyes, mouthing “what do we do?”. She looked to her cannon, and Talavin shook her head. Perry squirmed, his head jerking forwards with another useless attempt at a sneeze. And another, and another. His nose was clearly desperate to purge whatever tickle tormented it.
The man sitting on the crate went on.
“If all your lot are so bloody impressive, why aren’t they lugging this thing? Or are they just here to look pretty?”
“They are elite soldiers of House Zaurret. Such work is beneath them. Silencing you, however, is not.”
Perry managed to move his head just enough to break Talavin’s seal over his mouth, drawing in an urgent, hitching breath.
“Hhieehhh!”
Talavin, chest beginning to tighten with fear, gripped him all the tighter, her mind frozen with terror as he shuddered against her with another forcefully stifled sneeze. Thankfully, the sound was covered up by the orcish woman speaking.
“Stop your whining, Keller. You want to make yourself look pathetic, fine, but don’t drag me down with you. Get back on your feet, let’s get moving again.”
“One of you, at least, speaks sense. Listen to the brute. Back on your feet.”
Talavin closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer to the gods she usually cursed.
Let them leave. Let them leave now. Let this fool stay silent a little longer.
Perry’s struggles were growing more desperate, and he instinctively grabbed at her arms, trying to break her grip. But even in his desperation, the sickly scholar was no match for the strength Talavin’s brutal training had wrought. Sweat now streamed down his red face, dampening his hair. Tears leaked from his eyes, trickling over her fingers.
Boots shuffled on stone, and timbers creaked as the crate was hoisted.
“Hells, what did the old man put in this? Lead bricks? Brash, how are you not breaking a sweat?”
“Stop your whining. If I can bear it, so can you.”
“Silence, the pair of you. Onward. No more stops.”
With a clank of metal armour, the guards resumed their march. With much grunting and cursing, the crate-bearers followed. Talavin kept her eyes closed, certain her sister would hear the hammering of her heart. She felt a small hand grip her arm, and looked down to see Janessa, her expression half fury, half terror, gesturing to Perry and barely mouthing her words.
“Let him go, you’re choking him!”
Talavin shook her head, eyes fierce, still listening as the group moved onwards, the sounds of voices and boots fading. At last, she eased her grip just enough to allow Perry a desperate gasp of air, then clamped her hand back in place. She hissed a command at Janessa.
“Spare handkerchiefs. Anything at all to smother the noise. Now.”
Janessa nodded and searched through Perry’s pockets, pulling out several handkerchiefs, some clean, some quite thoroughly used. From her own pockets she pulled a grime-stained rag, and tugged the bandana from around her neck. She hastily bundled the fabric together and offered it, and Talavin released her grip, snatching it up.
Perry, red-faced, eyes and nose streaming, fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He gasped in a breath, high-pitched and wheezing in its urgency, his eyes squeezing shut. Talavin grimaced at the pitch of that first gasp, and the increasing urgency of those that followed.
Talavin pulled him back against her and clasped the bundle of cloth over his nose and mouth, smothering the long-awaited sneeze, and those that tumbled desperately out after.
“HHmmMMPHHHH! MHHPHH! HHHhhhHeeeEHHHMPH!”
On and on it went, Perry jerking forward in her hold, shaking and sweating, muffling sneeze after sneeze into the fabric. To Talavin’s ears, each still sounded terrifyingly loud, and every time Perry paused to draw breath, she held her own, listening for any sign that the sound had reached her sister, and that she and the torment she brought with her were approaching fast.
No such sound came. Just the panting, sniffling, coughing, and muffled sneezing of the sick man in her arms.
At last, after several minutes had passed, and Perry seemed to have sneezed himself into exhaustion, Talavin released her hold, allowing Perry to take hold of the fabric bundle himself. Shaking, sweating, utterly spent, he slumped back against the pillar, separating a handkerchief from the tangle of fabric and giving his nose a wet, weary, and very much needed blow.
Janessa glared at Talavin, coming to stand by Perry and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“What in nine hells was that about? Were you trying to kill him?”
Talavin, willing her racing heart to calm, met her glare coldly.
“It takes longer than that to smother a person. I speak from experience. And I just saved your lives. Were we discovered, you would beg to die so easily.”
“If you’d hurt him, you’d beg for that! Whoever that was, we could have taken them! We took that umberhulk the other day!”
“You foolish, pathetic little creature, you haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about! An umberhulk? Nothing compared to what I just saved you from!”
Perry staggered to his feet, swaying slightly, and stepped between them.
“That’s quite enough of that. Janessa, thank you for the defense, but I don’t think I could have kept quiet on my own. And Talavin… Are you alright? I could feel you shaking. You looked terrified.”
Talavin tried to school her face back into an impassive mask, forcing her breathing to slow and her muscles to relax, but there was no hiding the tremor in her hands. She avoided Perry’s eyes, knowing the gentle concern she would see there, and furious at it without even needing to see it.
“That was a sorcerer of House Zaurret. To fall into her hands would be… unfortunate. To say the least.”
Perry’s brow creased in concern.
“House Zaurret? Is that not…”
“My own former house. Yes. So please trust me when I say I speak from experience.”
Janessa let out an annoyed huff, shouldering her cannon.
“A sorcerer’s basically just a wizard, right? I could have downed her with one shot before she got a single spell off!”
Before Talavin could snarl a reply, Perry held up a warning hand.
“Easy, Janessa. Let’s listen to Talavin. She’s the expert here.”
Talavin, still shaking with unspent adrenaline, turned her glare to Perry.
“If you know I’m the expert, why did you not agree to stay at camp? Your condition could have gotten us killed!”
Perry flinched, and nodded. Fishing a clean handkerchief from the bundle he held, he mopped at his damp face, letting out a sigh that turned into a congested cough.
“A part of me truly wishes I’d listened. In truth, I’m starting to feel a little wretched. But another part is glad we came this way. Did you hear what they said? What name?”
Talavin scowled, folding her arms tightly across her chest to conceal the shaking of her hands.
“What do I care what their names are?”
Janessa, after a few moments lost in thought, widened her eyes in realization.
“Wait… Duke Rousseau?”
Perry nodded, looking grim.
“Then it wasn’t just me who heard it. Damn, I was hoping it was just the congestion getting to my ears!”
He coughed, pressing a hand to his chest, and blew his nose again. Talavin looked from Perry to Janessa, awaiting an explanation for their grim faces.
“Who is this duke? Why do you care about some nobleman?”
Janessa groaned, and pointed at Perry.
“Blame him! It’s because of this Serafina he’s so damned smitten with…”
“I’m hardly smitten! Miss DeVille is simply a dear friend. And her family may very well become entangled with the duke’s, should her younger sister marry his son. If he’s involved in something suspect, they deserve to know.”
Talavin gave a snort of derision.
“My congratulations to them. Again, why do we care? We need to get moving, before more come, or before they return! Don’t complain, gnome, your ruins will still be there another day!”
Perry reached out and laid a hand on Talavin’s shoulder, stopping her from turning away. She shot him a fierce glare, a silent reminder of how easily that hand could be broken. Maddeningly, he did not look afraid.
“Talavin, the duke is an antiques dealer. He was no one, just someone we all assumed came into an unexpected inheritance, or something of the sort. But here he is, dealing with a house of drow who, according to you, are known for sorcery, and for cruelty. So, why… wh… hhhHHihhh… HhIESHIEW! SHIEW! HhhhIYESHYIEW!”
And he was off, sneezing again and again. As Janessa came to his side to steady him, Talavin closed her eyes, feeling her chest tighten once more. She bit at the inside of her cheek, fighting down a cry of frustration, and forced her voice to remain level as she spoke.
“And why would House Zaurret lower themselves to dealing with surface dwellers? In the time I was there, they would have spat upon the mere idea. The only surfacers they dealt with were slaves.”
Perry, emerging from the handkerchief with a series of damp snuffles, nodded gloomily.
“Talavin, I’m afraid I have something to ask of you.”
“No.”
“I won’t ask you to help me. I’ll take full responsibility myself. I only need to know…”
“No! Whether it’s assistance or information, I’ll not be helping with either! I was paid, and paid well, to keep you alive! If you go meddling in the affairs of Hause Zaurret, you will be killed, and my reputation will suffer! Especially if this involves my sister!”
Perry’s eyes widened, and then softened in sympathy. Talavin quietly cursed herself.
“Your sister?”
Talavin turned her head away, refusing to meet those soft eyes, forcing her voice to remain impassive and level.
“The sorcerer. Jys’tyrr. One of a pair, together with her twin, Jhael’tyrr. Both inherited our mother’s gift of sorcery. Myself and… Well. I did not inherit it myself. I’m glad for it. If I had that sort of power, I doubt I would have been allowed to escape so easily.”
Perry nodded, sniffling and wincing as he dabbed at his nose, letting the information sink in. When he spoke again he was plainly trying to speak calmly, but failed to keep a waver from his voice.
“It isn’t fair to ask you to get involved. Nor you, Janessa. But, Talavin, if you could let me know what I’m likely to encounter…”
“Death is what you’ll encounter! And it’s unlikely to come quickly! No. I’m not helping. See sense, and walk away!”
Perry sighed, shaking his head.
“Then will you stay with Janessa, and get her back to camp safely? I think I can find my way back on my own.”
Janessa let out a groan of frustration.
“You seriously think I’m letting you go chasing after a pack of mad drow alone? Not happening!”
She looked up at Perry, jaw set, eyes blazing with fierce determination. He smiled, patting her on the shoulder, and looked to Talavin.
“We’ll meet you back at camp, then. Wish us luck?”
Talavin shook her head, eyes wide with disbelief, hands shaking, breath quickening. In her mind’s eye she saw Jys’tyrr’s face, alight with gleeful malice.
“Luck be damned, I wish you sense! I won’t tell you again. Forget this, and move on.”
The accursed creature instead gathered his satchel and journal, and gave her a deeply unconvincing smile of reassurance as he made his way to the path, Janessa at his side. Talavin watched, fighting the urge to scream after them, as they set off. Instead, cursing under her breath, she turned away, setting off on the long walk back to camp.
This was their choice. On their own heads be it!
Another face surfaced in her mind. Almost indistinguishable from her own, save for the scar on her cheek. Eyes wide and damp, pleading.
“Really, Avin? Everything we’ve been through, and you’ll leave me to go alone?”
*****
“Well, the good news is, looks like we found your ruins…”
Perry and Janessa knelt side by side at the top of a cliff, partially hidden by a rocky outcrop, looking across a chasm towards a great stony plateau on the other side. An ancient iron bridge extended across the chasm, and at the centre of the plateau was something Perry had seen time and time again, sketched in Janessa’s notes. An ancient, ornate temple, its crumbling pillars intricately carved, its walls blanketed in moss and fungi. Though clearly long-abandoned, it was strikingly beautiful.
And it was crawling with drow.
Janessa cursed, ducking back behind the rocks.
“Damn. It’s absolutely swarming! What do Talavin’s house want with a deep gnome temple?”
Perry slumped against the rocks at her side, trying to fight off a shiver and failing. Once again, he found himself wishing he had followed Talavin’s advice and stayed in camp. Even that morning, when his symptoms had been confined to his nose and throat, he had felt an ominous sense that this cold was going to be a nasty one. Now, his fears had been confirmed. His joints and muscles ached fiercely, and despite knowing that his temperature was likely rising, he shook with constant chills. His temples throbbed mercilessly, and no matter how many times he sipped from his canteen, he couldn’t soothe the pain and dryness in his throat.
“Hh… Hhfff… HhYIE-SHMPHH!”
And, of course, his nose continued to torment him. He muffled the sneeze as best he could, and peered over the top of the rock once more to see if he had drawn any attention. So far, all seemed to be well. Ducking back down, he blew his nose, grimacing slightly at the sound of congestion being dislodged, and the heaviness of all that remained. Rubbing at the raw appendage to soothe the remaining tickles, he sighed.
“And what does Duke Rousseau have to do with it all? I saw more crates being moved inside. I wonder if they’re all from him? And what’s.. inside…”
Pressing the handkerchief over his mouth, he muffled an outburst of coughing. Janessa rubbed his back as he fought to catch his breath. When the coughing only grew in intensity, she took his canteen and pressed it into his hands.
“Here, come on, try to take a sip. Damn. You’re burning up. Tal’s right, you should have stayed in camp.”
Perry shook his head, catching his breath at last and raising the canteen to his lips with a shaking hand.
“If I’d stayed, we might never have learned about this. Who knows if they mean to stay? The question is, how do we get closer? There’s guards at the end of the bridge, and no other way across.”
Janessa ran a hand through her hair in frustration, nearly dislodging her goggles in the process. She began to tap one foot, clearly resisting the temptation to get up and pace.
“We could try capturing one of them when they come back? Shame Tal’s not here. She could work ‘em over, and get some information.”
Perry winced at the thought.
“I’m sure there’s a more civilized way of doing things! If we were to capture one of them, I have one of my spore blends that could help. It induces a dazed state when inhaled. It could make them more… more… su-huhhhHUSHMPHH!... Ugh. Suggestible.”
Janessa gave a snort of amusement, nudging Perry in the ribs as he tended to his nose again.
“Or you could just threaten to sneeze on them! That should be scary enough to loosen some tongues!”
Perry gave a weak huff of laughter in return, and had to hastily return his handkerchief to his nose as it began to leak in response.
“That’s a threat that would send anyone running! Truly, I wouldn’t wish this cold on my worst e-ehh… Ehh… HeeEEHSHYIEEEW!”
Perry froze, feeling Janessa tense up at his side. There had been no muffling that one, and it rang out, echoing through the caverns. Even worse, his nose was still unsatisfied. Perry scrubbed at it furiously, trying to slow his breathing, but the itch remained, burning through his nasal passages, demanding to be scratched.
For a few moments, there was silence, save for Perry’s sniffling and unsteady breathing.
Then…
“Phor gaer!”
“Tlu kyone!”
Janessa swore under her breath, peering out over the rock and readying her cannon. She ducked back down.
“Guards coming! Four of them! Ready for a fight?”
