Lucky's last chance

I knew they were up to something when I saw Patch, Luck, Shrunk and Lefty lurking around the jewelry shop. Following them was getting too easy when I was cloaked in shadow. Luck was good with locks obviously and the four thieves slipped into the jewelry shop right before a wandering guard turned the corner of the Provisioner's.

It wasn't long before Shrunk reappeared and slinked away. Then Lefty, taking a different route. When Patch came out of the shop, I decided to follow him instead of wait for Luck. Back alleys and a lot of diversions made it challenging to keep up with the sneaky thief, the sparkle of danger made my pulse race. It was more a game then anything to me.

Once in the sewers, I pulled a new disguise around me. What's one more rat among dozens, and I blended in well. The glitter of gems that sparkled the cloak once they were all assembled was dazzling, even to my jaded eyes.

It was the glitter of another sort that made me worry. Dagger drawn, Luck wasn't looking. Trusting fool. I watched, knowing I was no match for the three of them. When Luck went down my little rat hands clenched. He might be a thief but he was also an elf. And elves didn't let other elves die.

I'd tried to warn him that I wasn't his only follower, but he didn't understand. Or wouldn't understand. Now he was paying the price. I was about to return to a form more suitable for standing against foes when the Shrunk and Lefty scooped up the loot and made for the Thieves Guild. That only left one.

It surprised me Luck had the strength left in him when he killed Patch. As my rat friends swarmed over the dying Thief master's body, I did too, spitting on his ugly face. "Eat well, my brothers, no one will miss him," I chittered to my fellow rodents.

Luck almost landed on me when he slid back down the ladder, I chittered at him before remembering I was just a rat and changed into a form more recognizable.

Rambling, and incoherent, Luck thought I was any number of people there to help him. That he mistook me for Hannah was a laugh. A hulking Amazon of a whore I am not, but he was delusional.

Poison is a funny thing. My mother was a healer, probably how she met my father, who was a guardsman for the King, when there was a king. She tried teaching me her art, but my interest was more limited then hers. I studied the ways and means of alchemy; poison being a particular specialty of mine.

"Tell them all I'm sorry, I should never have come back," Luck's whisper was sad, like the look in his eyes. Luck might have accepted death but I wasn't ready to give up on him just yet.

Not knowing the exact poison Patch had used on his weapon might have deterred someone else, but I made a habit of carrying odds and ends in my pack. One potion I carried was another poison, a poison to poison would be a good way to think about it. Getting my poison into Luck was a battle, too.

But hallucinations won out, he listened to "Hannah" as I poured the foul green sludge down his throat.

"Drink up, Red, I promise it'll help, it's your last chance," I think he reacted to the name I used more then my raspy, hoarse whisper of a voice. My eavesdropping and information gathering paid off in spades tonight. "Red" was the name his dockside lady-friends always called him. I didn't understand it, he wasn't redheaded, but it worked.

I counted down as my poison took affect. Either it would work in 5 slow heartbeats, or he was dead.

1
He twitched more violently, his face draining of color.

2
Blood coated the floor, his blood, as he tried to vomit out the poison I gave him.

3
More convulsions and a plaintive whine

4
He gasped, saying he was sorry as his eyes closed.

5
The cure was sometimes as bad at the illness, but it worked. At least over the poison.

"Stop being a baby and help me, Luck," since I knew he couldn't stay in the sewers and he was losing a lot of blood from the dagger thrusts in his back.

I knew where to take him, I hadn't been back there since I buried my family. Home. Dragging Luck through the gate I cast, the dusty smell of decay brought tears to my eyes. Mother would be very upset if she saw the place now. But it was safe enough.

Pushing him face down on my parent's bed, I went to work. After cutting the robe he wore off, I hesitated when I saw the sash spanning his back. The Britannian Royal Guard? What kind of thief is in the guard? Even an elven thief?

I didn't let myself think about the mistakes I might have made judging him, instead I quickly cut off his tunic so I could tend the wounds on his back. The sucking sound and air bubbles from one of the dagger holes worried me. A punctured lung was nothing to fool around with.

I hated using magic for healing, but even my mother wouldn't have tried curing a punctured lung with herbs and bandages. Holding one hand tight to the wounds to staunch the flow of blood, I fumbled for reagents with the other and wove the magic spells I knew to heal the worst of his hurts.

That done, I grabbed some herbs and bandages out of my pack, cutting up his robe still further for bindings.

Once mostly healed and curious, he wanted to talk. I hated talking; my voice was a constant reminder of death, torture and loss. I tried to keep the scarred side of my face turned away, laughing hoarsely when he told me I'd have been a pretty girl with such a curious mark.

I was glad when he finally succumbed to sleep, it gave me time to reevaluate my thoughts and assumptions. I'm not too sure I like the idea of having this elf be my guardian angel. Yes, I saved his life, probably. But that doesn't give him the right to keep an eye on me. Warrior bond or not, I don't need anyone.

The idea upsets me, and I suddenly feel a rush of panic.

Digging in my pack, I leave a few pieces of linty cheese, some over-ripe fruit and a bottle of cheap wine on the bedside table before cloaking myself in shadow again and returning to the streets where no one cared about me and I didn't have to care about anyone.

