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> Restless Soul - The New Adventures of Niamh & Looch
Renee
post May 4 2016, 12:22 AM
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Very visual stuff Phon. I like all the accents too. And the Gaelic (right?)



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PhonAntiPhon
post May 4 2016, 05:03 AM
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QUOTE(Renee @ May 3 2016, 11:22 PM) *

Very visual stuff Phon. I like all the accents too. And the Gaelic (right?)

Thank you Renee smile.gif
Yeah, it's Gaelic - all elves speak variations of Gaelic\Celtic. It's just always felt "right" to me that they should...


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PhonAntiPhon
post May 8 2016, 08:49 PM
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The next section of the story will see Niamh leading Lucy progressively south down through the Great Forest, and the east, with a view to making it to Bravil...


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Renee
post May 10 2016, 12:27 AM
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QUOTE(PhonAntiPhon @ May 4 2016, 12:03 AM) *

Yeah, it's Gaelic - all elves speak variations of Gaelic\Celtic. It's just always felt "right" to me that they should...

I know I know, believe me. I wish I knew another language, just so I can use it in my stories too. I would blend this language in here and there. Best I can do is occasionally use Google Translate. I had an Argonian in Oblivion who was supposed to be primitive. He'd croak and make the guttural sounds I imagine an actual lizard man would say. He would speak German in my stories with him. Just seemed to fit.

RPGs have lost this over time. Back in the day (table-gaming) all the different races and beings and creatures had their own languages, and only somebody who was trained to know this language could understand it. Nowadays, they all speak English. Except goblins, I suppose. This is how Star Trek was too. In the original series, they'd go to some planet, and the aliens would be speaking some weird language. In later series (Deep Space Nine and whatnot) they all speak English. I suppose it's just more convenient, but not nearly as captivating. To me, anyway.



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PhonAntiPhon
post May 10 2016, 08:54 AM
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QUOTE(Renee @ May 9 2016, 11:27 PM) *

I know I know, believe me. I wish I knew another language, just so I can use it in my stories too. I would blend this language in here and there. Best I can do is occasionally use Google Translate. I had an Argonian in Oblivion who was supposed to be primitive. He'd croak and make the guttural sounds I imagine an actual lizard man would say. He would speak German in my stories with him. Just seemed to fit.

RPGs have lost this over time. Back in the day (table-gaming) all the different races and beings and creatures had their own languages, and only somebody who was trained to know this language could understand it. Nowadays, they all speak English. Except goblins, I suppose. This is how Star Trek was too. In the original series, they'd go to some planet, and the aliens would be speaking some weird language. In later series (Deep Space Nine and whatnot) they all speak English. I suppose it's just more convenient, but not nearly as captivating. To me, anyway.

I do agree, I think it's a sad loss, and it's a shame that cultural homogenization is now as prevalent in fantasy and science fiction as it is in real life.
I think it's far more immersive to have a culture or whatever that is different in more than just the way it looks, in its language and its rhythm, it's far more real.


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PhonAntiPhon
post Jun 22 2016, 02:26 PM
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-WHAT NOT TO EAT-


Lucy drew herself further into the rough cave between the tree roots, her back pressed tight against the damp soil that formed the rear wall. With a quiet sigh she stared miserably out at the patch of sky that was all that she could see from her vantage point.

It was grey, the sky; everything was grey and it was raining, raining in a desultory, spiteful fashion; the sort of rain that made everything wet and yet hardly felt like it touched you when it hit you.
"More of a mist, really..." She muttered to herself, and then winced, her hands going to her belly.

Earlier in the day, Niamh had been leading her at a punishing pace through the forest, south, and slowly eastwards as well. Their journey had been made largely in silence and with Lucy stumbling along behind the Elf, struggling as best she could to keep up with the other woman. They had traveled for maybe three hours before, to Lucy's immense relief, Niamh had called a brief halt at a point not a hundred yards from where Lucy now sat, hidden and miserable.

They'd drunk a little water, and they'd been some talk - mostly from Niamh - about the route she was planning on taking, little of it had meant anything to Lucy however and pretty soon she'd zoned out, Niamh's heavy accent becoming muffled and seemingly distant as more pressing concerns began to make themselves known to Lucy.

Chief among these, even more so than the aching in her feet, was the void in her belly. So it was that as Niamh, having finished whatever she had been saying, stood and padded off through the trees to cast about the trail ahead, Lucy, looking around herself saw, not far from where she was seated a bush looking for all the world like a redcurrant bush; and ripe with fruit also.

By the time that Niamh returned from scouting out the path, Lucy had all but plucked the bush clean of berries, and was finishing up by licking the bitter red juice off of her fingers. There had been shouting, Niamh had made some very concise and frank comments with regards to Lucy's commonsense when it came to feasting on unknown berries, something that she should not ever have done in her own world, let alone in this one.

Niamh had further pointed out that the bush that Lucy had so efficiently and comprehensively demolished was a Comberry bush. Comberries were the chief ingredient of Comberry Brandy as well as some very potent elixirs. There was a reason why they were never eaten straight from the bush. Lucy, now terrified that she had survived being attacked by Daedra, transported to another world, and almost assaulted by an Orc, only to suffer a horrible death, poisoned by her own stupidity, asked Niamh if she was going to die.