Perry shook his head, eyes watering, itching nose buried in his handkerchief.
“We need to run. Or hide. Get back to the path, now!”
He shoved Janessa towards the path, and she set off running. As he struggled to his feet to follow, however, the burning, crawling itch in his nose overpowered him once more.
“HSHIEW! SHYIEEW! HeeIEESHYIEEW!”
Staggering from the onslaught of sneezing, Perry felt blindly for the rocks for support. Another sneeze bent him at the waist, and he overbalanced, stumbling against the outcropping. Over the sound of his sneezing, he heard the clanging of boots on the iron bridge. Managing to open his streaming eyes as he fought the next sneeze, he saw Janessa turning back, realizing he wasn’t following.
Keep running! Don’t look back!
Janessa instead slid to a halt, raising her cannon onto her shoulder, eyes grim.
Before she could move, something shifted in the shadows behind her. A figure moving with predatory grace, stalking along the path.
Talavin.
Perry briefly met her eyes, and he pointed to Janessa, praying she understood.
Talavin nodded, and pounced. One arm swept the gnome off her feet, and a hand pressed over her mouth. And in a heartbeat, both drow and struggling gnome were gone, vanished back into the shadows.
With that, the sneezing overcame him again. Perry slumped against the rocks, nose buried in his handkerchief, hitching, panting, sneezing, completely blind and useless.
By the time he finally caught his breath, coughing and snuffling weakly into his handkerchief, the sound of footsteps and metal armour surrounded him. Opening his eyes, Perry looked blearily up to find four drow guards surrounding him, and four crossbows leveled at his chest. Heart pounding, he raised his hands in surrender, one still clutching his sodden handkerchief.
“I mean you no harm. Please. I’m only hear to… to talk… IieeESHYIEEW!”
As he lurched forward with the force of the sneeze, something thumped into his arm, flooding the limb with red, stabbing pain. And then, an icy numbness. Crying out, Perry looked at his arm, finding a stain of red blooming around a large dart.
The icy sensation spread up his arm, and across his chest. His vision blurred, and he barely registered the sensation of dropping to his knees. He looked up at the grey-skinned, red eyed faces looking down at him, tried to speak, and instead slumped forward, vision turning dark.
Please… Talavin… Take Janessa and run…
*****
Heart pounding, breathing carefully controlled, Talavin knelt in the shadows of the path, listening as the sounds of violent sneezing stopped, and a body hit the ground. Her ears twitched as she picked up the sound of armour once more. Moving away, back towards the bridge. She let out a sigh of relief.
Janessa, still held against Talavin’s chest, fought furiously. Clawing, kicking, even trying to bite the hand over her mouth, she felt her eyes grow hot and wet, tears spilling over her cheeks. When Talavin released her at last, she spun around, her voice a low, angry hiss.
“We could have saved him!”
Talavin seized her arm as she tried to run after the drow who had taken her friend. Eyes narrowed, trembling with adrenaline, she hissed in return.
“One dart, one arrow, one scratch from their blades, and you would be on the ground, poisoned. Be grateful you weren’t captured too!”
“Grateful? They took my friend, and you made me just listen, and do nothing!”
“I saved your life!”
Janessa shouldered her cannon once more, turning away. Talavin seized her arm, pulling her back.
“You can’t just…”
“Yes I can! You can skulk in the shadows all you like, I’m going after my friend!”
Talavin gritted her teeth, forcing her voice to remain level.
“You can’t just go in shooting. We need a plan.”
Janessa hesitated, meeting Talavin’s eyes.
“We? You’re helping me?”
Talavin sighed, cold dread in her stomach, that frightened voice in her mind once more.
“Avin, please. I can’t do this alone!”
“So it would seem. If only so I can strangle your fool of a friend myself.”
Following his capture by the drow, Perry is in a sorry state indeed, and his situation is only growing worse. Luckily, Talavin and Janessa are staging a rescue, if only Perry can hold out...
Some mess, but not too graphically described. Some fantasy adventure style violence, but again, hopefully not too graphic. And mentions of Talavin's messed up family history.
(For the backstory behind the wolf, see previous fic Before the Storm)
The Underdark, Perry mused, was a decidedly odd place for a wolf.
Chains secured his hands to a damp dungeon wall. Some vague, distant part of his mind informed him that the shackles hurt terribly, but the pain felt oddly far away. Weak, confused, held up only by his chains, he blinked at the wolf in his cell, sitting calmly before him. It blinked back, yellow eyes knowing.
“You don’t belong here.”
The wolf, to his vague surprise, answered, voice deep and oddly familiar.
“No, I don’t. Do you?”
“I don’t suppose I do.”
Admitting it sent an ache through Perry’s chest. The wolf continued to regard him thoughtfully. In the gloom of the dungeon, its silver fur seemed almost luminous. A creature who belonged to a moonlit forest, not here. It went on.
“Then why are you here?”
Perry bowed his head, avoiding the wolf’s gaze. His eyes burned a little as he replied, voice trembling.
“The expedition is important. The specimens I could bring back, if I could figure out how to cultivate them on the surface, could be life-changing. Not to mention, the benefits of establishing safer travel routes, and the new knowledge that could be gained from… from unexplored areas…”
The wolf let out a low growl.
“Liar.”
Perry raised his head, and found the wolf on its feet now. He tried to steady his voice.
“It’s true. The specimens for my research with Gus are showing so much promise! And there’s so much to be learned! Just from the time I’ve spent here already, I…”
The wolf growled again, silencing him. Teeth bared, hackles raised, it drew closer.
“It may well be true. But it’s not answering my question. Why are you here?”
Perry fell silent, save for his congested breathing. Some part of him was aware that his airways were irritated, and demanded relief. But the burning itch in his sinuses and the congestion in his chest lurked in the same place as the pain from his shackles. They would have to be reckoned with, and soon, but for now, he was somewhere else.
“I think I know who you are. We’ve met before.”
“We have. You’ve grown cleverer since then. But no wiser.”
Perry frowned, shaking his head slightly. The wolf blurred slightly before his eyes, and the prickling and burning in his nose grew more present. He wrinkled his nose, trying to focus on the wolf. It was less real now, surrounded by a moonlit haze.
“The last time we met, you saved me.”
“So I did.”
“I don’t think you’re here to save me now.”
He sniffled again, and this time the action felt damp and real. His throat prickled, urging him to cough. The wolf pricked its ears and looked to the cell door, and heaved a sigh as it turned away.
“You chose this. You chose poorly. You save yourself from here.”
“Wait! I still have questions! I’ve wanted to see you again for… for so… hhehh… Hnn… Please, I… Iihhhh…”
“Best of luck to you, Peregrine Merriweather. You’re about to need it.”
“HhhHISHYIEW!”
The sneeze brought with it pain and wakefulness. When Perry opened his eyes, it was to see the dungeon in full, bleak detail. Cold, damp stone, with moss and mould growing on the walls. Rows of chains were bolted to the walls, one shackle still holding the broken off, skeletal hand of a former prisoner. The only light came from a lantern on the other side of the bars, and even that was guttering and dim.
Perry let out a wince and a pained groan. His entire weight seemed to have been taken by his arms, and when he finally supported himself on shaky legs, the movement of the shackles sent flares of pain through his wrists. However long he had been here, it was long enough for them to have been rubbed raw by the rough iron. The pain joined in with the throbbing from the dart wound in his arm that had rendered him unconscious, and the constant, dull ache of his fever.
Violent shivers ran through him, despite the clamminess of his skin. His fever seemed to have gotten worse.
His cold as a whole seemed to have gotten worse. His throat stung with each breath, and the cough with which he tried to relieve it sounded wet and ominous. And his nose, leaking over his upper lip, was not about to be satisfied with a single sneeze.
In between sneezes, Perry snuffled and snorted wetly, eyes damp and burning with humiliation. With his hands restrained, he had no hope of reaching for his handkerchief, or even covering his nose. He sniffed desperately, but it was no use against the onslaught of sneezes and the mess they brought with them. Having grown up with severe allergies and a tendency to catch every cold even thinking of going around, and a strict expectation of good manners, not being able to cover his sneezes at all was nothing short of mortifying. The pain and the fever he could stoically endure, but being forced to make such ungentlemanly noises as he tried to contain the results of his sneezing was nothing short of complete humiliation.
There was movement outside the cell. Voices slightly too low and distant to hear. Perry gave a final attempt at a good, clearing sniff, and, failing that, turned his head as far as he could, rubbing his nose against his shoulder. It was a struggle, taking much squirming and grimacing and nuzzling his nose into his shirtsleeve, but, although it left the linen in a dreadful state, it cleaned his nose as much as he was likely to be allowed.
When three figures arrived at the cell door, Perry was standing as straight and dignified as he could, and he met the eyes of the drow sorcerer Jys’tyrr with a level gaze. She smiled, and the malice behind it made chills run over his clammy skin.
“Well, well. Aren’t you a long way from home?”
*****
“You are aware, of course, that this is a terrible idea?”
“Yeah, you might have mentioned it once or twice.”
“And you realize that, far from saving your ridiculous friend, we may well join him in death, or worse?”
“Mm-hm. Torture, slavery, fed to monsters… You painted a pretty vivid picture.”
Talavin, taut as a bowstring, crouched on a sheltered part of the cliffside, gazing over the chasm at the temple on the other side. Activity there had only increased since Perry’s capture. Twice, she had seen Jys’tyrr slinking about, giving orders.
She looked down to Janessa, who sat on the ground, surrounded by her tinkering tools and assorted gadgets, putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be a hastily assembled new cannon.
“And you realize that, whatever fate befalls you and Sir Peregrine, as a traitor to House Zaurret, my fate will be ten times worse?”
Janessa looked up, meeting her eyes. Her grimy face was pale and drawn with worry, but her mouth was set in a look of grim determination.
“I know. And if you want to walk away, I’m not judging. Not gonna ask what happened, but if it scared you, it must have been bad. But I’m not going with you. Perry and me came here together, and we’re leaving together, or not at all.”
Talavin fought back a shudder, turning her attention back to the temple.
“My money’s on ‘not at all’.”
Janessa gave a rather mirthless snort of laughter.
“Plenty of people back on the surface bet me I wouldn’t be coming back. Joke’s on them! Can’t very well pay up if I die down here!”
“A fine thing to joke about.”
Janessa turned a final screw and got to her feet, the new cannon on her shoulder, her familiar one strapped to her back. She looked up at Talavin, forcing a smile.
“Tal, if I don’t joke about it, I’m gonna cry about it, and that’s not gonna help anyone. I’m ready. Sure you’re in?”
“Are you sure your contraptions will work?”
“One way to find out!”
Talavin sighed, closing her eyes, her mind returning, as it so often did, to her training. The sting of a remembered rod across her shoulders made her flinch.
“Pathetic. Again! This is the Shadow Guard of House Zaurret! We are shadow given flesh. We are unheard, untouched, seen only in the eyes of the dying. You leave here a silent weapon, or you don’t leave at all!”
“Tal?”
Talavin breathed, loosening the tension in her muscles, focusing on her senses and drawing herself back to the present. She had not felt that rod on her shoulders in a decade. The last time she had seen it, she had seized it, turning it on the master who had trained her. It had been his proudest moment, and his last.
“Ready when you are.”
Janessa grinned, and seized a detonator from amongst her creations. Laying out the fuse to which it was attached had been a long and tense exercise, and Talavin had flinched at every noise as she did so. Now, she watched the slightest spark of light dart away into the darkness, following the fuse.
Janessa readied the new cannon, her eye set to the sights, finger hovering above the trigger. Talavin knelt, a predator ready to pounce, each breath, each movement carefully controlled, each heartbeat as loud as a drum in her ears.
One beat.
Two.
Three.
From the opposite side of the great chasm, near the bridge where Perry had been captured, sound and noise filled the air. Flames billowed up, shrapnel flew, and dust and stone were scattered. Overhead, shrieking creatures took flight in alarm.
In the temple and on the plateau, drow began to yell, and surge towards the bridge.
Timed exactly with the noise of the explosion, the cannon on Janessa’s shoulder fired with a burst of smoke and noise, launching a pointed hook, a rope trailing behind it. Janessa stumbled back from the recoil, and Talavin steadied her, keeping her breaths slow and measured as the hook streaked through the air, and…
“Got it!”
Flushed with success as the rope caught the edge of the temple, Janessa tugged on it to test its hold, then set about securing the end firmly to the nearest large rock. As soon as the rope was secure, Talavin seized the gnome with one arm.
“Hey! You can’t just keep grabbing me whenever you feel like it!”
Ignoring Janessa’s protests, Talavin took another of the metal hooks from her tinkering supplies and hooked it over the rope. Janessa let out a yelp of alarm, clutching at Talavin’s tunic and wrapping her legs around her waist.
“Keep silent. We get one chance at this. Only one.”
Heartbeat like a war drum in her ears, Talavin let the hook and rope take her weight, stepping out into the void.
*****
Jys’tyrr entered Perry’s cell, eyes traveling up and down his body, a smile curling the corner of her mouth.
“What a pathetic creature. A shame. You’d be pretty, if you weren’t in such a sorry state.”
Perry sniffed sharply, his nose threatening to run again. He tensed as Jys’tyrr drew near, and raised a hand to his face. Her fingers, tipped with those sharp silver claws, traced over his cheekbone and down along the line of his jaw, the cold metal making him shiver. She gave a thoughtful hum as she brought her hand lower, tracing the fine embroidery on his waistcoat, and the lace that trimmed his cravat.
“Pretty, but not much else. What are you doing lurking about in the Underdark, when you look as if you ought to be swooning on a fainting couch in some noble’s manor?”
Perry’s attempts at dignified coolness were undone by a ticklish cough. Jys’tyrr drew back, her lip curling in revulsion, as the cough grew wetter and more desperate. At last, Perry caught his breath, sniffling helplessly, eyes damp, and attempted to compose himself once more.
“My reasons for being here are of no interest to you. A scientific expedition, nothing more. Would you be so kind as to allow me the use of one of my hands? I’m plainly outnumbered and pose no risk of escaping, and this will be considerably more pleasant for both of us if I can access my… SNFF… my ha-hahhh-ndker-SCHIEW!”
