Skara Braens

Part 18

Part 17 Vote Tally

Option A: 0
Option B: 3
Option C: 0

Onward!

You open your mouth and scream.

You think you're shouting for help, but you cannot be sure.  Your mouth, your voice, and your body are working independently of the conscious part of your brain.  As you scream, you thrash, paying no mind to the damage you do to your wrists and ankles as the rope starts to cut.  Even the stinging of the salt water on your wounds as the water rises does not prompt submission. Instead, it heightens your panic, and you thrash and scream harder.

As the water covers your ears, you lose the sharpness of your voice.  You can feel the rawness in your throat, and you know that despite your best efforts, your voice is losing its strength.  You take a shuddering breath in, and swallow sea water.  Now all your efforts go towards controlling your burning lungs, trying to draw breaths between bouts of painful coughing.

Pulling yourself up, you struggle to keep your head about the rapidly rising water.  More and more, you find yourself spitting water back out of your mouth.

It takes a while for you to notice a series of sharp tugs on your left arm.  You can't turn your head without submerging it, so you try to move your eyes in order to see.  All you manage is eye strain.  Suddenly your left arm is free.  You yank it to you and twisting as much as you can, given your legs are still bound, you try and reach for the knot on your right wrist.  You cannot reach.

The water is well and truly over your head now.  Though you strain, you cannot break the surface.  Panic takes you again and you start to thrash, until you feel a hand touch your right arm.  Falling still, trying to preserve oxygen, you feel the rope around your wrist tremble. Pause. Tremble.  Someone is cutting through the rope.

Your lungs burn.  You aren't sure that you can hold your breath for much longer.  You test the rope around your right wrist. You are still stuck fast.  The testing has used more oxygen than you had. You can feel yourself start to fade. Your aching lungs are about to expand, drawing in water when your right hand is suddenly free and something strong pulls you up quickly.  At the moment your head breaks the surface, your lungs obey the demand for fresh air.  Your breath is loud, painful, and very, very welcome.

Coughing, you're quick to realise that the water is already around your neck and you'd best move fast.  You notice that there is already someone at your feet, hacking rapidly at one of the ropes around your ankles.  You scoot down to start picking at the knot on the other rope.

Both ankles come free at the same time and the person with the knife stands and turns to you.  You meet the sharp blue eyes with a young woman with dark auburn hair.  She bears a swirling deep blue tattoo on her cheek.

She scowls at you. "Imrich!" she demands, rolling the 'r' heavily.  She pushes one should and points with her free hand.  You look to find part of a cliff face that stretches from your bizarre natural prison.  Part of the cliff has crumbled away, leaving several ridges and a piles of shale that look like they would give access to some of the higher ledges.

The young woman pushes you again, and you struggle across the floor of the round cavern to the cliff.  The waves are crashing against the cliff in violent succession, as if the sea is angry at having been denied a drowned offering.  With more small shoves, the woman urges you to start climbing.

Rocks cut into your palm as you struggle up the slopes and ledges.  Several times the crashing waves nearly rip you from safety, but the woman who climbs behind you pushes you back onto the wall, denying the ocean its prize again.

It is not until you haul yourself over the edge of the cliff onto solid ground again that you realise how much everything hurts.  Your wrists and ankles are rubbed raw and bleeding, with ocean water making them sting.  Your fingers and palms have been sliced from the climb, and they too sting with salt water.  Your lungs, having also felt the sting of ocean water, rebel and you double over in a painful coughing fit.

For a moment you lament your current hurts, and then your mind drifts to Drest.  Did he and David survive the fight?  Are they dead?  If so, might they have survived if you had the courage to stay and help?

You stare down at your cut and bleeding hands.  Tears sting your eyes.  You are alive.  It is a fate you do not deserve.  You abandoned a friend.  A cold wind blows over your wet body and you shudder.  Now, in addition to the sting of salted wounds, you feel the sting of intense cold.  You wrap your arms around yourself and curl over, trying to preserve some heat.

The woman walks over to you.

"Ghabhail dheth bhur n-eudach," she says.  You look up and find her stripping down.  Frowning, you notice that her clothing is leather and fur, not the cloth of the people you had met thus far.  You stare at her as she sits, a bandage around her chest, keeping everything bound close.  She looks at you and scowls.

"Ghabhail dheth bhur n-eudach," she says again, sounding insistent. Cocking her head, she says, "Take off your cloths.  You will freeze if you stay wet."

Slowly, trembling violently, you take off the bright orange shirt and matching trousers.

"Come," she says.  "We need to keep warm."

You don't protest as she wraps your arms around her and she pulls you close.  She is strong, and more importantly, warm.  Slowly your trembling subsides as your body begins to warm.  Sleep takes you, despite a valiant attempt to keep it at bay.

The sound of a throbbing engine wakes you.  You are covered in a thick fur blanket, and somewhere nearby people are speaking in a language you cannot understand.  You sit up.  You are lying beside a fire.  Dusk paints the sky in stunning shades of pink, purple and orange.  Not far from the fire, a vehicle with an open tray back and a small cab rattles with the throb of an engine.

A man stands, leaning against the cab, his thick, muscular arms crossed against his chest.  His gaze is turned upwards, observing the sky.  He notices your gaze, straightens, then turns his head.

"Oi!" he barks.  The sound of conversation stops and the burly man tilts his head at you.

You turn to find the young woman and another man standing a little away from the vehicle.  They look at you, look at each other, and then approach you.

"You're damned lucky Mordina was around to hear you shout, stranger."

Mute, you nod.

"Aye.  Well, we're headed home.  You're welcome to come along.  Or not.  If you do come, you'll be expected to pitch in.  Life is too hard as it is.  We can't afford any free-loaders."

You stare at the man.  He is dressed in furs, and carries a long blade at his side, a large round shield strapped to his back.  You notice swirling blue tattoos on the exposed skin on his neck.  You greatly suspect that they extend over a significant portion of his body.

What do you do?

a) Go with them. They might be vastly different from the previous people you met, but they seem friendly enough.
b) Thank them, but try to make your way back to the compound. Perhaps you can discover what happened to Drest.
c) Thank them, but go off on your own. There's no point going back, and you don't want to leave one prison only to (perhaps) arrive at another.

Good luck, Adventurers! Voting ends Thursday 27 October at midnight.