"Nay." Replied the Elf. "Buit ye'll fill lyke ye ar."

And so she did, roughly a half hour later. Crouched behind the very tree among whose roots she now uncomfortably nestled, her body had violently and repeatedly expelled the berries and what little else her stomach contained, from both ends, over a period of roughly two hours. In fairness to Niamh, she had had the good grace to leave Lucy be whilst the latter purged herself of the Comberries, all the while cursing in a choked and gargling voice the country, the sky, her bad fortune and Niamh herself, who, it must be said, showed great restraint in remaining calm particularly when, as Lucy would have been the first to admit, it was her (Lucy's) own fault entirely.

Once she had finished, and had cleaned herself up with some leaves that Niamh had assured her were safe, Lucy had gingerly stood, pulling up her recently acquired leather trousers as she did so. Niamh had handed her a cup of water and had watched critically as Lucy drank.

"Wull," she said at length, "an' let tha' b'a lessyn tai ye, eh?" She shook her head and frowned, though not unkindly. "Ye hae go' a lotte tae lurn, Lucy, an' ye nid tae thynke afore ye dae stoopid stuff lyke tha' awreet?"
Lucy, feeling wretched and even more hungry and uncomfortable than before, had hung her head. "I'm sorry." She said quietly. "I'm not making this any easier am I?"
"Luik atte me." Said Niamh, and Lucy had meekly complied. Reaching forward, Niamh had taken Lucy's hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. "Jes lette me gyde ye, k? An' ye'll b'fyne."

Having made their peace, and with a suitably contrite Lucy acknowledging that she had learned a valuable lesson, tempered by Niamh's revelation that upon awakening in Lucy's world, she had nearly died from drinking an entire bottle of vodka in one sitting, thinking it was similar to a much weaker spirit that she had previously been partial to in Cyrodiil. It had ended very badly. Both of them had chuckled, and the last of the tension had dissipated.

It had been agreed, as the day was edging towards mid afternoon and the dusk came early in the season they were in, that they should make camp more-or-less where they were, albeit on the opposite side of the tree from the consequences of Lucy's unfortunate experience. Niamh has espied a small hollow or cave beneath the tree and had directed Lucy into it.

"Stai theyaa." She'd said, handing Lucy a small flask of water. "Ai'll be bak wi' sum prawpa fud suin 'nuff, k? Dinnae eat nuffin'!!"

And so here she was, huddled in the gathering gloom amongst the roots and creeping things, her belly aching and grumbling, and the smell of her body sharp and sour in her nostrils. With no sense of time, she had no idea how long Niamh had been away, and with nothing to do but dwell on her own stupidity and watch the endless blanket of grey clouds flow thickly across the sky from one side of the cave mouth to the other, it had not been long before anxiety and no small amount of paranoia had set in.

What if Niamh had finally got fed up and left her after all? What if she'd died? What if Something Else found her before Niamh did? She had tried repeatedly and with decreasing success to banish these thoughts from her mind, but ultimately to no avail. It felt like Niamh had been gone for hours, and it was very definitely getting darker now.
What to do?

Suddenly, she caught her breath, from outside it seemed that there had been...
No, she was certain she had heard, a surreptitious sound; something stealthily creeping beyond the mouth of the cave. Eyes saucer-wide, she huddled as far back against the damp soil as she could, never taking her eyes off the opening above her.

-x-


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Renee
post Jun 24 2016, 01:39 AM
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Oh yes, I agree, she shouldn't be eating just any berry. Some of them are poison!

The ending creeps me out. Which is good.

This post has been edited by Renee: Jun 24 2016, 01:54 AM


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PhonAntiPhon
post Jun 27 2016, 11:56 AM
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QUOTE(Renee @ Jun 24 2016, 12:39 AM) *

Oh yes, I agree, she shouldn't be eating just any berry. Some of them are poison!

The ending creeps me out. Which is good.

Thank you Renee smile.gif

Indeed. It is only a small section I know, but there's a larger piece coming. I just wanted to get this down as it was bouncing round in my head as an illustration of Lucy's uncertain first steps in Cyrodiil. If that makes sense.

I can't let this story go if I'm honest. I know there's a long account here and I keep picking at it. Kind of like an itch that constantly needs scratching, you know?


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PhonAntiPhon
post Nov 11 2016, 10:02 PM
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A head appeared, silhouetted against the sky.
Lucy stiffened; an instinctive reaction, at the same time drawing back into herself, staring at the shape. Then, as her brain made sense of the shadowed details, she became suddenly limp as the tension drained away from her body, accompanied by the hissing of pent-up breath from between her teeth.
“Niamh...!” She whispered, the relief palpable in her voice.

“Aye...” Came the reply. “Cum uppe oot o'theyar Luce, ai hai go' sum fud f'r'us.”