And that was the end of any attempt at maintaining his dignity. Jys’tyrr drew back with a noise of revulsion, while Perry sneezed again and again.
Perry’s face burned as he struggled with sneeze after sneeze, trying to hold his breath, wrinkle his nose, rub at the roof of his mouth with his tongue, but to no avail. Each was wrenched from him with a burst of spray, scraping at his raw throat, until with a final, distressingly damp “HhnnggGHHSHYIEW!”, he was left panting, coughing weakly, snuffling thickly at the mess he could do nothing about.
Worsening his humiliation even further, he found the beginning of an apology on his lips, before reminding himself that this was the woman who had ordered him chained up here to begin with.
“Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.”
Jys’tyrr looked to the two people who stood behind her. The man and the orcish woman who had been carrying the crate from Duke Rousseau. Both looked somewhat uneasy, and avoided Perry’s eyes when he looked up.
“One of you, clean him up. I’ll not be looking at that mess while I interrogate him.”
The man folded his arms, looking away.
“Well, don’t look at me. What, you can handle blood but not that? Brasha, you’ve got some sniveling brat somewhere, don’t you? You’d be used to this, then, you handle it.”
Annoyance flickered across Brasha’s scarred face, and she seemed ready to snap something back, but her eyes momentarily met Perry’s. Face burning with humiliation, he looked away with another useless sniffle, wrinkling his nose as the mess irritated it further. To his surprise, Brasha sighed and felt in her pocket, pulling out a rag. Approaching Perry, she cupped a hand under his chin and raised his head. The look in her eyes was not contempt or revulsion, but something like regret. She swiped the rag across Perry’s face, cleaning him up with surprising gentleness.
“He’s burning up. I doubt you’ll get anything useful out of him like this.”
Jys’tyrr gave a snort of contempt as Brasha returned to her place behind her.
“Softness, from a beast like you? How disappointing. I imagined you’d be the first to try your hand at breaking him!”
Brasha’s hand curled into a fist at her side, and her companion gave her a warning look, which she ignored.
“There’s no dignity in breaking someone who can’t hit back. Unchain him, and let him collect himself, and I’ll try my hand. But I won’t let it be said that I hit a chained target.”
Perry, straightening up a little now that his nose was no longer leaking, looked to Brasha, eyes wide and sincere.
“You work for Duke Rousseau, don’t you? Surely you can’t think anything good will come of this?”
Jys’tyrr stepped between Perry and Brasha, eyes cold.
“You address me, not the brute. What are you doing here?”
Perry met her cold look with one of his own, then twisted to be able to see Brasha once more. The unease in her eyes had grown.
“This is what you’re happy with? Being nothing more than ‘the brute’? Your companion said you have a child? Would you…”
Jys’tyrr stepped forward and, with a fluid movement, struck him across the face. Perry let out a gasp of pain that turned into a painful cough. His cheek stung, and something warm trickled down to his jaw. As he panted for breath, the silver claws came to trace his throat, one hovering pointedly where one might feel for a pulse.
“That was foolish. And clumsily done. You think to sow discord so easily within my ranks?”
Perry caught his breath, swallowing hard, feeling the claw dig in.
“Well, if this the respect you show your ranks, I can’t imagine…”
The hand raised and struck him again, this time on the other cheek. Perry gasped and coughed again, but forced himself to raise his head and meet the red eyes steadily. There was a gratifying twitch of one eye, before the sorcerer’s face grew calm once more. She kept her eyes on Perry’s, but raised her voice to address Rousseau’s underlings.
“Out. Both of you. Stand guard outside. And leave the bag here.”
The man, seemingly all too eager to leave, set down a satchel that Perry recognized as his own, and let himself out of the cell. Brasha hesitated, but after a long moment, her face hardened, and she, too, turned to leave.
Jys’tyrr lowered her clawed fingers from Perry’s throat and stepped back. Perry sniffled, crinkling his nose, as he watched her go to pick up his bag. She drew out his mushroom-harvesting knife with a sneer, examining the short, curved blade.
“Extraordinary. You dare set foot in the Underdark, with this as your only weapon?”
Despite the direness of the situation, Perry couldn’t help but give a slight, grim smile. Talavin had put the same question to him, on the very first day of the expedition. He had been so confident in his reply then. Now, he found himself giving the same reply, punctuated with sniffles and hitching breaths, his voice hoarse.
“A person can be armed with… Hihhh… Hfff… more than just a blade... HhhSHIEMMPhhh…”
It was a pathetic attempt at a stifle, and he twisted to try and direct it into his shoulder, but even so, he saw spray linger in the air, and felt dampness about his nostrils. As he sniffed back the aftermath, Jys’tyrr let out a snort of amusement.
“And what else are you armed with? Your wits? I’ve yet to see any evidence of that.”
Desperately scrunching his nose against another tickle, wishing once again he had followed Talavin’s advice and stayed in camp, Perry found himself inclined to agree. He tried to rub his nose on his shoulder once more, and turned back to see Jys’tyrr removing carefully labelled jars of spores.
Please drop one… That’ll be a lesson you’ll not soon forget…
Sadly, Jys’tyrr’s hand remained steady as she set down the jars. Reaching back into his satchel, she removed his journal.
“Well. Let’s see what this has to say about you, shall we?”
She opened the handsome leather tome to the first page, and Perry tried not to grimace, knowing what she was about to find. The journal was a new one, gifted to him by Serafina the day he departed for his expedition. He remembered reading the inscription on the title page with a shy, embarrassed smile, cheeks flushing as he met Serafina’s eyes.
“Well, now you’re just making fun of me.”
“Do you truly still believe I’d tease you for such a thing? I believe it will be true some day. Don’t you?”
Jys’tyrr gave a mocking laugh as she read the inscription aloud.
“’Notes of Sir Peregrine Merriweather, Gentleman Druid’! Oh, you are adorable!”
Perry took a deep breath as he listened to that high, cold laugh. The breath escaped as a cough, followed by several more, until his eyes were watering and he was panting for breath. Clearing his throat, he looked at Jys’tyrr through damp lashes.
“Yes, so I’ve heard. You’ll find nothing in there of value to you, unless you happen to have a particular interest in fungi.”
Jys’tyrr, flicking through the pages, stopped at the last, incomplete entry. The smile that slowly formed on her lips was deeply unsettling, and Perry suspected the chill that suddenly shook him had nothing to do with his rising fever.
“As it happens, Gentleman Druid, I do. You’re a skilled observer, and a lovely artist. Devil’s lash… You’ve captured its beauty well. How would you like a deeper understanding?”
She reached into the dark silk of her robe, and drew out a small vial, decorated with silver filigree, holding it up to the meagre light.
“I haven’t much of this left. It’s rather a favourite of mine. But as I find myself in the presence of a gentleman, and a fellow enthusiast, I’m sure I can bring myself to part with a few drops.”
Opening the lid, she dipped the tip of one silver claw into the vial, followed by another, and another. Perry fought to keep his breathing even. That cruel smile promised nothing good.
“You’ll have time to savour the effects. Our alchemists found a delightful way to let them build gradually. For the first few hours, you’ll barely feel more than a slight burn. It’s not a poison for the impatient, but I appreciate a slow burn.”
Closing the vial and tucking it back into her robe, Jys’tyrr stepped closer. Sweating now, swallowing hard, Perry fought the urge to press himself further back against the wall. He remembered reading about devil’s lash all too clearly. Even reading of the symptoms had made him shudder.
“By the time a day has passed, you’ll be in agony. That’s usually where people start to lose their voice from the screaming. Though perhaps that will happen sooner for you. Poor, pathetic creature, you do look poorly...”
Reaching him, Jys’tyrr once again traced her claws over Perry’s cheek, cool against his flushed skin. He forced himself to hold her gaze, fighting the urge to turn away and close his eyes. Her smile widened, and she traced the claws down his throat.
“You’ll think that first night will be as bad as it gets. With whatever voice you have left, you’ll beg for it to stop. Instead, it only builds, and builds… The longest I’ve ever known a person to endure is nine days. One for each level of the Hells. Though, that was a drow, who first tasted poison with her mother’s milk. As for you…”
The claws trailed down over his chest, reaching under his waistcoat, resting over his heart. No matter how calm he forced his expression to remain, Perry knew she must feel it racing. The sheer delight in her eyes turned his stomach.
“I ordered its creation personally. I call it Mind Breaker. What do you think?”
Perry could find only one tiny positive to the situation. The adrenaline now rushing through him seemed to have opened his sinuses a little. His voice came out blessedly uncongested as he replied.
“From my research, I would have expected something more poetic from a drow.”
Jys’tyrr’s eyes narrowed, and Perry tried and failed to hold in a cry of pain as the claws pieced his shirt, raking the skin over his heart. He felt blood begin to dampen his shirt, and a slow, stinging burn settling into the wounds.
Before Jys’tyrr could say a word, chaos broke out somewhere beyond the cell.
Perry flinched at the distant explosion, and even Jys’tyrr started, turning to the door of the cell. The order she shouted was in drow, but the clanking of metal armour growing further away suggested she had ordered an investigation.
Even with his heart pounding, and the burning beginning to spread out from the claw wounds, Perry couldn’t help a slight, disbelieving smile.
Janessa!
For a moment, he dared hope Jys’tyrr might delay her interrogation. Instead, the uncertainty and fury faded to cold control once more. She took up Perry’s journal once again, shooting Perry a contemptuous look.
“A companion of yours? That was foolish of them. I’ll be sure to bring their remains to you, so you can bid them farewell.”
Perry gave no answer, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to ignore the spreading burn. It had reached up to his collarbone, and spread down over his stomach. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to listen. Distant shouting. Another explosion, and another. Dust fell from the ceiling, and Perry shook it from his hair, blinking as it fell in his eyes, the stale smell invading his nostrils. Damn it all, they were itching again…
“HhSHYIEW! SHIEEW!”
“’As per Lord DeVille’s request’… Lord DeVille? Is he the one you answer to?”
Perry gave an irritated snort, trying to rub his nose on his shoulder once more. Doing so only rubbed the gritty dust against his raw nose, making it sting.
“He’s a patron of the arts, who most generously extended his patronage to the sciences as well. He isn’t involved. Just wants the glory of having his name attached to any discoveries.”
Sorry, Your Lordship, but the less you’re involved, the better.
“How unfortunate for him, that he’s wasted his money. And Janessa Brightburn… Who is she?”
Perry shook his head, as if doing so might fend off the itch in his nose. It was running again, and the snort he gave to control it would have mortified him in any other circumstances.
“Maintenance staff from the university. Handy for chores, but nothing else.”
Sincerest apologies, Janessa. You can shout at me later.
“You seem to have a curious affection for a mere drudge. ‘Janessa is alight with excitement at the prospect of finding the temple’… So, you haven’t stumbled upon this place at random?”
Perry cursed the detail in which he made his entries.
Jys’tyrr froze, the journal open to one of the earliest pages. Perry, remembering Talavin’s terror, cursed himself, knowing exactly what she had discovered.
“… ‘Talavin continues to prove herself a woman of the most commendable skill and courage’…”
Jys’tyrr turned the journal around for Perry to see, showing off the sketch he had made of Talavin in those early days. Her eyes were alight with malicious glee.
Behind her, the shadows seemed to lengthen.
Something within them moved.
“Oh, you poor fool. Is that who you’re hoping will save you?”
Perry tore his eyes from the movement in the shadows, praying he hadn’t already given Talavin away. Heart now beating painfully fast, he lowered his voice, hoping Jys’tyrr might draw nearer to hear him.
“Talavin has proved herself to be a brave companion, and an exceptional fighter. I would trust her with my life.”
Jys’tyrr choked out a laugh of disbelief. It went on and on, harsh and grating. While her eyes were closed as she composed herself, Perry shot another quick glance at the shadows. The movement there had stopped. His mouth grew dry.
Did I imagine it? Was it just hope?
Jys’tyrr, as Perry had hoped, drew closer, smiling with sadistic glee.
“Do you know anything at all about your brave Talavin? Has she told you how she came to be what she is? An outcast, hunting bounties and escorting imbeciles to scrape the coin to get by? About how she fled our house in terror and shame? Has she told you how she abandoned her family to preserve her own pathetic life?”
Perry couldn’t help but let his gaze dart behind Jys’tyrr. The shadows had retreated. He hurriedly brought his eyes back to his captor’s, fighting to keep his voice level, praying Talavin was listening.
“There’s no shame in leaving the likes of you. Talavin wasn’t cowardly. She was clever.”
Again, Jys’tyrr laughed. Again, behind her, the shadows retreated further. Perry felt sweat drip down his back.
“It wasn’t us she abandoned! Has she not told you about Talinil? About how her twin, the only one of us she professed to love, fled us first? How Talavin stayed and cowered, and let her flee alone? About how she fled herself, not just out of fear, but out of shame, when Talinil was dragged back to face justice?”
Perry closed his eyes, bowing his head.
Oh, Talavin… I’d flee too…
With his head bowed, his nose threatened to drip once more. He felt his cheeks flush with frustration, sure that Jys’tyrr would mistake his sniffle of irritation for one of emotion. Even more maddeningly, the itch had begun its crawling, prickling assault on his nasal passages once more, and he fumed at the thought of making a mess of himself once again.
“I don’t believe you, or anyone in your house, has ever known the meaning of justice. But I dearly, dearly hope one day someone shows you. And as for Talavin, if she’s so very pathetic, how is it you failed to kill her?”
Jys’tyrr curled her lip, and once more, Perry gasped in pain as she struck him. And yet, as he blinked and shook his head from the impact, he saw the shadows creeping forward once more.
Well done, Talavin. I’ll buy you what time and distraction I can.
Keeping his head bowed, listening to Jys’tyrr’s heavy breathing, Perry sniffled, this time not to extinguish the itch, but to encourage it. As if it sensed the urgency, it was being maddeningly, spitefully slow.
“It’s a dangerous way to think, you know. The way you see her.”
