[Mkguild] Saviour

[billy morph]

I'm not sure this one really works. Even with the previous two stories
I'm not sure Hale is quite comprehended without his larger backstory.
Anyway, enjoy and if you could take a moment to tell me what you think
that would be much appreciated.


Saviour

Hale was fuming. He was doing quite well; over the years he’d managed to hone fuming down to a fine art on a broad range of topics and could rant the hind leg of a donkey any day of the week. It was just too bad that constituted a public health hazard at Metamor. This time was different though, for the first time since he was six, and his mother had forced him to share a tart, he was furious at his sister.

“Who does she think she is telling me what to do?” he muttered to the silent forest. The first snows had fallen, and the only people foolish enough to travel so far from the keep were the scouts and those who distance didn’t matter that much. “Who was the one that always pulled her out of the fire? Me!” 

In the solace of his own mind Hale liked to forget that most of those metaphorical fires had been started by him. 

“And okay, so it was a mistake coming here,” he continued, picking his way through the undergrowth. “But we have options. I mean, what about an illusion amulet? Hmm I’ll have to check those-” 

Hale paused and sniffed the air, then gagged. Lutins. Even without an animal half he could smell them, their stink washed through the wood along with. He sniffed again. Excrement? Hale sighed. So much for his relaxing walk, and set off at a run. 

The battle sight was a shambles, a judging from the disembowelled lutin trying to crawl away, only a few minutes old. It was hard to tell which side had been the victors, corpses of keepers and monsters lay side by side, discarded weapons sunk into the blooded snow. 

Unsheathing his knives Hale glanced around, tensing. He knew he should get out of there. Regardless of who won it meant danger was near and no one had ever reached old age running towards danger, but he hesitated. A keeper groaned and Hale winced. Great, now he’d never be able to live with himself if he left. 

“Hey,” he said, kneeling down next to the blood soaked squirrel morph. She was in a bad way, even Hale could see that, a half dozen narrow cuts across her arms and torso looked bad, but a rent in her side was draining her lifeblood. 

“Who...?” the squirrel murmured, cracking open blood encrusted eyes. 

“Hush,” Hale replied, scanning around the clearing and went to rip a jerkin off one of the other dead keepers. Pressure, that was the key, he had to keep pressure on the wound. There was a load of other things, like getting a bloody healer as quick as you could, but the keep was at least four hours away on foot and help didn’t know they were there. 

“Hey, hey,” he said again, as he returned and pushed the rag down on the squirrel’s wound. She whimpered in pain and her eyes began to glaze, not a good sign either.

“Stay with me,” Hale snapped, the ruins of the jerkin were already soaked through. “Come on, tell me your name.” 

“Les-” She coughed, great splutters that brought forth another gout of blood from her side. “-ley. Ow.” 

“Well Lesley,” Hale pressed. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“I...” She glanced down at her ruined stomach and whimpered. 

“You are going to be alright,” Hale promised. “I’m going to get help. Hold this tight.” He dragged her paws onto the rag and pressed her down, she winced again. “Do not let go. I’ll just be a minute.” 

He rose, and snapped at the empty air. “Okay Keep, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But I’m sure you don’t want her to die so the infirmary if you please.” 

He closed his eyes, noting just where he was and in an instant he was somewhere else. Teleporting into the keep was of course impossible, and was the third of such impossible locations Hale had been able to access much to the chagrin of whoever had set up the wards. Metamor though posed a particular challenge, as no room had ever been in the same place twice as far as Hale could make out, so he just focused on getting to his room and hoped for the best. 

“How did you-” the racoon doctor began as Hale materialised in his infirmary. 

“No time,” Hale snapped. “There’s a keeper bleeding to death in the forest, massive side wound and I don’t know how long she’ll last.” 

“Right.” The racoon disappeared off for a moment, leaving Hale tapping his foot, and then returned with a large canvas bag. “Lead on.” 

“I can’t take us both,” Hale sighed, dragging a map out of his inside pocket. “She’s just north of point four. Tell me what I need to do to stabilise her.” 