Whilst Lucy clambered out from between the tree roots, her companion laid a blood-soaked, cloth-wrapped bundle down upon the ground and, squatting down upon her haunches, proceeded to unwrap it. Lucy came over, wincing at the various pains and aches in her joints and muscles. Looking down, an expression of distaste fell upon her face as the bloodied carcass was revealed.

Niamh unfolded the cloth and smoothed it around her catch, heedless of the blood. Pausing, she looked up at Lucy and seeing her expression, smiled. “Ye'll suin lurn tai stoppe beyin' soch a Prynsesse.” She said, though not unkindly, her dark eyes focussing intently upon Lucy. “Fud heeyar uz nae lyke ynne ur wurl', buit bettah sootyd tae lyvvin' heeyar...”
She pointed, for emphasis, to the ground between her boots.

“Franklee,” she continued, dropping her gaze and turning her attention back to matters of butchery, “ai cuid ne'er stomyk ur fud, ytte wuz alus tae o'er-kuik'd fer mai lykin'.”
Lucy shuddered inwardly at the thought that, even hungry as she was, she would have to go without because Niamh would try to feed her lumps of raw meat.

“Dinnae wurree,” said Niamh then, not looking up from her task, but nonetheless anticipating Lucy's fears; “ai wuidnae mak y'eet thus the wai ai wul.” She stopped again, and pointed over to the edge of the clearing; “Ye go fyne sum wuid fer th'fieyar, an' a'll sort thus oot.” She winked at Lucy, and went back to her knife-work.

Relieved, Lucy turned and made her way back to the tree under which she had so recently been hidden. There were many dry branches scattered about its base and in truth that was just fine by her.
The clearing that they were in backed onto the denser forest and beyond a farily tight delineation of thick, verdant undergrowth all was – (to Lucy's mind) – rustling shadows filled in part with Woman-Spiders and crazy Orcs bursting with unhinged lust.
Niamh had thus far done nothing to allay her fears in this regard, but even had she done so, Lucy felt more than certain that even in the absence of these two aggressors, there would be more than likely any number of creatures slinking about in the leaf-laden gloom of the trees that would be only too eager to take their place, as part of a painful and potentially very brief and fatal nightmare.

When she returned with a decent-sized bundle of firewood cradled in her sweaty arms, Niamh had finished filleting the carcass and, having sliced off a chunk of meat for herself, had skewered the rest, lengthways, upon a long, thin stick.

Lucy dumped the firewood on the ground and stood waiting. Niamh stuck the makeshift kebab into the ground and stood up. There was a pause as the two women looked at each other.
Niamh glanced at the wood, her eyebrows raising.
Quiet anticipation hung about them.

Eventually Niamh shook her head.
“Ye've a bundel tae lurn...” She muttered under her breath, before bending down to build the fire.

Lucy stood watching Niamh as she worked, feeling stupid and useless, her empty belly gurgling impatiently as the Elf constructed the fire, clearing a space around it of leaves and grass.
Then, once the firewood was prepared, as Lucy watched her, Niamh did a very strange thing; moving her fingers Just So, she angled the palm of her hand in the direction of the firewood.

There was a feeling of static and of heat, and Lucy took a step back as the firewood caught and began to burn merrily.
“What... What did you do, Niamh?” She asked quietly, her brows knitted in puzzlement.

Niamh positioned the wooden stick with the meat on to better catch the heat of the fire, then stood up. It became obvious to Lucy that the Elf had no intention of answering her, of explaining, and Lucy was just about to mention this when Niamh turned to her and said quietly; “Ytz jes' suthin' ai ken dae, K?”
“Sorry Niamh, I was just... curious...” Stammered Lucy, a little taken aback at Niamh's change in tone.

Niamh laughed, once, a short and sharp bark.
“Dinnae b'kureeyus 'bowt thus,” she said, her eyes hard; warning in her voice, “ytz dun me nae guid...”

With that, she turned to the fire and dinner, and silence draped itself about the two women like a thick, dark cloak.

-X-


The meat was surprisingly good, once it was done to Lucy's satisfaction. It was rich and flavorsome, with a peaty tang to it. Frankly, though, it would not have mattered had it been the most disgusting thing that Lucy had ever placed between her lips. By the time it was ready, its juices dripping from it into the fire, hissing and popping, Lucy's belly was gurgling and cramping painfully, knotted in anticipation whilst her mouth was watering so much, saliva was threatening to spill down her chin.
Even the sight of Niamh tearing into her piece, raw and bloody as it was, covered still in grass and dirt, could not dampen Lucy's hunger and she ate virtually all of the remaining meat, devouring it with a kind of manic eagerness.

Niamh, having wolfed down her – admittedly smaller – meal, sat back and watched her companion, picking at her teeth with a long fingernail, her mouth and chin stained red from her dinner.
“Ye hae go' yer ap'tyte bak, ai see.” She remarked, grinning, as Lucy finished eating.
“That was so good...” Replied Lucy, almost breathless, licking the juice from her sticky fingers.

