D&D Way to Sword Coast

Chapter 26: Cost

Lesmythe had tried to take Yulia to safety as her master had instructed but the child had slipped out of her grasp. Just when she was about to grab her, Lesmythe was thrown back by the wave of magic thrown out by the girl. She'd heard no incantation, nor spoken spells. Three darts of pure magical energy had erupted from Yulia's hands, even she seemed surprised. Then there was Alidorim's breath weapon...

"He did it," she gasped still trying to grasp what she'd witnessed, "He actually did it."

Venomfang's body twitched and squirmed as it was burned from the inside out. Green scales glowed red before going black. Its natural armor cracked and disintegrated like burnt parchment. The dragon's roars which had brought them to the edge of insanity now set her teeth on edge with their agonized screeching. Soon those shrieks faded. A blackened husk was all that remained of the great green one.

Lesmythe watched in awe and as the Dragonborn-her master-stood over the fallen Venomfang. The last vestiges of his breath weapon crackled and popped along his jaws before disappearing. Alidorim was breathing heavily from the exertion. Battered and bloodied, surrounded by destruction he cast a menacing profile.

"Who-who is this beast?"

"Father!?" Yulia's outcry snapped Lesmythe back to the present. The Dragonborn, who'd just been standing victoriously suddenly crumbled to the ground. Instinctively, the half-elf ran to their side. The sight before her alarmed Lesmythe to her core. "You'll be okay, father," Yulia declared clinging to the warrior's limp hand, "Just breathe!" The girl's words rang hollow in the slave's ears. Her mind reeled at the damage to his once-powerful body.

Alidorim lay, swathed in the remains of his shattered armor, eyes squeezed tight. Every inch of exposed flesh was marred by bruises, burns, or cuts. His breathing came in short pained gasps if they came at all. Skin that was normally warm to the touch now felt cold. The ground beneath him was coated in so much blood it stained their clothes.

Lesmythe's hand immediately flew to her slave crest. The mark waxed and waned. Its effect would last only as long as its proprietor lived. With each passing second, her freedom drew closer. All she had to do was wait...

"Father please," Yulia pleaded, squeezing Alidorim's hand, "Please wake up." She pressed her face against his knuckles, not caring that his blood joined the tears streaming down her face. She looked up at Lesmythe, hoping she might have the answers. The half-elf tried to think of something to calm the child, but no words made it past the ache in her throat. Yulia's eyes squeezed tight as more tears dripped to the ground.

A tear ran down Lesmythe's cheek. "What love is this...?" she wondered, her heart aching with shame and guilt. Did the Dragonborn not place the brand upon her breast? The same being who used her? Who saw her as a mere possession and not as a person? Was this not the same man that enslaved her?

Her freedom...at long last...after so many years of pain and torture...was within her grasp. "I can't..." Lesmythe thought despairingly, "I-I won't..." All she had to do was wait...

Alidorim was her owner, true enough. He was also the one who fed and clothed her when he didn't have too. Though he had little to spare he'd had given her medicine to ease her sickness. He'd shattered her manacles and taught her to fight for herself. Alidorim had found worth in her where others had seen a thing to be used and discarded. All to take care of a little girl who had nothing else in this world, but a gruff adventurer to call 'father.'

"Please," Yulia sobbed, "D-don't leave me too..."

Alidorim's chest heaved with a single agonizing breath. His eyes flickered for a moment, and then his body went still. Then, ever so gently, his thumb caressed the Tiefling's cheek. Alidorim had given so much to protect the child. The pain he had endured to ensure she could live on had wrecked his body. Yet in his final moments, all he wanted was to give her one last bit of comfort.

Through the tears and anguish, a small smile formed on Yulia's lips. "I-I love you too...F-f-father."

"Gods I can't do this," Lesmythe's mind screamed. The ache in her chest was worse than any pain she'd ever experienced. "I just can't..." There must be something they could do, but none of their medicines were strong enough to heal him. They needed something stronger. They needed a miracle...

Looking up at Yulia with glistening hope in her eyes, Lesmythe said, "Stay with him!" And The half-elf stood and ran. "Hold on Master!" Lesmythe called out sprinting back toward the tower. She had no idea what state the ruin was in after the dragon's rampage, but if there was even the slightest chance it was still there, Lesmythe had to try.

The acrid stench for earlier lingered amongst the bodies of the cultists. Each of them lay in similar states; hands clutching at throats, with white foam dripping from their mouths. She bypassed the bodies without a second glance. The leather satchel lay exactly where Alidorim had placed it. Hope sored within her as she found what she sought amongst the gold, silver, and copper. She could only pray it was enough.

"Hold on, master," Lesmythe gasped, "don't leave us."

<>

Alidorim was floating in an impenetrable haze. Blurred shapes and colors swam at the corners of his vision. Every time he tried to focus on them to discern their meaning they faded into the shadows. They resurfaced in his periphery whenever he glanced elsewhere. It was frustrating, like trying to catch smoke.

Somewhere in the darkness, he heard a sound. Like a voice calling out but distance distorted the words. The voice was familiar to him. If Alidorim could just clear his mind of the shapes and colors it might become clearer.

The voice called out again. The Dragonborn still couldn't hear the words but recognized the feminine lilt to them. The tone was also sharper; urgent, concerned, fearful...and sad. Alidorim knew that voice. He'd heard it several times before; in his arms as he soothed her fears, at his back on a long road, and next to him at a campfire.

"Stay with me, father!" came the girl's insistent call. With it came memories. They passed before his eyes faster than a kaleidoscope of stars, while others moved so slow, he could pick out individual details. A trio of arrows striking his torso. Gravity pulling him down a pitfall into darkness. A dwarf swinging a Warhammer towards his head. A reptilian figure hurtling across the mud. An elf's body moving with his. A sword piercing armor followed by a scream of anguish...had that been his scream?

"Father don't go!" her voice cried out, closer now. The memories faded to the back of his mind. Pink light dawned across the horizon of his vision. He was aware of his physical form. Consciousness brought with it the aches and pains; both new and old; physical and emotional. His head felt thick. Then that too faded.

He was floating once more in the haze, colors dancing in the shadows.

"Master! Please hold on!" Another familiar voice called out. A woman's voice. It was so close now. Alidorim felt like he could reach out and touch her, but for some reason, his limbs wouldn't obey. Darkness still swirled at the edges of his vision. The warm embrace of unconsciousness beckoned him. Alidorim wanted nothing more than to rest. He'd been running and fighting for so long... a long rest was exactly what he deserved.