He looked up, savouring the anger on Jys’tyrr’s haughty, elegant face. He sniffled again, and paused, lightly brushing the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His expression briefly contorted against his will, the itch properly blooming now. It took all his willpower to keep his voice low and level, dropped to barely more than a hoarse whisper.
“When all you see of a person is their weakness, it becomes their strength. All you see of Talavin is the person who ran away. It leaves you blind to the person who might come back.”
As he had hoped, Jys’tyrr drew close once more, leaning in to catch his whisper. Praying for his nose to, for once in his life, cooperate, Perry gave another delicate sniffle, adding the last bit of fuel to the fire.
“If you think, for one moment…”
“HHNGGSHYIEWW!”
Jys’tyrr leapt back with a shriek of rage and revulsion.
And shadow given life surged up to meet her.
Perry saw little of the struggle. His nose, thoroughly provoked, meant to have satisfaction.
Sneeze after sneeze burst out of him, wrenching him forward against his shackles. And between each outburst, he fought to see and hear what was happening before him. The thump of flesh hitting flesh. The gurgle of shouted words stopped by a blow to the throat. The dull thud of a body hitting the floor. Another thud, and another. Hurried footsteps, and a blessedly familiar voice.
“Hey, Tal! We’re here to save him, not kill her!”
With a final, exhausted “HhHHGHSHIEW!”, Perry opened his watering eyes at last, panting for breath. There, kneeling over Jys’tyrr’s prone body, was Talavin, fist raised, panting for breath as if she had run for miles. When she looked up at Perry, her expression was one of pure, prey animal terror.
Janessa, smoking cannon over her shoulder, hurried to Perry’s side, grabbing a chair from the corner of the room and dragging it over. Pulling tools from her pocket, she climbed onto the chair and set to work on one of the shackles at once, shooting Perry a look of mingled relief and panic.
“Hey buddy! You look awful! How’re you feeling?”
Perry choked out a snuffly laugh, shaking with relief.
“About as bad as I imagine I look. I never dreamed I’d be so happy to hear you blowing something up.”
He turned his attention to Talavin. She remained where she was, shaking, fist raised, her eyes now on the unconscious form of her sister.
“Talavin. Thank you. Truly.”
Janessa cursed, moving her picks around in the lock.
“Tal, c’mon! She’s down for the count, come and help me!”
Still trembling, Talavin got to her feet, her movements uncharacteristically jerky. She ignored the spare picks Janessa held out to her, and instead let out a yell of fury, striking out with her fist at where metal met stone. Perry and Janessa both flinched. Talavin, breathing heavily and baring her teeth, let out another animal yell, striking the stone again.
“Tal, hey! You wanna bring everyone down on us?”
“Talavin! Talavin, listen to me, we need to get out. Deep breaths. You did well.”
Talavin slumped forward, leaning her head against the stone wall, letting out a shaking breath. Perry stretched out as best as he could, touching his fingertips to her shoulder. Her muscles were as taut as bundled wires.
“Talavin?”
“She’s still breathing. I should be killing her.”
“Talavin, look at me. We need to get out. Please, look at me?”
Talavin let out a shaking breath, and straightened up. She turned to face Perry, her expression a bitter mix of fear, anger, and exhaustion. Her voice came out hollow and weary.
“You’re a mess, Sir Peregrine.”
“And you’re magnificent.”
Talavin’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. As Janessa continued to struggle with the lock, Perry gave a sudden, flustered sniffle, twitching his nose, his eyes growing hazy. He bit his lip, breath growing unsteady, the increasing dampness at his raw nostrils worsening the tickle.
“You… You should both… s-step… hehh… ba-ahhh-ck… HhhHHAISHYIEW!”
To his surprise, the sneeze wasn’t sprayed out in front of him, but muffled into something soft. Perry snuffled, briefly nuzzling into the fabric, and opened his eyes to find Talavin having pulled his cravat up over his nose. Certainly not what he would have preferred to use, but given the circumstances…
“Thank you. Again.”
“Mention this to anyone, and you’ll wish I left you here to rot.”
Perry coughed out a laugh into the cloth, and as Janessa opened the first of his shackles, he replaced Talavin’s hand with his own. While Janessa turned her attention to the second shackle and Talavin took a length of rope from her belt to tie up Jys’tyrr, Perry fumbled clumsily in his pocket and found a handkerchief at last. By the time he had blown his nose to his satisfaction, Janessa had released his other hand.
Rubbing at his raw wrists with a wince, and feeling an ominous burning spreading through his veins, Perry looked between his two companions, exhausted, overwhelmed, and lost for words.
“I don’t know what to say. I…”
Three more blasts rang out overhead, and Perry flinched, covering his head as more dust rained down. Janessa hurriedly grabbed his satchel, returning his possessions to it and shoving it into his arms.
“You can wax poetic about us later. For now, ready to make a break for it?”
Perry nodded, steeling himself against the various miseries assaulting his body, bracing himself for what was to come next. Janessa hoisted her cannon onto her shoulder. Talavin breathed deeply, poising herself for a fight. Perry took a jar of spores from his bag, readying himself to throw them.
Perry might have escaped the drow, but he's still sick, and with drow poison in his veins, is in increasingly bad shape. Thankfully Talavin knows of a "healer", though her cure promises to be far from pleasant, and brings back some very bad memories.
Warnings for a little blood, implied fantasy medical trauma, Talavin's fucked-up past, and just who Vulture is as a person.
“Tal, c’mon, he needs a break! Just let him rest for a minute?”
Talavin, having been leading the party and setting a truly punishing pace, turned to find Janessa looking up at her imploringly, and Perry leaning against a rock, head bowed, breathing in ragged gasps and pants. Finding himself under observation, he attempted a reassuring smile. It quickly became a wince as he let out a pained cough.
“I’m quite alright. I can keep going.”
Even as he tried to straighten up and carry on, he staggered and slumped back against the rock, looking on the verge of collapse. Talavin swore. The adrenaline of their escape from the temple had long since worn off. Perry had managed surprisingly well through the panicked escape, his spore grenades leaving a number of drow either unconscious or staggering and staring, rendered useless. He had kept pace with Talavin and Janessa as they fled across the iron bridge, and even managed a hoarse cheer as Janessa’s remaining explosives destroyed it, stranding their pursuers.
That had been hours ago, and since then, his condition had deteriorated. Though he forced himself to keep up, he stumbled frequently, and increasingly seemed to struggle with walking a straight line. For all that Talavin urged silence, he was unable to repress a constant chorus of coughs, sniffles, sneezes, and increasingly, gasps and whimpers of pain. His pallid face glistened with sweat, coloured only by feverish red patches on his cheeks. His hands shook, and there was a worrying haze about his eyes.
“Truly, I’m just… just a little dizzy…”
He swayed, almost drunkenly, and Talavin hissed out a string of curses. Approaching him, she rested a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back against the rock.
“Sit.”
Perry had little choice in the matter. His knees seemed to buckle, and he slumped to the ground, back against the rock, eyes closed. He coughed, wincing in pain, and clumsily felt about in his pocket for a handkerchief, mopping his brow and swiping clumsily at his nose. Janessa hurried to his side, feeling his forehead and cheek, and reached for her canteen.
“Tal, he’s burning up. How much further to this healer of yours?”
Talavin looked about the terrain, dragging up memories of her last visit to this area. It had not been pleasant. She forced down memories of pure animal terror, angrily throbbing wounds, and the slow, icy spread of poison in her veins, focusing purely on what landmarks she recognized.
“About half an hour’s walk yet. If she’s still about.”
Janessa pressed the canteen into Perry’s hands with an attempt at an encouraging smile. It didn’t touch her eyes.
“See? Not long to go! You just catch your breath, take a drink…”
Perry’s hands shook badly as he took a sip of water, grimacing as he swallowed. He looked from Janessa to Talavin, a feverish fog in his eyes, blinking as if struggling to see them clearly.
“You two should go on ahead. I’m slowing you down. I’ll just… catch my… HhhSHYIEW!”
As the sneeze jostled him, Perry was unable to stifle a moan of pain, arms wrapping protectively around his chest. As he sniffled and dabbed at his nose in the aftermath, Talavin reached for his throat, tugging off his defiled cravat and unfastening his collar, then unbuttoning his waistcoat. Even barely touching him, she could feel the sickly heat radiating from him.
Beneath his bloodied shirt were the three claw marks left by Jys’tyrr, red and angry over his heart. As Talavin opened his shirt further, she felt her gut begin to knot in anxiety. Black veins had begun to spread from the wound, covering Perry’s chest and abdomen, and beginning to reach up towards his throat.
Janessa’s breath caught, and she reached for Perry’s hand.
“That’s not good, is it?”
Perry attempted a weak smile, squeezing her hand weakly.
“I’ll be fine. Barely feels worse than a touch of flu.”
A catch in his breath and a gasp of pain undermined his words, and he looked to Talavin, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.
“This Mind Breaker poison… Is it as bad as your sister claimed?”
Talavin straightened up, avoiding his gaze. Every instinct screamed at her that this creature was weak. A liability. To remain with him was to be vulnerable. With Jys’tyrr certain to be on the hunt soon, if not already out for blood, vulnerability was a death sentence.
“I was spared that particular experience. But knowing Jys’tyrr, it will almost certainly be worse. On your feet. The longer you delay, the worse it will get.”
Janessa opened her mouth to protest, but Perry squeezed her hand again, taking another sip of water before passing the canteen back. He rebuttoned his waistcoat with clumsy fingers, and knotted his cravat about his throat once more. A pitiful attempt at maintaining his dignity, Talavin mused.
“Talavin’s right. Don’t worry. I’m alright for now. But I… I’d very much like for this to not get worse.”
With Janessa trying to steady him, Perry attempted to get to his feet, only to give a sudden, flustered sniffle.
“HhGSHYIEW! Hhh… HihhhSHYIEW!”
The sneezes overbalanced him, and he fell back against the rock once more, snuffling pathetically. Unable to bear remaining still a moment longer, Talavin seized him by the arm, dragging him to his feet. Taking his arm, she arranged it around her shoulders. Perry was considerably taller than her, and taking his weight was ungainly, but she kept her grip tight on his arm, dragging him onward.
“I’m so very sorry… I’m sure if you give me a moment…”
“Shut up. Save your breath and walk. And if you sneeze on me, you will wish you were back in that dungeon.”
Progress was slow. Though clearly struggling to support as much of his own weight as possible, Perry increasingly leaned on Talavin, until she felt smothered by his feverish heat. Up close, she could hear each strangled whimper he tried to bite back, listening as they grew more and more frequent. The poison was spreading, and worsening.
Talavin refused to let herself think of it. She urged her charge onwards, step after unsteady step, listening intently for any sound of pursuit, eyes forever moving, seeking out the signs that they were growing close. An ancient cairn of stones. A stream with bioluminescent fish darting about beneath the water. The skull of a long-dead bulette, now colonized by luminous fungi. As more and more of those signs came into view, she wondered how she had survived her previous journey here, wounded and terrified, not knowing which step might spell disaster.
As they rounded a corner and a great cliff face came into view, disaster nearly struck. Perry, having been growing increasingly sniffly for the past several minutes, gave a sudden hitch of breath, struggling to free himself from Talavin’s grip.
“Sorry… I need… I… Hhn… Hff… HhhGSHYIEW!”
The sneeze rang out, echoing, and sent Perry stumbling with the force of it. Talavin, seeing precisely where his unsteady feet had stumbled, felt her heart stutter in alarm. She seized Perry’s arm and dragged him backwards, nearly toppling the pair of them, barely hauling him out of the way in time. A volley of darts shot up from the concealed trap, piercing the air where Perry had just stood.
Talavin pointed to the tripwire Perry had inadvertently triggered. He blinked at it in shock, taking in what had nearly happened.
“Watch your step. Vulture doesn’t like visitors.”
Janessa came to inspect the trap, and the now scattered darts, shuddering as she examined the jagged tips.
“Vulture, huh? So, going by the name and the traps, I’m guessing you’re not bringing us to some gentle cleric?”
Talavin gave a snort of derision.
“If you wanted gentleness, you should have stayed on the surface. Vulture is a necromancer, and completely mad. I don’t know where she came from, or what she wants, and I don’t care. All I know is, where there’s pestilence, pain, and poison, she comes sniffing around.”
Perry shivered, questioning Talavin through his handkerchief as he blew his nose, trying to fend off any further sneezes.
“She’s the opposite of safe. But she does know poisons. I can say that from experience. She’s our closest option, and the only one you’re likely to reach without collapsing. Just don’t expect her healing to be pleasant.”
Perry gave another violent shiver. The black veins, Talavin noted, were now making their way up his throat, nearly reaching his jaw. She took his arm and settled it around her shoulders once more, putting a steadying hand around his waist.
“Watch your feet this time. I didn’t haul you this far to lose you to a trap.”
They resumed their slow progress once more, with Talavin and Janessa now looking out for any further trip wires. Perry’s breathing grew more laboured, and his head slumped against Talavin’s. Twice, despite her threats, a sneeze sprayed over her shoulder, followed by hoarse apologies. He would pay for it later, she promised herself. If he survived.
At long last, the cliff face was fully revealed, just as Talavin remembered it. To the untrained eye, it was perfectly unremarkable. Talavin released her grip on Perry, leaving him swaying and shivering, and knelt to pick up a stone. Looking over the cliff face, she spotted what she was looking for. A crudely carved approximation of a skull.
She threw her stone, and the rock rippled like water.
“Vulture! You’re wanted!”
Perry looked on in awe as the illusion was dispelled, revealing a cave. Janessa came to stand by him and steady him, and both gasped as a pair of eyes emerged in the darkness. Glowing like points of green flame, slitted like a cat’s. A raspy voice called out from within the cave.
“Zaurett’s runaway. In trouble again?”
Hooves sounded on stone, and Vulture emerged from the cave, exactly as Talavin remembered her. A tiefling, with bruise-coloured skin and spiraling horns, gaunt and clad in rags and scraps of fur. Her tail lashed like a cat sighting prey, and as she drew closer, Talavin picked up a familiar, unpleasantly chemical aroma. She looked over Perry, revealing pointed fangs as she smiled.