In the fast-gathering dusk of the evening, Niamh's eyes glittered in the flickering light of the fire.
“Ye've no' arsk'd wut ytte wuz...” She remarked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
She was, obviously, testing Lucy, and the latter replied in kind; “Do I want to know...?”
Niamh pretended to think about it for a moment.
“Nah,” she said at length, shaking her head, “bes' no'.”
The two women laughed; a welcome release.

Sated by her meal, Lucy made to lie down on her back on the grass, but paused halfway, turning to look over to Niamh.
“Will we be safe here, tonight?”

“Aye.” Niamh placed another short branch on the fire, shoring it up against the night and its accompanying chill. “Ai'll kip a luik owte, tho'.”
“Not all night, surely...?” Asked Lucy, suddenly bothered. Regardless of the circumstances of her arrival in this world, and her disadvantages within it, Lucy was growing fearful of being a burden to Niamh, even if she was, really, her responsibility.
But still...

Niamh smiled, and in the flames Lucy could see her teeth glinting.
“Nae, ai'll wek ye, wen ai nid tae slip.”
“Ok.” Mollified, Lucy lie down on the grass. She really had no idea what she would actually do, should anything happen, but regardless, at least she could feel she was contributing something, even if it was just to wake Niamh up.

On her back on the cool grass, Lucy gazed up at the darkening sky. A breeze blew across her and she shivered a little, though now her belly was full and she was by the fire, the chill felt good. Placing her hands behind her head, she lay quietly for a time, watching the night cover the sky above and the first twinklings of stars appear; at once both familiar for what they were, and yet totally alien, too.

There seemed to be millions more stars of every hue, all in strange constellations, and the two moons: Secunda and Masser – (although Niamh had told her that wise men in the Imperial City had found that the smaller one, Secunda, went round the larger, apparently, with both then wheeling around skies in a dance) – well they were immediately the strangest of all, in a way.

More than anything else it was the sky that made her feel that she was truly somewhere “Other”; somehow even more than the Orcs and the bandits and what-all; the Marble City, and even Niamh, for all her transformation.
The sky was, somehow such a blunt and all-encompassing statement of “Elsewhere”.
...Two moons...
...The stars are so different...

She knew it would a long time before she knew how she felt, or reconciled herself with her situation, but right in this moment, belly full and with the warmth of the fire washing over her body alternately with the coldness of the dark, and with her familiar-strange - (companion? Lover?) - keeping watch, she found she simply wanted to drift peacefully away.
She had intended to ask Niamh about their plans but she found that a comforting exhaustion had overborne her.

Marooned on the shore of some strange land, an ocean of sleep flowing ever more insistantly over her body, she managed merely a whisper:
“...Niamh...”
Before she found herself drifting away, letting the currents take her where they would.

...Much later, she dreamed of long fingers gently tracing the contours of her face, and of a strong and sensuous scent of cinnamon...

-X-



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PhonAntiPhon
post Nov 21 2016, 09:38 AM
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.INTERLUDE.


Although neither Niamh, and certainly not Lucy, could know it, fate was very close to taking a hand in their future...

South and west of them, in Anvil, a ship has docked and brought with it a passenger; one who in the course of her mission will directly affect the course of Niamh and Lucy's lives, and plunge all three of them into a sea of confusion and danger...

-X-


This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Nov 21 2016, 09:14 PM


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mirocu
post Nov 21 2016, 09:06 PM
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I wonder if Niamh and Lucy will ever be able to live nice and comfortably without having to risk their lives constantly laugh.gif



(still love that spacesuit Niamh has btw... wink.gif )


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PhonAntiPhon
post Nov 21 2016, 09:15 PM
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QUOTE(mirocu @ Nov 21 2016, 08:06 PM) *

I wonder if Niamh and Lucy will ever be able to live nice and comfortably without having to risk their lives constantly laugh.gif

(still love that spacesuit Niamh has btw... wink.gif )

I hope so, but not for a while - believe me, I have a LOT of threads to bring together!!!

Yeah I love it too, which is why Kallis now has one... wink.gif


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Renee
post Nov 22 2016, 12:17 AM
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Awesome, this chapter was pretty deep. Even though nothing really happened, a lot just happened.

But yicch, eating raw meat! Niamh's magical though, she probably won't have to worry about ringworm or salmonella.



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PhonAntiPhon
post Nov 22 2016, 12:58 PM
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QUOTE(Renee @ Nov 21 2016, 11:17 PM) *

Awesome, this chapter was pretty deep. Even though nothing really happened, a lot just happened.

But yicch, eating raw meat! Niamh's magical though, she probably won't have to worry about ringworm or salmonella.

Thanks Renee, yes I needed to round this little section off, and it does help to develop their relationship more, and also to start to expand upon Lucy's feelings.

Heh, well Niamh has never been exactly conventional, but the Bosmer in her does tend to lend itself to a liking for meat somewhat more on the Rare side!
Though as you say, she has more than a little of "The Other" about her so it pretty much doesn't matter what she puts in her mouth, she'll be ok....


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PhonAntiPhon
post Dec 2 2016, 08:44 PM
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Lucy awoke feeling rested, and opened her eyes to a sky of cerulean blue, the trees that ringed their clearing were a-twitter with morning birdsong, and a gentle breeze blowing across her face brought with it the scent of nearby woodsmoke and cooking meat.

