Echoes of the Reach

[1.3] | A Chance Encounter

     Like a geyser, a thick jet of yellow-tinted smoke erupted from the ground. A hot, bitter tang filled Talwyn's mouth and drew tears from her burning eyes, blinding her to the lone duskclaw that raced through the smoke towards her. It came closer, and closer, and then it stopped. Talwyn parted her eyelids to see it rooted to its spot, a thin length of cold steel extending from between two of its legs.

     "I wish we had a smokescreen that didn't make my nose itch so much," an unfamiliar voice muttered from the sword's far end. Through the smoke, a tall, olive-skinned, half-elven man emerged and pulled the blood-slick weapon free of the creature's body. The duskclaw spat at him as it dragged itself away, and he kept his long, light-coloured rapier trained on the insect while turning his shimmering blue eyes to Talwyn. "Are you hurt, miss?"

     Talwyn had passed by a diverse range of characters during her stay in Trocari, yet nobody she had yet encountered resembled the person stood before her. Exquisite silver stripes travelled along the shoulders of his deep blue cloak, the short sleeves of a fine, light-coloured hide chest-piece poking out underneath. Along his legs, the same vivid blue shade coloured his well-tailored trousers, and polished metal buckles shone from his tall, steel-tipped boots. Dark, windswept hair fell to just a stroke above his shoulders, blending with the wide-brimmed leather hat on his head.

     In a city built for – and by – outcasts, this man somehow stuck out like a moon among the stars. He was also still waiting for an answer, and Talwyn scrambled to sweep the floor dust from her dress. "Nothing I can't walk off," she said, glancing around in search of a path to clear air. What looked like the outline of a raised stinger floated close by, though she lost sight of it as she squinted through the haze. "Who are you? Did you make this smoke? I can't see a thing through it."

     "You can call me Darius, and while I didn't make the smoke, it was sort of my idea to fire it over here. So really, if you think about it –"

     Drowning out the hiss of the rising smoke, a saliva-wetted cry rang out as the curved tip of a thick tail tore through the fog. Darius spun on his heels at the sound, catching the swing in the centre of his chest and slamming into the stone ground. As the rest of the attacking duskclaw emerged through the veil of haze, a thin needle pushed through the tip of its tail, its point mere inches over its victim's sprawled body. Dazed and winded, the man lifted his free arm in defence of his battered chest.

     Talwyn prepared to lash out with another blast of force, yet the skitter of claws on stone told of a second insect that charged at her from behind. She ducked to the side just in time to dodge the severed tail that flew past her face, only for a blunt, shell-armoured blow to slam into her side. Bracing herself in time to break her fall on a stack of kegs, she pushed off onto her back as the wounded tail hurtled towards her again and smacked off the barrels with a sickening squelch. The duskclaw reeled in pain, frozen in place for a moment.

     And a moment was all Talwyn needed. Keeping her eyes on the central keg, she wrapped her mind around every pound of weight, every wooden sinew, every fermented bubble. Telekinesis was magical, yet its driving force was very physical, and she strained her muscles until they burned to flood the barrel with all the power she could muster. Collapsing into the reed-woven bed in her small rented hut later would be so incredibly satisfying.

     The keg creaked, then cracked, then burst from the pile, ale seeping out of its splitting sides. As the insect turned towards the noise, the rest of the stack crashed over its back and drenched it in a frothing torrent. Heady alcohol fumes curled around the sore nerves of her lingering headache.

     Seizing on the sudden distraction, Darius knocked his opponent's stinger to the side and pulled himself clear of the insect's grasp. The monster hissed, steaming drops of greedy saliva leaking from its jaws, and scurried after him, but this time the half-elf was ready. He loosened a strap on his belt, withdrew a small steel hand axe, and hacked at the creature as it rushed him. The honed edge lodged itself between the duskclaw's eyes, earning a wild cry and pushing the monster back. Not yet done, he tore his axe free and, through the fan of spattered blood, stabbed his rapier through the creature's throbbing tail. A layer of frost claimed the flesh around the wound, a soft purple tint creeping over the ice as he withdrew his blade.