“Pretty thing you’ve brought me! Is he for parts, or do you need him fixed?”
Talavin gritted her teeth, watching as Vulture circled Perry, taking in every detail.
“Fixed. Obviously. I wouldn’t haul him through your minefield for anything less.”
Vulture’s smile widened, and Perry took a shaky step back, swallowing hard.
“Shame. He’d make pretty parts. What’s your name, pretty? And what’s wrong that needs fixing?”
Composing himself, Perry cleared his throat and gave a slight bow.
“Peregrine Merriweather, Miss… erm… Vulture. And I’m afraid I’ve been… I… I’ve… I’m so sorry, I beg your… HHSHIEW!”
He stumbled back, barely getting his handkerchief to his nose in time, staggering with the force of sneeze after violent sneeze. Vulture watched, unblinking all the while, tilting her head in fascination.
When the fit was finally over, leaving Perry limp and panting, Vulture drew close, circling him.
“Nasty cold! Can’t fix that. But can use it, perhaps. More than that wrong, though, isn’t there? I can see it in your veins. Smell it in your sweat. Had a run in with the drow, have we, precious?”
She clucked her tongue sympathetically, and Perry let out a soft cry of alarm as she seized the front of his waistcoat and pulled him close, leaning in until they were almost nose to nose. She peered thoughtfully into his eyes, then sniffed at the scratches Jys’tyrr had left on his face. Finally, she tugged down his collar, her smile widening at the sight of his blackening veins.
“Poor sweet! Very nasty! Feeling unwell, are we? Starting to hurt all over? Starting to burn? How’s your head? Starting to spin?”
Talavin stepped closer, pulling Perry away before Vulture could unsettle him any further.
“Enough. He’s been poisoned. Mind Breaker, made from devil’s lash, used by House Zaurret. He’s been poisoned for at least five hours. Are you familiar with it, and can you treat him?”
Vulture gave an offended huff.
“Of course I can treat him! Fixed up you and your sister, didn’t I? You two were fun…”
“Vulture!”
“Tch! Temper! I said I can fix him! But what do I get in return?”
Perry stepped between the two, attempting to diffuse the tension.
“Naturally, we can pay. What price are you asking?”
Vulture narrowed her eyes, looking over Perry once more, stroking her chin thoughtfully, long claws tapping.
“Don’t need your gold, precious. Hm… Do you really need all of your teeth?”
Perry’s voice rose an octave.
“My teeth? I… I’d rather prefer to keep them…”
“Shame. Pretty teeth, don’t find many so nice down here… Tell you what! I like you. And Talavin is a repeat customer. Don’t get many of those. Come inside. Lie down. I’ll take the poison out of your veins. And you let me take some samples as well. No need to go so white! You’re too pale already! Nothing you’ll miss. A little hair, a little blood…”
Janessa leaned close to Talavin, whispering.
“We’re gonna be keeping an eye on her, right? To make sure she doesn’t take anything he actually needs? Like a lung?”
Vulture beamed, showing her fangs once more.
“A lung would be nice! You only need one! But I won’t insist. Inside now, precious. Don’t look like you’ll stay on your feet long!”
Vulture seized Perry’s wrist, and he winced as her claws scraped the wounds left by his shackles. He looked to Talavin and, upon receiving a nod, followed Vulture inside the cave, with Janessa and Talavin close behind.
Talavin tried not to shudder as she followed down the winding passageway, lit by flickering torches. Tried not to think of her prior visit. Focused entirely on Perry’s snuffling and sneezing, and Janessa murmuring soothing words to him…
If Inil and I had come here together…
She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.
At last, the passageway opened out into the cavern that served Vulture as a lab. Gloomily lit, packed with work benches and cabinets full of specimens, and a stone slab in the centre of the room. A raised plinth stood in pride of place, and reverently placed upon it was an ancient skull, the eyes replaced by spheres of green glass. Talavin shuddered, remembering laying on the slab, sweating and trembling, the flickering torchlight giving the impression that those glass eyes were watching her in delight.
Vulture patted the slab enthusiastically, beckoning to Perry.
“Lie down now, sweet. Let me take a nice long look, and see what I can do for you. And what you can give me in return…”
It was hard to say if Perry was trembling from nerves or from his fever. He drew back, looking nervously at one of the specimen cabinets. Inside were rows and rows of glass jars, each containing what could only be assumed to be body parts in various stages of experimentation. As he let out a shuddering “HhieeSHYIEW!”, several eyes in one of the jars turned to stare at him, bobbing up and down eerily. Perry, nose buried in his handkerchief, held their gaze as he took a step back.
“I… SnnFff! SNF!... I think I feel a touch better, actually! I’m sure with a bit of a lie down…”
Talavin blocked his retreat, eyes grim.
“It’s this, or you let the poison get worse until you lose your mind from the pain. Your decision. But once you collapse, I won’t carry you.”
Janessa, having been standing on her toes to see some of the instruments on a workbench, came and patted Perry’s leg encouragingly, looking up at him with an attempt at a confident smile.
“We’re right here with you, buddy. And if she tries anything, I’ve got Barbara!”
She patted her cannon, and Perry nodded, attempting a smile in return. Swallowing hard, he made his way to the slab and climbed on. Vulture clapped her hands in enthusiasm.
“Now, shirt off, precious. As much off as you like, actually. Pretty parts, don’t you think? Straight legs are so hard to find…”
These last two sentences were addressed to the skull, and Vulture lowered her voice as she spoke to it, leaning in. She murmured more, the words too quiet to hear, but her eyes gleamed with excitement.
Janessa tugged on the hem of Talavin’s tunic.
“She comes at him with a scalpel, we jump her, right?”
Perry, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as well as fever, set about removing his waistcoat, cravat, collar, and shirt, folding them as neatly as he could at his side. Talavin found herself raising an eyebrow as she found him to be less untouched by the world than she thought. She had seen the raw, angry scratches where the poison had been administered, and the ominous black veins spreading further and further from the wound. She had not expected the mass of white scarring at his abdomen. Whatever had maimed him so terribly, she found herself amazed that this seemingly fragile creature had survived.
Vulture seemed equally impressed. She approached Perry and knelt over him, drawing close to the old wounds and probing them with a finger.
“Oh, precious, someone already opened you good… Did they take anything?”
“Erm, no…”
“Can I?”
Perry let out a startled splutter that quickly became a violent coughing fit. He clamped his handkerchief over his mouth, coughing and coughing until he was fighting to draw breath, and his lungs began to give an ominous whistling with each inhale. Janessa cursed, going through Perry’s satchel.
“Not sounding so good there, buddy. He’s an asthmatic, he might need…”
Vulture swatted away the sachet of powder Janessa held up.
“No interference, tiny one! Let me work! So, nothing from inside, precious? A shame, but alright. Though you do only need one kidney… Still, there are things I can take that you won’t miss. Some blood. Some tears. Some of your pretty hair. And that cold…”
Perry, recovering enough to speak, blinked at her with watering eyes.
“You… you want my cold?”
Vulture’s grin widened. She gestured to another cabinet, this one filled with rows upon rows of labeled vials. Talavin remembered them well, and watched Perry’s reaction as he took in the labels. Some unreadable, or labeled with peculiar symbols. Some with descriptions such as “boils, fever, impending doom”. Some angrily scrawled with such notes as “Mordan Grimhold. HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID!!!”.
“Plagues are my passion, precious. Plagues and poisons. I’ll be keeping a little of your poison for sure. And those sniffles of yours could be cooked up into something very fun…”
Perry glanced at Talavin, eyes wide.
“This seems potentially unethical?”
“Again, allow me to remind you of your alternative.”
Perry sighed and nodded, coughing again, pressing a hand to his chest as he wheezed.
“So be it. Blood, hair, anything like that, I’m happy to give. As for the cold… What do I do? Sneeze on you? Or I’ve plenty of handkerchiefs that are quite th-hhHSHHYIEW!... thoroughly contaminated?”
He held up the handkerchief he had just sneezed into as an example. Vulture hissed, recoiling, and swatted him with the point of her tail.
“Nasty creature! I’m not the one to be infected! You let me take my samples, and keep your sneezes to yourself!”
As Perry shivered and sniffled on the slab, his trembling growing more pronounced by the minute, Vulture set about collecting instruments on a tray. Janessa pulled a stool closer to the slab and perched herself on it, resting a hand on Perry’s shoulder. Talavin turned away, remembering that same cold stone beneath her.
“Vutlure, can you not at least give the man a blanket or something? He’s ill.”
Vulture gave a raspy laugh.
“When did you turn so soft? There was no fussing about blankets from you!”
Perry turned his gaze to Talavin, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. Before he could ask anything, she hardened her expression.
“I had no need of such things. I am…”
Vulture snorted.
“Yes, yes, you are drow! You were poisoned from birth, your bones were broken and reforged stronger, you knew the kiss of the lash before the touch of a lover! Dramatic creature! But turning soft, hm? So be it, he can have a blanket.”
Vulture fumbled about in some long-forgotten drawer, eventually drawing out a rough woolen blanket from which the colour had long since faded. Perry gave a sigh of relief as it was draped around his shoulders, and gave Talavin a shaky smile.
“Thank you, truly. It’s… is it getting colder in here, or… Ouch!”
His attention was reclaimed by Vulture seizing a lock of his hair and tugging violently, pulling out several golden strands. She examined her prize cheerfully as she coiled the strands and sealed them in a vial.
“Pretty, very pretty! Now, blood, precious. Give me your hand!”
Seemingly too ill and overwhelmed to argue, Perry allowed Vulture to take his hand, and gave a hiss of pain as she pricked his finger with the point of a scalpel, and began dripping blood into another vial. This collected, she waited until Perry had wrapped the wounded digit in a handkerchief, then sharply flicked at one eye with her claw. Perry let out a cry of shock, and as his eye began to tear up in response, Vulture held yet another vial beneath it to collect tears.
“Very nice. You’re pretty when you cry! Now, just one last thing, and we’ll start getting you better.”
Vulture held up a cotton swab. Perry swallowed hard, his nose already twitching in discomfort.
“Are you sure I can’t just…”
Vulture shushed him, cupping his jaw and turning his face towards her. Brow furrowed in concentration, she set the swab against one red, quivering nostril.
“Hold your breath, now.”
Perry, to his credit, was clearly trying his best. As the swab pressed deeper into his nose, though, he gave an involuntary snort, and his lips parted, brow furrowing.
“Hhehhh… Hhfff… SNRRF!... Huhhh…”
“None of that. Nearly done.”
Perry swallowed hard, struggling to pull back, but Vulture’s grip on his jaw tightened. He choked, let out a desperate whimper, desperately wrinkled his nose, Vulture probing deeper all the while.
“Hhehh… Iieeehehhh… I… I can’t… Iyehhh… HieeEHHSHYIEW!”
Vulture, directly in the line of fire, drew back with a shriek of indignation, pulling the swab free. Doing so only seemed to irritate Perry further, and he sprayed out another violent “HhIIESHYIEW!”, fumbling for his handkerchief. Failing to find it beneath the blanket, and seemingly overwhelmed by the tickle, he instead held the blanket to his face, muffling sneeze after exhausting sneeze into the musty wool.
Vulture turned back to the skull, leaning close and muttering to it as she sealed away the swab in a jar.
“Nasty creature, spraying everywhere…”
Janessa, rubbing Perry’s back as he shook with yet another sneeze, shot her a glare.
“What did you expect, sticking that thing up his nose? Look, you’ve got what you asked for, so just get to healing him! He’s burning up!”
As Perry gave one final sneeze and slumped back onto the slab, he failed to stifle a pained whimper. Talavin saw the black veins spreading further, and come to join Janessa by the slab, shooting Vulture a fierce glare. Vulture heaved an aggrieved sigh, and retreated to another section of the cavern, muttering all the while.
Talavin gave a slight start as she felt a hand brush her own. She turned to find Perry looking up at her, blue eyes clouded with fever, but shining with sincerity. His hand closed over hers, and squeezed with what little strength he seemed to possess.
“Talavin…”
“Be silent. Save your strength. You’ll need it.”
“No, please, listen to me? Talavin, about today… about all of this…”
“Enough. I was paid for a job. I’m doing my job. That’s the end of it.”
Perry shook his head, trying to sit up. Talavin pushed him back down, trying not to be worried that he felt even hotter than before. He continued to wheeze with each breath, and needed a moment to cough before speaking again, but he went on.
“We asked too much of you today. I can’t fix that. But please, know that I am truly sorry?”
Talavin couldn’t meet those eyes.
“It was a job. Just a job.”
“What Jys’tyrr said… About you, about…”
“Enough!”
Talavin pulled her hand free, turning her back. Her breath had begun to quicken, her chest tightening. Silence fell for a few moments, save for Perry’s pained, congested wheezing, and the sound of Vulture cursing and rifling through cupboards somewhere nearby.
When Perry spoke again, his voice was lower, and painfully gentle.
“I just… If anything happens, and if this doesn’t work… I just want you to know, I see you as a true friend. And from the bottom of my heart, I’m grateful. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone with more courage.”
Talavin bit down on the inside of her cheek, squeezing her eyes shut. She was saved from having to force a reply through her tightening throat by the return of Vulture, carrying a tray and looking entirely too excited.
“Shall we start, then? Drink this down. Won’t be fun!”
Perry forced himself to sit up, aided by Janessa. Talavin cleared her throat, turning to watch. She grimaced as she saw what Vulture was offering. A small glass of some greenish-brown fluid, steaming slightly. She remembered how it burned, and how she had fought to swallow it down.
Perry, looking grim, accepted the glass, raising it to his lips and downing it in one. The effect was immediate. He choked violently, curling in on himself with the pain, gasping and shuddering as he fought to swallow.
“… Burns… Hurts…”
Janessa kept a hand on his back, muttering soothing nonsense, while Perry gasped and moaned, before finally growing still once more. He coughed, spluttered, and muffled an exhausted “IiiehhhSHYIeww…” into the blanket. Then, finally, his eyes fluttered open once more.