Turning her head to one side, she looked across the clearing to the fire, where Niamh was busying herself with what Lucy chose to believe were strips of bacon, slung over flames from long sticks, themselves driven into the earth around the fire's base.

“Moarnin'...” Said Niamh, looking over at Lucy and smiling crookedly.
“Hi.” Replied the other, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”
“S'past eyt.” Said Niamh. “Goe, dae yer thyng, an' thenne cum bak o'er heeyar frae tai gette sum scran.” She glanced back at the food. “Oanlee b'quyke; wi'v a lotte tae dae, noo.”

Getting up, Lucy padded stiffly across the clearing to the trees marking it's boundary. Finding a likely-looking one, she went behind it and unlaced her trousers – (still very much aware that their previous owner had more than likely died whilst wearing them) – sliding them down and squatting, she proceeded to relieve herself.
As she did so the feeling of incongruity which, along with her breathlessness, was constantly in the back of her mind, swept over her once again and reminded her that, not three days before, she had been performing this exact same activity whilst gazing blankly across a carpeted bathroom floor at a white-and-blue tiled wall, whilst off to one side fragrant steam drifted up from her hissing shower, and the cold seat upon which she had placed herself made her bottom tense.

And now? She laughed quietly to herself as her mind's eye closed once more and revealed the actual view; a leaf-strewn grassy slope, stretching down into the dark shadows of the deeper forest, her feet cold and wet with dew, the rough bark of a gnarled and ancient tree at her back.
She realised, as she cast about for one of the broad dockleaf-like plants she had employed previously, that she was actually homesick more for the feel of a cold plastic toilet seat right now, than practically anything else...

-X-


Niamh turned and stood as Lucy hove into view around the broad base of a tree at the edge of the clearing, she was relacing her trousers as she approached and, having tightened them around her waist, wiped her hands upon them, grimacing.

The Elf chuckled. “Heh, ye'll ge' yoos'd tae tha'...” She bent down and grabbed a stick, held it out to Lucy, the meat impaled on the end of it sizzling and popping. “Durt uz durt, an' ye'll b'ge'in' tai noo ytte az a fren' afor loang.”

Suddenly hungry, Lucy took the stick from Niamh and tore at the meat with her teeth, hot fatty juices running unheeded down her chin.
“Guid, ye tuck ynne.”
Niamh broke the fire down then, having pulled up the stakes with the rest of the meat on them and laid the rashers to one side to cool.
“Theez'll cum ynne yoosful fer oan th'rode...”

Lucy watched her, chewing over a final mouthful. She was very aware that Niamh had cooked breakfast solely in a bid to give some small sense of normality to their situation. Lucy was glad of the gesture, even though at the same time she saw through it.
“Thurs a crik, aloang awaiz.” Said Niamh, gesturing eastwards across the rise. Lucy followed her hand, squinting into the sun which hung still relatively low in the sky. “Ye kin hae a wosh, 'n' gae yersel' a drynke.”
She looked at Lucy, and once again Lucy realised, as she looked back into Niamh's dark eyes, nestling in bruised sockets, just how much there was to this strange creature that, beyond the seeming normality of her conversation – (however strange in context) – she, Lucy, simply did not understand.

And yet for all of that, for all of her immediate exotic inscrutability and weirdness, in a world composed of stranger tides masquerading as rolling hills and countryside, Niamh had got under her skin and lucy realised, not for the first time, that she'd been doomed from the start, from that first night in another world, her world, seemingly so long ago even now.

“Tis nae fah, an' theyar wul gae o'er oor nex' moov.”

-X-


The water was icy cold and Lucy, breathless, splashed her face and swilled out her mouth, letting the chill, clear water run over her chin, down her throat, and between her breasts.
On a whim, she took off her trousers and sat, gasping, in the creek, letting the water's icy touch refresh her, shivering as it washed over her, yet also warmed by the bright sun that glared down upon the hillside from the cloudless sky. She squinted up at it as she splashed water over her legs.
“It looks like my sun...” She said softly to herself, and turned away from it, suddenly sad and missing home, wherever it now was.

Niamh, conspicuously not taking part in the bathing opportunity was instead staring out across the view, seemingly spying out the route ahead.
“Wun yur dun, Looch,” she said, “cum o'er heeyar, an' ai'll shoe ye wur weeyar hedyn.”

Lucy stood up, and wiped the excess water off from her lower half with her hands. Stepping out of the creek, she retrieved her trousers and pulled them on, making a face as the material stuck to her wet skin. No matter, the sun would dry her eventually.
She crossed the grass to where Niamh waited and watched.
“Show me, then.”

Niamh paused for just a moment, looking at her, then turned away and cleared her throat.
“Wul hed fer Bravil, ai thynke 'tis th'onlee thyng reelee.” Behind her, Lucy nodded, although Niamh could not see. The cinnamon scent that seemed to pervade the air around the elf appeared to be stronger at that moment, maybe it was the wind or maybe...
...it had been like this before, under other circumstances. Either way, Lucy shook her head as if to clear her mind, it was difficult to concentrate.