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> I knew they were up to something when I saw Patch, Luck, Shrunk and Lefty lurking around the jewelry shop. Following them was getting too easy when I was cloaked in shadow. Luck was good with locks obviously and the four thieves slipped into the jewelry shop right before a wandering guard turned the corner of the Provisioner's. > It wasn't long before Shrunk reappeared and slinked away. Then Lefty, taking a different route. When Patch came out of the shop, I decided to follow him instead of wait for Luck. Back alleys and a lot of diversions made it challenging to keep up with the sneaky thief, the sparkle of danger made my pulse race. It was more a game then anything to me. > Once in the sewers, I pulled a new disguise around me. What's one more rat among dozens, and I blended in well. The glitter of gems that sparkled the cloak once they were all assembled was dazzling, even to my jaded eyes. > It was the glitter of another sort that made me worry. Dagger drawn, Luck wasn't looking. Trusting fool. I watched, knowing I was no match for the three of them. When Luck went down my little rat hands clenched. He might be a thief but he was also an elf. And elves didn't let other elves die. > I'd tried to warn him that I wasn't his only follower, but he didn't understand. Or wouldn't understand. Now he was paying the price. I was about to return to a form more suitable for standing against foes when the Shrunk and Lefty scooped up the loot and made for the Thieves Guild. That only left one. > It surprised me Luck had the strength left in him when he killed Patch. As my rat friends swarmed over the dying Thief master's body, I did too, spitting on his ugly face. "Eat well, my brothers, no one will miss him," I chittered to my fellow rodents. > Luck almost landed on me when he slid back down the ladder, I chittered at him before remembering I was just a rat and changed into a form more recognizable. > Rambling, and incoherent, Luck thought I was any number of people there to help him. That he mistook me for Hannah was a laugh. A hulking Amazon of a whore I am not, but he was delusional. > Poison is a funny thing. My mother was a healer, probably how she met my father, who was a guardsman for the King, when there was a king. She tried teaching me her art, but my interest was more limited then hers. I studied the ways and means of alchemy; poison being a particular specialty of mine. > "Tell them all I'm sorry, I should never have come back," Luck's whisper was sad, like the look in his eyes. Luck might have accepted death but I wasn't ready to give up on him just yet. > Not knowing the exact poison Patch had used on his weapon might have deterred someone else, but I made a habit of carrying odds and ends in my pack. One potion I carried was another poison, a poison to poison would be a good way to think about it. Getting my poison into Luck was a battle, too. > But hallucinations won out, he listened to "Hannah" as I poured the foul green sludge down his throat. > "Drink up, Red, I promise it'll help, it's your last chance," I think he reacted to the name I used more then my raspy, hoarse whisper of a voice. My eavesdropping and information gathering paid off in spades tonight. "Red" was the name his dockside lady-friends always called him. I didn't understand it, he wasn't redheaded, but it worked. > I counted down as my poison took affect. Either it would work in 5 slow heartbeats, or he was dead. > 1 > He twitched more violently, his face draining of color. > 2 > Blood coated the floor, his blood, as he tried to vomit out the poison I gave him. > 3 > More convulsions and a plaintive whine > 4 > He gasped, saying he was sorry as his eyes closed. > 5 > The cure was sometimes as bad at the illness, but it worked. At least over the poison. > "Stop being a baby and help me, Luck," since I knew he couldn't stay in the sewers and he was losing a lot of blood from the dagger thrusts in his back. > I knew where to take him, I hadn't been back there since I buried my family. Home. Dragging Luck through the gate I cast, the dusty smell of decay brought tears to my eyes. Mother would be very upset if she saw the place now. But it was safe enough. > Pushing him face down on my parent's bed, I went to work. After cutting the robe he wore off, I hesitated when I saw the sash spanning his back. The Britannian Royal Guard? What kind of thief is in the guard? Even an elven thief? > I didn't let myself think about the mistakes I might have made judging him, instead I quickly cut off his tunic so I could tend the wounds on his back. The sucking sound and air bubbles from one of the dagger holes worried me. A punctured lung was nothing to fool around with. > I hated using magic for healing, but even my mother wouldn't have tried curing a punctured lung with herbs and bandages. Holding one hand tight to the wounds to staunch the flow of blood, I fumbled for reagents with the other and wove the magic spells I knew to heal the worst of his hurts. > That done, I grabbed some herbs and bandages out of my pack, cutting up his robe still further for bindings. > Once mostly healed and curious, he wanted to talk. I hated talking; my voice was a constant reminder of death, torture and loss. I tried to keep the scarred side of my face turned away, laughing hoarsely when he told me I'd have been a pretty girl with such a curious mark. > I was glad when he finally succumbed to sleep, it gave me time to reevaluate my thoughts and assumptions. I'm not too sure I like the idea of having this elf be my guardian angel. Yes, I saved his life, probably. But that doesn't give him the right to keep an eye on me. Warrior bond or not, I don't need anyone. > The idea upsets me, and I suddenly feel a rush of panic. > Digging in my pack, I leave a few pieces of linty cheese, some over-ripe fruit and a bottle of cheap wine on the bedside table before cloaking myself in shadow again and returning to the streets where no one cared about me and I didn't have to care about anyone.
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