“Was that… SshhYIEEW! SNF!... Was that it?”
Vulture chuckled eagerly.
“That was a shot of goblin whiskey, precious. Little something to take the edge off, before what comes next.”
She whisked a cover off her tray of instruments, and turned to Talavin and Janessa.
“You both need to leave now. You don’t want to watch.”
Janessa opened her mouth to argue, but Talavin grabbed her, pulling her down from her stool and towards the tunnels.
“She’s right. You don’t want to see.”
“But he..!”
“Trust me. You don’t want to see. Good luck, Sir Peregrine. We’ll see you when it’s over.”
Unable to bring herself to look back, dragging the protesting Janessa behind her, Talavin stormed through the passageway, biting down on her cheek once more, feeling memories surge back, the pain and panic of them mingling with the strange and unfamiliar ache of Perry’s words.
“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone with more courage.”
The first cry of pain echoed through the passageway. It would not be the last. In her mind’s eye, Talavin saw her twin on that same slab, crying out, alone.
Where was your courage then?
Janessa pulled her hand free, looking panicked as she heard her friend cry out.
“We’re really just leaving him in there?”
Talavin avoided her eyes, and kept walking.
“Hey! You’re seriously just leaving?”
Talavin hesitated. Unable to look back, she fought to keep her voice steady as she replied.
“He won’t be fit to travel for days. I’m going back to camp, to bring our supplies. Stay close to the cave and you’ll be safe enough.”
“Wait, you’re going alone? Hey, c’mon, what if something happens to you? What if your sister…”
Talavin felt Janessa’s hand reaching for hers, and pulled herself away, striding off into the darkness.
“I survived this long alone.”
Another howl of pain rang out from the cave.
Talavin kept her pace steady until she no longer felt Janessa’s eyes on her. Only then did she succumb to the urge to run.
Part Four!
Wow's it's... uhhh... it's been a minute. It's been a very frustrating, very draining year, but feel like my writing muscles are finally starting to move again.
So, this chapter is pretty-sneeze-light, but there's more coming in the final part, I swear. Featuring a very feverish and whumped Perry having flashback dreams, Talavin really going through it and definitely not projecting onto the party's beast of burden, Vulture coming through with some handy undead, House Zaurret getting serious, and a cliffhanger!
“Hey! You shouldn’t be up!”
Janessa set down the basin of water she had just fetched, and ran to the makeshift bedroll where Perry, deathly pale and shivering violently, was sitting up.
“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I? What do you think you’re doing?”
Perry blinked hard, seemingly trying to remember himself, before gesturing to some sheets of paper and the quill in his hand. He had already written a few lines, but with his hand shaking so violently, his usually elegant handwriting was almost illegible.
“Duke Rousseau… Miss DeVille needs to know…”
His voice was a pained rasp, and he coughed weakly from the effort of speaking. He let out a pained whine as Janessa plucked the pen from his fingers, and snatched up the ink bottle. She looked over Perry in despair, noting the confused, feverish haze fogging his eyes. His shirt hung open, and beneath it were bandages, covering both the marks of Jys’tyrr’s claws, and Vulture’s healing.
At least, Janessa hoped what Vulture had done had been healing. She shuddered at the memory, partially wishing she had heeded Talavin’s advice to stay away. As she had helped Perry down from the slab, and led him to a section of the cave seemingly used as a storage room, he had barely been coherent, only whimpering in pain and shock. He had collapsed on the collection of ragged blankets and clothes Vulture had offered as a bed, where he had been tossing and turning in feverish confusion ever since.
As Perry reached stubbornly for the pen, Janessa placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him down against his makeshift pillow.
“Easy, now. We’ll let your Serafina know, I promise. But we’ll need to reach a trading post before we can even send a letter, and the nearest one is days away. And you know how she worries about you! Seeing your handwriting like that is just going to upset her. Let’s just give it a day, alright? Just rest for one day?”
Perry gave no answer, merely rolling over onto his side, curling up, his shivering growing even more violent.
“… So cold…”
Janessa sat down at his side, laying a hand on his brow, and bit her lip.
“You’re really not, buddy. I could fry an egg on you right now.”
Perry closed his eyes at the contact, and Janessa kept her hand in place, hoping her touch against his overheated skin might offer at least a little comfort. He sniffled wetly, his trembling breaths growing unsteady, and Janessa frowned.
“Hey, come on, you’re not gonna cry, are you? Come on, if you cry, I’m gonna cry, and…”
“Hhh… Hh-shhhh! Hshh!”
Janessa flinched, both at the spray against her arm, and the sheer weakness of those sneezes. Perry didn’t open his eyes after, merely sniffling some more, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Janessa shrugged off her coat and laid it over him, as if the gnome-sized garment could do him any good at all. She tried to force a smile as she pulled a smaller rag from the pile, and used it to dab at her companion’s running nose.
“Bless you. Where were those little kitten sneezes when we needed to hide, huh?”
Stretching to reach the basin of water she had brought, she dragged it closer and dipped the rag in it, wringing it out well before dabbing it against Perry’s face and throat. He gasped at the cold, trying to turn away, but his strength was plainly at its end.
“I know, buddy. It doesn’t feel good, huh? But I’m scared by how hot you’re getting.”
Perry’s only response was another frighteningly weak, spluttering trio of sneezes, before going as still as his violent shivering would allow. Janessa lost track of how long she sat at his side, swiping the cloth over fevered skin, murmuring occasional soothing nonsense which Perry seemed long past responding to. Just as she was sure Perry had finally fallen into a much-needed slumber, he gave a pained whimper, struggling to raise a hand. His eyes opened, fixed on the cave wall, watching something Janessa couldn’t see.
“Wait… Don’t leave me…”
Janessa bit her lip harder at the sheer desperation in his voice.
“Don’t know who you’re talking to, but I’m not going anywhere.”
*****
Had his mother always looked so weary and gaunt, Perry wondered.
Lady Merriweather sat by his bedside, one hand idly stroking his hair, the other turning the pages of an old sketchbook in her lap. The creases around her tired eyes deepened as she smiled, holding up a page to show him. Perry smiled weakly, taking in the sketches. Studies of a wolf. Stalking, sleeping, howling at the moon. On the opposite page was a portrait. An elven man, serene and elegant, a wolf fur cloak about his shoulders, and a crown of antlers on his head.
“That’s him, isn’t it? The archdruid?”
Perry found himself somehow speaking and not speaking, memory and reality blurring. The conversation was a well-remembered one, though it seemed odd that it was happening in a cave. Surely he ought to be in his childhood bedroom? His brow furrowed in confusion, and he turned his head away, coughing, pain lancing through his chest.
Lady Merriweather shushed him softly, resting a gentle hand on his aching chest until the coughing eased.
“Shh, now. Yes, that’s him. Archdruid Lysanthir. Servant of the Moon Maiden, leader of the grove…Beautiful, don’t you think? He always looked so very serious… I used to pester him, asking what he was thinking about. In retrospect, perhaps that’s why he spent so much time as a wolf. It saved him from having to answer my silly questions.”
Perry tried to imagine how his mother must have looked, back in those days, before the loss of the grove, and of her only friends. It was hard to imagine her young and happy. All his life, she had looked distant and melancholy, and, as her health worsened year by year, increasingly frail.
“I can hear him sometimes. In the woods, where the grove was. I can hear him howling at night. He sounds lonely.”
Lady Merriweather shook her head, her eyes full of sorrow as she closed the book with a sigh.
“Those were dreams, Peregrine. You know you have odd dreams when you aren’t well.”
“But I was…”
Another fit of coughing seized Perry. It hurt, deep inside his chest, and his vision swam. By the time it eased, he was panting and exhausted. Lady Merriweather set her book aside, and took a cool cloth from the nightstand. Though memory told him he ought to feel hot, and grateful for the cool touch, it set him shivering.
“Rest, now. Don’t upset yourself. It’s all in the past. Don’t go breaking your heart over a place you’ll never see, and people you’ll never know.”
Perry, or the memory of him… where was he, precisely?... shook his head stubbornly.
“He could come back, couldn’t he? If the grove came back?”
“The grove is gone, Peregrine. Long gone. And even if there were a way to bring it back, the druids are gone too. It’s all just stories now.”
“But couldn’t they come back too? Or there could be new druids?”
“Peregrine…”
“I could be a druid. And bring back the grove.”
Lady Merriweather smiled, but her eyes remained sorrowful. She pulled the covers tighter around him, and leaned over to press a kiss to his fevered brow.
“I’m sure you could. But let’s get you better first, shall we? It’s late. Try to rest.”
She rose, stepping back and turning away. Perry gasped as pain burned through his chest again, and lingered as a dull ache. His eyes burned too, growing damp, as the image of Lady Merriweather blurred, the cave around her becoming clearer.
“Wait… Don’t leave me!”
Panic seized him, and he struggled to get up, but some terrible weight seemed to pin him to the bed. His breathing grew quick and ragged, his chest tightening, the cave walls shifting like swirling water. Cold water. He turned his head, and found the smell of damp cloth filling his nostrils. Water dripped on his face, and he coughed and choked for breath as he tried to brush it away. He was cold, cold to his core, his very bones seemed to ache from shivering…
“Peregrine.”
The voice was familiar. So was the sound of claws tapping on the stone.
When Perry opened his eyes, the walls had stopped moving.
And there, sitting at his side and watching, sat a wolf.
*****
“Move, you stupid beast!”
Talavin could have screamed in frustration. She rarely traveled with animals. They were unpredictable. A drain on resources. Tempting prey to any lurking monster. But with the expedition having so much by way of supplies and scientific equipment, a beast of burden had been necessary. And so Talavin found herself dragging on the rope of Penelope the deep rothe, cursing the creature’s very existence.
The cow-like beast snorted in agitation, shaking her head and nearly striking Talavin’s arm with one of her prominent horns. One hoof stamped at the ground, and the rope threatened to burn Talavin’s hands as Penelope pulled back. Talavin gritted her teeth, cursing the day the party had acquired the damned animal.
“I’d seen pictures of deep rothe, but I never realized they were so small! Compared to a regular cow, anyway. You’re still a big strong girl, though, aren’t y-yhhHISHIEW!”
Talavin gritted her teeth as she watched Perry stop scratching behind the rothe’s ear and pull a handkerchief from his pocket just in time to catch a sneeze. And another. And another. Recovering with a sniffle and a wriggle of his pink nose, he resumed his attentions, eyes lighting up in delight as the rothe rubbed her head against him affectionately.
“Must you speak to it like a pet? I’m warning you now, don’t get attached. If we need to run, the beast will be the first left behind. And if we run out of food, it will be nothing more than meat.”
Perry, maddeningly, continued to stroke the animal, murmuring soothingly even as her fur set his nose twitching again.
“Don’t listen to her, Penelope. We’d never eat you! No, no, that’s my sleeve, don’t try to eat th-hh-HISHYIEW! SHYIEW!”
Talavin bit back a curse, and wrenched on the rope once more, hissing as the coarse fibers bit at her hands.
“If we don’t get back to him, your Sir Peregrine will be a corpse! And without him around, you’re more useful to me as a carcass!”
And if I stay here in the open trying to move the damn beast, I’ll end up a corpse.
Penelope let out a deep, distressed rumble, and pulled her head sharply back, tearing the rope from Talavin’s hands.
“Damn you! If you bolt…”
To Talavin’s surprise, Penelope merely stepped back, then stood calmly, snorting again. Her rear hoof, Talavin noticed, seemed awkward in touching the ground. She fought to keep her breathing even, looking around. Partially to get her bearings. Partially to look and listen for anything moving in the shadows. The metallic clink of armour. The creak of a bowstring drawn taut. The faint crackling of magic.
There was nothing. Just her own breathing, and Penelope snorting again.
Talavin swallowed hard, stepping forward, and rather than grabbing for the rope, held out her hand. Penelope sniffed it, her breath warm and wet.
“You’re lame. I can see that. But we need to move. We need… Gods, you don’t know what I’m saying. I sound like the idiotic fop who got us into this.”
Penelope let out a heaving sigh, and to Talavin’s despair, lowered herself to the stone ground, seemingly settling in for a rest. Talavin cursed, and seized the rope, pulling it once more, but Penelope stubbornly shook her head.
Talavin dropped to her knees. Her breath, always so carefully controlled, began to quicken. An iron band seemed to be closing about her lungs. She forced herself to drag in a deep breath, loud and ragged in her ears. Gods, she sounded like Perry when his asthma flared up. Her wild eyes darted about, looking to every shadow, her mind conjuring enemies hidden in each. She released the breath in a choking exhale, and fought for another. Her heart hammered against her ribs, beating so hard it hurt.
Perhaps Jys’tyrr didn’t need to pursue her to kill her. Perhaps her magic had strengthened since their last meeting, allowing her to reach into someone’s chest, squeeze their lungs, stop their heart…
Sweat broke out across her face as she fought for breath after breath, hand pressed to her chest as if she might somehow soothe the pain. Lightheaded with panic, she slumped back against Penelope. Finding no stable place to lean against the packs of supplies strapped to the beast’s back, and with the image of Jys’tyrr’s cruel smile flashing behind her eyes, she let herself fall sideways, curled up on the cold stone, making herself small.
When Penelope sniffed wetly at her face, and rasped a wet, rough tongue over her cheek, her next breath emerged as a furious, fearful sob.
*****
“You need to slow down… I can’t… keep up…”
It was no use. The wolf vanished from sight once more, disappearing into the winding, shifting tunnels through which Perry had been following it. Coughing and gasping, Perry staggered, and fell to his knees. His lungs ached with the effort of breathing. Perhaps the ice that seemed to be flowing through his veins was freezing them, leaving them stiff and useless. Sore all over from the effort of shivering, Perry let out a whimper, his eyes closing.
“… Please don’t leave me here?”
How long he waited, trembling and exhausted, Perry had no idea. Wherever he was, time seemed disinterested in following any sort of rules. Gradually, however, his ears began to pick up muffled sounds. Voices. Shouting, somewhere nearby?