“Tis waer ai kaym frae, lees' th'las' plais ai renemba.” Continued Niamh. “Mebbee yffe ai goe bak tae th'ende, wi kyn wurk oot...” Her voice trailed off once again, and she turned to Lucy chewing at her lip uncertainly.
Lucy, her brain full of spice, had to force herself to speak; “Work out what, Niamh?” She laid a hand gently on Niamh's arm. “Me? You?”

“Us?”

The questions hung in the air above them like some huge and lumpen weight, swollen with dark uncertainty and doubt. In truth neither woman knew, and perhaps would be no nearer to knowing, how to extricate themselves from the circumstances in which they had become mired.
Niamh, apparently back from the dead, striving to find her purpose and herself; and Lucy, dragged across space and probably time, to an alien world, confused and conflicted and bound to the – now, or always – Elf, by...
what...?
Love?
Loneliness?
A need for meaning and companionship?

Maybe all of the above, she thought for perhaps the hundredth time, certainly the spice-scent was having a not unpleasant, if entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, effect upon her. Maybe that proved the first, or maybe it was just meaningless passion brought on by their closeness.
Lucy shook her head; who knew, really – they had been two lost souls in another world, and they were just as lost here. Whatever the emotion, the one was all that the other had, and in fairness, it could be a lot worse.

And then there was The Other – The Thing, the creature that had precipitated their flight, causing Lucy's appearance in this place. Her heart missed a beat in her chest and she felt her blood chill as the being's nightmare image flashed in her mind.
It had hunted and found either Niamh or her or both of them for reasons neither understood and it was, somewhere, still searching.

Who knew?
In the absence of anything else, maybe Niamh's plan was best. It was certainly more constructive than standing on this breezy hillside with her trousers still damp and clinging to her skin.
“Ok,” she said, her fingers still lightly resting on Niamh's arm, “which way is Bravil?”

Niamh, who had watched the passage of thought and emotion across Lucy's face as one might watch the clouds travel across the sky on a windy day, cleared her throat and smiled lopsidedly – (and actually quite adorably) – by way of acknowledgement. Maybe now was not the time, she seemed to say, but there would be time, and they would have each other, if nothing else.

“Hokae, wul.” She said at length. “Wu'll hed sooth an' eest, roond th'boattom o' yon layk.” She gestured at the glistening expanse of water below them and looked meaningfully at Lucy.
“Er... Rumare.” Replied Lucy.
Niamh grinned and nodded, and Lucy smiled broadly back, feeling ridiculously pleased with herself at having remembered the name.
“Ai, Rumare,” continued the Elf, “wu'll karree oan heddyn' eest thenne, frae theeyar, keppyn' oaff o' th' rodes, an' stykkyn' tae th' kuntree 'smutch 's poas'bwl.”

Lucy was watching Niamh point out, at least notionally, their route as she described it, and it occurred to her that although she herself was nodding and – (as far as she could tell) – looking as though she was taking everything in, Niamh might as well have told her that they would head to the sun and then turn right towards the next nearest star, for all that she, Lucy, really understood the directions.

“Wee kyn hed yntae Bravil bye a dyffrunt root, th' bak wae. Tis onne th' watta.” Niamh went on. She paused for a moment, gazing out at the far horizon. “Thenne, wu'll sea.”
Lucy could only hope that by the time they arrived, there would be at least some sense of what they would actually do.

Niamh appeared to have read her mind, as she turned to Lucy and placed the fingers of one hand lightly upon her shoulder.
“Dinnae wurree, Looch, Wu'll wurk ytte al oot...”
But she didn't sound convinced...

-X-


Despite her doubts, Niamh was for the moment evidently done with spying out the route and their immediate travel plans. Appearing to relax, at least a little, she crossed to the stream and bent over it, scooping water into her mouth with a cupped hand. Having drunk it down, she clamped her teeth together and rubbed a finger briskly and firmly over them before hawking and spitting into the water.
“Gi'yuz a sek.” She said, winking at Lucy.

Standing up, she moved her hands to the front of her jacket, evidently preparing to undo it, presumably she was going to take it and the rest of her clothes off so that she could bathe in the stream as Lucy had more-or-less done.
Lucy realised that Niamh's outer clothing was actually dark-blue rather than the black she had previously thought. Niamh's jacket, only ever loosely buckled, was hanging open now, revealing the porcelain, if grubby, skin of her chiselled belly and above that, the dark-green linen strip that wrapped about her torso, binding up her modest breasts.

Lucy noticed all of this, and later was very glad that she had, because it was, up to that point and for a while beyond it, the last pleasant thing she remembered.

The world, and everything in it then, went completely to pieces as The Other caught up with them.