“If it’s slowing, just hold a cloth on it and wait for the body to close. If not, use the alcohol and try and sew it up but-”

“Bandage if mild, sew if bad,” Hale completed, snatching the bag. “Got it.”

“And keep her conscious!” Coe yelled after him as Hale vanished. 

Hale fought his way through the snow back to the squirrel’s side. “Lesley?” he said, kneeling next to her, dropping the bag. “Can you hear me?” 

“Hurts,” she murmured, eyes screwed up against the pain. Her hand had dropped away from the wound and Hale pressed the rag back against her. It was so sodden with blood he didn’t know if it would make any difference. 

“I know, but you’ve got to hold on,” Hale said, digging through the doctor’s bag one handed.

“I’m tired,” she sighed, looking away. 

“Hey! Don’t go on me. Keep talking, tell me about yourself.” He pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bag and pulled the lid off with his teeth. 

“I just want to sleep,” she said, closing her eyes. 

“Well, this’ll wake you up,” Hale replied in lieu of a warning, and slopped half the bottle over the wound. 

Lesley screamed, but at least she was awake and Hale got his first look at the horrible gash. It wasn’t good; Hale reckoned he could have fit his whole fist inside, and yet more blood was welling up. She couldn’t have had much left. 

“Come on Lesley talk,” he barked, trying to find a needle and thread in the bag.  

“I was... born in Mallen,” she gasped. “Three years of patrolling... Didn’t like any of the village boys... That’s why I went to the keep. Stupid reason now that I think about it.” 

“It’s a very good reason in my book,” Hale replied, pulling out thread but no needle. “Keep going.” 

“Never very good at training,” Lesley murmured. “Hated patrolling. Only thing I liked was William. Did he make it?” 

Hale glanced round the battlefield. He had no way of knowing. 

“Yes,” he said, giving up on the vanishing needle and tried to squeeze the wound close. 

Lesley grabbed Hale’s free hand and gripped it with all her might, fixing Hale with a desperate gaze. “Tell him I’m sorry. I should have dodged.” Her grip faded and she lay back in the snow. 

“Oh nonononono,” Hale said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Don’t go to sleep.” He slapped her, still no response. “Lesley! Come on.” He reached over and shook her by the shoulders. The girl let out a weak groan. 

“You don’t have to talk, just listen,” Hale continued, not noticing the squirrel’s blood soaking into his leggings. “I mean, I’m quite an interesting person. I even met a king, several of them in fact. Backhanded one but that was okay because he was a slimy git and he deserved it. Come on!” 

Lesley was still. 

The solution was so simple Hale wondered why he’d never thought of it before. All he had to do was teleport back to the keep and bring her with him. Never mind that he’d never managed to take anything living with him before. Everything else was irrelevant and this time was different. This time really mattered. 

There was a pop as Hale tried a test ‘port and he was on the other side of the clearing alone. Then he was back at Lesley’s side and tried again, and again, and again until he lost track of just how many times he’d faced nothingness. 

He almost wept in joy when at long last she came with him and with a flicker they leapt back to the keep. 

Hale stood up and looked around. They were in a little courtyard garden. Birds were singing and the snow was but a hint on the grass. Where the infirmary was he had no idea. 

“What are you doing you blasted pile of bricks and mortar!” Hale roared at the empty air. “She needs a doctor, not flowers.” 

He knelt back down. “Lesley?” he asked, grasping her arm. She was cold, but that didn’t stop him trying to shake her away. 

“What the... ” Coe said, arriving in the cloister. “Oh.” 

“Come on, wake up,” Hale pressed. 

“Young man,” Coe said, and reached out to touch the squirrel’s neck. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

Hale swore to himself, stepping back, clenching and unclenching his fists, his breathing fast and ragged. 

“How did you know her?” Coe said after a moment, as Hale struggled to calm down. 

“I didn’t,” Hale replied. Then vanished. 

 		 	   		  
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