When he opened his eyes, there was a familiar door before him.
The door to his apartment.
Opening it revealed a scene he remembered all too well. His apartment, filled with books and fungal specimens. Janessa, standing on a chair to be at eye level with Gus, who appeared to be in the middle of a particularly exasperated rant.
“Of all the irresponsible, lunatic ideas! And you’re just letting him do it! Going along with him, even! How can you call yourself his friend, when you’re encouraging him to… Ah! Here you are! About time!”
Gus should not have been an intimidating figure. Slight, dark-skinned, and fastidiously neat, the half-elven doctor was barely tall enough for the top of his head to reach Perry’s chin. Yet as he advanced on him now, amber eyes blazing with anger, Perry stepped back, hands held up placatingly.
“I take it you got my message, then?”
“Yes, I got your damned message! ‘Dear Gus, planning to disappear in some godsforsaken cave and die horribly, details to follow!’. You can’t possibly be thinking of going through with this?”
The remembered words came to Perry’s lips without him even needing to think.
“I thought you’d be happier. The expedition is the best chance I have to find you a reliable source of specimens. Without them, your research…”
Gus glared, jabbing his chest with an accusing finger.
“Don’t you dare pretend this is about my research! You can lie to yourself if you like, Merriweather, but don’t you even think of lying to me! We both know why you want this! You think you’re going to find something down there that will magically make you a druid! Get it through your head; it’s never going to happen, and it isn’t worth dying for some childhood dream!”
Janessa groaned.
“Gus, at least let him get inside and get warm. Look at him, he’s shivering!”
“He’s shivering because he’s ill. Again! And somehow he still thinks he’s fit to go and play at being an explorer! You’re supposed to be his friend! How can you encourage this?”
“You’re supposed to be his friend! How can you hold him back, after how hard he’s worked?”
Perry held up his hands to quiet both of them, stepping inside. He didn’t remember his apartment being so cold. Or the walls shifting, making him dizzy. Had he really been so ill at the time?
“Please, stop shouting at each other. Gus, I know you think I’m not fit. But I’ve worked so hard for this, and I… I feel called. Please, try to understand that? Or, if you can’t, think what else I can accomplish? The specimens for your research! Leads on what happened to Janessa’s family! All manner of scientific…”
Gus cut him off with a hiss of anger.
“None of that matters if it kills you! How many times have you been ill in the last twelve months?”
“I’m sure I don’t…”
“You don’t know? Well, I do! Six colds, four leading to infections of the sinuses, ears, or lungs. All three, in one particularly impressive effort. One bout of flu, requiring medical attention. One bout of laryngitis. One fever of unknown cause. Three asthma attacks significant enough to seek medical attention. And you think you’re well enough to exploring, without access to medical care?”
“Gus, I…”
“No. No, I’m not having it. First thing tomorrow, I’m writing to this Lord DeVille and telling him you’re medically unfit.”
Janessa leapt off her chair, seizing Gus’ sleeve as he made for the door, eyes blazing with indignation.
“Hey! We worked hard for this! Don’t you dare go and sabotage it! Perry can cope, he’s tougher than you think!”
Gus turned around, eyes blazing with fury.
“Tougher than I think? He has the constitution of a newborn kitten! He catches pneumonia from a stiff breeze! He’s allergic to the entirety of existence! Don’t you try that on me, Brightburn. You can see as clearly as I can that he’s not fit for any sort of expedition. You’re deluding yourself, because you’re selfish, and you’ll take whatever means you can get to go after your family, and he’s your ticket! Who cares if he dies in the process?”
Perry opened his mouth, ready to tell the pair to stop arguing, and restore order. He remembered the words well enough, and they were ready to spring to his lips. But the ice flowing through his veins had seeped into his lungs, freezing them, and he was forced to cough violently to shake off the chill and make them expand. Another cough, tearing at his throat. His vision blurred as he doubled over, fighting for breath. His friends’ voices continued shouting, growing increasingly distant, until he could no longer make out the words.
When Perry opened his eyes, he was in the dark once more, and the wolf was once again standing before him.
*****
“I should have left you behind, you know.”
Talavin shot Penelope a glare. Maddeningly, the beast, now relieved of the bulk of her burdens, simply nuzzled at Talavin’s waist, licking her tunic and leaving it streaked with dampness.
“Is that supposed to be an apology? If so, you can save it.”
Talavin gave a grunt of pain, shifting the burden that now rested on her shoulders. Having taken most of the supplies and equipment from Penelope’s back, she had lashed together tent poles until they were study enough to support the weight of the supplies she suspended from either end, allowing her to carry them across her shoulders. The weight was digging painfully into her neck and shoulders, and the effort left her sweating and shaking. Still, the cliff was in view. Rest was close at hand.
“I should butcher you, you know. If you can’t even carry weight, you’re more useful as meat.”
Penelope merely snorted, nuzzling Talavin again. She had sat patiently beside her for what seemed like an eternity as she gasped and trembled, certain her pounding heart and strangled lungs meant death was imminent. Every now and then that damp muzzle had nuzzled her, breath hot and wet. To Talavin’s shame, she had curled up closer to the animal, seeking comfort in her warmth.
“Still, no doubt Sir Peregrine would cry if we ate you. Ridiculous creature. Soft. I warned him not to get attached.”
If Sir Peregrine is even still alive.
Guiding the limping rothe past Vulture’s traps, approaching the cliff face, Talavin found her chest tightening at the thought of what she might find inside. She and Talinil had survived Vulture’s treatment. But they had been forged as weapons from birth, and tasted their first poison before they left the womb. Perry was frail, already ill even before the poison entered his veins. He may as well have been dead from the moment he followed after Jys’tyrr without Talavin’s protection.
“Stupid, to get attached.”
Talavin set down her burden at last, sighing in relief, and tied Penelope’s rope around a nearby rock. Penelope heaved a sigh of her own, sitting down and blinking up at Talavin, eyes calm and gentle. Talavin avoided her gaze.
“If you can’t even do the one thing you were brought along for, what’s the point of you?”
Penelope answered with a snort and shake of her head. Talavin left her with a vague suspicion that she was being judged.
Inside Vulture’s lair, the mad tiefling sat at a workbench, scowling as she examined a flask of vaguely green, steaming fluid, into which she added a drop of blood. The fluid bubbled and hissed, something coagulating at the bottom. Whatever she saw as she swirled the flask, it seemed to displease her.
“Your pretty friend has weak blood. It was a bad trade.”
Talavin tried not to think of what that might mean.
“How is Sir Peregrine?”
Vulture shrugged, pointing to the storeroom.
“Not dead yet. Hear him talking sometimes. His mind is burning. The tiny one is watching over him.”
Talavin closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow.
Not dead yet.
Making her way to the storeroom, she found Perry looking utterly wretched. Frighteningly pale, he moved restlessly in his sleep, trying to avoid the cool cloth Janessa applied to his brow. His breathing was rapid and ragged, heavy with congestion, and the sound of his coughing, deep and wet in his chest, made Talavin flinch.
Janessa, kneeling over him, snuffled loudly. It wasn’t uncommon to hear her snuffling; her bulbous nose was prone to congestion. Talavin suspected that her usual congestion issues weren’t to blame right now.
“C’mon, buddy, I know it feels cold, but we gotta get you cooled down…”
Talavin knelt beside her, taking her wrist.
“Stop trying to cool him. You’re making him shiver worse.”
Janessa looked up at her, eyes shining with tears. She sniffed, and pulled her hand free from Talavin’s grip, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“He’s burning up. We have to do something!”
Talavin reached out, and rested the backs of her fingers against Perry’s brow. He whimpered at the touch, his brow furrowing. His chapped lips parted, words coming out as a hoarse rasp.
“… What do you want with me..?”
Janessa sniffled again, scrubbing her eyes roughly with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know who he’s talking to, but he keeps trying to talk. There’s got to be something we can do?”
Talavin shook her head, and sat down, cross-legged, to wait.
“We’ve done what we can. It comes down to Sir Peregrine’s strength now. All we can do is hope he has enough of it.”
*****
“Your father ought to be here.”
Lord DeVille wore a frown as he watched the carriage loaded, the last of the expedition’s equipment and supplies carefully strapped down. Perry stood at his side, the memory of the day’s nerves and excitement flooding back to him. He hadn’t remembered the day being so dark, and so damp, though. He tried to look off into the distance, and found his vision swirling, leaving him feeling dizzy and sick.
Once again, his lips moved with remembered words.
“We quarreled, Your Lordship. And we haven’t ever been close. I didn’t expect him to come.”
Lord DeVille gave a judgmental grumble.
“If one of my girls were about to embark on some mad scheme like this, I wouldn’t care what had passed between us. I’d be there to see them off. And try to persuade them not to go.”
He looked Perry up and down, and sighed, looking grim.
“I expect you to take good care of yourself. No rash decisions. No unnecessary risks. And no wandering off alone, I don’t care what sort of rare toadstool or mould tempts you. If not for your own sake…”
His eyes moved to where Serafina stood, a short distance away, waiting to say her goodbyes. Perry looked over to her as well, and smiled as he met her eyes. His smile faded when Serafina quickly looked away.
“Have I done something to offend Miss DeVille? She’s been quiet all day.”
Lord DeVille sighed and shook his head, and patted Perry on the shoulder, squeezing slightly.
“I know you’re a clever man, Peregrine. But sometimes, I really do struggle to see it. Now, then. I never did like drawn-out farewells. Best of luck to you, sir.”
With that, Lord DeVille turned away, returning to his own carriage. Swallowing hard, Perry approached Serafina, smiling tentatively.
“You’re quiet today.”
Serafina met his eyes at last, and quickly looked away. She sniffled slightly, and folded her arms across her chest. Perry took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. She accepted it with a tight smile that didn’t touch her eyes, and quickly dabbed at her nose.
She reached out and pulled his coat tighter across his chest, and Perry seized her hands, stopping her fussing. Odd, he remembered her hands being cold that day… Yet, feeling so very chilled himself, he found her so warm he wished never to let go.
“Please, try not to worry. You’ve sat with me while all this was planned out. You know I’m well-prepared. And I promised you, didn’t I?”
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the new journal she had given him that very morning.
“I’ll be back, with this full of stories from cover to cover. I can’t wait to share them with you.”
Serafina nodded, avoiding his eyes, her breath catching in her throat. Despite her best efforts, tears glistened on her lashes. Summoning up a little boldness, Perry reached up and brushed away a tear that slipped free, letting his hand linger ever so slightly against Serafina’s cheek. She met his eyes at last, all her usual cheekiness and charm quite gone.
“I don’t want to let you go.”
“Miss DeVille…”
“Serafina. After all this time, can you please just call me Serafina? Just once?”
Perry opened his mouth, and closed it once more, trying to summon up the right words, only for them to elude him. As Serafina looked up at him, his eyes darted briefly to her lips. He once again found himself wondering if he was imagining her leaning in slightly, her face turned up a little, as if inviting a kiss.
Just as he worked up the courage to lean in a little himself, a sharp rapping sounded from inside the carriage, and a voice rang out from within. Mister Jephcots, investor in the expedition, meant to join them in their travels, leaned out the window, eyes cold, lip curling with impatience.
“Are we to wait all day while you say your farewells, Sir Peregrine?”
Perry sighed, and turned to reply, only to find the carriage blurring before his eyes. He blinked hard, tears blurring his vision. There was more he meant to say. More he had said, at the time. And yet, he found himself confused, his head spinning.
This already happened.
And yet, it appeared to be happening again.
And if that was the case, perhaps he might get it right this time.
Taking a deep breath, Perry turned back to Serafina. This time, at least, he might get it right. This time, he might be allowed to kiss her.
And yet, the vision of Serafina dissolved before his eyes, leaving a wolf in her place.
Perry slumped to his knees, defeated, breath wheezing in his lungs, the cold threatening to splinter his bones, and freeze his blood within his veins.
“What do you want with me?”
*****
Janessa wasn’t sure when, precisely, she fell asleep. One moment, she had been murmuring soothing nonsense to Perry, dabbing away sweat and watching his face for any sign he might awaken. The next, she was curled up against him, her head cushioned against his bandaged chest, listening to his congested breathing. She barely had a moment to register what had woken her before Talavin had her arm in an iron grip, hauling her to her feet.
“Up! Now! Time to go!”
Looking up at the expedition’s ferocious protector, Janessa felt her gut knot in worry.
Talavin looked afraid.
“What’s up? Hold on, let me get Barbara, whatever it is…”
“This is no time for your toy gun! Up! We waited too long. They’re coming!”
“Hey! You wouldn’t call her a toy if she were pointed at you! Who’s coming? House Zaurret?”
Talavin shot Janessa a look of pure venom as the gnome snatched her arm free.
“Who else? Unless you poked another hornet’s nest while I was on watch! Move!”
Janessa cursed, and knelt by Perry’s side, shaking him. Talavin seized her arm again, dragging her away, her breathing ragged with fury and fear.
“He won’t wake. If we bring him, we’ll be slowed down. Vulture has defenses. Pray they’re enough to keep him safe, and move!”
Janessa, hearing manic muttering from the main room of the cave, peered out, observing Vulture laying an array of reagents out on the slab, a manic gleam in her eyes. The ragged necromancer let out a raspy giggle as she held up a jar of what appeared to be insect larvae, holding them up to the light.
Janessa turned back to Talavin, her own eyes narrowing.
“Not. Happening. Listen, if we can get him on Penelope’s back…”
“The beast is lame, and there isn’t. Time. Move!”
Talavin grabbed for Janessa again, and froze as Janessa seized her cannon and raised it threateningly. That terrible tightness began to constrict her chest again, and sweat began to bead on her grey skin, her garnet eyes narrowing.
“You dare threaten me? When I’m all that’s kept you alive this far?”
Janessa shook her head, expression grim.
“I don’t want to. But if you try to make me abandon my buddy? Yeah, we’re gonna have a problem.”
In the lab, Vulture threw back a heavy curtain, revealing another room, and beginning to hiss and giggle her way through an incantation. Her clawed fingers wove sigils in the air, beginning to trail a sickly green mist. Within the dark room beyond the curtain came the sound of clattering bones. The dry, rasping moans of the long-deceased.