-X-


There was a crackling sound, growing rapidly in intensity. Eyes widening, Lucy looked round behind her, further up the slope. From the corner of her eye she became aware of Niamh beginning to run the short distance to her, one arm outstretched, her mouth opening.
“Lu...”
Was all she heard, before the crackling sound resolved itself into a grinding roar and a slit, roughly six feet from top to bottom, began to form in the air just above the ground, thick and soupy light flowed out of it as it split open in a disturbingly anatomical fashion.
The hairs on Lucy's arms and neck stood stiffly to attention and she backed up slowly, barely noticing Niamh's hand touch her shoulder as the Elf ran in front of her.

Accompanied by an unbearable stench a black, chitinous leg emerged from out of the slit.

Lucy collapsed to the ground, her eyes saucer-wide, fixed upon the opening in the air and the creature, emerging implacably from within. Turning her back on it, Niamh knelt before Lucy and placed her hands on Lucy's shoulders, shaking her.
“Lucy! We hae tai runne!”

But it was no use.

Lucy, her hands clamped upon either side of her face, her mouth hanging open, and from it coming a gasping, hopeless, yodelling wail, was beyond thought and action, she was utterly and completely mindless, stricken with Fear.
Niamh shook her again, roughly, and Lucy's head snapped back and forth on her neck, her eyes, unblinking, never shifting their gaze from the spider-thing as it tore and murdered its way into the world, out from the void beyond the portal.

“Ah Fukke!” Screamed Niamh. She pushed Lucy backwards, hard. The other woman fell onto her back, her body stiffening. Her hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists and she held them against her ears as if trying to shut out her own constant, insistent screaming, now taking on a desperate, hopeless, breathless note, Lucy's face was a fixed rictus of fright, and a stain spread from her crotch, darkening further her still damp trousers.

Niamh turned from her companion and spun, crouching and tense, to face the Daedra. The Daemon was now fully resolved into her world, standing huge and malignant upon the hillside above her, the grass in its shadow withering and dying.
Throwing off her jacket lest it got in her way, Niamh slid her knife from its scabbard upon her hip, and held it out lightly in her hand, the tip aimed towards the creature.

“Ye leev uz bee!” She shouted. The noise of the Daedra's arrival had diminished now, and Lucy's pitiful screams had become weak, shallow sobs. Had Niamh been able to look round, she would have seen Lucy, her eyes blankly staring into nothing, curled tightly into a ball, her breeches soaked and reeking, and her hair wet with sweat, slathered across her scalp and forehead, her skin grey and and clammy with the onset of shock.

“Ye cum nae cloasa! Growled Niamh, her dark eyes flashing, the muscles in her sinewy frame standing out like knotted rope; tendons slid like snakes beneath her skin.

The Daedra turned its masked visage towards the Elf. It was, as before when Lucy had first seen it, an imposing and terrible sight; eight legs, tipped with iron spikes which dug into the hillside, the earth hissing and steaming where they penetrated it. Its abdomen, now roughly armored with spiny chitinous plates was, beneath them, flabby and exuded a heavy greenish miasma that flowed slowly to the ground and moved like some oily river downslope, withering the plants in its path and turning the clear and fresh water of the creek into a foul and brownish sludge.

Sprouting from the front of its heavily-armored thorax was the grotesquely muscled upper half of a thing that was only passing female. Its torso was bare and twisted and a pair of massive breasts depended from it, heaving and quivering in time with its husky, gurgling breath.
Its skin, blue-grey, was covered in arcane tattoos that seemed almost to flow and glide in a nauseatingly sentient fashion over the dull flesh.

As for its head, Niamh could see only its mouth and lower jaw beneath the massive helm that it wore, itself marked, incongruously, with a delicate filigree of sparkling and complex patterns.

As Niamh crouched before it, her knife at the ready, poised to fight, the creature raised its chitin-encased arms above its helm and flexed its huge and taloned hands.

It opened its mouth, revealing several rows of cracked and yellowed teeth. Milky-white venom dribbled from between its dark lips and down over its chin, smoking and steaming upon it. It hissed loudly at Niamh, and she was forced to turn her face from it, and the sewer-stench of its breath.

The Daedra took a step forward and Niamh, glancing briefly behind her at the now virtually catatonic Lucy, turned once again to face her foe. She ran her tongue across her lips and cricked her neck from one side to the other. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on her blade, her dark eyes narrow and focused.

There was a momentary pause,

a stilling of

motion,

and of sound.

Then:

“Cum oan thenne, ye Bytche!”

And Niamh leapt.

-X-


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Renee
post Dec 10 2016, 02:32 PM
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Ah [censored]. Yea, I was pretty much feeling Lucy's relaxed (but homesick) vibe until that monster showed up. Sheesh. You described the daedra quite well, by the way.


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PhonAntiPhon
post Dec 10 2016, 05:20 PM
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QUOTE(Renee @ Dec 10 2016, 01:32 PM) *

Ah [censored]. Yea, I was pretty much feeling Lucy's relaxed (but homesick) vibe until that monster showed up. Sheesh. You described the daedra quite well, by the way.

Thank you Renee. smile.gif
Maybe soon they'll catch a break...


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PhonAntiPhon
post Dec 12 2016, 06:43 PM
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An' fus' Luce wuz skrimmin' an' the Daedra wuz fuillee theeyar an' reel an' reddee tai stryke an' ai luik'd beehynde me an' Luce hed puss'd haersel' an' wuz jus' leiyin' theeyar an' soabynne an' thenne ai jus' tuik mai dagga an' ai turn'd an' brayc'd an' ai jus' lept...

...Forward, one giant leap, her dagger raised high above her head, a snarl upon her lips, her teeth bared.

The Daedra appeared to take a step back, or maybe it was just bracing itself to meet her. Either way Niamh was too committed to notice or care.

Crossing the distance between herself and the daemon, impossibly, airborne, Niamh swung her dagger backwards and at the last minute brought it arcing forwards and down with all of her might, the cold steel glinting in the suddenly hard, flat sunlight, reflecting its owners resolve.

There was a ringing clash as Niamh's dagger connected with the creatures chitin-armored arm. The daedra hissed malignantly and flicked the Elf away, much as one would a fly or similar annoyance. Scrabbling for grip upon the creature, Niamh was catapulted backwards through the air, landing on the ground with a bone-jarring crash that clacked her teeth together and left the flat, iron taste of blood in her mouth.

Winded, she collapsed upon her back for a moment, her chest working hard as she fought for air, the sky reeling above her head. She could hear the creature gurgling - (laughing?) - and the impact of its iron-shod legs upon the ground as it moved to approach her.

"Fool..." it said, "you cannot best me." Its voice was a parody of a young girl's; one that had been fed shards of glass and forced to gargle acid.

Niamh sat up and spat bloody saliva upon the soil, she still held her blade, for what it was worth. Getting back to her feet, the muscles in her belly rippling, she stared balefully at the creature, trying not to flinch at the stench that flowed from its hideous form.

"Do yer wurst, Deemon." Niamh growled, projecting more confidence than in truth she felt. "Fer ai'll gi' ye a fyte ye'll rememba." Tightening her grip on her blade, she prepared herself for another attack.

The Daedra laughed again, a sickening phlegmy sound. "You are brave, Little Niamh, I will give you that much." It rasped. "But you will not prevail over me and your debt to this one," it gestured casually with a razor-clawed hand at the prone, still form of Lucy, "will remain unpaid. A fact that I shall remind her of... " It paused, horribly, then: "...when I take her."

Again came that gurgling laugh, and the Daedras mouth twisted into a sick parody of a smile.
" Ye leev her!" Shouted Niamh, galvanised into action. "Ye leev her be!"

Feinting first right, then left, she closed on the spider-thing, an expression of determination on her face and raw hatred burning bright behind her dark eyes.

-x-


Sweat runs over her lithe body, runs into her eyes from her plastered hair. Panting, she shakes her head, a bright spray of perspiration hangs like a halo in the air about her, sparkling in the sun.
Trembling with fatigue, she crouches once more for yet another lunge, the pale skin of her torso and her arms is bruised and bloodied by a myriad gashes; blood trickles from her mouth.

Yet still she will not give up, however much she is beaten back. Still she will not surrender to the creature, give in to its will and succumb to the fate it has decreed for her. More so, for here she glances once more behind her at Lucy, lying still curled up in the grass, her eyes staring, unblinking, into space, her skin pallid and clammy, her breath ragged.
Niamh knows she must protect her at all costs, knows that she must prevent this creature from violating Lucy in any way that she can, even if it means the end of her, herself.

The Daedra towers over them, not without it's own share of scars from the battle, though nowhere near enough to stop or even slow it.
Nowhere near enough.

It is a hopeless battle, and one Niamh knows that she cannot win, but she will not give up; for Lucy, for her, she will die trying. The Daemon raises an iron-shod leg to strike, vapor streaming from its body; Niamh, keeping herself in front of her fallen companion, dances from side-to-side, hoping to anticipate the blow to come.

With a rasping cry the creature thrusts its leg downwards upon them, Niamh darts to one side and flings herself back against the descending limb, simultaneously thrusting upwards with her blade. It is futile and she knows it, she may as well push against Masser for all the difference her efforts make, and yet still she tries.

Ignoring the sharp pain as the razor-sharp edge of the creature's iron armor slices into her shoulder, she stabs upwards with all of her remaining strength into the joint where the Daedra's leg meets its thorax, hoping to slow it somehow, anyhow.

But the blade glances aside, leaving not even so much as a scratch and the limb continues downwards unhindered, knocking Niamh, slashed and bleeding, to one side and off-balance as its trajectory bears its cold, hard tip directly to Lucy's heart.

Niamh turns her head as she falls, able only to watch in growing horror and despair as the armored spike reaches Lucy.

-x-


There is a sound, a deep gong, that resonates in Niamhs bowels and rattles her bones.
A sudden flash of stark white light and an impression of movement - a sudden lurching, sickening drop and she's flung.

Away.

-x-


This post has been edited by PhonAntiPhon: Dec 12 2016, 11:11 PM


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mirocu
post Dec 12 2016, 08:46 PM
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sad.gif sad.gif sad.gif sad.gif !!!


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Renee
post Dec 18 2016, 07:19 PM
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Fawwwk. How will Niamh keep her friend from being daedra food?


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