Talavin turned a desperate glare to Janessa.
“If we stay and fight, that is what we fight alongside. Are you really willing to put your faith in a mad necromancer and her playthings?”
Janessa shouldered her cannon, looking grim, but with a determined set to her jaw, and a ferocious gleam in her eyes.
“Better than facing up to your lot alone, right? Listen, you wanna run? No hard feelings. You didn’t sign up for this. But I’m not leaving Perry.”
With that, the gnome knelt by Perry, squeezing his shoulder gently.
“You rest easy, there. Back before you know it!”
Talavin remained frozen to the spot, watching Janessa join Vulture in her lab, peering into the room where the sounds of the reanimated dead were growing louder and more disturbing. A gnome with a ridiculous gun, a madwoman, and an assortment of animated cadavers, against a patrol from House Zaurret. Elite drow warriors, trained to kill from birth, without fear, without remorse.
The only sensible option was to run.
And yet, as Janessa hurried from the cave, ready to take up a defensive position, Talavin found herself at her side, swearing under her breath all the while. Janessa looked up at her, and grinned.
“Knew you wouldn’t let us down!”
“You owe me extra for this.”
“Sure thing. We can negotiate it once we survive!”
*****
“On your orders, Captain.”
Cloaked in shadow, clad in dark armour, the captain of the patrol watched from a high vantage point atop a rocky outcropping as a meager fighting force gathered outside the necromancer’s lair.
A small, scrappy gnome, kneeling and bracing a cannon. The captain had seen her put the thing to deadly use while escaping with Jys’tyrr’s prisoner. But without the element of surprise, and against a fully armed patrol, she would fall quickly enough.
The necromancer presented a problem. Spellcasters always did. Likewise, the two dozen or so groaning, shambling undead in various states of decay were an unexpected factor, providing additional numbers, and the potential for pestilent bites and scratches, and a complete lack of fear or self-preservation. But at the end of the day, they were brittle, and slow. Easy enough to deal with. And the necromancer commanding them was a scrawny figure, certain to break once in close combat.
The exile, though…
The captain’s brow furrowed. He remembered the exile, from the days before she fled. One of an identical pair, distinguishable only by their scars, flanking the Matron Mother. Elite monks, broken, reforged stronger, broken and reforged again. Death cloaked in shadows, regarded by all with respect and with dread.
The exile was to be feared.
And yet, the wrath of the sorceress Jys’tyrr was to be feared more.
The foot soldier cleared her throat, her nerves concealed well, but not well enough.
“Captain? You orders?”
The captain drew both a deep breath, and her sword.
“Kill the gnome, and the wizard. The sickly one too, should you find him still breathing. Restrain and disable the monk. The Matron will want her alive.”
Turning to the gathered force, the captain nodded.
Cloaked in the shadows, the patrol began their advance.
I’m thinking about an arrogant bastard who insists with a cocksure grin that he can handle the pollen count, when he’s already sniffling after a minute outside.
I’m thinking about a rakeish Lothario who shamelessly propositions you as if he’s a dominating force of nature and not a sad, pitiful little man with a streaming headcold. Like he’s going to fuck you right and not just lie limp against the pillows as you pleasure him.
I’m thinking about smug, duplicitous men who know exactly what they’re doing to you when their breath stutters like that, when they squeeze their eyes shut and rear back, when they stutter through their sentences while hitching fruitlessly, and play it up just to fuck with you.
Being a sexual degenerate with ADHD is so ridiculous, because what do you mean I can only make erotica if I am simultaneously watching Die Hard and assembling a 750 piece puzzle?
Strength determines how powerful your sneeze is. Not necessarily how loud it is, but how strong; how intense; how desperate your sneezes are.
Dexterity is how quickly you can react to a sneeze, obviously--how quickly you cover, stick a finger under your nose, get a tissue or cloth out, whatever. Also determines how well you can do things while sneezing (like getting a tissue out).
Constitution is how well you can hold back a sneeze. Determines how sensitive you are to different potential irritants, and obviously how good your immune system is. Also how well you can handle illness, of course.
Intelligence is understanding how sneezing works, on terms of mechanical action. It's also a measure of your proficiency for inducing--how much you know about making somebody sneeze (whether yourself or someone else). Understanding how the immune system works, and knowing ways to strengthen and weaken it. Intelligence is knowing that sneezing into your hand spreads disease. Intelligence is knowing that holding a sneeze in is bad for you.
Wisdom is knowing that sneezing into your hand is gross, and that holding in a sneeze sucks. Wisdom is putting two and two together that that facial expression means they have to sneeze. Wisdom is clueing into the fact that one of your companions is sick before they do. Wisdom is hearing somebody sneeze and noticing something unusual about it, like that they're sneezing with more intensity when they get near a certain flower, or that they're especially desperate today. As much as intelligence is know-how for inducing, wisdom is intuition. Wisdom guides you, informs you what areas tickle more and gives you a feel for making someone sneeze.
Charisma is the ability to play off a sneeze; to explain your symptoms away as nothing; to convince others you are fine when you are not. To intimidate your companions into not daring to make light of your illness. To make your sneeze sound cuter, or louder, more obnoxious, quieter, etc. To convince others to take care of you while sick.
Person who always sneezes pretty softly and quietly needing to sneeze next to someone who's sleeping so they try and stifle it and the stifle ends up being louder than any sneeze they've ever let out
A who-dun-it mystery, but instead of murder, everyone involved is trying to figure out who first caught the cold that is slowly making its rounds around the group.
The same emotional reveal of the perpetrator, but it’s their reasoning for not revealing they felt bad earlier. No arrests, just gentle scolding and a warm drink.
I’m going feral thinking about someone absolutely dousing their clothes in perfume, and their allergic partner has to politely ask them to remove one article at a time until they’re fully naked. While having a sneezing fit, of course.
“Your dress is-Itchiew! is makihh! Isch! Heh… itsch! Making me sdneeze.”
“Poor baby, I’d better take it off, then.”
“Yeh?..Yes, please.”
“Is that better?”
“I still… still have to… heh ITCH’chiew!”
“Hmm, I’d better take off my slip, too, I think.”
“Ih! Ish! Heh…tISH! If you’d be so kind.”
“How about now?”
“Sombething’s still… still… hurrISHew. Excuse mbe. Still setting mbe off. Perhuh! Perhaps you should tak- ITsch! IHshew! ahem. Take your bra off, too?”
“There, was that it?”
“Ndo, it- tsh! it still ih? Itch- ih! itches!”
“Is it my panties?”
“Muh-ish! Heh-itch! Tish! ITSCHieu! sndff. Must be.”
I’m going feral thinking about someone absolutely dousing their clothes in perfume, and their allergic partner has to politely ask them to remove one article at a time until they’re fully naked. While having a sneezing fit, of course.
inspired by @coldexposure's excellent post. i don't know where these two came from, but this prompt was too good to resist! early 20th century, artsy, libertine, international crowd, imagine something similar to the bloomsbury group. m/m. as usual for me, too much exposition for my own good.
(i was also intrigued to discover, after some cursory research, that medicinal cigarettes actually worked in some cases, even to the point of the benefits outweighing, in the moment at least, the inflammation caused to the lungs by the act of smoking. it seems counterintuitive, but the more you know!)
Lounging around after sex was a most agreeable occupation, Llewellyn thought – particularly when the sex had taken place mid-afternoon, a fair amount of energy had been expended by both parties and the bed was the well-worn double that took up almost all of Willem's attic room.
He stretched, relishing the feeling of cool sheets on his skin, and rolled over. With his chin propped on a hand, it was the perfect position in which to ogle his companion.
Willem was a lovely creature when clothed; he was even more divine stretched stark naked amongst a rumple of bedclothes, sunlight spilling through the window to limn the languid curve of his hip in gold. Moles were scattered across his body, silent instructions, kiss me here, and here, and here. They formed a trail that led up to his throat. Llewellyn was not by nature a possessive man – willingness to share was a virtue in their circles – but something about seeing his friend like this, a glimpse inside a locket that was usually kept tightly shut, made him want to set a guard by the door.
"Htsshhuhhh!"
There was also that.
Dragging himself upright, Willem rubbed the tip of his nose. It was as lovely as the rest of him, straight and perhaps a touch too large for his face. Currently it was also red, particularly around the quivering nostrils, and glistening slightly on its underside. His eyes were the same, red-rimmed and leaving shiny tear-tracks down his flushed cheeks. Most everything set Willem off, from Llewellyn's cologne (which he had foregone) to the lush, yellow-dusted catkins of the tree outside his window. It was mid-May, and the room was unbearable with the window closed, but Willem was suffering for it. The catkins, and his most delightful sensitivity: the tendency to sneeze when aroused.
"Verdomme..." Willem muttered. He tilted his head back so a tear ran off his dew-damp eyelashes and down his face, lingering on his jaw. A hand went back to his nose, rubbing it thoughtlessly. The action made it run, and he sniffled hard, but he'd done so much sniffling and sneezing while they fucked that his sinus were audibly packed tight, the sound a painful, blocked squelch. It seemed to provoke his nose again; he snapped forward: "Ht'issshhuhhh! Itsschh! Snff!"
Llewellyn inched up the bed and caressed Willem's thigh. "You sound awfully bunged up."
"It's the damned... trees..." Willem gestured towards the window while blinking rapidly, red, twitching nostrils glowing in the light. "Huhhh... hhiHH'Huhtssch! Atschsshh'uhh..!"
There was a catch to the last sneeze, a slight wheeze in the gasp that followed it. Llewellyn sat up more and studied Willem closely. Since last winter he'd been unable to dismiss his friend's asthma as easily as Willem clearly wished everyone would.
As if he could sense his thoughts, Willem gave him a look. Llewellyn tilted his head meaningfully; Willem sighed, but there was a rattle in the sound, and he reluctantly fumbled on the bedside table for a handkerchief.
"Here." Llewellyn passed him the one that had been under a pillow, but had been put in as much disarray as the rest of the bedding by their activities.
Willem sat forward to blow his nose; from the sound of it, he was putting more effort into it than he was getting relief. He folded the handkerchief and coughed into it afterwards. Llewellyn's hand went to his shoulder, steadying, instinctually, which meant he felt the tremors as Willem's chest began to jerk again –
"Uhhh... hhiHhh... ohHh, for God's saHhh-Atsschh! Ehhtschhh! Atsschh!! Huhh... EHhhhtschhh!"
"Bless you, love." Llewellyn squeezed Willem's shoulder while he tried to blow his nose again. He got much the same result, and resorted to squeezing and wiping it while snuffling uselessly, knuckling at one eye. "Are you sure your head isn't going to fall off?"
"Sorry..." Willem said faintly. "I think I need to..."
He went back to the bedside table, this time fumbling a cigarette from a small red carton. Had he a lighter to hand, Llewellyn would've offered it; instead he revelled in the sight of Willem's eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he looked down in concentration, lighting the cigarette.
The first drag made him cough; a distinctly herbal, medicinal scent, like a menthol cough drop, reached Llewellyn's nostrils. He was amused to notice Willem's twitching frantically almost immediately.
"Oh dear," he murmured, smiling. Willem scowled at him, pulling on the cigarette more deliberately, but the next smoky exhale had already sealed his fate:
"Etschh!" It burst from him with no prelude, snapping him forward, so itchy it sounded unfinished. "Huhh'Etschhuhh! HahhHh- Tssch! Ihhtssh! Etsschuh! Hhih... ihHh... Itsschh!! Itsschh! Itsshh!!'tsshh!'tsshh!"
Llewellyn's hand was still on Willem's shoulder throughout the convulsive fit, and he could feel every shudder, see the the muscles in his stomach tense over and over again as he curled in on himself. Despite it all, the cigarette burned undisturbed between Willem's fingers; it was somehow that maddening display of elegance that made arousal pool in Llewellyn's stomach.
"Good God, that was quite a production," he said, with a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel.
Willem unfurled and blinked up at him. His eyes, bloodshot around deep brown irises that always reminded Llewellyn of a baby deer, were streaming. As was – oh. His nose was running over his lips; moving as if in a dream, he brought the handkerchief to it and gave a long, liquid blow. A gasp of relief followed it that was almost obscene; Llewellyn had to wrestle down the urge to kiss this delightful man. Not least because he'd probably suffocate him.
After a few more blows, and an awful lot of rubbing his nose through the fabric, Willem emerged, scrunching his irritated eyes and sighing. His cheeks pinkened as he took another drag of the cigarette.
"Sorry," he said again. "It's a bit dramatic, but it's the only thing that clears my head."
"So I see." Llewellyn grinned as Willem lightly hit him in the arm with the hand his handkerchief was balled in. "Don't apologise; I should be sorry for the part I played in getting you to that state."
"No, you should not." Willem leant in, looking up at Llewellyn through his lashes in a puckish way, and he really couldn't resist pressing a kiss to those parted lips. Just a fleeting contact. He could almost taste the medicinal cigarette.
"Htsshhuhhh!!" Willem barely managed to move, sneezing freely into the space between them. Some of the spray ghosted over Llewellyn's thigh. "Oh god..."
"Spring really isn't your season, is it, love?"
Willem glared. Then he let his head rest against Llewellyn's shoulder with a long sigh.
These characters are so vivid and their dynamic is so natural and you captured Willem’s suffering and Llewellyn’s arousal in frankly sinful dimension.
I’m also excited that someone else is as taken with the sheer absurdity of asthma cigarettes as I am! I actually have a small collection of them, as well as their cartons and advertisements.
I’m picturing Willem as (a less-clothed version of) this gentleman from a 1907 ad for Grimault & Co.’s Cigarettes Indiennes.
Fun fact about these, by 1907 they contained no tobacco, and instead were cannabis cigarettes laced with datura stramonium, a highly toxic nightshade that can also induce hallucinations (albeit in higher doses than Grimault & Co. apparently used). D. stramonium is also an anticholinergic, which is why, despite the smoke and being a nightshade flower, it actually could help asthma symptoms.
